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dailylogyn · 4 years ago

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Logyn Meta: Loki & Sigyn’s relationship in the Marvel Comics

Photo Source (by Sexy-Salmon): https://lokisergi.tumblr.com/post/70164902295/siege-loki-problems-it-almost-looks-innocent

Other Logyn Meta’s: https://dailylogyn.tumblr.com/tagged/logyn-meta

Did you know Sigyn was in the Marvel Comics long ago? Did you know Loki had a wife?

Oh...that’s probably because Marvel wanted you to forget their terrible writing mistakes concerning this great Norse Couple.

Let’s dive into this exploration of history where the Marvel writers realized they fucked up on telling a perfectly good couples story, and in the process, setting off a spark of rebellion that caused some retconning and a group of fans to demand justice for both Loki & Sigyn -- not just as a couple, but as their own individual beings.

#JusticeforSigyn #JusticeforLoki #JusticeforLogyn

Where it First Began (Meeting & Marriage of Lies):

In September of 1978, Thor #275 came out featuring the first appearance of Sigyn, Loki’s wife from Norse Mythology. She was introduced as a beautiful Asgardian Loki had randomly come across while looking into a crystal ball inside his castle, wanting to find some companionship to fill his loneliness.

However, when Loki came with riches and jewels to offer her in exchange for her hand in marriage, Sigyn outright rejected him, stating she would never take someone as vile as him, even stating she was already engaged to an Asgardian Warrior part of Odin’s guard -- Theoric.

Unable to accept this, Loki came up with a plan to have her fiancee killed during a mission, resulting in the Trickster taking on the disguise of Theoric in order to take Sigyn for his own. Despite having slightly suspicions of her lover being more romantic than before, Sigyn didn't notice that her lover wasn’t exactly who she thought he was.

Now comes the day of the wedding as Odin marries the happy couple. This was when Loki finally revealed his true self and what he had done. Odin tried to null the marriage, but it was against Asgardian law for even the High Father to do such a thing. Hence, Sigyn accepted her fate as Loki’s wife. This caused Odin to name her the Goddess of Fidelity.

Where it’s Heading (Cargo of Incantation-Fetter’s Arms):

Loki being Loki, he did some shit that ended up with him being imprisoned in a tree by Odin, something that infuriated Sigyn, resulting in her trying to take control over Donald Blake to use over the All-Father as a way to free her husband from his punishment. However, it didn’t work out, resulting in a bunch of other crazy shit happening and putting Thor on their trail.

After Balder was killed, Loki was put on trials for his crimes and received yet another punishment that Sigyn had to protect him from -- having burden over the fact she was “the evil’s wife.” Just like the classic Norse tale, she holds a bowl over his head, shielding him from snake venom and leaving to empty it momentarily when it became full, resulting in Loki cursing her.

Also, Loki and Sigyn had a child -- Narvi, but they died young, being used as the binding to imprison Loki (following the Norse myth too.)

Some more crazy shit happens and now Odin has shackled Loki to Sigyn so he doesn’t cause anymore trouble. Loki of course is not pleased about this one bit. Having had enough of this, he went to Odin demanding to be released, only resulting in him being banished to an outpost.

There Just Might be Hope????:

Some more shit happens again, resulting in Loki being stuck in an astral form and bound to a suit of armor so he could reside in Asgard thanks to Sigyn. A fight happens with Thor, Loki and Mephisto, putting Sigyn in danger. This is when for the first time ever, Loki ends up having a tender confession of love over Sigyn, asking Thor to save her since he could not.

It’s unknown if this is just Loki putting on an act or being real, but you know how the Trickster God can be.

After the battle, while Loki had released Sigyn from her marital vows, his wife swore to always be there for him when he needed her.

And that’s the last we see of Sigyn’s regular appearance in the comics in 1996. She makes a cameo in Avengers: Unleashed #1 in 2019, but it’s nothing more than a flashback to her time of helping Loki.

A Hypothesis & Notes on their relationship in comics:

The whole entire plotline consisting of Theoric and Loki killing him in order to obtain Sigyn is just something most of the fandom doesn’t like. Not only does it objectify Sigyn, but it makes Theoric a Pointless character to introduce anyway, only used as a tool for means in which Loki can get Sigyn, when honestly, he could have done so in a different way.

I like that they stick with Sigyn being the faithful wife of Loki (that’s who she is), but they honestly don’t give her any agency in this besides that trait alone. The writers don’t even let Sigyn be her own damn person! She is SO MUCH MORE than Loki’s loyal wife. SHE IS A FREAKIN GODDESS! I know there is more we can do with her.

Instead of pulling the ‘woe is me, my husband is evil and I’ll just go along with it’ card, something else could have been done. LIKE LITERALLY, ANYTHING ELSE! We know Loki can be a troublemaker, but Sigyn knows how to deal with his shit. She isn’t some damsel in distress here! It’s another reason Loki likes her.

Couples can bicker in times, it’s normal in marriages and relationships, but to have Loki whining about how much of a burden Sigyn is is just....WHY? I mean, you went after the woman and killed another guy for her. This is what you wanted! *shakes head at writers*

I will give them kudos though for some of the stuff near the end when Loki actually starts displaying his true feelings of love towards Sigyn. And sadly we only got a little taste of that...and we aren’t even sure if it was an act or Loki being real.

THE FACT THAT SIGYN ISN’T EVEN IN THE COMICS ANYMORE SINCE 1996. She’s only mentioned, but it’s just as a tale, not as an actual person who USED to be his wife. They literally killed her off. EXCUSE ME! #JusticeforSigyn (We’re still waiting for her in the MCU...)

NORSE MYTHOLOGY TIE-INS:

There were some moments in the comics between them that they writers took from Norse Mythology with them. Thought It’d be important to list.

Loki’s Punishment of snake venom dripping onto him while Sigyn holds a bowl to collect it and shield him.

Narvi being Loki & Sigyn’s son who was killed and his insides used to bind Loki for his punishment.

Sigyn being Loki’s wife.

DIFFERENT WRITERS, DIFFERENT CHARACTERIZATION:

As is the case with everything out there, if you have different writers working on the same project, there is bound to be a difference of characterization and interpretation, resulting in OOC moments or just something completely different altogether. After researching and pondering on this subject, I FULLY believe this is what has happened with Loki & Sigyn’s relationship in the comics. Let’s take a look at the evidence I’ve found:

For the comics Sigyn’s creators were Roy Thomas, John Buscema and Tom Palmer.

Loki’s creators for the comics were Stan Lee, Larry Lieber, Jack Kirby, Violet Barclay, and honestly, many others.

My favorite quotes on them from the comics:

Wait? Despite the crappy writing, I actually have quotes I like from the comics? GASP! I call these the only positives from the comics of their relationship.

“My Sigyn-- the love of my immortal life...” — Loki, Thor Annual Vol 1 #19

“Aye-- For only Sigyn, of all in the realm eternal, feels love for Loki. And among all Asgardians, only for Sigyn does Loki feel...” — Loki, Thor Annual #19

“Sigyn loves me-- just as she is the only thing in the nine worlds that I truly love.”— Loki, Thor #483

Photo Source: https://www.zerochan.net/1262293#full

Fandoms Wish for MCU & Future Appearance Justice:

Fans would like to see Sigyn make an appearance, not only in the MCU (Marvel Cinematic Universe), but also the Marvel Comics once again. They would like to see Loki & Sigyn’s characters done justice with proper writing, especially regarding their relationship with each other.

This is why there is plenty of fans out there writing Fanfiction, making Fanart, Roleplaying and even Cosplaying them, giving their interpretation’s of what their relationship would be like. This is THE VERY REASON this blog and @sigynappreciation was created to help spread awareness and unite fans who feel the same way.

These characters are very near and dear to our hearts. Some of us even worship them in our religions. We would like to see their relationship grow and portrayed in a way that helps fill the pieces of the missing puzzle to how they came to be in Norse Mythology.

CONCLUSION:

Although their relationship in the comics usually leaves fans grimacing, at least we got to have it explored. Who knows if Marvel will ever touch anything with them ever again, but at least it’s brought together a small community that continues to go strong -- and honestly, that kind of unity is what Loki & Sigyn would want.

So imagine to your hearts content! Draw that fanart! Write those fanfictions! Dress up in that cosplay! Be those characters! But just remember, you have a family here to love and support you.

SOURCES:

Sigyn’s info on Marvel Database: https://marvel.fandom.com/wiki/Sigyn_(Earth-616)

Loki’s info on Marvel Database: https://marvel.fandom.com/wiki/Loki_Laufeyson_(Earth-616)

Sigyn on Marvel Universe: http://www.marvunapp.com/Appendix/sigynthor.htm

Logyn on the Shipping Wiki: https://shipping.fandom.com/wiki/Logyn

Loki & Sigyn’s relationship through Media: https://www.alehorn.com/blogs/blog/norse-mythology-loki-and-sigyn

#logyn #loki x sigyn #loki and sigyn #Marvel Comics #Loki Laufeyson #sigyn #logyn meta #Constancy & Chaos (Logyn)#justiceforsigyn #justiceforlogyn #justiceforloki

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stormobsessed · 4 years ago

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Avatar: The Last Bondsmith

So, I had made THIS POST about a Zuko Windrunner and his Spren Iroh, and there were a lot of comments about other radiant orders for the other characters, and a strong argument for Zuko not actually being a windrunner because his arc was less about protecting people and more about facing hard truths. That may be Lightweaver, but Lightweaver is personal truths, and Zuko doesn’t have a lot of personal lies, but is entrenched in the lies of his nation. I feel like fixing that is very Truthwatcher.

