#he cobbles together his suspicions in the first half and you can watch each and every one of them get confirmed by the look on his face

[columboscreens]

[theflashdriver]

Flowers

Decided Since I have a backlog of these I’d post some more gradually! No point in having half my hoard here, I might as well bring the whole thing! I really enjoy using nature to bring these two together, it’s probably because they’re from a place so devoid of it? Though this is an older one I hope you enjoy!

Silver was late; this was a first and Blaze couldn't help feeling concerned. She was stood before the fountain at the heart of the main island's town in the early afternoon; sun hanging high in a nearly cloudless sky, cobbled street beneath. The Princess could feel eyes upon her, her being outside the castle usually meant some kind of event; for better or worse. Oftentimes it meant some kind of invasion so understandably citizens were on edge. There were no festivities planned for today, likely further raising the townsfolk's suspicions, she'd wanted to treat her friend to lunch from a new bakery that had opened on the east side of town. She thought he'd probably enjoy sweet foods, having had so few in his destroyed future, and he'd never been late to a meeting before. She gripped her arm, tapping her foot; she'd give him just five more minutes before beginning to search. He could have gone anywhere with that power of his, any of the islands were within his reach… he might have overexerted, ran out of energy and fallen asleep on one. That was the best-case scenario at least; he could have gotten himself into some kind of trou-

"Blaze! Blaze!" She recognised his voice immediately, worry lingering in her heart she quickly turned to him but the sight wasn't nearly as cruel as she expected. He was untouched, unharmed, floating from the sky toward her with one hand waving and the other was held behind him. He landed before her, a sheepish smile on his face, "I'm sorry I'm late, I got a little distracted. I was in the forest."

He was uninjured, he'd delayed himself on accident; she was relieved yet at the same time felt a small twinge of disappointment. To break their perfect record over such a small thing, it wasn't a huge deal but she still felt some kind of disapproval. Her stance straightened, she folded her arms, "Well I'm glad you enjoyed yourself but try to keep better time. If you'd been any longer I would have set out searching for you, we might have missed this entirely." She couldn't help noticing that arm, still held behind him while the other was at his side. She tried not to stare, kept her eyes flickering between him and their surroundings.

"Oh, that makes sense. I'm really sorry, but I got you these; they just looked so pretty I couldn't just leave them there." And from behind his back Silver produced a dozen flowers bundled together, purple lilies with deep orange anther, and held them out to her. Immediately Blaze felt more eyes upon both of them, instantly Blaze felt her heat rise and went to scan Silver's face; only to see a kind smile. There wasn't a hint of embarrassment; there wasn't a touch of shyness to his face or even anticipation, no redness and no goofy expression. He looked exactly the same as he had upon arriving, now holding out a bouquet as though it were natural. She'd never known him to be this hard to read, the hedgehog wore his heart on his cuff and subtlety wasn't in his repertoire, yet he stood calm and regular having brought her a bouquet? This bordered on the unbelievable, he wasn't exactly being smooth but it showed a confidence and inclinations she'd never known from him.

She gently took the flowers, feeling the eyes of surrounding citizens weigh on her more and more with each passing second. She couldn't look him in the eyes, not with that unreadable expression on his face; she looked down to the flowers but only felt herself grow hotter and hotter. "Th-Thank you Silver, they're… they're wonderful, I had no idea you felt so strongly about this meeting. I suppose we are… I suppose this is kind of like a…" She was feeling a heat she had never felt before, overflowing with emotions; the weight of those watching crushed her but there was an additional weight in the centre of her chest, growing heavier with each passing second as she looked to the flowers. The word date hung on her tongue yet she was at a complete loss for words.

"Eh? Blaze, are you okay? You're quite red, have you got a fever or something? Is everything alright?" Her eyes snapped to him, his great golden orbs held a look of concern yet his face still wore no embarrassment? Neither fear nor even doubt in his actions, no matter how she looked at him she saw only concern for her wellbeing. He was leaning in now with a hand extended, previously this wouldn't have shocked her but with all these feelings bubbling she couldn't help but flinch slightly; "It's alright if you need to go rest, your health is more important than-

"No no! We'll go, we'll go!" She grabbed his hand with her free one, beginning to half march and half drag him toward the bakery; shoes clacking loudly on the cobbled pavement. She tried to avoid the gaze of others as she passed, almost attempting to hide her face behind the flowers. She was trying to keep her hands cool most of all, with emotions flaring like this she risked heating up too much and burning him, the flowers or both. This meant she could feel her face steaming so hot as to prompt recoil on touch. She dared to glance back to him over her shoulder and caught his eyes; she could see nothing but the usual smile and joyous light albeit with a twinge of confusion. Likely because she was leading the way quite so briskly, she willed herself to slow walking side by side with him, back to focusing on the flowers.

As she did so, still holding his hand quite tightly (her thumb overlapped his but their fingers weren't intertwined), he began to talk again. "Yeah I thought they were nice, I'm glad you like them so much. There weren't too many of them so I wanted to make sure you could see them, they're purple like you."

It was a simple statement that she usually wouldn't blink twice at but now it felt emotionally charged, like he was looking for things she'd enjoy in his everyday life. "Y-You're so naïve, don't pull up flowers for me again, it's not good for them. We'll just go see them together next time." He'd called the flowers pretty before and now he'd compared them to her fur, it was a roundabout way of calling her pretty but it stuck in Blaze's mind like a tack in her foot.

"Oh, alright sure! I've seen a bunch of places I'm sure you'd like… then again, this is your dimension… you've probably seen them all already right?" At the twinge of disappointment in his realisation her head whipped straight to him.

"No I'm sure I'd love it regardless, don't worry about whether or not I've seen anything it'll be a new experience seeing it with you." She almost stumbled over the word love but forced herself to say it, she was feeling a lot of brand new complex emotions quite suddenly. All of their prior actions were being recontextualized in her mind, from the days they'd slept together in crisis city to the smallest of hugs and hand holds all the way to her own sacrifice. Each of these actions now appeared more intimate in Blaze's eyes, a romantic context she hadn't even considered now plainly apparent.

"Oh alright well I found this cool mountain lake if you want to visit there tomorrow." Blaze felt her tail and ears shoot straight; she shot him a glance and was again met with that unreadable, regular, smile. She looked back to the flowers. This event that she was now certain he viewed as a date, and she couldn't help but do so too, wasn't even over yet he was already asking her on another? For the first time in her life she was feeling slow, Silver had completely slipped the rug from beneath her and showing an interest she had never seen before. Suddenly she felt him stop, interrupting her train of thought, his right hand reached out and touched her forehead, recoiling a little at the heat before pressing into it; "You're burning up quite a lot Blaze, are you certain you're alright? I know when you get sick the fever can be rather intense."

They were two buildings away from the bakery, Blaze let herself stop and turned to him; keeping hold of his right hand. "I'm fine Silver, I just… I didn't think you cared so much about today and I wasn't expecting the flowers. I'm fine I just wasn't prepared for all of this, I need to sort out some feelings."

"Well of course, every day with you is important to me Blaze and I thought you might like the flowers but I didn't think you'd care this much. I'm glad I picked them! If you say you're okay then let's keep going." He was still so naïve, despite turning her into this boiling mess he was still the same Silver. She felt far too embarrassed to go into this bakery and order, she wasn't sure she'd be able to get the works out; let alone flowers in hand. They finished the journey, arriving outside the bakery, and Blaze quickly spotted a nearby bench.

She released their handhold, rummaging through her pockets and producing her purse. "Just get me something for lunch, a pastry with meat or something and tea if they sell it; just milk. Get whatever you want." She didn't have the energy to give intricate instructions right now, let alone with how new Silver was to purchasing… hopefully nothing would go wrong. She lowered herself onto the bench, setting the flowers down next to her; she took a deep breath and ran a hand down her face. This was fine, she could deal with this, they'd have lunch, go their separate ways and she could figure this all out. She kept her eyes glued to the pavement, the once cold metal bench already warmed beneath her. This had come completely out of the blue, they'd been going on outings like this ever since he'd arrived in her dimension… had they all been dates? What was happening? She could feel her body slowly cooling; she was almost over this, they could have a more serious conversation about this. It was quite sudden but, by what she was feeling in her chest and thinking to their past, this love was not unrequited. She picked the flowers back up, examining them. They were already beginning to wilt a little, she'd have to get them into water quite soon if she wanted them to last through tomorrow. As she picked up the flowers, however, attempting to focus, she could feel eyes shift to her once again. She was a monarch here; her actions well known, word of her and the flowers would spread let alone Silver. She could feel her temperature begin to rise again as Silver exited the bakery, foodstuffs hovering around him and purse in hand.

She set the flowers across her legs as he returned her purse, floating her a cup as well as a paper bag. "I'm not sure if it was expensive or not but they had tea and that's a pasty I think? It has chicken in it, that's for certain." She could certainly smell it, some pepper and cheese also.

"I'm sure it will be good Silver, thank you." She would sip the tea without worrying about the temperature, gently patting the bench next to her. He lowered himself, a similar bag and paper cup floating into his hands. Blaze sat the drink beneath her, she could feel the heat spreading once again but knew she would have to act now and make things clear. He opened his bag, producing what looked and smelt to be an apple muffin of sorts… it wasn't good nutrition but as she had expected, he seemed to enjoy sweet foods. She gently looped her right arm around him… not quite his waist but lower than his shoulders, "So, have you been feeling this way for a while? I didn't know you were… I didn't think you…"

He'd taken a bite and went to talk but seemingly remembering one of the things she'd taught him he swallowed first. "Feel what way Blaze?" Almost instinctively he copied her movement, wrapping an arm around her. The heat surged, she could smell the flowers beginning to cook in her lap, there hadn't been a moment of hesitation from him; not a blink.

She took a deep breath, "…Well, you brought me flowers and I didn't realise that you were… such a romantic sort. Old fashioned even."

At that Silver's face went from the dopey happiness of eating the apple muffin, the taste perhaps a little too much for him, to purest scarlet; ears pointing high into the air. "W-W-What? Romantic? I... the flowers?"

Blaze blinked twice, suddenly the heat within her was vanishing and a cold taking its place. "Yes, the flowers. The kind people bring on dates and give to their loved ones… it's a romantic thing."

Silver's eyes widened, she could feel him trembling against her; "I…I didn't know that flowers. Meant that, I just thought they were pretty and purple like you and-

"I see." She brought her hand back, looking down at the pasty. The heat had vanished and with it so had the hunger she had been feeling. Her breath slowed, she hadn't considered that this might be an option. Silver was from the future, a destroyed future of another world no less. It was always possible that he had no idea what this gesture meant, what any of his gestures might have meant. Now she was left with their history contextualised by romantic inclinations unreturned, a cold and empty feeling in her chest to replace the bubbling warmth she had been feeling. The flowers on her legs were no longer burning but a small smoke wisp billowed up from them.

And yet his hand was still lingering on her side, she turned to him with her brows furrowed only to find his eyes were closed; his redness remained across his face. "I-I guess I-I should… I want to?" He squeaked, still shaking quite a lot. "I-I didn't mean anything by the flowers but that d-doesn't mean I don't… uhm…" He was positively squirming now, feet crossing and uncrossing constantly. "I guess I… I think I would… I'm…"

She felt the warmth spread in her chest again, he was acting far more like she'd expected when he'd first gifted the flowers. He hadn't said anything of significance and yet there was already a blush on his face, he was struggling to meet her eyes and with every second word there was a shift based in a deeply set uncertainty. His left hand was on his knee with the right still coiled around her, it seemed to be taking the sum total of his will to maintain this loose grasp. Blaze could read him completely. She took a deep breath and returned her arm around him; this time around his waist. "If you're not ready to have this talk that's fine, we've… we've opened the door on this. We don't have to go through it yet if you're not prepared." She was taking the lead; yes this was far closer how she'd imagined things might go on those quiet nights. "After today a lot of new thoughts have been brought to the forefront of my mind, I think I would like to but there's no reason to rush this."

Silver seemed to have relaxed a little bit at that, taking a few breaths and a second to think; "I… I need to do some research, have I done things like this before? Like the flowers before? I-I mean if we were going to be like… together together, I-I'd have to do more right?"

"Well." Blaze nodded to the hand around her side. "Our relationship has always been closer than is typical. I'm not certain how much things would really change." She was still far from regular, redness to her cheeks and a heat still present, but she had calmed down enough to explain these things to him. "Bringing me flowers, while in some ways a step up, is generally a step down from the closeness we shared in that city. It's just more… blatant than past actions, I believe would be how to phrase it."

"R-Right… okay. Alright, I think I can do this." She felt the grip around her side tighten a little, there was less shaking but he was thoroughly reddened. "I-I'll get some books, I'll figure out what I should be doing a-and-

"You're doing fine Silver, if you want to research I won't stop you but this was… this was pretty good. You were romantic and sweet without even intending to be." Blaze took a sip of her tea; while she was enjoying this they couldn't let the food go cold. Soon she'd be back to her station, Gardon might scold her for being late as it was. She took a bite of the pasty, sipped some tea but it was clearly still a little too hot for him but he fought through it. She knew eyes were still upon them, but now that it was clearer how he felt she could relax slightly. She tried to make idle conversation, pry through the awkwardness; " So, you've been enjoying your time here then, visiting natural places. I suppose it's a nice change."

Silver nodded, only a little of his muffin left already; "I-I have been enjoying it, I think it's nice to see so many different coloured things; everything's so vibrant." A light had returned to his eyes, cutting through the embarrassment; "I think I love it here, there are so many happy people and of course you're here and we're back together and things are just… things are nice now."

"I'm glad," She smiled, having finished her meal. "We'll part ways, for now, I'm sure Gardon's worried, but I should have more time tomorrow. We could prepare and go to that lake if you wanted?"

"O-Of course! Yeah, there's tons of stuff up there I want you to see and you might know some other paths and… y-yeah sure!" His hand gently left her side as he finished the muffin, drink still in hand, hers retracted from his waist as she disposed of the remains in a nearby bin.

She nodded to him; "Well, same time and place tomor-

His hand had grasped hers, there was redness clear to his face but he was looking at the pavement. Fingers were interlocked; his thumb had snuck beneath hers. The light of his symbol pulsing was obvious, even in the daylight. "W-We didn't do much, so can I walk you back to the-

"Yes, yes of course!" The heat was back in full force, slightly melted flowers in her right hand and Silver holding her left. She couldn't help releasing an initial warmth through her palms, cringing slightly, but he fought through it as her hand quickly cool. They'd slowly make their way back to the castle; at least she wasn't alone in her embarrassment this time.

[ahvie-voidsinger]

Freedom or Duty?

Author’s Note: This story was written back in May 2018, at a time when Ahvie’s role as a co-innkeeper at the Moonlit Hearth was drawing to a close. The Moonlit Hearth was an adventurer’s community village in the Darkshore town of Lor’danel, founded by Rondirin Dwarftosser. Rondirin had retired from war, hoping to find a quiet place away from the simmering faction tensions and Argussian front. In doing so, he aimed to create a place where veterans and civilians alike could eke out a living in peace, no matter their background. Ahvie had been one such guest of his.

This is not a story of how she became a void elf. Nor is it a story of how she came to gain the trust of her erstwhile (or unwitting) companions in the Alliance. This is a short story of how those peaceful days came to be overshadowed by the growing azerite conflict, and how Ahvie would not be able to remain removed of it for much longer. It says nothing of her remaining loyalties to Silvermoon or the Highguard, as it is but one brief snapshot into Ahvie being leashed back into war.

Prologue

Even in the deepest reaches of Stormwind Keep, a keen nose could easily pick up on the savory aroma of barbecued meat, exotic seasoning and fizzy ale. Or maybe the biological memory never quite left her mind ever since she and the other cadets filed through the hallways, past the kitchens and dining hall before crowding into the renovated war room.

Several heads of Alliance brass were waiting for them on the dais and around both the familiar war table and the massive representation of Azeroth pinned to wall boards, cobbled together from several parchments and maps. This was no mere policy discussion, or even a debriefing like many of the smaller talks the recruits had become used to. Something big was up.

