#he got a job in ate stables tending to the horses

[merlinmylove]

he IS alive

[finstermond]

Witcher Ranch AU

Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer of Vengerberg

Ciri, Vesemir, Eskel, Lambert, Jaskier

---

Geralt gazed upon the vast grassland that belonged to him - or the horses, as he would say. It had belonged to his father before he gifted him his inheritance early as a wedding gift.

Almost hidden by the bushes grazed some of the horses. He could see two heads of adult ones and one of a foal but only one of the adult heads was discernible. A white mare - Endrega, he was sure of it. What a beautiful one. Her fur glistered in the sun as fresh snow. Riding her canter felt as if riding a breeze.

The Morhen Ranch bred horses for some generations now. It was his life, the only one he knew. The only one he ever wanted to know.

“Hey,” his brother Eskel disturbed his thoughts, “think you can actually hold the post or do you want to keep looking at the horses and make your wife jealous?”

Geralt grunted and readjusted his grip. Eskel sighed and struck the hammer on the post.

“Thank you, Eskel.” said Geralt.

“No problem, it’s my job after all. If your son can’t even hold a post up I need to chime in!” teased Eskel his older brother. “Ah fuck you,” answered Geralt, “you know his mother wanted to show him something today.” They walked back to their horses and put the hammer, the old posts they had renewed now, planks and the nails back in the cart Eskel’s pinto was strapped to. Eskel’s wolfdog Bann waddled his tail, ready to run back to the farm.

“She did?” asked Eskel while mounting. Geralt went up to his riding horse Roach. Originally he wanted to name all horses Roach - followed by numbers. Several people intervened. The brown mare greeted him with a soft snort.

“Yeah, she took all of the kids with her after school. They’re riding to see a plant that only blooms for a few days a year.”

“Flowers?”

“Yup.”

“I don’t understand your wife.” Geralt squinted towards Eskel.

“Rarely anyone does.”

---

“Daddy!” a wall of shouts arrived Geralt as he came back from the field. Eskel had taken a turn to look for the chicken fence. Geralt almost didn’t manage to climb down from Roach before a wall of children hugged him. Well, apart from his oldest son, Eric, who had a phase of being too cool for his dad. He had his arms crossed, smiled nonetheless and stood close. It was understandable behaviour being 13 and all but Geralt couldn’t stop being a tad bit sad about it. At the same time he mirrored his mother so much. A gaze that could kill, hair as black as the night, his smile. Apart from that his stature was more like his. He’d grow up to be broad and tall, Geralt was sure of it. The second eldest, Leo was 11 and like a younger twin to his brother. It seemed like he’d grow even taller for he was about the height Eric had been a year ago. Casimir - their third son - just turned eight and currently wants to grow long hair which keeps getting into his face. Geralt kneeled down to pick up Roger, their youngest son at five who was born hunched and tried not to groan. Gwyn, their only daughter at age seven - and a mirror to her mother in all but character - took the chance of her dad kneeling and gave Geralt a peck on his cheek. She had made her brothers flower crowns which all of them - except Eric who had it bound to his belt - proudly wore. Gwyn handed her father one sheepishly. “I made you one too!” she exclaimed. Geralt happily tried to put it on but his daughter had over measured his head and it was more of a necklace. He beamed nonetheless and walked towards the main house, children following him. Eric ran behind after he finished unsaddling Roach and let her into the paddock.

Nearing the house, Geralt smelled stew and got excited. With his free hand he opened the door, put out his boots and walked towards the kitchen. “I’m home!” he exclaimed.

Two of the kids detached from him and ran towards the stew and the raven haired woman standing before the pot.

Yennefer turned around and greeted Geralt with a fleeting smile and a kiss. The kids all let an exasperated “Ew” be known.

She looked him up and down, noted his necklace and grinned wickedly, “Your daughter thinks you’re bigheaded.” she said. The kids took off around the kitchen and Roger wanted to be let down so Geralt kneeled again to put him back on his feet. Yennefer turned towards the stew. Geralt hugged her from behind.

“Wonder if her mother keeps telling her that.” he said. She let herself loose in his arms.

“Might be.” she closed her eyes for a second.

“How was the flower?” Geralt asked.

Yennefer chuckled. “The auraris scenoloptis? Beautiful. Our kids got distracted by wolfbanes, moleyarrows, blowballs and ginatias though.” she told him. Geralt looked down on his necklace, made up of those flowers. “Yeah, right.” he said.

“I’m drying some petals and hope I can use them for a salve soon. The fishmonger's daughter needs some help getting pregnant.” she explained.

“What’s so different to using white myrtle?” he asked.

“Well it’s more potent in its aphrodisiac agency and acts as a booster to the female cycle by activating-” she realised Geralt was more interested in sniffing her hair than letting her explain in detail, “- in other words you have a couple more fertile days.”

“We didn’t need that.” he added. She turned towards him.

“Be glad, could have been different in another life!”

---

Lambert had returned from the city. His carriage was full of groceries, metals, fabric and leather. Eskel helped him unpack. Eric and Leo joined while Casimir, Gwyn and Roger had disappeared in the stables. “Everyone’s buying stuff as if a plague’s coming.” Lambert exclaimed. “Well maybe some are blessed with prophetic dreams or just like to prepare for winter early, like we do.” Eskel answered. Eric and Leo carried a big package to their storage house. Lambert’s two wolfdogs and Eskel’s greeted each other and proceeded to run around the cart and ranch.

Vesemir joined the unpackers, “Like we do? Those kids would eat those horses up in two weeks if we won’t buy food!” and kneeled down to pick something up which stopped both Eskel and Lambert to shout “Stop it!” and basically rip what he tried to pick up from his hands.

“Stop it, old man, you know it’s not good for your back!” Lambert shouted again.

Geralt and Yennefer, hearing commotion, walked out and soon were greeted by this scene. Vesemir put himself back up and made a sour face.

Yennefer called out to him, “Come on and help me inside, Vesemir.” after that she greeted Lambert with a quick “Hello!” which he answered with a “Hey, Yennefer.” She turned to got back inside.

In passing Geralt who sped to help unload he murmured, “My own sons don’t think I can do anything anymore and my daughter-in-law just gives me one command after another. I am not inept, I’m just getting a bit old!” Geralt patted him on the back. Vesemir had not been as quiet as he thought since Lambert quickly added a “I’ll be damned if there is a person one day she doesn’t order around. So don’t feel bad about that part.” which handed him a grunt and a sour look from Geralt.

Lambert shrugged. “Don’t tell me it’s not true!”

Without a word, Eskel threw something heavy at their youngest brother for him to shut up. There was silence for a few seconds. The boys returned and began carrying another package towards the storage hut.

“How was the town?” asked Eskel.

“Good, hectic. People are going a bit crazy. Emreis bought the Cintraen Stables. Ran ‘em out of business I say. I mean, crazy coincidences - Calanthe and Eist died a few weeks ago. Pertussis they say. Their granddaughter is missing. I mean she has nowhere to go, no family left anyways. Wolves probably got her. Hm. Old hag apparantly died. Can’t say I miss ‘er, had a few debts. Ah, I managed to have two of our foals of next year reserved. An Craite wants one of Alps and Foltest wants either one of Kayran or Eredin - maybe even both he’s not sure. Ugh Friday, finally!” Lambert told his brothers.

“Calanthe and Eist died?” Geralt asked.

“Yeah, pertussis apparently. Emreis already had a signed contract weeks before but I still get why people are thinking it might have been on purpose. Even more so that Cirenella or whatever her name was ‘s missing. You’d think they’d have prepared for it.”

They hadn’t been friends but lived in silent respect as almost neighbours and hearing about the tragic story around Calanthe’s daughter and her young grandchild had been the topic of many conversations with Yennefer. She had often remarked whether or not Pavetta was actually Vesemir’s daughter as a joke since Geralt and Pavetta had shared the same white-colored hair. Since Pavetta’s daughter was born a bastard with no known father it had led to some distressing silence.

“Hm.”

---

After having everything from Lambert’s shopping trip stored and packed where it belonged, they ate. Having ten mouths to feed was not something Yennefer ever imagined to do but she did it with glee - and she didn’t have to do it daily since both Lambert and Vesemir loved to cook. Geralt was good at it but he would rather feed the horses daily than his children, to put it briefly. “Horses don’t play with their food.” he’d say to Yennefer as an excuse not to cook. “Well then I won’t play with your meat!” was the whispered reply that usually took great effect.

Lambert told tales of the city with his nephews and his niece hung on his lips while eating.

Geralt only scooped a few spoons in, his mind occupied with the child of Pavetta. Only Roger who had snuck in the pantry and stolen some sweet pie and therefore wasn’t quite as hungry as his siblings noted his father being absent and tried to smile at him. Yenenfer who kept an extra eye on her criminal son to check whether he was eating anything healthy at all thus noticed Geralt being absent minded. He felt her gaze and looked up towards her. They exchanged a few facial expressions as married folk tend to do and Yennefer understood he would come up to her with it in time but later.

Yennefer returned to give Roger a stern gaze and he hastily put another spoon full of stew into his mouth, then smiled, mouth full of stew at her.

---

Beer in hand, children in bed, freshly bathed Geralt stood next to the fireplace. Vesemir was dozing off in his rocking chair. His ale stood beside him on the ledge.

Roger had a phase of direly needing his mom to sleep and while Geralt had read them all a story it was Yennefer who was needed to hold Rogers hand until he slept right now. Sometimes she dozed off too and then came up later to the parlor.

Eskel and Lambert washed up, he could hear their voices softly getting to his ear. They would drink a quick beer together, then go to their houses. Eskel as the ranch’s smith above his furnace and Lambert next to the storage hut. Vesemir took turns sleeping at Eskel’s or in his house which was way smaller and originally planned as a guest house. On colder nights he stayed at Eskel’s.

Originally they had all slept in the main house but with one child after another place grew scarce soon. And then again Geralt and Yennefer were grateful for every bit of privacy.

Geralt was still recovering from a leg injury he got when taming last year's horses. He had taken the children with him. Leo and Casimir almost got in harm's way when they groomed an already tamed horse of theirs, Morvudd, and his wild horse almost crashed into the other one. Morvudd jumped and left space for the wild one to crash into Leo and Casimir so Geralt got it to turn again and crash into a splintered fence, causing his leg to cut open.

The children had been horrified of course. Eric and Leo quickly ran back home to get help from their mother. It was resolved rather fast but since then his leg wasn’t healed completely and his duties on the ranch got split and taken over by his family.

After a while Eskel and Lambert came into the parlor and laughed at their sleeping father “No, I am not getting old.” Lambert mimicked his tone of speech and they all chuckled. They drank their beer and then wished each other good night. Eskel woke Vesemir and they left together. Geralt sat down into the rocking chair when he heard steps coming downstairs.

“Look who’s still awake.” he said with a low voice.

“Ha-ha.” Yennefer fake laughed. “Your son was scared you’re still hurting and cannot eat because of this.” she explained and then yawned.

She sat on his lap, carefully avoiding his hurt leg and began stroking his beard. No words were needed, no further inquiring.

“Lambert told us about Calanthe and Eist dying.” he began. He began caressing her back.

“Cintrean Stables?” she asked while closing her eyes. He nodded. “Yes, he said Emreis bought it. Didn’t mention they died though. What about -” he cut her off.

“Went missing, he said. She has no family left. She’s probably just a thorn in Emreis’ eyes.” Geralt added. Yennefer turned to look at him. “You...?”

He shrugged, “I don’t know do you…?”

She smiled, “What’s one mouth more to feed?”

One moment in silence then they started giggling. “Oh, Eric’s not gonna like this.”

Geralt looked towards the fire, sad about this prospect. Yennefer turned her body more towards him. “Hey. He’s having a phase. Just like Roger who needs me to sleep right now because he thinks if I am not there monsters will come. Eric is in a phase where he thinks he doesn’t need his dad and can protect himself from all the monsters in the world. The boys in school teased him because he told so much about you in school and then you got hurt even though being immortal according to Eric, the teacher told me.”

“Oh.” Geralt’s eyes widened.

“Geralt, it’s not your fault.” Yennefer tried to reassure him. “It’s a phase. He will get over it soon enough and then it’ll be me he hates. He’s starting puberty. It’s gonna be - fun.”

“Fun.” Geralt repeated.

“I need to convince myself or else I am gonna get crazy. We really had five children in eight years which means that they’re gonna be pubescent at the same time at one point.”

They both stared into the fire.

“It’s gonna be six children, Yen.” Geralt remarked. Yennefer smiled, then her gaze saddened. “We’re gonna have to find her first.”