Then… this happened, I hope you enjoy.

The Fire Nation was full of Lightweavers. It was a court of secrets, of hidden faces, of lies. Men and women and children claimed loyalty when they felt fear, claimed morality as they killed innocent, stayed silent when they wanted to speak, and were practiced at confessing to only their spen rather than risking the words aloud. As time wore and generations changed, it came to pass that nearly every radiant in the Nation was accompanied by a cryptid, one corrupted Sja-anat and blessed by Odium to accept voidlight. The Fire Lord claimed that was good, for the Lightweavers were clearly the strongest order of radiants, with powers and abilities that overshadowed all others. He proclaimed across their country that it was this that showed that they alone deserved to rule.

The Cryptids loved this lie.

Was it a lie though? After all, they killed Honor and every one of his windrunners when Odium sent a comet leaking voidlight through the sky.

Odium loved the passion and anger of the Fire nation as they utilized it and stormlight to begin razing the rest of the world to the ground, the cryptids cared not for honorable or right, only true. Sometimes the truth was cruel and ugly.

Firelord Ozai was not shamed by truths other men dared not speak. He fully confessed to himself that he was cruel, a monster, that his campaign was about personal growth rather than the love of his nation. He held those truths so clearly, that his power was great. Great enough that when he touched his son’s face in a duel and felt dry, flaking skin, he said ‘you are fire’ and it did not disobey.

Not even when the child screamed.

The son was failing, only sworn to the first ideal, if any. Ozai had never seen his son’s spren, in fact if any had it would have been his traitorous, Stoneward mother with her weak oaths of being there for others. She’d broken her oaths though. She was not here for her children. In assassinating Azulon and fleeing she’d saved her son, but killed her spen.

The boy was weak. He was too hot headed, too honest. He wore his heart on his sleeve and said every word that he thought. Sometimes Ozai doubted that he had Truth to speak at all. He was completely unlike his sister, a prodigy who could weave illusion nearly as soon as she could walk. She soulcast before the age of five. She was the most skilled Lightweaver to be born in decades.

She had to be. She couldn’t reveal that she could not say the last truth, could not make herself try to accept it, even if the ghostly lightweaving vision of her mother that visited every night said it without fail. She couldn’t accept it. After all, if she was a monster without even the love of her mother, then surely no one could blame her for the atrocities she commited, it was simply in her nature. It was why she could smile at the duel, why she could laugh as her brother was sent on an impossible quest, why she could focus on how much closer that made her to the throne.

Odium liked that, the passion of her people, the passion of her family, her passion.

Zuko had passion as well, but it was not a kind that Oduim enjoyed.

So Zuko was banished, for an impassioned speech to save men Odium considered no better than discarded toys. An impassioned plea for a useless passion.

Zuko was almost relieved, for it gave him the opportunity to hide that his spren was not a cryptid at all. His mistspren, Iroh, spoke in a light accent that almost always had a proverb or a chuckle, and the few times Zuko risked looking into shadesmar, he found a rotund, smiling old man. Upon materializing in the material world, one of the first things he did was hear someone offer a cup of tea to a man who was distraught, and had latched onto that. Zuko could barely say a word without the kindly spren suggesting a tea break.

Zuko feared the day that he would be material enough to actually carry the tea leaves to a cup.

But Zuko… couldn’t say the ideals. He didn’t know what they would mean. Not at first. It wasn’t until he left a stonewards home in the Earth Kingdom, after days of hearing nothing but hate and fear towards his people, that he felt the words at his lips.

“I will seek the truth, even when it is painful to me.”

“Well done, Prince Zuko.” Iroh had said. “Now, how about some tea.”

“We’re in the middle of the dessert.”

“So?”

“There’s no tea anywhere within a hundred miles of here!”

“Well, all you need for tea is leaves, yes? I will find pre-tea.”

“No, it’s not any leaves! You can’t just-”

But Zuko almost feared that oath, for what did it mean for his mission that would restore him to his home? He was more powerful now, but would that be enough to capture the Bondsmith that he had been chasing for months?

The bondsmiths were rare, after all, only three spren could form a bondsmith pack, and two had been damaged so dearly that they were as dead as a Spren of their nature could be for nearly a century. There was only one spren whose identity had been unknown, the spren created by the slain honor, the Avatar.

A century past, when all manner of radiants were formed in all manner of locations, Windrunners found themselves drawn to one another, taking shelter in mountain top homes across the world where they could immediately be sent out to help others. For warriors, they were a peaceful people who desired not to fight, but to protect. Though honor spren bonded men and women of every people back then, nearly every member of the Air Nomads was a windrunner, as the men and women lived and taught their ideals.

Aang was young when he bonded his spren, not the youngest but still young. The Windrunners wondered why they never saw the boy’s spren after he swore the first ideal, but reasoned that while honor spren were not often shy, each had their own distinct personalities and a timid spren could only help the foolhardy boy. They questioned why he did not use the gravitational lashing, though relaxed when he was able to use the surge of adhesionc Different people excelled at different elements of surge binding after all.

However, Aang was seeing a world that was starting to crack under the pre-war tensions. He saw merchants refusing trades with other nations, sneers and insults and hate. When his two closest friends, Bumi and Kuzon, both confessed that their parents forbade them from playing together, he couldn’t take it. He hated to see the balanced world tearing itself apart and uttered the words with a yell “I will unite instead of divide!”

He was the youngest bondsmith to ever bond a spren, but the Avatar, a spren element of honor who upheld balance and unity, was sure of its choice oice. However, ironically the bond did nothing but divide him from others his age. It drove a chasm between him and his playmates, as they recognized his unique and great power. When the elders spoke, and threatened to separate the boy of unity from the only family he’d ever known he’d panicked and fled, ending up in a storm and utilizing his powers to create a protective shell around himself and his pet, his ever-renewing stormlight keeping him alive as his body froze.

As a hundred years passed the world changed. Spren were killed, oaths were broken, and radiants were captured and tortured, until in some places, such as the Southern Water Tribe, no radiants bonded at all. None except for one girl, Katara, the daughter of a chief who saw a decimated people barely able to survive and vowed not to forget them. Who saw their pleas for help being ignored and promised to listen to those without a voice. The edgedancer glided through the stiffest snow like it was clear ice and scaled glaciers like the handholds formed at her whim. She healed the sick and wounded as her brother, Sokka, a non-radiant protected and bore the tribe’s last, hidden shardblade.

Their father had entrusted the shardblade to him before disappearing to fight in the war, knowing that the benefit to having the blade would be outweighed by the enemies that would seek it, and the allies that were willing to become enemies to obtain it. The blade was large, a straight line of sheer unworldly black. If one were to peak into shadesmar, they would find a peakspren with skin of dark stone following the blade. If they looked closely, they might see the spren tilt its head when the boy lovingly talked to his weapon.

In this changed world there is also a willshaper. A young girl in a gilded cage who longs to be free and wishes that others have that same option. A girl whose parents immediately, upon seeing cloudy eyes, traveled to the Nightwatcher in search of their boon and curse. Perhaps they hadn’t been clear enough, for they asked that their daughter could see the world, but her eyes did not grow clear. However, as the child began to walk upon stone itself, discarding fancy shoes and plush carpets, she found that with each step she could feel and hear the ground beneath her feet. The stone would tell her where she was, what was near, and what those around her were doing. She found a vision far beyond mere sight of the eyes, a vision constantly being renewed by light leeched from the stones themselves, just enough to keep this one power constant. This was the boon of the Nighwatcher. What was the curse? None can say. Perhaps it was that the girls parents would never truly understand the gift of the boon. Perhaps it was that the girl would never feel happy in the left they wished to foist upon her. Perhaps it was something else entirely. It didn’t matter, for when the Bondsmith, the Edgedancer, and the Shardbearer came, she could no more stay with her parents than she could break her oaths. She was taking the chance to be free.

There were others in this world as well. There was a warrior in a green dress and war makeup, who had bonded no spren but enjoyed watching the windspren dance around her fans. The Honor spren were said to all have died in the genocide but… she couldn’t help but hope as she protected her people, then left to protect others that needed her.

There was a princess with white hair, with startling insights into the truth of the spirit world and who would one day use her stormlight to use regrowth on a spirit, condemning herself to death on wounds she didn’t have light enough to heal.

There was an elderly inventor, an elsecaller who had used transportation to bring himself and his crippled son to a safe place where he could work on creating fabrials to stop the war. Though, when he was discovered by the Fire Nation his work did nothing but perpetuate it.

There was a teen of messy hair, whose spen formed dual blades. He was a skybreaker, bound to the ideal that the Fire Nation was evil, that their very presence in the world was a wrong that needed to be corrected. He lashed himself into trees and created a home for children, teaching them his ways and bonds.