Well, duh. Of course something big was up. The Alliance and Horde had already broken into open hostilities just short of a declaration of war. She knew this much, as she suspected many of the operatives in the room did from their own cells’ missions. Despite the seriousness of the prospect of another world war looming on the horizon not long after Argus vacated it, the pale-skinned void elf yawned aloud, drawing the stares and scowls of several agents, veteran and recruit alike.

She grinned at them and shrugged, not particularly worried about what the others thought. As it was, she was very well aware that very few of her fellow collaborators trusted her. A handful actually did remember her service record for Silvermoon not more than a few months ago, and fewer still recognized her from back when she smuggled herself into the docks and taverns in equally dark times. Almost none understood why top brass were willing to let a blood elf into the delicate and inner workings of Stormwind’s famed intelligence network.

She figured it was a the loss of so many officers and leadership in the Broken Shore mixed with the gamble that she had secrets of Horde intelligence and tactics that could be exploited in the coming war.

As the void elf sought to distance herself from the rest of the recruits taking a seat in one of the hundreds of chairs lined up in front of the dais, she spotted many recruits leaning against the outer walls and choosing to stand rather than vie for a chair. Indeed, her group was one of the last to enter, and almost all of the sitting room was occupied.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in uniform, Ahvie?” came a whisper from beside her.

Her fellow cadet, Agent Gerund, a suspiciously short worgen man both in form and uniform was giving her one of his looks.

As the others finished filing into the room and bypassing them, Ahvie shrugged with her trademark grin. She didn’t mind Gerund’s almost brotherly admonishments. She liked him mostly because she didn’t have to crane her neck to look up at him.

“What’s the point of getting all fancy if we’re just going to get changed again after?” she whispered back, almost chuckling.

Again, a deadpan stare, as the doors loudly closed behind the last of the operatives entered.

"You're supposed to be showing respect and subordinance to the top dogs. I don't know what you got away with in panty-land, but here -"

"I'm not showing any skin, I'm not wearing any bright colors. I don't see a problem."

“You think you’re special because brass likes you. You’re shouldn’t push your luck with them.”

“Oh, Gerry, they don’t like me. Even you don’t like me, you just don’t want me dragging you down.”

“Then why -“ he growled.

“Shhh. Looks like they’re about to start. I’m gonna get a seat.”

“WHAT? Where?”

Ahvie didn’t fashion a reply, as even their whispering was becoming noticeably loud in the quieting auditorium. Gerund watched her for a few moments as the navy-haired elf turned and walked right up to one of the empty desks at the back that had no chairs nearby. Topped with a few textbooks and quills, it was mostly unoccupied.

Perfect.

Just as the only sounds that could be heard in the room where the 'click, clack' of measured bootsteps on the stone floor, Ahvie sidled up to the edge of the desk and half-hopped her butt on top of it, dangling her legs over the edge of it as a bored child would. Ignoring the stares of a handful of cadets in the back row, she nodded at the officers on the dais.

Several of them were old codgers, veterans of the first and second wars, somehow lucky enough to miss out on a deployment to the Broken Isles. One stood at attention, and a younger man with black hair and a barely perceptible greyline eyed all the recruits with what she gathered was a mix of scruting and pride. As the keynote speaker made her way up the steps of the dais, the instructor's gaze met with Ahvie's, and his eyes narrowed with disapproval.

"Good evening, recruits. No doubt many of you know why you are here tonight and what we're going to talk about," said the stern but silk-voiced woman who'd entered not so long ago. A towering, sleek, athletic kaldorei in the familiar SI:7 uniform eyed the gathering with confidence as she spoke.

Ahvie couldn't help but notice that the women's SI:7 uniform everyone wanted her to wear provided her with a very good view of the kaldorei's ample chest. She almost didn't hear what followed.

"As many of you are aware, Sylvanas is launching several operations throughout Kalimdor and the Eastern Kingdoms. Some are undoubtedly distractions, others are pretexts to larger goals and targets that all of us have been successful in countering. I am very proud of each and every one of you." Ahvie also noted that the elf pointedly didn't look her away for most of the speech. In fact, Ahvie spent most of the debriefing pretending to be enchanted with the woman's cleavage while actually wondering how much longer covert operations would be able to remain, well, covert. Or her own, at least.

"... Several Horde informants have claimed to offer us intel on enemy movements and supply caches. Although all of us would jump at the opportunity to exploit a weakness in the enemy, you must be equally aware and cautious of the Banshee Queen's cunning. You can bet your asses that any intel the Horde wants to provide to us is likely a ploy, distraction or a trap. File a report, but do not act without authorization from your C.O."

Ahvie bobbed her head from side to side as she recalled a song she'd heard a bard playing outside the Slaughtered Lamb earlier in the week, wishing that she'd tipped the musician. Precious few songstresses left in this scarred world, might as well keep them around.

A hand rose into the air from the crowd, which the speaker responded to curtly with a thin smile and a nod, pointing at the individual.

"You there, speak."

The cadet remained seated, but his voice was surly and rounded with an accent that likely betrayed him as either a dwarf or a backwater human.

"Pardon, Mum, but what about our... ah... defectors? The -"

"Ren'dorei, cadet?"

"Ah, yes, Mum."

The kaldorei clicked her tongue alongside a dissatisfied sniff, but responded quickly as she stiffened her expression.

"You have been ordered to work alongside them, yes?"

A silence, accompanied by which Ahvie presumed was a quiet nod.

"And you don't entirely trust our newfound allies, yes?"

Another silence, to which more cadets around the room exchanged looks with their peers, some of them turning to the handful of void elves sitting in the room. Their pointy ears were unmistakably sliding down into their chairs under the scrutiny. Ahvie sighed, oblivious to the ones cast her way.

"You already know that King Anduin has ordered the inclusion of the exiles as members of the Alliance. Rest-assured that your superior officers have screened and ensured that the ex-pats of Silvermoon are both trustworthy and loyal. That is why so few of their lot sit among you today. You would do well to remember that we have picked them to start at the bottom, as all of us once did."

"Yes, Mum."

"If you have a complaint or suspicions about ANY agent's conduct, regardless of their past or birth, you should treat them the same way you would unknown information: File a report, and don't act without authorization."

"Of course, Mum."

A light murmur of approval rippled through the gathering, and the night elf continued the briefing, using her thin baton to point to several areas of the map to indicate where some agents were being assigned. Apparently the concept of making individual cells of operatives independently unaware of the others' objectives was foreign to the Alliance. Or perhaps...

Ahvie sighed, a little too audibly, and although M kept speaking, she locked her gaze onto the void elf in the back momentarily... as did every other officer. She often forgot how good the hearing of night elves were. She'd had to practice controlling herself more.

Ahvie tried not to respond emotionally or visibly, and simply kept up the appearance of listening patiently, although she didn't keep her leatherclad legs from swinging over the edge of the desk.

* * * * *

Ahvie wasn't sure how long she'd daydreamed, but before she knew it, everyone was already standing up and getting out of their chairs and filing out en masse. Some of the operatives were giving her amused and conflicted looks, while others were whispering to each other about their upcoming missions. Apparently individual assignments were going to be handed out later, with this being an overall operational briefing for the next few months.

Nothing new, basically.

Ahvie hopped down to the floor, dusting off the back of her violet-black leather catsuit as she landed quietly. She was just about to go join Gerund in the tail end of the departing agents, when one of the officers not speaking with the other brass called out to her.

"Brightsinger. A word."

She stopped in her tracks and looked up, distinctly aware of Gerund's sympathetic but 'I told you so' glance directed her way. She hoped that her ears weren't drooping. She turned on her heels and nonchalantly sauntered down the aisle between both sections of empty chairs. The other officers were still talking amongst each other in a half-circle, although M was casting a single skeptical eye her way. Ahvie turned to the instructor whose voice she knew quite well by now.

"Yes, sir?"

He didn't immediately respond, expecting and waiting for her to approach closer to the edge of the dais. As it was, she was a dainty 5 foot tall, and already the human instructor towered over here on even footing. Now he literally was almost twice as tall as she was. Although she was used to being shorter than everyone, she didn't like how they had to rub it in here.

"Sir?"

"You displayed a deplorable level of disrespect at the meeting tonight."

"I did, sir. Sorry, sir."

A bit of a pause, which extended into what she suspected what a dissatisfied silence. She looked up at Arthur Huwe and his amazingly bald head. He didn't have an expression of much of anything. He appeared to be trying to read her mind, or if he was capable of it, that's probably what he would look like if he was trying. Ahvie squinted up at him as though that would keep him out of her thoughts.

"You haven't filed a report in a month."

"I have no assignments outstanding, sir."

"None that we've given you, no. Your privateer's license does not count." She cocked an eyebrow up at him, daring to plant a hand on one of her hips. It was no secret to brass what she used to do to fill the time.

"Anduin seems to think it does. He signed it."

"KING Anduin, Brightsinger. Do not forget your place here."

"Being a crown-sanctioned pirate and Horde defector?"

"Defector..."

She sighed, assuming a more straightened stance.

"Sir."

"We've seen you working with the locals and garrisons in Northrend."

"Yes, sir."

He paused, his gaze studiously examining her as though her glowing locks of hair could provide more answers. Or better answers.

"You have not been assigned a commanding officer."

"Yes, sir."

"How do you think this looks to Shaw and M?"

She blinked, trying to appear confused enough to hide her internal gut feelings of apprehension.

"Sir?"

"Other ren'dorei have accepted regular commissions as cadets in cells across Azeroth. You are among the handful who have ... opted not to."

Ahvie was pretty sure where this was going, but wasn't sure how to answer.

"Yes, sir."

Huwe inhaled and exhaled slowly, and she cast her eyes straight forward. Which oddly kept her at eye level with his shins. She tried to imagine what it would look like if one of his highboots had its laces untied.

"At ease, Brightsinger."

She looked up with relief and surprise as she relaxed. Only a little, though. He stared down at her with mostly exasperation. Both waited for a bit longer. Ahvie then became distinctly aware that the other officers had stopped talking amongst each other and turned to look down at her. Somehow, at some point, M had sat down on the edge of the dais mirroring the way Ahvie sat on the table earlier. Her expression was as thoughtful as it was stern disapproval.

Ahvie looked at M for a moment before looking back up at Huwe.

"Sir?"

"How do you think your unique status as a privateer operating outside the regulations of SI:7, yet being permitted operative access to Alliance channels, makes us feel in this very volatile conflict?"

Ahvie grimaced, and looked down. She shouldn't have to answer to these textbooks, but she knew what M was capable of. She'd rubbed shoulders with enough seedy blackguards and uncrowned to know who to avoid the attention of. And now the legend herself was sizing her up like she was her next mark.

"... You may speak freely."

Ahvie frowned, her eyebrows narrowing. Her temper unexpectedly flared up at the chance to speak her mind.

"Why don't you ask her, then?"

M was quick and ready to respond, her silky void laced with almost motherly levels of scorn and disapproval. "You're an unknown variable. A dangerous and unreliable agent. Your loyalties have never been made clear, despite your so-called pledge of allegiance to the crown. You have no official commission in SI:7 because you are committed to no known theaters."

"No approved theaters of war, you mean," Ahvie countered tersely.

"We have many former pirates among our ranks, Brightsinger. It's not your line of work that we disapprove of. It's your lack of accountability. You're a loose cannon we can't afford to arm with anything more than our silent disavowal," the kaldorei intoned.

Ahvie just shrugged at her, and looked back up to Huwe, the other officers murmuring with grimaces on their faces. Huwe was not one to display much disdain for ignoring chain of command. In fact, it was rumored he was completely taken off guard when SI:7 had not long ago been infiltrated by a dreadlord.

"This a lot of stuff you lot already knew when you brought me into the fold. I don't understand what the big deal is, bringing it up right now," Ahvie said.

"As you are undoubtedly aware, Brightsinger," Huwe continued. "Privateers have had increasingly less and less room to maneuver and operate after Sylvanas has expanded her navy's reach to much of Kalimdor. How has business been for you at the Moonlit Hearth?"

Ahvie shot him a sharp glance, squinting, but not saying anything to that. Huwe continued.

"Embershield has been reining in its maritime operations and closed much of its borders and trading routes. Northrend outposts have all been ordered to cease trading in contraband and black market channels. I imagine the King's commission has not been profitable of late."

She folded her arms under her small chest and sniffed, glaring at him, whereupon M took over for Huwe.

"Escalation is drying up the breathing room for your operations, and yet you're still working in Northrend."

Ahvie remained tight-lipped, but nodded slightly at her, glancing between M and Huwe. The other officers began descending the stairs and making their way out of the auditorium. Ahvie barely managed to keep her gaze on Huwe.

"We're willing to discuss the terms of a trade, Ahvie," M said gently.

Ahvie turned to M, still crossing her arms under her chest, brow furrowed. M continued slowly, with Huwe turning to her with complete understanding and a lack of surprise. They'd thought about this proposal for a while, then.

"We know you're hunting zealots, and this aligns with some of the Alliance's dirty laundry we'd prefer didn't air out at this particular time."

Ahvie cut in, smirking slightly. "You mean with admitting two polar opposites to the Alliance forces."

M scowled at her, but even nodded. "We'll help you and give you access to the Alliance channels and support you've undoubtedly been lacking in Northrend. We'll even give you a proper commission within SI:7, rank and number."

Ahvie took a step back and returned her arms to her sides in momentary surprise. She looked at Huwe, we appeared somewhat resigned and silent.

"What? Are you serious? You know I --"

"Could care less about rank and care more about your freedom, yes. We're acutely aware of your disability," M interrupted smoothly.

Ahvie just glared at her, her glacial blue eyes glowing in the dimming torchlight.

"We also are aware of your unique talents and connections, and would be remiss not to want to sharpen the blade you've forged yourself into, Ahvie," M continued. "With proper training, official commisions, the best supplies and gear, you have potential to grow out of your former shell of being a disheveled pirate pawnbroker. The Alliance could benefit greatly from your commitment to its people and its future."

Ahvie continued to glare at her, narrowing her eyes further.

"Our people were members of the Alliance long before they even admitted yours, Mum. And they were unceremoniously shoved out by arrogant, unappreciative officers in its aging ranks. And then when Lordaeron, Silvermoon and Dalaran were sacked, we were forgotten. You're asking us to --"

M cut in, her voice growing more heated. "We're. Asking. You. To join your countrymen and women in putting more than words into your commitment to the crown, if not for global peace than to give your life meaning in the Grand Alliance once more."

Ahvie blinked, and then blinked again. "Quite a lot of benefits to lasso one pirate captain, Mum."

M then further infuriated Ahvie with a sly grin as she leaned back on the ledge, her arms balancing her on either side.

"In return, you would be required to formally join the ranks of one of the Alliance batallions active in the field. You would report to one of their officers, and send reports back to Huwe directly," the kaldorei's eyes almost gleamed with smiling daggers. "Your access to Alliance support, of our discretion, would last only so long as your batallion officers confirmed your loyalty and support to one of the great companies."

Ahvie's head swirled — but in the center of that maelstrom was the chilling core of undeniable knowledge that a bigger storm was coming, and that she'd applied to SI:7 to do more good than merely pillage supplies from mustache-twirling kingpins. It wasn't much different than when she was stranded in Silvermoon without her crew, but this time... this time she'd be giving up that life by choice. Giving up her crew again, joining a military company, taking orders, not being able to go where and do what she pleased...

She loved her freedom, but she also wasn't as heartless as her sister. Fyrevia would box her ears and maybe cook them for lunch if she found out that Ahvie of all people was trading the horizon for a duty to the greater good.

Ahvie wasn't sure how she was thinking about this, but she was suddenly aware that she was biting her lip and trembling. She'd balled her leatherclad hands into fists, staring at the floor in indecision.

Freedom or duty?

In moments, Ahvie was aware of someone in front of her who was taller than anyone had a right to be. She looked up in the shadow of the older woman. M's own uniform was stretched tight against her own muscled frame, but her eyes were hard and skeptical, much like that of wardens Ahvie had met in the field. Probably was a warden, still, for all she knew.

M planted a hand on each hip and leaned down to speak to Ahvie as though addressing a child still playing with her dolls.

"Well? How about it, Brightsinger? Think maybe it's time you stopped playing at shadows and started learning and growing again?"

Ahvie squinted at her, scrunching up her face in a reluctant resentment.

"Do I get to choose which one to join?"