---

They were awoken by a loud stomps on the stairways and shrieks of playing fetch. Yennefer went from sleeping to a commanding tone in mere seconds. “No running on the stairs!” she shouted, silence followed, quickly to be exchanged with a trail of steps running towards the two of them who had slept on the rocking chair, covered in fur and a quilt.

“Mommy! Daddy! Good morning!” they exclaimed and threw a ball between them. A game Geralt didn’t get the rules of. “We don’t have to get the rules,” Yennefer once explained to him, “what’s important is a) that they’re playing at all b) they are playing together and c) they’re letting us be for five minutes”.

They got forehead kisses from their parents - even Eric who Geralt just grabbed and pulled towards him. Yennefer saw Eric smile afterwards and was reassured he just had a phase.

Breakfast was bread with cold meat and jam. And telling their children about the plan of adopting another child.

“She doesn’t have a family anymore - do you guys think we could be that for her?” Yennefer asked the children.

“But who is gonna protect her if Daddy’s away? I already have to protect all of them. And you!” Eric got worked up.

“First of all, I am perfectly capable of protecting myself and you,” Yennefer got serious, “second of all, your father has a job that means he has to stay with the herds several nights in a row. It’s not as if he’s gone forever or will leave forever. He’s never going alone and won’t ever go alone. And third of all, we are fine. I know you hear a lot of the jokes Lambert makes about you guys eating everything up one day but no it’s not the truth. We have enough for all. Hell, we would have enough if Lambert and Eskel finally got a -”

Geralt stopped Yennefer. “I think it’s okay now, Yen.”

Eric looked a bit beat down and angry at the same time, Geralt wondered why he hadn’t left yet but he guessed Eric was too proud for that.

“Hey buddy,” Geralt started, “I know you’re feeling a bit like I am not your friend anymore these days but I am. I don’t know what I did to make you feel this way but this is between us and shouldn’t -”

“Yeah yeah I know. Just keep on getting more children like I am not enough!” Eric stormed off, closing the door behind him by smashing it. Yennefer looked as shocked as rarely ever before.

Eskel peeked into the parlor. “Your son just crashed into me and then ran off? Are you alright -” he saw Yennefer's expression, Geralt being quite unhappy and the other children mildly confused. “Okay. I guess not. Uh. I will look for Lambert.” he left again.

Leo, after holding a “conference” with his siblings and being the eldest with Eric’s vanishing, told his parents that they were alright with another sister, should she “wish to join, be okay to make flower crowns, race towards the forest and back, accept the rules of ball-throw-game” and, most importantly the task they all hated but someone had to do “help folding bed sheets” which had Yennefer and Geralt fall out of their moment of shock and return to smiling. “Sure. We will present her with your demands.” Geralt told his son.

---

“Are you sure you won’t rather take the carriage?” Yennefer asked as Geralt mounted Roach. Vesemir already sat on his horse, a white gelding.

“Yes, Yen. We will be faster that way. She is alone out there and every minute might count.”

“I just worry-” Yennefer got interrupted by Vesemir: “His leg won’t fall off and I may be older than you all but I can ride a horse faster than you all can. Now stop being cheesy and give him a goodbye kiss.”

Yennefer did, presented Vesemir with a stern gaze and then waved them goodbye with the children, up until they got bored doing so.

Geralt and Vesemir took on a quick trot and reached the town soon after high noon. The town hall delivered a quick message in the form of Julian Alfred Pankratz alias Jaskier, one of the council members. “Geralt! Vesemir!” he exclaimed , “it is nice seeing you here!”. He came closer, leaving a waiting and now angry couple waiting for their meeting behind. “How is your leg? How are your children? How is… the witch doing?” Vesemir laughed at that last remark. “How are you, old man?” he asked Vesemir who visibly didn’t like being called ‘old man’. Geralt smirked at that, had he been okay with his wife getting insulted seconds before.

“Getting better each day, getting bigger each day, getting more beautiful each day.” Geralt answered. Jaskier shrugged. “Wow I really need to visit again.” he said.

“Yes, they miss their uncle.” said Vesemir. “And to be frank we could use a day of singing again.” Jaskier beamed.

“We’re here because of Pavetta’s child though.” Geralt chimed in.

“Who?” asked Jaskier.

“You know the child of surprise.”

“Ah. Sure. What a tragic story, isn’t it? I really need to make it a song. ‘Last flower of Cintra’, maybe? Hm. Sounds too floral. Lion? They had lion decor. But they still were a ranch. Rose? Yeah yeah sounds better. What are the odds of both grandparents dying mere days from each other?”

“Jaskier.” Geralt cut his evasions short.

“Right. Cirilla. What about her?”

“Lambert said she went missing and doesn’t have a family.” Geralt explained.

“Well at least the family part is true.” Jaskier said.

“What do you mean?”

“She doesn’t have any further family. Well except - surprisingly - a father should surface,” he noticed Geralt's stern look, “but no she doesn’t have any living family and no one willing or possible to take her. Alas she is not missing - okay yes she went missing for a quick moment but was quickly found and lives with the teacher for now.”

“Oh.” Vesemir and Geralt shared a look. They both were glad she was sfe for now.

“We spoke about maybe taking her in,” Geralt stated, “can I meet her?”

“Sure,” said Jaskier, “just maybe bring Yennefer next time. The council decided we would only let someone take her in after both had met them. You know it didn’t go well with the Jaromir boy last time and now he’s living on Emrais Ranch getting fed lies about how inept we are. And Emrais hasn’t even adopted him. I think it’s a bunch of kids just living off the ranch’s supplies.” Geralt wasn’t so sure that was the whole truth but he didn’t care.

“I think it’s best we ride back, Geralt. You and Yennefer can still ride back here today and meet her then. It’s no use going there alone. You shouldn’t make the decision yourself anyways. Would have been different if she still ran around in the forest.” Vesemir opined. Jaskier nodded consensual. “Yes I won’t be here for long anymore but you know where to meet me. I will have the papers ready should you decide to take her in.”

---

Yennefer and Geralt rode as fast as the wind. Her black stallion was called Aretuza and one of the fastest in the bunch. Roach had been tired out so he took Plotka, another brown mare.

“Remember when we got married in the town?” Yennefer smiled.

“Barely.” Geralt answered. Yennefer's smile vanished.

“You’re teasing me!” she turned sour. Geralt’s eyes widened in glee.

“Yen, I am just reminding you of the time you told me you were pregnant.”

“Oh,” she laughed, “I remember, you didn’t recall our wedding at first. To be fair they had you quite… drunk at the end of the night.”

The conversation had been barely a week after their wedding. Istredd, a study friend of Yennefer who didn’t make it to the wedding, congratulated them and then, after winking at both of them for seeing Yennefer's situation, asked whether they had chosen a name already. After he left Geralt asked her for what he congratulated. She had told him that they had wed which got Geralt confused.

“I wore white and had flowers? All our friends and family were there? You wore a dress shirt? You said ‘I do!’?”

His answer back then didn’t stem from being reluctant rather than actually not knowing what had been going on. “How was I even supposed to know? You always smell of lilac, wear white, black or black and white - also I still can’t believe any day I wear those horrible fancy clothes is a chance you take? I honestly thought it was a normal sunday. I mean okay, the drinking got out of hand but it happens, right?”

“Please tell me you at least remember what we need a name for?” Yennefer had asked, getting aggravated. His eyes had grown even more panicked.

“A horse?” Geralt had asked, confused.

“I’m seven months pregnant, Geralt.”

“Fuck.” Anxiety over having an unwanted child had now grabbed Yennefer. “We don’t have a name,” He took her into a deep hug and then started kissing her, “But well we have about two months, still.” Between her tears, Yennefer still had managed to laugh.

“I still can’t believe I forgot most of our wedding. It sucks to be honest.”

“At least you feel bad about it,” Yennefer said, “and I am so glad you didn’t suggest ‘Roach’ as a name in that moment. We wouldn’t have made a week of marriage.”

“I know.” he answered.

It was late afternoon when they rode into the town. Jaskier told Geralt he would alert the teacher of the situation and he would expect them at their home. The teachers house was small by comparison to the ranch but right next to the school which had its own advantages. They knocked on the door and were greeted by the teacher's wife and one of their children.

“Ah, Geralt and Yennefer. Come in!” she said and made room. As they walked in she asked a lot of questions about the room size for the children, how old they were, whether they were healthy. Geralt made some remarks about the size of the ranch to make known that some worth lied there. The teacher’s wife openend the door to the parlor where the teacher sat with Cirilla and one of their children. Cirilla looked about eight, was dressed in a blue dress and had white hair. Yennefer and Geralt exchanged a look and almost began to laugh. At first sight she looked more like his child than any of his did. Cirilla locked eyes with them and after everyone greeted each other and Geralt and Yennefer told her who they were she greeted them with: “I am Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon but you can call me Ciri. Will you take me with you now?”

She stood before them smiling sheepishly. “We could if you want to? We have a ranch with horses.” Geralt told her.

“And we have five children.” Yennefer added, asking herself why he always had to mention the horses before his children.

Ciri nodded.“Yes Jaskier has already told me about all that. Mr. Teacher has already explained to me that I cannot stay here.” she told them.

“I think we’re settled then? I am sure you will love our home.” Yennefer said, beaming while doing so. Ciri seemed to warm up quickly and they hoped it wouldn’t stop once meeting the wall of children they had at home. Her bag was packed quickly since she didn’t have a lot of stuff. Most important was the stuffed lion her grandmother gifted her which she held firmly.

“Can I ride with you?” she asked Geralt.

“Sure.” he smiled as he answered and promptly placed her on Roach who whinnied.

They talked about some basic stuff on the way back home. Her favorite food, color, animal. Stuff to get to know her and ease her into a situation she seemed to accept rather quickly.

---

Back on the Ranch they were greeted by all of them including the dogs standing together and waving. Geralt and Yennefer stopped their horses and got down. The children came nearer but were pretty shy. Eric stood before his siblings and greeted Ciri first. “Hey Ciri, I am Eric.” he said. Lambert and Eskel fist bumped which meant they prepared him for this moment. Geralt gave them a quick thumbs up. Everyone greeted Ciri who stood next to a squatting Yennefer. Ciri whispered in her ear “How am I supposed to remember all of those names?” Yennefer giggled once, then said “Don’t worry you can always ask, we won’t bite.”

Ciri nodded, still a bit unsure of the situation.

Lambert exclaimed: “Who’s hungry? I cooked.”

Geralt then noticed he hadn't eaten all day. His stomach growled, “I am hungry.” he said just as Ciri bravely expressed her hunger as well.

“Follow me!” said Lambert and the whole bunch followed him put.

Vesemir walked up to Geralt. “Sure it wasn’t you that got Pavetta pregnant?”

In another life, Yennefer's anger could kill people as easily as a storm. We’re glad it’s not this.

[twdeadfanfic]

It’s a dog’s life Pt.14

*Summary: The reader is new and alone at the quarry’s camp, the only one she has is her dog, who seems to be best friends with Daryl Dixon, a not so friendly man, but that friendship will bring the reader closer to Daryl, finding that there’s more to Daryl than what you can see at first glance…besides, he’s pretty hot at first glance, isn’t him?

*Slow burn, both reader and Daryl’s pov, violence and language twd style.Follows the events of season 1 and 2.

*4282 words

*Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Chapters: 12/14

*Link to my masterlist with my other works can be found on the description of this blog. I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but tumblr doesn’t show posts with links in the tags

Last chapter ... Daryl and reader got together!!!

This is the last chapter...I can’t believe it. I hope you have ejoyed this story as much as I did, because I love it, it’s my favourite thing I’ve ever written. I can’t believe 14 weeks have passed, I remember being so excited about posting it...I’m emotional. I don’t think it has ever been as hard to say goodbye to a story for me as if it’s to his. Please, let me know what you have thought of this whole thing if you have time. 

Thank you all who had been supporting this, I can’t believe the ammount of love this story got, thank you all so much, for every reblog, every like and every comment, it means the world.

........................................................................................

Securing the farm was indeed proving to be a hard job, but it was worth.

It was past lunchtime but you kept working, nailing wooden planks into the windows of the main floor of the house. It was a pity to lose the view and the light, but it was better than a bunch of walkers breaking them and getting in.

“I thought you must be hungry.” You looked up from the spare nails you were sorting into boxes when you heard Carol’s voice and saw her bringing you a plate with a couple of sandwiches. The Greene’s still had sliced bread, unbelievable.

“I’m starving, actually, thank you.” Your stomach growled and your mouth watered as you looked at the yummy looking sandwiches. Carol was just the best.  She had brought some food for Cole too, who waggled his tail happily while Carol patted his head.

