#he can’t even swing his fancy sword around and point it at other nobles | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bitsandbobsofwriting · 3 years

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Merlin accidentally becomes Legolas/Katniss/Merida… you know the type;

He may be shitty at sword fighting, but Merlin begins to use a traditional bow and arrow and… actually becomes very good at it??

I imagine the first time he does it, it’s a complete fluke.

The five knights, The King, and Merlin are on their way back from yet another (frankly, ridiculous) quest.

They have been, of course, ambushed by a group of bandits, twenty to their six (six plus Merlin, though no one bar Lancelot knows about his magic, so he isn’t counted as a fighter). Though the knights outweigh them in skill, their sheer numbers makes it a… challenging, fight (meaning that they are winning, but far too slowly for their liking, and no one wants to admit it).

Now normally, Merlin hides behind a tree or in a ditch, and performs his spells quietly without being noticed, slowly helping and speeding up the fight. Except this time, the Gang was in the middle of a barren, open field, the bandits had disguised themselves with magic until the moment they attacked, and Merlin was right in the middle of all the action.

Everyone worried for his safety. There was nowhere for him to hide here, so they had to keep an eye on him, lest he get hurt (and Arthur sulked, or kicked off, depending on how badly he was hurt).

With nowhere to hide (and no branches to drop, or roots to trip people with), and one of the knights throwing a glance his way every ten seconds, he couldn’t use his magic.

He was currently on his hands and knees, Leon directly in front of him, Percival to his left, holding off four attackers between them (Merlin would marvel at how impressive that was if he weren’t otherwise preoccupied).

He keeps trying to get to Arthur, crawling between legs and over the groaning, injured bodies of bandits (he made a point to land sharp elbows and harsh knees into the more… sensitive areas), but with everyone moving around so rapidly, and the vicious swinging of swords and axes and maces inches above his head, he kept getting side-tracked and blocked and almost knocked out.

With a frustrated huff, he notices yet another bandit rounding on The King. Said huff turns into a pained gasp when he realises that Arthur hasn’t seen him yet.

The bandit raises his weapon in the air, seconds from bringing it down on Arthur’s back, but Leon is right there, and there are no branches to drop on him, and Arthur still hasn’t noticed!

The noise is too loud, grunts and yells and clashes of metal drowning out any sort of warning yell that Merlin could throw Arthur’s way, and he scrabbles around on the floor desperately; hands raking through sharp grass and over bloodied bodies as he stares in horror at the triumphant smirk on the future-King-killer’s face.

Time seems to slow (no magic, just adrenaline) as Merlin’s hands find purchase on a smooth, curved piece of wood. He picks it up without looking, at first intending to throw whatever it is as hard as he can in the bandits direction, before something (magic, instincts, periphery vision, who knows) tells him to look down.

He obeys, and widens his eyes as he sees the longbow gripped tightly in his right hand, and a stray arrow on the floor next to his left.

Merlin is no expert, only having actually hunted once or twice back home in Ealdor, when he was younger, but that was just enough knowledge for him to know roughly how to notch the arrow and fire. He pulls the two up quickly, a plan formulating in his head:

Step 1) Notch arrow.

Step 2) Close eyes.

Step 3) Magic? Hope?

Step 4) Come up with some sort of lie that explains how he managed to make the shot from sixty yards away, through a crowd.

Thankfully, it would appear that Merlin’s bad luck has given him a rest today; the first three steps go off without a hitch (the fourth will come a little later, when the battle is over), but he doesn’t have time to congratulate himself before he’s thrown into the fray, the bandits now obviously seeing him as some sort of threat.

Arthur finally defeats his own attackers, looking behind him in shock to see his unknown enemy lying on the floor, gurgling up blood and grasping weakly at the arrow through his neck. His head whips to the side, trying to find whoever had made the shot; his bewildered gaze meets Merlin’s for only a second before the servant is dragged to his feet, and promptly punched in the face.

He stumbles back and can just about hear Leon yell something from beside him but he pays it no mind, righting his balance once again and swinging his arm back, before bringing it down harshly on his newest attackers head. The resounding crack echoes over the field as the wood of the longbow splits in two on the bandit’s skull, and he drops like a sack of potatoes.

The fight doesn’t last much longer, each knight taking advantage of their enemies' fatigue, and Merlin using his now broken longbow to whack them in the shins or trip them up when they weren’t paying attention.

He was sad to see it broken, but two of his closest friends literally owned a blacksmith's, and he had easy access to the Castle’s armoury; he could get a hold of another one easily enough, as long as he survived the journey back home.

The battle finally came to a close. Everyone was exhausted, and each of them was sporting more than one hefty bruise, but they were all alive and there were no serious injuries, so they could be grateful for that. After Arthur had counted his men, and generally taken stock of things, he traipsed tiredly over to Merlin, who had abandoned his broken bow in favour of cleaning a still weeping cut on Elyan’s temple.

“Didn’t know you had it in you, Merlin.”

The servant ignores him at first, biting his lip in concentration as he carefully wipes the grime away from the wound. It was small, so an infection wouldn’t be too worrying, but it wouldn’t be comfortable and would make the scarring worse, so best to avoid it if at all possible. He hums in satisfaction as he leans back on his heels, Elyan gives him a grateful smile, and Merlin finally throws a glance Arthur’s way, before focusing back on threading the needle in his hands; it would only need two or three stitches, thankfully:

“Hmm. I'm not fond of hunting, but we had to for food back in Ealdor. Except we didn’t have fancy crossbows or hunting dogs, so we had to make do with hand-whittled longbows.”

Arthur nods, frowning slightly:

“Still, if I’d known you were that good, I would’ve demanded you had a bow of your own; that way us lot wouldn’t have to spend so much time making sure you don’t get yourself killed.”

Merlin smirked and quirked an eyebrow, but doesn’t look away from Elyan’s stitches, whispering an apology at the man’s wince before he speaks slowly, concentrating:

“Careful Sire, that almost sounded like a compliment.”

Elyan snorts out a laugh, but Merlin tuts and lightly slaps his leg disapprovingly, and he stills again. Arthur rolls his eyes with a huff:

“As if. Hurry up, I want to get moving as soon as possible.”

Arthur wasn’t the only one that noticed Merlin’s outstanding shot, and over the course of the next few day’s journey home, he received a multitude of compliments from the other knights.

Including an hour long excited infodump about the history and use of longbows from Leon, which Merlin eagerly hung onto every word of, a fond smile on his face (Leon was a noble, and had it practically beaten into him to not ramble, so Merlin always did his best not to discourage the man. That, and the fact that it was actually very interesting, and useful, if he were to keep up this charade that he was an expert marksman).

When Merlin finally had a moment alone with Lancelot, a few days after they had gotten back, he burst:

“Please please tell me you know how to use a longbow??”

Lancelot raises his eyebrow from where he was sat on the bed in Merlin’s room. Merlin was staring at him with unconcealed desperation, and the knight chuckled as he answered:

“Why? It’s not like you need any more training, that was a cracking shot.”

Merlin huffed loudly, running his hands through his hair as he looked back at the knight:

“I used magic!! I closed my eyes so no one would see and I guided the arrow with magic! Now everyone thinks I’m some master marksman! This is bad. What if next time I can’t use magic, or what if someone notices that I have my eyes closed when I fire?”

Lancelot clamps a hand over his mouth in a poor attempt to stop himself from giggling, but he gives up quickly, bursting into laughter at the younger man’s panic. Said younger man fumes, sputtering as he picks up one of the knight’s discarded boots and throws it at him:

“It’s not funny, Lance! I’m being serious, this is an actual issue!”

Lancelot calms himself, rubbing the mirth from his eyes as he takes a deep breath:

“Ok ok, sorry. Yes, I can teach you to use a longbow properly. Have you ever actually used one before, or was the hunting thing a cover?”

The red fades from Merlin’s face slightly as he realises the other man is intending to help him, his panic lessening:

“Sort of. Yeah, I went hunting with a bow a couple times, but not enough to be that good at it.”

Lancelot sighs fondly and nods his head:

“Well, that’s a start at least. Come on, I’ve not got patrol until after dinner, and Arthur thinks you’re busy helping Gaius, so we’ve got a few hours.”

So I imagine that’s how it goes for a while.

After their last big adventure, Arthur was reluctant to head out as a group again, wanting to give everyone time to recuperate and get back into the swing of things.

Merlin’s skills with a bow were bought up constantly by everyone, news had even reached Gwen (who gave him a proud smile and a cute little dance to congratulate him) and Gaius (who raised an eyebrow, and had much better skill than Lancelot at holding in his laughter).

Gwaine, Elyan, and even Percival were desperate to set up targets and watch him shoot shit (their words), Leon wanted to talk about the specifics of technique and crafting, and Arthur... well. Arthur sounded like he was taking the piss, but there was something else in his tone that Merlin couldn’t quite pinpoint.

Affection? Pride?

Probably not, probably jealousy and annoyance that Merlin is so effortlessly good at something that Arthur himself was average at at best.

Merlin manages to avoid it for a while, showing his “skills” off, but he and Lancelot are running out of excuses, and Arthur is starting to accuse him of being a fake who got lucky. Normally, things like that didn’t bother Merlin, and technically Arthur wasn’t wrong... he had got lucky, and cheated with magic, but that wasn’t the point. It was nice for Merlin, to be good at something, really good.

He was good at plenty of other things. Magic for starters, though not even Lancelot knew the full extent of his power in that area. But he cooked well (shown by the fact that the knights always scoffed the lot), he was a good physician (shown by the fact that the knights trusted him just as much as Gaius when it came to treating injuries and sickness), and he was a BRILLIANT servant, if he did say so himself.

But he never got any actual praise for that. Merlin hated to think badly of the knights, his friends, but they only complained when Merlin wasn’t there, never praised him when he was. Well, apart from Lancelot. And that had just started a bunch of rumours that they were... uh... boinking.

(False. Anyone with more than two braincells could see that Sir Lancelot was head over heals in love with the newly-promoted Housekeeper, Guinevere, and that The King’s Manservant had an affinity for certain a blond prat-King.)

ANYWAY

It was nice for Merlin to have a skill that others thought worth complimenting, and with Lancelot monitoring his practice sessions, correcting any mistakes and offering congratulations whenever he did well, he hoped it wouldn’t be too long before he no longer had to come up with excuses.

Luckily, Merlin picked it up very quickly.

Despite being clumsy by nature (though Lancelot is starting to suspect more and more that it’s all for show), the dark haired servant can consistently hit bullseyes from fifty yards within a month. The further away from the target he got, the less astounding his aim was, but that was to be expected, and another month later he could successfully hit a moving target from seventy feet.

A training session, around three months after he started properly practicing, he finally “gave in” to Gwaine’s begging. Lancelot helped him set up a bunch of targets, and fetched a bag of apples to throw.

Merlin put on quite the show, grinning at the uproarious applause he got from the knights when he hit every single bullseye, and every single thrown target. Thankfully the knowing, proud smiles between the servant and Sir Lancelot went unnoticed, and even Arthur gave him a clap on the back and an impressed nod.

The first time Merlin met the knights in the courtyard to find Leon holding a longbow and quiver of arrows out to him, he panicked slightly, but one reassuring smile from Lancelot boosted his confidence, and he took them with a quiet thank you.

(After the fifth time, Arthur huffed, and told him to just keep them. He was the only one that regularly signed them out of the armoury anyway, so it would just be easier if he just took possession of them.)

It settled everyone’s stomachs, knowing that not only did the group have a master marksmen, hiding in the trees and taking out enemies that they didn’t see coming, but that Merlin personally now had more than his frankly horrifying (or... horrifying as far as they were concerned) stealth skills to keep him safe.

And that (a master marksmen in the trees) is exactly what happened.

In the early days, it involved a lot of bruises; Merlin could fire well, but firing and balancing at the same time? Took some getting used to, and involved a lot of falling out of trees at inopportune times.

The knights, Gwaine and Arthur especially, laughed endlessly at that, but quickly stopped after a particularly tired and irate and bruised Merlin fired an arrow so close by Gwaine’s crotch, that it stuck his trousers fast into the tree just behind him.

At first, it was meant to be just as back-up; Merlin was no knight. He still refused to wear armour, and Arthur didn’t want his manservant to make himself a target... at least that was his excuse.

Really, it was because (as far as Arthur was aware) Merlin had never deliberately killed before. Even now, years into his Kingship, and even longer into his knighthood, Arthur hated killing; it made him sick, and took a lot of practice at compartmentalization before it no longer bothered him as much.

Merlin was his manservant, his (best) friend, the love of his life (secretly). He was not a warrior, he was not meant to kill, he was meant to be protected from that.

But alas, Merlin did not get the memo, and the first patrol he went on with his bow and quiver slung over his shoulder, he killed at least five bandits.

After the fight, it was Leon who approached him first, a concerned look on his face despite Merlin’s nonchalant expression as he checked over the string for wear and tear:

“Are you feeling alright, Merlin? You got a few good shots in there, you’re not feeling sick?”

Merlin looked up at the hand on his shoulder and the soft words, a confused look on his face:

“Why would being good make me feel sick?”

Leon tilts his head in sympathy, which just makes Merlin even more confused:

“The man you killed the other month was spur of the moment, protecting your King. But you... you killed a fair few men today, Merlin. I know that can be incredibly difficult at first, I just wanted to check in.”

The others had finally walked over to join them; Percival, Elyan, Gwaine, and Arthur looking equally concerned, whilst Lancelot hid his proud smile. Merlin just raised an eyebrow at them:

“You seem to be under the impression that I’ve never killed anyone before?”

Everyone (bar Lancelot) looks taken aback at that, and Arthur frowns whilst Leon drops his hand in shock. The King speaks slowly:

“Merlin, are you telling us you’ve killed people before?”

The manservant clenches his jaw at that and looks back down at his bow, resuming his checking of the string and its knots. He speaks lowly, and the knights can tell it’s not a topic he’s fond of:

“Hmm. It’s a tough world, Sire. I’ve done what I had to, to keep myself and the people I care about safe.”

At his dark reply, conversation stopped, and didn’t resume for the rest of the day as everyone contemplated Merlin’s words.

That is, until he was the first one to successfully catch dinner later that evening. At which he got an incredulous look from Arthur when he made it back to camp with his half of the patrol:

“I thought you despised hunting??”

Merlin didn’t look up from the hares he was skinning, and the rest of the knights tuned in, curious:

“No. I hate hunting for sport; it shows hubris and cruelty. Hunting for food is not only necessary and natural, but humbling, if you do it right and honour every part of the creature.”

Arthur, ever the eloquent one, stared at him blankly, and said, rather dumbly:

“...What?”

Merlin huffed, finally looking up:

“Going after helpless animals on horseback with crossbows and hunting dogs is like giving yourself a huge pat on the back for winning a tournament against an unarmoured, unarmed, unconscious opponent, and then calling yourself strong and brave for daring to fight in the first place. It’s an egotistical act of violence for no other reason than cruelty for the sake of cruelty.-”

The knights looks on him with shock, Percival and Leon at least having the decency to look a little ashamed. Merlin looks back down to the hares, and everyone notices the careful way he cuts at the fur:

“I’ve taken these lives to feed us as a necessity. The meat will be eaten, but that isn’t all. I’ll take the bones home for Gaius, the marrow is useful in a lot of medicine. The fur can be repurposed for winter gloves or socks. The organs and other bits that we won’t eat: I’ll take for the pigs in the farms, or the dogs up at the castle. In using every part of them we are... honouring them, in a way. As a thank-you for their... sacrifice.”

Arthur looks a little dumbfounded. As royalty, he of course had never really considered the waste that comes about with hunting, but Merlin, a farm-boy from a rural village who barely scraped by every winter? Of course he saw a deeper meaning in hunting. He would have to.

Elyan is the first to break the silence:

“You almost sound religious, Merlin.”

Merlin looks up at him, a strained smile on his face. As magic incarnate, he has a particularly strong, temperamental relationship with nature and her creatures, a bond that some might call faith. To be wasteful or cruel in any way hurts him in more ways than one:

“Not really, I just have respect for nature, is all.”

No one mentions the thinly-veiled insult, but everyone creeps closer, wanting to see the way he disassembles the creatures for future reference.

It’s been eight months since that first, perfect shot.

Merlin’s skills with a longbow had become a normal, expected part of The Gang’s experiences, but the knights never stopped praising and thanking him when he saved their lives (something that Merlin still hadn’t quite gotten used), and The King had apparently not stopped thinking about it for barely more than a second.

Yule was approaching quickly: Merlin, Gwen, and the Steward being constantly busy with preparations in the castle, the knights being run off their feet escorting emergency aid to the border villages for the harsh winter, and Arthur himself having every minute of the day taken up with speech writing, invite sending, and his other general King-during-Yule duties.

That however, was all to be expected, and of course did nothing to keep Arthur and Merlin from their annual traditions.

It wasn’t official, it wasn’t even spoken of, but the last evening of Yule, the night before the new year, the two of them always spent together.

The last feast of the year would finish, Arthur would stay to see his guests off, thank the staff for all of their hard work, and finally retire to his chambers, his tired manservant barely a hair’s breadth behind him. They would sit in front of the lit hearth (in comfy chairs that only they used), work their way through a jug or two of wine, exchange small gifts, and fall asleep in front of the fire. Their hands, dangling over the side of their chairs, seem to be creeping closer and closer with each passing year; though have yet to become entangled by morning.

This year was somehow no different, and very different, at the same time.

The King and his Manservant settled in their chairs, tired and already a little more than tipsy from the wine drunk during the feast. Arthur looked up at Merlin, the fond smile dropping from his face when he sees the other man’s features pulled into a contemplative frown:

“What’s on your mind, Merls? I don’t think I’ve seen you this serious since the start of the celebrations.”

Merlin looked up at him suddenly, his eyes wide, but he smiles and shakes his head:

“Nothing, nothing. Just thinking is all.”

Normally, Arthur would raise an eyebrow and let a scathing tease on the state of Merlin’s intelligence fall from his lips, but not tonight. This is the only night of the year that The King allows himself to entertain the idea that perhaps he and Merlin were more than friends, or at least could be. So instead he resumes his smiling, and looks back to the fire, taking another sip of his wine before responding softly:

“What about?”

Merlin hums, copying Arthur’s wine-sipping, before taking a deep breath:

“The future, mostly. You, me, Camelot. Secrets and truths, and when one might turn into the other. Soon, I think... yeah. Soon.”

Arthur huffs slightly in amusement. He knows that Merlin hides a great deal of himself, but he always becomes more cryptic after a few glasses of wine, like he desperately wants to say something and doesn’t have the power to stop himself from hinting at whatever it may be.

He asks his next question good-naturedly, a smile sweetened by wine gracing his face:

“The hell does that mean?”

Merlin lets out a short laugh, looking up at the other man:

“Oh, you know. Thinking about spilling all my deepest darkest secrets to you, at some point soon.”

Arthur snorts, saying, only for the sake of keeping up the charade they’ve built:

“You don’t have any secrets, Merlin. Certainly not any that are deep or dark.”

Once, Arthur would have believed that. Then, when he stopped believing it, he was angry about it, and now? Now, he finds he doesn’t mind so much. He is confident, he has faith, in both himself and in Merlin. He knows that those secrets are there, and Merlin knows that he knows, but that’s ok. Nothing either of them could reveal would tear them apart, at least not for long, so Arthur was happy to wait until Merlin was happy to share.

Merlin chuckled at Arthur’s response, shaking his head slightly before reaching down and picking up a small wrapped parcel that he’d stowed away before the feast:

“Come on, I’m a little nervous about your gift this year, so let’s get it over and done with.”

Arthur nodded, accepting the change in subject, and set his wine down so he could pick up the (much bigger) parcel by his own chair.

Merlin raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. After the first gift-exchange happened, Merlin had put his foot down and made Arthur swear to not go overboard on the expense side of things. Arthur may have been a prince, and now a King, but Merlin was still just a servant/physician; he could hardly afford anything worthy of a King.

He had a feeling that Arthur might’ve broken his word this year, but where Arthur had likely gone overboard with expense, Merlin had definitely gone overboard with sentimentality.

They swapped parcels, Merlin placing the large, heavy box carefully at his feet as he gestured Arthur to open his first. Arthur got to it, tearing the paper off without a second of hesitation, and Merlin allowed himself to smile fondly at the child-like excitement on the blonde’s face.

Arthur’s brow creased as he dropped the paper to the floor, stroking soft fingers over the worn leather of an old, well-loved book. Merlin took deep, fortifying breaths as Arthur carefully opened the first few pages, butterflies in his stomach as Arthur’s eyes wandered the yellowed paper in curiosity.

The King looked up at him, amused confusion on his face as he asked:

“Is this yours? I didn’t know you could draw, Merlin.”

Merlin gulped, and shook his head as memories of the exquisite sketches filled his mind; detail-perfect renditions of the castle, the town square, waterfalls and knights in action and people that Merlin didn’t recognise (for the most part. Arthur evidently hadn’t gotten to any of the pages with young Uther on them).

“No, not mine. This one requires a little explanation-”

Arthur nodded, carefully closing the book and holding it protectively in his lap as he gave Merlin his undivided attention:

“-I mentioned off-handedly to Leon a few months ago that I thought the lack of... of paintings of the late Queen in the castle was odd.-”

Arthur gulped at the mention of his mother, but nodded with a small smile when Merlin paused:

“-He said that when she passed, The King had everything to do with her moved to the vaults. He couldn’t force himself to destroy any of it, but looking at it, day in and day out, was too painful. We found the keys, with the help of Geoffrey, and went down to have a look, see what we could find. We didn’t tell you about it because we didn’t want to disappoint you, in case we couldn’t find anything.-”

Merlin once again looked a little nervous at this, and reached a hand out towards Arthur. When the man didn’t flinch away (if anything, he leaned into it), he moved to grip his shoulder blade, running his thumb over the exposed skin at the base of The King’s neck.

“-We found... a lot. Old clothes and paintings mainly, some jewellery. But then I found that;-”

He nodded at the book in Arthur’s lap, and tightened his grip on his shoulder. Merlin spoke his next words so quietly that Arthur almost doesn’t hear him, a soft smile on his face:

“-your mother was quite the artist, Arthur. I knew you had to have it.”

Arthur gasped softly, his eyes widening as he looked down at the book:

“You... you think my mother drew these?”

Merlin smiled at him, moving his hand to squeeze Arthur’s wrist slightly, before dropping it entirely:

“Check the back page.”

Arthur took a deep breath before doing what Merlin said, handling the book with even more care than he had before now that he knows who it belonged to. He turned to the very last page, to see an inscription written in beautiful cursive. Merlin recited it aloud, having memorised the words weeks ago:

“My dearest son, my silly sketches are able to hold only a fraction of our Kingdom’s beauty. I know one day that you will see what I see, treasure it just as much, and make it your own. You have my support, forever and always, your loving Mother.”

Arthur bites his lip harshly, lifting the book to press his forehead against the words as he shuts his eyes tightly, though that does nothing to stop the tears. Merlin replaces his hand on The King’s shoulder as the man shakes. He sniffles slightly, putting the book back in his lap, though keeping his hands wrapped around it securely, as he looks to Merlin:

“Merlin, I... I don’t even know what to say. This is... amazing. I... Thank you.”

Merlin smiles, shaking his head slightly:

“Technically, it wasn’t even mine to give, it’s always been yours. But I thought it might make a nice surprise. There’s plenty of other stuff down there, I’ll show you in the morning.”

Arthur nods his head, wiping his tears as he carefully places the book on his side table and gestures to the box at Merlin’s feet. He was itching to scour through the book, dedicating every single line to memory, but whilst Merlin had been nervous about Arthur’s gift, Arthur was buzzing about Merlin’s, and he was desperate to see the man’s reaction.

Merlin huffs out a laugh, but picks the box up, noting once again how heavy it is. He sets about removing the paper, much calmer and more methodical than Arthur had been, with his face pinched in concentration.

He frowns in curiosity as he sets eyes on the wooden box. It had a hinged lid, and a logo that he’s certain he recognises burned like a brand into the corner. He can feel Arthur bouncing in his chair slightly, and looks up at him in amusement, laughing once again when he nods excitedly back down at the box.

He lifts the lid, and takes in a shocked breath.

Inside was a beautifully crafted long bow; the wood smooth and varnished and carved, and a leather quiver. The patterns embossed in the leather and carved in to the metal at the base, match those carved into the wood of the bow, and Merlin traces soft fingers over the intricate swirls, stopping with a teary smile at the Pendragon crest, carved just next to a Merlin bird.

He lets out a breath he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding as he looks up at the excited King:

“Arthur this is beautiful. Gods I almost don’t want to touch it, I feel like it should be on display behind glass.”

Arthur lets out a laugh, obviously pleased with Merlin’s reaction:

“Nope. It will be going with you every time you leave the city, and considering how much trouble we always seem to attract, I have no doubt that it will see a lot of use.”

Merlin laughs, closing the lid carefully and setting the box back on the floor, before launching himself bodily at Arthur. The blonde laughs, wrapping his arms around Merlin’s middle with no hesitation as the other man mutters endless thank-yous in his ear.

The servant finally pulls back, settling in his own chair again, and the two of them hope that the other puts the flush on their face down to the wine, and nothing else. They look to each other with wide grins on their faces, and Arthur breaks the stare first, taking another gulp of his wine before laughing jovially and speaking:

“Well. Here’s to an amazing year, and hopefully an even better one, starting in a few minutes.”

Merlin nods, lifting his own goblet to tap it against Arthur’s:

“Here’s to the past, that guides us-”

He gestures to the book on Arthur’s table:

“-and the future, that calls to us.”

He gestures to his new bow, and they both finish their wine off, a healthy flush to their cheeks and fond smiles on their faces.

They fall asleep in their respective chairs, the same as every year.

In the morning, they wake with pounding headaches, a promise of a golden future, and hands intertwined.

THE END!!

We love a cutesy/hopeful ending😌

Like always lads, you wanna write it out in full, go for it, credit and tag me✌️

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little-ligi · 3 years

Note

Gwaine + 8 "Make me"

Oooooh ooooh ooooh!!! Thanks Nony, I loved this one! I did have a little trouble writing it for some reason, I scrapped and started again four times before I got to this version, so I hope everyone likes this one 🙈

Merlin ducks as Lord Lucior swings a fist at him, bouncing away on the balls of his feet. The lord snarls and picks up the sword Merlin has just finished sharpening. He hefts it in his hand to test its weight then raises it towards Merlin, who is beginning to resent the fact Arthur lent out his services to the visiting nobleman.