M grinned devilishly, which made Ahvie shrink back slightly. "Yep."

Ahvie wasn't sure why that made M pleased as punch, but perhaps she had underestimated until now just how much she'd annoyed and tried the patience of Alliance brass by operating without their approval until now.

Drawing herself up as she swelled with courage to fight down the urge to run and throw it all away, Ahvie planed a hand on each hip and scowled as fiercely as she could at the kaldorei gazing down at her the way a viper might to a mouse. M straightened, looking just as smug as earlier, but expectant.

"You got yourself a deal, grandma. I'll get you that officer's signature and then we'll talk shop."

Ahvie then spun on her heels without saluting and stormed out of the auditorium, much to the almost mirthful and haunting laughter of the kaldorei in the meeting room and echoing after her in the Stormwind Keep halls. Ahvie knew full well why Mum would find this turn of events so funny. Ahvie had finally signed away her freedom for something that the elder elf knew she could manipulate.

The only freedom Ahvie had in this mess was her choice of Alliance batallions who would accept her.

She was pretty sure she knew just who to look up first.

[feywildatheart]

Nenîth,

I hope you’ll forgive me rushing this story, but things are happening back here on the prime material plane that I expect you’ll want to hear about, or in any case that I badly want to talk to you about, so I’m going to try to finish telling you about the Twilight of Cinders in this letter, and hopefully it won’t grow too terribly long on me.

After resting briefly, Elyn and I continued on, following in reverse the path of these creatures we’d been seeing, and eventually found ourselves in a field scattered with the remains of crashed ships, too many to count, all twisted and broken from the fall. It was horrible, and horrifying, and I think Elyn was quite shaken by it, considering her history with ships and crashes. And as terrible as that was, it was worse when we saw, a short time after the latest pulse of light up into the sky, a ship come hurtling down out of it and crash into the ground with a terrible sound, and an impact that jolted the ground beneath our feet.

We all ran towards it, in time to see three of these same sorts of creatures come staggering out of the wreckage, all of them hurt, though one more badly than the other two. That one seemed to take notice of us as we neared, and Elyn used Tongues again to be able to speak with it, and had another conversation I only understood half of.

I heard her ask if she could heal them, and they must have agreed, because she stepped forward and they let her touch them so she could do so. She asked, as we had of the other, why they were heading towards the west in search of answers, why they all seemed to think answers might lie that way, but I don’t think they had an answer that clarified much, if the expression on her face was anything to judge by. She told them that we were going to look for answers in the north, at the blue light, and the creature folded themselves up and sat down, and I didn’t need her to translate their answer for me, they’d done it with such an air of patience and waiting and expectation.

They told her, apparently, that their name was Aji, and they asked that we heal the more injured of their companions. I did that with my wand, and it seemed to distract them from their course to the west, and they came instead and sat with Aji, to wait with them for us to bring back answers.

And so we went towards that blue light, certain now in our suspicions that it was some sort of weapon, shooting Aji’s ships down out of the sky. We found a piece of arcane technology laid into the ground, glowing blue and brightening by the minute, that seemed to baffle even Elyn. It was covered by an obsidian dome, and as we watched and the light within it brightened, eventually it shot another pulse of that same light we’d been seeing up into the sky, and where it was aimed, there was a patch of sky where the everpresent mist of the Twilight of Cinders had cleared, and through it I could see an explosion that made my heart lurch and my stomach churn with the certainty that we’d just witnessed another ship get hit, that there was going to be another crash and more of Aji’s brethren injured, more dead, and we still had precious little in the way of answers, and we were both quite reluctant to do anything that might involve touching the device, for fear that it might discharge on us, but that left us with precious little that we could do to try to try to stop it from discharging again.

We’d backed off to a safe distance as we debated what to do about it, which took us up the crest of a hill, and I noticed in the distance, through the mist, a faint shape that looked like it might be a similar device, though without the light glowing inside of it. And so we went to that, in hopes that we might be able to examine it a little closer and perhaps gain some insight into how it worked and how to disable it, without the risk of standing so close to the active weapon.

This one looked just the same as the first, except that it was damaged as though it had been struck by a meteor or perhaps falling debris (and honestly, if it was from debris off of one of these ships, then it’s no less than it deserves), and no longer seemed to function. Elyn cast Identify on it and learned that whatever magic had been in it had faded long ago, but that it had been built of evocation magic, though even I could have guessed that much. The magic was so long-faded that she didn’t gain much insight into how to destroy the other one, except by seeing the damage that had disabled this one. And so we went back to our hill and considered how to do it.

Elyn tried her Dispel Magic scroll first, since we could do that from a distance. It dimmed the blue light that had been growing within the device all this while, but didn’t stop it from recharging, only bought us a few more minutes to try to stop it before it went off again, and some other ship was doomed. I shot it from the hilltop, since that’s about all I’m good for when it comes to magics like these, and it cracked the obsidian casing some, after I’d shot a few at it.

That seemed to give Elyn an idea, because she crept down the hill, closer to the device, and cast Shatter on it, which cracked it enough to put a hole in the dome, so we could see the mechanism inside. We’d damaged it enough at that point that the glow was no longer brightening — whatever we’d done, it seemed, had stopped it from being able to recharge, or at least caused it to spill magic out as fast as it could build it. But neither of us were content to leave it like that, and Elyn cast another Identify on it, and learned that it was a defense mechanism, from the time of the ruins that we’d been walking past the whole time we’d been in this dimension. We could surmise that there had been a perimeter of them at one point, though this seemed to be the only one still active, left unattended and shooting up into the sky at regular intervals for who knew how many centuries, until it had worn a hole through the very dimension itself, and into whatever plane Aji’s people call home, and where it was shooting them down from.

In the end, I hit on a rather foolish idea — you don’t need to tell me that, I know it was, but it also seemed the best choice at the time — and I pulled out from my pack one of the flares that [Eheba] had given us, back on Nosirion-1. I made sure Elyn and Squirt stood back at a safe distance, and then, well. I lit the flare and threw it through the hole and ran as fast as my legs could carry me. And it all worked out just fine, even if I did get knocked off my feet when the flare went off. But it did the trick and destroyed the device, left it as dark as the other one had been, and so we counted ourselves satisfied on that front, at least.

Elyn did a Sending to Aji, to let them know that we had some answers and that we'd be returning with them in the morning, and Elyn said they seemed content to wait for us, so we decided to make camp there for the night, rather than heading straight back. We'd had a lot of walking and a fair bit of excitement, and we were both sorely in need of it.

It was a quiet night, with only the lightning sparking off in the distance, and in the morning we packed our things up and returned, and found Aji and the little one waiting for us. Elyn told them what we'd learned, and then told me that they'd said that those answers were enough for them. Elyn asked if there might be enough scraps left in that ship graveyard to cobble something together that might get them home, back to their own plane, but Aji demurred and said that either they would escape on their own, or someone would come for them. They didn't seem worried about starving in the meantime, either, though I can't imagine why not, but in the end there was little that either Elyn or I could do but accept them at their word. Well, and even less for me -- Elyn could take them at their word, but I had to take them at Elyn's, since she can cast Tongues but it only works on her.

I don't think either of us liked walking away from them, when we'd done so little to help them, really, and it seemed like there ought to be something else we could do. But there was nothing for it, and so we left them and headed back to the west, towards the lightning, until at length we found a large, flat rock that it was striking down onto it. When we came closer to investigate it, we found a dip in the ground, that sloped down into an underground structure.

We scrambled down into it, glad to have finally found what we'd come for, and no sooner had we than the rocks scattered across the ground started to roll and gather together until they'd taken the shape of an earth elemental that attacked us almost as soon as we realized what was happening.

I don't suppose it should come as a surprise to us or to you that earth elementals hit hard. Poor Elyn scarcely managed to stay on her feet until the fight was over, and Squirt and I fared only a little better. But we wore it down, until it collapsed back into a pile of rubble, and Elyn and I looked at each other, both of us looking quite the worse for the wear, and decided we definitely needed a night's rest before we faced whatever else awaited us within the temple.

I had a conversation with Squirt, too, while we were settling down for bed, because he tries so hard to defend and protect me, and it's wonderful. But as fierce as he is, his teeth were little match against the earth elemental's stone form, and he just kept throwing himself at it anyway, and taking so much damage because of it. So we had a little talk and I told him that I loved him and valued him, and also that I wanted him to be safe as much as he wanted me to be, and that he might consider that there are other ways he can help me than throwing himself repeatedly at giant stone earth elementals, and getting bludgeoned in the process. He's strong and clever, I told him, and he shouldn't forget that last part, because there might be situations where his cleverness would be a better aid to me than his strength.

He's a blink dog, one of the fey's sacred hounds, and for all the aspersions the Queen of Air and Darkness cast on his character, he's a fine example of his breed. So while he accepted what I told him, and agreed to try, I can't say that he was terribly happy about it. I think he'd always rather throw himself teeth-first at a problem, but he's going to get himself killed that way, and I won't have that. I'm his protector, and it's up to me to teach him how to be more than just his instincts, whether he's glad of it or not.

So we slept, after that conversation, and in the morning we ventured further into the temple and found a central chamber with a fountain and tunnels leading off of it, and windows on either side showing red light, and blue. Elyn and I investigated the fountain, first, but couldn't find anything magical about it between the two of us, so we ventured down the first of the tunnels.

The first we tried came to a dead end, but there was a panel hidden in the wall that contained an amulet that Elyn said was an activation device of some sort, for gods-only-know-what. She wondered if it might be for the device that we'd destroyed on the opposite end of the plane, and I wondered if it might be for the temple, like a ship's keycard granting us access to areas that are otherwise locked, and so either way she decided to keep it on her.

I'll tell you know what it took us some time and investigation to fully discover, which is that the temple is a puzzle, with tunnels and rotating rooms, so that one moment a tunnel ends in a solid wall, and the next, with the press of a button, everything's changed and it continues on. We found our way through it to another chamber, this one lined with a channel of burning oil, and at some point in all of this Elyn and I had pieced together that, between the earth elemental, and the red window, and the blue, that perhaps this place might be guarded by all four elements, and so I called out cautiously in Ignan (am I ever glad I took the time to study that!), and a fire elemental gathered up from the flames around the room's edge, and spoke with me.

They were very nice, all in all, not at all like the earth elemental, who just came up fighting. They said that they weren't guardians of the Scepter so much as they were a test -- a gauntlet, they said, and that we had to prove we were worthy, and so when we were ready for combat, we should enter their chamber.

There wasn't really much for it, and so we did. Squirt, because he is a very good and smart boy, heeded the talk we'd had the night before, and didn't try too hard to bite the fire elemental, for which I'm grateful. I'm not sure whether he'd have fared any better against fire than he did against stone, but I'm glad I didn't have to find out. Instead, he only feinted at the creature, growling and snapping and doing everything in his power to distract them, so that Elyn and I could land our hits a little easier while their attention was preoccupied. Still, there's not much he can do from a distance, the way Elyn and I can, and without Pika there in the thick of things with him, he drew a lot of their focus, and it wasn't but a moment before his fur had caught fire.

Back in HASAI, when we found my bow and Elyn identified it, she told me that one of the things it could do was extinguish open flames, when it was drawn. I hadn't had an opportunity to try that ability out, but what better time than when one's dog is on fire? So the next time I drew to shoot the elemental, I focused all my thoughts on the bow, and on Perrick, and when I loosed the arrow it was as though a wind swept through the chamber, and put out the fire smoldering in Squirt's fur, and I fairly squeaked in delight and amazement.

In retrospect, it might have been better if I'd waited, because the bow can only do that once before it needs some time to recharge, and it wasn't but a moment before Squirt was on fire again, and I was as well, and then I could have put us both out at once. But what was I going to do, just let my dog stay on fire? Obviously not. So we had to take time in the midst of the fight to put ourselves out the old-fashioned way, but it was all fine in the end.

Elyn healed us up a little, and it seemed sure at that point that we would have an air and a water elemental left to face before we'd successfully run this gauntlet, and Squirt and I, at least, were both fairly well singed just from the one fight we'd had that day.

Still, we'd come here for a reason, and we couldn't very well give up now, so after we'd had a few minutes to catch our breath, we returned to the central room with the fountain, and found that it had changed while we were gone -- the pattern of the mosaic tiling on the bottom of the fountain were different than they had been, and the central piece had raised up a bit. And, too, the red light that had shone through one of the room's windows was gone, leaving only the blue.

We tried a different tunnel next, since we seemed to have exhausted our options in the first one, and found it very similar to the first, with tunnels that ended abruptly, and pedestals bearing buttons that made whole sections of the structure rotate and shift things around. There was a new room, and I crept forward down it, calling out blindly in Ignan (and hoping that the dialect was similar enough to the others that whichever elemental we faced next would be able to understand) that we'd come to complete the gauntlet and bearing no ill will towards anyone beyond that.

I found a water elemental waiting in that room, laughing at me as I crept around and called that out into empty halls, and we knew the rules at this point: we had to enter the room to engage it in combat, and so we did.

Squirt did admirably with this one as well, continuing to try to distract the elemental and try to gain Elyn and I the upper hand. I shot it several times, and Elyn threw her magic at it, and Squirt hadn't even really tried to land a bite at all, he was just feinting, but nevertheless it swallowed him up and it drowned him, it just drowned him and I couldn't do anything to help him. It at least had the decency to lay him out on the ground once he'd gone limp, but honestly, who could blame me for being upset, at that point? And Squirt hadn't done anything except be closest to it, while Elyn and I had been throwing everything we had at it, and so I might have snapped something about how I couldn't understand why creatures kept ignoring the obvious greater threat shooting it in the face. And really, I was talking to myself, that's all, but I was still talking in Ignan, I guess, and the water elemental took it upon himself to answer me as though it hadn't been a rhetorical question, and said that I should expect Squirt to get hurt if I kept sending him into battle, and I objected to the idea that I was in any way making Squirt do anything, and then the elemental said that I was deliberately missing the point, and. Well. I liked the fire elemental, and only fought them out of necessity, and they seemed to like me back, or at least be amused by me. But if I met this elemental again, I'd punch them right in their stupid, watery face, and I wouldn't feel bad about it, either.

Between Elyn and I, we got Squirt up on his feet feet again, but it wasn't long before Elyn ended up just where he'd been, swallowed up by the elemental and drowning inside of it. Squirt, Cernunos bless him, didn't even hesitate despite the fact that he'd just nearly drowned himself, and kept trying to grab her arm or her sleeve with his teeth and help pull her out. I don't know how much help he was, ultimately, but she did manage to shove her way back out of the elemental before she drowned, too, and it's a good thing because I think if I'd had to watch both of them go through it I wouldn't have been responsible for my actions.

We did win, in the end, though I think two elementals in one day was about our limit, and we were all looking spent by the end of it. I didn't care to stay in that elemental's room for a rest, so we returned to the central room with the fountain instead, and found that it had lifted up further, enough to show a little space in the pedestal and a jeweled, platinum rod inside that we supposed must be the Scepter of Bells. Elyn was a little worried that it might have been nothing more than a decoy, and we were both wary of the fact that we'd only fought three elementals, thus far, so it seemed rather too easy. But there was nothing for it, so I stood back at the ready in case things went wrong, and she waded through the fountain and claimed it, and nothing happened, no alarm sounded, no elemental formed out of the air in the room to challenge us for it one last time, so she waded back out and gave me the Scepter to put in our bag while she emptied the water out of her boots.

It occurred to me, while we were doing this, that we'd encountered the earth elemental before we'd even properly entered the temple, like a guard set at the front door, and I realized that that probably meant we'd have to face the air elemental on our way out, the temple's last chance to try to stop us and prove us unworthy of it, so we decided readily enough that we all absolutely needed to rest up for a little bit before we took on a third elemental for the day. Once we were ready, we found them just where we expected them to be, in a chamber just outside the temple that matched the one leading into it, and I called out in Ignan the same that I had with the other two, telling it we had no quarrel with it directly but had come to pass the gauntlet, and it formed out of the air before us, and-- nenîth, it called me Firetongue, and if we hadn't been doing this as a paying job, and at the behest of someone I rather liked, I might have ruined it all right there and just refused to fight them, I was so delighted by the moniker. But I got over it eventually (that's a lie, I'm still not over it. I'm never going to be over it. Someday many centuries from now when I'm old and grey and I finally pass on from this plane, I hope my children's children's children carve Maliah 'Firetongue' Breyfield into my burial tree. If they don't, I may well rise from the dead and haunt them, because if a nickname from an elemental doesn't belong on a burial tree, then I honestly don't know what does) -- anyway, I recovered myself enough eventually and we fought, and acquitted ourselves well enough. We succeeded, and the air elemental bowed to us and vanished, and we were able to leave with the scepter and set ourselves to trying to find the exit out of the Twilight of Cinders.