“I was going to bring this one to Daryl, or else he won’t eat,” Carol said and you nodded, when Daryl got too focused on whatever he was doing, he could go all day without eating and starve himself, much to your dismay. “But I thought you might want to bring it to him yourself, have late lunch together.” Carol winked at you.

“I think you just gave me a wonderful idea.” You laughed, giving her a grateful smile. “Thank you, really, I mean it.”

You went looking for Daryl who was at the top of the stable, reinforcing the weakened parts and making sure a lookout could be built there. When you called his name he stopped hammering to look at you, a couple of nails held between his lips.

“Looking cute!” You giggled and Daryl rolled his eyes. “Come here, I brought lunch.”

You both sat down to eat at the outside of the stable, and you hummed in delight as you munched on your sandwich. “Can you believe they still have sliced bread?”

Daryl chuckled quietly at that. “It ain’t gonna last forever.”

“I know.” You sighed. “My mom knew how to homemade bread, I should have paid more attention. We’ll need wheat, but we are in a farm after all, there’s so many stuff we could plant, and we have the chickens and cows…this could work, you know, this place. We could survive here.” You were working on it, it would be safer than the quarry and with more resources. You were beginning to feel hopeful again.

Daryl just hummed, half his sandwich already gone. Cole shifted to sat down even closer to him, looking at him.  “Don’t let him fool you, he already ate.” You warned, though Daryl was already passing him a piece of his sandwich. Softie.

“You’re right, we could make this place work.” He said out of nowhere and you smiled, leaning to press a kiss to his arm, you had thought maybe he considered that what you had said was silly.

Daryl finished his sandwich and you couldn’t help but stare as he licked his fingers clean. Damn tease, and he didn’t even know it.

“What?” He raised an eyebrow, confused, when he caught you staring.

“Nothing, keep going, I’m just enjoying the show.” You giggled quietly, loving how he blushed when he realized what you were talking about. “Have I told you that you’re pretty hot?”

“Stop.” He grumbled, averting his eyes.

“Why, it’s true. Besides I love it when you blush like this.” You teased softly, cupping his face to make him look at you, brushing your thumbs over his pink cheeks before kissing his lips. You shifted until you could sit on his lap, straddling him, and you leaned back so you could look at him, running your fingers through his short hair at the back of his neck.

“Remember I told you I was used to making out in front of a dog?” You asked and Daryl hummed, closing his eyes as he leaned into your touch. “You know what other animals I’m used to making out in front of? Horses.”

“You were all day making out in front of animals or what?”

“You make it sound like I’m a pervert or something.” You laughed. “Well, you see, I was this teen living in the middle of nowhere, and when families with teen kids came to stay in my parents’ bed & breakfasts, who can blame us for having a little fun at the barn or the stable.”

“I see,” Daryl smirked.

“And…there’s a stable right behind us.”

“Really? You want to…there?” Daryl raised an eyebrow at you.

“Well, the barn would be better but it’s currently occupied…” You hoped Rick and Daryl would drive Randal away soon, you wanted that barn free, with all of you living inside the house you didn’t think you could get much privacy there. You pecked his lips again before going for his neck, kissing and nibbling. “But if you don’t want to it’s okay, darling.” You whispered.

With a quiet moan, Daryl tilted his head back to give you better access. You kept working on his neck, sucking to leave a mark, you wanted to show it off, until Daryl grunted and hooked his arms under your thighs, getting up and pulling you with him.

You laughed, wrapping your legs around his waist and holding onto his shoulders as he walked you both to the stable. You reached back to open the door and once inside Daryl kicked it close, leaving a very offended Cole outside.  You looked around at the stable, it wasn’t an ideal place but it could be worse, and at least it was clean, you’d been tending to the horses every day, it was your favorite way to contribute to the farm.

Daryl’s lips caught yours and you laughed against his lips, breathlessly, when he pushed you against the wall, memories of the CDC coming back to you, but oh so much better. Your laugh turned into a moan when he left your lips to kiss your neck as you had done to him.

You had your eyes closed, a blissful smile on your face, and you opened them when Daryl pulled back. He was looking to the side, frown on his face. “What’s wrong?” You whispered into his ear, nipping at his earlobe, but not even that made the frown disappear.

“That’s the horse that threw me,” Daryl grumbled and you followed his gaze to find Nervous Nelly looking at you both. “She’s staring.”

You couldn’t help your snort at that. “Well, she doesn’t have anything better to do.” You reached up one of your hands to cup Daryl’s cheek, making him look at you again. “Ignore her.” You told him before kissing him. When your lips parted you noticed him glancing again at the horse awkwardly, and you chuckled, biting your lip to stop you from calling him Nervous Daryl.

You broke free off his arms, jumping back onto the ground, and Daryl’s eyes snapped back at you, seeming confused as for why were you pulling away from him. “Come here, love, let’s get away from curious, horse eyes,” you said, amused, taking his hand to walk him further into the stable, to where you had stacked the fresh hay. “Not show for you, Nelly.”

*

“Alright, hay is more scratchy than I remembered.” You giggled, reaching out to brush off some straws from Daryl’s shirt.

“You telling me, darlin’,” Daryl grumbled, brushing off a straw you’d missed, but he smiled as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, walking you towards the door of the stable at the same time that the door opened and Maggie and Glenn walked in, hand in hand. You locked eyes with Maggie and knew she had’d your same idea.

“Uh…hi…” Glenn greeted awkwardly when he noticed Daryl and you were there too. “We came to tend to the horses, right, that is.”

“Yeah? Same that us, right?” You replied, looking at Daryl who seemed almost as awkward as Glenn. “So they don’t need anything else, you can go work on something else.” You blinked innocently, enjoying this way too much.

“Right…” Glenn seemed at a loss of words and he looked at Maggie as if waiting for instruction, and you almost giggled aloud.

“I think we’ll make sure they don’t need anything else anyway.” She rolled her eyes when you winked at her.

“Okay, we’ll leave you to it.” You tugged at Daryl’s hand, who was still silent and awkward. “Come on.”

“By the way, Rick was looking for you, Daryl,” Glenn said before you left.

“But of course, his radar must have been tingling or something.” You chuckled, closing the door of the stable and patting Cole’s head when he ran to greet you.

“I’m going to see what Rick wants,” Daryl said, crouching down to pet Cole. “Probably make plans for driving away Randal, we should be going soon or we’ll lose the light.

“Or you could do it tomorrow.” You didn’t like the idea of them being out of the farm late.

“Up to Rick.” Daryl leaned to press a soft kiss to your cheek.

*

You were sitting on the stairs of the porch looking at Daryl and Rick getting the car ready when you saw Maggie approaching and sitting down next to you.

“You have hay on your hair.” You joked, laughing quietly when Maggie began brushing her fingers through her hair only to find you were messing with her.

“Don’t pretend you weren’t doing the same right before we arrived.” She nudged you with her shoulder.

“I’m not going to deny something I’m not ashamed of.” You replied, and you both chuckled.

“I don’t know if I’m getting old or what, but the stable doesn’t seem as appealing as it did when I was seventeen.” Maggie snorted.

“Yeah…but once the barn is free, you and I are going to make a schedule to take shifts.” You half-joked.

“No way, it’s my barn, you’re in my property, join the queue.”

“Why you’d want to go the stable or the barn anyway, you have your own room…with a bed and all!”

“Yes, and with my family and all of you in the house…and my sister’s bedroom next to mine…and my father’s down the corridor…”

“Hey, sounds like a good challenge!”

Maggie opened her mouth but she didn’t get to say anything before you both saw T-Dog running to Rick and Daryl.

“Come on, there’s something wrong!”

T-Dog had gone to the barn to take Randal and brought him to Rick, only to find the man was missing, he seemed to have broken free and run away, even though the door of the barn was still locked.

Rick was already giving instructions about what to do when Shane showed up, nose bleeding, saying how Randal had attacked him, took his gun, and ran away. It was the worst scenario, Randal could find his worse than bad news group and bring them to the farm, or sneak on any of you and attack you, and now he was armed. You had to find him. Rick would go looking for him with Shane, and he wanted Glenn and Daryl to go looking for Randal together too.

“I’m going with you too, Cole and I.” You told Daryl but he shook his head.

“No, get into the house, both of you.”

“What, no, no way, I-” Daryl cut you off midsentence, grabbing your arms and pulling you slightly away from the others, who were distracted still making plans. “Daryl!”

“I don’t know what’s going on, but Shane’s lying.” He told you quietly and you nodded, his story didn’t make sense, you weren’t sure Rick was buying it either. “I don’t like this, go back the house.”

“I don’t like it either, which is why I’m going with you.” You insisted. “So we can waste time talking or we can go, because you aren’t changing my mind, I’m not watching you go, I’m going to help you so-“

Daryl cut you off mid-rant again, this time by pressing his lips to yours. “You’re infuriating,” he said quietly, gently nipping at your lower lip before pulling away. “Damn stubborn. But not this time, Y/N.”

“Daryl!” Rick’s voice called for him. “Come on!”

You turned around and began walking towards Rick, ignoring Daryl when he let out an exasperated huff. No matter he was going with Glenn, you had to go with him too, made sure nothing happened to him and try to help with whatever was going on.

“Keep an eye out, we don’t know if Randal may head back here before we find him.” Glenn was instructing Maggie. “Be careful.”

“You too.”

You three headed into the woods, and you ignored Daryl when he told you again to stay and when he complained when you ignored him. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Glenn, you did, but you wanted to help and you didn’t want to be worried about Daryl all the time, you wanted to be there if he and Glenn needed help. The woods were dangerous at night and now besides the walkers, there were also Randal wandering with a gun.

You walked for a while in silence, following Daryl as he tracked, until you found Randal turned into a walker. Glenn put him down and when Daryl examined the body, it hadn’t been bitten. It was all too strange. According to Daryl, Randal had died of a broken neck.

“Let’s go back to the house…” Glenn said, looking as weirded out as you.

“Shane did this, I’m sure,” Daryl told you quietly while you walked back and you nodded. It was too horrible, but Shane hadn’t been himself lately and he just seemed to have been getting worse and worse.

“But how did he turned?” You asked and Daryl just shrugged. “Rick’s alone with him…Shane’s not going to do anything to him, right?” Daryl said nothing, chewing on his lower lip.

Back in the house, nobody could make sense of your discovery, but there was not much time to talk before a gunshot pierced through the air. Lori began panicking, afraid Rick and Shane were in trouble. You were afraid of that too, but probably for a very different reason than her. Daryl and Glenn were going out again to find Rick and Shane, and you followed them again.

“No, no way, not this time, no,” Daryl told you hushedly, stopping in front of you. “Stay here, Y/N. If this is Shane’s doing, it could be dangerous, stay here!”

“It would be dangerous for you too!” You stood your ground. “I want to be with you.”

“No, stay here, listen to me for this one time!” He seemed he was going to keep going, but as he noticed your eyes opening wide in terror, he turned back to see what had you seen.

A massive herd of walkers was approaching the farm, they were so many they probably had torn through all the fences. You had never seen so many together. You felt yourself panic, not even Daryl’s arm around you as he pulled you to his side could reassure you. They were too many, you couldn’t fight them, you weren’t even sure you could outrun them. What were you going to do?

Daryl told you all you had to leave, the herd was too big, they’d tear through the house, but Hershel didn’t want to, saying he wasn’t leaving his farm, he’d die there if he had to. Okay, he could do whatever he wanted to, but you weren’t dying there, neither were you letting Daryl or Cole die that night because of the stubborn Greene.

“Come on, people, we’re leaving!” You shouted, reaching out to grab Cole’s collar with one hand and Daryl’s hand with the other, ready to pull them away from there in whatever means necessary.

“No! I can’t leave my father here!” Maggie retorted, while Lori announced she couldn’t find Carl, getting back into the house to look for him, followed by Carol, Patricia and Beth. You groaned in frustration, tempted to just drag Cole and Daryl with you and leave everyone else there, but Daryl wasn’t moving.

New plan, you’d jump into the vehicles to shoot as many walkers as possible and try to lure the others away from the farm. It was reckless, it was desperate, there were too many, but you didn’t have anything else.

“This is not going to work.” You muttered, taking a shotgun that Andrea passed you.

“Y/N.” Daryl reached out to take your hand, his grip tight. “Get in a car with the dog, follow the plan, but if the farm is about to get overrun, if there’s any problem, if they’re too many, you leave, okay? Keep an eye on Carol, take her with you, and keep the dog safe, you can do it.” He instructed, his eyes looking wilder and more scared than you had ever seen him. “If this place falls, we meet at the intersection.”

“No, no, I’m going with you!” You weren’t going to split, no with the biggest herd of walkers you had ever seen approaching, not when you both could get separated, or hurt, or worse so easily.