“I don’t like your attitude, boy,” he hisses.

He slashes towards Merlin with the sword and Merlin only barely moves out of the way in time. He is backed up against the wall of the armoury, a quiver of arrows tumbling to the floor as he flails to get away from the lord’s second violent swing of the sword.

“I’m sorry!” he shouts quickly, not entirely sure what he’s apologising for.

“You will be very sorry when I’m through with you,” Lord Lucior promises.

The sword flashes forward faster than Merlin is ready for and he feels a sharp sting on his cheek. He lets out a small yelp and his fingers come away bloody when he raises them to touch the painful spot on his face. The lord just gives a satisfied smirk, raising the sword again for the next strike.

Wide eyed, Merlin dodges, his foot landing on a dropped arrow and slipping, sending him careening to the floor. He scrambles backwards across the floor to a large shield propped against a sword rack, ducking down behind it.

“Hey!” comes a shout from the doorway and Merlin’s heart soars at the familiar voice. Gwaine steps into the armoury, his cloak and chainmail draped over his arm. “What’s going on here?”

“Go away, this doesn’t concern you,” snaps Lord Lucior, waving a dismissive hand at Gwaine.

Gwaine scowls and flicks his hair out of his face. He glances over at Merlin, taking in the way he is almost cowering behind the shield and the blood on his cheek. He tosses his chainmail and cloak over one of the sword racks, fury radiating from every line of his body.

“Actually, it concerns me a lot how you’re treating my friend.” He strides across the room and grabs Merlin’s hand, pulling him up. He gives him a once over, his eyebrows pulled low as he checks Merlin is not severely injured. His jaw is clenched as he turns angrily to Lord Lucior and Merlin can feel the muscles in Gwaine’s arm straining under his hand as he fights to hold his temper. “I suggest you leave now and never touch him again.”

“He is an insolent peasant, and needs to be taught a lesson.” Lord Lucior raises his sword again, pointing it at Merlin.

Gwaine, his face like thunder, pulls Merlin behind him, his hand coming to rest on the pommel of his own sword warningly.

“Get out of the way,” Lucior shouts.

Gwaine lets his knees bend, crouching into a fighting stance as he draws his sword from his belt.

“Make me,” he growls.

Lucior snarls and lunges at Gwaine, his sword flashing as he slices down towards the knight. Gwaine, of course, is much quicker, parrying and knocking the lord’s blade point away, followed by a blow of his own that Lucior only just manages to stumble out of the way of. He is not a natural swordsman and Gwaine easily takes control of the fight.

Gwaine doesn’t wait for him to regain his footing, instead diving in with a quick sideways swing. Lucior pulls his sword up in time to block but Gwaine steps forward, pushing his advantage and sliding his blade along Lucior’s until the hilts lock together.

He twists the sword easily from the lord’s grip, letting it clatter to the floor, then presses him back against the wall. His blade is against Lucior’s chest, pressing tightly so the sharp edge slices the front of his fancy velvet doublet.

“I’ll tell the prince regent about this!” screams Lucior, indignation written in every line of his face.

“You just try,” Gwaine spits. “I think he’ll be very interested to hear about the way you treated his manservant.”

Gwaine steps back, pulling his sword away, but unable to resist flicking the tip at Lucior’s face, a thin red line marking his cheek the same as Merlin’s.

The lord is practically spitting with rage, but he is sensible enough to not make any more comments and merely pushes past Gwaine and leaves the armoury, his hand pressed to his cheek.

“That is why I hate nobles,” Gwaine says through gritted teeth, barely controlled anger simmering in his voice as he glares after him.

Merlin lays a hand on his arm, giving it a little shake. He huffs a sigh and turns to him.

“Thank you,” Merlin says as Gwaine drops his sword onto the table so he can cradle Merlin’s face with one hand, the other pulling his sleeve over his hand to wipe gently at the cut on Merlin’s cheek.

“Anything for you, Merls,” he mutters. Then shoots him a cynical smile and says wryly, “If he does tell Princess, I’m gonna be in trouble again, aren’t I?”

Merlin can’t help grinning, even though it does pull at the cut on his cheek. He shakes his head at Gwaine.

“You’re a knight now, remember; your word counts for just as much as his.”

Gwaine just grunts, his fingers trailing softly over Merlin’s cheek again, just below the cut. He sighs.

“Better take you back to Gaius.” And he draws Merlin against his side, his arm tight and protective around his shoulders.

I’m not going to specifically ask for more prompts this time, because I do have a couple more in my ask box to finish before the end of the month, but if there is one on the list you really want to see then I, of course, won’t turn it away if it happens to appear in my ask box! 😁

#bbc merlin fanfiction #merlin whump #protective gwaine #merwaine #merlin fanfic #make me #ligi writes #whumpster prompts #thanks for the prompt!#ask prompt #i mean...#i don't need more #but i don't know when to say stop 😂#so go ahead #send me prompts

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willow-salix · 4 years

Text

Anyone want to see Selene try (and fail) to play video games with Alan?

Day 54 of Isolation on Tracy Island and I almost killed Alan today. Mostly because he was laughing so hard he kept choking, wheezing and forgetting to breathe.

What, you might ask, was so funny? Well, he tried to teach me to play a computer game with him. And let's just say… I'm not a natural.

"I'm bored," I whined, stretching out a foot and poking Alan with my toe. "Entertain me."

He looked at me. "How am I supposed to do that?"

"I don't know, suggest something."

"You won't like anything that I want to do."

"I promise I will, I'll give anything a go at the moment, I'm that bored."

"Fine," he handed me a VR headset and a set of hand controllers. "Let's play."

"Oh, oh no! No, this is not for me. Boy, you know I'm a technophobe, I don't play games, I just can't get my head around them."

"You promised you'd try," he reminded me, an evil glint in his eyes and an even eviller smirk on his face.

"Crap." I sighed and slid the heavy goggles onto my face. "You had better pick something easy."

There are, as it turns out, two versions of easy, Alan easy, and me easy. He picked Alan easy, which should be considered very hard for me.

"What are we playing?" I asked.

"Cavern Quest," he replied. "You'll love it, I even set you up with a witch character to go with my Knight. You'll do great."

At least someone had faith in me. Though unfortunately that faith was about to be short lived.

"How do I walk?" I called after him as he sped off like a streak of lightning. Boy was rapid. "Come back!"

"Just use the thumb controls of the left controller to move, push forward or backwards to go forward or backwards and side to side to move left or right."

I pushed forward and was instantly face to face with the floor.

"What happened?"

"You fell over. You ran into a stump."

"Poop. How do I get up?"

"Push up! Just push the direction you want to go."

I pushed up and ended up looking at the stars. .

"Erm…help?"

"Hang on, I'm coming."

A hand grabbed mine and hauled me to my feet.

"Thank you."

"Want me to guide you to the first level?"

"Yes, yes I do."

He towed me along by the hand until we zoomed through a curved doorway into what looked like a castle hall.

A king sat upon a pretty nifty throne, so I guessed that my assumption had been correct.

"Welcome, brave warriors," he boomed. "I am grateful for your assistance. I shall give you five quests, each one more challenging than the last. Complete them all and you will win your place within the ranks of nobility and become a Knight of the Realm."

"Fancy," I commented.

"Prove your valour and recite the Cavern Quest oath."

Alan nudged my character, and I think me in real life as I felt it in my ribs.

"Just keep up if you can," he whispered then launched into what I assumed was the oath.

"With mystic blades and fire ore, we pledge our honoured best. Many shall fall for only a noble few will pass the test! So come more worthy heroes and bring forth the cavern quest!" Alan finished triumphantly.

"Mystic ore…nobel us…test…Cavern Quest…" I mumbled, the only words I could catch. Alan didn't look impressed.

"You have pledged your fealty, you may now enter."

A set of doors opened before us and Alan dragged me through.

"You have to be on your guard now. You're a witch, so you fight with spells. Use the buttons on your right controller to cast. You simply swoosh and point and hit the right buttons."

I lifted my right hand and swooshed, hitting a random button with my thumb. A shot of red light flew out of my hand and blew up a rock. "Dang."

Alan cracked up laughing but soon sobered as out of the trees lumbered a gigantic troll. He dived at the troll, hammering it with his sword.

"Cast a spell!" he yelled as I shrieked and dived out of the way, trying to karate kick it.

"Oh, yeah, I'm magic," I remembered, fumbling with the controller. I bashed buttons madly, swinging my arm like I was batting away a fly. Coloured sparks shot this way and that, but the only thing I succeeded in hitting was Alan.

"Hey!"

"Sorry!" I yelled back. I risked moving a little closer and fell over again.

Alan defeated the troll and picked me back up again, moving us through the rest of the level. It didn't come naturally or easily for me.

"How do I jump?" I demanded.

"Left trigger!"

"Why am I stuck?"

"Because you're in a bush!"

"Why did I just die?"

"Because you fell in lava!"

"HIIIIYAAAAAHHHH take that you beast!"

"That's a dog not a werewolf! Stop hitting him with that stick!"

"Oops."

"No! Don't go through…there."

"I can't see! I'm blind!"

"You walked into a wall and you're still walking."

"Why can't I move?"

"You just got yourself stuck in a corner, turn around!"

"Why did I die this time?"

"That tree just fell on you."

I screamed like a banshee when something swooped down out of nowhere and attacked me. I flailed and somehow my thumb hit a button and my hand moved the right way and suddenly the gargoyle was in flames on the floor.

"You did it!"

"I did?"

"Yeah!"

"Cool. See? I got this."

Turned out I didn't got it at all.

We fought our way through the dark forest, taking out elves, fae and the odd goblin. Alan did the majority of the work while I set to work on a few puzzles, all of which provided me with new spells to add to my arsenal.

"For this bit you need to change your form, you cast a spell and become something smaller, like a rat or a toad."

"I can do that?"

"Duh, you're a witch. Use that new spell, it's easy, left, right, right, left, up."

"I wanna be a cat!"

"Then select the cat!"

I toggled along the options until I found a cat and hit the button. A flash of light, a puff of smoke and boom, I was a cat.

"This is so cool! I'm a cat! I have ears! Look at my tail! I can swish." I wiggled my butt back and forth. "Swish, swish, swish,"

"We don't have time for you to play with your tail. You need to go through that pipe and push the button."

I did as I was told and actually managed to complete the mission, opening up a gate for us to go through.

"Now return to yourself."

"I'm stuck! I'm stuck! Alan, help me!"

"You were supposed to get out of the pipe first!"

"You could have told me that!"

"It's common sense!" he yanked at my arms. My avatar didn't budge.

"You're too stuck and you're crushing your own lungs. I'm gonna have to kill you. Sorry about that."

"Just make it quick," I begged. I closed my eyes as he raised his sword.

We moved on once I blinked back into existence after my slaughter at the hand of my team mate. Alan handled all the quest points like the pro that he was, instructing me to go around each area, smash up as much stuff as I could and collect all the objects that fell out.

"Just get all the coins, potion ingredients and magical objects, I'll protect you and do the rest," he promised.

I nodded and proceeded with my one woman rampage of the scenery. I was a button basher, that's all I seemed to be able to do. I found it impossible to coordinate more than one button or movement at a time. I was just about managing to walk, maybe jump and land at a push, everything else was pure dumb luck.

"Yes! Take that you ugly box! Boof! Ha! Give it up, give it all up, I know you've got some gold in there. Quit holding out on me." I smacked the box with an axe that Alan had taken from a suit of armour one level back. The box refused to allow itself to be looted. "Gimme it!!! Gimme the gold! Make me rich, baby!"

I bashed a series of buttons as quickly as I could.

"Why am I a goat? Alan, I'm a goat! Why am I a goat?"

"You cast a spell, change back!"

I tried. "I'm a cow! This is worse!"

He had to stop beating up a wild boar to run over and fix me, laughing the entire time.

"Don't laugh at me! You're body shaming me!"

He actually had to hold his breath for a few seconds to calm down before he could talk me through getting back to my former self.

"Thanks."

I returned to the chest and tossed a spell at it and to my deep joy it splintered apart." Yes!" I scooped up the gold and tucked it away into my bag. I was kinda getting the hang of this.

"Come on, we gotta move!"

Alan leapt up onto the battlements and raced along the wall. I jumped up after him… and promptly fell off the other side and hit the ground.

"Crap!" I yelled as I blinked out of existence and appeared on the other side of the wall again.

It took me six goes to manage the jump, move, run routine, by which time Alan had given up waiting and was half way down the stairs that led to the great hall where the sounds of an epic battle could be heard raging.

"Alan! Don't leave me!" I raced after him and immediately ran into a door that I forgot to open first. I finally made it to the hall after getting wrapped in a spiders web, stuck in a cupboard, setting myself on fire and accidentally drinking a potion that turned me into a ghost for twenty minutes. But at least that gave me a breather to wander around and wail at nothing, kinda like I felt like doing in real life at that moment.

"What took you so long?" Alan called as he slashed at a dark elf that had just thrown a spear at his head.

"I got caught up, but I'm here now. What can I do to help?"

"Anything!" he yelled desperately.

I took him at his word, throwing spells randomly, hitting maybe one intended target out of twenty.

I swung my axe, whacking at anything that came close enough for me to hit.

"Ha! Take that you twat! Come closer so I can kill you easier!"

"I don't think life works that way," I heard John comment.

"How the…?" I looked all around and almost got hit by a flying shield. "Gahhhh," I screamed, ducking out of the way.

"Try hitting it again?" Scott suggested.

"Shut up! I'm trying to stay alive here!" I yelled back.

"Try harder," Gordon encouraged.

"Duck!" Alan yelled and it took me a second to realise he was actually being helpful. I dropped to my knees and just about avoided death by turkey leg.

I'd like to say that I held my own, but I'd be lying. I failed miserably and had to be rescued by Alan another five times just to make it to the end of the level. Though I did manage to trip over my own foot, but then a vengeful knight tripped over me where I was sprawled out on the floor, so I suppose that was a good thing.

"Nope, I'm done, I'll never get the hang of this," I tugged off the headset to find everyone sitting around, watching me.

"How long were you there?" I asked.

"Long enough," Virgil grinned.

"Swish, swish, swish," Scott wiggled his eyebrows at me. I glared in return.

"Lady Witch," John bowed, offering me an apple from the fruit bowl. "I wish to engage your services."

I raised an eyebrow. "I'm a mercenary now, I only accept precious jewels or things of high value. You got any potions about your person?"

"How about a dirty old bar of gold? Will that suffice?"

I pretended to think about it. "Deal." I held out my hand. "You good sir, just hired yourself a witch."

I've got no idea what I just agreed to but I'd just survived an epic quest and now I know I can handle anything. He won't be too mean to me, will he?

#alan tracy #Isolation Island #Cavern Quest #Thunderbirds #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds oc #thunderbirds 2015

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cursewoodrecap · 4 years

Text

Session 15: Burn the Temple, Topple the Thorns

We may have stretched the bounds of simple country hospitality too far.

Underground, Valeria and Clem consider a pressing question: are there any doors they can go through where they DON’T have to talk to the smug hobbit man? Good cave walls make good neighbors.

Investigating around can’t hurt, right? Clem picks a door at random - maybe all the cheesecaves are connected, like one big Cheesecave Factory - and peers in with her darkvision.

Not the next one over, but the one after that, since. Maybe they’re connected. Clem peers into the gloom of the cave with her darkvision, and can make out some lumpy outlines. As she creeps in, the ground under her feet feels disturbingly soft.

“Should I get the light?” asks Valeria. Clem nods. Valeria lights up A-Luxor. As the little floating beetle fills the cave with light, they see there is a carpet of fungus on the ground. Up against one wall, half-formed, a large, vaguely humanoid figure is growing out of this patch of fungus.

Valeria is like, “That’s horrifying. I was gonna just leave and shut the door? But we have to do something about that.” Clem agrees. Maybe they should set it on fire. As the half-formed creature stirs in the sudden light, she glimpses a small barrel someone has wedged into a nearby pillar. Oh, huh, there’s a length of fuse coming out of it. What on earth could this be?

We could sit here and wonder why this thing is rigged to explode, but the fungus creature is moving and growing in the light. The misshapen lump where a head would be pulls free and turns toward the two adventurers. With a massive effort, a big clublike arm tears away from the wall and slugs Valeria.

The other arm and legs don’t look fully formed, and Clem wastes no time hacking at the weak points with her sword. The body is soft and incomplete; there’s something fleshy underneath, but if there was ever a person in there, it’s long gone. It’s almost dead – this thing would have been a real monster if it had finished growing, but as it is it’s weak and unprepared. Valeria chops its bulbous head off, and it slops to the ground with a sickening flop. The thing lurches over and falls.

As it does so, a red splotch appears in the mottled green blanket of fungus over the walls, spreading rapidly outward.

Clem doesn’t like the look of that. “…should we run?”

Valeria shrugs. “We probably shouldn’t stay overnight. Maybe we just leave and close the door?”

The spreading red patch reaches a bulbous puffball mushroom bulging out of the corner, which turns a pulsing red and begins to emit an earsplitting, high pitched scream.

Oops.

Gral and Shoshana are skedaddling, because the temple worshippers have started gathering up torches and particularly sharp farm implements - you know, good old-fashioned angry mob stuff. Luckily, Gral and Shosha have enough warning to get well away before they come pouring out, making a beeline for the inn, so the spellcasters scoot back to the meeting place without detection. Rebecca’s hiding in the bushes right where she said she’d be.

“I got your friends to the safehouse, they’re fine,” she reassures them, with full dramatic irony.

They head a ways through the valley, but it’s not long before the torches in the distance make a sudden sharp turn and start heading down road we’ve been going down.

“Rebecca, they don’t know where the safehouse is, right?”

“No!”

“Because they’re coming right for us. They couldn’t have seen us, could they?”

The mob hasn’t even gotten to the inn yet; they can’t have already discovered we’re gone.

They hear a rustling from the wheat field.

They fuckin’ book it.

The awful sound echoes through the room. As similar screaming starts to emerge from the adjacent caves as well, the door that Rebecca had originally indicated flies open, and a bunch of figures hurry out, pulling on bags and cloaks.

“What the hell happened?” someone shouts. “Are those the people Rebecca was bringing?!”

“Quickly! Zis place is burned. Set off ze charges.” A Demish voice begins snapping orders. Torches light up as figures of all shapes and sizes start running toward cave doors.

A short silhouette glares up at the tanks. “Oh. I see. Bonjour.”

Clem audibly sighs.

Henri has no time for this. “You have no idea what you’ve done here, do you?” he hisses. “Before you begin with ze noble indignant speech, now is not ze time. Run! Stay out of ze fields!”

They don’t need telling twice. Valeria and Clem charge back down the path to meet up with the spellcasters.

Gral and Shoshana hear screaming, and see their allies abandoning all stealth and clattering towards them.

Behind them, the hills explode in cascading showers of soil and flame.

Rebecca’s aghast. “They’ve been using them for months now! What happened!”

Clem humphs. “I guess this is what happens when you build a safehouse among FUNGAL ALARMS.”

“But there was a system! They had a thingthat let them turn one off every night! There was a system!”

Clem wisely chooses to omit some details. “…seems like a flawed system.”

Rebecca does not have time to unpack this right now. “What did Henri say to do?”

“Run.”

“Where?”

“THAT WAS NOT INDICATED.”

She swears. “The cultists are coming this way – we don’t have a lot of time. I know some places we could try to hide. My dad, though - he’s back at the inn, I don’t know if he’s safe-”

There are too many of the cultists between us and the inn, though, so she leads us away from the awakening wheat fields to the thicker, less-tamed trees by the river. We find the densest brush we can, Minor Image up some extra shrubbery, and hunker down.

We can clearly see the cultists’ movements by the burning lights of their torches. They reach the destroyed caves and start to fan out, breaking into 2- or 3-person search parties, soon joined by silhouettes that emerge from the wheat fields. For the time being, our hiding place seems to go unnoticed.

What’s our plan now? Hunker and wait out the night? Now that the search parties are more scattered, we could make moves back to town, Trollsburg, or even Sturmhearst, or to cross the river.

Rebecca wants to check on her father, but she’s gonna follow our lead. We’re worried that even her tentative safety has been compromised; after this, the cultists might not bother hiding during the day anymore.

As we bicker, Shoshana surveys the area. Pretty much the only place the cultists aren’t searching is the temple itself.

...hey.

Temple’s empty.

What if we burned down the temple while everyone was out?

It’s alarming how quickly the group agrees to arson.

(In deference to previous campaigns: If we find any big fancy chairs, we will knock them over, as well.)

Rebecca does not want to be there while we burn down the temple, understandably. We direct her to Trollsburg, which the townsfolk should leave alone – tell Dr. Kjeller we sent her. She slips off into the night, and we shift from defense to offense.

As we roll stealth, Shoshana crits and everyone can see the change come over her. She now has a target, and the part of her that belongs to the Hunt…goes on the hunt. Her posture changes, ever so subtly. The way she peers into the darkness makes her eyes seem even more inhuman, gleaming in the darkness. And the shadows curl around her just a little bit more.

We sneak back to the temple, the predator’s instinct guiding us deftly around our pursuers.

It appears that the temple is not wholly unguarded. There’s three people Gral can see backlit against the windows, and none of them are Zelig. Hans and Franz still have bits of the floorboard peeled up. They’ve revealed more of the fungal carpet underneath, and they’re examining it and discussing what they see in hushed tones. The fungus is a riot of shifting colors; it’s almost like they’re reading it. There’s a third man there, a farmer, and soon enough Hans and Frans tell the third guy something and he immediately runs off.

“All the plants are informants for them,” Gral realizes aloud. “They’re getting info here. They know where everyone in the valley is.”

“Oh, good thing we’re gonna burn it then.”

Valeria goes ahead and casts Aid, because this is likely to get hairy, and Shoshana turns back to the party and grins a fanged grin.

“Firesong taught me this one,” she says, and hucks a Fireball through the window.

Subtle? No. Satisfying? Oh, yes.

Hans and Franz, coughing in the smoke, pick themselves off the ground and dive for weapons. It’s obvious the blast has done some heavy damage to them. (And to their clothes. Scantily clad buff men, hell yeah.)

Hans bursts out of the door, swinging a heavy fencepost with nails pounded through it, clobbering the first Clem he sees. We thought he was buff this morning, but he’s grown impossibly more swole. A button pops off his overalls as his inflated muscles bulge out of them.

The temple begins to fill with smoke as the fire catches. We hear that awful alarm-mushroom screaming again.

Shoshana cackles and Fireballs the place again.

Valeria pulls out her trident with a flourish and forks Hans right in his big unnaturally round pectoral, Rack’s vines curling around him. We’ve leveled up and she gets two attacks now, so she pops him again, and Hans crumples to the ground – we’re not sure he’s DEAD dead, but he’s out of the fight.

Franz levels his big-ass crossbow at the madly cackling witch in the window. HAHAHAHHAAHAHA-oh shit. She gets blown out the window, along with 2/3 of her HP in one shot.

Clem takes a cue from Shoshana and gets WAY too into this, cackling and swinging in with her big ol’ sword. These fellas have ogre stats, but she’s a veteran badass and cleaves Franz right in two. An on-the-spot medicine check from the medic reveals that…those are definitely not fully human insides. Ew.

She flexes over his corpse in a final show of superiority. She got these muscles WITHOUT juicin’, thank you very much.

The two halves of Franz fall heavily, crashing through the weakening floorboards and revealing a cavernous space underneath the burning temple structure. The fungal carpet is very on fire. (In Shoshana’s opinion it could stand to be MORE on fire, though.)

Alarms are coming from both the temple and the carpet. Gral listens for anything else, but he can’t hear whether the townsfolk are coming over the roar of the growing blaze. Maybe we jump down there and investigate? Or do we dip out?

Screw it. There’s a tempting hole, full of danger.

Clem rips off both her sleeves and uses one as a smoke facemask.

We gotta make sure this thing burns for good. We jump in the curse hole, because of course we do. It’s more of a basement than a cave, really. The flames from the floor above illuminate some crates and shelves and boxes – normal basement stuff. (Shoshana rolls a nat 1 perception, and so is too busy cackling at fire like a terrible arson goblin.)

One side looks like the shrine to Guile, hidden as shrines to Guile always are. There’s also an empty throne for Oberok, per tradition. It falls over.

On the other side, though, there’s storage - tables stacked up for banquets, picnic tables, chairs. One big chair has been dragged out, and an imposing figure sits, staring at us impassively. Rose vines have grown out from the chair, wrapping around his heavily armored limbs.

His armor gleams with polish, though leaves poke through the seams, and his closed helmet is sculpted to fit the face of a dragonborn. It clangs as he jerkily stands to his full height.

“Marius?” Valeria gasps.

The rose-bound knight draws a trident and turns to us. The vines behind him start to wriggle and writhe as he moves.

His purple cloak of office is missing. Valeria feels it hang heavy about her shoulders.

His mouth moves as if he’s about to speak, and silent rose petals fall softly out.

Shoshana doesn’t trust this. She casts Mirror Image, the flickering fire-shadow playing games with her figure. Marius’ head tilts as he focuses in on her, the thrower of the fireballs, so the squishy sorceress dives behind her bulkier friends for extra cover. Gral follows suit and dashes the other way, spreading out the party. The knight that might be Kyr Marius hefts a mighty trident and hurls it, nailing Clem. Vines burst forth from his gauntlet and snatch the trident as it hits true, snapping it back to his hand.

Marius had a magic gauntlet that did that, but he would do it with Rack’s glowing ethereal rose vines, not these squirming physical ones. Valeria, hesitating, hopes that if he’s using his same fighting style, there might be something left of her beloved mentor inside this growth-encrusted enemy.

Clem second winds, in preparation for Doing Something Stupid, and charges Marius directly. Bracing himself against her blow, Marius reaches out to one side and fires a blast of vines at Gral, who finds himself bound in foliage but manages to resist being dragged into sword range.

As Valeria and Clem rush to engage, the knight’s faceplate opens to reveal a familiar silver face, webbed over by the delicate tendrils of roots and sprouts. He breathes not a cloud of cold, as Valeria would expect, but a barrage of toxic spores and razor-sharp seeds. Rose vines climb through the cellar floor at Valeria’s feet, tangling and impeding her movements, but only seeming to aid the knight’s passage as he glides effortlessly to where Gral is held in place by vines.

Valeria had hoped to be able to cut the vines away to disconnect Marius from the Growth’s control, but as he moves away from his makeshift throne we can see most of the plants under his armor are untethered, growing out of his body. As she moves to tear Gral free with her claws, bits of charred ceiling begin to rain down around us.