We realized, perhaps somewhat belatedly, that we weren't entirely sure what it was we were looking for, only the direction we were likely to find it in, and so we headed that way and kept an eye out for anything that seemed magical and potentially portal-like, and so in short order we found ourselves all crouched over peering into a shimmering, magical-looking puddle trying to puzzle out if it was our way home, only to discover that it decidedly wasn't when it suddenly rose up off the ground and tried to envelop us, and revealed itself as just one of many horrible caustic oozes lurking in the grasses there.

Poor Elyn got knocked unconscious by one, and I ruined my sword in another, because of course they just eat away at metal, and I was nervous there for a minute, but Squirt and I were able to dispatch the last of them and get Elyn back onto her feet.

We did find the portal back eventually -- obviously we did, or you wouldn't be reading this letter right now -- and landed in a sprawl in the middle of Elelwil's floor, where Veshteth was, looking remarkably haggard from his efforts to keep the spell channeled until our return. I asked how long we'd been gone, expecting that time had passed differently on the two planes, but he said days, and I felt terrible realizing that all our resting and our detour to figure out what was happening to Aji's people had demanded so much from him -- though not, I suppose, as terrible as I'd have felt over leaving that weapon firing Aji's people down to their deaths for who-knows-how-many more centuries.

We told Veshteth we'd found the scepter, and showed it to him, and agreed that we were all of us in dire need of some rest before we told him what had transpired, much less broached the subject of payment. So Elyn and I staggered back to Tace's, and picked up some food for us as well as her along the way, and we ate and slept before picking ourselves back up in the morning and heading back to Elelwil's to finish our business with Veshteth.

Veshteth looked somewhat better with a night's sleep behind him, though I think all four of us were still looking somewhat haggard. Elelwil served us tea again, bless her, and we told them both what had happened and answered the questions he had, and then he paid us, far more than I think either Elyn or I were expecting, even if I had made a point of mentioning that it hadn't been as simple as walking across a dimension after all, and that Elyn had gotten cursed along the way, and the energy cannon and the elementals and the oozes. There was coin, and a musical puzzle box that Elyn was immediately smitten by, and the most amazing jug -- it's cast to look like a howling jackal, and Veshteth poured water into it and then poured it back out and it had turned the water into tea, just like that! It's a spiced blend particular to Rugira Prime, and it was lovely, and honestly I think if he'd offered nothing but that jug I'd have counted it suitable compension. Elyn probably would have disagreed (and rightly so), but I couldn't have been more delighted.

We finished up our talking, eventually, and Elyn and I went off to do some shopping, because I needed to replace my ruined sword. I found a shop that had lovely decorated ones, far fancier than my plain two, and I couldn't decide between two of their designs so I bought one of each. We got some more healing potions, too, from the temple of Mishakal, since it was pretty obvious after the Twilight of Cinders that we were sorely in need of some more. It was nice, to get to spend a day just walking and conversing and not having to worry about elementals or oozes or energy cannons left unattended to blast a hole through the sky into another dimension entirely. I left home because I wanted to see more than just the Feywild and Homai, but it's still nice to have time between all the adventuring, to catch our breath and remember what it's like to not always be afraid for our lives all the time.

I said I was going to try to keep this short, and here I've run on for forever, so I suppose I should stop now and send this while I try to figure out how to tell about everything that's happened since. I'll give you a hint, though, and maybe knowing that I've left you in suspense will help me get the next written and sent to you in a more timely fashion: we got tired of waiting on Pika, Elyn and I did, and we left Yamin behind and have come to Mashoy by ourselves under assumed names. But, I'll tell you more about that in my next letter.

I love you both, more than words will ever be enough to say.

Love,

Maliah

[hrina]

Holy Pt. 2 {Luke Hemmings Smut}

PAIRING: Luke/Y/N RATING: A for angst and S for smut WORD COUNT: 8000+ REQUESTED: yesssss!!! so many ppl wanted a second part so here u go!! 

guess who’s back!!! well not rly bc i have so much work to do but i managed to churn out this monster fic in like....3 days lmao ! just letting u guys know, it deviates from the religious aspects that r mentioned in the first part; this part definitely deals more w their relationship and there’s literally sooooo much angst so y’all can thank me for that later ;-) anyways, hope u enjoy!!!

[part 1] [masterlist] [come yell at me]

~*~

Luke walked up the rickety steps of the familiar porch, his chest rising and falling as he took deep breaths. It had been two years—two years with no contact, no phone calls, not even a text. The house still looked the same: white stucco and a plain white garage, the cobbled path leading to the door, the cross nailed to the space right underneath the doorbell. Luke gulped, removing his hand from the tight grip it had on the handle of his suitcase. He rang the doorbell and waited anxiously, his hands clasped behind his back.

For a moment, a fleeting thought crossed his mind: maybe no one was home. A part of him would be disappointed, but a larger part would be relieved. Perhaps he wouldn’t need to face them, endure the awkward silence and the unfilled gaps, the judgemental, hurt eyes and the tension saturating the air. He could leave. He could escape.

But then the door was swinging open, and he knew that he was fucked.

His mother’s eyes narrowed when she cast her gaze upon him, as though she didn’t recognize him. Luke couldn��t blame her—he had changed a lot since he’d left for Oxford. His slacks had been replaced with black, ripped skinny jeans, his loafers by suede boots. His hair—which had been lighter and styled up into a quiff during his teenage years, now swept down across his forehead, the shade having dulled to a sandy blonde. He was no longer clean-shaven—stubble lined his jawline, and—almost reflexively—his hand came up to scratch his chin.

“Hi, Mum,” Luke forced out, his voice hoarse. 

His mother’s eyes connected with his—her irises were the exact same shade of peculiar blue, and he felt like he was being examined, studied, overturned from the inside and exposed.

“Luke?” his mother stepped back, her hand flying to her mouth. Her eyes raked down his body, taking in his appearance. Luke shot her a half-smile, expecting the gesture to be returned, but instead he was met with her horrified expression.

“What happened to you?” she demanded, “What are you wearing? How long has it been since you’ve last shaved?”

Luke blinked. He glanced down at his outfit and then at his suitcase before looking back up at his mother—the woman who was supposed to love him unconditionally and support him. Yet here she stood, staring at him like he was an utter stranger and critiquing him, just as she had always done.

She hadn’t changed. Their encounter had been so brief, but Luke could already tell. His hopes of returning home for the holidays and being greeted normally flickered and went out, quelled by a despairingly strong gust of reality. He knew—just by looking at the betrayed expression on his mother’s face—that he wouldn’t be welcome here. She hadn’t changed.

And she never would.

“I-I’m sorry,” Luke stammered, reaching back blindly for the handle of his suitcase, fumbling. “I have to—”

He didn’t finish his sentence, rushing back down the porch steps with his belongings in tow. The wheels of his luggage clattered noisily along the cobbled path as he sped into the street, hurrying away from his childhood home. He squeezed his eyes shut, chuckling bitterly to himself. How could he have been so stupid? He’d thought that things could go back to how they once were, and he had been so wrong.

She hadn’t tried to stop him.

His mother had let him go.

~*~

He was not going to do this.

There was no way in hell that he was going to do this.

He opened the door, and a faint jingling sound reached his ears.

Holy shit, he was going to do this.

Luke entered the tattoo parlour, dragging his luggage in behind him. His wallet had been shoved back into his pocket, considerably lighter now that he had paid a hefty amount to the taxi driver. The man behind the wheel had warned him that travelling to the next town over wouldn’t be cheap.

The place was brightly lit, with a large waiting room. Several people lounged around—the majority were large men who looked as if they could squash Luke with their thumbs. There was a younger couple sitting in a corner, giggling madly and trading cheek kisses every so often—Luke assumed that they were there to get matching designs. A woman with a shaved head and a septum piercing lifted her head at the bells that had tinkled when Luke entered. She glanced at him once before going back to scrolling through an app on her phone.

Luke tentatively sat down in one of the chairs, gulping as he rubbed his hands together. He rolled his suitcase so that it was situated between his spread knees, and looked around again, his head cocking to the side when he noticed something.

One of the men—the buffest one who wore sunglasses and who looked like he could be the leader of a fucking motorcycle gang—sat across from him, smiling down at a young child who rested on his lap. The baby looked to be no more than two years old—perhaps only a year and a half—and wore a frilly blue frock, with white tights and blue shoes to match. Their wispy blonde hair was secured with a white, sparkly pin, and Luke assumed that the child was a girl. Scary Biker Dude—that’s what Luke would call him—lifted his hands to his eyes, pausing briefly before removing them suddenly. Luke heard a faint “peek-a-boo!”

The child laughed and clapped, a high-pitched squeal leaving her lips. Luke smiled slightly, looking down at his lap to hide his face. The interaction continued for the next few minutes, the child giggling happily and bouncing up and down, and Scary Biker Dude chuckling gruffly in return.

And then there was a voice—a voice that Luke hadn’t heard since he’d kissed you at the airport. An action that he’d performed despite the decision you had both made weeks before: to end what you’d both had so that you could avoid the heartbreak that would come with his departure.

Pain flashed through Luke’s chest as he remembered your solemn expression when he had presented you with the extra plane ticket, the sad shake of your head, your watery eyes once he’d turned away from you a month later and the flight attendant had confirmed his ticket. He remembered those first few nights away from you, how lonely he had felt, how his hand couldn’t bring him the same pleasure, how it hurt for him to breathe because fuck, he couldn’t smell the fruity scent of your perfume. Not anymore.

“Clay, don’t get her too excited, or she’ll throw up!”

Luke’s head snapped up, and he was sure that he stopped breathing.

There you were. Right in front of his fucking eyes.

Luke wasn’t sure where to look first. If anything, the few years apart had made you even more beautiful. Your hair was tossed up into a haphazard bun, and you wore a black button-up, your breasts stretching the fabric slightly. Pale blue jeans adorned your legs, the colour cut off abruptly by those same clunky combat boots—a reassuring jolt of pleasure ran through Luke when he saw the familiar shoes.

“Sorry, Y/N,” Scary Biker Dude—Clay—said, though beneath his graying beard, Luke could make out the fragments of a smile.

You just walked over to the biker with your arms held out. Clay reluctantly picked up the child sitting in his lap and passed her over to you. Luke watched in confusion as you placed the girl on your hip, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You like playing with Clay, Jo?”

The toddler giggled.

Luke stood abruptly. Before his mind could catch up with his body, he was crossing over to where you stood. He stopped a few feet away, but you didn’t look up at him, seemingly too distracted by the child in your arms.

“Is she yours?” Luke asked.

Still staring lovingly at the baby, you nodded.

Luke’s stomach plummeted while his heart somersaulted—he didn’t know what to feel, anticipation and dread and shock and anger rolling like waves throughout his body.

“How old is she?” he said, desperately trying to keep his voice level. A suspicion was building in the back of his mind, quickly gaining momentum with each passing second. Luke’s mouth was dry, as was his throat, and he tried swallowing but found that he couldn’t—he was choking on air, on the remnants of what used to be, on the possibilities that could have come true.

“Sixteen months,” you said. Luke calculated in his head, and a loud gasp left his throat. He looked down at the little girl, only to be met with the brightest shade of cobalt—a peculiar blue.

His peculiar blue.

Finally, you looked up at him, having heard his sharp intake of breath. You cocked your head to the side. “Is everything okay?”

And no, everything was not okay, because you didn’t seem to recognize him—at least, not at a first glance. Luke took a step back immediately, inexplicably overwhelmed. His hands came up to rake through his sandy hair, causing some tendrils to stick up—like the old Luke, the straight-laced pastor’s son, the Luke who had loved you, wanted to take you with him, wanted to break down your walls and know you fully.

And goddammit, that part of him was the one thing that hadn’t changed.

~*~

Luke sat at your kitchen table, his hands folded and his head bowed. The apartment was silent apart from the faint shuffling that could be heard from down the hall, the sound of you trying to put your—his—daughter to bed. Luke dragged his hands down his face, attempting to compose himself. His suitcase was leaning up against the wall near the front door.

He could leave right now if he wanted to. He could stand, slip on his boots, and get the hell out. And God, a part of him wanted to do just that.

But he also needed answers. He needed to talk to you, to question you—dammit, he needed to look at you. It was an innate urgency; he had to study your face, your soft lips, your deep eyes, the caring soul within that was trapped and bound by years of shattered trust. He hadn’t see you in two years—and it was as though within those two years, you had started over, made a life for yourself, let go of anything that was holding you back, erased your past completely.

Luke didn’t want to be erased.

His head whipped to the side once he heard footsteps approaching. He watched with tense shoulders as your silhouette entered the small kitchen.

You leaned against the wall, a small, nostalgic smile playing on your lips.

“Hey, pretty boy.”

Fuck.

Luke swallowed. Sighing gently, he ran a hand through his hair and turned towards you. “Hey.”

There was silence. Luke could hear you breathing heavily, the steady sound mixed in with the erratic thumping of his heart. It was so loud that he was afraid you would be able to see his chest pulsing. You could always read him—even before he’d left, you seemed to know his desires, his worries. You’d helped him conquer his fears and realize that his dreams could become realities, and for that, he was eternally in your debt.

“Do you want something to drink?” you asked, your voice tight.

“Water is fine.”

You nodded, and for a moment, Luke saw through a crack in your composure. You were just as nervous, just as afraid. There was a storm brewing behind your guarded eyes, the dim lighting in the kitchen reflecting off of your pupils. Luke was hit with the strongest urge to hold you, to kiss away your worries and make you happy.

Making you happy—that was all he’d ever wanted.

“Here you go,” you snapped him out of his trance. Luke’s hand shot out to catch the glass of water that you had slid across the table. He hunched his shoulders as he cradled the cup with both hands, trying to make himself seem as small as possible.

“You still do that.”

He looked up. “What?”

You smiled wistfully. “That. You always…curl up into yourself. ’S cute.”

Luke didn’t reply.

You looked around the kitchen as you walked over, pulling out a chair and sitting next to him. Luke regretted sitting at the head of the table; it suddenly felt like he had picked the perfect spot where you could watch him, study him, scrutinize him. He looked down at the clear liquid in his cup, willing himself to keep his gaze trained downwards, but once you let out a defeated sigh, he couldn’t resist a small peek.

“How’s Oxford?” you asked, but the question was hollow, as though you weren’t expecting him to respond.

Luke cleared his throat. “It’s good,” he grunted.

A small smile found its way to your lips and you ducked your head, trying to hide it. Luke couldn’t help but to smirk as well—your happiness was fucking infectious.

“I bet it’s a lot of work,” you continued, looking hopeful. Luke nodded, finally taking the first sip of his water. The liquid slid down his throat easily, cooling his entire body. It was like that was all he needed, because he set the glass down, looking at you squarely.

“I don’t want to talk about me. I want to talk about you.”

A beat of silence passed. You looked away, squeezing your eyes shut for a moment before your irises were trained back on Luke.

“I—,” you hesitated, body tight from the sudden onslaught of communication, “—what do you want to know?”

Luke seized the opportunity, not knowing when he would ever receive another chance like that. You were blatantly allowing him to ask whatever he wanted, and it seemed like your answers would be sincere. His lips were moving before his brain had a chance to filter through the questions, and words poured from his mouth.

“How did you get into the piercing business? When did you get this apartment? Are you stable—like, financially? Do you need me to lend you some money? Because I have plenty, don’t worry. Why did you move out here? Why didn’t you tell me that you were pregnant?”

“Luke!” you stopped him, your voice rising slightly. He clamped his mouth shut, his chest heaving. You sighed, pursing your lips.

“Okay,” you whispered to yourself, “Okay.”

Luke waited, gazing at you expectantly.