There was a girl of the Fire Nation, who was so often mistaken for her own many siblings that she was determined never to forget anyone else. She danced on the world, walking wires like it would be impossible that she should fall, gliding when others walked.

Her friend, a willshaper who had been trapped by chains of propriety and expectation, who spoke to the ground to form weapons of peerless balance, who would appear without warning, and whose enemies often went down before knowing they were in danger.

Zuko sought the Avatar’s Bondsmith, facing foe after foe as he travelled the world. He could find no edgedancer or truthwatcher who could heal the scar that marked him traitor, that marked him an honorless traitor. His surges were weak with the second oath, and Iroh could not form a blade until the next was spoken, leaving him with simple steel.

In fact, it wasn’t until he had achieved his purpose, the Avatar-Bondsmith supposedly dead through the bold of ribbon that Azula had soulcast into lightening, that he was able to profess the next ideal. Name restored, sitting at the right hand of his father, he realized that there was no truth in the Fire Nation. He realized that everything he had learned his whole life were beautiful lies. He knew the truth now, and Iron sat at his shoulder with a weakening voice, imploring him not to break his oath.

It was only then that he knew what words were pushing at his mouth, as he whispered to himself, broken, “I will see the truth declared, in spite of those who would try to hide it.”

When he stood, Iroh was a set of Dual Doas in his hand, and he marched to confront his father on the day that Odium’s Voidlight would be eclipsed.

#avatar the last airbender #The Stormlight Archive #knights radiant #Surgebinding #More like Surgebending #Zuko #Azula #Iroh #Ozai #Aang #Katara #Sokka #Toph #Suki #Yue #JET #Tai Lee #Mai

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rebelbyrdie · 4 years ago

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Swan Queen Fic: The Looking Glass (1 of 3)

This is a story that I’ve had in my head for years. I have no time to fully flesh it out. I still think I would like to share it though. I lovingly call this bullshit writing because I do it between major projects to keep my brain going but it usually doesn’t amount to much.

So this is a combination of several concepts, inspirations and tropes. It is Parallel Universe time! This is pretty raw writing. No editing. No beta.

The Looking Glass (Part 1 of 3)

Once Upon a Time, an Evil Queen was prepared to cast the darkest curse ever created. She had the spell in her hands and revenge in her heart. All magic comes with a price, though. For this queen and this curse, the price was too high. She could not cast her curse. She was not the only one who had desired the curse, though. The Dark One became enraged at her decision and betrayed his former apprentice to her greatest enemies.

“Regina.” Snow White stared at the chained and bound woman. “Your father and others-” Her eyes narrowed as she spoke, as if she hated even thinking about the people she spoke about. “-have begged for mercy on your behalf.”

Regina, disgraced queen and sorceress, was gagged but she held her head high, her shoulders were squared and her eyes were hot and angry. She met Snow’s eyes without flinching, daring her to do her worst. Gag or not, she would never beg.

“I will show you exactly the same amount of mercy that you showed my father and my people.” Snow White steepled her fingers under her chin. “Which is none.”

“Your Majesty, please!” Lord Henry, a rotund and care-worn man, tried to pull away from the knights that held him in place. “We will go home, never to return. As royalty banishment is the traditional penalty for-”

“Silence!” Snow White cut him off. Her words were ice cold and her mouth was set in a hard line. “Your groveling is pointless. My decision has been made.” She looked around the throne room, at the gathered crowd. “The Evil Queen’s punishment is not to die.”

Henry breathed out a sigh of relief and tried to reach for his daughter.

“Regina’s punishment is far worse then death. She shall live, forever-”

Regina’s head jerked back and her dark eyes went wide.

“-in the Eternal Tower.”

Henry went white. “No. Your Majesty, no!”

Snow smiled. It was wide, bright and predatory. “Take her to the mirror.”

The four knights who held Regina’s chains pulled her away. She didn’t fight them or shed a tear. She walked tall and proud, to her inescapable fate.

The Eternal Tower was a magical place, a magical spire from a dead kingdom. There were no doors and the single window had been bricked up. The only way in or out was via a magic mirror. She was dragged to the highest room of the castles tallest tower where that mirror waited for her.

The Dark One waited at the mirror, a smile on his glittering face.

“Hello Dearie.” He smirked. “So nice to see you again.”

Rumplestiltskin waved his hand over the mirror’s shining surface and it rippled like a quicksilver pool.

“The Eternal Tower is magical. While you are there you will not hunger, thirst or require sleep. It’s magics are ancient, arcane and far more powerful than yours. You won’t be able to cast the smallest spell there. You will be alone.”

He leaned closer and his smile widened grotesquely. It twisted his face and made him appear more monstrous than ever. “Forever.”

The knights unshackled her hands, feet and waist and pushed her into the mirror, hard. She fell through the portal and onto the hard stone floor of the Eternal Tower. She scrambled to her feet and ripped the gag out of her mouth. Regina glared at the Dark One.

“I’ll destroy you for this, Imp.”

“Shut up!” One of the armored men hit the mirror with his fist. “Or we’ll cover the damn mirror.” He held up a heavy damask clothe. The mirror, or more accurately the window that it was pointed at, was the only source of light in her prison. If the mirror was covered she would be cast into permanent darkness.

Regina stepped back from the mirror and looked around her new abode. She ignored the men as they left the room on the other side of the mirror and when she was alone, she finally screamed.

***

In a world with no Dark Curse, Princess Emma grew up in a glorious castle with two loving parents and was beloved by the kingdom. She was fair, intelligent and could wield true love magic. She grew in grace, strength and beauty every day.

The morning of her twentieth birthday dawned bright and early. Emma was already out of bed and sneaking out the window long before the servants awoke. She made her way across the castle’s roof and swung into the narrow window of a lesser used corridor.

She was sick and tired of being a princess. She hated the politics, etiquette and endless expectations. She wasn’t what her mother wanted her to be. She never would be. Her mother, Queen Snow, wanted a perfect princess. Emma was anything but. She was more comfortable in breeches and on horseback then she was in a dress and on the throne.

Not to mention the Balls. She hated the over-the-top Balls. She would be shown off like a horse at an auction for princes and kings to gawk at. Her parents had married for True Love. She had to marry to fill up the kingdom’s coffers.

She wandered the North wing’s long and empty corridors and started climbing a steep and narrow set of stairs. She didn’t recognize the tower, but the early morning light and shadows might be playing tricks on her. After what seemed like a million steps, Emma found herself at a door that she didn’t recognize.

“Unusual.” She muttered to herself. Even more unusual was that the door was locked with three huge iron padlocks.

Now Emma had to know what was behind the door. She leaned out the landing’s single window and smirked. There was another window less than three feet away, on the other side of the door. It was all to easy to pop out one window and into another, especially since her magic would protect her from any fall.

The room on the other side of the door was small and empty except for a tall gilded mirror.

“Lame.”

She was about to leave when something caught her eye. She did not see her reflection in the glass. She saw someone else. Somewhere else.

“What the hell?”

She walked closer to the glass.

“Who are you?”

The woman on the other side of the mirror jumped. She twisted around, away from her loom and stared right at Emma. Her dark eyes were wide and her lush mouth, accented by a scar, dropped open.

“Wh-” Her voice was raspy, like a door hinge that had rusted shut a long time ago finally moving again. “Who are you?”

***

“So it is Midwinter.” Emma sat in front of the mirror with her legs folded over each other. She was comfortable on the floor, inches away from the glass.

Regina sat on her side with her knees drawn to her chest. She was braiding her long dark hair with fast and agile fingers. She loved listening to Emma. Not just because she was the only voice she’d heard in years either. The blonde was smart, funny, irreverent and she made Regina smile. She didn’t judge her as the Evil Queen or a prisoner. They were friends.

“And there is about four feet of snow on the ground.

“You should be wearing a cloak. That tower room must be freezing.” Regina was always worried about her. Emma was careless with her own safety, so bold and brazen. Too caught up in the moment to think ahead.

“I’m fine. I want to see your progress!”

Regina smiled and shook her head, amused. “Of course.” She stood and turned her mirror around a bit so Emma could see her loom.

The loom had been one of the only things in her prison. It was left over from the tower’s last resident. She had never learned how to weave as a child, as it had not been something that a queen needed to know. Since she’d had nothing but time, she had taught herself. It had been the one thing that kept her from going mad.

She spent endless hours weaving. She didn’t always know what the pattern was as she worked. The images often surprised her. Emma praised her work, and swore that it was the best she’d ever seen.

“I don’t know what it is yet. I’ve never seen anything like it. A town, I think. With a strange tower.”

She pulled the completed length up so Emma could see it.

“Wow! It is amazing! You’re amazing, Regina!”

No. Emma was the amazing one. Regina sat the almost-finished tapestry back to the side and went back to the mirror.

“If you could have anything for a Midwinter gift, what would it be?”

Regina raised a brow. Emma was already the best gift she’d ever received. She was sunshine personified. She reminded Regina of Daniel. When she was with Emma she could feel her long dead heart stir in her chest.

She didn’t dare say any of that, though. It was pointless, a fever dream. They could never be together, no matter how much she wanted to reach out and touch Emma. To hold her hand. To kiss her.

“An apple. My father planted a tree when I was born. I tended it for my entire life until-” She shook her head. “I want to taste an apple again.”