Oh, right, the building’s on fire.

Shoshana pew-pews over a few spare pews, but her spells bounce off his armor, and Gral’s fear effects are just as ineffective.

Kyr Marius draws his sword, long-thorned vines growing from out of his gauntlet to wrap around it, a warped mirror-image of how Valeria’s smites manifest. He moves swiftly, pinning Gral with his trident and plunging in his sword for the killing blow - luckily only destroying Gral’s illusory duplicate, but brutally efficient nonetheless. Whatever this knight is, it’s certainly retained the veteran paladin’s skill.

Valeria bites the bullet and abandons her hesitation, imposing herself like a protective wall between her mentor and her friend. Nose-to-nose with him, his faceplate hanging open, she can see just how much the Growth has infested the once-mighty paladin. Tiny sprouts creep out from under his silver scales, thorns nesting side-by-side with his fangs and a riot of green plant matter all down his snarling throat. His eyes are gone, vibrant roses blooming in the empty sockets.

This...this is not a living dragonborn knight, by any metric. Kyr Marius is gone, and has been for a long time.

Turns out the Growth can’t really corrupt paladins much, but it can certainly make use of them.

Another chunk of the ceiling falls in, narrowly missing Shoshana. She lobs another Chromatic Orb at Marius, but again it breaks harmlessly on his armor.

The vines across the floor continue to expand around the party, blooming into roses with long, deadly thorns.

Marius swings in at Valeria. She catches it on the Eyegis, which blinks back at him. Marius does not blink back at it, his flower eyes entirely impassive.

Gral throws a Faerie Fire. Marius cannot get out of the way, but he crosses his arms in a defensive stance as vines cocoon him, absorbing the Faerie Fire, and he bursts free unmarked. He focuses in on Gral, raining blows down, an implacable, inevitable executioner.

Valeria interposes herself again, forcing Marius to take his attention off the bard. His sickly green vines wrestle with her glowing, translucent ones as her mighty Smite meets his swinging blade.

It’s eerie how little he reacts to Valeria’s sword tearing into him, an unstoppable automaton of plant.

One more Chromatic Orb fails. Shoshana, in frustration and fear at seeing her friends get clobbered, dashes forwards toward the melee.

Marius raises a wall of thorns around himself, finally acting in defense even as his face shows no pain. He looks like he might be preparing to heal himself.

Luckily, Gral’s got a way of dealing with walls. He strikes a minor key and passes through the thorn wall, zipping behind Marius and nocking one of his Heart-Seeking Bolts. The advantage granted allows Gral to bury it into a crack in the silver armor for a whopping 20 damage. Marius retaliates, whirling to hurl his trident, but it barely damages the half-solid orc.

Clementine tires of this fight. She charges through the wall of thorns – damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead – and swings in brutally for three hits, three maneuvers. 43 damage on a SINGLE TURN. Frickin’ Battlemasters!

Just as the vine-encrusted knight is distracted by Gral, Clem drives her greatsword straight into his chest, and SUPLEXES HIM INTO THE GROUND. He crashes to the ground, Clem’s full weight driving the blade in to the hilt.

Marius briefly tries to move. We can see through his damaged armor that it’s more like the vines are moving him than he is moving himself. But there’s just not enough knight left for the vines. He slumps with a spore-heavy gasp, his weapons clattering to the ground.

Kyr Marius of the Order of the Rose is dead. But we suspect he has been for a very, very long time.

We look to Valeria. She kneels by the body, solemnly collecting his weapons and his magic gauntlet, but laying his engraved dagger upon his chest, the one Flynn found in the hands of a fungus creature far down the river.

As Valeria kneels and offers a prayer to Rack, giving Marius what last rites she can, the rest of us take our last chance to case the basement before we flee the blaze.

We find mushrooms and fire. Whatever symbols and tools the cultists had were either made of ephemeral plants or upstairs and on fire. We kick over the rose-entwined chair, though. Fuck that chair.

Valeria stands, finishing her achingly brief farewell. There’s nothing left for us here, and the fire is threatening to overwhelm the temple.

The plants’ screeching has stopped; the puffball mushroom alarms seem to have burned. The room is full of thick, choking smoke and leaping flames, but it’s a small room and we’re PCs. We charge at top speed out through the collapsing walls, escaping with only moderate burns seconds before the roof falls in and the temple collapses entirely.

As we cough the smoke out of our lungs, we’re immediately on the defense - surely the villagers will have noticed their temple going up in flames, and we’re gonna need to dodge pitchforks.

Or...are we? The torchlights are still speckled across the valley. There are villagers on the road up to the temple, but they’ve collapsed to the ground, their torches flickering where they’ve fallen in the dirt. We cautiously approach and realize they are writhing and moaning in awful pain, as if they’re experiencing the fire firsthand.

“Good,” Valeria whispers viciously. It’s hard to tell whether there’s a trace of Hunt in her voice or simply raw, bitter grief.

Clem does a quick medical once-over of the nearest fallen farmer. Judging by this guy, the cultists aren’t quite fully human - there’s fungal growth under the skin, though not to the bulging extent of Hans and Franz. The feel of the growths isn’t quite like human muscles; they’re lumpy, like clay slapped onto a human figure by clumsy hands, tumors rather than integrated, natural growth.

Other than that there’s nothing physically wrong with them to be causing such pain, though they seem absolutely furious - Clem’s patient spits and tries to claw at Clem’s throat, but is too weak to do much more than twitch.

Valeria’s heard stories about this kind of thing. In her lessons about demonic cults, she’s heard of groups that form a pseudo-hive mind with their dark master. When the paladins would strike down the creature, the followers are struck down with sympathetic psychic pain. In especially entangled cases, usually the cults’ high priests, the mental blow is enough to kill them. Most followers just suffer incredible pain as the link to is severed, but physically will recover fully.

We don’t know if they’ll still be cultists when they wake up. The entity’s control will be severed, but they’ll still be the same people who willingly joined up in the first place.

If they won’t be down for good, we gotta get the hell out of here, stat. We book it to the inn to see what’s become of our guide Rebecca and her dad Aaron. At the inn, a battered-looking Aaron is pulling himself together as Rebecca helps him to his feet. Surrounding them are a few of the cultists, knocked out by the psychic feedback.

As Valeria rushes to Lay on Hands, Rebecca frets. “You’re back - what the hell did you do tonight?!” The, the temple’s on fire, and they were hurting my dad-”

“Oh, I did most of this to myself,” Aaron interrupts. “It was my cover story, I was gonna tell ‘em the four of you had broken out, grabbed Rebecca and run across the river. But they weren’t especially interested in listening.”

Valeria nods as she heals him, but doesn’t trust herself to talk. Gral takes over instead. “They’re disabled for now, no time to talk. Let’s get to Trollsburg.”

“Trollsburg? That thing Zelig was building?”

“Yeah. For now, it should be safe - nobody’s gonna try attacking a whole settlement of trolls. We’ll see how much damage the cult actually took in the morning.”

We hustle down to the river. Behind us, slowly, the lights from the search parties begin to move again, disorganized and scattered. Most head directly for the temple, the fire still blazing starkly against the night sky.

At the bridge, the massive overgrown troll Kjell is shouting in pain on the bank. “Ugh, what’s...happening...” he moans, clutching at his side. He doesn’t seem to be knocked for as much of a loop as the cultists, but something’s definitely not right.

Valeria approaches cautiously and gives him a Curing Disease worth of Lay on Hands. There’s a flash of anger in his eyes as if he’s about to unthinkingly strike her, but she calms him for long enough to take the cure, and it seems to soothe his pain.

The big troll rubs at his side exhaustedly. “Uh, thank you, shiny lady. That, that was – I dunno, that was somethin’ nasty. It started around the same time as the big fire. Woke me up! Woss goin’ on?”

Shoshana tries to give him a brief rundown. “I don’t want to alarm you, but the fungus we were talking about earlier, I think it might have started to infect you-”

“An infection?! I should wake up the phee-zee-ologist then!” Seems he’s already managed that; trolls do not suffer quietly, and three trolls are coming down the hill to see what all the yelling’s about. In the light of A-Luxor, we can see Dr. Kjeller in the lead, wielding the crude glaive he calls his amputatin’ stick.

“Hey, uh, woss goin’ on out here?! Did you folks have somethin’ to do with that there fire?”

“Uh, yyyyyes?” Gral admits, trying to figure out how to simplify the situation for trolls. “The danger was in the church. Many of the villagers were trying to trick you. Whatever Kjell got, they were trying to infect you all with it.”

Kjell sees the doctor and interrupts. “When the temple started burnin’ it hurt right here – “

“Where?”

He points to a spot on his abdomen, and Dr. Kjeller immediately swings his doctorin’ stick, expertly cutting out the bit pointed to. Man, troll regeneration makes surgery easy.

The Doc pulls out an extra-large jeweler’s loop and crams it into his eye as he pulls apart the hunk of flesh with his claws. “Yeup, that’s a fungus all right. This was growin’ inside you? Does it still hurt?”

“Uh, yes?” Kjell points to the bleeding hole in his stomach.

“That’ll pass, you’re a healthy troll. What happened in dat spot? I need yer medical history. Let me find your chart.” He listens to Kjell’s abdomen. “Arright, chartbeat sounds good.”

Clem, in all her medical knowledge, has no idea what a “chart” is, but the Doc was damn sure not listening to the heart area. Dr. Kjeller cheerfully neglects to explain.

“Yep, that’ll grow back soon enough. Don’t worry about it,” he tells the larger troll, who seems to be recovering quickly. “What happened there?”

“I remember I got hurt at one point? A beastie from the wood attacked me. Hit me with some kinda acid, an’ it didn’t grow back like normal. But that nice lady Zelig came by and healed me with magics. A real nice lady, she was.”

“So...Zelig is the one spreading the illness,” we tell the trolls. They’re pretty well convinced, given the hunk o’junkus in Kjell’s gut.

“All the villagers are behind this?”

“Some of them. Maybe most? It’s hard to tell. They can look like normal villagers,” Gral explains. “They’ve been infected a lot more than Kjell was; they can’t think straight. We’ve brought two who are okay.”

Kjell brightens at the sight of the innkeeper’s daughter. “Oh, I know Rebecca! She used ta bring me rabbits! Hiya, Aaron!”

“Hi, Kjell,” the innkeeper smiles tiredly.

“How’s the leg?”

He blinks. “That was 12 years ago?”

“...So, is it better, then? You humans don’t heal.”

“We do, just slower!”

“Dat sounds real inconvenient,” the troll says, his gaping wound already starting to close.

Dr. Kjeller clears his throat. “Well. I tink we are going to have a discussion. You folks are welcome to wait in my house. This is a very important business that must be discussed, but it is troll business.”

That seems reasonable. Shoshana raises a hand. “Can we pass out?”

“If you deem it medically necessary. Would you like me to carry you, so you may pass out earlier?”

“Um, no, that’s okay.”

He says something similar to “gather round” in a guttural language vaguely like Old Valdian, and the trolls gather and begin a heated discussion.

As all 12 trolls hurry over and join the discussion, Rebecca whispers, “Are we gonna be safe here?”

Gral gets Rebecca up to speed on what we know about the trolls, and how except for Kjell they all seem to be unaffected by the Growth. We’re as safe as we’re gonna get in this valley, at least for now.

“Great, I’m gonna fall asleep now,” she tells us. “It’s been a day.”

We start our rest but keep watches. About an hour or two later, Dr Kjeller returns to the house. “We have reached an accord,” he tells us solemnly. “We intend to leave.

“There are still many villagers, and we can see ‘em massing on the other side of the river. We trolls do not wish war. Now, we are pretty mad - lotsa folks had some thoughts about waging war against these people who tried to trick us. We don’t appreciate dat. But we must consider the eyeballs.

“If a group of trolls is invited to a place, and then attacks dat place and wipes it out, that would be very bad eyeballs. Bad for public troll families. No, not eyeballs, what was the word dat guy used? Optics. Yes, the eyeballs would be very bad.

“In da morning, we intend to depart from this place. Without the town, the moot can’t happen. There’s just not enough food. Well, there is, but now we can’t trust it. I will keep an eye on poor Kjell, he’ll travel with me a bit. He has a good heart, and a good chart. His dart I’m a little worried about, sounds like dat lady might have made it extra big to impress all us other trolls. I wish to keep him under observation; dunno what other conditions may happen if dat lady isn’t boosting him with her evil magics.

We will travel south in the morning. This area is dangerous...but we are twelve trolls. Once we are a ways from the valley, we will disperse. Kjell will stay with me and serve as my assistant and bodyguard. You see, sometimes I do an autopsy but lotsa creatures want to feed on the body so I need someone to stand there and guard it. Y’know, a body guard.”

The party considers our options. We’re missing one last plant for our spell, but the trolls will probably be willing to stop briefly for some flower-pickin’. It’s not like we’re gonna run into trouble with a frickin’ CR 25 encounter as our escort. Also, we need to stop by Sturmhearst - we should at least let Flynn and Fiona know what’s up.

We go back to the trolls, and realize Kjell is crying. “I must demolish my bridge,” he explains. “We must stop them from following us.” He built that bridge with his own hands; it’s a sad occasion. As the crew of trolls help him break it down, he gathers a bunch of the stones into a backpack.

“There there, Kjell,” says the doctor. “Remember, a troll’s home is not da bridge they live under. Your home is where your hearts is. Or you can do what I do.” He pulls off his hat and reaches inside, pulling out a toy-sized stone bridge. “A troll may live under a bridge, but a bridge does not need to cross a river.”

It’s probably very touching, if you’re a troll. Anyway, we’re going the heck to bed, and awkwardly trying to be stoic as Valeria cries quietly during her evening prayers.

In the morning, we can see a group of enraged villagers standing guard on the other side of the river, fuming impotently. But they wisely choose not to pick a fight.

We stay by the bank long enough to find a nice patch of Norbert’s Wort for our spell, and then make tracks to the annex. We enter the Sturmhearst camp around noon; trolls are hardly fast-moving. The trolls are wary of the annex proper; they’re well aware of what those flamethrowers can do. They’re just gonna go have a lovely picnic and we can catch up later.

Professor Ulmus greets us. “Welcome back! What’s that commotion out there, sounds like a pack of trolls stomping through.”

SO, ABOUT THAT.

We give her, Flynn, and Fiona a rundown and let them know the villagers are now incredibly hostile.

Flynn stands, reaching to buckle on his sword. “Sounds like we must set out immediately and defeat this evi!l”

“The...one we burned in the temple basement?”

“Aw, you’ve already defeated the evil? Is there any evil left to defeat? I’ve been off my game.”

Shoshana sighs. “So, I hesitate to tell you this, but I know your sister will pick you up and carry you in the opposite direction if you do anything stupid.” Fiona nods, and Shoshana explains that Zelig the evil ex-druid is still up and about, and she’ll be surrounded by cultists.

“Hmm. Well, I’m up for some heroics, but an entire town of cultists? I’m probably not up for quite that much heroics yet. Are you intending to stick around and hunt her down?”

“No, we were thinking we’d head for Mornheim and get our ritual done.”

“Yes, I’d rather this cult did not besiege my campus to get at you; it would be disruptive to our experiments,” Professor Ulmus snarks dryly. As we explain the trolls’ plans, though, a change comes over her and she interrupts us excitedly.

“Wait, Dr. Kjeller is here? I’ve been a fan of his work for quite some time. He wrote a paper – well, a sheepskin – on troll regenerative physiology – one of the best resources we have. His notes are succinct and, well, rudimentary, but there’s more insight there than anyone at Sturmhearst has ever provided! This could be key to my work!”

Uh, sure? We lead her over to trolls and she instantly begins an enthusiastic if baffling conversation with Dr Kjeller. As thet’re excitedly talking, Shoshana feels something tugging at her skirt. It is a squirrel, exhibiting troubling un-squirrel-like behavior. It chitters, tugs again pointedly, and runs into bushes.

Sure, what the hell. She gives a quick heads up to the team and hustles into the woods after the squirrel. Predictably, it takes her right to our grumpy druid friend, perched on a tree stump. “What the hell did you kids get up to last night All my sources are going crazy! I’ve got reports from every bird in the valley, chittering my ear off saying explosions, the temple burned down - hell, half the sources I have are saying other half are compromised! Ya kicked up a hornets nest! And then burned it down!!”

Shoshana gives him the summary, and tells him she might have figured out where the Mother Tree’s last guardian went. He nods at her description of Zelig. “Yup, that’s her. Explains why she abandoned her post, I guess. That’s another one fallen. At least it was the shroomheads this time.”

“As opposed to?”

“I’ve heard some stories. The more sociable ones, the shroom heads get em. My kind are pretty susceptible to that, you can imagine. It’s a pretty lonely life, doin’ what we do, and that whole sense of bein’ part of something greater – that’s not too far from what we do normally. And we like helpin’ things grow. Doin’ our thing and getting to be with people, that’s a hard offer to resist. But ya don’t have to worry ‘bout me, I don’t like people.

“Other types go in with the wolf guys. They go all dark and weird. They get like - y’know, I’ve seen a wolf bring down a deer midstride, yada yada the circle of life, that’s how nature be. So it can be hard to tell how many are just acceptin’ that cycle, and how many are, uh, takin’ a more active role in it, if ya get my drift.

“Still. Knowing she was behind it – I wasn’t gonna speak ill of another druid till I had proof, but it’s somethin’ else to hear it for real.” He shakes his head. “Anyway, you burned the central colony right after they all re-upped their connection; that’s gonna hurt a lot. They deserved it, probably. Anyway, Zelig’s operation in this area’s blown to shit. Dunno if she’ll stick around, maybe she’ll decide it’s time to seek more fertile pastures, as it were. I gotta stick around and guard the Mother Tree, so I’ll keep an eye out.

Not gonna lie, this was a mess. But it was more their mess than my mess, so I do owe ya one. My name’s Zalman. You can reach out to me with a message spell or somethin’, and I won’t just tell you to go fuck yourself, I’ll see what I can do. I got a lot of work to do here – you’ve given me a chance to reclaim the place.”

Shoshana shrugs uncomfortably. “Eh, my talents seem to be more for destroying than for fixing.”

“Then destroy the right thing! It goes against everything us druids stand for, but maybe we need a little fire.”

“Well, after a forest fire things regrow, right?”

“No, WE do that! It’s like a druid convention! Anyway. If you see the old bastard or his wife, treat ‘em as respectfully as you can, but tell ‘em I’d like a word. Where have they been in all this?!” He walks away grumbling, turning into a badger mid-grumble. He’s still kind of grumbling in badger.

She gets back to the annex just as Drs. Ulmus and Kjeller are saying their goodbyes.

“Thank you, Doctor! I look forward to corresponding!”

“I, too, look forward to the core of our spondence.”

As Ulmus fruitlessly tries to find out a nomadic troll’s address, Shoshana sidles up to Valeria. “You okay? I dunno if you want us to leave it alone, or to say something...”

Valeria twists her claws into her cloak, fiddling with the fabric and not meeting the sorcerer’s eyes. “...Thanks.”

The paladin is retreating into Stoic Hero Is Not Allowed To Have Feelings mode, so she’s not gonna talk about it, but she will allow a shoulder bonk of solidarity, and maybe even a light side hug.

We roll against taint as we trek out of the Growth’s domain. We all scrape by, Valeria turning down a deal from the Growth as she does.

#session recap #the growth #bad herzfeld #valeria argent #gral omokk'duu #clem haxan #shoshana bat chaya #professor ulmus #flynn fairgold #fiona fairgold #dr kjeller #druid devito #the cursewood

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aikatxt · 5 years

Text

the making of the queen’s sword and shield

You have been fighting for your life since you were six years old. Kindness is a foreign creature. Whatever hope you had in life vanished the night they tried to drown you. Whatever innocence you held onto is still lost in the water. And yet. They expect you to play nice and soft, as though it hadn't been ripped out of you when you were left to fend for yourself, through quick hands and quicker feet, teeth bared and wild eyes locked on the exit. These horrible people, nobles with fake smiles and faker kindness, pulling you into their power plays. Adopting you because "A young girl shouldn't be living in the streets." The streets are all you know. With no father, and a fading memory of your mother, there has been no place you could call home. And though the house they take you to is large and clean, it is as foreign as kindness and twice as dangerous. You eat a full meal for once, all foods you've never seen before, savory and warm. You are given your own room and a maid that draws the bath for you. You are given a bed too soft to sleep on. You hate it.

Somehow, you endure. You can't call these people your parents, because you know they are not. But Madam Luice sneaks you sweets as she teaches you how to read. Ser Kadot answers all your questions no matter how bitter or cold your tone. They are endlessly patient with you, slowly get you used to three full meals a day and clothes that don't rub your skin raw.

Perhaps their kindness is fake, but it is still kindness.

With no children of their own, they've taken you into their house and named you the heir.

You don't expect it to last; you are no model child. Your language is too brash, you slouch and curse and know you are more trouble they you're worth.

Still, they keep you around, and slowly wear down your defenses.

(You can't tell up from down. The water muffles all sound; everything but your heartbeat is quiet. It's so cold. So cold. You want to cry out, beg for help, but the water swallows your voice and fills your lungs.

Is this how you die? Young and unloved. Broken and abandoned. Left to drown, knowing no one will save you.)

It's no longer hard to sleep in your soft bed. It doesn't feel like you'll sink into it and never emerge again. It just feels soft and comfortable.

You still flinch when you see hands move too fast, voices speak too loud, feel the servants watch you a little too closely.

But no one hurts you. Rather, they protect you. They bring out their fire, their claws and teeth, when other nobles come by and comment on your presence. Both Madam Luice and Ser Kadot, and the servants who have watched you grow from terrified, weary child, to guarded teenager.

"You are our daughter," Ser Kadot says, "I refuse to let anyone speak badly of you. No matter who they may be."

It's hard not to tear up when no one's ever cared for you before. It's hard not to tear up when this is the first time you've felt loved.

It's hard to say Thank you, but you manage somehow, and he doesn't mind at all when you cry onto his suit.

"Teach me how to use a sword," you demand one day, just a few months before you begin your first year at school. It's a fancy, prestigious school, meant to give noble children a more in-depth education, and serve as a space to make connections.

You know you won't enjoy your time there. You're too different. Growing up in the streets left its mark on you; it's hard to let your guard down, to trust in others, and see the best in people. Even now, years after being loved and cared for as the adopted daughter of a noble family, you see people as threats and never stop preparing for the worst.

If you're going into an environment where you'll be looked down on, you should be able to defend yourself.

Ser Kadot, one of the strongest knights in the kingdom, regards you carefully, then tells you to grab a sword.

You can't help but smile, though it may be sharp and dangerous.

You know how to fight. You have been a weapon far longer than you've been a girl. Though swinging a sword around is different from swinging fists, you've never been one to back down from a challenge.

Ser Kadot doesn't hold back, is harsh in his instruction, but he heaps praise and advice on you each time you hit the ground, and that gives you the strength to get back up again. Bruised you may be, you've never felt so alive before.

(You don't know how your survived. The shock of the cold and the water filling your lungs makes you pass out quickly. You remember how dark and murky the river water was, how the light scattered into nothingness once it broke under the surface.

Perhaps you washed onto the rocky shore. Perhaps you were saved by a passing stranger. Perhaps it is only luck that has kept you alive. All you know is that you can't look at the river without thinking about drowning, and that you are haunted by how fragile you are, how easily you can die.)

Just as you expected, you are mocked and belittled by your fellow first years. It seems the other students don't appreciate you getting some of the highest grades in the class while being a street rat. The fact that you've been adopted into a noble family means nothing when everything comes down to blood.

But you've dealt with cruelty before. You've heard people say horrible things to you, and without being able to curse, the insults that are thrown at you in the school have no bite.

You've survived worse. It'll take a lot more than this to keep you down.

Still, you know your manners reflect the house you've been brought into, and after all they've done for you, you can't bear the thought of letting them done. How strange and wonderful and frightening to know that you care for them just as much as they care for you.

So you gather your courage and face the most intimidating person in your grade: Anathia Rya, the future queen. Though she is still just the daughter of a marquis, the king choose her at a young age to be the prince's fiancee. As such, she's perfect in every way, training to rule a kingdom since she was a child. She has never spoken to you, for you are below her in social ranking, but you are willing to do anything to make your house proud.

"Lady Rya," you bow your head to her, "I am in desperate need of your help."

Though her face is still, composed, more smoothly sculpted than a statue's, her eyes aren't cold. They're bright, almost daring in the light.

"What is it you need from me?"

"Teach me. If anyone knows how this society works, it's you. Teach me how to behave, how to understand the unspoken rules of this life that I've never learned."

"I hardly think I am capable of teaching."

You glance up to meet her gaze and offer her a grin. "I didn't think you'd be one to back down from a challenge. Are you always so timid?"

Her shoulders stiffen. She holds herself taller. You knew it would work.

"We'll begin tomorrow. Meet me in the courtyard after classes are over."

Anathia isn't what you expected. Her manners are impeccable, she's the picture perfect noble child, and wears her confidence like a dress. It's clear that she's above most people just from a glance. She's the top of the class, always soft-spoken and patient, studious and disciplined.

But she's competitive and purposefully riles up others just to win arguments. She's always trying to prove a point and loves a challenge more than anything else.

She is also a terrible teacher.

It's not that she's bad at it. It's just that she insults you nonstop before she tells you how to do something right. If you hadn't dealt with worse people before, you'd be trying to tear her hair out.

"Again," she barks, once you pick up the fallen books.

You sigh, but allow her to stack the books on your head. You stand as still as possible, wanting to place your feet farther apart, but the first time you did that, Anathia kicked you. So you try to balance as best you can, hardly daring to breathe.

Once she's satisfied with your posture, she steps back and begins lecturing you again.

"We women are expected to be everything. We must be soft and fragile, but we must also be sharp with our words and strike fear in those who go against us. We must be aware of everything we do, from how we hold ourselves, to what we wear, to how we speak, but we must do these things so effortlessly so they seem natural." Anathia folds her hands in front of her and looks over you with a calculating eye. She turns and walks back to the bench you've both placed your bags on. "Now walk over here without dropping any of the books."

If you were able to, you would stick your tongue out at her. But you fear the movement will send the books crashing down. So instead, you focus on keeping your breathing even and steady, keep your chin lifted up, and take an unsteady step forwards.

The books shift and sway on your head. You freeze, then take another step. It takes time, and far more focus that you expected, but you manage to walk to Anathia without dropping a single book.

She takes them from your head with careful hands, then nods her head.