You looked up at him, inhaling sharply before beginning, “I figured that my chances of getting a job were shot back in the suburbs. I moved out here—nobody knew me or my reputation, so I figured that I could start over. That’s when I met Ashton—he’s the guy that owns the parlour—and fuck, even though I was five months pregnant, he gave me a job.”

“How old is he?” Luke demanded, “Ashton, I mean.”

You smiled, “He’s twenty-two.”

Luke’s mouth went dry. He looked away, trying to swallow. “Oh,” he mumbled, “And did you—did you guys ever—?”

“No,” you smirked, shaking your head, “We didn’t.”

Luke breathed a sigh of relief, and you continued, looking uneasy, “I was—I was still too hung up on you.”

Luke’s head snapped up at that, his eyes wide. You looked away, suddenly seeming to find the walls of your kitchen extremely intriguing. Luke studied your side profile, his fingers twitching around his cup. God, all he wanted to do was take your hand. A single touch, the brush of palms—it was like that would be enough to mend everything that had happened between the two of you. Luke studied the bridge of your nose, the delicious curve of your lips. His eyelids fluttered shut as he remembered how he used to kiss you—how you kissed him back.

“Ashton let me stay at his place until I made enough to move out,” you continued, your gaze still fixated on the wall. Luke felt an ugly knot form in the pit of his stomach, and he grinded his teeth together at the thought of you living with another man.

“So, I bought this apartment,” you said, “It’s nothing special, but it’s got two bedrooms, and that’s more than enough. Believe it or not, piercing bodies actually pays a decent amount.”

“Do you need—?” Luke began, but your head suddenly turned, and you shot him a glare.

“If you offer me even a penny, Luke Hemmings, I will kick you out.”

Luke held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, sorry.”

You blew a wisp of hair away from your face. “It’s fine. It’s just—I’ve managed this far on my own. I don’t need you swooping in to save me or anything like that.”

“I didn’t mean—,” Luke tried, but he broke off once you chuckled.

“It’s fine, pretty boy. Jo and I…we’re okay.”

Jo. Luke had nearly forgotten about the toddler that was asleep just down the hall. His mind flashed back to earlier that day—the girl’s wispy blonde hair, her charming and captivating giggles, her striking blue eyes. She resembled Luke so closely—it made him feel a bit nauseous.

“What’s her full name?” Luke blurted. He couldn’t help it.

“Josephine,” you smiled softly, your eyes growing distant.

Luke gnawed on his bottom lip. There was so much happening, and he was beginning to feel overwhelmed and slightly hysterical. He had so many questions, but he knew that he wouldn’t have enough time to ask all of them—and that terrified him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he said quietly, looking down at the water in his glass. He was suddenly overcome with aggravation and frustration, his head feeling like it would explode. “Why didn’t you tell me that we were going to have a fucking baby?”

He looked up at you, feeling betrayed. The shock had come and passed, and now he was angry—he was so goddamn angry.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, but Luke just shook his head, growing more and more irritated.

“Sorry isn’t good enough. I want to know why. Why didn’t you tell me that—that I was going to be a dad?”

He knew that he couldn’t start screaming, but that didn’t stop him from raising his voice a fair amount. He ran his fingers through his hair anxiously, pushing back against the table—his chair made a loud screeching noise against the floor, but he paid it no mind, standing and turning away from you. Luke heard the soft sigh you let out, and he clenched his jaw, rubbing his hands over his face to regain his composure.

Several long, silent moments passed, the tension in the kitchen unbearably thick. Luke’s shoulders oscillated dramatically with each breath. He squeezed his eyes shut and clutched at the hem of his shirt, wishing that it would help ease some of the strain that resided in his body.

And then there was a gentle hand on his arm. He froze, swallowing heavily. “Luke,” you breathed, and the way that his name rolled off of your tongue finally persuaded him to turn around.

He moved slowly, his eyes glued to the floor. It was only when you squeezed his bicep that he finally dragged his gaze upwards—he had to hold in a gasp.

Your bottom lip was quivering, eyes sparkling with unshed tears. You inhaled, the breath shaky and difficult. Luke watched as your right hand came up, your thumb and forefinger pinching the bridge of your nose. You expelled a long breath, closing your eyes and shaking your head slightly. Luke was frozen, unable to move—it had been so long since he’d seen you cry.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, “I’m so fucking sorry. You have no idea—how many times I wanted to call you and tell you. I was so scared…I didn’t want to do it without you but—”

You broke off, clearing your throat. When you spoke again, your voice was laboured, thick with emotion, “I didn’t want to hold you back. I couldn’t. You—it was your dream to leave, and I couldn’t force you to stay just because we fucked up. It wasn’t fair.”

“Why didn’t you abort?” Luke asked, “Or—there’s always adoption.”

Immediately he cringed—that was the best that he could do? It was obvious that you needed comfort, and he hated how the situation had robbed him of being able to wrap his arms around you and whisper consoling words into your ear.

You shook your head. “I didn’t—I don’t know why. I think I just…didn’t want to be alone.”

Luke’s heart shattered and his brain clicked.

“That’s why you didn’t—you didn’t want to come—fuck!” he exclaimed, smacking his hands against his face. He whirled around again, taking a few steps away from you and leaning his forehead against the wall, breathing heavily. Behind him, he heard you sob.

“I’m sorry,” you said again. Luke exhaled slowly, his nostrils flaring.

“When did it—?” he paused, trying to rephrase, “We were always careful. How did it even—?”

He waited for an answer. When you didn’t reply, he turned back around, looking at you expectantly. You crossed your arms over your torso, hugging yourself—Luke couldn’t help but to notice how much you’d changed. You were softer, not only physically (though he found himself eyeing your new curves hungrily, aching to feel your skin underneath his fingertips), but emotionally. He vaguely wondered if that old predicament was true—if motherhood really did make a woman more sentimental.

“I’m not sure,” you said, shrugging your shoulders sadly, “But I think—,” you sighed, “—do you remember that night when we went to your dad’s church? And I—”

“Gave me the best fucking blow job of my life?” Luke supplied, “Yeah, I remember. It’d be pretty hard to forget.”

You froze, your eyes wide. And then you laughed.

Luke’s brow furrowed, and his hands flew up. He couldn’t help his agitation. “What’s so funny?”

You covered your mouth to mute your amusement. “I—I’m sorry, it’s just…I’ve never really heard you talk like that before.”

You broke off into quiet giggles. Luke watched, shocked at how your mood had changed so drastically within seconds. The longer he stared, however, the quicker his anger seemed to seep out of him, and his frown began to lift into a smile. He couldn’t help it—your happiness was contagious. Luke smirked and a moment later, a low laugh slipped past his lips.

And eventually you both stood there, smiling bashfully and chuckling. You wrapped your arms back around your body. Luke stepped closer to you. You looked up at him, your eyes still wet—Luke presumed that they were a mixture of sad and happy tears. He lifted his hand, gripping your wrist and pulling your arms away from your body, effectively dismantling the makeshift shield that you had created.

“You’re always fuckin’ doing that,” he grunted.

“Doing what?” you breathed, looking up at him from under your eyelashes.

“This,” he said, squeezing your wrist gently, “Always hiding away from me. I just want to see you, you know? Like, really see you.”

“I’m right here,” you whispered, your eyes fluttering closed before they opened once more.

Luke swallowed, taking another step towards you. Your fingers twitched; Luke loosened his grip on your wrist, though you didn’t let him retreat, instead reaching for his hand and brushing your fingertips against his palms. He understood, lacing your digits together and squeezing appreciatively. You glanced up at him, your eyes hooded. Luke watched—completely enraptured—as you licked your lips.

“I really want to kiss you,” he blurted.

You pursed your lips, “I know.”

“So—hypothetically—if I were to kiss you, would you be okay with it?”

“Hypothetically?” you cocked an eyebrow, and Luke nodded. You shrugged. “Hypothetically, I don’t think it’d be a good idea.”

“Why not?” Luke asked, his brow creasing and his heart aching painfully. He was so goddamn close. You were right there, pressed up against him, your breaths intermingling. His pulse was pounding, and his head was foggy as he breathed in the comforting scent of your perfume. He wanted nothing more than to kiss you, to grab your face and make sure that you knew how much he had missed you.

“Because,” you said softly, “If you kissed me, I don’t think I’d be able to stop myself from giving you the second best fucking blow job of your life.”

Luke’s breath hitched in his throat. He stared at you in awe, but there was no shame in your expression. Your eyes were wide, tender, sincere. Even before he’d left for university, Luke had only seen that look a handful of times. He knew that it was a look that was reserved for him and only him—proof that he had finally broken down your walls.

And he was determined to make the most of it, before you built them back up.

“Would that be so bad?” Luke questioned, “Hypothetically, I mean.”

You smiled wistfully, your eyes glimmering. Luke watched as you tilted your head up, your lips moving to form words.

“I guess not,” you paused, biting your lip. “Kiss me, pretty boy.”

Yes.

When his lips touched yours, Luke felt like he was going to explode. His heart hammered against his ribcage, and his mouth tingled, the zealous feeling spreading from his lips throughout the rest of his body. He suddenly felt energized, like he could run a fucking marathon, and his fingers twitched against yours. He carefully slipped his hand out of your grip, moving instead to cup your cheeks and keep you close.

“I missed you,” he panted once you’d finally broken apart, “I missed you so fucking much.”

You looked up at him with vulnerable eyes. “I—uh—I haven’t been with anyone. Not since you left.”

Luke tilted his head to the side in confusion. You gripped the collar of his shirt as though you couldn’t bear to be far away from him.

“I mean—,” you said, your voice taking on a hint of desperation, “Fucked. I haven’t fucked anyone since you left. But I—I want…” You trailed off, shaking your head. “God, this is so embarrassing—”

“No!” Luke cut you off, his tone higher than he’d intended. He cringed before sweeping his palms down your neck, across your shoulders so that his fingers were eventually wrapped around your biceps. Luke pressed a hard, fleeting kiss to your lips, “I fucking—I want you too, shit. I just—are you sure?”

Instead of replying with words, you merely leaned up, your fists tightening around the fabric of his shirt as you delivered a bruising kiss to his mouth. Luke’s hands immediately went to your head, his right cupping the back of your neck and his left raking through your hair.

You began moving backwards, and Luke opened his eyes in surprise (one of you had to watch where you were going). His hand shot out to stop your back from colliding harshly with the wall; the abrupt movement made you pull back, and after glancing over your shoulder, you giggled quietly. Luke’s ears were hot, the sound of your laugh ringing like church bells—and God, he wanted to repent.

“C’mon,” you mumbled, gripping his chin between your thumb and forefinger and pressing another short kiss to his lips. You sidestepped, grabbing his hands and pulling him through the doorway that led off into the small (and only) hallway of the apartment. Luke followed you thoughtlessly—he’d follow you straight into hell, if you’d asked.

You led him down to the very end of the hall. Luke couldn’t help but to glance at the closed door of Josephine’s room—his daughter’s room. The thought invaded his mind, and he almost stopped right in his tracks.

“Luke, I—,” you began, and he looked back at you as you pushed open the door of your bedroom. You had used his name; he knew that you meant to say something serious. He followed you inside, waiting for you to finish your thought, but you hesitated and clamped your mouth shut. You leaned up to kiss him, but Luke stepped back, shaking his head.

“No. You’re not allowed to do that now. Tell me what you were going to say.”

“It’s not—”

“Please,” Luke was prepared to drop to his knees and beg. “Don’t hide from me anymore.” He approached you again, pressing your foreheads together and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, “Open up, angel. Let me see you.”

Your breathing hitched at the pet name, and Luke smiled softly, immediately deciding that he liked it. You looked up at him, your arms winding around his neck, fingers playing with the soft curls at the back of his head. The double bed was so close, but Luke only had eyes for you—everything else could wait.

“I just—,” you said, taking a deep breath, “Tell me what happens after this. With us.”

Luke tensed, his eyebrows knitting together. He would’ve been prepared to answer anything—except for that. Immediately, his mind was travelling a mile a minute, and he was trying to rack his brain for a reply.

He found none.

“I don’t know,” he finally said, his voice quiet and ashamed. You swallowed heavily, nodding and looking away, running your own fingers through your hair. It was easy to see that you were flustered; your eyes were wide, lips swollen, nostrils flaring as you inhaled sharply. Luke just wanted to kiss the worry from your face.

“I don’t—,” you began, shaking your head, “I can’t let you go; I can’t go through that—not again.”

“I can’t either,” Luke was quick to reassure you, gripping your face in his hands and leaning down so that he was staring into your frazzled eyes. “Please, I’m—I’m here for the next two weeks. We can talk about it, we can figure it out, I promise.”

You stared at him, gnawing nervously on your bottom lip. Just when Luke was certain that you’d push him away, you did the opposite, pulling him in close and kissing him harshly. He resisted the urge to chuckle against your lips—he’d never truly be able to figure you out.

“Fuck me,” you whispered, and Luke let out a faint growl, not needing to be told twice. 

He moved forwards until the backs of your thighs hit your mattress, and you pulled him down onto the bed. Immediately, he was on top of you, his knees and palms bracketing your body—you whimpered, reaching for the hem of his white shirt and rucking the material up his torso.

He smiled against your lips, indulging you and pushing himself up. He sat back on his heels, reaching for the collar of his t-shirt and yanking the fabric up over his head. When he tossed it behind him and looked back down at you, he had to restrain himself from grinning. You were staring at him hungrily, your eyes soaking in his broad, bare chest, his smooth shoulders.

“Your turn,” he said.

You sat up, your gazes locking and staying that way as you reached for the top button of your black blouse. Hastily, you undid each clasp, but to Luke, it felt like eons had passed until you were finally slipping the material from your body, baring your blue bra to him. The garment was cute—it was a periwinkle colour, with a small bow resting snugly between the cups, but Luke thought that it would look even cuter standing out against the dark hardwood flooring.

He said just that, and watched how you grinned mischievously before nodding. A moment later, your torso was bare, and Luke couldn’t stop himself from reaching out and giving your breasts all the love and attention that they deserved.

“Fuck,” you breathed, lying back as Luke climbed on top of you once more. He chuckled, and you let out an embarrassed laugh. “It’s just—it’s been a while.”

“Tell me about it,” he groaned, tweaking your nipples gently.

You gasped, seemingly torn between arching your back for more and curling up to avoid the contact. Luke leaned down, kissing you passionately. You tangled your hands in his hand, your fingers tugging at his sandy curls when he moved away, pressing a kiss to your cheek and proceeding down the column of your neck.

“I missed you,” Luke mumbled—the words were constantly there, pushing against the barrier of his lips. Without waiting for your reply, he took your right nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the bud and reveling in the quiet squeak that left your lips.

Suddenly, he felt a hand pushing at his shoulder, and he pulled away from your nipple with a low ‘pop!’

“Is everything okay?” he asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, afraid that you would close up on him again. But you merely nodded, your eyes wide and your chest heaving with pleasure. Luke vaguely noted that your lower halves were still covered by black skinny jeans, and he vowed to do something about it.

“Everything’s fine,” you breathed, inhaling, “It’s just—we need to be quiet. And I won’t be able to if you keep doing that.”

Luke let the words sink in. After a moment, he chuckled, raising his hands. “Alright, alright. I’ll let it slide this one time.”

You smiled at him before sitting up, your hands sliding down your stomach, fingers fumbling with the button of your jeans. Luke helped you undo it, hooking his fingers into your waistband and tugging the denim down your legs. When the material was finally bunched up at your ankles, he pulled it off with a dramatic flourish, and you laughed softly at his antics. Luke beamed.

“Your turn,” you prompted, repeating his words from earlier. 

With a quiet groan, Luke stood from the bed, messing with his own jeans and trying to remove them. You laughed yet again as he hopped around on one foot, and he pouted at you when he finally wrestled his pants off.

“Don’t laugh at me,” he moped, “I’m trying to be sexy here.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him back down to you and pressing a soft kiss to the tip of his perfect nose. “You’re doing a fine job of it, pretty boy. I just like seeing you—the dumb and clumsy you.”

“The mood’s ruined,” Luke frowned childishly, and you merely cocked an eyebrow. You tilted your head up—pulling him into a heated kiss—while your right hand snaked down his body, your palm eventually pressing into the bulge at the front of his boxers. Luke’s hips bucked forward, and you grinned deviously against his lips.