Emma nodded. “I want the tapestry you did last Spring. The one of the horses and sheep in the field. It reminds me of summer when I was a child. I like to think that the little girl and man are my father and me. Like you were standing right there painting a portrait.”

If she could give it to her, Regina would. She’d give anything and everything she wanted.

“Well, actually, that is just an excuse. To get the tapestry, I would have to meet you and that would be the real gift.”

Emma pressed her hand against the mirror. “I feel like you’re the only person that sees me.”

Regina pressed her hand to the mirror too and wished she could feel the heat of Emma’s palm against her own.

“You are the only person who sees me.”

Emma’s lips quirked into a small smile. “That makes me the luckiest woman in the world.”

Years past. Emma spent every minute she could with Regina. She ignored suitors and skipped out of Balls. She fought in tournaments, but never wore a token. She always fought for Regina, even if she couldn’t say so. When she was days away from turning twenty-five, everything changed.

Emma showed up for dinner, almost on time. There were various dignitaries in attendance tonight. She never paid attention to who. The faces changed but the boring political stuff always stayed the same. She sat down on her mother’s left, beside Red.

“And here is my daughter, Princess Emma.”

Snow’s voice sounded strained, angry. Emma knew that she had broken countless rules. She was late. She was wearing breeches. She had her sword on her belt. Her hair was tied in a sloppy braid. There was dust smeared on her shirt. Basically she was not fit for a royal dinner table.

“Your Highness.”

A guy, expensive clothes, an unfamiliar accent and gold circlet told Emma everything she needed to know. He was yet another prince trying to buy her hand in marriage. Great.

“I am Prince Killian of the Kingdom of-”

Emma drifted off, uninterested. She had heard it all before. He would go through his entire family history, and all his so-called achievements. Like all that was supposed to impress her.

She missed Regina. She would never bore her at dinner. She would also never try to buy her. Regina had been there and done that and it had destroyed her. She constantly worried about Emma being betrothed against her will.

It was hard to imagine Regina being here. Sitting as a Queen dealing with politics and stuff. Forced to sit and pretend she cared. Worse, forced to pretend to be happy as a forced-wife and faux-mother. Then again, compared to the tower, dinner didn’t seem so bad.

Red’s elbow dug into her ribs and Emma jerked her attention back to the Prince.

“Welcome, Prince Killian. I am pleased to meet you.”

She wasn’t.

“The pleasure is all mine. Our betrothal is a blessing on both us and our kingdoms.”

Wait. Emma’s head snapped to the side to look at her mother. What!

Snow nodded. “It is a wonderful match, dear. You will love Killian and live Happily Ever After.”

No.

Emma’s entire body burned fire hot and went ice cold simultaneously. She could feel screams coiling up in her chest. This could not happen.

“The wedding will be on your birthday. Isn’t that wonderful?”

Wonderful? Emma would rather die.

Red put a hand on her leg under the table. To comfort her? To hold her in place? To warn her to behave? Emma didn’t know. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Could barely think anything other than no.

She sat, silent, and somehow got through the dinner. Killian asked for a walk through the garden (escorted by their parents of course) but Emma declined. She was far too weary to walk. Her mother frowned but allowed it. Probably a reward for not flipping out at the table.

Emma ran right to Regina. She poured out her fears and wept her tears to the woman in the mirror. Regina pressed close to the glass. Her hands and cheek were flat against it.

“Don’t give in Emma.” Regina’s voice was sad and soft. It carried the weight of her past and experiences. Her regrets. Her love. “But don’t fight either. Run. Leave. Go. Leave Snow to her Empire. There are other kingdoms, other worlds. I’ve seen them. Weaved them into my tapestries. You can still have a life, happiness.”

Emma looked up and pressed her face against the mirror. “Not without you.” She smacked the glass between them. “How can I be happy without you?”

Regina touched the glass where Emma rested. She traced the lines of her cheeks and forehead. “You will be happy, My Love.” She smiled despite the tears sliding down her cheeks. “We are together, you know. In one of those other worlds, there is a you and a me that are happy and free together.”

“I would give anything to be with you.” Emma was crying now too. “Anything.”

Regina shook her head. “I would never curse you like this. To this tower.”

Emma sighed. “Sometimes I wish you had cast that damn curse. Anything, anywhere, has to be better then this.”

They lay on either side of their mirror, together but forever apart. They would have stayed that way all night. Forever if they could.

Emma jerked up. “Someones coming!” She could hear the heavy locks being turned. There was no time to escape. The tower’s door swung open, rusted hinges squeaked and groaned from years of neglect.

“Emma!” Snow White stood at the door. Rumplestiltskin stood at her right shoulder. Prince Killian at her left.

“Mom!”

Snow looked at the mirror. “Regina!”

Both Emma and Regina got to their feet.

“How could you do this?” Snow glared at the mirror. “When Rumplestiltskin told me I didn’t believe it. Couldn’t! You’ve corrupted my daughter! Right under my nose!”

Emma launched at her mother, fists swinging.

“Don’t you dare!”

Her father came in and grabbed Emma, held her back.

“She hasn’t corrupted me!” Emma jutted her chin out. “I love her! I will not marry him.” She pointed at Killian. “Or any man you sell me to. I love her!”

Snow looked from her daughter to the mirror.

The reflection showed Regina, The Evil Queen, on her knees.

“Please. Snow. Please. Don’t do this to her. It will destroy her. Don’t do to Emma what my mother did to me. Don’t make her marry. Let her love. You got your Charming. Let her find love.”

“You? You think this is your escape? Your great revenge? No! I won’t let you destroy Emma like you did my father and our kingdom.” She turned to one of the guards.

“Break it.”

Emma screamed and fought, she was too late, though. By the time she escaped her father’s grasp, the magic mirror lay shattered on the stone floor and Regina was cast into eternal darkness.

#fanfic #wip #swanqueen

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sastielsfandom · 5 years ago

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Imagine with me- rowena was always redeemed!rowena. And somehow she ended up with baby Sam- John leaving him somewhere, maybe she’s his actual mother, whatever. Raising Sam to be a very strong Witch. Their mother/son dynamic would be amazing. They have a run in with hunters (maybe dean, Jack, cas). Sorry that’s dumb, I just love witch Sam and the idea of Rowena being a good mom to him? *chefs kiss*.

I might have gotten a little carried away. Just a teeny tiny bit.

I can see John blaming Mary's death on Sam and him seeing Sam as nothing but evil so one day during a hunt he uses Sam as bait. Only he wasn't aware he was hunting Rowena who has been throwing him off and wasn't even aware he was hunting a witch. Rowena doesn't mind hunters, they're easy to avoid and she's met some that haven't tried to kill her, but this one who left a small little baby in hopes of baiting her? Oh, she loathes this hunter.

She takes the baby and decides she's going to raise this baby, what is the worst thing you can do to a hunter? Raise their offspring as something they would want to hunt, but it was also more than that. She wanted to make sure this baby was never left defenseless again.

Besides one week with the little wee lad and she found herself loving little Sam. She knew his name because the hunter had the nerve to act panicked and scream the babe's name for minutes when the lads crying stopped. He stopped hunting her and moved on with an evil pleased look on his face. She wanted to curse him but she saw another child in the car and she couldn't do it. She wanted to take him with her as well but she didn't have the chance.

The toddler years were spent mostly having fun, learning a few tricks here and there. She adored this small little babe, it became apparent to her quickly that she would always protect him as if he were her own. It was sealed in when Sam called her mommy.

When she decided he was old enough to learn real magic, she was amazed. Much to Rowena's surprise, Sam was incredibly gifted. Hardly messed up on a spell, was always reading, and making his own little spells. When Sam decoded one of her own spells she knew Sam would one day become even more powerful than she and she couldn't help but be a proud mother. It also worried her, she didn't want to fail to keep him on the right path knowing that it would be impossible to stop him if he ventured off of it. She had hope though, she could see this boy was special and goodhearted she would kill anyone who twisted that and turned him into his real father.

Sam didn't like the moving around, but Rowena was honest with him and explained that if they didn't move the consequences would be incredibly sour for them. While they're both powerful, it's best to not let the hunters know that, to avoid a wave of hunters looking for them.

Often times they had to move to a new town because of a hunter learning there was a healer in town and according to them, there had to be evil attached to it. When Sam learned that was the reasoning he wanted to stay and fight but Rowena shook her head and told him no. While they can stay and fight, it wouldn't do them any good. It was best to cut their losses and help someone else.

Rowena never told Sam that he was left as bait from a hunter, it would hurt the lad, and she didn't want him out there for revenge. Simply said his father was worse than the Devil and not another moment of their lives should think about him because he wasn't worth anything.

Sam was fine with the answer because Rowena was a wonderful mother, while they did have to move around quite often, she made sure he stayed for semesters and sometimes school years. She still cares about his education after all.

Plus, while magic was important to them both, it wasn't their entire life.

They took breaks, they sometimes just went to amusement parks, fairs, the beach if they felt like it. Sam Winchester got to be a kid and Rowena didn't punish him for it.