“I’m taking the bike, Y/N, I’ll move faster.” He squeezed your hand, trying to reassure you. “Can’t take de dog on it, so you have to get in a car with him, okay?” You shook your head, biting your lip as you tried not to cry.

The herd was closing and you could only see all the things that could go wrong, and all the things that had already gone wrong, like guests eating other guests, like your father eating your dead mother, the day you lost your home and your family. You could see all the horrible things that could happen to Daryl, you’d lose your home and your family again.

Daryl pulled you closer to kiss your forehead. “It’s going to be fine, I’m not leaving you, girl, we’re going to be fine.” He whispered to you, rubbing your arms up and down softly.

You tried to calm down and get a hold of yourself, embarrassed of been behaving like that, of being panicking so much, you didn’t want to be useless. “Okay…Okay…” You nodded, taking a deep breath. He was right, you had to keep Cole safe, he was your responsibility.

“Come on, we have to move,” Daryl told you gently, pulling away from you, but you leaned closer again to kiss his lips.

“Be careful, please.” You told him, trying not to break down.

“You too, don’t do anything stupid.”

“Anything stupid? It’s you who got himself impaled with his own arrow.” You joked weakly and Daryl snorted quietly, giving you a tiny smile, kissing you again before turning and leave.

*

You were on the backseat of a pickup, Beth sat down next to you, Lori on the passenger seat while T-Dog drove. You held Cole close and you had your face hidden in his fur, doing your best not to break down.

Everything had gone wrong, the only good thing you had managed to do was to keep Cole safe and with you. The farm had fallen under a sea of endless walkers. Carol had disappeared in front of your eyes, right before Andrea fell down under the attack of a walker. You had lost sight of Daryl and his bike. You didn’t know where anyone else besides you four was.

You were trying hard not to sob, Beth was scared and traumatized enough after having seen her home like that, Patricia devoured in front of her, her father, sister and boyfriend missing. Poor girl.

“It’s going to be okay.” You felt Beth’s hand on your back, rubbing softly. “Daryl told you to meet at the intersection, right? You have to trust we all meet there.”

You had to admire the little girl for talking like that after everything she had gone through, for keeping hope. You gave her a weak, grateful smile. If she could be strong like that then you could too, you had to.

You had told them about meeting at the intersection when T-Dog had tried to drive away, saying the others were lost like the farm. You had almost taken out your gun to threaten him if he didn’t turn the car and drove to the intersection, when Lori had said if he didn’t, then she’ll throw herself out of the car to go walking.

You had been surprised, you hadn’t expected that from Lori, but you’d do the same if necessary. It had worked, T-Dog had turned the car and now you were headed back to the highway.

“Look!”

Beth excited voice had you looking up from your dog again and you saw you were approaching the car Glenn and Maggie had taken. Now you could hear a motorbike too…it had to be Daryl! You could almost cry of relief, feeling like just jumping out of the car to go to him.

Soon you could see him too, driving his motorbike ahead of Glenn and Maggie’s car, Carol behind him…she was okay too, you couldn’t believe it.

As soon as you reached the intersection, finding Rick, Carl, and Hershel already there, and the car stopped, you jumped out of it to run to Daryl. He was still on his bike, looking around as if he searching for you. When he found you, he rushed to dismount and ran to you, pulling you into his arms tightly when you both met midrun.

“You’re okay…” You sobbed quietly, couldn’t help your tears of relief.

Daryl said nothing, he lifted you up and you wrapped your legs around his waist, your arms around his shoulders, holding him as close as you could. Daryl nuzzled at your neck and you could feel his tears. You placed a hand on the back of his head, fingers running through his hair.

The others around you were greeting each other too, you were beyond happy they were okay too, but you couldn’t pay attention to anyone who wasn’t Daryl. He looked from your neck to kiss your lips and then he leaned his forehead onto yours.

“I didn’t know if you were okay or not, I was scared, I was so worried, darling.” You whispered.

“Me too.” Daryl pulled away just enough to look at you, keeping his tight hold on you, and you cupped his face, wiping his tears with your thumbs, knowing he’d be embarrassed crying in front of the others, though he didn’t seem to care, looking only at you.

“I love you.” He blurted out, taking you by surprise, stunning you into silence, and Daryl’s gaze fell down for a second. You kicked yourself into saying something, he had just told you he loved you and you were silent, he must be berating himself.

“I love you too.” You whispered, a smile tugging at your lips…Daryl loved you. And you loved him, you had no doubt about it, the realization made you so exultant that you almost giggled. He looked up at you, giving you a small, soft smile, and kissed your forehead. You had the impression he didn’t believe you or that he might think you were saying it just because he had done it, as if you thought it was what he wanted to hear.

“Hey, I do.” You cupped his face again. “I love you.” You repeated, pecking his lips. “I love you almost as much as you love Cole.” Daryl snorted at that but he gave you one of those bright smiles that were so rare to see on him and that took your breath away.

“I love you more.” He whispered into your ear, so quietly you barely heard him, and you caught a glimpse of his bright red cheeks before he nuzzled at your neck again.

“Speaking of the devil.” You chuckled when you heard a bark next to you. Cole had gotten out of the car and seemed tired of not having you or Daryl saying anything to him. Daryl looked up from your neck, smiling at the dog.

Carefully, he lowered you onto the ground, kissing you again before kneeling down to snuggle Cole, and you could just smile like an idiot in love looking at them. You looked around, your smile faltering as you took in the people missing and how exhausted the others looked, the realization that you had lost the farm, that safe heaven, suddenly hitting you.

But looking down at Daryl and Cole, you could only be grateful you had them there with you, safe and sound. Daryl got up and wrapped his arms around you again, pulling you to him.

“What are we going to do now?” You whispered quietly to him.

“I don’t know.” He whispered back, kissing your cheek and pulling at you until your back hit his chest, his arms firmly wrapped around you, and you all looked at Rick as he began to talk. “But we’re going to be okay. Promise.”

You believed him. No matter you had lost people, a safe place that was becoming a home, no matter you had nothing, nowhere to go, no plan, you believed Daryl when he told you that you were going to be okay. You trusted him. You felt like you had trusted him since forever.

You were going to keep him and Cole safe, no matter what, and you knew he’d do the same for you. Whatever might happen now, you had each other, you would protect and take care of each other, and you would be okay.

You were together, and so everything was going to be okay.

....................................................................................................................

And...that is, this is the end. I feel like crying, even though it was a good one. It’d never been that hard to say goodbye to a story and some characters as it was for this one. I was so tempted to just keep writing their life forever even though I always felt I wanted to end it fater season 2, I don’t want to say godbye, but I didn’t want the story to became dull and there’re new stories to come. But this one brought me some much joy, it’s the one I loved the most and the best I’ve written in my opinion.

Thank you all for being with me on this journey, but all the support you’ve given me, I loved reading all your comments, I loved seeing that people were enjoyed this too. It’d brought me so much joy. It’s embarrassing but I’m actually tearing up a  bit...

As always, if you have a moment  please, let me know your thoughts about this.

Also...new mini-series is coming on Monday, you can check it on the mastelist...so see you all soon, I hope! It’d be quite different, all from teen Daryl’s pov.

Thank you all again!! I’m so emotional!

As always, English is not my first language so sorry if there are mistakes.

If you want to be tagged (or removed from the tags) let me know!

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[cmyknoise]

Untitled Logince Fic

Words: 2255

Pairing: Logince (Logan x Roman)

Summary/Sample: The land was washed in a dark overlay, the sky as black and smooth, littered with stars. The sky, only comparable to black velvet adorned with glittering beads and pearls in no real pattern or design. The landscape was all but barren, trees littered the rolling hills, as forests filled up parts of the landscape. Wonder too far and perhaps one would find themselves before the rolling waves of an ocean. Follow the path, and you’ll meet a gate, inside life bustled around, a small town surrounding a larger castle. If you were to look to the middle of the clearing, a single tree stood atop a hill, branches spread like arms to the glorious sky, as if reaching for the stars, and in the day, for the sun.

Warnings: Budding Romance, Medieval Times, mention of hanging tree. 

     The land was washed in a dark overlay, the sky as black and smooth, littered with stars. The sky, only comparable to black velvet adorned with glittering beads and pearls in no real pattern or design. The landscape was all but barren, trees littered the rolling hills, as forests filled up parts of the landscape. Wonder too far and perhaps one would find themselves before the rolling waves of an ocean. Follow the path, and you’ll meet a gate, inside life bustled around, a small town surrounding a larger castle. If you were to look to the middle of the clearing, a single tree stood atop a hill, branches spread like arms to the glorious sky, as if reaching for the stars, and in the day, for the sun.

    On the silent night of which we speak of, a man sits near the base of the tree, eyes cast upward, the moonlight reflecting off his glasses like the sun over the still water pools after rain. The sky had always been a mystery to the man who stood beneath the tree , many things remained a mystery to him. Curiosity often led to him trying to solve or understand these mysteries, but the sky and why lies beyond could be a mystery he didn’t mind remaining the way it was.

    The man was verbose, and very often told he spoke too much, too much for so little. He was hardly heard despite the noise he was put down for. By the people in the town yonder, he wasn’t considered really a person at all. Exiled and sentenced to a life of solitude, alone in the plains and forests. He didn’t know whether to be thankful or full of bitter anger. Ironic that he found comfort sitting under the lone tree. He could’ve ended up strung up on it, and even now still could be.

    He had been lucky, he supposed. He lived in a place where deep admiration toward the Earth and all its gifts would be deeply frowned upon. Upon the words from his lips, many a times he had been called a demon, a witch, and many more spiteful and harmful things, but there ill intentions never succeeded. He had kept his beliefs firm, and his head held high. He had been seen as pompous, self absorbed. When the black velvet of the sky shifted to warm silk, the man had taken his cue to leave the tree, and find his way back into the bordering forest. He supposed he could have gone and ran further, but there was no real point. If they changed their minds on his fate, he’d let them.

    He spent most of his time in the forests, filled with quiet life and small wonders. He had a small house and a garden, and if he followed a trail he could get to a spring. It was a shame, if only the people in the city afar were less afraid of what lie beyond their gates, they would be able to see the beauty, and what the land had to offer. The man remained in solitude, but took solace in the loneliness. It hurt if he thought about just how alone he had felt, but that’s why he would tend to not think about it, instead holding his attention within a book, letting himself get lost in the hand written fiction.     

    The story of the witch in the woods had become a notorious tale, despite its recent origin. A  man with a longing sense of adventure could only contemplate the idea of going out to find the said witch. He had heard stories of the cruel man who lived in the village and cursed those who dared to pass him. It was in his lifetime that this supposed witch had been exiled, but he really hadn’t remembered it. It was before he was knighted as a protector, and seemed to mostly take place in one main part of the small kingdom of which he resided, a part no where near where he had grown up and lived. He kept his longing for adventure and curiosity to himself he had a duty, he was sworn to protect the people of the kingdom. He looked on from where he stood, surrounded by brick walls. He felt caged, like an animal taken for the butcher to deal with. It was hardly a nice feeling. He watched as the gentle blues of the sky faded into soft golds and popping oranges. Maybe, just maybe he could head out beyond the gate, someday, maybe soon. He heard the soft cry of a child and looked over, a mother was trying to calm her upset young. The knight shook his head and approached, and the child’s cries died down in awe of the shiny armor that adorned the knight.

   The sun was lowering in the sky, birds chirped in splendor at the warm rays that enveloped the land in a hug. The witch who lived in the forest was quietly tending to the garden in front of his small, cabin like house. He grew food, sure, but plants and flowers adorned and decorated the garden, bringing color to the browns and greens of the forest. He mainly planted flowers that would rival the color of the day time sky, or the deep, deep ocean. The color made him calm, made him smile. Once the tending to the garden was done, he washed his hands in the water he gathered from the creek.

    Everything was so serene for him, he couldn’t ask for anything more, though, a wish would be a companion. The birds were lovely, sure, but helped with no real company. He got no satisfaction from conversations with wildlife, and he missed some of the townspeople he used to converse with, but it had been so long, names he couldn’t quite remember, faces he couldn’t quite picture. It broke heart to think about it, many things seemed to break his heart, especially as of recently. He carried a basket full of various vegetables into his house, planning on making some sort or stew. He smiled, entering the house and shutting the door behind him, a small cat ran up and tangled itself around it’s legs, giving soft meows. The male chuckled and bent down, and the cat leapt up onto his shoulder, balancing. He stood, walking to the kitchen, setting the basket down. Tonight would be a nice, calm one, full of distractions. At least the cat gave him some relief from the loneliness. He looked out the window, a soft smile present on his face.