“Mhm…are you sure about that?”

“F-Fuck,” Luke stuttered, only making your smile widen. He blushed, his eyelashes fluttering down against his cheeks. You didn’t stop, your fingers wrapping around his girth through the cotton of his briefs, and Luke’s eyes nearly rolled back in his head (it had been far too long).

You rubbed your nose against Luke’s jawline, and he was momentarily afraid that he’d come right there on the spot. It wasn’t only your fingers squeezing his dick—it was the intimacy, the closeness, the knowledge that you were right here. Luke’s hips rutted against your hand, and he buried his face into your neck, trying to muffle his groans.

“You’ve got to be quiet,” you whispered against the shell of his ear. Luke nodded fervently, using every drop of willpower to pull away from you and the heavenly sensation that you offered. He sat back on his heels once more, his large hands wrapping around your hips and dragging you closer to him.

You smiled mischievously as his fingers toyed with the waistband of your sheer black panties. Luke returned your expression, reveling in the gasp that you emitted when he yanked your underwear cleanly down your legs. You barked out a laugh.

“Okay, that was sexy.”

Luke bit his lip to suppress a smile.

“’M going to open you up now, okay?” he asked, and then continued on an afterthought. “I just really want to fuck you. I promise I’ll eat you out for, like, an hour later tonight.”

You smirked. “Whatever you say, pretty boy.”

He took his time, his hands running down your sides and his mouth open in awe when he finally felt the impact of your pregnancy. You were so fucking soft, and if it weren’t for his raging erection, Luke probably would have nuzzled each roll of fat, each stretch mark, pressing consistent kisses to your skin.

He cursed when he swiped his index finger along your folds, feeling the moisture at the apex of your thighs. You shivered, breathing out a gentle ‘fuck’ and twisting your fingers into the bedsheets. Luke couldn’t stop himself from popping his finger into his mouth, his eyes fluttering shut as he tasted you. His shoulders rolled as a shudder passed down his spine, and he brought his hands back down, his left poised carefully on the inside of your thigh to keep your legs spread.

You inhaled sharply as the first finger entered you. Luke watched you, completely enraptured by the creasing of your brow and the flaring of your nostrils. He leaned down, his left hand squeezing your thigh reassuringly as he pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your swollen clit. A small ‘oh!’ left your lips, and God, Luke was so fucking hard.

“You okay?” Luke asked, looking up at you with concerned eyes. In response, he received a teasing shrug.

“You don’t have to be so gentle, pretty boy. It’s not like I haven’t done this to myself.”

“Fuck,” Luke swore, pressing his forehead against your pelvic bone. Images of you getting yourself off—your fingers between your legs, your body convulsing as you came—flashed through his head, and he subconsciously rutted against the mattress. God, he was fucking pathetic, reduced once more to a fifteen-year-old virgin with quaking knees and fragmented sentences.

Your smirk grew, and Luke—who was determined to regain the upper hand—pursed his lips, retracting his finger from your pussy only to plunge back in with two. It was his turn to smile smugly as he watched your back arch, your left hand flying to your mouth to stifle a moan.

“Fuck me,” you gasped. Luke thought that it was merely an exclamation, but then you repeated the demand, your voice taking on a conscious and sure tone. He looked up at you and your eyes locked.

“Are you sure?” he asked. You nodded rapidly.

“It’s fine, I’ll be fine.”

Luke pouted playfully. “I’m kind of offended—are you implying that I have a small dick?”

You laughed, and he grinned. With a quiet grunt, Luke pushed himself back up, clambering on top of you and pressing a messy kiss to your lips. It was barely a kiss, seeing as you were both smiling like idiots, lips bumping against teeth and low snickers being breathed into the clammy air.

“I love your dick,” you whispered against the corner of Luke’s mouth, “You know that.”

Luke hummed in response, pressing a final kiss to your lips before rolling off of you, his feet connecting to the floor. He stood, tucking his fingers into the elastic waistband of his boxers and hastily yanking the offending material down his legs. He stepped out of them once they pooled around his ankles, climbing back onto the bed and resuming his previous position on top of you.

“Do you have a condom?” he asked. Your eyes widened, and then you clenched them shut angrily.

“Fuck, I—”

“It’s okay,” he said quickly, “I can—pull out if you want? I got tested about a month back; I’m clean.”

You looked skeptical but eventually you nodded. Luke returned the gesture, shooting you a reassuring smile.

He bowed his head, kissing you fervidly as he reached down, gripping the base of his cock and lining himself up with your entrance. The kiss deepened—he tried to distract you from the obvious discomfort that you would feel—as he slowly tilted his hips forward, his dick sliding into you with an obscene sound.

“Shit,” Luke said immediately, his shoulders tensing and his vision whiting out for a good few seconds. You were so fucking tight—after months with just his hand to keep him satisfied, he didn’t know how long he’d be able to keep himself from coming.

“Yeah,” you panted against his mouth, nosing along his cheek. Luke kept his right hand planted firmly onto the mattress next to your head, granting his left hand the luxury of exploring your body, feeling down your torso, squeezing your thigh and hip appreciatively.

“Are you okay?” he asked, pursing his lips. Hurting you was the last thing that he wanted to do.

But you just nodded, closing your eyes briefly before they snapped open once more. Luke immediately felt relief wash over him, and he drew comforting circles against the skin of your hip to soothe you. You shifted underneath him, and he tried to pull out, but you gripped his biceps, shaking your head silently.

You both stayed like that for the next minute, Luke watching as you closed your eyes, tuning him out and trying to grow accustomed to the foreign (though it used to be familiar) feeling. Finally, just when Luke was sure that his head was going to explode if he didn’t move soon, you opened your eyes, squeezing his arms and nodding your head.

“Go.”

Luke groaned gratefully before pulling out slowly, watching your facial expression change from anticipatory to blissful. That was the only confirmation that he required, the last push that he needed to plunge back into you, coaxing forth a surprised gasp from your lips. He smiled lightly, biting his lip to stop the corners of his mouth from curving up into a radical grin.

“Shit,” you whimpered, biting your fist to keep your moans quiet. Luke set a quick rhythm, leaning back slightly and placing both of his hands underneath the skin of your thighs. He pushed your legs upwards, practically folding you in half and thrusting back into you. You threw your head back into the pillows at the top of the bed, covering your mouth—though your pleading, helpless whimpers still managed to escape.

“Fuck,” he cursed, “You feel—so fucking good. I…”

“I know,” you mumbled, a soft moan tumbling from your lips. You reached out and Luke understood, leaning into you so that he could kiss you deeply. His lips proved to be no more useful at muffling your noises, so he pulled back, resting his forehead against yours.

“God, I missed this,” Luke choked out, “My fucking hand—I could never…never even—”

And goddammit, he wasn’t making any sense. You felt too good, too tight for him to form even a single coherent sentence. His thrusts were already faltering, growing sloppy and sporadic, and he chalked it up to the fact that he hadn’t fucked anyone in so long—he hadn’t fucked you in so long. And he had missed it. Fuck, he had missed it so much.

His hips stuttered when you subconsciously clenched around him, and a shudder raced down his spine. He fell forward, his elbows digging into the mattress beside your shoulders.

“Kiss me,” you gasped, and Luke obliged happily. The kiss was so fucking messy, tongues and teeth and whimpers and groans and God, Luke thought, it was perfect.

“I—I can’t,” Luke stuttered out, driving into you with more force and speed, determined to make you come so that he wouldn’t look so utterly pathetic. “I can’t hold it, ’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you soothed.

You rubbed your palms along the vast expanse of his shoulders, and Luke wanted to cry because wow, here you were, looking more beautiful than ever, and he had been able to provide only mediocre sex (at best). Yet you didn’t appear to care, seemingly happy merely because he was with you, and Luke felt his heart somersault in his chest at the realization.

His sudden awareness pushed him to do it: he managed to snake a hand down your body, his thumb rubbing hard circles into your clit. Luke’s chest panged victoriously when he angled himself perfectly, the head of his cock spearing directly into that special spot inside of you. That—coupled with the stimulation of your clit—was enough to push you over the edge, and you shook in Luke’s arms, your orgasm overtaking you.

Luke swore when the silky walls of your pussy locked down on his dick, and he knew that he had to pull out. He steadied himself, sliding out of you in one fluid motion. As soon as he made a fist around his dick, he was coming, the first spurt of come streaking against your hip.

“Fuck,” Luke babbled, his head becoming foggy, “I love you. I fucking love you so goddamn much.”

Somewhere, deep down in the cobwebbed corners of his mind, his brain panicked, realizing what he’d said and screaming out a steady chorus of ‘fuck, fuck, fuck!’

But a larger part of him was drunk on pleasure, unable to register even the most obvious of movements, too high on bliss to remember anything. Luke shuddered, the last bit of his come kicking out and lacing onto the skin of your thigh. He slowly opened his eyes, blinking lethargically and trying to take in his surroundings. In a way, it was sort of like being reborn.

And then he slumped on top of you, not caring that his own come was being smeared between you. You let out a surprised groan, but Luke silence you by pressing his lips against yours, the kiss chaste yet passionate.

“You just—,” you began, and Luke nodded solemnly, sighing. Here it was—the part where you pulled away from him, built up your walls and withdrew once more. He was used to it, but it still stung.

“I know.”

He was waiting for the blow: the tensing of your shoulders, the angry smouldering of your eyes. You would most likely roll over, sit up and mumble about how the whole thing had been a mistake, how you had both let it go too far. Luke’s jaw clenched as you opened your mouth.

“I love you too.”

~*~

“You’re going to call, right? And we’ll Skype?”

“Yes, pretty boy,” you blew a strand of your hair away from your forehead in exasperation, securing your arms around the toddler who sat on your hip. Luke watched you with fond eyes, his gaze flitting over to his daughter.

“Goodbye, Jo,” he mumbled sadly, leaning down and pressing a kiss to the girl’s hair. “Daddy loves you very much.”

“It’s been two weeks,” you teased, “Don’t you think you’re rushing into things?”

Luke chuckled, shaking his head. “Shut up. You know you’re going to miss me.”

It was like—with those words—a dam had broken inside of you. Luke watched, utterly horrified, as your eyes filled with tears. His lips parted in surprise, and then he was pulling you into his arms, burying his face into the crook of your neck. “Oh, shit. Please don’t cry, I’m sorry.”

“No,” you tried for a sad laugh, “Don’t be sorry, I’m sorry. I’m just being stupid.”

“You’re not stupid,” Luke said earnestly, trying to sear the words into your brain. He pulled back, stroking your cheek while the toddler in your arms gnawed on the skin of your shoulder. Luke heaved out a tired sigh, trying to take in all the details of your face before boarding the plane. He was painfully aware of the suitcase resting only a foot behind him, the handle gleaming in the bright lights of the airport.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” Luke assured you, though his own voice was thick. “Five months, okay? And then I’m coming back. For, like, two months. Two full months.”

You gave him a watery smile, and Luke returned it. He leaned down, kissing your lips softly. A grainy voice came onto the intercom, informing him that other passengers of his flight were beginning to board. Luke pulled away from your lips (quite reluctantly, if he was being honest) and looked at you helplessly. You pursed your lips and tried for an encouraging smile, nodding for him to go.

“I love you,” he reminded you.

“I love you more,” you replied softly. Luke pressed another kiss to the top of his daughter’s head—grinning widely when she giggled—before turning around, gripping the handle of his suitcase and heading off to the gate of his flight.

He forced himself to stare straight ahead; he watched where the other passengers were lined up, their tickets in their hands as they waited for the slips to be confirmed by the flight attendant at the door. Luke closed his eyes for a moment, counting down the days until he’d see you again.

Five months in England. And then two months spent with you. Another four months, gone, separated by thousands of kilometres. And then three months, back. The cycle would repeat once more, and then he would finally be through with his studies.

And that meant coming back to you—and to his daughter. To several job opportunities that he would happily consider. Luke found himself smiling at the ground—once upon a time, he had hated how predictable his life had been; you had been able to offer that deviation, the rebellion that he secretly craved. And now, he just wanted certainty—you provided that sense of support, that promise of stability.

It didn’t matter what Luke needed; you were always there, and with you, things always had a funny way of working out.

He boarded the plane.

 ~*~

damn....if u got thru this....thank u lmao!! and i rly hope u liked it!! [feedback] is much appreciated, tbh the comments fuel me to keep writing lmao 💞💞

[dimensionhoppingrose]

A Drop of Magic || Year Seven (Complete)

Title: A Drop of Magic Rating: K+ Pairing: Rose/Ninth Doctor Summary: Their first meeting wasn’t in the halls of the great castle, but in a dusty, forgotten corner of Flourish and Blotts. “Are you bored too?” He asked, and when she nodded he took her hand and said one word: “Run.”

Note: So this is the last chapter. I hope everyone enjoyed it, and please, if you’ve been an invisible reader, please review? I have anon on so you don’t even have to attach your name to it. Please.

Read on AO3.

“When did John say he was getting here?”

“Around noon, I think.”

“You think?” Martha raised an eyebrow. “Right. Because I’m sure you guys haven’t spent every single waking moment writing letters to each other or anything.”

“No, of course not.” Just close to every moment. Honestly, Rose needed to teach him how to use a mobile. John’s poor owl was getting such a workout. Martha rolled her eyes, sipping her drink. They were waiting at the Leaky Cauldron to go pick up their school supplies. John had said he would meet them, but he was running late. Of course.

“He’ll probably be here around five,” Martha said with a teasing laugh. Rose snorted.

“Yeah, his watch probably broke.”

“He Apparated to the wrong place.”

“He—”

“Yeah, you two are hilarious,” John said dryly, and they looked over to see him glaring half-heartedly at them.

“Hi!” Rose said happily, leaning in to kiss him and ignoring the mock-gagging noises Martha made.

“If you two are gonna do this all day, I’m leaving you.”

“Oh shush.”  Rose finished her drink and left a few Galleons on the bar. Martha did the same, and they headed out back.

“So what’re you guys taking this year?” John asked as they started down the cobble road and into Diagon Alley.

“Potions, Transfiguration, Herbology, Charms, and Defense Against the Dark Arts,” Martha recited her class list.

“Yeah, have fun with that. You’re going to hate yourself.”

“I already do.”

Rose giggled, and John smiled a bit as he took her hand, intertwining their fingers. “What about you?”

“Care of Magical Creatures, Herbology, Astronomy, and Charms.” Rose still wasn’t entirely certain what she wanted to do with her life, but those classes were a safe bet for her. And she would have Martha in two classes — the N.E.W.T. classes were so small, they didn’t bother separating by House. Everyone was just tossed in together.

That would be nice.

They ducked into Flourish and Blotts first, stocking up on the books they needed. Martha, of course, had to buy several extras. “Oh, by the way,” she said as they explored the shelves, “I was made Head Girl.”

“What?!” Rose burst out. “That’s brilliant, congratulations!”

She threw her arms around Martha, who laughed. “No surprise,” John said. “You’re practically a saint.”

“Oh I am not, shut up.” Martha rolled her eyes. “Come on, let’s check out.”

“Do you guys mind if we stop at the Quidditch store after we’re done with school supplies?” Rose asked as they made their way to the counter. She was hanging on Martha’s arm now, so proud of her friend. “I think I’m going to get a new broomstick.”

“Treating yourself?”

“Something like that.” She was still halfway considering trying for a professional Quidditch career when she was done with school. But also her poor Cleansweep was five years old and on its last legs. It was time to retire it with grace before it sent her plunging out of the air. “I think I’m gonna donate my old one to Hogwarts. It’s still in decent shape, just not good enough to constantly be flying on. It’s better than most of the school brooms.”

“Did I ever tell you about the time an old school Shooting Star threw me off?” John asked, and Rose laughed.

“No!”

“It was my first flying lesson — and last, I refused to take them after that…”

They finished getting their school supplies, and ducked into the Quidditch supplies store so Rose could try and figure out what broom she could afford. The new Firebolt was her dream — Amy Pond had one, and had told Rose it was absolutely brilliant — but it was also way out of her price range. She wouldn’t have any money left for the rest of the year.

Still, she could stop and stare and dream.