Rowena knew Sam was gifted beyond her magic, she could read something else in the lad. It wasn't active quite yet, but she tapped into it anyway. Demons. Beyond that, there was more, Sam's powers. The demon's contamination suppressed it and was fighting it. Rowena spent her free time learning how to free Sam from the contamination.

When she did, she taught Sam how to control it. It scared Sam for a while, what if he hurt his mom? What if he never could control it and disappointed her? Rowena was sure to tell him she was proud and reminded him she knew how to handle herself, he had nothing to worry about.

By his teens, he knew how to protect himself better than a hunter. He could control the magic he was taught by his mother and his natural powers in him as well. When Sam asked if Rowena was proud she told him of course, not because of any of that, they were amazing feats, but because she was proud of the young man he was becoming.

There was this sense in him though the somethings weren't human, sometimes he swore his friends looked different sometimes like he could see something evil underneath and could smell sulfur. When he brought it up to Rowena he was taught how to expel them with words, his magic, and her spells. The next time it happened black smoke came out and Sam banished them back to Hell. It happened a lot more as he got older.

Sam wasn't sure what reaction his mother would have when he told her he had a scholarship to Stanford, he should've known she wanted to celebrate. She helped him get ready and promised to visit, not too much she didn't want to embarrass Sam, but not too little because she wanted him to know she loved him. It helped Sam a lot knowing that he had a supportive mother even if that's all he had.

Sam did end up realizing perhaps Rowena wasn't his birth mother, but it didn't matter. She would always be his mother. So when she stopped contacting him and he couldn't find her with a location spell, he knew something was wrong and left Standford to look for her. It was difficult to not want revenge knowing this was not her own doing, but he knew he must stay guided by her words.

He spent a lot of years healing people while searching for his mom, there was this one person who almost died from being electrocuted, he healed him even after realizing he was a hunter. There was something familiar about this hunter but he didn't know what. He learned the hunter was looking for revenge for his mother, Sam said he was trying to find his own mother but wasn't seeking revenge. He was just looking for his mom and helping people along the way.

With that Sam was on his own again until he found himself caught with kids who he could see were just like him. Different gifts. All similar stories but he didn't match theirs at all. Their powers barely awoke, he mastered his powers for years. He almost gave in to the demon's words, but he would never be able to forgive himself if he did after all this time.

He wouldn't be able to look into his mother's eyes if he did. He took on the role she would've and taught them how to protect themselves with the little things they had around them and helped them control their powers. It was better for them to be a team than to kill each other off like the demon wanted them to.

When they were about to banish the demon back to Hell he looked at Sam and taunted Sam he would never find Rowena unless he looked for a gravestone, Sam wanted to kill him but simply sent him on his way. He knew Rowena could protect herself from anything and that demons lie. But the battle inside himself was getting so much more difficult he knew he had to find Rowena and soon.

As I said, I got a little carried away. Also, the idea of them running into Dean, Cas, and Jack? Brilliant. I wanted to work it in but this was getting kind of long but it would absolutely work. Hopefully, you liked this. I absolutely want to write more to this and if I didn't already have a story I was working on I would've continued with this one. This is an amazing idea!

#i wanted to stick to canon somewhat to have an easier guideline of different events #however sam would find rowena around the time of angels #i would not split the iconic duo up until the point she was introduced that would be so wrong #i hope this is was the person who sent this to me was looking for if not i am so sorry #this is basically a summary if i truly wrote this i would spend more time on rowena and sam bonding over their powers together #sam winchester #rowena macleod #witch!sam #witch!au #answered ask

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lilhemmo · 6 years ago

Text

the forbidden fruit pt. two

the forbidden fruit PART TWO: the downfall

ao3 | wattpad | masterlist

start from the beginning

THE DOWNFALL

The first months after Hades learned of The Prophecy, he swore that he would be content being the ruler of his own dominion. He knew the consequences and the privileges that come with ruling over a kingdom of your own, even if it is full of dead people. He swore he would be grateful to his brothers for the gift they’d given him. After all, it’s not every millennia that you get your own dominion.

“My apologies, little brother,” Zeus helps his youngest brother sit up when he comes to.

When Hades can see again, he holds his brother by the bicep to steady himself. He blinks slowly, eyes bleary as he gazes around, “Zeus, where are we?”

“The Depths,” Poseidon answers on behalf of the eldest. He swallows thickly, across at his two brothers, “We brought you here for your own safety, Sweet Pea.”

“You know how much I hate that,” Hades pushes himself away from his brothers. He swipes at the ash and dust on his tunic to busy his hands and then kicks his boots against the ground. “What do you mean ‘for my safety’? Am I not safe on Olympus, with the two of you by my side? None of this makes sense.”

“No, brother, you are far from safe.” Zeus crosses his arms over his chest and looks his youngest brother in the eyes, “There has been a horrible prophecy foretelling your downfall. We have brought you here to keep you safe. Only those whom you permit to pass are allowed in.”

“Brother-Mantle, what is going on? I-I want to go home.”

“I know, Sweet Pea,” Mantle puts his hands on his brother’s cheeks and tries to hide his own fear. He swallows, his throat bobbing, “But this is your home now. You can make it your own – do whatever you like with it! Rule it with an iron fist, make those who would come across you into your subjects. It’s a beautiful gift.”

Sweet Pea angles his head towards him with tears in his eyes and the eldest brother feels the knife in his chest turn just enough to hurt. It is not every day that you banish your brother to the Underworld. Mantle wraps his brother in a hug and pats him on the back, reassuring him with gentle whispers in his ears, no matter how false they may be.

It did take time to get used to living by himself, guarding the wayward souls and keeping the Underworld safe from outsiders. Charon watches The River, and The Guardians are his second-in-command. The Judgers send the souls to their respective fields, leaving Sweet Pea with little to actually do. Roaming the Underworld is tiresome and boring after a few repetitive years, and there’s only so many times you can play chess with yourself.

There once was a time when Sweet Pea would visit the other realms, Olympus and Earth alike, but those days have long since passed.

“Brothers and Sisters!” he shouts as he pushes his way up the stairway to Olympus. He chuckles, out of breath, “I know it has been a few years, but I-ow!”

Sweet Pea’s body flies backward, knocking the breath from his lungs when he lands. He rolls over, cradling his throbbing abdomen. It is only when he glances up at just the right moment does he notice the shimmering field protecting Olympus from Outsiders.

“Zeus?” he shouts in panic. “Poseidon! Aphrodite?!”

Anxiety overwhelms Sweet Pea’s body and he brushes his hand through his hair, trying to calm himself. The sweat glitters on his brow as his forehead crinkles in confusion. He attempts to make sense of it all – why would the shield bar him from Olympus? From his family?

The shield only comes on when there are intruders, those banished from Mount Olympus.

Sweet Pea wonders, theorizes, that he has been labeled as exiled, unable to return to the Heavens because his name is on The List of The Forbidden. To test his theory, he boldly reaches out with one palm and swats where the field is glimmering. His palm stings as it snaps back to his body, pulsing.

It makes no sense that he would be barred from Olympus. He has not completed any of the Abhorred Acts; he has done nothing to warrant exile. Sweet Pea begins to rack his brain to try and understand what might explain why he has been banished from Olympus. Exiled.

‘The Prophecy,’ Hades remembers. He ducks his head and forces himself away from the steps that would usually take him home, take him to his family, and instead he walks down to The Surface. ‘Mantle is protecting me from The Prophecy.’

The Surface is just as haphazard as it was the last time he visited. There are humans lying on the edges of the roads, their bones showing through gaunt faces as they beg for spare coins with an empty bowl.

Sweet Pea reaches to hand him a drachma, but the skinny man withdraws his cup and scatters like a rat. The young god tilts his head in confusion but puts his coin back in his purse and continues his exploration of The Surface.

It seems that every time he shows his face to a mortal, they are quick to run away from him, or they begin to form groups and he can hear their whispers as he passes by. The weight of the world sits on his shoulders as he makes his way through the marketplace of The Surface. He has never felt this sense of dread hanging between his brows before. As if it were palpable, but just barely out of his reach.

“E-Excuse me,” a small voice pipes up from his side. Sweet Pea turns to look at the young woman dressed in little-to-nothing who is currently draping herself over his arm. He smirks and leans his body down to meet her halfway, “Yes?”

“I-uh, I need a favor,” she drops him a wink.

He nods in response and she bites her lip, “Well, you see, Lord Hades, I-I have someone who needs to be taken care of. And I’ve heard you do that sort of thing – could you help me?”

Sweet Pea narrows his eyes and disentangles himself from the harlot, “Excuse me, woman?”

“I-I’m sorry, my lord,” she ducks her head, “I was told that you were the Lord of the Dead, I-I thought you could assist me in my-”

“I am not a killer,” he seethes, snatching her by the arm. She cowers in fear and he watches as her pupils envelope her blue irises. He can smell the fear taking over her body and so he lets her go with a quick thrust of his wrist.

“Do you not know that it is against the law of the gods to directly murder a mortal?” he asks her indignantly. She whimpers before turning on her heels and running off to hide behind a street corner.

Sweet Pea scoffs, rolling his eyes as he makes his way further into the marketplace. The eyes boring into him from all angles makes it even more difficult to walk in a straight line. He can smell their fear – it is palpable in the air and it sticks to his nostrils as he breathes it in. The stench of their fright courses through his airways and pushes his hair upward at the follicle.