"Well done. Now sit, we have homework to finish."

And so it becomes routine. And somehow, you think you've found your first friend at the school.

(Your ears are ringing. They're yelling at you, but you can't make out any of the words. The world spins and tilts in strange directions. Everything in your sight has gone fuzzy, as though you're looking at a dream.

The throbbing in your head is brutal. You can't think. You can't move. Someone grabs your arm, shakes you. You must let out some sort of sound at the sudden onslaught of pain, since they drop you harshly back onto the floor. You don't understand. It was just food. You were just hungry. Was that really such a crime?)

No one bothers you anymore since Anathia has claimed you as one of her own and sticks by you as you walk from class to class. The snide comments had died down once she turned her cold, unforgiving gaze upon the speakers. Though you're sure other students still talk about you behind your back, none of them dare say anything to your face anymore.

With her help, you've gotten the second highest grade in the grade, right below Anathia. You're not making any more mistakes when you speak to others, few those times may be. The letters you receive from Madam Luice and Ser Kadot speak of how proud they are of you and how they plan on spoiling you once you come home, and you cannot help but be grateful that you went to Anathia for help all those months ago.

It hasn't all been smooth sailing since you began spending time with her, however. Though you've tried to keep it a secret, someone has spotted you training behind the dorms late at night.

He sneers at you, insults your stance and your movements, and the more you ignore him, the worse he gets. Normally, you'd just leave and train at another time, but he's insulting not just your movements, but the training Ser Kadot gave you, and that is unforgivable.

"You have no right to speak badly of me if you can't beat me in a duel," you say, voice just a little too calm.

He takes on the challenge with a laugh. "As if a girl like you would win! Fine, I'll enjoy publicly humiliating you. Tomorrow during lunch, we'll have a duel out in the fields behind kitchens."

You agree, and sternly tell yourself murder isn't acceptable.

Anathia scolds you for training at night when you should be sleeping, then walks arm-in-arm with to the the fields behind the kitchens and tells you to kick his ass.

There's no way you can lose now that you've got Miss Perfect to curse at least once in her life.

The crowd grows quickly, full of people who want to see you thoroughly beaten, money being passed around as they place bets on how long you'll last. You hear Anathia bet a ridiculous amount on your victory, and, so high on excitement, most students just laugh. After all, how can a street rat of a girl beat the son of a knight?

The answer is: very easily.

He has been trained, yes, but he does things formally, elegantly, strict on how he holds himself and his sword, how much strength he puts behind each swing, how he moves with clumsy feet. He's been trained but he has no experience in a real fight. This isn't a friendly spar. The two of you will fight until someone draws blood. You both aim to inflict pain, and that's a fight you're all too familiar with.

You've live half your life on dirty streets, fighting tooth and nail for a little bit of food. You've dug your nails into flesh, bit hands that reached for you, know where to hit to knock the breath out of your opponent. You know how to fight for your life. The son of the knight only know how to fight for show.

You use your body alongside the sword. There's no playing fair here. You swing and slice and kick and bite. He's stuck on the defensive, panting for breath, eyes wide with shock. You dance around him easily, smiling at the thrill of the fight, heart pounding and feeling alive.

He hits the ground and you carefully draw your sword along his hand.

The blood wells up slowly; the cut is shallow. Your control is nothing to laugh at, after all.

The crowd is silent. When you look up, Anathia looks at you proudly, and holds a hand out for all the money she won betting for you.

"I wish you would have told me about this," she says as you walk back to the dorms. Every student has been careful not to speak of the duel; though teachers often left things for the students to figure out, they would punish everyone for a fight like that.

"I don't see why I had to. It's not like a girl training to wield a sword is something most people would believe, anyways."

"I would have believed you," Anathia says without hesitation.

The admittance makes you blush, a little too happy about her belief in you. You can't help the smile growing on your face.

"Then I'll be sure to win every duel for you."

You should have put more faith in her, as well. Somehow, behind your back, Anathia pulled some strings and got permission for you to become a knight.

"Only if you want to," she says, handing you a letter of permission from the King himself. You're sweaty from an hours worth of solo training, and the cool night air is a relief against your hot skin.

"I'll do it if you want me to," you reply. 'If I can use this sword for you, let me. My life will be yours, always. I'll make sure no danger ever befalls you."

"Then I shall appoint you as my personal guard, my sword, my shield."

You shouldn’t be so surprised when she tilts your face up and kisses you. It feels as though you've been moving towards this all along, from the day you first met, to every day afterwards.

"The prince--" you try to protest.

She grins, a cold, daring thing. "He has his eyes on other girls. Why can't I?"

And when she kisses you again, you lean into it, into her, and fall headfirst into this tragedy in the making.

(Your mother never looked after you, not after the first few years. She became more and more distant, a ghost of herself. And one day, she vanished.

You have been alone ever since. You have no memory of kind touches, of a safe embrace. You can't imagine what if feel to love and to be loved. You stay quiet and hide in the shadows and listen to curses fall from the lips of strangers. Everything is too cold, too hard, too cruel and that shapes you into a strange creature, small and deadly, desperate and always alone. The alleys and the rooftops are familiar to you. The main streets are too dangerous for you to inhabit. So you hide yourself away and steal to survive and stop dreaming about what a home would feel like.)

Anathia marries the prince a year after graduation. The whole time, you are by her side, training with Ser Kadot and able to best even the best of the King's knights. You earn a reputation for yourself; not a street rat, but a dangerous weapon, forever by the future queen's side.

It's at the castle, where she learns how to be queen, that she asks you to teach her how to defend herself. It's a strange role reversal; the first year at the school, you ask her to teach you how to be a lady, and now during the first year at the castle, she asks you to teach her how to be a weapon.

Her soft hands aren't meant to hold a weapon. The only harm she should do is with words.

But she has told you of being kidnapped and poisoned, assassins after her to harm the future of the kingdom. It's hard not to imagine her as a child, young and weak, struggling to breathe as the poison slowly stills her heart, as she's blindfolded and taken away. It's hard to fight down the horror and rage at learning what has happened to her.

So you teach her. Pressure points and nerves, how a simple twist of the hand can have a grown man on his knees from the pain. You teach her how to fight dirty, how to fight without strength, how to take out someone in seconds so she can escape.

Anathia is focused and perfects everything you teach her. She throws you to the ground time and time again, brutal and hard-hitting. She leaves bruises on you, but that's alright. She spends the night pressing kisses to them afterwards.

You will never marry. Not when you have already sworn to spend your life by Anathia's side. Ser Kadot and Madam Luice say nothing about grandchildren. They bring up marriage only once, and when you say Anathia's name, they only smile knowingly, and change the subject.

It's strange to look back on your life and remember the long journey it took to reach her side.

You were an orphan in the streets, desperately fighting to survive. You hated the nobles who took you into their home, then slowly learned to trust in them. You remember the cruel, cutting words of others, dragging your name through the dirt and insulting your family. You remember how you were always filled with hate, with fear, waiting for the other shoe to drop and to watch it all come crashing down around you.

You remember drowning, and being saved, and fighting to defend yourself, and making your way into Anathia's life.

After everything that's happened, you can't imagine life without her.

She gave you courage and love, helped you find a reason to live. She defended you with scathing words and never backed down when you were in trouble. She did all you asked of her, and more.

It's only natural that you give all of you to her; body, mind, and soul. In kisses and sweet words murmured in the dawn's soft light, in the clash of swords meeting and the blood that's spilled.

You are the queen's sword and shield, after all. You were always meant to be by her side.

#WLW #sapphic #fantasy #lgbt fiction #original fiction #original writing #prose #ive been reading a lot of isekai manga lately #and a lot are ppl reborn into otome games #so like #imagine the protag being real strong and gay and falls in love w her love rival #thats what this is bc i can write whatever i want and no one can stop me

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sassyshoulderangel319 · 5 years

Text

Lost Everything - A Fic Swap

for @saviorsong - Love ya girlie!

MASSIVE Endgame spoilers so if you’re NOT saviorsong and read this but haven’t seen it yet, you. have. been. warned!

I did not intend for this to be 3,800+ words but here we are.

Wind howls in your ears, pulling at your chestnut curls, as you fall through endless darkness—occasionally broken by a flicker of light. Lightning, if you had a guess. Your overlong coat flaps around your knees as you plunge headfirst into the bottomless abyss below you. The speed and shadows are wearing you out. Your body isn’t handling the stress of this fall very well.

This is pointless, your mind whispers. You’re going to die here and you’ll never save anyone.

I have to try, the more conscious part of your mind retorts to your self-doubt. It’ll work. I can do this.

If you insist, those doubts sneer.

You shut them up. You don’t have time for doubts right now. You got stuff to do. A mission to complete. Friends to save. Friends, family… civilization.

The ground rushes toward you, looming from the darkness.

Thud!

“Oof!” All the breath leaves your lungs.

You sit up.

You’re in the middle of a familiar-looking battlefield.

A crumbled building stands behind you—with a logo on it that makes your heart ache. A large letter A, with an arrow as the crossbar and a circle around it.

The Avengers compound in upstate New York. The sight of that logo, somehow intact despite the destruction, causes a chasm of loneliness to yawn open in your chest. How you missed them all…

“Hey Stark! Cap! We got a random chick in a black leather trench coat in the battlefield,” you hear someone call. You glance around. A man grows to normal size in front of you. “Hey. Who’re you?”

You stare. “S… Scott?” you ask.

The man leans away. “Have we met?”

“Now’s not the time for pleasantries, Lang!” someone else shouts.

At that moment, a six-limbed infantry creature—a “space dog” as that raccoon had once called them—leaps over the decimated ground, growling as it hurtles toward you. Scott vanishes—although “shrinks” would be the more accurate term—with a cry of surprise.

But you’re ready for the space dog.

The long dagger—“Or is it a short sword?” the voice of a passed friend teases in your mind—in your hand slices the thing clean in half. Disgusting body fluids—you’re not sure if it’s blood or guts or what combination—splatter over you. You wipe your eyes and mask and leap over the boulders, searching the battlefield for more familiar faces. Scattered over the churned earth are millions of enemies—but thousands of friends. You see the light shields of the Mystic Artists, the blue sonic cannons of the Wakandans, the flash of Cap’s shield as it sliced cleanly through the air, the lightning of… is that Mjolnir? Or Stormbreaker? Or is it Mjolnir and Stormbreaker?

You snicker. One weapon never seemed like enough for Thor.

Scott reappears. “Who are you? That was amazing!”

“Oh, Scott,” you say affectionately. “I haven’t even gotten started yet.”

“How do you know my name? Do we know each other?” he asks, chasing after you as you take off across the chaotic fight.

“Not in this reality,” you say, just loud enough for him to hear it over the explosions. You rip the hem of your coat out of the claws of a space dog and drive your dagger into its guts.

Ignoring Scott’s stunned face, you make your way toward the lightning. Out of everyone you lost, that blond idiot was the one you missed the most.

You weave and leap and pounce on space dogs, letting your blade and muscles do their work. Your heart is pulling you toward Thor like he’s a magnet in the hands of a child and you’re a paperclip lost in the depths of a sofa, drawn irrevocably toward him.

Vaulting over a mound of upturned dirt and rock and concrete, you come face-to-face with a face that makes your heart reach out. Panting, you stare at him for a moment. “Thor…” you breathe, staring at him. He’s… different from the Thor in your reality. His hair is long—as is his beard. Your Thor was like that too—between his beheading of Thanos and the events that led up to this very fight in your reality, but his Asgardian physique had burned off the excess bodyweight faster when you dragged him out of his depression by that overlong hair.

He stares back at you. You become very aware of the fact that you’re covered in gunk from slaughtering space dogs mercilessly. There’s blood—some of it possibly your own—clumping your curls and splattered over your skin, mask, and coat.

“Have… we met?” he asks.

You shake your head. “Not in this timeline,” you say. “In my timeline, though, we’re close.”

He reaches out and brushes a curl away from your face. “Yes… something… in my heart… recognizes you,” he says. His face sobers. He pushes you behind him and takes a swing at six space dogs at once with Stormbreaker, slicing them all to several pieces with a single swing.

Hot dang.

“Where’s Mjolnir?” you ask.

“Rogers has her,” he replies.

You can’t help but grin. No matter the timeline or reality, Steve was always worthy.

You hear a familiar snikt! And a slender, rather short boy drops onto the ground, letting go of a web. “Mr. Thor, sir,” young Peter Parker exclaims, out of breath. “It’s… the gauntlet.” He glances at you. “Uh… who are you?”

You smile at him. “Call me Evergreen,” you say.

“Uh, hi, uh, Evergreen. I’m, uh, Spider Parker. I mean—Peter-Man. I mean—” The kid swore under his breath. “Never mind.”

“It’s okay Spider-Man,” you say. “Now. What was that about the gauntlet.”

“Oh yeah! The flying, glowing space lady—whatever her name was—is racing for the quantum tunnel! She’s got help and she’s almost there but Thanos is heading right for her!”

Thor grabs you and launches into the air. “No time to waste!” he exclaims. You hold onto him tightly. It’s been… a while since he held you like this.

Since your Thor held you like this. You shake your head. This isn’t your Thor. You know it’s not. But… he kind of is. All Thor’s are… kind of your Thor. They’re all still Thor.

Man. Alternate realities and timelines were going to give you such a massive headache later.

^*^*^*^*^

You stand on the dock of New Asgard in Tønsberg, Norway, staring out over the ocean. Thor had brought you back with him after… the funeral. Thor is standing next to you, his remaining blue eye reflecting the color of the sea.

“So,” he says. “Tell me where you’re from.”

You sigh, glancing down at the wooden dock. “I’m from a timeline—a reality—where that fight didn’t… end quite so well.”

“Explain,” Thor requests. It sounds like an order, but the gentlest order you’ve ever heard.

You plop down on the dock, crossing your legs underneath you. Thor seats himself beside you. “We lost. In my reality, I’m an Avenger. Have been for… a long time. Years. Nat used to jokingly tease us that it was a bad idea to date a teammate. But the you in my reality and I didn’t care. Never did. And Nat was never serious anyway.” You shake your head. “Anyway. We lost. Tony didn’t manage to get the stones off the other gauntlet and Carol didn’t get it through the quantum tunnel either. Thanos just repeated what he’d done that we fought so hard to undo. What Nat…” You sniff. Thor reaches up and wipes a single tear from your left eye. “What Natasha sacrificed herself for. And… not only did we lose… but we fell. Thanos… he killed everyone. The whole team. He… he shredded the universe like he said he would.”

“How did you survive?”

You hold your dagger out. The glowing green gem in the hilt pulses in the mid-morning light. “I’m… before I was an Avenger, I had a past. Like everyone else. But it wasn’t noble like yours or Cap’s—”

“Mine is debatable,” Thor remarks. You snicker.

“Fair point,” you concede with a small grin. “Anyway. My past was more like Clint’s or Natasha’s. I… wasn’t always a hero. I fancied myself more of a Robin Hood character but… a thief is a thief, right?”

“A thief, eh? Is that the reason for the knee-length black leather coat?”

You smile. “It is,” you agree, glancing down at your outfit. It’d been repaired since the battle at the compound.

Form-fitting black trousers, combat boots, dark green shirt, stitched-up coat. After the space dogs nearly shredded your coat, you’d fixed it up.

“My apologies. Continue with your story.”

You tug your mask out of your pocket and stare at it contemplatively. “I wore many masks during that time, as a thief. But this dagger… well. It came to me when I was stealing something else.” You can’t help but chuckle at the memory. “It lets me jump between timelines and alternate realities. This stone… it’s not an Infinity Stone, but it’s still powerful in its own way. When Thanos shredded the universe and rebuilt it anew, I jumped ship before he could get me.”

“Indeed. That stone is powerful if it brought you here,” Thor agrees. “Tell me. Why do I feel my heart calling for yours when you and I have never met before?”

You stare out to sea, not looking at him. Behind you, somewhere, Valkyrie shouts at some human punk who was, “getting familiar.” You can’t help but snicker. You haven’t felt this at-home in months. Since everyone was stolen from you.

“In my reality, you and I were closer than just dating. We were… basically married. But it was different. It was less of a legal bond and more of a heart bond. We could always feel each other’s hearts and the closer we were, physically, the easier we could feel each other’s actual emotions. Made it hurt all the worse when the you in my universe died. That bond is lingering around me, I guess. And it’s still reaching for you. You’re still Thor.”

Thor hums in thought. “I see. I understand.” He’s quiet for several moments. “Why did you come here, Melody?”

You finally meet his eyes. “I lost my universe. I lost my family and friends. You. Everything and everyone I ever cared about. Why do you think I’m here?”

“Solace? Refuge?”

“I came to ask for help,” you retort, sharper than you intend. “I can make it back to my universe with this. If we can make it back before he destroys the stones the way he did the first time, I could get all of them back.”

Thor sighs. “We’ve already lost… so much.”

“I know. But don’t you think I lost a lot too?”

“You misunderstand,” Thor says. “I am not refusing. We’ve lost so much in this timeline as well, but we’re the Avengers. It’s our job to Avenge what we lose. And you’re the last Avenger of your timeline. I would gladly accompany you for another chance to kill that disgusting. However, I don’t think I can do so on my own. I will ask and see if anyone wishes to join. I swear to you, we will try to bring your universe—and your husband—back to you.”

“Thank you,” you say. “On one condition.”

“Name it.”

You smile. “I get to drive my blade into his eye socket.”

“A privilege I will gladly allow you.” Thor kisses your hair. Your heart aches and you desperately wish to bring his lips to yours. But you remind yourself, he may look like your Thor before you dragged him out of his depression, but he is not. You take what comfort you can from him in the form of his arm around you and his lips in your hair.

“Thank you.”

“Give me three days to rally some warriors. Then we will see about returning to your universe and avenging it.”

“Take your time, but not too much. I don’t know how long we have before Thanos destroys the Stones in my universe.”

“Of course. I understand.”

“Thank you, Thor.”

^*^*^*^*^

You, Thor, and the rest of your more ragtag group of Avengers from another world spew out of your portal. Thor’s landing is much smoother than your jump into his world. He sets you down gently.

“Now,” he says, peering around the remade universe.

You smirk and peer up at him through your cleaned mask. “Bring me Thanos,” you purr.

He smirks in turn and flicks a loose curl off your shoulder. “Gladly,” he says.

You and your group charge off.

As you run, you look around the remade universe. At the very least, the remade Earth is beautiful. Much as you hate to admit it—even internally to yourself—Thanos has an eye for natural beauty.

If only it could come without his price of you losing everyone you love.

You clench your jaw. You can’t appreciate the beauty without your Thor by your side.

“Guys, I’m getting an energy signature!” Banner calls from just ahead of you. “I think it’s the Stones!”

“Let’s go!” you shout, finding more energy to keep going forward. Thor claps your shoulder.

“It’s going to work. I promise,” he says.

You nod in determination. “It will. We’re together.”

He nods back. You know he’s thinking that he’s not your Thor, but he’s still willing to give you support. Perhaps it’s the bond between you and your universe’s Thor tugging at him from your heart still. Maybe it’s just that he’s a big golden retriever full of love and heart.

You turn back towards where you’re running after Banner. “Let’s take him down!”

^*^*^*^*^

“Evergreen, now!” Thor shouts, holding Thanos around the neck.

You leap on him, knees holding you to the alien’s massive purple barrel chest.

Ruthlessly, you drive your dagger into Thanos’ eye. “That’s for my husband, you monster,” you snarl.

He goes limp underneath you. You manage to flip off him before he collapses. Thor tears the Avengers’ version of the Infinity Gauntlet off Thanos’ arm. You stare at it. That’s what killed Tony in this Thor’s universe. You and Tony were similar: no powers whatsoever. Your strength came from gadgets and objects—as well as intelligence and training. You couldn’t put that glove on, snap your fingers, and get your husband and friends and family back and live to tell the tale.

You can’t ask Banner to do the snap again either. It damaged him too—in your universe and his. You couldn’t have a random person do so either because they had no context and wouldn’t want to erase their whole universe. The normal people probably weren’t even aware that they were only created days ago at the expense of the people in the universe that existed before they did.

You pick up the gauntlet and quietly handle it. It’s decimated after already being used once by Thanos to remake your reality. It’s going to be hard to use again. The nanotech is damaged.

“Melody, don’t,” Thor says, setting his hand on top of the gauntlet and pushing it down so it’s out of your immediate field of vision. “Don’t even think about putting that thing on.”

“Who else is there?” you ask, looking up at him. His mismatched eyes meet yours steadily. “There’s no one else.”

Thor pushes his fingers into your hair, brushing it out of your face. It’s stained with Thanos’ violet blood. “Please, Melody, let me. Let me wear the glove and bring your family and friends back.”

“I… why would you do that? You’re not even from this reality!”

“I failed my reality once. If I can save yours, I can consider myself redeemed.” He tugs the gauntlet from your grip.

“Thor, no!” you try to protest, reaching for it. He holds it away from you. “I can’t—I can’t lose you again. You’re not even mine but I… I know I can’t… I couldn’t handle watching you die again.” Thor’s arm holding the gauntlet as far away from you as possible relaxes a little.

“You won’t. This won’t kill me. I swear to you.” He smiles and jams his hand into the damaged gauntlet.

“Thor, wait!”

He smiles reassuringly and lifts his hand. He snaps his fingers.

You reach out as the gauntlet flares with bright white light. “Thor!”

For a moment, a void of white overtakes you, leaving you standing there in an endless expanse of light. You whirl in all directions, looking for the existence of literally anything or anyone else. Your dagger is clenched in your hand. For several long moments you’re alone in the light.

Then the light fades away, and you’re standing where you were.

Thor is standing there with his right arm—and armor—heavily burned. The gauntlet has fallen off his hand.

He stoops and picks up the blue Space Stone and red Reality Stone in one burned hand. The other whole hand brushes another chestnut curl from your eyes. “This is where we say our goodbyes, Melody. I’ll return myself and the others back to our own reality. I wish you the…” He winces and recoils as something hurts him. “The very best of luck. And the greatest happiness.” He smiles at you, both eyes sightly watering.

His ragtag Avengers gather around him. A portal of swirling red and blue opens and they all disappear.

You’re left alone.

The universe around you starts to dissolve. Turning to dust the same way you had seen half of your universe do five years before. Once everything is gone, you’re left floating weightless in an empty void. This time of darkness.

The shadows start to swirl, slowly at first and then getting faster and faster. You start spinning with its rotation, caught up in its momentum. The darkness begins to generate light. Red, then orange, yellow, green, blue, and vibrant violet. You clench your dagger tighter in your hand for stability—searching for one thing solid and real.

Reality seems to stretch and snap like a dolly zoom in a horror movie.

You’re standing on the ruined earth of the battlefield at the Avengers compound.

Alone.

Dust and ash seems to coalesce from the burning ground.

Each one becomes a person.

A friend. A family member. A warrior. A Mystic Artist. A Wakandan. A captain or two. And—

“THOR!” You can’t help it—seeing him again washes you with joy. This time, it’s your Thor. Short hair, short beard, and all. The bond between the two of you is pulling you right toward him. You heed it without caution, running at him from the moment he reformed. Your legs are throbbing slightly from all the running today, but you forget about the discomfort entirely.

You leap on him, wrapping both arms and legs around him, keeping your dagger’s blade away from him to keep him safe. He catches you and holds you tightly. You can feel relief and shock flowing down your bond from his heart to yours.

“Melody,” he whispers like the very sound of your name brings him rapture, a few chestnut curls pressed between his lips and your ear. “What happened?”

You climb off him slightly just so that you’re on your own feet. “I’ll explain fully later. For now… I’m just ecstatic to have you back.”

He smiles softly at you.

Thinking in perfect sync, you lean toward each other at the same time.

Your lips meet with eager enthusiasm.

^*^*^*^*^

You spin your dagger and slash at the arm of an arms dealer’s lackey, laughing and smirking.

Another day as an Avenger. A slow day, maybe, but another day.

Thor’s back presses against yours. You feel him chuckle in the deep vibrations from his lungs.

“Look at us,” you say. “The two of us, back at it again on the battlefield.”

That brings out a real laugh—that hearty belly laugh you love so much. “Indeed! I could think of nothing more fun!”

“Me neither,” you agree.

“Save it for the honeymoon, Mr. and Mrs. Evergreen,” Sam teases.

“We already did that,” you retort, grabbing a thug by the shoulder and kicking him in the gut down a short flight of stairs.

“I wouldn’t mind another, though,” Thor says playfully.

“Ugh. Definitely save the planning and fantasizing ’til you’re in private,” Sam says.

“But maybe we want to make you uncomfortable,” Thor teases as you swing up onto a henchman’s shoulder, grab his face, and jab your dagger into the soft tissue of his shoulder. With any luck, no one would die on this particular arms bust.

“There are innocent ears on this mission,” Scott remarks.

“Who?” Peter Parker wonders.

“You, small child,” Thor says, linking his arm with yours to pull you out of the way of a bullet and simultaneously throw you at another lackey.

“Hey! I’m not that young!” Spider-Man protests. Laughter echoes across the comms from the rest of the team. Even Barnes chuckles quietly—and he’s been pretty stoic for the last couple months. There’s a crackling of lightning behind you and you narrowly dodge getting zapped.

“Compared to me you are,” Thor says. “I’m fifteen-hundred. You’re fifteen.”

You laugh and pull Thor away from a thug in order to throw your dagger at the thug’s shoulder. With one quick motion the blade is free and you’re receiving a quick kiss from Thor.

“Hey, babe, whaddaya say we take a little vacation once this is over?” You glance over your shoulder at him when you make your suggestion.

“Nothing would make me happier,” Thor says. Lightning shoots down from the sky, lightly zapping a henchman who tried to sneak-attack the two of you. You snicker. Nothing was better than this. Surrounded by friends and family—your team—fighting side-by-side and back-to-back with the love of your life, knowing he was always going to be there for you. Nothing—not even Thanos’ crazy scheme—would ever separate the two of you permanently.

Your bond—no, your love—was too strong for that.

You tilt up onto your tiptoes—you almost swear he’s taller than he was before—and return Thor’s quick kiss with your own. “I love you,” you say, quick and quiet.

He smiles. “I love you too. And we all owe you our lives for getting us back.”

“Thor, I would fight to the ends of the universe as we know it for you and the rest of our family and friends.”

“I know. Without you, all would have been lost.”

You smile. “Well, maybe a little. But I couldn’t just let you cease to exist when you hadn’t finished doing the dishes at our place,” you tease. More laughter crackles with static on the comms.