“You could just get it,” Martha suggested. “How much money do you really spend when you’re at school?”

“A lot when I go to Hogsmeade.”

“And god forbid you go a year with Chocolate Frogs.”

“Absolutely.”

“Do you really want it?” John asked, and Rose sighed faintly. Yes. Yes she did. It was an amazing, broom and if Rose really went for a Quidditch career after school this would give her such a boost.

But it was too expensive.

“Alright, then.” John scooped up the broom and headed for the counter to check out.

“Wait — what?” Rose gaped, whirling around to hurry after. “John, what the hell are you doing?”

“I think I’m buying a broom.”

“You can’t afford it!”

“Watch me.”

“John, seriously, you can’t,” Rose insisted. It was far too much money. Sure, the price had gone down since it had first been released, but still. It was too much.

“I’m saving a lot of money not being a student anymore,” John assured her as he doled out the Galleons. The fact that he just happened to have that much money on him gave Rose a sneaking suspicion he had planned on doing something like this anyways.

He finished paying, the cashier wrapped up the broom for them, and they left. Rose was a bit of a stuttering mess as she tried to figure out what to say.

“She’s pretty cute when she’s speechless, isn’t she?” Martha teased, and quickly dodged when Rose tried to kick her shin. John laughed as he leaned in to kiss Rose, and she sighed against his lips.

“Thank you. Really.”

“It’s nothing to thank me for.”

Honestly, he was mad.

* * * * * * * *

It was weird, getting on the train without John and sitting alone. Martha, in all her Head Girl glory, had to meet with the Prefects and other Heads first. And of course, John wasn’t there. She had kind of hoped he would come to see her off, but he’d had something else come up at the last minute. He’d come around the night before to say goodbye, at least.

Hogwarts was going to be weird without him.

Rose kissed her mother goodbye and climbed onto the train, heading for the compartment she’d managed to get to herself. She let Luna out and settled against the window, watching as they slowly left the city behind.

It was her last year at Hogwarts.

God, that was so weird to think about. She was seventeen. She was an adult in the Wizarding world. She could take her Apparation test. She’d meant to do it over the summer, but she had no idea how to get to the Ministry of Magic. John had promised to take her during Christmas break.

It was all exciting and terrifying at the same time.

“Blimey,” Martha said with a sigh as she let herself into the compartment. “Being in charge is hard.”

“Yeah, sounds like such a burden,” Rose teased lightly, and Martha laughed.

“I saw the food trolley on the way here, so at least I didn’t miss it. Could you’ve found anywhere further back on the train?”

“I got here late, leave me alone.”

“John’s rubbing off on you.”

They got some snacks for the ride, and Martha broke out a book to begin reading. “Seriously? We’re not even there yet.”

“Rose, have you seen my classes?”

That was fair. Luna nudged at Rose’s ankle and she bent over to pick the cat up. “Did you ever do your Apparation test?” She asked.

“Oh. Um. Yeah.” Rose raised an eyebrow as Martha ducked her head. “Twice.”

“Twice?” Rose had to try not to laugh. The idea of Martha failing at anything was stunning.

“Shut up,” Martha mumbled. “I overshot the first time, missed the goal by a couple miles. Mum said it was probably nerves.”

“But you passed the second time, right?” Martha nodded. “That’s all that matters, then.”

“My brother and sister didn’t shut up about it for a week.”

“Well you’ll have to remember that when they take the test.”

Martha laughed at that. “Fair. Ten galleons says my brother Splinches himself.” That seemed to cheer her up considerably.

They changed as they got closer to Hogwarts, and in no time at all they were arriving at the platform. Rose closed Luna back into her carrier and they headed out. They rode up to school together, only separating when they arrived at the Great Hall. Rose felt a little weird, sitting at the Gryffindor table without Clara. She missed her friend.

The rest of the Gryffindor team welcomed her happily, of course, so she wasn’t completely alone.

After the Sorting and eating, the Headmistress stood up, and the Hall slowly went silent. “Welcome,” she called, “to another year! I’m sure you’re all ready for bed, but I have a few announcements to make before we release you to your dorms, starting with staffing changes.

“First, I’m sad to say Professor Flitwick, who has been with us for nearly sixty years, has decided to retire. He’s been a wonderful professor, and we’ll all miss him terribly. However, I’m happy to say we’ve found a suitable replacement, recommended by him, even. Clara Oswald, whom I’m sure many of you will recognize as a former classmate, will be taking over his position.”

“Ha!” Rose burst out as the rest of the team started laughing and clapping. That was brilliant. The Headmistress smiled.

“Yes, I’m sure Professor Oswald’s friends are very happy for her. Madam Pomfrey has also decided to retire after this year, after faithfully serving Hogwarts for over fifty years. She’ll be staying on one more year to train her replacement — another recent graduate, John Smith.”

Rose nearly choked, and she heard Martha laughing over at the Ravenclaw table.

Oh that was too good.

A few more announcements, and they were finally released to go to their dorms. Rose pushed her way through the crowd to get to Martha so they could talk before she disappeared to the Ravenclaw dorm for the night.

“I can’t believe he didn’t tell us!” Martha said as soon as Rose was close enough.

“I can. He’s such a dork.” Rose laughed. Martha rolled her eyes, also laughing. Absolutely ridiculous.

* * * * * * * *

Clara and John were at the staff table when Rose got to breakfast the next morning, and she couldn’t quite look at them without laughing. She kept her eyes on the floor and tried not to giggle as she hurried to the Gryffindor table.

Growing up was kind of weird sometimes.

Professor Longbottom came around to hand out the class schedules, and Rose laughed when she saw she had Charms first. Oh brilliant.

She hurried over to the Ravenclaw table to meet Martha once she was done eating. “Looks like we have Charms first,” she said brightly, and Martha laughed.

“Looks like we do. We better get going, we don’t want to be late for our first class, do we?”

“Of course not. That would be horrible.”

They got to the classroom and got seats right in front. Clara rolled her eyes when she walked in and saw them. “Don’t start.”

“Don’t start what, Professor?” Rose asked sweetly. “Professor. That’s a good name for you. Professor Oswald.”

“I hope you plan on teasing John just as much as you plan on teasing me.”

“Oh absolutely.”

They behaved perfectly once the bell rang, of course. Friend or not, Clara was a teacher now and she deserved respect.

And there would be plenty of time to take the mickey out of her after class. Rose had a free period.

“Hi Professor!” She said happily as she approached Clara after the bell rang. Clara rolled her eyes as she collected her books.

“Alright, Rose, have at it.”

“I would never.” Rose put on an honest smile. “Seriously, this is brilliant. Congratulations.”

Clara smiled a bit. “Thanks. Really. You got a free period? Let’s have tea.”

They walked back to Clara’s office, and Clara waved her wand at a tea pot to start the tea. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Rose asked curiously. Clara shrugged.

“I dunno. It seemed kind of stupid, ya know? Professor Flitwick approached me about it at the end of last year — he knew I was interested in teaching and he thought I’d be good for the job — and I thought he was joking, honestly. I mean, who in their right mind would make me a professor?”

“Hogwarts, apparently.”

“I guess their standards aren’t as high as I thought.”

Rose rolled her eyes, slapping Clara’s arm. “So are you Head of Ravenclaw now, too?”

“I think so, technically. There isn’t much for Heads of Houses to do, though. Professor Longbottom took care of handing out schedules for me this morning since I had a class first thing.”

“Do you think they’d let me keep you as Keeper for the Gryffindor team?”

“I doubt it.”

Rose spent half of her off period with Clara, then hurried to the Hospital Wing. It was empty, of course — it was only the first day, no one was hurt or having a nervous breakdown yet. John was standing with his back to the door, going through a cabinet and checking things off on a clipboard.

“Excuse me, hi,” Rose called jokingly. “I think I need help.”

“Did you fall off your broom already?” John deadpanned without turning around, and Rose snorted.

���Very funny. Come on, why didn’t you tell me you got a job here?” She sat down on the edge of the bed closest to John.

“Wanted it to be a surprise. And I knew you would laugh at me.”

“I would never laugh.” John raised an eyebrow at Rose. “Okay, maybe I laughed a little. Just a little. But seriously, I’m really happy for you.” And she couldn’t deny that she was thrilled to have John here. Hogwarts without John just felt… wrong.

“Ms. Tyler did you fall off your broom already?” Madam Pomfrey asked in disbelief as she came out of her office. John snorted and coughed to cover up his laugh, and Rose blushed.

“No, ma’am. I just wanted to say hi to John.”

Her free period ended far too soon, of course. She kissed John quickly before hurrying off. She had Care of Magical Creatures next.

* * * * * * * *

By the first Hogsmeade trip of the year, Rose was already snowed under in work. She’d thought only taking four classes would make the year a little easier. She should have known better.

“How’d tryouts go?” Martha asked as they made their way down the path to Hogsmeade. Rose had held tryouts for Gryffindor Keeper the night before.

“They don’t make them like they used to.” Rose sighed. “Found a pretty decent one though, I think.” Danny Pink, a fourth year. Honestly, Rose would be so glad when she didn’t have to replace any more teammates. “I still wish I could’ve kept Clara.”

“I don’t think professors are allowed to play in a student game.”

“Well that’s stupid.”

They stopped in the Three Broomsticks first — John had said he’d try to meet them, if he could get the day off from Madam Pomfrey. Rose was excited. She hadn’t had many chances to see John since the beginning of the semester, and she missed him.

John got there about five minutes after they did, and Rose unashamedly lit up when she saw him. “Hey!” She said happily, hopping up to kiss him.

“Making out with a student?” Martha tsk-ed. “That’s just inappropriate.”

“Oh shush,” John and Rose said at the same time, and Martha laughed.

It was so nice to just take a day off and wander through Hogsmeade, and even better to do it hand-in-hand with John. John and Martha spent a lot of time talking about Martha’s classes — he knew her pain, he had taken all the same ones — and Rose was happy to just listen. It still hurt, sometimes, that she wasn’t as smart as them and she never would be. But she was also finally happy with the place she was in.

Besides, she knew John cared about her, even if she wasn’t brilliant like he was. And that was all she needed.

* * * * * * * *

“Do you know how to play Quidditch without getting hurt?”

The first game of the season had been otherwise amazing — they had won two-hundred to twenty. Danny was almost as good as Clara. But a Bludger had caught Rose in the side and broken four of her ribs right before Bill Knight caught the Snitch.

That had hurt like hell.

“Hold still,” Madam Pomfrey demanded as Rose tried to curl in on herself to minimize the pain. John was trying to hold Rose still while the matron took care of the actual healing. “This’ll only take a few minutes, but I can’t do anything if you keep squirming.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Rose mumbled, swallowing hard and ignoring the tears stinging in her eyes. It hurt.

Madam Pomfrey healed her up, and left her and John alone to go tend to the Ravenclaw seeker, who had taken a Bludger to the head. Rose took the opportunity to curl up in John’s arms, smiling faintly.

“You’re too danger prone for Quidditch,” John teased, and Rose laughed.

“Apparently. Is it mad I’m thinking about trying to get into it professionally?”

“A little,” John said honestly, but he was smiling. “But being able to say I’m dating a professional Quidditch player would be pretty amazing.”

Rose laughed, tilting her head up to kiss John gently. “Oh, speaking of professional Quidditch players—”

“What segue could you possibly have for that?” John asked. Rose ignored his interruption.

“I got an invitation to Amy’s wedding next summer. Wanna go with me? I’ve never been to a Wizard wedding before, thought it might be fun.”

“How does professional Quidditch make you think about a wedding?”

“Well the invitation came with a note that Amy has a tryout for the England Quidditch team next month.”

“Of course it did.”

* * * * * * * *

“This is it. This is how I die.”

“Stop being so dramatic.”

Martha and Rose had retreated to the very back of the library, piling up their books around themselves so no one would bother them. Rose, amazingly, wasn’t as behind on homework as she could have been — one of the perks of having three free periods a day — but she was still pretty behind. She had an essay due tomorrow for Herbology that she hadn’t even started yet.

And now that she was actually trying to write it, she realized she had no idea what to say.

“Remember me fondly, Martha. Make sure John doesn’t date again.”

“Yeah, sure Rose.” Martha went through her pile of books, frowning. “I think I left my Charms book in my room… do you have yours?”

“Yeah, hang on…” Rose dug hers out and handed it to Martha. “Have you started that essay yet?”

“Doing it now.”

Clara Oswald was a surprisingly strict teacher. They had at least one essay to do a week, and she was a hard grader. Rose had managed A’s on most of hers, and an E in one case, but they were all well-earned grades. Even Martha had gotten an E on one essay. That had been more shocking than any of Rose’s grades.

“Martha, serious question. Are we going to survive this year?”

“Probably not, Rose. Probably not.”

* * * * * * * *

“Honestly, it’s not that bad,” Rose insisted as Madam Pomfrey tsk-ed at her. They had been working with Kneazles during Care of Magical Creatures, and Rose had, unfortunately, gotten a particularly mistrustful one, which had scratched and bitten her arm. She had tried to say that she was fine, and asked Hagrid for a bandage, but he had insisted on dismissing the class so he could walk her to the Hospital Wing.

“It’s not as bad as some of the stuff she’s done to herself,” John piped up unhelpfully as he brought over the magical salve for Madam Pomfrey.

“You’re not helping.”

Rose winced as the salve was wiped on to her injured arm. “I shudder to think what’ll happen when Professor Hagrid breaks out the fire crabs,” Madam Pomfrey muttered with a look in Hagrid’s direction. He smiled sheepishly, and Rose beamed.

“I can’t wait for that.”

A fifth year came in with another professor, who said the poor student had had a small break down during class — no surprise, it always happened during the O.W.L. year — and John was sent off to deal with that, so Rose didn’t get a chance to say bye before her arm was taken care and she left. Thank god it was almost Christmas. John had gotten the time off, and Rose had convinced Jackie to let John stay with them over the holiday.

Rose was excited.

* * * * * * * *

“…Your room is very… pink.”

“Shut up.”

John smirked as he sat down on the edge of Rose’s bed. Rose would admit, she was a little nervous about having John stay with her for Christmas. She knew her flat wasn’t overly impressive, and while she was mostly sure John wouldn’t judge her… it was still nerve-wracking.

Jackie, thankfully, was on her best behavior. It was actually a littles suspicious, how nice she was being to John, considering she had never quite forgiven John for taking Rose away from Flourish and Blotts six years earlier, and subsequently scaring the hell out of Jackie when she realized her daughter was gone.

But Jackie was behaving, and Rose was so grateful for that.

They left the flat early the next morning to go to the Ministry of Magic so Rose could take her Apparation test. She had sort of successfully managed to do it during the lessons they’d taken the year before, but considering Martha had failed her first test, Rose didn’t have much confident in her own abilities.

“You’ll be fine,” John said encouragingly as they walked through the Ministry to the Apparation office. “Just focus. Don’t get distracted. You’ll be okay.”

“Yeah.” Rose’s hand tightened around John’s. “Yeah, I’m sure I will be.”

In the end, it turned out, she was fine. Her landing wasn’t perfect, but the tester said it was still one of the best tests she had seen all day. Rose was flying high as she was given her license, and slammed into John out of pure excitement when she went to hug him. She had done it. She had actually done it.

Jackie was horribly unamused when Rose suddenly appeared out of nowhere in the middle of the living room, yelling, “I passed, I passed!”

* * * * * * * *

The first I love you wasn’t a big or dramatic moment. Rose and John were lying on the couch, Rose introducing John to bad nighttime telly while Jackie slept.

It was Rose who whispered the words into John’s shoulder, a little afraid of his reaction. She knew John had feelings for her. She didn’t doubt that they were love.

But it was still a big thing to say.

John looked down at Rose, who only dared to meet his gaze after a long moment. And she knew, as soon as she saw his eyes, that she had nothing to worry about.

“I love you too,” he said quietly, and Rose practically glowed as she kissed him.

* * * * * * * *

“So… what’re you doing after you leave Hogwarts?”

“You know, every time someone asks me that question, I die a little inside.”

“Very funny.” John rolled his eyes. They’d just finished Christmas dinner and were relaxing in Rose’s room, Rose half curled up on John’s chest. He was very comfy to lie on, she had learned. That was pleasing to her. “I meant were you going to move back home, or did you want to get your own place?”