Finally, he can bear it no longer and he turns on the mortals, growing three times in size to better reach them all. His figure towers over them and they cower in fear.

“Is that how you see me, mortals?!” Hades’ voice bellows. He looks down at the people, his arms held out in vulnerability. “You see me as some almighty executioner?”

As to be expected, none of them answer and he is left with mere silence.

“If that is how you wish to be, then so be it.”

Hades waves his arms, dark smoke twirling around his body as he reduces himself back to his human-size. The onlookers grow in numbers as the smoke spins like a tornado, picking up nearby carts and merchandise. The mortals hold on tightly to the nearest object to avoid being swept up into his deathly cyclone. Then, after another moment, the smoke slowly dissipates into nothingness, only a shadowy figure standing in its place.

And then their worst nightmares are realized.

Screams echo from the crowd, piercing cries splitting lips as fingernails are digging at their eyes. Hades crosses his arms over his chest as he looks into the fearful minds of those around him. If the fear was not palpable before, it is now. The emotions coat him like a blanket, searing into his skin as he looks at them panicked before him.

The man in front of him sees a terrifying beast foaming at the mouth, it’s skin burning into flakes as it’s white eyes glare deep into his soul. A woman to his right sees a tall figure with blue skin and burning hair, worms crawling from his teeth and snakes slithering around his arms like bracelets. A young child sees a black shadow with white fangs, a golden crown seated atop his head – a true prince of darkness.

“There you go,” he whispers in defeat, his head hanging. Despite the chaos, he pushes through the crowd and marches back to the entrance of Hades. Sweet Pea loads into his chariot, his beautiful black stallions bucking at his arrival. He pats their backs and settles into his seat, the reigns between his fingers.

“Let’s go home,” Sweet Pea murmurs as he slaps the reigns.

The horses thunder down the road until the ground splits open and swallows them back into The Depths.

Now the god of the Underworld sits on his throne built from ash and obsidian, and he looks down at the dominion he’s been given charge of. The River flows through, dark and dangerous, as Charon floats his passengers to their respective dwellings. The Guardians – Grief, Anxiety, Diseases, Old Age, Fear, Hunger, Need, Death, Agony, and Sleep – hold steady at the entrance to Hades.

Even though he has this entire domain to rule as he pleases, and minions to order into submission, Hades is lonely.

Sweet Pea spends his time reminiscing on his life from Olympus – and it seems so far away now. It feels like it was eons ago that he, Zeus, and Poseidon would wander through the clouds and banter with one another; that he would feel Aphrodite’s touch upon his cheeks as her warm skin radiated against his own.

Instead, it was eons ago that he was confined to The Depths. Even though it was for his own survival, his own safety, Hades cannot come to terms with the exile. He is falling down a hole from which he fears he can never claw out of.

Hades stands from his black throne and walks down the pile of bones to the path that leads to Nowhere and Everywhere all at once. His sandals trudge through the ash of those long past, kicking their remains into the air only for them to settle once again.

The path takes him through a winding hall, built to the top out of the bones of the mortals who now reside in Hades. Truth be told, he is no longer sure of where this place begins and he ends. He caresses the wall, looking up into the soulless eyes of someone who once had a life and a purpose, something to live for.

“There is no purpose here,” he echoes somberly as he opens the door to The Forbidden Chamber.

When Zeus and Poseidon locked him away in The Depths, they told him of this chamber. They told him of it’s great power, and how he was to never allow another soul to enter it, for inside The Forbidden Chamber was The Forbidden Fruit. There are none who know of its full potential, of its full power, but Zeus did warn him that if there was to be a soul who ate from it, they might be trapped in The Depths for eternity, and whatever follows after.

The door gives way to the warmest room in The Depths. There is light here, and Hades believes that it is all because there is a soul living in The Forbidden Fruit. He swears he hears its heartbeat the closer he steps towards to The Fruit.

He recalls when his brothers first brought him down to this room; he remembers walking these halls with them as they warned him of the treacherous fruit that resided there.

“The one who eats of the fruit will be doomed to this place forever, Sweet Pea,” Poseidon warns as they break through the doors. “The number of seeds you ingest is the number of months per annual cycle you are beholden to this world. Those who want you in danger or out of their way will try to use it to poison you, to force you to eat of the fruit. This is precisely why you must never tell another of this place. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Jughead,” Hades uses the name like a weapon. He cuts his eyes at his brother, “I think I understand.”

Poseidon rolls his eyes, scoffing, “I swear, I get my head stuck in a wine jug at one festival, and the two of you can’t-”

“At least it isn’t Sweet Pea,” Hades argues, crossing his arms over his chest. He takes a look at the fruit and becomes somber at a memory of the origin of his name. “I couldn’t help it that I loved those flowers, they reminded me of Mother.”

Sweet Pea brushes his hand over the glass that contains the powerful fruit, a seemingly innocent object that could be his very undoing. Should anyone find it, should anyone understand of its power, they could chain him here forever.

A many years later, after Hades has seen countless souls pass through The River, the loneliness that began to plague him has yet to subside. There have been attempts to take The Underworld from him, but he has quelled them with the slashing of his sword and the flick of his fingertips, unleashing his dark magic on those who would oppose him. He enjoys the game, the bloodshed, and he does not fear for he has kept The Fruit hidden.

“We need a new protector,” he thinks to himself as The Guardians clean up the wreckage from a recent attempt to break a demigod from the pits of Tartarus. Hades walks around the planes of the Underworld, dragging his boots through the caked ash as he ponders.

He smirks before waving his hands through the air, contorting his fingers in all directions as incantations fall from his full lips. A dark being materializes from nothing, starting as a shadow and turning into something else. Hades pulls on thin air, teeth and hair and blood emerging from a tiny shadow wavering in thin air. Dragging his arms further and further apart, Hades creates what will soon be known to the mortals and gods alike as Cerberus, the Three-Headed Protector of the Underworld.

“C’mere boy,” he climbs onto the back of the middle head, scratching the dog behind his ear. “Let us show them what we are made of.”

Even still, as he and Cerberus wreak havoc on The Surface, it is not enough. The carnage and the retribution are not enough. Cerberus is an animal, incapable of speech no matter how much feeling he reciprocates with the looks in his eyes. Hades loves the beast, but he does not satiate the void for kinship, even if the animal can quench his bloodlust.

Years following the birth of Cerberus, Hades wanders the earth in search of a companion. He cannot find another who reciprocates his diplomatic sense coupled with the need for chaos and vengeance, but in his search, he does find a serpent at his feet.

He knows the animal is hated, feared, all for no reason other than its defensive mechanisms. He picks up the animal by its throat and stares into its eyes. Upon seeing into the void, he smirks and drags the animal back to the Underworld with him, strangling it in the process.

Hades buries the dead animal in the dirt beside The River and takes a deep breath, digging his hands into the soil. His eyes roll back in his head and a soft spell falls from his lips as he imbues the ground with the body of the snake, and the blood of his magic.

“Rise,” he speaks finally, his eyes opening to see a group of dark spirits in front of him, growing by the minute.

They smile in unison, revealing fangs and black eyes, “Yes, Maker. How may we be of service?”

-----

Hades allows the demons to roam the earth confined in their natural form, that of a serpent. When they return to The Depths, they are free to walk as human-like creatures, with bodies that can be either male or female.

“Why did you pick a serpent?” his favorite of the demons asks one day.

“Fangs,” Hades smiles and extends a hand to his friend’s face, the skin cold and scaly to the touch, “Serpents are hated on The Surface. They are avoided like a plague, treated as monsters. I saw them and I sympathized with them. And so, the one begat many.”

“And the many is us,” another female serpent raises her voice. She crosses her arms over her chest and flicks her tongue out before approaching Hades on his obsidian throne which burns endlessly, “Right, Maker?”

“Correct, Topaz.” Hades confirms with a sly grin. “And I allowed you to choose your own names because I believe in freedom. That is also why you are allowed to roam The Surface in your serpent form.”

Hades runs his fingers over his neck, which brings Fangs and Topaz’s attention to his skin where an image of a continuous serpent is burned into his flesh.

“That is where our essence resides, is it not?” she asks, unsure if she wishes to know the true answer.

Her Maker nods, a somber look in his eyes, “With every curse, every magic act, one must pay a price. When I created you, I lost a part of myself, the symbol of your existence stitched onto my skin for eternity.”

And so, the serpents and their Maker reside in peaceful amnesty. They grow close, forming bonds that will last more than lifetimes of the mortals who live above them. They tell him what has become of the earth, for as more time passes, Hades retreats further away from civilization and society.

Despite his newfound family, Sweet Pea grows bitter as the years pass. His family, his blood, do not visit, they do not call out to him. The mortals become increasingly defamatory of his name, blaming the Prince of Darkness, the Lord of the Underworld, for their loved ones’ deaths. They blame him for the wrongs of the world, the sins that they refuse to atone for.

And if they are not blaming him, they are praying to him. He hears pleas echoed with bloodlust and trickery. The only prayers that come to his ears are that of murder and wrong doing.