    The sun lowered below the horizon, and the knights job to overlook the town ended as night fell, those on night duty came out to do their jobs. It would be time to go in, get some rest for the next day, but the knight had other plans. He wanted to go out, he could adventure and see whatever may lie beyond the gate. He was quiet as he went to his home, aiming to sneak out, he left some items home, and waited, taking his horse from the small stable beside his home, and riding out with it, taking the back roads, and simply jumping the fence with his horse.

    Under the subtle glow of the moonlight, the knight rode out, slowing the gallop of the horse to a slow trot as he took in the beauty of the world outside the gate, it was truly beautiful. With his gaze to the stars, the horse went along the rugged and barely there paths. He stopped, tugging on the reigns as something odd caught his attention. From the forest, light smoke rose, fading into the black of night. The knight furrowed his eyebrows and pat the horse, giving quiet, exhorting words for it to go again. The horse gave a huff and kicked with a start, riding off path, lead into the forest by the knight.

    The supposed witch was in his home, sitting down as he ate, having to push the cat away every time it jumped up, trying to get a sniff at his food. He was calm and enjoying the warm meal under candle light. He was brought from his calm and peaceful state when he heard a knock at his door. That was...rather strange. He stood, picking up the bowl, looking at the cat. He rolled his eyes and set the bowl down, and the cat got to work, finishing off what was left. The male went to the door. His only guess as to what it could be, wasn’t a too happy thought. He cleared his throat, opening the door a crack, peeking out.

    “Who is it?” He spoke, voice quiet. On the step of his door was another person, clad in metal armor that reflected the moonlight. Surely it had to be a kingdom knight, which wasn’t the best sign. Off to the side, the male noticed a horse tied loosely to a tree, and he gave a sigh, opening his door wide, stepping out, “Tie the reigns tighter, you wouldn’t want your

horse getting loose.

   Whatever stupor the knight had been in, quickly left him, and he gave a nervous grin toward the other, “Oh, right. Thank you...” He trailed off, stepping back from the doorstep to go do just that.

    The man at the door frowned, looking at the knight, and rephrased his question, “Who are you, and what do you want?”

    The knight perked up and looked back, “Oh! My name is Roman. I saw the smoke from the field and came to investigate. My apologies for knocking, I didn’t think anyone lived out here.”

    “No one does,” the reply was simple and not so sweet one.    

     The knight frowned, tying the reigns tight around the tree, petting the horse’s nose, “Then why are you out here?”

    The man shook his head, “A foible in my interests I suppose...” His voice trailed, and he cleared his throat, “It’s late, I just finished making myself a meal, would you like to come in and have some?” He offered. The knight could only grin and nod, and the man let him inside. The owner of the quiet home had no problem serving up the knight a bowl of the fresh stew. Roman found the small home a comforting one, and the warm stew in the bowl deliciousness, not to mention the cat nuzzling against his leg was a comforting feeling. The owner of the house sat down across from him, patting his lap , where the cat ran and leapt onto.

    The knight looked over at them, “What’s your name then, since you know mine.” The other looked up, offering a smile, “My parents used to call me Logan, and I suppose you can too. I’d be surprised if you haven’t heard of me, the kingdom enjoys their gossip.”

    “You’re the witch in the woods?”

    “I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s what they called me. I suppose yes, but I’m no witch.”

    “Then how come you were exiled out here?”

    “Like I said, a foible in my interests. They seem to think my innocuous adoration for nature and the outside was...strange.”

     A small look of frustration flashed across Roman’s features, but he shook his head, the look disappearing, “Then by all means, I may as well be a witch too.” Logan could only give a soft laugh, shaking his head some.

    “May you be. You may be called as such once you return. I doubt those who over look you will appreciate you being out here.”

    “If I’m being honest, I wouldn’t care if it meant exile. I’ve always had a longing for adventure, and if that’s what lies out here, then I’d gladly be cast out,” Roman shook his head some, looking at the half empty bowl in his hands. Would he gladly be cast out? He doubt he’d be sent to the guillotine, he was too high up in the hierarchy. Not to mention, it seemed now he at least had an acquaintance, “Yes...I’d love to spend the rest of my days adventuring. I am a knight after all, and yet I’m treat like a lower castle guard-“ He mumbled, voice full of antipathy.

    Logan looked at him, finding his attitude endearing. He stood up, gently pushing the cat from his lap, “I wish you luck, I won’t stop you, but going back could be a death wish.” “Then I shalln’t return,” the knight exclaimed, standing and striking a flamboyant pose, bowl in his hands, a grin on his face, “There’s no reason to.”

    Logan smiled at him, gently taking Roman’s empty bowl back to the small kitchen area, “I could use the company..” Perhaps his loneliness wasn’t a forever curse. The knight hummed softly, giving a happy nod, “Then I will be your company.”

    Logan smiled, giving a laugh, “I won’t impede your decisions, Roman, it is greatly appreciated. When day rolls around, it shouldn’t be too difficult to set up a place here for you to stay, and you may explore the forest if you so wish.”

    Roman joined Logan within the kitchen, peering out of the window, “Sounds like a splendid idea.”

    “Careful though, when you do.”

    “Why?”

    “There are...many a sordid things that lie here. There may not be any witches, but there are plenty of dangers about.”

    “Would you help then, show and teach me the dangers?”

[ghoulleviathan]

quiet when i’m coming home

When is the next time you will take a shower/bath? Which one will you take? Probably a shower, and probably tomorrow.

Are you currently waiting on someone to do something for you/to you? Mark’s supposed to grab salsa, sour cream, and individual serving bags of doritos for Taco Night tomorrow, but that won’t be until he comes home.

As a child, did you ever get the chance to go to Disney World/Disneyland? Nope. We were poor.

What state do you live in? What’s the best aspect about this state? Pennsylvania. I honestly could probably say some of the history is pretty cool.

Are you someone who is really committed to politics in your area/country? Not overly so, but I’m attentive to current events.

When was the last time you fought with your significant other, if any? Hm. Probably yesterday or the day before that.

Do you know anyone, personally, who is in an abusive relationship? Are you? No and no.

When was the last time you were on a boat? Where did you travel on it? It’s been a hot minute. The last time I remember any boat travel was in 2009, when we rode a boat at Pearl Harbor to go see the USS Arizona.

Are you planning on going anywhere with someone, some time today? Today is over, but I had to take my son to the doctor earlier.

Does your family ever have any kind of weird traditions in your house? Drawing a blank, but probably. When is the next time you will attend a family reunion? Where will it be? We don’t really have reunions.

What would you consider your favorite movie from a different decade? Dirty Dancing or Labyrinth.

Do you ever take bubble baths only to relax yourself in some way? Yeah, sometimes.

Do you have any friends who act like they don’t know you in public? No? Those aren’t friends.

When was the last time you sick? What were you sick with and why? I was sick on Sunday morning due to some shit I ate on Saturday night.

Do you ever tend to pull off any random acts of kindness in public? Sometimes, yeah. If the opportunity presents itself.

Do the things you do normally have to have reasons behind them, or not? This is so vague. Tf.

What was the last job you had? Why are you not working that job anymore? I worked for the local Pizza Hut. I stopped working there due to the fact that I wasn’t receiving the pay I was promised, and despite the manager stating “it’ll come on the next check”, it never came. So I put my two weeks in and left. Do you like cereal? What would you consider your favorite kind of cereal? Yeah, sure. I’d have to say Frosted Flakes or Cinnamon Toast Crunch.

Do you find your school to be loaded with hot guys or not so much? I’m in online classes. Don’t know shit about my classmates.

Do you like to watch gay guys’ fashion do’s & dont’s videos on YouTube? If you’re alluding to Jeffree Star’s makeup videos... yes.

What is the most visited website on your internet at this moment in time? Facebook, probably.

Do you like riding roller coasters when you go to any amusement park? Of course! That’s why I go.

Are you waiting for someone to get online on an IM program right now? Mark, kind of. I know he won’t be on until probably 1:30 or later though.

What would you consider the stupidest movie you’ve ever watched, ever? Freddy Got Fingered. Screw that movie.

Who did you last say I love you to? Why did you say it to this person? Mark, because he was leaving for work.

Are there any people you don’t like for your significant other to talk to? I mean, I’d prefer he keep his distance so he doesn’t go to jail.... so does he.

Have you ever forgotten your birthday? Did you soon figure it out? Nope.

When was the last time you held up a peace sign, if you’ve ever done that? I mean, I’ve held up two fingers for “two”, but as a peace sign? Been a hot minute unless I was being sarcastic, seeing as I wave like that if I’m in a semi-shit mood.

Would you walk ten miles just to see the person you like or love? I have a car. My car-spoiled ass is not WALKING ten miles when I have a perfectly fine car.

What, in your mind, would you consider to be the perfect boyfriend? We don’t have all day for that list, but at least: respectful, emotionally stable, and not a douche.

What is one thing most all guys do that tends to make you angry a lot? Scratch their balls in public like no one is looking... especially when they do it so obviously that your eyes just immediately go to them and what they’re doing. Like... be discreet or go to the bathroom please.

Would you beat up anyone at the moment, if you absolutely had the chance? Yes... but that’s a charge I’m not catching. Not worth it.

What color are the curtains in your room if you have any at the moment? Black. They’re black-out curtains, since Mark works nights.

Who last told a lie on you? Did anyone catch them? What happened? I’m legally not allowed to speak about it until it’s out of court.

What would you consider the best kind of food you, yourself could make? Walking taco salad. Bomb af.

Is there anyone you are currently trying to get out of trouble? Why? Not “get out of trouble” like he did what he’s in “trouble” for, but I’m helping his case to prove his innocence. Why? Because he’s fucking innocent.

Are you one of those people who don’t like children of any kind at all? I used to be, then I had my babies.

If you have a television in your room, what color is it? What brand? Used to, but it’s downstairs now that the one in the living room broke. It’s Toshiba or something, I believe.

When is the next time you’ll eat out and what do you think you’ll get? Hmm, not sure. Possibly this weekend, but I wouldn’t know what we’d eat.

Are you planning on going anywhere today? Where are you going exactly? You asked already.

When was the last time you rode a horse, if you’ve ever ridden one? When I was 6-7, I think.

Are you plotting anything at the moment? If so, is this plot against anyone If by plotting, you mean “building a case”, then sure.

Do you hate it when people show public displays of affection in your face? If they’re literally doing it in my face and being obnoxious about it, then yes. But I don’t mind normal, mild PDA. Like holding hands and quick kisses. Nothing wrong with that. <<< Yes. Same.

Have you ever wanted your significant other to get rid of a friend? Okay, so hear me out. If that friend is toxic af, they need to learn to cut that person off ASAP before that “friend” drags them down. So yeah, I’ve asked significant others to cut off really toxic friends, but it’s always been up to them to do so or not.

If you have siblings, have they moved out or do they still live with you? We’ve all moved out other than my youngest sister, and none of them live with me.

Do you ever actually like going to Wal-Mart or is it regularly boring? Eh. I only go if I have to.

Do you have an iPod? What kind is it? iTouch, Nano, Classic, etc. No.

Do you own a computer that is a Mac or a PC? Why is this? PC, because I’m too poor to justify spending the money on a Mac.

Do you own any scarves? How many would you estimate yourself to have? Nope.

What kind of shoes are you planning on wearing today? Why is this? I wore sneakers because I wanted to.

Do you think it’s weird that some people actually shave their arms? I don’t care. That’s their prerogative.

Do you know anyone who has or has had any kind of mental illness/disorder? Yes.

Do you ever go to Blockbuster? How frequently would you say you go? Well let me rev up my time-travel machine!

Is your mother a stay-at-home mother or does she work somewhere? It was a mix. She worked for a while, then stayed at home. Then when my parents got divorced, she worked again for a while before she suddenly developed crippling anxiety & got disability (like her husband) and now doesn’t work at all. I don’t understand why she keeps paying for degrees if she’s unable to work anyway... like, save your damn money instead of wasting it.

What food would you just want to disappear off the face of the earth? Liver. Blech.

Do movies with super heroes intrigue you in any way? Why is this? Not “intrigue”, more like entertain.

Do you watch those late-night talk shows? What’s the best part about them? Not actively, but if a video comes across my timeline then I’ll watch it if it looks interesting.

Do you ever listen to music so you can actually change your emotion?

Doesn’t work, but sure.

[doriscahill]

On my Birthday

Yesterday was my birthday, I was greeted with a yellow balloon, chocolate hazelnut  cake and torch candle. Literally, a jumbo sparkler. Dangerous and disallowed in much of American, what a joy. A ten second pyrotechnic show just for me..