Thor laughs. “You’re right, of course. How inconsiderate of me.”

“Well, take me on another honeymoon and we’ll call it even.”

“It would be my pleasure.”

#Endgame #Avengers: Endgame #Endgame spoilers #saviorsong #Tumblr friends #Thor #Avengers #MCU #Marvel #fic swap #my writing

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sepiadice · 5 years

Text

Art Direction of Tabletop RPGs

Dungeons and Dragons is good at being Dungeons and Dragons.

That shouldn't be a controversial opinion, and it's not worded as one, yet I have one friend who derisively labels it as a war game, and another friend who believes D&D is all you need in regards to TRPGs. These two are from distinct eras of my life, and have never met.[1]

My moderate view is such: Dungeons and Dragons is good. It's not the ultimate system, but if you want a western fantasy built on the framework of Tolkien, Fifth Edition is the way to go. You could use a different system, in theory, but no other system has the same reach and stability. Everyone knows D&D, which is valuable.

Its combat and mechanics are a good balance of grit and function, and it's mostly teachable. My friend's 'wargaming' derision is because he believes it doesn't support role-playing well. Something about the guy who wrote Dungeon World saying if it's not in the rules, it’s not in the game.[2] But I've always felt that D&D makes the right decision in not bogging it down with structure and dictating the 'correct' way to role-play.

However, if you want to do anything else (Sci-fi, non-european fantasy, superheroes, Slice of Life), best case scenario the seams will creak in the attempt. D&D is good at being D&D, and that's the limit.

I appreciate D&D. I'll play D&D, happily!

There's a reason I bristle when “DM” is used as the generic term.

That said, I've always had a sort of tonal disconnect when I play D&D, and it's because of the art.

Fair warning, what follows is a lot of personal interpretations and vague mumbling trying to relay a point. I’m not actually an authority on anything.

(Dungeons & Dragons owned by Wizard of the Coast . Image sourced from Wikipedia)

Dungeons and Dragons does not have pretty art. It’s technically well done, and far from ugly, but it’s not actually inspiring. Above we have the cover of the Player’s Handbook, the first thing most new players see. Setting aside that the focus of the cover art for what should be the book about Player Characters is a giant monster man[4], the cover is very orange. The actual people are composed of muted, neutral colors, and the background is vague and out of focus.

It’s not really conveying an air of fantastic worlds and larger-than-life characters (giant wearing a dragon skeleton aside). It coveys oppression, monotony, and “realism”.

(Pathfidner owned by Paizo. Image sourced from Wikipedia)

Pathfinder’s core rulebook, on the other hand, is colorful. Look at that big, bright dragon![5] Sensibly dressed Fighter Man’s brown clothes are still bright enough to pop him out from the green-grey dungeon background[6], and Fantastic Sorceress’s red dress is also bright and helps frame the Fighter as her hand glows with magic.

While both covers feature a woman with an orb of magic, D&D’s cover shows magic as contained and lighting a small space, while Pathfinder’s magic is big and trailing, hinting at movement.

Actually, D&D’s mage girl doesn’t have a cohesive movement. Is she falling from above? Jumping in from the left? Where is she going? It doesn’t really follow in a meaningful way.

Anyways: color. Yes, yes, I know the plague of brown and and muted tones is a much whined about criticism, and it might seem odd from someone calling himself SepiaDice, but neutral tones have their place; usually as background and supporting other colors to pop more.

Besides, Sepia has a noble history in film, the brown range isn’t a common image color, and Sepia is fun to say.[7]

Color choice is very important. Bright colors draw the eye and make visuals more distinctive. Bright colors also denote and bring energy to things. Dull colors are used for locations meant to be calm and sedate. If you want the characters and locations to seem fun and full of life, you fill it with bright colors.

Everything breaths, adventure can strike at anytime!

Dull colors, and it’s hibernation. People are around, but they don’t seem to enjoy it.

But let’s turn to the visual storytelling: what does each cover tell you about life in their setting?

D&D: lots of posing to look fancy, but there’s no real sense of energy. Jumpy Magerson’s weird Megaman hop has been mentioned, of course. The Giant has a look of dull surprise as he drops Jumpy Magerson,[8] as he holds a sword in the non-active hand. Foreground fencer man is wide open, holding his own foil up and away from where it might accidentally jab anyone. The locations is… orange? Looks like there might be lava geysers?

Patherfinder: A dragon roars at its enemies! Teeth bared, tongue coiled, tendons on display! Wings unfurled to make it seem larger! The fighter is yelling back at the dragon, his weapons mid-swing! Shoulder forwards to defend the rest of the body! The Sorceress is holding a firm stance as she casts a spell that crackles with arcane energy!

Pathfinder’s cover tells a story of epic combat, fizzly magic, and energy. D&D’s cover tells a story of two adventurers existing in a space also occupied by a giant.

Now, both of these systems have the same ancestry, as Pathfinder is an iteration on D&D 3.5.[9] But one sparks more joy when I look at it.

But let’s do another case study. I’ll need an audience volunteer, and my brother’s the only person immediately on hand.

I’m going to make him list three qualities of goblins real quick:

Green

Wimpy

Sneaky

Awesome. Don’t know if the green text translated, but those are what he wrote. Give him a hand!

So, with those three traits in mind, let’s look at a goblin picture from D&D Beyond:

(Owned by Wizards of the Coast. Source here)

Like, you can’t say D&D doesn’t call that a goblin, it’s literally on the goblin page.

This guy is yellow. He’s built like a four foot tall WWE Wrestler. He’s defending with his advancing arm as he rears up to smack ya!

(Okay, “Sneaky” is a hard one to argue.)

Moving on, what does Pathfinder call a Goblin:

(Owned by Paizo. Source here)

Look at this charming miscreant! Green. Big ole head. Good mix of of ugly and oddly adorable. Probably two feet tall, and happens to want your two feet, please, but you could step on him if you’d like.

He also looks like a Gremlin

(An adorable little chaos monster owned by Warner Brothers. Source)

Point is, Pathfinder’s more cartoony take on the classic monster feels more in the spirit of the thing. Every time I see one of those goofy faces, I feel like I’m in for an enjoyable time.

Bringing us back around to the point of this essay: the art direction of D&D bogs down my theater of the mind. The art in the rulebooks don’t inspire creativity or fantastic visions. It inspires… dull, lifeless people walking through dirt roads flanked by dead grass.

I don’t enjoy looking at D&D’s art. Relatedly, I don’t like looking at the art of Magic: the Gathering, whose style I can’t help by see in every D&D sourcebook cover I see. Neither game invokes an inviting world, but utilitarian ones that exist to give quick, forgettable visual flair to represent mechanical card effects.

To save making this long essay even longer and unfocused, I’ll save talk of actual ‘canon’ lore for another time.[10]

So why do I, a semi-professional funny man and sad dreamer who can’t actually draw, want to talk about rulebook art?

Well, I’ve always felt a disconnect when I play D&D. I make the characters, I roll the dice, I attempt to role-play, but I’ve always had an emotional gap between me and the character I’m playing. I like the concept, but when I use my theater of the mind, the character feels stiff and divorced from everything. Kind of like the 5th Edition rulebook.

Then I saw this:

(Source tweet. All of this artist’s work is great and I wish I could hire them.)

This half-elf showed up on my twitter timeline, and my first thought was ‘How come my characters don’t look like that?’

Soon followed by ‘Why couldn’t they?’

Then I completed the trilogy with ‘Why haven’t I imagined my characters in a style appealing to me?’

As I was deep into contemplating what sort of aesthetic I consider my “brand”,[11] it was entering a mind primed to start overanalyzing.

So, how do I imagine my characters? In the neighborhood of the D&D art, if I have firm concept. Micah Krane always was mentally nebulous to me, just kinda being a generic half-elf dude. Trix (who was created for the brightly colored Pathfinder) is green-haired and wears a tail coat, but otherwise is also normal looking in my mind’s eye. In the last two D&D campaigns, Tybalt was also vague in appearance, and Teddi had Goat horns, but those were meant to stand out on a generic rogue character.[13]

But you know what I’ve never put on a character I’ve played? Glasses.

I hope that those who read my various media reviews[14] don’t need this overly explained, but I like glasses. I, myself, don’t wear glasses, but I find them to be great accessories in character design. Frames the eyes, come in a variety of shapes, adds bit of extra visual interest. I always point out Meganekkos and pay them extra attention.[15] I really, really like girls with glasses.

But I’ve never made one. Because there’s no cute design in D&D rulebooks. Just a range of handsome people to ugly halflings.[16]

That is the effect of art design in a system. It sets tone, expectations, and aesthetic for the players. It’s so ingrained that everytime I see art of players’ characters that break the standard, it always takes me aback. It’s inspiring to see artists who manage to divorce D&D the game from D&D the art.

I want to imagine fun, personally appealing characters. But the subtle direction of the insert art as I look through to rulebook, or the provided character portraits of D&D Beyond does not suggest things I like to see. It infects the mind, and leaves specific molds. People in practical, mundane clothes, walking down drab, uninteresting roads.

It’s the same lack of escapism that makes Western (Video Game) RPGs super unappealing to me.[17] Dark Souls, Elder Scrolls, Bioshock don’t look like fun places to be, they look tiring and full of splintery furniture waiting to do 1d4 nonlethal damage.

So I have to talk about anime now.

My mother was staying at my home a little while ago, and I turned on My Roommate is a Cat. This prompted her ask me about what about anime was appealing. I couldn’t form a competent answer for the question at the time, but it’s had time to churn in my head.

Anime is a good middle ground between cartoon and realism. It can broach deeper topics and more mature storytelling than children’s cartoons,[18] without sacrificing a light visual tone and fantastic imagery. Also, the fact that it’s produced by a non-American, non-European culture lends a degree of separation with cultural expectations and tropes. Enhances Escapism.

Luckily, in (very) recent years, after generations of exchanging video games and animation back and forth, Japanese Tabletop RPGs are starting to join in on the fun.

Which means I can look at Ryuutama.

(Image copied from DriveThruRPG. Brought over the pacific by Kotodama Heavy Industries. Buy this book.)

I love this system.

Watercolor art direction. Layout evokes a spellbook. Two Characters and a Dog take the focus on the cover, while the road signs and tiny shrine in the background invoke the emphasis on travel and wonder.

The interior art?

(Taken off the Ryuutama (english) website. Buy this book.)

Well, that makes the game just look like fun. Cartoony characters fighting cat goblins. Conflict, but it doesn’t make life feel like a constant struggle. A world I wish to inhabit. There’s also more detailed images of dragons and other world-establishing pictures mixed in to give the art range, but it’s this sort of charming that makes Ryuutama the first rulebook I actually sat and read cover to cover.[19] It’s a good system I already reviewed. Buy this PDF, maybe they’ll reprint the physical book.

Anyways, I’ll admit, the art’s a little too simple for D&D. Perfect for Ryuutama, and the end of the scale I want my mental image to be, but overshoots the sweet spot. And it’s difficult enough to find players for the much more popular 5e, so Ryuutama exclusivity would grind my playtime to zero.

Still, Ryuutama does a great job of setting it’s light, fantastic tone, where D&D has failed me. The art direction of the books, and years of exposure and defaulting to what I assume D&D should look for establishes a mental habit that’s hard to break. Wizards of the Coast has drowned nerd spaces with its particular kind of art, especially with MtG plastered all over hobby stores, deck boxes, dice, playmats, and even D&D sourcebooks.

That’s not even accounting for fanworks and the speculative fiction art in online spaces.

So what do I want to look like? Were I blessed with talent or with patient to actually learn to draw well, what would I be referencing?

What about what set my expectations of fantasy years before IndigoDice invited me to that fateful Traveller game?

(Screen cap of Tales of Vesperia grabbed from here.)

Well, okay, what I’m actually thinking about is Tales of Symphonia, but Vesperia’s graphics are kinda what nostalgia tells me Symphonia tooked like, as opposed to what it actually looks like.[20]

Look at that verdant town! Warm lighting, bright characters, leaves growing to depict life. A hotel built into a tree. This is a fantasy world that is unashamed about life thriving.

Forget solarpunk. This is my aesthetic.

As for the party members…

(Okay, Judith’s a little gratuitous, but The Definitive Edition lets me put her in a suit, and she’s awesome. Art stolen from here.)

Oddly enough, as far as JRPG outfits go, these are pretty tame with details.[21] Mostly bright, popping colors, even Yuri’s dark clothes are done in such a way to not feel grim and edgy, hints of personality, and I just enjoy looking at them.

The Tales series as a whole does a good job of taking European fantasy and applying Japanese whimsy to the design. Also yukatas. Every member looks like the hero of their own story, while still being part of a cohesive whole.

Which is, you know, the ideal way to operate as a TRPG party.

So, what’s the take away?

Artists, keep being creative. Pull inspiration in from things besides the rulebooks and Critical Role. Look at the other things you love and bring visual flare and whimsy to your art. Then share it. Ignite the passions of those of us who can’t do the draw-good thing.

Players, play with the tropes. I love doing it narratively and mechanically. My favorite rogue is still my neutral good stage magician who would never do a crime. Explore what’s possible in the freeform world of tabletop games, both in play and your Theater of the Mind.

Game designers, branch out with the art. And stop using Powered by the Apocalypse as a crutch.[22]

Hope this long ramble was enjoyable and cohesive. If you want more of this, my other works, and maybe to allow me to make an actual play podcast, consider supporting me through Patreon or Ko-fi.

Until next time, may your dice make things interesting.

[1] Though I would love to read a transcript of the two discussing it. It'd be a fun debate. [2] I don't like Powered by the Apocalypse for precisely this reason. Every actual play I've heard with the system has players talking about their characters in the abstract, because they're just pressing the buttons on their character sheet.[3] [3] I maybe should do a breakdown of PbtA one day. [4] Which is pretty poor direction. Do an epic group shot of characters battling a horde around them. [5] None of the D&D core books has a dragon on the cover. Come on, that should’ve been a gimme! [6] Similar note as footnote 5. [7] Also CornflowerBlueDice is too long to be catchy. [8] I figured it out! [9] I haven’t looked at at Pathfinder’s forthcoming second edition. Fifth Edition reclaimed it’s throne as The ubiquitous system after fourth lost its footing, so I don’t think there’s much point. [10] TL;DR: I ignore it. [11] Pulp Fantasy is too mundane. Steampunk is too victorian-y. Sci-fi fractals into so much. Solarpunk has appeal, but isn’t quite right.[12] [12] Haven’t really found the term. [13] Let’s not examine that I put more thought into female character design than male for the moment. [14] Which you should. Validate my efforts! [15] And desperately pray it’s considered innocent enough of a fetish that I don’t have to stop. [16] Never liked halflings. Gnomes are fine. Halflings, in art, have always been off-putting and malformed. [17] That and the emphasis of character customization kneecapping the Player Character’s narrative involvement. Can’t give them a personality if that’s the end user’s job! [18] Even Avatar: The Last Airbender felt like it had to sneak the narrative depth it achieved past corporate. [19] I do need to give it a reread, though. Relearn the system. [20] It still looks good, especially the environment, but the characters are kind of… leaning towards chibi. [21] This, specifically, is why I chose to highlight Vesperia over Rune Factory. [22] Technically nothing to do with this essay, but I can’t stress this point enough.

#SepiaDiceRants #ryuutama #Fifth Edition #Dungeons and Dragons #pathfinder #tales of vesperia

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mythicamagic · 6 years

Text

Swimming in Silk ~ A Sesskag fanfic

Training in front of her, engaging her in conversation and now lending her his clothes…Kagome is starting to suspect that Sesshoumaru is trying to gain her attention. NOW COMPLETE!

Chapter Three - here Chapter Five - here

Chapter Two - here Chapter Four - here

Sesskag - Romance, Humour and some drama

Rated M

He was doing it again.

Kagome slightly frowned, and adjusted her grip on the novel in her hands, forcing her attention to stay on the words that had previously held her so engrossed.

Sesshoumaru moved once more.

She chewed the inside of her cheek, chancing a glance.

As expected, the Daiyoukai stood some distance away, poised and silent in a deadly stance, Bakusaiga drawn.

She sighed.

Sesshoumaru swung the sharp blade to the side in a wide arch, moving and turning his body gracefully. Lean muscle shifted. The hair at the back of her neck pricked as his energy flared to life, caressing the air of the clearing.

Kagome shut the book and stood. Turning on her heel with a distracted shake of her head, Kagome ignored her heated cheeks and grabbed her pack. She then set off in the opposite direction purposefully.

Of all the things she’d expected to deal with when deciding to stay in the past, this was not one of them.

Sesshoumaru had first taken to training in front of her bewildered eyes two weeks ago. Whenever she left the village for some reason- and whenever he happened to be visiting Rin, she stumbled onto him training.

Kagome splashed her face with water from a stream, feeling out of sorts. Stupid.

It was only Sesshoumaru. Demon Lord, Enemy, Ally, and now…Clearing Companion.

Yet some days later, when she was out gathering herbs, Kagome chanced a glance up, wiping sweat from her forehead- and found him in the clearing, as if he’d always been there and she was the one intruding.

It happened too often to be a coincidence, but no answers were forthcoming from the taciturn demon. She watched, staring at his back as he moved, bathed in the strong sunlight. His posture straight, movements quiet as his youki coiled out along the blade. Kagome could feel it even from where she knelt, and she pressed down her own powers, which fizzled to life on her skin in response.

“Sesshoumaru.” She tried.

He turned slightly, some silver strands of hair falling forward to caress his cheek. Kagome felt her fingers twitch with the ridiculous urge to push it back behind his pointed ear.

“What is it, Miko?”

“Well, it’s just…there’s a lot of clearings around here, right?” She asked, before wincing. Now she just felt rude. It wasn’t like he was doing anything wrong, and if she asked him to leave, didn’t that imply that she felt uncomfortable in his presence?

He continued to shift position, bringing the sword down in a swift motion and then straightening again. “Indeed.”

Kagome bit her lip. No, she couldn’t say anything. The Daiyoukai was a pretty standoffish guy. She didn’t want to discourage him from approaching her. She enjoyed their little talks when she sometimes brewed tea and watched over Rin. Maybe this was just how he showed he was comfortable around her? She didn’t train around her friends…with her shirt off…but maybe full blooded demons did that.

“Do you have a point?” His deep baritone comes again, making her lift her eyes to his. Kagome blushed slightly, feeling like she’d been caught staring.

“N-no. Uh…but I did notice that you do a lot of basic forms when training. Is the fancy footwork just a heat of the moment battle thing?” She asks, lips lifting at the corners slightly. Teasing felt better, safer. She didn’t want to feel like she was ogling Inuyasha’s brother. Her ex’s brother, she reminded herself with a mental wince.

Sesshoumaru raised a brow. “Fancy?”

“Yeah,” she smiled, standing. “You know…”

Holding her arm out in front of her and mimicking a sword swing, she turned and swiftly spun on her heel in a circle. When she faced forward again, he tilted his chin up slightly.

“You realise you are mocking a centuries old technique and recreating it improperly?” The demon uttered flatly.

“I’m not mocking- the part missing is where your fancy move lops off five heads at once.” Kagome snorted.

His eyes glittered proudly at that, making her smile wider. He did love his dark humour.

Demons, she inwardly rolled her eyes.

“Hn, this one practices the ‘fancy footwork’ as well. However…ignoring the basics would be folly.”

“How so?”

He turned to face forward, face unreadable. “Paying attention to the simplest and smallest details helps to gauge a picture of the whole.”

Kagome blinked and shifted, lifting the basket of herbs and holding it against her hip. She caught sight of the scar on his left arm, the ring of marks below his bicep where the new limb had filled the void where only a stump had been. She nodded slowly.

“That’s cool, but…” she trailed off. Do you need to do that shirtless?

He moved again, and this time she could have sworn she spied a bead of sweat run down from his collarbone to his chest- and at that point Kagome swiftly turned. “I-I think I hear Kaede calling me! I’ll talk to you again later!” She squeaked, hurrying away.

A few days later, Kaede asked her to run an errand. Kagome would have to leave Edo and set out for another village, to deliver some medicinal herbs. It was only a five hour walk, but the older woman’s back had been playing up. Kagome was happy to accept, and soon steadied a pack on her shoulder along with her trusty bow. It had been awhile since it had been used in self defence, but she’d practised every so often on targets.

Exiting the hut, she ruffled Rin’s hair in passing, who grinned up at her, clad in a new kimono. “Safe trip, Kagome!”

“Yes, have a safe journey, my lady.” Cut in a new voice, and Kagome looked up to see Miroku outside his hut, holding one of his twins. Kagome smiled and nodded.

“I won’t be long. Tell Inuyasha if he comes back before I do that- I’m totally fine going to the next village on my own.”

Miroku chuckled. “Sango and I will inform him, but you know how he is.”

Kagome rolled her eyes and continued on, waving as she departed the village. Though she spoke of Inuyasha fondly, they’d certainly felt a strain in their friendship even after their decision to break up. He’d been running more errands than she had outside the village, though he always returned.

Six months had passed since she’d decided to stay in the Feudal Era. The awkwardness of her choice was not lost on her. Since her amicable breakup with Inuyasha, she had no solid reason for turning her back on her Modern Day life. She still visited her family, but those three years she’d spent in higher education felt so far away.

It was then she remembered her mother’s words after she’d told her she was staying.

‘We knew you’d fallen in love with the past a long time ago.’

After reaching the village and delivering the medicine without issue, Kagome had noticed several children outside the hut. The village was slightly smaller and more remote than Edo, so it was easy to spot them pointing at the river. Kagome made her way closer and blinked, seeing a young boy sitting on a rock in the middle of the water, the current mild as it lapped around his tiny island.

“What’s he doing?” Kagome asked one of the older boys, who glanced up at her.

“The dumb-ass was climbing on a branch from one of those overhanging trees and it snapped- so he fell in and now he’s stuck there.”

“Can’t he swim?”

The boy shook his head, looking at her as though she were an alien. “None of us can.”

Kagome’s brows drew together and she sighed, rolling her sleeves up as she pushed through the mini crowd. Without preamble she dived into the water with a small splash, making the children gasp and gather closer to where she’d disappeared under the surface.

Unbeknownst to all, golden eyes watched the spectacle unfold from the shade of the trees. The Daiyoukai shifted as Kagome broke the surface of the water near the boy and held her arms out to him, smiling encouragingly as she tread water. Sesshoumaru stayed rooted in place until she swam back to the other side with the boy in tow, who clung to her fiercely.

Under an hour later she found him reclining against a tree, having sensed him. Kagome was utterly unsurprised by it, for some reason. When he did not look up at her, Kagome brushed some hair away from her face.

“You know, a few of the children in the village can’t swim.” She casually informed him as Sesshoumaru hummed noncommittally. Kagome shifted her pack on her bare shoulder. “So, I’m going to teach them how to swim.”

This time, he did look up. Kagome smiled as his eyes widened.

She’d decided to get some small form of payback by getting dressed into her swimsuit. If she was going to be swimming she wanted to do it properly this time, and she hadn’t been able to resist getting changed before seeing him. I can’t go shirtless but I can do this.

Her swim suit hugged her form, and had some splashes of red hibiscus flower patterns on it. The straps were thin on her shoulders, but apart from that, she felt it was modest. When he still said nothing, she started to ramble. “I’m not exactly qualified to do this but I taught Sota how to swim, how much different could it be?”

Sesshoumaru hummed, shifting his arm that was draped over his bent knee. “There will be several children to teach, not just one. And there’s the unfamiliarity of this village.”

Kagome was busy waving off those words when he threw in- “not to mention the wives that will hate you.”

She froze and shot him a look. “What do you mean? I’m doing a good thing. Knowing how to swim is really important.”

“Your intentions are noble, but they will not like your attire…” he cast a look at her swimsuit again, gaze dragging down her body from head to toe this time with lingering attention.

Despite herself, Kagome blushed and gestured to it. “T-this is really modest compared to some bathing suits!”

“They might not agree.”

Kagome huffed and crossed her arms, ire rising to combine with her embarrassment. How come he got to strut around training, and yet one look from him unsettled her? “You’re being ridiculous. You’ll see.”

He watched her stomp off with a flat look, before his gaze naturally slid down her retreating form. Her ‘bathing suit’ left little to the imagination. His lips parted enough to expose the hint of a fang as he exhaled slowly.

Not long later, he heard tell-tale soggy stomping approaching. Kagome appeared from around a tree, arms crossed and red faced as she stood in her wet swim suit. Sesshoumaru directed his gaze to the tops of the trees and seemed to stare at the horizon determinedly.

“Don’t you say a word.” Kagome muttered, trudging forward as she attempted to ring the water from her hair. Droplets landed on the forest floor softly.

“Take it you were dismissed?” He says anyway, making her growl.

“I’m just trying to help! But nooo.” She kicked a stone and winced, whimpering and holding her foot. “As soon as I dropped the towel it was like I’d ran naked through their village. And when I tried to show swimming techniques the mothers accused me of being a water demon. I’m no Kappa.” Kagome griped.

She barely noticed Sesshoumaru move, until it became apparent he’d undone the secures of his armour. He then lifted it off him and set it down, before reaching for his white and red hankimono, tugging at the folds of clothing. Kagome’s face grew warmer as she quickly held up her hands. “What are you doing? I-if you need to train again, you could turn around to get shirtless.”

Not that it would make a difference, he’d still be shirtless in her prensence and oh god don’t ogle-

Kagome swiftly turned around as he took off the outer layer of clothing. She jumped when she felt him nudge her arm, and the miko turned, expecting to see his bare chest. Instead, he’d kept his hanjuban on, the crisp white under-layer looking as pristine as the material he now held.

She looked down at his hand, seeing his trademark red honey-comb design staring back at her. Was he…seriously offering it to her?

Kagome quickly put one hand on his striped wrist. “What are you doing?” She asked in a weaker voice, confused.

“You can wear this. If you so choose.” He stated, pushing the soft clothing into her hands. She stared at him, noting he looked strange without the billowing white and red sleeves, more approachable and unguarded. Blue eyes fell to the fabric she held, thumb rubbing it. Such fine silks in her hands felt wrong. She didn’t think she’d ever held something so expensive and fine before. They were usually barred from human touch in a museum. He expected her to wear it?

Kagome opened her mouth to refuse, thinking she’d damage it- but the intentness of his steady gaze brought her up short. Somehow, it felt as though he were offering more than just clothing, though it was lost on her what that was. Yet she felt it’s weight all the same.

“I’ll be swimming in it…” she says instead, hoping he’d take it back. She didn’t want to confront that look, or the weight.