Actually, Rose hadn’t thought much about that. Her main focus on been on her job. “I’m not sure. Why?”

“Well… I was thinking about getting my own place. I mean, I have to live at Hogwarts during the school year, obviously, but I need somewhere to go during the summer and Sarah Jane is kind of sick of me. I thought maybe… if you didn’t want to move back home we could… I dunno…”

“Move in together?” Rose finished the sentence for him, and he ducked his head, blushing faintly.

“If you want to.”

“No, that sounds like the worst thing I’ve ever heard,” Rose said dryly. “Living with you? I can’t even imagine.”

“I’m told I’m pretty insufferable,” John agreed, and Rose laughed as she kissed him.

* * * * * * * *

The next few months passed in a blur. Between studying and Quidditch practice, Rose had no time for anything else. She even had to skip the next Hogsmeade trip, which was heart breaking.

On the plus side, the Gryffindor team was having an amazing season. They won their next game against Hufflepuff, and were getting ready for their final game against Slytherin.

If they could win the Quidditch Cup during Rose’s last year as captain, that would be amazing.

Unfortunately, exams were also approaching, and Rose was trying to split her time the best she could. She was so close to the end — the last thing she wanted to do was trip at the finish line.

“I wonder if anyone’s ever just dropped out,” Rose said one night as she and Martha were working. “What jobs do you think there are for Hogwarts drop outs?”

“Cashier at Flourish and Blotts?” Martha shrugged. “That probably doesn’t require full Hogwarts education.”

“I think I could live with that.” Rose nodded. “That’s not a horrible career.”

Martha rolled her eyes and refused to grace that with an answer. They both knew Rose was just being dramatic.

* * * * * * * *

“WE WON!”

The shout echoed through the Gryffindor common room as everyone screamed and shouted, delighted at the amazing win their Quidditch team had managed to pull off — three-hundred and eight to one hundred. The game had last for nearly four hours.

It had been the best final game Rose could have asked for.

“Three cheers for Rose Tyler!” Someone called. “Best captain ever!”

Rose blushed deeply, ducking her head and busying herself with her drink while everyone else cheered.

The party lasted until nearly dawn, when Professor Longbottom finally came to the common room to tell them all it was time for bed. Rose was still glowing as she collapsed into bed.

She wanted to at least try to get into professional Quidditch, she decided as she finally drifted off to sleep. This feeling was too good to just give up.

Rose woke up a few hours later to John’s owl sitting on her window sill. There as a roll of parchment tied to its leg, with just a few words written on it.

You were brilliant.

Love, John

* * * * * * * *

Exam time came, and went, and Rose didn’t feel completely horrible about herself at the end of it. She would even dare to say she felt she had done well on all of her exams.

It had been a long time since she had felt this confident in something school related.

“It’s over,” Martha groaned as she and Rose collapsed under a tree, staring blankly at the sky. “Oh my god, I can’t believe it’s over.”

“I can.” Rose closed her eyes, yawning widely. “Can I just sleep for a week?”

“Absolutely.” There was still two weeks left of term, while the rest of the school took their own exams, and there wasn’t much for them to do besides pack and get ready to leave Hogwarts for the last time.

“So, I’m moving in with John this summer.” Rose hadn’t gotten a chance to tell Martha before now. They’d both been so busy.

“Of course you are. I’m sure I’ll have a wedding invitation by next summer.” Rose rolled her eyes.

“You gonna snark at me, or are you gonna let me talk?”

“Sorry, of course. Continue.”

“Well, I was thinking — and John agrees — he’s going to be gone for the entire school year. I mean, he’ll come home for Christmas and stuff, but once term starts he can never really get away. The flat’s going to be pretty lonely if it’s just me. So we were thinking, maybe… you’d want to move in too?”

Martha blinked, slowly sitting up to look down at Rose. “You want me to move in with you and John?” She asked. Rose sat up as well.

“I mean, we’ll get a big enough place, obviously. We were thinking two or three rooms. Definitely more than one bathroom. You don’t have to, just… ya know, if you don’t want to move back in with your mum, you could have another option.”

Martha stared at Rose for a long moment before her face split into a wide grin, and she practically tackled Rose. They laughed as they fell over in a tangle of limbs.

“So is that a yes?” Rose giggled.

“Shut up. Yes.”

* * * * * * * *

Rose slowly finished packing the rest of her stuff, looking around the now empty the dorm. She couldn’t believe this was the last time she would be in Gryffindor Tower. It didn’t seem possible.

Had it really been seven years?

Martha was waiting down in the Entrance Hall for Rose. She caught up to her, grinning. It was oddly fitting — they had walked through the doors of Hogwarts for the first time together. And now they would leave for the last time together.

“Ready to go?”

Rose beamed as she linked arms with Martha. “Ready.”

The trip back to London went by in no time at all. John was waiting for them when the arrived, and Rose happily kissed him. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow, then?” Martha asked as she prepared to Apparate. They were going to look at flats the next day.

“Absolutely. Meet at Rose’s place?” John suggested. He was spending the night there.

“Sounds good. See you tomorrow.”

Martha left, and Rose paused to look back at the train one last time. She would never take the train again. She would probably never see Hogwarts again. She had spent seven years of her life at that school, discovering things she never would have thought possible.

And it had been wonderful.

“Rose? Ready to go?”

She looked back at John, smiling as he held out his hand for her. Her time at Hogwarts was done. One adventure was over.

But she had another one waiting for her. And she wasn’t going to miss it.

[gracewithducks]

In the Wilderness (Genesis 21:8-21)

No one told me that one of the joys of reading with my children would be the rediscovery of some of the books that I loved when I was young. Lately I’ve taken to rereading quite a few of my old favorites, partially so I can judge when Michaela might be ready for them, but also for my own pleasure. One of the books that I’ve recently reread is Lois Lowry’s classic novel The Giver. And what I’ve discovered is that, in the years since I first read The Giver, the author has written three more books, creating a loose series of stories set in overlapping and neighboring worlds.

 In the first couple of books, Lowry paints pictures for us of a couple of very different worlds – first, one that seems to prosper and be at peace, where no one is hungry or afraid or in need, and then another very different world, one where the people struggle to build lives in dark, dirty stick huts surrounded by beasts… and yet we discover that both worlds have the same guilty secret, for in both, peace is sought by casting out or getting rid of anyone who doesn’t quite fit in.

 But then, in the third novel, we discover a very different place – simply called “Village.” Village is a different kind of community, because Village was founded by those people who were sent away, or who ran away, from all those other places. And on a regular basis, broken people, hurting people, people who set out hoping that there must be a better life – people from all different histories, with all different hurts and heartaches – still find their way to Village. And when they arrive, they are celebrated. The people of Village throw a party with each new arrival. They listen to their new neighbor’s stories, and they honor their pain… and they clean them, and they nurse them and feed them and heal them, and they say, “Welcome home. Once we were like you, and now you are like us. You belong here.”

 Village is a refuge. Village is a place where difference is celebrated, where the people know pain brings wisdom, and love doesn’t require perfection. Village is a beautiful community cobbled together by people from all walks of life, people who are united by their one common belief: that everyone is welcome, and everyone belongs.

 And then the Trademaster comes. The Trademaster, too, is a stranger, and like the other strangers, the Trademaster is welcomed in. And the Trademaster teaches the people how to trade, and at first, it’s innocent enough: when I have too many apples, and you have too many carrots, we can help each other out.

 Then the trades start to be very, very different. People started trading, not with each other, but with the Trademaster: they would trade for things they couldn’t get any other way, and they would pay a terrible, often hidden, cost to do so. For example, one set of parents traded for a Gaming Machine, a machine with wheels and levers, and when you pulled the lever and the wheels spun and all showed the same picture – a piece of candy came out. All the kids in town coveted that Gaming Machine… but some of them also started to notice that those parents didn’t smile or laugh or play with their children quite as much anymore.

 There was Mentor, the schoolteacher, a kind and gentle widower who longed to marry again. He had his eye on a woman in the village, but she turned up her nose, because she didn’t care for Mentor’s bald head, or his pot belly, or the birthmark that covered half his face. So Mentor started to trade: and he started to stand up taller; his stomach grew flatter, and his hair grew back in, and that birthmark started to fade away.

 And still the woman didn’t love him. Because as he grew more handsome, Mentor also became more cruel, less patient, less kind. He had traded those parts of himself away: he traded away his honor, and his generous heart, and he got what he wanted – he was better looking – but he lost what he wanted, because he became a different man.

 The people kept trading. They traded for expensive coats, and for power, for beauty and for wealth; they traded for whatever new thing their neighbor had traded for – the people of Village learned jealousy, and they learned greed.

 And slowly, Village started to change. The people didn’t laugh as freely any more. They watched the children with critical eyes, and they looked at one another with suspicion… and they started to view outsiders with fear. At each new welcome celebration, a few more voices started to murmur and complain: how many more people are we going to let in? Pretty soon, we are going to be outnumbered by them; and they don’t even know how we do things here; and if we’re not careful, pretty soon, there won’t be enough of anything to go around.

 And the people of Village took a vote… and though a few passionate voices tried to remind their neighbors who they were, where they’d come from, why they’d come in the first place – the people of Village voted to close their borders; they started building a wall to keep anyone else from coming in.

 There’s more to the story, of course; like so many young adult novels, this one is a clear allegory, a parable, which holds up a mirror to teach us something – though in this case, it does hit awfully close to home.

 This week, in our scripture reading, we continue the story of Abraham and Sarah, and their miracle baby Isaac, which we started last Sunday. But this week, we are reminded that Abraham and Sarah are far from saints – and their story isn’t just a story about them and them alone.

 You will remember, perhaps, how Abraham and Sarah were given God’s promise that God would make a great nation of them, that their descendants would outnumber the stars, and their family would be a blessing to the whole world. And Abraham and Sarah, in faith, left behind their homes and everything they had known in order to travel in search of the home and the future God had promised to them.

 And you will remember how it was a long journey: and how, as years went by, Sarah and Abraham grieved with empty arms, until they were certain God must have been mistaken, because it was far too late for them to have any children at all.

 And then, as we heard last week, when Sarah was nearly 90 and Abraham pushing a hundred, God said, “It’s time.” And Abraham and Sarah laughed and laughed – and God had the last laugh, because Sarah conceived, and their son was born at last.

 And it’s a lovely story, a story of persistent and long-suffering faith come to fruition at last, a story of joy long-deferred finally making its way home.

 But there’s more to the story.

 Because Sarah wasn’t just the patient long-suffering wife, who followed her husband on this incredible journey only to finally be rewarded with joy in the end – Sarah was a woman whose life was filled with a lot more drama, and a lot more trauma, than that…

 As Sarah and Abraham travelled, not just once, but twice, her husband denied her – both times because she was so beautiful that a local king took a fancy to her. And Abraham was afraid that the kings would kill him in order to take his wife, so he lied – not once, but twice – he lied, and said, “She’s not my wife; she’s my sister.” And it was only God’s direct intervention that saved Sarah along the way.

 Sarah was a woman threatened by her husband’s fear, nearly sacrificed twice on the altar of his own self-preservation,

 And though she knew what it was like to have your own body offered up for someone else’s sake, Sarah did the exact same thing. She was so desperate for a family, so desperate that she offered her maidservant – her foreign slave – to her husband, to be a surrogate – a forced surrogate. And in those days, surrogates got pregnant the old-fashioned way.

 And as you might imagine, things got awkward around the house. Sarah’s servant, Hagar, did get pregnant, and Sarah grew jealous – who was this foreign slave, a nobody, to do what she couldn’t? (even if it was what she had commanded)… And she was so cruel that Hagar ran away – friendless, alone, and pregnant – into the wilderness. She didn’t stumble into a Village that welcomed her with open arms, but she did encounter God – God, who heard her cries, God, who cares for the tears and the son of a foreign slave-girl, God, who promised to care for her, if only she will care for her son enough to go back to the home that hated her. So she goes back, marveling, that the God who has promised a future to her masters, cares for and promises a future for her, too.

 Hagar gave birth to a son, a son who was legally, in every way, considered to be Sarah’s son – in every way, except in Sarah’s own heart.

 And so when, years later, Sarah laughs, when Sarah’s laughter is wrapped in flesh and swaddling blankets and laid in her arms – the cruel jealousy sets in once more.

 She sees Ishmael, the older boy, literally “Isaacing” – she sees him laughing with Isaac, her own pride and joy – and she is afraid; he is afraid, because legally, Ishmael is the oldest son, and he will receive the lion’s share of his father’s inheritance and blessing… she is afraid that God’s promised future will land on Ishmael, not Isaac; she is afraid that, in her own desperation to control people, and to force God’s hand, she has in fact robbed her son of his place in God’s family.

 She is afraid. She is afraid that there won’t be enough promise to go around.

 Sarah has forgotten where she came from – she has forgotten that she, too, is a foreigner, a stranger living in a strange land; she has forgotten that she is a woman, a woman whose body has been used by others; she has forgotten that this mess is of her own making… and she has forgotten that there are many, many stars in the sky: isn’t there room for one more?

 She’s afraid the answer is No.

 So Sarah orders her husband to send Hagar and her son – Hagar’s son, Abraham’s son, and Sarah’s son – to send Hagar and Ishmael away. They head out into the wilderness with only what they can carry… and all too soon, the water runs empty, and Ishmael grows faint with thirst; Hagar lays her son in the shade of a brush tree, and then leaves him, because she cannot bear to see her beloved child die.

 She weeps. And she cries out, in despair, in desperation: she rails against the God who saved her once, who sent her back from the wilderness, all those years ago – and she asks, why? What’s the point, if this is how it ends, anyway? I went back for the sake of my son; I went back, so he might live… and now he is dying in the wilderness, and it all means nothing, nothing at all.

 But God hears again… God answers her, not by showing her the way through the wilderness, but by promising her a life in the wilderness. Sometimes God doesn’t deliver us from our hardships, not the way we hope or want – but sometimes, God delivers us by teaching us to make a home, right where we are, even if it’s nowhere we ever wanted to be. God makes a way for Hagar and Ishmael… and like a parent’s heart, which swells and grows and whose love multiplies with each new child – it turns out that God’s heart and God’s promise are big enough for more.

 In the wilderness, Hagar is the first person – this powerless, friendless, foreign slave girl – she is the first person in the Bible to give God a name. And she calls this God “the God who sees” – because she is amazed that the mighty God of her cruel masters, the Creator of the universe, sees even her, and cares enough to provide for her and for her son, too.

 God sees… God sees Hagar, in her desperation – and God sees Sarah, in her jealous fear and greed – and what amazes me is that, even though God sees us in our darkness, at our lowest, at our worst – God still loves us. Even then, God doesn’t turn away. God sees us – and God loves us. And God invites us to see ourselves, and see one another, with new eyes, too.

 It’s easy for greed and jealousy and fear to steal away the best parts of ourselves. It’s easy to forget where we’ve come from. It’s easy to lose who we really are.

 So we need to be reminded: We are the children of refugees and immigrants. We are still strangers in a land far from home. We are broken people, who’ve been offered strength. We are grieving people, who’ve been given hope. We are flawed people, who’ve been forgiven by grace. We are people who have been surprised by love in the wilderness, and we are the ones who have found a home.

 And we are reminded that we are not the only ones. Grace is not meant to be hoarded, but to be shared. We are blessed to be a blessing; we are commanded to love as we have been loved.

 We don’t always get it right – and that’s a part of our story, too. Thanks be to God, that God’s promise is big enough to make room for our mistakes, big enough to cover our flaws and our failures, big enough to give us hope and new beginning, big enough for us all.

  God, we give you thanks for Sarah, for her faith, for the hope that sustained her – and for your grace, that covered her in her failures. God, we give you thanks for Hagar, for the foreign slave who found herself forced into your plan, and who discovered that your grace is not bound by national borders or family bloodlines – but in your family, there is always room for more. Forgive us, Lord, for the times when we have forgotten who we are: we are the ones whom you have welcomed in love, not because we are so worthy, but because you love to love, and to love more. Help us not to be jealous, not to be greedy, not to be afraid, but to believe that there is room enough in your heart and under your sky for us all. In Jesus’ name we pray; amen.