Birthday’s are a big deal in Georgia, even more so than America, you can not escape it. Overt glitz, broad smiles and excessive hugs. Over 200 well wishes on face-book and flooded inboxes; a wave of love from one end of the world to the other.  

My colleagues/friends did something for me over the top, something making this 57th birthday, a favorite. 

This is for real.

I thought I had requested “please do not go out of your way”  and “its not a day of my best memories”. 

No to Georgians means yes unless it is three no’s. It’s been a month of friends asking, “what are you plans? We must celebrate!!” Those who work side by side with me for years would know I mostly skip work on my birthday, seeking a peaceful day.  

When young this day meant a party and gifts we could not have nor always afford. If we had cake it was often shared with my cousins  also, celebrating their birthday. There were so many of us.  The shared cake would have a sculpted rose on top, pinkish-red made of  buttercream icing; yet no guarantee that single rose  would be yours to eat.   It would be days of anticipation and then disappointment, few parties;  no gifts. A did treasure a birthstone ring gifted to me by mom, unfortunately it was stolen  when my house was robbed a few years ago. I  held in my drawer for 40 years. 

Not to be a downer, but there were 3 birthdays in 57 years that brought me special feeling. My 12th, 21st and 50th. 

On my 12th birthday, I begged my dad daily, for at least 6 months,  to buy me a 10 speed bike on my birthday. A bike he could ill afford making $4-$6 dollars an hour. I became privy to this info when working a summer job at the factory. I  peaked at his pay records when the office was at lunch.  On my special day we went to the bike store to pick one out, choosing a deep maroon. He negotiated so hard, it was embarrassing, he refused to pay the sales tax and insisted on a good warranty, about $110, a weeks pay.  

That maroon bike changed me, I felt free; wind in my long ponied brown hair; peddling, switching gears uphill, then gliding hands-free downhill,  water bottle and basket attached. Visiting places: CandleWood Lake, Nanny’s, St Gregory’s School/Church, and Jimmies market.  I raced it with friends skinning my knees and participated in 26 mile charity ride with a good girl friend passing the old Fair Grounds.

One day I left my bike on the grass in our front  yard. I was late for  dinner again and had not placed it back in the garage. The next time I looked for it, it was gone, stolen. It took me four years to save money to buy my own bike. I was severely scolded.

I still love to bike and have  proudly keep my 1978-9 Peugeot.  Newport, RI.

On my 21st birthday I was taken to the Pocono Mountains. I remember this birthday well. I was gifted the most dainty earrings; gold hearts with the smallest pearl. I was to join another  family and remember sharing the news with my parents, who were surprisingly pleased. My view of my parents changed  post college; their predilections no longer bemuse.  Unallowable behavior became encouraged.   

This family was different than mine; children and parents ate together most meals, played charades and board games for hours. A consolidated unit that operated in unison.  We hiked to the forest and took pictures at the falls. Crossing a foot bridge,me,  dreadfully fearing heights, my hand was tightly held by my host. We visited the local museum and bowled. Always in a group of many, valuing time together, creating memories.  Time was made to teach me how to  juggle 3 balls. I remember feeling free, walking in nature, welcomed.  On my special day  my once small frame adorn a beloved dress: just above the knee, light fabric that bounced, and pale yellow with black polka-dots accented with a black patent leather belt.  I do not recall a birthday cake, only the smiles of those few day. 

The earring, the mate it lost. 

Then birthday’s became a time for my children and their birthdays. A promise with my husband agreeing to not to fuss with my birthday, but give our girls birthdays and make new memories for. To not gift me on my day, but surprise me on other days with kindness.  My happiest gift to him on his birthday was the surprise birth of my youngest daughter who arrived a week early. He, missing his first day of work for his new job, me sleeping through a night of labor. Only to wake and be taken to the hospital.  Most nights I sleep like a rock. 

Each birthday for my girls starting from the first year I was out of control; friends, clowns, cakes, barbecues, balloons, pool, painting and gym; all themed parties. My funniest party for our eldest daughter was at age 13. We  decorated the basement family room with black lights and streamers for a night dance at the house. She asked me to hold the spin the bottle pillow dice.  Nothing changes, except she asked. My funniest memory of my youngest daughter is the year we had the fake birthday party, her birthday falls at summers end and the prior year attendance was low, families tend to take vacation,  so we moved her party up to June :-) and opened the pool. Her idea, no one  would know. 

I lost my father in my 50th year. IA month after passing, my husband Andy asked to take me into Boston for dinner with friends; a date. We had a gift certificate for Capital Grill. $200 and would make a night of it. I grimace but agree; Capital Grill is a premier steak house in the BackBay neighborhood of Boston. I spent  many years working on Newbury, Bolyston Street and Commonwealth Ave. The gift certificate was from our lawyer who failed to pay our es-crowed real estate taxes from  our house closing. Andrew asked me not to check  closing documents because I catch too many errors and tend to be stubborn for correction. We still laugh over this. 

Andy knew it would make me happy surrounding me with memories. We drive in. He hates driving into Boston and specifically parking, anyone would. We park the car nearby,  at a meter near my old office (on Newbury St and adjacent to the Mass Pike). Hoping the car would not be vandalized or towed, we take turns filling it during our meal. Now, one can pay parking remotely with an App. While working, my car was stolen twice plus 6 break-ins and two tows, the parking tickets were, lets say alot.  Today, most young workers take the commuter rail; it now extends to my surburb. The new station opened the day after I stopped commuting, sigh. 

Meeting our close friends, we ordered on the right side of the menu, and the chat was pleasant, but strain of dad’s death overwhelmed me. I ponder why am I out on my birthday. At the meals end, a chocolate birthday cake with candles is placed on the table, and all sang the birthday song, I could not stop crying.  I felt loved. I got to eat the rose.  We return to the car; thankfully intact. 

Back to Georgia.  Last year I had milk  poisoning so we can skip past that birthday (click and read  No Milk for You!) 

At my site, I have a new co-worker and they  mention an ancient monastery. Located in the Village of Uraveli; it dates 1100 A.D. or so and is under renovation. He exclaims “It is majestic.” Continues, thinking “and it is great potential for tourism as the road leading to there has a mineral spring. Healing waters.” He and  my other co-worker families come from this village. And he purchased land near the spring, hoping to develop it. 

Having ate my cake with the crazy candle.  He was again talking about the property and the monastery. He had not seen it, since a young boy. I blurt “let’s go there, today!, that would be the best gift” Some intense discussion in Georgian commenced. Mostly answering the questions, when and should we. Its decide to leave at 4 pm.  It would be  us, three , our driver and my guest; a fellow Peace Corps Volunteer. I am pumped, an unplanned road trip.  

Timeliness is rare in Georgia, around 4;30 pm we set out; five packed in a small SUV, estimated travel 45 minutes; one way. We take the main round south and turn at the Potato World Sign, the road begins to wind as we ascend. We pass another Potato World Sign in the Village Mushki, this has a famous craft woman and her school and museum. We discuss how old she is. We gaze out at the potato fields. 

We enter Uraveli Village and each colleague  points out there grandparents home on the adjacent hillsides.  We crane from our windows, to see  their homes, as they point and describe where to look. The Uraveli river flows along the road to the monastery. We follow it. My coworker says it will become cool soon and darker.  The pavement road ends abruptly and turns to dirt; uneven, potholed, riddle with river rock and deep puddles; the ride becomes increasingly bumpy. You can see the topography change in the aerial google map view and the “red” pin where we are heading. Note the dropped pin is after the fact. 

Rough, the road continues to narrow and loose gravel turns to larger river rock. We are all giggling; only feet away from water’s edge. My co-workers point out river side picnic spots, soviet posts and the City water supply facility. We stop roadside; stretch and drink the from the mineral water fountain, take pictures of the undeveloped land lot, noting is boundaries and abandoned horse stable.  We continue on.  Road sections are damage from spring floods; we swerve to avoid muddied pools. We come to a fork in the road and more giggling;  there is ongoing debate ( in Georgian): how much further and which way and the monastery is not in site yet. Georgian banter continues; “where, when, when?, soon? how far?, close?” 

Unsure, we choose to go left.  The forest canopy now filters the light. We hear thunder, then see lightening strike the mountain. Again we all ask “how many kilometers?”. The ferns and wetland flowers are in bloom, we ascend up the increasingly rocky worn road. We come to a  river crossing; so far all crossings were on aged bridges, but not this crossing; only river.   Giggles turn to cackles, we cross a narrow section; reinforced with poured cement on rocks and  fast moving water. I assume the  wood plank, leaned on nearby rocks is for those on foot :-).

Again, our happy group discusses how much further is our ascent. Latest discussion, we had agreed on 2 kilometers. It seemed closer to 10. My colleague comforts the group stating “it always seems longer going”  and in the same breath “I was last hear as a boy”. We arrive, but the rain comes. All are welcomed  by the head priest and his very large German Shepard. There are workers busy building. We stay only a short time, walking the complex taking pictures. Women need to cover their heads to enter the monastery. Darn we forgot our veils and could not go in to see the ornate paintings. 

I take a short walk. Alone, on top this  mountain, next to this most ancient building of prayer,  Folding my hands, looking towards the sky and in private I thank G-d for this life and one more birthday. 

We descend and it does seem shorter, but certainly as narrow and rocky. I video taped the river crossing (please click). 

 Here are a few more pictures. The hand holding the clover is a fellow Peace Corps volunteer. 

Thanks for listening and following this Blog. Doe

[judebarnett-blog]

QUOTE

“I withdraw from people and places from time to time, I need space from a world that is filled with millions of mouths that talk to much but never have anything to say.” -Kaitlin Foster

BASIC

NAME: Lux Desmarais NICKNAMES: None AGE: 28 BIRTHDAY: February 2nd,1990 GENDER: Male PRONOUNS: He/Him

FAMILY

MOTHER: His mother’s first name was Margaret. That’s all he knows. FATHER: Unknown LEGAL GUARDIAN: N/A SIBLINGS: None PETS: None, though Lux walks dogs as one of his many odd jobs, and he loves them all like his own pets. He also tends to share his food with the stray cats around town tame enough to approach humans. IMPORTANT EXTENDED FAMILY MEMBERS: None

PHYSICAL ATTRIBUTES

FACE CLAIM: Rami Malek RACE/ETHNICITY:  African American- the specifics of which are unknown. NATIONALITY: American HEIGHT: 5′10” WEIGHT: 167 pounds HAIR COLOR:  Black EYE COLOR: Brown SKIN COLOR: Light brown DOMINANT HAND: Ambidextrous ANOMALIES: A large, fresh scar on the underside of his jaw from when he fell down an escalator- he hadn’t been paying attention and didn’t notice that it moved. SCENT: Despite the fact that he has multiple friends who let him use their shower, or crash on their couch occasionally, Lux is generally uncomfortable with that, so more often than not Lux smells a little bit musty. He does have a cheap Axe cologne that he carries with him and uses regularly. ALLERGIES: None that he knows of. FASHION: Lux owns exactly four outfits- three pairs of blue jeans in various states of disarray, a pair of sweatpants, a Coke shirt, a blue plaid button down missing three buttons, a plain white tee, a Cendre Hollow Sheriff's Department hoodie, and a very thick, warm coat in a vivid neon yellow color. (He also has several pairs of socks and a worn pair of plain black sneakers.) NERVOUS TICS: Refusing to make eye contact, pacing, going outside if possible.