“This Sesshoumaru is aware.”

Kagome faltered, cheeks burning. Her traitorous heart fluttered as though she were still a school girl. “I don’t know how to…” she unfolded it and then quickly held it up when the fabric nearly brushed the floor.

The Daiyoukai eased closer, retaking the clothing from her- long fingers skimming hers as he stepped around her. Kagome hesitantly lifted her arm, feeling as though she were naked in his presence now as he slid it into the sleeve. She kept her eyes fixed forward as she felt the weight of the sleeves, the warmth of the newly used silks settle around her shoulders.

Her lips pressed together, feeling his breath fanning against the side of her head as he lent in close to tuck the fabric in, his hand brushing her bare collarbone as he closed the parting at the front. He brought out a smaller cloth than his sash, but it did the job as he secured it around her waist to keep the fabric in place. All the while her heart had graduated from fluttering and was now majoring in hammering inside her rib-cage.

They were platonic. Friends. Platonic friends. Kagome tried to remember this as he lent back slightly and she tilted her head up- underestimating his proximity and the intensity of his gold eyes.

“Done,” he said, not touching her now. And yet her skin thrummed as though reaching back for him, and something hooked low in her stomach at just the thought of it; waiting for him to move.

Some of his silver hair tickled her cheek as she stayed still, looking up at him, nodding slowly. “Thank you.” She murmured, breathing out and stepping away the moment she thought he moved an inch closer.

She lifted her arm, noticing the sleeves had been tied back at her elbows to allow for movement, and his attention to detail left her touched. More so, the fineness of the material had her looking up at him again with true gratitude now, rather than awe. “Really. This is…I don’t know why you’re doing it, but I feel like royalty in this.”

“Are you so certain…you do not know why I’m doing it?” He muttered, and it sang straight down her spine.

Kagome’s eyes widened and she mentally stepped back even as she remained perfectly still. His voice combined with the look in his eyes sent her off kilter. All this time there had been a safety-net- that Sesshoumaru disliked humans, so of course he wouldn’t look at her that way.

Only he was. Right then. In a way that was unmistakable to pass off as something else.

“These clothes are really important to you, so I-I promise I’ll being them back as soon as I’m done, okay?” She shakily murmured instead, and felt her body wilt the moment disappointment skittered over his expression- to be replaced with his usual passive and non-emotive face. Gone were the burning embers.

Kagome took a few steps back, smile hurting on her face as she waved and turned. “Be back at sunset if those puritan wives don’t come chasing me back with pitchforks!” She says, quickly heading away and feeling his eyes on her back until she was out of sight.

The moment a decent amount of distance had been created between them, Kagome put her hand on her chest and stopped dead, breathing out. Emotion burst within her- all for him, which she viciously tried to temper. Those vague desires he’d elicited in her over the weeks with his training felt tame compared to whatever that had just been. Maybe he’d been building to this, or perhaps it had just been an accident.

Kagome reluctantly pushed herself forward, padding to a nearby river and looking at her reflection. The white and red garb stood out starkly against her black hair, and she touched at her thigh, were the material ended. It was almost like…when a boyfriend lent his girl a shirt to wear.

Only not many girls got to experience this kind of material. She passed an experimental hand over it, comparing it to Inuyasha’s robe of the fire-rat. Much like the wearer, Inuyasha’s had felt coarser, but reliable. Sesshoumaru’s felt like touching cool water.

She mentally winces when she remembers calling him 'big brother’ last year, shortly after her return to the past. What the hell was she doing? And why couldn’t she stop thinking that she really- really wanted to lift the material to her nose and smell it?

Kagome pressed her hands to her eyes and groaned, before trudging off in the direction of the village.

Kenta splashed happily as he kicked his legs, thoroughly soaking Kagome, yet she laughed it off, grinning. She supported him under his stomach as they moved through the water, the seven year old wanting to take off like a jet and swim on his own, but Kagome was reluctant to let him go. She wished she had water wings, and without them, her mini class had to rely on planks of wood or their protective mothers for support in the water.

The mothers weren’t as dismissively hostile with her now, in fact the moment she’d stepped foot in-front of them in Sesshoumaru’s garb, they had clammed up but been slightly more respectful of her. Kagome had felt mild irritation and sighed, but ultimately waved it off. However, the implications were not lost on her. The villagers would probably think they were lovers.

Her damned cheeks heated again, and she grit her teeth. Why didn’t that bother him? He couldn’t just look at her like that out of the blue! And didn’t his reputation matter to him? What if a big deal demon saw her and started spreading gossip that they were an item?

Kagome sighed as she straightened and helped the boy to the river bank. Knowing Sesshoumaru, he wouldn’t care about that kind of thing. He seemed so secure in everything he chose to do, she sort of envied him.

Kenta took his mothers hand and waved at her as he padded away. Kagome smiled and returned it, as many more of the village children started to leave.

“Thank you Kagome!~” Chirped a young girl.

“You’re welcome Megumi. Keep practising your paddle and remember to try and kick your legs under the water next time.” Kagome giggled, waving the children off. Some of the mothers nodded to her as they departed, and Kagome was left to herself by the river.

She held her arms, feeling a slight chill as she turned, bending to pick up the make-shift floats out of the water. The cool silk was now plastered to her, but somehow it felt comforting.

That exercise had been kind of successful, she thought. For a first lesson anyway. She’d have to keep visiting the village, but maybe she could teach some children of Edo how to swim too. Kagome briefly wondered if that would affect time too much- before the sound of several pairs of footsteps made her turn.

Two men stood on the river bank, one holding a fishing net, the other had his arm hidden behind his back- probably holding a knife. Kagome stepped back into the ankle deep water of the shore cautiously. “Hey, uh…can I help you?” She asked carefully. Crap, she’d left her bow and other things with Sesshoumaru.

“Sure can. You can strip for us honey.” The burlier one grinned, looking at her keenly as she bristled.

“Excuse me?” She gritted out.

The leaner man with the net shifted. “It’s not what you think. We just want what you’re wearing. That’s demon clothing. Fetches a high price, especially tailor made- give it over and we won’t have to hurt ya.”

Kagome’s eyes widened. “Don’t you know who this belongs to? He’d kill you if you guys even touched it. No way- gah!” She jumped back as the big one swiped at her with the previously concealed knife. It was bigger than she’d figured, resembling a machete.

“Hand it over, damn it!” He growled, this time trying to grab her as Kagome ducked under his arm and ran up the river bank, sprinting as hard as she could. Hearing their shouts and footsteps behind her, Kagome left the river to run up a steep incline, fairly certain it would lead her back to the path towards Sesshoumaru, when something hit the back of her legs.

She gave a yelp as her chin met the earth, and Kagome rolled down the hill some- before getting to her feet again and not looking behind her to see how close they were. When reaching the top of the hill however, she found herself overlooking the deeper part of the river, and turned to see the men gaining on her. The lean one threw the fish net up, and Kagome grit her teeth, squirming as it fell over her head.

“Get this off!” She yelled, finding that she was getting herself tangled searching for a way to get free.

“You can strip under there girly or we’ll remove ya clothes for ya.” One of them grunted.

“I can’t give this to you! It’s important to him.” Kagome staggered back, eyes wide as they approached her again.

Not thinking anything of it and acting purely on impulse, Kagome turned and jumped from the height- falling towards the river. She met the water soon enough, being plunged into the depths. She kicked her legs and managed to reach the surface despite the fishnet, but the current pulled her further downstream. Coughing, Kagome barely noticed that she’d lost sight of the men as she tried to keep afloat, feeling the net get tangled around her legs.

Kagome felt herself stop as some sort of force held her in the water. Looking back behind her, she found that the net had gotten caught in some branches from an overhanging bush. She let out her breath and eased down under the water, trying to find a way out while she had the chance. It was with difficulty but relief that Kagome eventually got herself free, sliding out of the net parting and swimming to the river bank, exhaustedly pulling herself ashore.

Coughing, she pushed her wet hair back from her face and sat for a moment to catch her breath. She then patted herself down with shaky hands. No injuries was a plus. Kagome almost congratulated herself when she felt it.

A tear.

She quickly checked her right side at her hip. A very large tear.

It arched up around her stomach, the fine material sliced in a clean cut. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed it. Her skin was neatly exposed, but Kagome hardly cared about that. Instead, her heart raced as she pulled the two separate pieces together.

“Oh no…” She murmured, brows pulling together. She’d…promised to take good care of it. It didn’t take a genius to see that the clothing meant a lot to him. It bore his crest, and he always kept it immaculate. In battle he moved with his 'fancy footwork’ as though trying not to spill an ounce of blood on it. Inuyasha had sometimes torn it, sure…but even if it were easily mended she couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d broken her word.

Kagome’s shoulders began to shake and her cheeks grew warm. She then grew even more upset that she was getting upset.

Her vision had gone blurry by the time something large and warm fell onto her head gently, and Kagome started. She raised her head, a few tears falling as she saw blurry white in-front of her. Her breathing hitched as she smelled his scent even without lifting the material to her nose, and Kagome stifled a sob. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you crying?” He muttered, his warmth drawing closer- until Kagome pressed herself willingly forward into his chest and gripped his clothing tightly. She let out a ramble of words that were meant to explain herself, but all Sesshoumaru could probably hear were the blubberings of a woman-child.

Kagome felt his warm palm stroke the top of her head as she cried. She slowly fell quiet because of that soothing touch, sort of wanting to stay there like that longer. He was gentle and calm in the storm of her emotions.

She soon opened her eyes, rubbing at her cheeks as she pulled away slightly.

“I never cry.” Kagome mumbled. “Sorry, that was awkward, huh?”

“No.”

She looked at him then and noticed his dark expression as he stared at the tear.“A clean cut from a blade.” Sesshoumaru uttered, lifting his gaze to hers. “You were attacked,” he stated. It was not a question.

Kagome sighed and put her hand on her side. “Two guys. They’re probably long gone now.”

His youki spilled out and curled around him, the atmosphere turning heavy with displeasure. He was angry, she realised. Very angry.

“I could try and mend the tear,” she tried to quell the energy snapping in the air. “It probably won’t be as clean a stitch but-” Kagome’s breath caught as he grasped the front of the clothing, tugging her in close as a snarl hissed out from clenched teeth.

“This one does not care about the clothing. It is you, foolish girl, that this one will be shedding blood for.”

Kagome’s eyes widened. The formless emotion within her that went beyond friendship swelled and scattered her thought process. She didn’t want him to shed blood for her, but when he finally released her she was unable to form the words to stop him.

He set her pack and bow down, before leaping into the air with a crackle of stifling energy that scorched the grass he’d been standing on.

Of all times, Kagome felt something click into place then, watching him fly with such palpable rage. Anger…for her.

A few days passed after Kagome’s trip and after returning back to Edo, everything had fallen back into the way it had been before. Sesshoumaru had said nothing when he’d returned back to her on that river bank with his claws bloody, and neither of them had brought it up. Dissatisfaction gnawed at his insides, but the demon ignored it as he bid farewell to Rin after visiting her. He could not move the miko's attention toward him by force, it wouldn't work.

As he left the village and made his way up the hill, Sesshoumaru’s ears pricked as a soft 'thunk’ sound caught his attention. The faint tremble of a bow string had him moving even before he scented her, and he crested the hill in mere moments, walking on into the forest. He passed by arrows buried into targets on tree trunks, and slowed to admire them. The targets were in a myriad of places, up high in the branches or in trees further off, all of the arrows crammed onto different bulls-eyes with reiki curling around the quivers.

Something gradually built and took hold of Sesshoumaru. The holy powers in the air caused the gold of his eyes to brighten unnautually, and it was only a breath later that he lay eyes on her.

She stood, bow drawn and back arched in a way that made his claws twitch at his sides. Kagome let another arrow fly and it hit the target with a louder 'thunk’ though this one missed the bulls-eye slightly. She breathed out and straightened, meeting his gaze, and he somehow knew his presence had affected her.

“I thought I’d pay you back for all those times you trained in front of me.” She murmured as he stepped closer. “Though, I’m not half naked.”

“This one would not protest if you were.” He uttered, midsummer night eyes darkening in time with her blush.

Kagome turned to face him fully, pointing at him accusingly. “I figured it out, you know. All this time, you were peacocking!”

This caused him to stop and tilt his head slightly. Kagome nodded furiously. “Don’t try and deny it. You were showing off your powers and strength.”

“Yes.” He admitted bluntly, eyes narrowing in thought. “Why call it that though?”

“Male peacocks do this thing where they display all their features, fanning them out. They do it because…uh, because…” Kagome trailed off, blushing as she glanced away.

“It is part of a courtship ritual to attract a mate.” Sesshoumaru finished for her, stepping closer as his eyes warmed. He raised his head then, looking at the targets around them. “You did not need to do this. Your feats with the Shikon no tama proved your strength.”

“Pot kettle black, buddy.” Kagome muttered, sighing and looking up at him as her cheeks continued to burn. “I know how strong you are. You didn’t need to train in-front of me to prove that.”

Her heart hammered in her chest as he brought his hand up, sliding it into her hair behind her ear. “It was more than that, true you’ve seen this one’s strength, but dedication must also be exhibited.”

Kagome leaned into his hand slightly as she swallowed. “I knew that about you too, since you’ve taken care of Rin.” Her hands tentatively rose to rest on his chest, thankful his armour was missing. She felt his warmth and the silk under her palms as she smoothed one hand higher, brushing it over the red and white honeycomb design on his shoulder. “It’s not like you to be self-conscious of your abilities.” She murmured.

Sesshoumaru growled lowly. “It was not a lack of belief in my abilities, merely, it is tradition to show you will be provided for. And this one will take no half measures when trying to court you.”

The breath rushed out of her lungs in a rush. He really said it, and so easily too.

“You really…want that?” She asked quieter.

The hand in her hair pulled away to raise her chin, until she stared up at burning gold. “Do not insult us both by questioning my intentions when this one has already given an answer.” He mutters, mouth pressed into a thin, grim line.

Kagome made to say something when that mouth suddenly pressed against hers, making her squeak. His lips made her heart jolt, and she stood frozen- breathless for a moment, before she leaned slightly into him and kissed back.

He shuddered slightly at the feel of her soft mouth parting as the kiss became more heated and explorative. Lightning crashed down her veins. Her hand smoothed up to cradle the side of his face- thumb accidentally brushing his stripes. Teeth nipped at her lower lip in response and she boldly let her tongue brush against his, experimentally touching his fang- retreating at the sharpness of it. He chuckled slightly against her mouth, as she pressed more into him, finding he tasted like something inexplicable but familiar. Like the taste of the air on a warm summer night.

He pulled back enough to look her dead in the eye. “What do you want, Kagome?” He muttered, their breaths intermingling and coming in warm puffs against their mouths.

Kagome looked at him, her cheeks rosy and lips still slightly parted to maddeningly tempt him. When her thumb brushed his markings again- he almost called her cruel, until she smiled.

“I set up all these targets for you, silly. When I figured out what you’d been doing all this time, I wanted to show off my feathers too, so to speak.” She grinned, before quieting slightly. “We need to work on our communication skills though, you do things the demon way and I don’t always know what you mean by it, so yeah, we need to talk more.”

She leaned up on her tip toes then and brushed her lips against his cheek. “But I do…want you. I want to get to know you more. 'Paying attention to the smallest details helps to gauge a picture of the whole’, right? So, show me-” his mouth on hers cut her off again and he swallowed her muffled words.

Kagome smiled against his mouth as she felt his arms slide around her waist. It would take a little time to get used to the newness of it. His reserved air was completely gone, and the determined, firm lips against hers perhaps should have intimidated her, but Kagome only encouraged it.

As she willingly embraced the demon, she felt herself become wrapped in warm silken robes.

End ~

(A second chapter has been written if you’d like more ^^ read it - here )

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#sesskag #sesskag fanfiction #inuyasha fanfiction #Sesshoumaru x Kagome #Sesshoumaru #kagome higurashi

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flashfire344 · 6 years

Text

Family Gathering (Part 3)

“Keep on galloping my black horse carrying me to unknown shores through these outlandish woods and with confidence back home”

Gabriel’s voice raised above the drone of the pelting rain and the clawed feet on cobbled stone. It was a long road ahead of him as he rode home, his eyes scanning from under his rain slickers hood. He was homeward bound with a special gift for his sons who he had not seen in many years.

“You have a shit voice mate.”

A mans voice rose up from behind Gabriel giving a reason for him to stop his singing. With a quick snap of a hand Gabriel cuffed the bundle behind him as a father would to a disobedient child.

“Quiet. The roads long and I have to pass the time. I certainly don’t hear you being a talkative fellow...”

With the hit the bundle struggled in it’s newly found restraints. Gabriel clicked his tongue and pulled on the reins of his mount. The large raptor paused before turning it’s head to look at Gabriel.

“Mr. Ted. If you want to run then I am more than willing to loosen your bonds. I have no doubt that you could run faster than me however. What you may not see in your current location is that we are astride a fine hunter, one of peerless skill and temperament. I fear if he sees something to chase that I will have very little to stop it from running you down...pouncing on you and eviscerating your living guts before I could even attempt to save you from him. While I believe he is willing to listen to me in most times both he and I are sharing the same mood of hating the rain and being hungry. However unlike him I can restrain myself...So if you wish to stop moving so much we can continue.”

The struggling man stops after hearing Gabriels words as he took a hard swallow. His eyes focused on the scales of the best and the sounds of the large raptor. Feigning a moment of bravado the man said.

“You don’t scare me, Cavalli scum.”

Gabriel took in a even breath as he looked along the road winding towards the Reach. “Mr. Ted, I am not trying to scare you. You have nothing to fear from me, however I will not shed a tear if you met a untimely end at the exceedingly sharp claws of my mount.”

Gabriel clicks his tongue to encourage the mount to continue on to it’s path.

“Unlike my mount who would also show no compassion on your life I likewise would live a perfect life without you sucking up the same air as me. However the important key being I show restraint because in the end you have something that I wish to have.”

He softly chuckled at a thought known to only him before he reached up to pull his hood back as a spec of sun broke through the dreary clouds.

“Yeah and what’s that? I won’t talk and you know that. Those Seraph pukes tried to get me to talk and even that fancy pretty boy couldn’t get me to spill the beans.”

“Oh Mr. Ted, I know you wont talk to me. However, unlike the Seraph, I have a few relatives that would be eager to go above and beyond pesky rules of the Seraph to gain information from you. See, I know my own limitations Mr Ted, as you seem to. For instance you are a hardened criminal that for some reason likes to hurt people, be a general nuisance to law abiding citizens who just want a fare shake.”

The man grins at this as he again moves to try and undo his bonds while Gabriel was distracted by talking.

“Didn’t know the high born Cavalli’s were hot and bothered by criminals like me. I don’t swing that way Cavalli.”

The mans comment elicits another sharp cuff to his head and a chiding click of Gabriels tongue.

“However, despite your long rap sheet that is rather impressive you still have not broken the upper echelon of criminal hierarchy. Wanting more you looked to new sources to saddle your star to. Which lead you to a lonely alley and a mysterious figure. Now stop me if I am being too free with my imaginations as I have had -a lot- of time to run this through my head...Anyways you met a man who gave you a task. It payed well and you got to stick it to your favored enemy, nobles. Not a bad choice, nobles have money and look down on this and that. You being a commoner have a hate for them, though I think most everyone is on your naughty list.”

While Gabriel spoke the man shifted finding a hard carapace from the raptor to start rubbing the bindings against.

“Anyways, you had a job. Fairly simple, lure and then ambush this particular noble family by blackmail. Some of the details are a bit hazy and I am not too concerned with the small minutia or even the motivation as those are easily understood. What I am after, Mr Ted, is that mysterious man who has a panache for white flamboyance. That’s all I need from you, and with that you are more than free from my care...”

The man took a breath having a sinking feeling he needed to escape now or never while Gabriel spoke. With a final rake of the hard carapace his hands were free. In a swift motion he squirmed sidelong to reach down to his boot to pull out a sharp knife that easily cut his bonds. The man then quickly spin about on the back of the raptor and placed a knife to Gabriel’s spine and opened his mouth to hiss a command but to his surprise he found himself sailing through the air. The raptor had reacted to the man’s movement on it and had swung it’s hips and tail to throw the man down on the ground before it.

The man landed hard and for a moment stood dazed but now seeing the raptor rearing up above him tried to scoot back. However with a sharp command from Gabriel the Raptor easily pinned the man with it’s massive clawed foot and as if claiming the kill let out a horrible screech in the villains face delivering stray droplets of saliva.

The man froze in panic as his life flashed before his eyes, and even the pain of the claws digging into his flesh did not register as a hand feebly reached up to cover his face. One terrible moment the man thought he was to be killed but the raptor backed off it’s foot from the man. The last thing he saw before blacking out was the raptors hateful eyes looking into his own.

Gabriel hopped off his mount before grabbing a spare set of rope from his saddle bags. He then moved to the unconscious man to tie him up again.

“I expected more Mr. Ted but alas there is next time.”

Mr. Ted woke to the crackling of a fire and the sound of a sword being sharpened and the voice of his capture.

“ My horse, keep on galloping My shadow, keep on flying. Rush over moorlands, Break through banks. Carry me around the world, Take your rider with you. Show me all the sights, Show me new countries and new places.”

Ted’s vision slowly came into focus. He found himself in a makeshift camp under the canopy of the Queens Forest. Instantly the pain of his chest rose and his heart pumped faster as he knew danger. He tried again to struggle but he was bound, his hands tied to his ankles.

“Gods damned man! If I get out again I won’t hesitate to plunge a knife into your smug noble face!”

Ted narrows his eyes trying to look menacing from his rather disadvantageous spot on the ground. His efforts were met with a laugh from his tormentor. A boiling of anger swelled as he felt humiliated being hog tied and even captured by the noble.

“Let me loose and I will show you something laugh at...I mean I will kill you!”

Ted unfortunately sputtered in his haste to try once again assert his projected air of strength. This however stopped short as from behind Gabriel rose the toothy face of the raptor. The eyes of which stopped the mans blood and he could only swallow a lump in his throat.

“Mr. Ted.” Gabriel spoke calmly as he looked at the man. “You are in no position to talk the talk when you cannot walk the walk. I am done with playing with you. Honestly I amused myself by improperly tying you. More of a test really but one that you failed. My distaste for you has subsided I now see you are just a middle man.”

Standing Gabriel lofts his sword, the blade glowed in the night with a golden hue. He inspects his handy work with sharpening the blade as he spoke, his voice gaining more edge to it.

“You sir, killed my wife. You lured her into a trap and lead her into a group of white mantle who in hopes to kill me found her. You may not have had a true hand in the sword or arrow that ended her life. However you were a catalyst for it.”

The sword is now pointed at Ted as again a lump forms in his throat. He struggles back as the sword is now pressed firmly against his chest.

“Look, I can’t tell you about it, they...they will know I snitched and everything wil...oh fuck you will just kill me if I don’t say anything...”

A dark grin forms on Gabriel’s face as the point of the sword digs into the mans clothes slowly.

“Yes, Mr. Ted, I will kill you. However it won’t be a simple thrust into your heart as it should be. No, I will make it painful for you. Break a bone, mangle you by rock...and when I am done you will then walk to my house. Wherein my sons will then apply their trade on you. My first born, Federico will find a few precise places to cut. My second, will then use great curses to your sorry soul...and my youngest...well I don’t think we’ve ever had to use his skills.”

the man begins to whimper, any shred of bravado or bravery gone as the man’s face contorts from pain and fear.

“So, you can talk...or we can continue to do it this way. Please, don’t talk. Give me a reason to grab a hot rock near the fire and smash it into your face. Give me a reason to vent, to have years of pain and hurt be purged from my body.”

“It was Kestrel! that’s what he told us to call him...he is a white mantle man who operates in the city. He said he wanted to get back at your family for a past wrong doing...he was trying to send you a message...I haven’t seen him since...no..I have when he attacked with the other mantle on the city and at your family...I told him no more...”

Gabriel lets out a sudden howl in frustration as he stepped back and raised his sword. “You coward! you couldn’t let me have this...you will rot in the mists and never find peace...” with a swift motion the sword came down and the sound of tearing sinews of the rope are heard. With his bindings cut Ted gets up hurriedly to untie his feet before bolting off. The raptors head lifts to follow but Gabriel sharply commands. “No. Not today. Let him run.”

Gabriels eyes watch the man run off into the distance. He took even breaths to quell his anger inside. He forced it back down into a box only to be used when needed. He eventually could not see the retreating form of Ted before he stood up and put the campfire out by kicking a can of water on it. He then dumps some loose dirt on it before moving to gather everything and saddle his raptor for home.

“I have a good time traveling here, I have a good time living here. I get everything along my journey, I get everything I need. There's so much everything in the world, There's so much to see. There's so many places to be To hear those hoofs.

Singing, dancing, playing my song I enjoy my life along this road. My life so sweet along this road, Here at the end of the North Star. Here's my home, Here the road ends. Here's the stable of my horse, Here was born my silver haired mount.

Keep on galloping my black horse carrying me to unknown shores through these outlandish woods and with confidence back home ...back home”

#GW2rp #Gabriel Cavalli #Reboot storyline #Family reunion

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theskyandsea · 4 years

Text

Good King Eames-ceslas

Re-uping my first fanfic ever, a Christmas A/E crackfest

On the feast of Stephan, King Eames quietly slipped away to one of the balconies off the great hall for some air.

Inside, a cheer went up as the musicians launched into another song, and Eames could hear the scrape of benches against the stone floor as more partiers joined in the dancing. He knew they were probably missing him, or at least noting his absence with disapproval. His page had informed him many times that the courtiers expected to be given the honour of rubbing shoulders with him in exchange for the taxes they paid.

But Eames was exhausted by the stuffy rooms with their sputtering candles and brightly dressed nobles who fawned over him but didn’t care to actually get to know him. He’d always know it would be lonely to be king alone, but he wasn’t really prepared for how much lonelier it was when there were masses of people who wanted to talk to you about their own problems.

Outside, the wind bit at him, blowing straight through his formal robes. His shoes were already soaked from the snow that had settled in drifts across the balcony. Shivering, he stood and surveilled his kingdom. The full moon shone down on the trees, and the light reflected off the snow, turning the night from black to a sort of dream-like otherworld.

Another gust of wind almost knocked Eames over, and he was turning to go back inside when he saw him.

Trudging through the forest in front of the castle was a peasant, pulling a sled piled with logs and bundles of sticks for kindling. It was stacked a bit precariously, and the peasant had to stop every few feet to stabilise his load.