“Do they forget that I am also the god of invisibility, the god of riches?!” Hades slams his fists into his throne, cracking it. The divine properties of the throne allow it to repair itself before Hades even takes another breath.

He seethes through his teeth, “I am not a mercenary to further their cause. Do these incompetent mortals not understand that a god cannot directly kill a human? Do they not know of the law?”

Eventually, Hades makes the decision to curse his own ears so he can no longer hear the greedy human’s prayers. He removes himself from his temples, refusing to listen to their cries of death and mischievousness.

Their evil thoughts plague him no longer, and he refuses to admit that he sometimes misses the idle chatter of the insolent beings of The Surface.

The demigods visit him to try and trick him into releasing the objects of their quests from the pits of Tartarus. Every time, he gives them the option to turn around, to keep from crossing him, and yet every time, they choose to swing their blade.

The serpents notice the callouses growing on their Maker. He is becoming cruel, increasingly judgmental as he throws souls into the Fields of Asphodel, cursed to wander there. They fear for their own existence, for if their Maker cannot satiate his lust for injustice with the mortals of The Surface, what is to stop him from taking out his hatred on them?

There is a day, a long while after Hades begins to set like concrete, where his façade falters and he smiles for the first time in decades. Topaz notices it first, and she alerts Fangs. They watch together as a grin turns his lips skyward as he sits idly on his throne, a musical instrument in his hands.

“I do not understand,” Fangs whispers, his lisp catching the word. He looks up to his female counterpart and blinks, “I-Is everything okay?”

She nods, sneaking a glance at their Maker. Topaz swallows and reaches out to cup Fangs’ cheek, “Something is changing.”

A few months pass before it happens again. Hades is feeding Cerberus when Joaquin, another serpent with brown skin and blue eyes, notices the slightest of upturns of his Maker’s lips.

Immediately, he confides in his serpent family, whispering in their ears about how he’s never seen Maker’s teeth unless he was shouting at a wayward soul.

“I believe that Aphrodite has been visiting,” the tallest of the Serpents speaks with a smirk. Topaz waves her hand, “Regardless of who is visiting, it is none of our business to meddle with The Maker. Let him have his happiness.”

And so, the Serpents leave well enough alone. It is only when Hades has smiled for the third time that Topaz begins to question things. She has been by his side most days, also accompanied by Fangs, and so she knows there is no way a goddess could be slipping into his bed.

“We need to go to the surface,” Topaz whispers to Fangs one night after the other Serpents have slithered into their bed holes. “There must be an enchantress trying to lull him into some sense of calm before she lays claim to the throne of Hades.”

Fangs takes a deep breath before nodding, “I’m right behind you, my friend. Lead the way.”

The ground opens up near the Statue of Hades, and the two serpents slither out from it. They disentangle themselves from one another and move around from the back of the statue, surveying their surroundings.

In the distance, they see a small girl picking flowers, but she is the only human presence they can sense for miles. Even so, Topaz leads Fangs further into The Surface, and together they search for any potential threats to their Maker.

It takes hours, but the only mention of Hades from the mortals is that in passing, mentions of how to accuse the god of the underworld for their misfortunes. They finally return to the underworld, both agreeing not to speak a word of the possible threat to neither their Serpent family or to their Maker.

There is a lapse in time where the Serpents can feel their Maker’s temper begin to flare again. He has returned to his calloused ways, his judgment swift and the punishment unfair. For a fleeting moment, Topaz and Fangs wish the threat would return even if just so they can be reprieved from their Maker’s unkind behavior.

The moment is fleeting, but the Maker is taking a trip down The River when Topaz sees the warmth of a smile spread over his cheeks, his eyes averted to the bottom of the boat as he soaks in the feeling. She wonders if he even knows that his expression betrays him, but there isn’t time to ponder over such things.

“Surface. Now.” Topaz orders to Fangs.

They slip between the crevice in the ground, slithering to the front of the statue. They wander through the temple, searching for any signs of danger. To their surprise, they are met with a womanly figure, her hair braided away from her face and a plethora of flowers in her dark hair.

“Sweet peas,” Topaz speaks to Fangs in a language only they can hear. “Look familiar?”

Fangs glances up at the girl aging into a woman and he is sure that she is just as familiar as the flower. It has been years since their last trip to the surface, but he distinctly remembers the backside of a young woman fading into the smoke.

The backside of his tail flicks to hit Topaz, “She is the girl.”

Topaz turns to look him in the eye, her tongue flicking out from between her fangs. She cocks her head in questioning, but he merely gestures with a glance to the young woman sitting in the temple, singing a familiar song.

The song was written when Hades cut himself off from the world, disallowing humans to speak to him directly through prayer. Lyrics speak of death and dismay and she sings them with a smile on her face while twirling a sweet pea stalk in between her fingers.

“Oh!”

Topaz and Fangs expect her to try and stomp on them, to snap them at their necks. But what she does next surprises them.

“Why hello there, little ones,” she smiles with bright gray eyes. “Are you lost?”

Fangs turns to his serpent friend and then back to the human in front of them, completely dumbfounded. Hades had told them that serpents were cursed on The Surface, that humans detested them.

“Oh don’t worry,” the young woman reaches down to touch the tops of their heads with just the pads of her fingers. “I won’t hurt you. You’re too pretty.”

Later, when Topaz and Fangs return to the underworld, they still feel her warm touch bleeding from the crowns of their heads to the bottoms of their feet.

Fangs shakes his head, “There’s no way. The Maker cannot hear prayers. She wasn’t praying, she was just-existing. How is this-”

“Coincidence,” Topaz interrupts him. She shakes her head, “It is merely coincidence. Nothing more.”

-----

It takes years for The Maker to smile again like he used to. In the midst of the time between his last smile and his next, Topaz and Fangs scour The Surface to find the source of the warmth. They visit every spellbound place, every spot on The Surface that is imbued with magic. Their search always has them return emptyhanded, no less confused than they were when they began.

This time, his smiles are consistent. It is twelve days in a row with the soft expression on his face before Topaz pushes her way back to The Surface again.

She sits, waiting for the next day that someone will grace the Statue of Hades.

It is another three days before a woman with dark hair and grey eyes returns to the statue.

“Oh hi, little one,” she reaches down and pats Topaz on the top of her head ever so gently. She grins, “I have missed you and your friend these past weeks. Do you wish to stay with me while I talk to him?”

Topaz flicks her tongue as she considers the young woman’s words. She smiles with bright white teeth, sharp at the edges, and sits down on the temple floor, “He is the only one who understands me, little one. Sweets and I are the same.”

And suddenly it all makes sense.

----

a/n: i hope you guys liked meeting hades!pea - he is a treasure to write! i’ve decided i’m going to post a new part every friday around this time in the evening :) so be looking out for part three next week! and in the meantime, let me know your thoughts on the current parts that have been posted!

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captainpikeachu · 6 years ago

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interesting things i noted + other info confirmed from reading the screenplay of crimes of grindelwald:

6 months has passed when the movie opens at Grindelwald’s escape, meaning that the escape from MACUSA takes place in May or June of 1927 since the first film mainly took place in middle of December 1926

It’s 3 months later after the escape that we see Newt at the ministry in London where he meets up with Leta and Theseus, this would mean that most of the movie takes place after September 1, 1927 since during the movie, we do visit Hogwarts while students are attending classes

Theseus and Leta have asked Newt to come over for dinner many times

The teacher that Newt got about a month detention from saying “there are no strange creatures, only blinkered people” was named Prendergast

“Theseus, who is very like Newt, but more outgoing, easier in manner. Theseus winks at Leta before turning to Newt” - this is how the screenplay introduces Theseus, by basically saying he’s the more outgoing version of Newt

And when Theseus tells Newt to try to keep an open mind and be a little less like him because it couldn’t hurt, it’s noted that Theseus says that but “not without affection”

Scamander siblings are doing some silent communication during that ministry interrogation scene

Torquil Travers is the name of the wizard who is the Head of Magical Law Enforcement, and likely Theseus’ boss.

Rudolph Spielman, a German wizard who survived the attempted transfer of Grindelwald from MACUSA custody, was among the people attending Newt’s hearing

Grimmson is the name of the beast hunter who was given the task of hunting down Credence after Newt walks out on the hearing

Carrow is the last name of the Grindelwald supporter who murdered the baby in the nursery

The auror that the ministry sent to watch Newt is called Stebbins

Dumbledore is described as a “dandyesque forty-five-year-old wizard” - there is a slight age discrepancy as him being 45 in August/September 1927 would make him born in 1882, when calculations originally puts his birth at summer of 1881 since Dumbledore started school in September 1892, same year as Elphias Doge who was born at least before the end of August 1881 - unless this meeting with Newt takes place before Dumbledore’s birthday in 1927, which means he’s turning 46 soon after this meeting, as that would then have his birth year in 1881

Dumbledore states that “an Obscurus grows in the absence of love as a dark twin, an only friend. If Credence has a real brother or sister out there who can take its place, he might yet be saved” - implying that a sibling of Credence can save him from needing an Obscurus, possible foreshadow that Dumbledore himself might be able to save Credence since the end of the movie reveal with Credence being a Dumbledore?