LIFESTYLE

HOME ADDRESS: None RESIDES: Cendre Hollow, Louisiana BORN: Desmarais Park RAISED: Desmarais Park VEHICLE: None PHONE: None LAPTOP/COMPUTER: None HIGH SCHOOL EDUCATION: None COLLEGE EDUCATION: None. MAJOR: N/A MINOR: N/A JOB: Dog walker, errand runner- any odd job he can get, he does. He helps out a lot at L’Art Est Ici as well. POLITICAL AFFILIATION: Politics are something Lux only just recently realized were a thing, and something he finds deeply confusing and disturbing. RELIGION: A sort of very individualized pagan. BELIEFS: Fate. A polytheistic pantheon of gods and goddesses. MISDEMEANORS: N/A FELONIES: N/A TICKETS AND/OR VIOLATIONS: A trespassing charge gotten while sleeping in someone in town’s gazebo during a rainstorm. DRUGS: Occasionally smokes weed, when someone else is paying for said weed, or he can find it growing wild in the park. SMOKES: Never ALCOHOL: He got drunk once and didn’t much care for it. DIET: Lux eats anything cheap that keeps for a long time, doesn’t require cooking, and will be moderately easy on his stomach- as he has stomach issues. Before, when he lived with his mother, they had a thriving garden and Lux ate mainly raw produce, and whatever groceries his mother would bring home from her mystery excursions. SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Gray Asexual, Panromantic RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Single CHILDREN: None LOOKING FOR: Nothing. BEST FRIEND(S): Adora Reveur, Lenore Dubois LANGUAGES SPOKEN: English, PHOBIAS: Lux woke up once to a rat chewing on his hair when he was around eleven and could never really stand any kid of rodents after. HOBBIES: Reading- something he’s slowly getting better at, Sketching, Playing with animals TRAITS: Odd, Naive, Pensive, Giving, Unstable SOCIAL MEDIA: None

FAVORITE

LOCATION: There’s an old burnt out shell of a house on the outside of town, just where Desmarais Park starts, that is always empty. The sheriff’s department doesn’t ever bother to check for him there, and the ancient root cellar is cool in the summer and warm in the winter. SPORTS TEAM: None GAME: He knows a multitude of card games as he used to play with his mother when she was feeling fairly stable. Uno is his favorite, but he also kills at poker. MUSIC: Music is a wide world he’s exploring and eager to discover, and what he likes is an eclectic mix. His favorite genres are 60’s and 70’s oldies, pop, and classic rock. SHOWS: None. MOVIES: None. RADIO STATION: KBRH 126.0 (Urban Oldies) FOOD: brown sugar pop tarts, cinnamon applesauce, cauliflower, Funyuns, sugar snap peas, Chef Boyardee ravioli, (which he prefers heated up does eat cold) raw cherry tomatoes, peaches, butter and rice. BEVERAGE: Anything ice cold, but especially sweet tea COLOR: Canary yellow.

CHARACTER

MORAL ALIGNMENT: True Neutral/Neutral Good MBTI: ISTP ENNEAGRAM: Type 5 / The Investigator TEMPERAMENT: Meloncholic WESTERN ZODIAC: Aquarius CHINESE ZODIAC: Horse PRIMAL SIGN: Unicorn HOGWARTS HOUSE: Hufflepuff SONG: Man On Fire // Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros IDEOLOGIES: People are generally kind, but that doesn’t mean you’re not still better off without them- or visa versa 

[readbookywooks]

Arya

Whatever names Harren the Black had meant to give his towers were long forgotten. They were called the Tower of Dread, the Widow's Tower, the Wailing Tower, the Tower of Ghosts, and Kingspyre Tower. Arya slept in a shallow niche in the cavernous vaults beneath the Wailing Tower, on a bed of straw. She had water to wash in whenever she liked, a chunk of soap. The work was hard, but no harder than walking miles every day. Weasel did not need to find worms and bugs to eat, as Arry had; there was bread every day, and barley stews with bits of carrot and turnip, and once a fortnight even a bite of meat.

Hot Pie ate even better; he was where he belonged, in the kitchens, a round stone building with a domed roof that was a world unto itself. Arya took her meals at a trestle table in the undercroft with Weese and his other charges, but sometimes she would be chosen to help fetch their food, and she and Hot Pie could steal a moment to talk. He could never remember that she was now Weasel and kept calling her Arry, even though he knew she was a girl. Once he tried to slip her a hot apple tart, but he made such a clumsy job of it that two of the cooks saw. They took the tart away and beat him with a big wooden spoon.

Gendry had been sent to the forge; Arya seldom saw him. As for those she served with, she did not even want to know their names. That only made it hurt worse when they died. Most of them were older than she was and content to let her alone.

Harrenhal was vast, much of it far gone in decay. Lady Whent had held the castle as bannerman to House Tully, but she'd used only the lower thirds of two of the five towers, and let the rest go to ruin. Now she was fled, and the small household she'd left could not begin to tend the needs of all the knights, lords, and highborn prisoners Lord Tywin had brought, so the Lannisters must forage for servants as well as for plunder and provender. The talk was that Lord Tywin planned to restore Harrenhal to glory, and make it his new seat once the war was done.

Weese used Arya to run messages, draw water, and fetch food, and sometimes to serve at table in the Barracks Hall above the armory, where the men-at-arms took their meals. But most of her work was cleaning. The ground floor of the Wailing Tower was given over to storerooms and granaries, and two floors above housed part of the garrison, but the upper stories had not been occupied for eighty years. Now Lord Tywin had commanded that they be made fit for habitation again. There were floors to be scrubbed, grime to be washed off windows, broken chairs and rotted beds to be carried off. The topmost story was infested with nests of the huge black bats that House Whent had used for its sigil, and there were rats in the cellars as well . . . and ghosts, some said, the spirits of Harren the Black and his sons.

Arya thought that was stupid. Harren and his sons had died in Kingspyre Tower, that was why it had that name, so why should they cross the yard to haunt her? The Wailing Tower only wailed when the wind blew from the north, and that was just the sound the air made blowing through the cracks in the stones where they had fissured from the heat. if there were ghosts in Harrenhal, they never troubled her. It was the living men she feared, Weese and Ser Gregor Clegane and Lord Tywin Lannister himself, who kept his apartments in Kingspyre Tower, still the tallest and mightiest of all, though lopsided beneath the weight of the slagged stone that made it look like some giant half-melted black candle.

She wondered what Lord Tywin would do if she marched up to him and confessed to being Arya Stark, but she knew she'd never get near enough to talk to him, and anyhow he'd never believe her if she did, and afterward Weese would beat her bloody.

In his own small strutting way, Weese was nearly as scary as Ser Gregor. The Mountain swatted men like flies, but most of the time he did not even seem to know the fly was there. Weese always knew you were there, and what you were doing, and sometimes what you were thinking. He would hit at the slightest provocation, and he had a dog who was near as bad as he was, an ugly spotted bitch that smelled worse than any dog Arya had ever known. Once she saw him set the dog on a latrine boy who'd annoyed him. She tore a big chunk out of the boy's calf while Weese laughed.

It took him only three days to earn the place of honor in her nightly prayers. "Weese," she would whisper, first of all. "Dunsen, Chiswyck, Polliver, Raff the Sweetling. The Tickler and the Hound. Ser Gregor, Ser Amory, Ser Ilyn, Ser Meryn, King Joffrey, Queen Cersei." If she let herself forget even one of them, how would she ever find him again to kill him?

On the road Arya had felt like a sheep, but Harrenbal turned her into a mouse. She was grey as a mouse in her scratchy wool shift, and like a mouse she kept to the crannies and crevices and dark holes of the castle, scurrying out of the way of the mighty.

Sometimes she thought they were all mice within those thick walls, even the knights and the great lords. The size of the castle made even Gregor Clegane seem small. Harrenhal covered thrice as much ground as Winterfell, and its buildings were so much larger they could scarcely be compared. Its stables housed a thousand horses, its godswood covered twenty acres, its kitchens were as large as Winterfell's Great Hall, and its own great hall, grandly named the Hall of a Hundred Hearths even though it only had thirty and some (Arya had tried to count them, twice, but she came up with thirty-three once and thirty-five the other time) was so cavernous that Lord Tywin could have feasted his entire host, though he never did. Walls, doors, halls, steps, everything was built to an inhuman scale that made Arya remember the stories Old Nan used to tell of the giants who lived beyond the Wall.

And as lords and ladies never notice the little grey mice under their feet, Arya heard all sorts of secrets just by keeping her ears open as she went about her duties. Pretty Pia from the buttery was a slut who was working her way through every knight in the castle. The wife of the gaoler was with child, but the real father was either Ser Alyn Stackspear or a singer called Whitesmile Wat. Lord Lefford made mock of ghosts at table, but always kept a candle burning by his bed. Ser Dunaver's squire Jodge could not hold his water when he slept. The cooks despised Ser Harys Swyft and spit in all his food. once she even overheard Maester Tothmure's serving girl confiding to her brother about some message that said Joffrey was a bastard and not the rightful king at all. "Lord Tywin told him to burn the letter and never speak such filth again," the girl whispered.

King Robert's brothers Stannis and Renly had joined the fighting, she heard. "And both of them kings now," Weese said. "Realm's got more kings than a castle's got rats." Even Lannister men questioned how long Joffrey would hold the Iron Throne. "The lad's got no army but them gold cloaks, and he's ruled by a eunuch, a dwarf, and a woman," she heard a lordling mutter in his cups. "What good will the likes of them be if it comes to battle?" There was always talk of Beric Dondarrion. A fat archer once said the Bloody Mummers had slain him, but the others only laughed. "Lorch killed the man at Rushing Falls, and the Mountain's slain him twice. Got me a silver stag says he don't stay dead this time neither."

Arya did not know who Bloody Mummers were until a fortnight later, when the queerest company of men she'd ever seen arrived at Harrenhal. Beneath the standard of a black goat with bloody horns rode copper men with bells in their braids; lancers astride striped black-and-white horses; bowmen with powdered cheeks; squat hairy men with shaggy shields; brown-skinned men in feathered cloaks; a wispy fool in green-and-pink motley; swordsmen with fantastic forked beards dyed green and purple and silver; spearmen with colored scars that covered their cheeks; a slender man in septon's robes, a fatherly one in maester's grey, and a sickly one whose leather cloak was fringed with long blond hair.

At their head was a man stick-thin and very tall, with a drawn emaciated face made even longer by the ropy black beard that grew from his pointed chin nearly to his waist. The helm that hung from his saddle horn was black steel, fashioned in the shape of a goat's head. About his neck he wore a chain made of linked coins of many different sizes, shapes, and metals, and his horse was one of the strange black-and-white ones.

"You don't want to know that lot, Weasel," Weese said when he saw her looking at the goat-helmed man. Two of his drinking friends were with him, men-at-arms in service to Lord Lefford.

"Who are they?" she asked.

One of the soldiers laughed. "The Footmen, girl. Toes of the Goat. Lord Tywin's Bloody Mummers."

"Pease for wits. You get her flayed, you can scrub the bloody steps," said Weese. "They're sellswords, Weasel girl. Call themselves the Brave Companions. Don't use them other names where they can hear, or they'll hurt you bad. The goat-helm's their captain, Lord Vargo Hoat."

"He's no fucking lord," said the second soldier. "I heard Ser Amory say so. He's just some sellsword with a mouth full of slobber and a high opinion of hisself."

"Aye," said Weese, "but she better call him lord if she wants to keep all her parts."

Arya looked at Vargo Hoat again. How many monsters does Lord Tywin have?

The Brave Companions were housed in the Widow's Tower, so Arya need not serve them. She was glad of that; on the very night they arrived, fighting broke out between the sellswords and some Lannister men. Ser Harys Swyft's squire was stabbed to death and two of the Bloody Mummers were wounded. The next morning Lord Tywin hanged them both from the gatehouse walls, along with one of Lord Lydden's archers. Weese said the archer had started all the trouble by taunting the sellswords over Beric Dondarrion. After the hanged men had stopped kicking, Vargo Hoat and Ser Harys embraced and kissed and swore to love each other always as Lord Tywin looked on. Arya thought it was funny the way Vargo Hoat lisped and slobbered, but she knew better than to laugh.

The Bloody Mummers did not linger long at Harrenhal, but before they rode out again, Arya heard one of them saying how a northern army under Roose Bolton had occupied the ruby ford of the Trident. "If he crosses, Lord Tywin will smash him again like he did on the Green Fork," a Lannister bowmen said, but his fellows jeered him down. "Bolton'll never cross, not till the Young Wolf marches from Riverrun with his wild northmen and all them wolves."

Arya had not known her brother was so near. Riverrun was much closer than Winterfell, though she was not certain where it lay in relation to Harrenhal. I could find out somehow, I know I could, if only I could get away. When she thought of seeing Robb's face again Arya had to bite her lip. And I want to see Jon too, and Bran and Rickon, and Mother. Even Sansa . . . I'll kiss her and beg her pardons like a proper lady, she'll like that.

From the courtyard talk she'd learned that the upper chambers of the Tower of Dread housed three dozen captives taken during some battle on the Green Fork of the Trident. Most had been given freedom of the castle in return for their pledge not to attempt escape. They vowed not to escape, Arya told herself, but they never swore not to help me escape.

The captives ate at their own table in the Hall of a Hundred Hearths, and could often be seen about the grounds. Four brothers took their exercise together every day, fighting with staves and wooden shields in the Flowstone Yard. Three of them were Freys of the Crossing, the fourth their bastard brother. They were only there a short time, though; one morning two other brothers arrived under a peace banner with a chest of gold, and ransomed them from the knights who'd captured them. The six Freys all left together.

No one ransomed the northmen, though. One fat lordling haunted the kitchens, Hot Pie told her, always looking for a morsel. His mustache was so bushy that it covered his mouth, and the clasp that held his cloak was a silver-and-sapphire trident. He belonged to Lord Tywin, but the fierce, bearded young man who liked to walk the battlements alone in a black cloak patterned with white suns had been taken by some hedge knight who meant to get rich off him. Sansa would have known who he was, and the fat one too, but Arya had never taken much interest in titles and sigils. Whenever Septa Mordane had gone on about the history of this house and that house, she was inclined to drift and dream and wonder when the lesson would be done.