As he made his way directly below Eames, another few logs fell off this sled. Eames could almost see the peasant doing the mental math to fit them back on in a way that they wouldn’t just wind up back in the snow. The peasant let out a huff, breath forming a cloud in front of him, and bent down to gather the wood. Eames let out a breath of his own.

He had no hat, his hair slicked back by the wet night, and while the peasant’s clothes were not as fancy and well made as his, they were still tight enough to show off his rather fine ass. All of him was rather fine, really. He had a very nice profile, with an elegant air about him that made Eames want to unbutton him and turn him into a mess.

Once the logs were back on the sled, the peasant started a complicated looking process of gently shaking and picking out every piece of stray bark and decayed leaves that clung to his coat. Eames was warmed by the sheer ridiculousness of this peasant, with his fussy attention to detail and lovely elegance.

The peasant was now staring at his pile like he’d like to give it a good talking to and Eames thought that there was a non zero chance that this peasant could be the love of his life.

He watched the peasant begin to leave, pulling his sled full of wood that no longer dared to fall over, and was overcome with a deep and desperate desire to go and meet this strange and wonderful man and tell him just how ridiculous and endearing Eames found him.

He turned inside to run down and outside to catch the man and invite him in, but ran into Lord Cobb, who had been waiting just inside the door for him. Cobb immediately grasped his arm and launched into a very drunken spiel about the state of his land and how it would be such an honour if in the new year, my lord could visit us and maybe bring some of this brilliant wine and also possibly one of the ladies in waiting. Eames impatiently tried to extradite himself, and was saved his page, Ariadne, who came up to him bearing a plate of cakes. Eames seized upon her and muttered vague apologies to Cobb, pulling her outside, where the peasant was still just visible. They both flinched against the cold.

“Ari, that man there, pulling that sled, do you happen to know him?” He tried to say it nonchalantly, as if it was an everyday occurrence for a king to take particular interest in random peasants passing by.

Ariadne squinted out. “Well, yes, my lord. That’s Arthur. He’s from my village. Any reason why?” Her face fell. “You aren’t going to charge him with theft for stealing wood from your forest are you?”

Eames stared at her. “Wait— it’s illegal to steal wood from that forest?”

Ariadne nodded gravely. “Punishable by a week in the stocks.”

A plan started to form in Eames mind. “Well, if he needs to steal wood from me, then he can’t be that well off, can he?”

Ariadne hesitated. “No worse off than anyone else, I think. It’s been a tough winter. Colder than most.”

Eames smiled. “Well I must help him then. Bring him some warmth. Do you know where he lives?”

“He lives a good few miles from here, under the mountain. His house is next to the forest’s edge.”

“Right then, Ari. We are going to skip this feast, gather some food and wine and bring them to him.” With that, Eames set off toward the kitchen.

***

The kitchen was the warmest room of any castle and Eames always loved hiding in it as a child. Now, armed with a satchel and every bit of charm he could muster, he went in search of the cook. Around him, the servants ran about, carrying steaming dishes of roast venison swimming in thick gravy, massive pies carried by three men and colourful root vegetables. He swiped a few bottles of the wine Cobb had been so enthusiastic about, and a thermos of piping hot chocolate.

Mal, one of the french ladies in waiting, spied him stealing the food and slapped his hand. “My lord, everyone’s been looking for you. We can hardly start the next course without you.”

Eames sighed and put on his most angelic smile. “My lady,” he kissed her hand. “I’m afraid the court will have to do without me for this feast. I have just seen a poor peasant passing by, and I just must go help him. I’m gathering some food to take to his family now.”

Mal looked at him suspiciously. “And the fact that you always look bored during feasts has nothing to do with your leaving?”

“Is it not enough that I am being charitable? Must I always have a double motive?”

Mal sighed and looked at him. “Yes, but you have looked sad lately so I will help you with this charity.”

He beamed at her. Mal grabbed some cloths and started wrapping up what food she could. Eames piled it all haphazardly in the satchel, kissed her cheek and set out.

As he left the kitchen, he spied a vase of flowers grown in the greenhouse so that the court could enjoy fresh flowers all winter. Carefully, he took the flowers from the vase placed them in his bag, next to the hot chocolate.

He ran to his chambers, narrowly avoiding running into Cobb once again. The feast was still in full swing, and the halls of the castle were fairly empty. He grabbed his warmest cloak and boots and paused. Arthur would probably be cold too, and Eames had so many nice cloaks he rarely wore. Arthur might even prefer a cloak to flowers, which were pretty useless as gifts went. He reached into the bottom of his trunk and picked one that he hadn’t worn lately and shoved it down into the satchel.

***

He met Ari at the doors of the castle. She was holding two lit lanterns and wrapped up in the scarf that had been his Christmas gift to her. She handed him a lantern and together they went out into the night.

It had started snowing, and the wind blew it thick and fast around them. Eames pulled his cloak tighter as they passed into the forest. He turned to Ari. “Tell me about Arthur. I want to know everything.”

Ari smiled at him. “It’ll be nice for Arthur to get some company and holiday cheer. He’s plenty kind, but he’s also a bit of a stick in the mud, and I don’t think he has many friends here."

“He must be really strong if he can pull all those logs,” Eames said and remembered fondly the shape of him picking up wood.

She laughed. “He’s very strong. Rumour has it he was a soldier for hire, but now he mostly works with the blacksmith, making swords and horseshoes and whatever else people need.��

Eames immediately imagined Arthur in a smithy, shirtless and sweating from the heat of the forge. He liked the thought immensely.

The wind picked up again, harsher than before. It blew through Ariadne’s lantern, extinguishing it. The forest turned grey-green and haunting around them, with only the one lantern and the moon through the trees as a guide. Ari shivered next to Eames, and they huddled closer when they walked. They didn’t talk, just listened as the wind whistled.

Around a mile from the edge of the forest, Ari tripped on a root hidden by the snow and tumbled into a snowbank. She let out a soft oof as she hit the ground. Eames helped her up, and brushed as much snow as he could off her.

She shuddered, crusted in snow. “It’s all down my back, under my cloak, fuck that’s cold.”

They walked a bit further, and Ari shivered violently against the wind and falling snow. It was blowing into them now, flakes of snow landing on their faces. Eames could feel the bite of where the moisture of his breath had frozen onto his stubble. Ari shivered again, and Eames said, “Why don’t you walk behind me — I’m bigger than you and I can block out the worst of the wind.”

Ari shot him a grateful look and trudged along behind him. He turned, swinging the lantern around to make sure she was following.

He heard her gasp. “My god,” she whispered. “I think you’ve been blessed for helping Arthur.” He turned around fully, and she pointed at a trail of melted snow and flower petals that had followed them through the woods. Eames stated at it in shock. In some places there were petals scattered, but in others bits of green and brown soil sat like tiny oasis's of spring.

With a sinking feeling, Eames felt the bottom of the satchel. It was warm and wet, and there was a growing hole. He pulled his fingers away and found them covered in hot chocolate and a few crushed petals.

Ari was examining the nearest patch of melted snow, right behind Eames. “It’s incredible, my lord. It’s still slightly warm.”

He felt a pang of embarrassment. “I’m sure it’s just a mistake Ari. Let’s keep going, and please don’t mention this to anyone at court.” He tried to discreetly reach into the bag so he could fix the lid on the hot chocolate and move the flowers. It was one thing to go about being a kind king, charitably giving a peasant some food and drink, but bringing flowers to him would probably raise some eyebrows. Possibly more eyebrows than a blessing from God for doing a good deed.

Ari rolled her eyes. “God doesn’t make mistakes, my lord.” She took a closer look at one of the flowers. “That’s strange. These flowers are the same type that the gardeners grew for the feast.” She picked up a bit of semi-melted snow and gave if a good sniff. “Is — is this hot chocolate?”

Eames panicked. “No. Nope. It must be God. I’m a very good king, you know. Definitely deserving of divine blessings and all that.”

Ari gave him a look. “But—"

Eames cut her off. "Shall we continue then? You must be very cold, and I’ll bet Arthur will let you dry off by the fire he made out of all those logs.”

He set off, cloak billowing regally. He heard Ari shuffle to keep up, but didn’t look behind him.

***

Finally, they reached the edge of the forest. Arthur’s cottage was pressed right up against the fence, covered in a layer of snow. It was low and squat, with smoke cheerfully leaving the chimney. Eames knew it was Arthur’s because the sled was leaning against the wall next to the door. There was a very neatly shovelled path leading from the road to the door, lined with two precise banks of snow.

Eames, relieved that their journey was nearly over, practically skipped up the path. Ari, clearly very cold and much more subdued, followed him. He knocked on the door, and waited with bated breath.

Inside, there was a crash, and Arthur opened the door. He stared at Eames and Ariadne in shock.

“Hello Arthur,” Eames purred. “We were just in the neighbourhood, and Ari fell into some snow and has a dreadful chill. Is there any chance she could come in and warm up by your fire?”

Arthur blinked and looked out at them. Eames looked around as well. The garden, so immaculate when they came in, now had bits of flowers and hot chocolate melting the snow in random patches.

Arthur said, “Ari, of course you can come in. Take your coat off. I just lit the fire.” Then he turned to Eames. “Aren’t you the king?”

Eames beamed. “Why yes, darling, thank you for noticing.”

Arthur made no move to welcome him in. Eames heaved up his satchel and said, “Well shall we head in then?”

Arthur’s mouth moved around, in a way that if you were feeling optimistic, you might have thought that he was hiding a smile. Eames was feeling very optimistic.

“Of course, your highness. Come in.”

“Call me Eames, petal.”

Arthur made a face at him, but a faint blush rose on his cheeks.

Inside, Arthur’s house was utterly delightful in a very orderly way. The logs that he had just collected were stacked by the fire to dry, along with his coat. There were notebooks along the shelves, each labeled and dated. Blacksmithing bits and bobs were in careful piles with polish cloths folded beside them. Ari was sitting wrapped in a blanket in front of the fire, looking far less pale and cold. Eames poked around, being very charmed by everything.

Arthur brought the bag of food in and set it on the table. “You left this outside.”

Eames went over to help. He opened the bag and began pulling out things. First came the food, carefully packaged by Mal. “I thought we might have a bit of a feast, so I grabbed what I could. There’s some venison marinated in salt.”

Arthur’s eyebrows shot up. Eames put the meat down next to the bag. “There’s also a leg of wild boar, mini peacock and pork pies, custard tarts, French cheese and grapes…”

With every new thing Eames piled on the table, Arthur’s eyebrows rose progressively higher. The pile wobbled and threatened to topple and Arthur lunged over to stop the grapes and tarts from rolling onto the floor. “Forgive me, your highness, but what exactly are you doing here?”

“Eames, darling. And what, a king can’t decide to be charitable at Christmas and bring food to his subjects?” Eames winked.

“A king can, but I’ve never heard of you doing anything like this before. And that doesn’t explain why you’re here, at my house, specifically. There are plenty people worse off.”

Eames pulled in close to Arthur and said, “Ah, yes, but they weren’t collecting wood in my forest looking at the logs as though they personally offended them.”

Arthur said, a little horrified, “This is far too much food for just the three of us, I can’t accept it.”

“Don’t worry, darling. We can give it to the locals in the morning. Now, Ari, if you’ve warmed up, do you mind helping me set this all out?”

Ari came over and started searching the cupboards for plates. Eames gave Arthur a look. “Now, there’s still a few things left in here, so bear with me.”

“Oh god,” said Arthur faintly.

Eames pulled out a rich red arcade cloak with gilt gold embroidery. He noted with a pang that part of it was wet and brown with hot chocolate.

Arthur looked at in alarm. “Do you always travel with extra cloaks?”

Eames smiled. “This is for you, petal. I thought you might like something a bit warmer and brighter.”

Arthur looked like he was about to protest, so Eames turned to the fireplace. “It’s a bit wet though, so I’ll leave it by the fire to dry, okay?”

The last things out of the satchel were the half empty hot chocolate and crushed flowers. He gave them to Arthur apologetically. Ari gave him A Look. “Definitely a Saint, then?”

“Shh, Ari.” To Arthur he said, “The flowers did look much better before we left. There’s still some cocoa though, so that’s good.”

Arthur seemed to have given up on talking altogether. He just looked around the table with a sort of shocked amusement.

Eames smiled at him, his dazzling smile, the one he used on stubborn dignitaries. “If you have cups, darling, I can pour the wine.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, but went and grabbed three glasses. Eames produced a bottle of wine, finally emptying the satchel, and poured a healthy measure in each.

***

As Arthur and Eames were filling up their plates, Ari asked, “Is there somewhere I can crash? That walk really took it out of me, and I think I just need to sleep.”

“Yes, Ari, you can sleep here tonight. Thanks for asking. My bed’s in the other room. You can sleep there.”

Ari smiled at him and kissed the side of his head. “Thanks, Arthur. I’ll let you two have dinner and get properly acquainted.” She waggled her eyebrows and left.

Eames looked at Arthur. “That was kind of you. We’ve pretty much just barged in on your night.” He said, unapologetically.

Arthur shrugged. “I’ve known Ari since I moved here. She knows she’s welcome here whenever.” He looked at Eames sideways. “I’ve heard a lot of her stories about you, too. You seem to be unable to be stopped once you get an idea in your head.”

“That’s because I only have good ideas, and if I were to not follow through on one that would be very unjust.”

“So it was a good idea to drag Ari though miles of snow to come meet a random peasant late at night?”

Eames looked at him, mock outraged. “Of course it was! It was to meet you, that’s my best idea in ages.”

Arthur blushed and swallowed thickly. He studied his plate and stayed silent. Eames refilled both their wines. “What are you really doing here?”

Eames smiled. “I saw you, collecting wood, and I thought you were so delightful that I had to meet you immediately”

Arthur sighed. “I’m not delightful, I’m pretty boring really, I’m surprised Ari didn’t tell you not to bother.”

“Trust me, love, I know boring people and you were the most interesting thing at that feast.”

Arthur laughed. “I think that says more about the quality of the company you keep than it does me.”

Eames looked at him with more seriousness than he had all night. He pulled Arthur’s hand into his. “I’m here to woo you, darling. I saw you from that balcony, with your wood and your rather brilliant ass and I thought ‘I must know this strange and wonderful man’. And luckily, I’m the king, so I could collect supplies for a proper wooing and set out.”

Arthur turned away, but Eames could see the corner of his mouth turned up. He fingered the gilt embroidery of the cloak and Eames could see his gaze returning to it again and again as they ate. He smiled, covering his mouth with his goblet of wine.

He said, “you should try it on, it should be dry now.”

Arthur looked at him in horror. “I can’t wear that. It’s way too ostentatious. You get away with it because you’re a king and people expect you to wear strange clothing, but I have a coat that fits me fine.”

Eames waggled his eyebrows. “You like my strange clothes.”

Arthur turned red. “I do not.” He sniffed. “They’re very impractical.”

Eames laughed and laughed.

***

After dinner, as they tidied their plates, Eames moved behind Arthur and put his hands on his ass. It was just as nice as it looked from the balcony. He whispered in Arthur’s ear, “You really do have a fantastic bottom, by the way. I thought it might be, when I saw you in the forest, and I was very right.” He blew on his earlobe.

Arthur laughed and turned around. His dimples were fully out and he looked at Eames with a delightful happiness. “Kings probably shouldn’t be chasing commoners they think might be hot under their coat, that’s a pretty irresponsible way to run a kingdom.”

Eames smiled. “And you know what’s responsible, do you? Maybe I should hire you as my advisor to stop me from doing irresponsible things in the future. You could stand around in your delicious clothes and make disapproving faces at me all day.”

Arthur leaned into him. “Mmm, as tempting as that sounds, I think I would get bored of living in luxury and never doing anything myself."

"You could go down to the forge whenever you wanted, or go off on secret mercenary jobs and come back and tell me all about the incredibly hot things you did.” Eames was startled by how much he wanted that. How much he wanted to wake up and see Arthur every day, to be able to give him looks during boring meetings, wanted him in his bed at the end of the day.

“Did Ari tell you I was a mercenary?” Arthur pressed a kiss into his jaw.

Eames’s breath caught. “Is it true?”

Arthur laughed and pulled him down by the fire, so that he was kneeling on the ground with Eames straddling him. “This is the strangest courtship I’ve ever been a part of.”

His mouth was right in front of Eames’s and he could feel Arthur’s breath against his lips. "Is it working? Are you wooed yet?”

Arthur smiled broadly, and threaded his hands into Eames hair, kissing him gently. Eames brought his arms around his waist and leaned in, kissing him back with everything he had.

He pulled back to take a breath. “I could charge you with theft, you know. Stealing wood that belongs to the king, and all.” Arthur rolled his eyes. “I’m using the kings wood to heat the king, so I hardly think that counts.”

Eames shoved him a little and Arthur let out a squeak as he lost his balance and fell flat on his back. Eames landed heavily on top of him. He rolled off to give Arthur a chance to catch his breath and they looked at each other and started laughing.

Arthur recovered enough to crawl over to Eames and pull him in for another kiss. Eames sat up and crushed Arthur to him, their chests pressed together. He pressed kisses along Arthur’s jaw while Arthur panted into his hair.

Arthur worked his fingers along the buttons of Eames’ shirt. "Fuck, you’re ridiculous in those fancy clothes, why is that so hot?”

“I defy logic, darling, it’s one of my favourite things about myself."

Arthur brought their mouths together again and kissed him until Eames was lightheaded.

He said, “You know, I think this is the best Christmas I’ve ever had.” He moved to Arthur’s neck, trailing kisses down his neck.

“It’s the 27th. Christmas was 2 days ago, Eames,” Arthur said, gasping the words out a little as Eames nipped at his collarbone.

Eames pulled Arthur’s mouth to his. “Just kiss me darling.”

Arthur did, then pulled away. “I would take you to bed, but you’ve already put someone in mine.”

Eames grabbed the red cloak from where Arthur had left it on the chair. “Well, we’ll just have to improvise won’t we.”

Arthur pulled back. “Under no circumstances am I sleeping with you with your page right in the other room.”

“I hate to break it to you darling, but as king, I’m very rarely without at least one member of staff.” He spread the cloak out beside them.

“Oh god, is this what the future will look like? Never a shed of privacy? Should I just develop a voyeurism kink now, then?”

Eames, charmed by the idea of Arthur thinking of them having a future, turned and smiled into his neck. Arthur’s hair, loosened by Eames’s fingers, was curly and soft. “If you like. Develop any kinks you want, just let me know.”

Arthur let out a sigh. “I was planning on leaving in the spring. They don’t really need me at the forge and I was thinking I could go over to Saito’s kingdom and see if he has any work for a mercenary.”

Eames frowned. “Come back with me, to the castle. Join the smithy there. Or be a mercenary, if you need the excitement. Or you can just lounge around in my bed. Just come back to me, please darling.”

Arthur smiled shyly. “Okay, I’ll stay.”

Eames kissed him gently, then pushed him down on his back. “Now that that’s settled, darling, I’d really like to take you apart.”

And he did.

#arthur/eames #arthur x eames #inception #inception fanfiction #inception fanfic #dream husbands #dreamhusbands

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tales-of-the-party · 7 years

Text

TofTP - Flight of Fancy

Rizu: Been a while sorry but we are finally getting to posting them slowly but surely! Here is story number 2!

Bry was awoken from his dream of women, beer and battle when Rizu’s heel cracked him across the face. He gave a surprised yelp and jumped up from his resting spot on Fluffles the chimera’s ribs. Once more, they were sleeping out in the woods. Their camp consisted of only the fire not ten feet from Bry and Fluffles. It had gone low, and he’d need to rekindle it soon. He snarled and looked up at the little horror sleeping on the beast’s back. She was resting on her stomach, her arms under the pillow she rested her head on and her left leg dangling off the side. “Oi,” he said, poking her cheek. She scratched the area where he poked her and then snored in reply. The left corner of Bry’s mouth twitched in annoyance and he placed his hand on her side. With a little snort he shoved the mage off the chimera’s back. He heard a thud on the other side of the monster and moments later Rizu started shouting. “We’re under attack! Wake up, guys!” She popped her head over Fluffles back, spending a moment searching for any hidden attackers. When she finally saw Bry with his arms crossed and the fingers of his right hand tapping his left arm she pieced together what had happened. “You’re an unbelievable ass,” she said. “You woke me up first,” Bry replied. “Kicked me across the face.” “Lies, lies and slander. Besides,” the mage drawled, “even if I had, you probably deserved it.” “I hadn’t done anything!” “You probably deserved it for something you’re going to do.” “Like?” The small red haired woman shrugged in response. “Oh, wait I think I know what it is,” Bry said. “And that would be?” “I’m going to hang you over the fire,” Bry growled. “You wouldn’t dare,” Rizu said, narrowing her eyes. Before Bry could reply, a low rumbling began. Both mage and warrior looked to the chimera, that was turning it’s head back and forth between them, baring it’s fangs and growling. The meaning was clear: Both of you shut up and let me sleep. Bry and Rizu both held up their hands in a sign of surrender. “You two bicker like a married couple,” came a voice above them. Bry looked up, and while he couldn’t see Coil he knew he was somewhere in the trees. The rogue had a habit of sleeping there, out of eyesight unless one squinted. He said it would provide a good advantage if they actually were attacked. “I’d sooner cut it off, cook it and feed it to the overgrown cat monster,” Bry said and received a huff from Fluffles. “I second that, especially the cutting off bit,” Rizu said with a sneer at Bry. Coil gave an exaggerated sigh. “If you two hate each other so much, why stick together?” Both went quiet and after a moment Bry scoffed. “I’m going back to bed,” he said and laid against the chimera’s ribs again. “Wake me up again and I’ll dangle you over the fire.” Besides a snort, Rizu gave no reply and climbed back onto Fluffles’ back. Unseen to both of them, Coil raised an eyebrow as they fell asleep. They’d both made no attempt to hide they weren’t going to answer the question. He supposed he couldn’t blame them for not wanting to talk about it; he was the latest addition to their group - well, besides Fluffles. So Coil was the latest human addition. He’d only been with them the last seven months; after a certain incident, he needed work and the two of them had given him the opportunity. The pay was good - they usually made more than just a bit of coin, especially when they took jobs from local lords and nobles. There was a connection between them, and they obviously trusted him, just not enough to give away such information yet. Coil yawned and stretched, crossing his left leg over his right and crossing his arms, his back firmly against the tree trunk. Problems for later, he thought as he began to drift off to sleep.

The group had awoken just before dawn, getting their gear packed and putting out the fire. “I want go check out that meadow nearby, there may be some plants I could use for potions and salves,” Rizu said. “And by ‘want to go check out’ you mean ‘have you two pick the plants while I sit on my ass’, right?” Bry huffed. “Coil I could at least trust to know which ones are poison,” Rizu snapped. “You’d probably just pick something that’d kill us all.” “I could skip straight to the killing part if you like,” Bry said with a glare. Coil and Fluffles shared a look as the two began to argue and call each other names. After fifteen minutes, which - due to Bry’s and Rizu’s non-stop fighting, felt more like fifteen hours - they reached the meadow. The warrior and mage ceased their arguing, thank the assassin gods, and stared out into the meadow. The field was full of flowers of every kind. Coil could see petals of red, blue, white, violet and yellow. Snaking between the flowers were several types of roots and weeds. “I can make out a few of the species here,” Rizu said placing her right hand horizontally on her forehead to keep the sun out of her eyes, “but there’s plenty down there that I can’t identify right now.” Rizu took a few seconds to make sure her pack was secured to her back, then turned to her companions. “Let’s go, ladies,” she said walking toward the meadow.

Over the next hour, the trio wove their way through the meadow, picking out flowers and plants for Rizu to examine to determine if it was a safe species or not. While the three were busy, Fluffles decided to amuse himself by either playing with or eating the insects that were flying around. He was so distracted trying to eat a butterfly that he almost missed the smell of a predator closing in. He caught the scent a moment before a great shadow went over him and made it’s way across the field. He let out a roar as he tried to track the creature in the sky. By the time he saw it, however, it was too late. “What the hell is he roaring at?” Bry asked turning toward Fluffles. At the second his back turned the sun went out above him. No, that’s not right, there’s light all around me. He looked up as a massive avian creature went over him and swooped to grab Rizu in its claws. The creature was about twenty five feet tall, six or seven wide and had a wingspan that Bry couldn’t even guess. The only thing Bry could think it resembled was a vulture. It had long black feathers covering its body and wings but only leathery skin from the neck up. Each of its black talons were as long as his arm. A sound akin to an earthquake sounded behind Bry. He turned to see Fluffles running toward the giant bird. As the chimera passed, Bry grabbed hold of its mane and was lifted from the ground as the beast thundered past. He could see the creature’s left talons wrap around Rizu and Coil striking at its right with his sword. The creature forced Rizu to the ground and lowered its mouth to eat its prey alive.

Coil continued to slash the avian’s leg with his blade, making little progress. He’d only just broken the skin of the giant bird’s leg. After his tenth strike, he decided it was time to stop fighting like an assassin and take a note from Bry’s book. Coil took his katana in both hands and began to chop at the center point of its leg. The monster bird let out a shriek of pain as each blow dug the sword deeper and deeper. About half way through, the leg the monster lifted off the ground, Rizu still clutched in its other leg. With a flap of its massive wings it sent Coil flying several dozen feet away. He grunted in pain as his back smashed into a tree. While falling, he drew two throwing knives and threw them at the head of the monstrous bird. One clinked off of its beak, but the other dug into its left eye. The avian monster gave out another loud shriek of pain and began to lift off. In the monster's claw, Rizu struggled; biting its foot, smacking the back of the large leg with her staff and anything else she could reach with her staff. Damn, Coil thought as he tried to rise. Just before the bird could lift off, Fluffles struck, latching onto the back of the bird. The bird shrieked as it was brought to ground. It turned its head and struck at the chimera, but Fluffles had already dodged to its right. It was so focused on the chimera that it didn’t notice Bry tumble off of Fluffles mane, his halberd in hand. Bry roared, leapt and brought the halberd down on the back of the avian’s leg. The monster screamed. The bird turned to peck at him, hoping to impale or sever a limb. It shrieked in surprise as Fluffles struck its head from the side, knocking it’s beak off course and into the dirt several feet from Bry. With another strike Bry sank the blade of his weapon deeper. With the third strike his chop met Coil’s and the right leg was separated from the bird. The monster let out a shriek of rage and pain, flailing every which way. Fluffles jumped back, barely avoiding being struck by the giant wings. The monster bird took advantage of the chimera falling back to use it’s wings to raise itself higher. Fluffles moved forward to strike the leg holding Rizu but was blown back by the gales the avian had created. Bry, behind the bird, ran as fast as he could to the leg holding the small mage. He raised his halberd to bring it down on one of the three toes holding her, but while he was mid swing the bird jumped forward. After the third leap it managed to get airborne and began to make it’s escape. “Get me out of here!” Bry heard Rizu shout, her voice becoming fainter as the bird got further and further away. “You jerks!” The bird disappeared over the treetops, blood still falling from its severed leg.