She did remember Lord Cerwyn, though. His lands had been close to Winterfell, so he and his son Cley had often visited. Yet as fate would have it, he was the only captive who was never seen; he was abed in a tower cell, recovering from a wound. For days and days Arya tried to work out how she might steal past the door guards to see him. If he knew her, he would be honor bound to help her. A lord would have gold for a certainty, they all did; perhaps he would pay some of Lord Tywin's own sellswords to take her to Riverrun. Father had always said that most sellswords would betray anyone for enough gold.

Then one morning she spied three women in the cowled grey robes of the silent sisters loading a corpse into their wagon. The body was sewn into a cloak of the finest silk, decorated with a battle-axe sigil. When Arya asked who it was, one of the guards told her that Lord Cerwyn had died. The words felt like a kick in the belly. He could never have helped you anyway, she thought as the sisters drove the wagon through the gate. He couldn't even help himself, you stupid mouse.

After that it was back to scrubbing and scurrying and listening at doors. Lord Tywin would soon march on Riverrun, she heard. or he would drive south to Highgarden, no one would ever expect that. No, he must defend King's Landing, Stannis was the greatest threat. He'd sent Gregor Clegane and Vargo Hoat to destroy Roose Bolton and remove the dagger from his back. He'd sent ravens to the Eyrie, he meant to wed the Lady Lysa Arryn and win the Vale. He'd bought a ton of silver to forge magic swords that would slay the Stark wargs. He was writing Lady Stark to make a peace, the Kingslayer would soon be freed.

Though ravens came and went every day, Lord Tywin himself spent most of his days behind closed doors with his war council. Arya caught glimpses of him, but always from afar—once walking the walls in the company of three maesters and the fat captive with the bushy mustache, once riding out with his lords bannermen to visit the encampments, but most often standing in an arch of the covered gallery watching men at practice in the yard below. He stood with his hands locked together on the gold pommel of his longsword. They said Lord Tywin loved gold most of all; he even shit gold, she heard one squire jest. The Lannister lord was strong-looking for an old man, with stiff golden whiskers and a bald head. There was something in his face that reminded Arya of her own father, even though they looked nothing alike. He has a lord's face, that's all, she told herself. She remembered hearing her lady mother tell Father to put on his lord's face and go deal with some matter. Father had laughed at that. She could not imagine Lord Tywin ever laughing at anything.

One afternoon, while she was waiting her turn to draw a pail of water from the well, she heard the hinges of the east gate groaning. A party of men rode under the portcullis at a walk. When she spied the manticore crawling across the shield of their leader, a stab of hate shot through her.

In the light of day, Ser Amory Lorch looked less frightening than he had by torchlight, but he still had the pig's eyes she recalled. One of the women said that his men had ridden all the way around the lake chasing Beric Dondarrion and slaying rebels. We weren't rebels, Arya thought. We were the Night's Watch; the Night's Watch takes no side. Ser Amory had fewer men than she remembered, though, and many wounded. I hope their wounds fester. I hope they all die.

Then she saw the three near the end of the column.

Rorge had donned a black halfhelm with a broad iron nasal that made it hard to see that he did not have a nose. Biter rode ponderously beside him on a destrier that looked ready to collapse under his weight. Half-healed burns covered his body, making him even more hideous than before.

But Jaqen H'ghar still smiled. His garb was still ragged and filthy, but he had found time to wash and brush his hair. It streamed down across his shoulders, red and white and shiny, and Arya heard the girls giggling to each other in admiration.

I should have let the fire have them. Gendry said to, I should have listened. If she hadn't thrown them that axe they'd all be dead. For a moment she was afraid, but they rode past her without a flicker of interest. Only Jaqen H'ghar so much as glanced in her direction, and his eyes passed right over her. He does not know me, she thought. Arry was a fierce little boy with a sword, and I'm just a grey mouse girl with a pail.

She spent the rest of that day scrubbing steps inside the Wailing Tower. By evenfall her hands were raw and bleeding and her arms so sore they trembled when she lugged the pail back to the cellar. Too tired even for food, Arya begged Weese's pardons and crawled into her straw to sleep. "Weese," she yawned. "Dunsen, Chiswyck, Polliver, Raff the Sweetling. The Tickler and the Hound. Ser Gregor, Ser Amory, Ser Ilyn, Ser Meryn, King Joffrey, Queen Cersei." She thought she might add three more names to her prayer, but she was too tired to decide tonight.

Arya was dreaming of wolves running wild through the wood when a strong hand clamped down over her mouth like smooth warm stone, solid and unyielding. She woke at once, squirming and struggling. "A girl says nothing," a voice whispered close behind her ear. "A girl keeps her lips closed, no one hears, and friends may talk in secret. Yes?"

Heart pounding, Arya managed the tiniest of nods.

Jaqen H'ghar took his hand away. The cellar was black as pitch and she could not see his face, even inches away. She could smell him, though; his skin smelled clean and soapy, and he had scented his hair. "A boy becomes a girl," he murmured.

"I was always a girl. I didn't think you saw me."

"A man sees. A man knows."

She remembered that she hated him. "You scared me. You're one of them now, I should have let you burn. What are you doing here? Go away or I'll yell for Weese."

"A man pays his debts. A man owes three."

"Three?"

"The Red God has his due, sweet girl, and only death may pay for life. This girl took three that were his. This girl must give three in their places. Speak the names, and a man will do the rest."

He wants to help me, Arya realized with a rush of hope that made her dizzy. "Take me to Riverrun, it's not far, if we stole some horses we could—"

He laid a finger on her lips. "Three lives you shall have of me. No more, no less. Three and we are done. So a girl must ponder." He kissed her hair softly. "But not too long."

By the time Arya lit her stub of a candle, only a faint smell remained of him, a whiff of ginger and cloves lingering in the air. The woman in the next niche rolled over on her straw and complained of the light, so Arya blew it out. When she closed her eyes, she saw faces swimming before her. Joffrey and his mother, Ilyn Payne and Meryn Trant and Sandor Clegane . . . but they were in King's Landing hundreds of miles away, and Ser Gregor had lingered only a few nights before departing again for more foraging, taking Raff and Chiswyck and the Tickler with him. Ser Amory Lorch was here, though, and she hated him almost as much. Didn't she? She wasn't certain. And there was always Weese.

She thought of him again the next morning, when lack of sleep made her yawn. "Weasel," Weese purred, "next time I see that mouth droop open, I'll pull out your tongue and feed it to my bitch." He twisted her ear between his fingers to make certain she'd heard, and told her to get back to those steps, he wanted them clean down to the third landing by nightfall.

As she worked, Arya thought about the people she wanted dead. She pretended she could see their faces on the steps, and scrubbed harder to wipe them away. The Starks were at war with the Lannisters and she was a Stark, so she should kill as many Lannisters as she could, that was what you did in wars. But she didn't think she should trust Jaqen. I should kill them myself. Whenever her father had condemned a man to death, he did the deed himself with Ice, his greatsword. "If you would take a man's life, you owe it to him to look him in the face and hear his last words," she'd heard him tell Robb and Jon once.

The next day she avoided Jaqen H'ghar, and the day after that. It was not hard. She was very small and Harrenhal was very large, full of places where a mouse could hide.

And then Ser Gregor returned, earlier than expected, driving a herd of goats this time in place of a herd of prisoners. She heard he'd lost four men in one of Lord Beric's night raids, but those Arya hated returned unscathed and took up residence on the second floor of the Wailing Tower. Weese saw that they were well supplied with drink. "They always have a good thirst, that lot," he grumbled. "Weasel, go up and ask if they've got any clothes that need mending, I'll have the women see to it."

Arya ran up her well-scrubbed steps. No one paid her any mind when she entered. Chiswyck was seated by the fire with a horn of ale to hand, telling one of his funny stories. She dared not interrupt, unless she wanted a bloody lip.

"After the Hand's tourney, it were, before the war come," Chiswyck was saying. "We were on our ways back west, seven of us with Ser Gregor. Raff was with me, and young Joss Stilwood, he'd squired for Ser in the lists. Well, we come on this pisswater river, running high on account there'd been rains. No way to ford, but there's an alehouse near, so there we repair. Ser rousts the brewer and tells him to keep our horns full till the waters fall, and you should see the man's pig eyes shine at the sight o' silver. So he's fetching us ale, him and his daughter, and poor thin stuff it is, no more'n brown piss, which don't make me any happier, nor Ser neither. And all the time this brewer's saying how glad he is to have us, custom being slow on account o' them rains. The fool won't shut his yap, not him, though Ser is saying not a word, just brooding on the Knight o' Pansies and that bugger's trick he played. You can see how tight his mouth sits, so me and the other lads we know better'n to say a squeak to him, but this brewer he's got to talk, he even asks how m'lord fared in the jousting. Ser just gave him this look." Chiswyck cackled, quaffed his ale, and wiped the foam away with the back of his hand. "Meanwhile, this daughter of his has been fetching and pouring, a fat little thing, eighteen or so—"

"Thirteen, more like," Raff the Sweetling drawled.

"Well, be that as it may, she's not much to look at, but Eggon's been drinking and gets to touching her, and might be I did a little touching meself, and Raff's telling young Stilwood that he ought t' drag the girl upstairs and make hisself a man, giving the lad courage as it were. Finally Joss reaches up under her skirt, and she shrieks and drops her flagon and goes running off to the kitchen. Well, it would have ended right there, only what does the old fool do but he goes to Ser and asks him to make us leave the girl alone, him being an anointed knight and all such.

"Ser Gregor, he wasn't paying no mind to none of our fun, but now he looks, you know how he does, and he commands that the girl be brought before him. Now the old man has to drag her out of the kitchen, and no one to blame but hisself. Ser looks her over and says, ‘So this is the whore you're so concerned for' and this besotted old fool says, ‘My Layna's no whore, ser' right to Gregor's face. Ser, he never blinks, just says, ‘She is now' tosses the old man another silver, rips the dress off the wench, and takes her right there on the table in front of her da, her flopping and wiggling like a rabbit and making these noises. The look on the old man's face, I laughed so hard ale was coming out me nose. Then this boy hears the noise, the son I figure, and comes rushing up from the cellar, so Raff has to stick a dirk in his belly. By then Ser's done, so he goes back to his drinking and we all have a turn. Tobbot, you know how he is, he flops her over and goes in the back way. The girl was done fighting by the time I had her, maybe she'd decided she liked it after all, though to tell the truth I wouldn't have minded a little wiggling. And now here's the best bit . . . when it's all done, Ser tells the old man that he wants his change. The girl wasn't worth a silver, he says . . . and damned if that old man didn't fetch a fistful of coppers, beg m'lord's pardon, and thank him for the custom!"

The men all roared, none louder than Chiswyck himself, who laughed so hard at his own story that snot dribbled from his nose down into his scraggy grey beard. Arya stood in the shadows of the stairwell and watched him. She crept back down to the cellars without saying a word. When Weese found that she hadn't asked about the clothes, he yanked down her breeches and caned her until blood ran down her thighs, but Arya closed her eyes and thought of all the sayings Syrio had taught her, so she scarcely felt it.

Two nights later, he sent her to the Barracks Hall to serve at table. She was carrying a flagon of wine and pouring when she glimpsed Jaqen H'ghar at his trencher across the aisle. Chewing her lip, Arya glanced around warily to make certain Weese was not in sight. Fear cuts deeper than swords, she told herself.

She took a step, and another, and with each she felt less a mouse. She worked her way down the bench, filling wine cups. Rorge sat to Jaqen's right, deep drunk, but he took no note of her. Arya leaned close and whispered, "Chiswyck," right in Jaqen's ear. The Lorathi gave no sign that he had heard.

When her flagon was empty, Arya hurried down to the cellars to refill it from the cask, and quickly returned to her pouring. No one had died of thirst while she was gone, nor even noted her brief absence.

Nothing happened the next day, nor the day after, but on the third day Arya went to the kitchens with Weese to fetch their dinner. "One of the Mountain's men fell off a wallwalk last night and broke his fool neck," she heard Weese tell a cook.

"Drunk?" the woman asked.

"No more'n usual. Some are saying it was Harren's ghost flung him down." He snorted to show what he thought of such notions.

It wasn't Harren, Arya wanted to say, it was me. She had killed Chiswyck with a whisper, and she would kill two more before she was through. I'm the ghost in Harrenhal, she thought. And that night, there was one less name to hate.