Coil made his way to Bry and Fluffles, where the two were staring off where the bird had flown. Each step caused a spike of pain to go down his back, the first few steps making him flinch slightly. When he finally reached the warrior and chimera he looked in the same direction as they. On the ground around them was thick, dark blood, which became a trail leading into the forest. “Most of the blood could have landed on the trees,” Coil said, “but Fluffles could follow it by scent.” The chimera chuffed in acknowledgement. Bry fixed his bag over his shoulder. “Well, we did everything we could,” Bry drawled as he began to walk away from the direction the blood trail was leading “Nothing to do about it. Sure, it’s a shame but I’m sure the little monster deserves it.” “Bry,” Coil said flatly. “But I’m sure it’ll console her in the next world to know we gave it our all to save her. Now we should probably be heading back home.” “Bry.” Bry turned to Coil. “You know we’ve got to go save her.” Bry looked from Coil to the trial of blood leading into the forest, the forest itself and then back to Coil. “Do we have to?” he asked pleadingly.

“Put me down, you over sized chicken!” Rizu said, using her staff to smack the talons wrapped around her. The bird took no notice of her attempts to free herself, just continuing to sweep over the treetops. After about ten minutes, the bird began to slow down and descend. Rizu could tell instantly where the bird was going. On top of a group of three or four trees was a massive nest, about fifty feet all around. When the bird was above the nest it dropped her. Luckily for Rizu, it was only ten feet above. She landed down on the branches, snapping several to pieces. “Well I guess I can’t really get angry,” she said getting to her knees, “I did tell it to drop me. Then again, I can be mad that it’s going to eat me.” She huffed and flopped down to sit, jumping back up as she both felt a large object crack under her butt. “Oh what the hell!?” she snarled, grabbing the object then stopping. She felt her blood drain from her face. In her hand was a pure white, sun bleached human skull. She stared at the skull for several seconds. Behind her she heard twigs snap. Turning, she was face to face with six four foot tall, pink, fleshy birds. They tilted their heads to the side, examining her. She looked at the skull. “I think I’m doomed,” she said just as the birds shrieked and attacked. Rizu scrambled back, tossing the skull at the head of the lead bird. It clonked the bird on the head, forcing it to stop and take a step back, which caused the others to bump into it and slow down. Rizu jumped to her feet and ran to one end of the nest while the birds recovered. When she reached the edge of the next and turned, the birds were only twenty feet away and closing fast. Gotta be quick, she thought and slammed her staff down. She tuned out the approaching birds as she focused her mana to her staff. When the first bird was five feet away, it’s mouth opened and full of small dagger like teeth, she released her spell. All at once dozens of orbs of light burst from her staff. The birds screeched as the lights hurt their eyes, but their cries were cut short as the orbs tore through them like a red hot knife through paper. When Rizu opened her eyes, all six were on the floor of the next. Several holes had been torn through their bodies, the wounds almost cauterized instantly so there was very little blood. Two of the birds twitched for a couple seconds before falling still. Rizu fell back and sat on the wall of the nest, breathing heavily. Offensive white magic always knocked the wind out of her. And the adrenaline, she thought, can’t forget to thank that. Lifting her head she looked at the bodies of her would be devourers and after several seconds froze. Mama bird would be back to check on her babies at some point and there was nowhere to hide. Gotta think really fast, she thought to herself as she ran around the edge of the nest. After circling the next three times she found an opening in the edge of the nest, where the wall and floor connected. She immediately began tearing out the branches of both the wall and floor, her hands becoming scratched and cut by the edges. “I’m going to have splinters,” the small mage said, fitting herself into the gap she had made and dragging the sticks in front of her. “I just know it.” She didn’t have to wait long. After ten minutes the giant bird returned, hovering above the nest. The great beast shrieked, calling to it’s young. When it received no reply it circled to the end of the nest where the dead birdlings were. It shrieked once again and again received no answer. Still outside the nest, it lowered its altitude until it could move it’s head inside and nudge the dead birds. After nudging each the avian threw it’s head back and screeched in pure rage, flapping its wings so fast and hard that Rizu feared the sticks covering her would be blown away. With no warning, the avian flew off. Rizu could hear its pain filled screech fade away but decided it would be safer to stay in hiding for now.

Bry hadn’t stopped grumbling since Coil had forced him onto Fluffles back and began their search for their companion. Sitting behind Bry, back to back with both his legs and arms crossed crossed, Coil could only catch every other word. Most consisted of name calling and morbid promises. “So,” Coil said. “Are you going to answer my question from last night?” “Eh?” Bry asked. “What’re you on about?” “On why, if you hate Rizu so much, you still travel with her?” He couldn’t see Bry’s face but he could guess from the annoyed tone when he said “Really? You want to know about that, now?” “We don’t have anything else to talk about, and it seems we’ve got a way to go.” Bry was silent for a few moments, the only sound was that of Fluffles’ hooves thudding against the ground. “Years ago, I joined the Boltol army,” Bry said. “I was far more eager to shed blood and win glory back in those days.” Coil raised an eyebrow. “I heard that,” Bry growled. “Anyway, one day we get word that one of our neighbors, Valfa, was moving a force toward our borders. We marched out to meet them and fought at Narzir River.” Coil suppressed a flinch; he’d heard about that battle. Boltol had won that slaughter even though they were outnumbered three to one, killing every combatant on the field. Still, they’d lost over eighty percent of their forces. “During the battle I did great, slaying any foe that came to challenge me. With my size and the reach of my halberd I managed to rack quite the body count!” Bry said with a note of pride in his voice. “But as the battle went on, I started getting tired. I was losing grip of my weapon. Slipping on the blood. Growing more weary with every strike and block.” He went silent for a few moments. “I finally saw one of the enemy commanders, a big brute with an enchanted mace. One of those really nasty ones, like a log with spikes on it.” “You didn’t.” “I did.” Bry huffed a laugh. “I charged the bastard. The fight lasted three seconds. I swung and overstepped. He dodged and hit me full on in the left side with that mace. Two handed.” “Ouch.” “Ouch doesn’t cover it. My armor might have well have been paper. It shattered my ribs, punctured my lung and the enchantment set the point of impact ablaze. “Lucky for me the blow sent me into the river. However, I was still certain I was dead. On top of the wounds, now I was going to drown.” Bry laughed again. “So imagine my surprise when I woke up alive. “There was a village a few hours downstream from the battle. Rizu was there helping some villagers that had contracted demon rot and was getting some water from the river.” Bry went silent for several more seconds. “She called the villagers and had them carry me back to the village. Due to the wound being caused by an enchanted weapon she couldn’t heal it right away, she needed extra time to make sure everything healed correctly. Using magic when she could, using herbs and salves for the most of it. More than half of them stung like a bitch, and that little monster would chew me out whenever I complained or refused to take my medicine.” Coil snickered. “So it’s more of a life debt type thing?” “Basically,” Bry drawled. As Coil opened his mouth to ask another question he heard something in the distance. A loud, shrill shriek. “I think our friend is back,” he said, scanning the forest. There, he thought. Just beyond the tree line he could see the massive bird flying low to the ground. “Think he’s gonna try to get at us in here?” “I’m still surprised it’s still alive to be honest,” Coil said, “given that we cut off a leg. It’s lost a lot of blood, and I’m sure it’s got an infection by now. If it realizes it’s dying it might just-” Coil was cut off as several trees at the tree line toppled over. Five seconds - and several trees - later the monster avion was behind them. The beast let out a rage filled screech that forced Bry and Coil to cover their ears. While they were distracted the avian closed the distance to them to a few feet, it’s mouth open to pluck up Coil. Like a flash of lightning, Fluffles tail lashed out. The snake head punctured one of the giant eyes, forcing the bird back and to screech even louder in pain. “That’ll teach ya not to screw with us!” Bry laughed. The bird gained its bearings once more and came at them again, pure fury given form. “Bry?” Coil sighed, drawing a throwing knife in one hand and a bomb in the other. “Yeah?” “You’re not allowed to talk anymore.” The bird quickly gained ground, screeching a promise of death. “Last time you took us by surprise,” Coil said aiming the knife at the birds remaining eye and trying to remain balanced, “but this time I’ve got my gear.” He threw the knife and took out the remaining eye, as the bird fell to the earth, Coil lit and tossed a grenade into its mouth when it opened to screech. After counting to five, the grenade went off, taking the entire front of the monster avian’s head and leaving a bloody, puled mass. “Remind me not to piss you off,” Bry said. “Didn’t I tell you that you aren’t allowed to talk?”

“Well, I dunno how we’re going to get up there,” Bry said, eyeing the nest sitting on top of three large trees. The trees holding the nest and several around them were picked clean of branches, long and deep claw marks giving evidence the giant monster bird had tore them away. Whether to use to make the nest or to make sure predators couldn’t get it it, he couldn’t say. “I could try climbing by stabbing my knives into the trunk. But I wouldn’t have a way to bring her down, and if the knives break while I’m high enough I’d end up falling and killing myself,” Coil said, bringing his hand up to stroke his chin. “Oi!” Rizu shouted, “Can you two hurry up? I would like to get down before I’m an old woman.” “You mean you’re not?” Bry shouted up toward her. “I couldn’t tell!” “I will end you, you bastard!” the mage screeched. “I could try using rope,” Coil said. “I got a better idea,” Bry said, going to his pack and began digging. He returned shortly with a woodman's axe. “Bry-” “You wouldn’t dare!” Rizu shouted. “You want down right?” Bry asked “Well I think it’s time to show some appreciation. Why don’t you go ahead and start calling me ‘Lord Bry’ and telling me how handsome and heroic I am.” Bry pretended to check his fingernails with a stereotypical noble attitude. Rizu looked toward Coil. “You can’t seriously be letting him do this.” Coil turned to Bry and opened his mouth but fell short as he saw the murderous gleam in the warrior’s eye. He held up his hand in mock surrender and went over to sit against Fluffles. “I’m not hearing any praise!” Bry called. Rizu replied with a long list of swear words and comparing Bry to a mentally challenged farm pig. “That’ll have to do I suppose,” Bry said giving a weary sigh walking toward the thinnest of the large trees, roughly ten feet thick all around.. “Don’t you dare!” Rizu shouted. Bry performed some practice swings with the axe. On the third swing he struck the trunk of the tree! “Okay! You got me!” Rizu said forcing out a laugh. “Joke’s over, now find a better way to get me out of here!” Bry swung again, the axe bit deeper into the tree. As Bry picked up the pace with his chopping Rizu shouted out a list of insults and threats of horrible things she’d do the warrior while he slept. After a few more swings, Bry was half way through. He stopped and wiped his brow. “Oi! Fluffles! Get your giant furry butt over here!” The chimera raised it’s head toward Bry. “Don’t you dare move, Fluffles! He’s going to use you for evil!” Rizu shouted in response. Fluffles tilted his head to the side. “Come on Fluffles, I’ll give you belly rubs!” Bry said. Fluffles ran to him and flopped on his back. “Yes, yes, belly rubs. But first,” Bry said tapping the tree trunk, “knock this over for me so we can get your pain in the ass master outta that tree.” Fluffles chuffed in response and put his front paws on the trunk of the tree. Rizu was beginning a shout when Fluffles shoved, knocking the tree over. “You fuckeeeeeeeeerrrr!” Rizu screamed, grabbing the nest wall as it fell forward. It did three flips in the air before crashing to the ground, sending countless branches flying. Coil, Bry and Fluffles all ducked behind nearby trees. Coil in particular was lucky; where he was sitting had been impaled by several branches as long as his arm.Fluffles bound forward, knocking aside branches and twigs as he searched for his master. After going down a foot he yelped in pain as Rizu’s arm burst out and her fist tightened around the center of his nostril. Fluffles jumped back slightly, dragging Rizu out of the mount of wood. “I’ll make you all suffer,” she said letting go of the chimera’s nose, breathing heavily, “none of you better sleep for the next ten years.” “Right,” Bry said walking past her and patting her on the head, “whatever you say, shortstack.” Rizu clocked him on the head with her staff in response, before turning to Fluffles. The chimera was on his back again, waiting for the belly rubs that were promised. “Awe, you want a reward for getting me out of the tree?” Rizu asked, her tone all venomous sweetness. Fluffles wiggled in response. “How’s this for a reward? You’re on dry food. For a year.” Fluffles deflated and whined. Coil let out a noise that was a mix of a sigh and laugh, “Never a dull moment with you all, is there?”

#Tales of the Party #ToftP #Fantasy #original story #story #Bry #Rizu #Coil #Fluffles

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ankhlesbian · 6 years

Text

happy pride month! new gay fic time

Fandom: Fire Emblem: Fates

Ship: Velouria/Sophie

Title: Over the River and Through the Woods

AO3 Link: here

Chapter 1: To Grandma’s House We Go

In hope of reconciling with his estranged mother, Silas sends his daughter Sophie to visit her house in the woods, armed with a basket full of baked goods. Unfortunately, her grandma isn't the only one living in the forest, and some inhabitants are far from receptive of visitors.

AKA a little red riding hood au!

Sophie sighed in frustration, tugging angrily at the hem of her shirt. It was just too weird to be wearing plain clothes without any armor on top of them. But Daddy had insisted she forgo anything even vaguely resembling it.

“Mom hasn’t spoken to me since I joined the Royal Guard. Disrespecting the noble family name and all,” he had explained awkwardly.

Old Granny had apparently been a court-going noble, at least until she had been so upset with Silas refusing to follow in her footsteps that she had quit civilization and moved into a cottage in the middle of the woods, far, far away from Nohr’s capital and its knight battalions.

“It’s time we make amends! To reunite as a family!” He had proclaimed boldly, before promptly rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “But I doubt she wants to see me at all. She’ll probably be a more receptive to you, though.” And so he had pressed a basket of baked goods into her arms and ordered her off to visit his mom.

“Stupid coward,” she muttered to herself. It wasn’t really that much of a pain, but she’d much rather be focusing on her cavalier training. She had so much more to learn! Her sword was strapped to her side, just in case, but she couldn’t really justify taking a break to practice her swings when she was technically on a mission. Daddy had banned her from taking Avel in the name of making a good impression on Granny, but it was still kind of a mission! Daddy had even given her a budget for the trip.

The inn in the tiny village closest to Granny’s forest hide-away was cozy, but the people there sure were weird.

“Be careful out there, dearie,” warned the innkeeper, a haggard old woman with sagging skin and wide eyes. “Every night the wolves howl up a storm, and Tasha says her son went out one evenin’ to fetch water from the well, and ain’t been back since.” The old woman had looked around and leaned in conspiratorially. “And when that moon is full, darlin’, well, let’s jus say wolves ain’t the only ones howlin’ out there.”

Which was just silly. Magic was real, of course, but who’d ever heard of werewolves?

“That just wouldn’t make any sense!” she assured herself. She definitely wasn’t walking any faster than she usually did right now. The forest seemed to loom around her, dense and uncut, branches and shrubs alike encroaching on the lone dirt path that weaved through the woods.

“It probably isn’t even that far of a walk. I’ll be there before nightfall, easy as pie!” She was swinging her arms nervously, and her eye caught on the basket in her hands, which was full of lots of things, including pie. “Hah! That was a good one.”

“Do you always talk to yourself like this, blondie? It’s quite annoying,” a voice commented dryly. Sophie shrieked, and her hands jerked instinctively to her sword, the picnic basket flying out of her grip.

In front of her stood a stocky girl, who couldn’t have been much older than Sophie was, with long gray hair covered by a red hood. She held up a single finger, the handle of the picnic basket catching on it and twirling around and around before stopping. She leaned in and sniffed it. Her nose wrinkled.

“Whoever eats these is going to die of food poisoning.” Sophie gawked.

“W-who asked you!” Her sword was pointed at the stranger, and she waved it wildly for emphasis. “And what are you doing here? And what’s your name?” Interrogation didn’t seem like a skill knights would need often, so she hadn’t practiced it much at all. She regretted her decision.

The stranger cocked an eyebrow, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

“My name’s Velouria, if you must know. You’re not the only one traveling through these words, though you certainly are the loudest.” Sophie huffed, puffing out her cheeks. Velouria didn’t seem hostile enough to attack her, so she slid her sword back into its sheaths. She’d let bygones be bygones.

“My name’s Sophie! It’s nice to meet you!” She held out a hand. Velouria stared at it distastefully. Sophie coughed, shaking her hand a bit. Velouria shoved her basket into her hand.

“For the record, I didn’t even bake these. I was banned from the kitchen after I set everything on fire last time. Who knew stoves could get so hot…” Velouria said nothing. Sophie frowned.

“Well, if that’s all, I kind of have a grandma to visit, so I’ll just get going.” If Velouria didn’t want to be friends, fine. Sophie could handle a big creepy forest all on her own. Avel wasn’t even here to get her lost.

Velouria cocked her head.

“Your grandma’s the one living out here?”

“Wait, you know Granny?” Velouria shrugged.

“There’s only one person stupid enough to live out here. Of course I’ve heard of her.” Sophie crossed her arms.

“Don’t insult my grandma if you’ve never even met her!”

“You’ve also never met her.” Sophie paused.

“How do you know that? I mean, y-you don’t know that!” Velouria turned away.

“You just confirmed it. Have fun out here, blondie. Be careful not to leave the path.” Then she crouched and jumped away into the foliage, her red cloak swirling behind her. Sophie stood there for a moment, taken aback.

“Well, that was weird.” Certainly not the weirdest thing that had ever happened to her, though. And maybe she could even have a new friend at the end of this. Daddy was always telling her how important connections were to being a knight. Velouria wasn’t particularly friendly, but one of Sophie’s best traits was her persistence.

“Next time I see her, she won’t get away that easily!” Sophie vowed to herself, clenching her fist.

-.-

“I hate trees,” she grumbled. The sun was sinking lower and lower, and yet the view around her still looked the same. She almost thought she might be going in circles, but there was only one path, so it shouldn’t have been possible to get lost. Her pants were muddy and torn from where she had kept slipping and falling. It must have rained recently, because the further into the forest she went the wetter it got. Her boots squelched with every step she took.

Eventually, a roaring noise reached her ears. Her map had said that there was a river to cross, and that it was extremely close to Granny’s house. Whooping in delight, she sped up as much as she dared with the ground still slippery. As she reached the top of hill, she squinted into the distance.

Sure enough, there was a river cutting through the forest, full of swirling water. Water that was much, much higher than it should’ve been. There was a tiny bridge barely visible beneath the surface of the water, covered completely.

“Just my luck,” she groaned, sliding down the hill to examine the river for any possible crossing points. The water was murky and dirty, full of debris. It must’ve been quite the storm, so maybe some trees had fallen over somewhere…

She abandoned the dirt path to walk downstream alongside the river, keeping a careful distance from the edge of the water. She didn’t fancy testing out her swimming skills against the torrent.

The sun wasn’t getting any higher, but there were still no conveniently fallen trees or other, non-flooded bridges. She chewed on her bottom lip, glancing around furtively. She found a relatively dry patch of ground, placed the picnic basket down, and cracked her knuckles.

Her target was a tree of medium height, with a trunk so large she couldn’t even wrap her arms all the way around it. She crouched and hugged the tree, digging her fingers into the bark.

“Hyah!” Birds squawked indignantly, fleeing their uprooted home. Dirt fell in clumps as she lifted the tree and swung it around to face the river. With a final grunt of effort, she set the tree down, creating a perfect makeshift bridge. Mother would be proud.

She hummed merrily and picked her basket back up, then approached the tree, pressing a palm to the base and pushing on it tentatively. It creaked, but only budged a little. Probably stable enough to cross.

She hopped up onto the trunk and spread her arms out to keep her balance.

“Just one step at a time,” she assured herself, keeping her eyes fixed down at her feet.

She was about halfway across when her right arm suddenly got heavier, and she tilted precariously sideways. She flapped her arms up and down furiously in a desperate effort to stay balanced. She panted with relief when she succeeded, turning to glare at the offending arm.

“Caw?” A smug black crow was perched there, staring at her. Its head was cocked, and their gazes met.

“You can’t be here!” Why was a bird from the middle of nowhere so comfortable with humans, anyways? “Get off!”

The crow turned away from her and pecked at her picnic basket.

“Don’t touch those! Or else!” It ignored her threats and poked its beak under the lid of the basket.

She shook her arm as hard as she could in an effort to dislodge the fiend. It was undaunted. With a triumphant caw the bird popped the flap of the basket up and slipped its entire head inside.

Sophie jerked her arm inwards, aiming to snatch the bird up with her other hand. Then her foot slipped, and she realized her mistake.

As she toppled forward, she saw the crow scramble out of the basket, beak thankfully empty. At least one thing was going right. She shut her eyes instinctively and braced herself for the chill of the water below.

“Erk!” She choked as the neck of her shirt was tugged backwards, pulling tight around her throat as she was jerked back up and shoved forward. She stumbled back onto dry land, landing gracelessly on her butt.

“You really are an idiot, aren’t you?”

“Velouria!”

The girl sighed, hopping off the fallen tree and adjusting her gloves.

“I really have the worst luck.” Sophie groaned, standing up and dusting off her pants.

“I don’t think it was bad luck as much as bad decisions.”

Sophie rolled her eyes.

“You’ll never make any friends with that attitude.”

“I don’t need any,” was her dismissive reply. Sophie frowned.

“And here I was gonna say thanks for saving me! Two can play the rotten attitude game.” There was silence until Sophie relented.

“Okay, I give. Thanks! I wouldn’t mind being friends.”

“I was just being polite.”

“Suuuure you were. ‘Cause you’re so good at that.” Sophie decided to graciously extend another olive branch of friendship.

“What are you doing out here, anyways? If you’re going the same way as me, we can walk together.” Velouria opened her mouth immediately, but then shut it.

“I am heading the same way as you. I’m visiting someone on the other side of the forest.” Sophie grinned.

“Perfect! Then let’s go! Though we should probably get back onto the path first,” she said, a little sheepishly, remembering what Velouria had told her not even two hours ago.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

She tried to strike up more conversation after that, but Velouria barely reacted. Her mind seemed to be elsewhere, and she paused frequently to stare off randomly into the woods. Finally, they reached a fork in path.

“Well, Granny’s house is this way,” she began awkwardly. Velouria stared intensely at the fork. She sniffed and promptly coughed, rubbing at her nose with the back of her hand.

“I’m heading the other way.”

Sophie impulsively reached out to grab one of Velouria’s hands and shake it.

“Maybe we’ll meet again sometime! I can introduce you to my horse, Avel, and you two can be grumpy together.” Velouria removed her hand.

“I do like animals,” she offered, and then immediately vanished.

Sophie sighed and started down her side of the fork. Just as she thought, there was still ample daylight for getting the rest of the way to Granny’s house.

The house was more of a cottage, really, tiny and squished. It was made of stone, at least, so Granny hadn’t completely wasted her fortune when having it build. The door was painted a cheery red, and the front window was framed by checkered curtains, revealing a homey looking wooden table inside.

“Well, here goes nothing.” She took a deep breath and raised a fist to the door, knocking firmly. Nothing happened. Nothing happened for so long that she was just preparing to knock again when the door swung open.

“Who might you be?” Croaked the woman inside, leering suspiciously down at her. Granny sure was tall. She was wearing a simple dress with a bonnet pulled down over her eyes, curly white hair spilling messily down her shoulders.

“I know this is sudden, but I’m Silas’ daughter! He wanted to apologize for everything. I brought you these!” She thrust the basket at the old woman, who pursed her lips. “My name’s Sophie, by the way.” After a moment, the old lady smiled.

“All is forgiven, dearie. Do come in.” Mission success! Sophie acquiesced and stepped inside, looking around curiously. The decor was disappointingly bland for someone who had once lived in a decadent mansion.

“Go ahead and put your sword by the door. You can hang up your jacket too.” She smiled sweetly, gesturing at the coat rack beside the door.

“Your voice sure is deep, Granny, you sound just like Daddy! Well, I suppose he sounds like you, huh? I guess that’s where he got it from.” She chatted gamely as she shuffled off her vest. When she turned back around, Granny had placed the basket onto a polished table, the same one visible from the window.

“Ah, well, all the better to speak to you with, dearie.” Sophie ventured over to the table, wondering if it would be rude to open the picnic basket herself. Traveling was hungry work. Granny beat her to it, flipping open the lid to examine the contents.

“These look positively delicious.” Sophie beamed.

“I’ll pass that on!” Her eyes caught on one of Granny’s hands, which was resting on top of the basket.

“Your hands sure are big. That must’ve skipped my generation.” Sophie held up her own, average-sized hands forlornly. Granny’s grin didn’t fade.

“All the better to hug you with.” She reached out and pinched Sophie’s cheek. She had a good few inches on her, in fact, she was probably even taller than Daddy. Her gaze locked with Granny’s.

“What interesting eyes you have! Me and Daddy really missed out, haha…” Sophie trailed off, something about the look in Granny’s yellow eyes unsettling her. Granny was still smiling, and her hand hadn’t moved.

“All the better to see you with,” she commented lightly. Sophie grabbed her hand and lowered it.

“Why don’t we try some of these? I sure am hungry!” Something flashed in Granny’s eyes, and her grin grew broader, showing teeth. Sharp teeth. The light reflected off them eerily. Sophie instinctively backed away.

“Um…”

“I’m afraid I’m not interested in eating the pastries,” Sophie felt her back hit the table. Her eyes darted to her sword, on the other side of the room.

Granny stepped forward ominously and flexed her arms. Claws sprouted from her fingertips. Her bonnet tilted to the side, and so did her hair, which was evidently a wig, as tall, furry ears flicked out. Sophie gulped, gripping the table behind her tightly.

“Get down!”

The combat instinct in her took over, and she threw herself obediently to the ground. A dark shape barreled over her head, coming straight through the window, sending shards of glass flying everywhere. The shape crashed into Granny, sending the two rolling across the ground, stopped only by the far wall of the cottage. The tiny house shuddered with the force of the impact.

“Velouria?!?”

#sophie (fe)#velouria (fe)#sophie/velouria #velouria/sophie #fire emblem: fates #it writes

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