At the circus area where Tina walks in, it is described to have various kinds of street performers - half-troll, underbeings without powers but of magical ancestry, half-elves, and half-goblins

Skender is the name of the circus arcanus owner

The cage that Credence smashes open are full of Firedrakes

“Appare vestigium” is the tracking spell that Newt uses to materialize and illuminate traces of recent magical activity in the square in Paris

“Avenseguim” is the spell that Newt used to turn the feather from Yusuf Kama’s hat into compass pointing the way to him

Grimmson, the one who took the job of hunting Credence for the ministry, is actually working with Grindelwald and killed Irma to draw Credence further into the position that Grindelwald wanted him to be at and to keep Crendence safe at Grindelwald’s command

Jacob calls Tina “intense” and Newt calls Tina “beautiful”

This screenplay confirms that it is indeed a young Minerva McGonagall who is at Hogwarts with Dumbledore when the aurors enter the school, which of course leads to the huge discrepancy with her age/birth year, as one of JKR’s Pottermore articles stated that at the end of McGonagall’s school years at Hogwarts, Dumbledore was her Transfiguration teacher and helped her become an animagus

McClaggan is the student who tells Travers that Dumbledore “is the best teacher we’ve got”

The book of predictions that everyone talks about is called “The Predictions of Tycho Dodonus” and parts of the predictions are as follows: “a son cruelly banished, despair of the daughter return...”

The cuffs Travers puts on Dumbledore are called Admonitors

Travers also stated that Dumbledore will no longer teach Defense Against the Dark Arts - this is supposedly the explanation for why Dumbledore becomes Transfiguration teacher, as his refusal to fight Grindelwald is seen as him picking a side with Grindelwald, but end of the movie sees Theseus removing the cuffs so question is do they still not allow him to teach DADA?

Leta’s flashback takes place 17 years ago where she was 13 years old, indicating that it took place in her third year at school from 1910-1911, this also makes Leta’s age in present day being 30-years-old

The spell Leta uses against one of the Gryffindor girls insulting her is “Oscausi” which seals a person’s mouth shut as though they never had one

The screenplay indicates that Leta was the one who mentions that a raven is her family’s emblem but I’m pretty sure the movie’s version was actually Newt who states that

The flashback of the Boggart lesson is stated to be 14 years previously, which would indicate that her and Newt were both 16-years-old

The cemetery that everyone is called to is “Père Lachaise”

Screenplay states Nicolas Flamel is 600-years-old

The book that Flamel is seen flipping through are photographs of various people, likely friends he’s known throughout the years, all captioned with a name, and the subjects are all missing, even Dumbledore’s portrait is blank

The young woman that Flamel finds still in his book is named Eulalie Hicks, a young American professor at Ilvermorny

Newt carries around polyjuice potion it seems and uses them frequently enough, as his tiny bottle only has a few drops left

Newt transforms into Theseus by using one of Theseus’ hairs left on Newt’s coat and adds it into the polyjuice potion

By Newt’s own admission, Theseus is “a hugger”

Newt says to Tina when Theseus spots them in the ministry that in his letters to Tina, he might have mentioned that he and Theseus “have quite a complicated relationship”

Tina: “Does he want to kill you?”; Newt: “Frequently.”

The old woman in the records room is named Melusine

Theseus and Leta are suppose to get married on June 6, likely in 1928 as it’s already past June 1927, and Newt is suppose to be best man

Leta uses “Circumrota” to turn the record tower around to reveal Newt and Tina

The cats are called Matagots, spirit familiars

Yusuf’s flashback of his mother Laurena’s abduction happened in 1896 when he was 12-years-old, which makes Yusuf about 43-years-old during this movie in 1927, and thus makes him about 13 years older than Leta

Corvus Lestrange Jr., Leta’s brother, was born in 1901

The woman who is on the boat with baby Credence is noted in the screenplay as Credence’s Aunt, not Mother

Theseus tells his aurors to use minimum force on the crowd and that “we mustn’t be what he says we are!”

The spell Grindelwald uses to conjure the protective circle of black fire is “Protego diabolica”

Half a dozen of Theseus’ aurors run through the flames to join Grindelwald to save themselves

“Then, for the first time in his life, he puts his arms around his brother. They hug.” ---- *side-eyes* somehow I doubt this is the first time he’s ever hugged his brother, unless they literally never hugged when he was a child, which seems rather impossible, taking this as an exaggeration, for dramatic purposes

Grindelwald tells Credence that “we will go down in history together, as we remake this world” - Credence clearly didn’t go down in history given nobody knows of an Aurelius Dumbledore in the future, so I can only guess that either Grindelwald is lying to Credence or Dumbledore eventually swore everyone else who knows the truth to secrecy

#fantastic beasts spoilers #theseus scamander #leta lestrange #newt scamander #gellert grindelwald #credence barebone #albus dumbledore #nicolas flamel #fbtcog spoilers #cog spoilers #crimes of grindelwald spoilers #fb 2 spoilers

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lifecursed · 5 years ago

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i can’t continue talking about morgan and james’ kids without this dude first.

Name: Lucifer Morningstar Age: ageless Gender: whatever he wants Status: uhh...how do you?? alive???

Current location: Hell. Birthplace: To be named world. Relatives: Jesus ( son ; deceased ) , To be named ( daughter ; deceased ) , To be named ( son ; deceased ) , Eve ( wife ; deceased ) , Mary ( girlfriend ; deceased ) , Joseph ( boyfriend ; deceased ) , Morgan Harvey ( separated ; alive ) , Irvine Magnus Malcolmson - Wallace ( stepson ; alive ) , Lucifer has nothing much to do with Maria during his time with Morgan.

sexuality: whatever he wants.

very general and complicated bio : first off. don’t come at him with the bible or any kind of christian history. he’ll either laugh it off if he’s in a good mood, or he might immolate you if he’s in a bad mood. but most important of all he will tell you “ it’s all bullshit. fake news.”

god never existed.

neither did the angels.

he is the father of jesus.

lucifer is only here after being banished from his own world during the time of the dinosaurs. he didn’t even create the earth. it was already here. truthfully, lucifer is a fae / faery. he was banished by his queen tbn after an ongoing dispute reached boiling point. there is a version of humans where lucifer is from as well as morgan’s mother heather. they were the superior magic users when lucifer was in his homeworld, but they were terribly cruel and savage towards the other races. lucifer tried to start an uprising against the humans with many other magical creatures. but the queen insisted it was not yet time. the result left him with his wings being torn and sent away to earth.

demons are a result of lucifer’s first failed attempts to make man for his own companionship. and although they often turned cruel and manipulative, due to manifestations of his own anger at the fae queen during the creation process, he protected them deep underground in hell when the meteor came to wipe out the dinos. for this they have always been deeply loyal to lucifer and do as he asks of them. they may be assholes, but it is controlled to a degree.

Adam and Eve were the first two humans successfully created by Lucifer. And they were created equally, there was also no evil snake and stupid apple test involved. These are all man made stories of which he has no idea where they come from. apples didn’t even exist when adam and ever were made. anyway, adam turned out to be an asshole, and eve decided she actually preferred lucifer to adam. pissed about this, adam swore vengeance and tried to poison lucifer. it ultimately failed. adam was banished from the garden and eve lived in it with lucifer quite happily. Eve was not truly 100% human like we know. She was more like the one’s from his home world. A sort of fae / human crossover. the earth humans still came about from evolution.

But as the world began to slowly grow again many mannnnnyyyyy years after the meteor. Eve became unwell as her body could not quite cope with the environmental changes happening around her. Lucifer became enraged and thought to smite the world for taking his love away, but Eve pleaded with him to let the world be, to grow, to thrive, and that there would be more love for him to experience. Eve died happily and at peace much to Lucifer’s sadness.

He mourned for a long time but still explored this new world at Eve’s dying insistence. He helped the early people learn to create fire and shapes, build societies. but he also witnessed war and was horribly reminded of his own homeland constantly at war with someone over something.

as people grew and moved out over the planet creating civilisations, making the world their own. lucifer drew back to that first underworld place where he had sheltered the demons. a place that would come to one day be named hell. he started to create his own world there, far beneath the surface. one much like the world above. during its creation, lucifer was one day informed that humans from the surface were showing up in the demon’s space. upon further inspection it was clear the humans were dead and that for some reason they were unable to leave this place. lucifer has never truly discovered why his earth home became the place for the dead. it just did. he does research into it but has no solid theories as of yet.

lucifer’s next relationship concludes in the birth of Jesus, yes, Jesus. Lucifer is the father of a boy named Jesus who can perform miracles. Mary is his mother and Joseph his stepfather. Lucifer enters a polyamorous relationship with the two at some point after meeting them on one of his earth travels promised to eve. they are free spirited and mary is an outcast like himself.

when jesus is born, lucifer visits him from time to time as well as his lovers, but he is a busy being and hell has become a priority as well as managing the demons. he only learns of jesus’ death when he turns up in hell one day after over exerting his healing powers so much that they ultimately used up his life force. lucifer is devastated at once again not being able to save someone he loves. he doesn’t see mary or joseph again for shame of it all.

Hell is not the christian hell we think of. it doesn’t just contain the souls of bad people. it contains the souls of ALL the dead. there just happens to be shitty demons there that were there first and a grumpy old fae that is fucking tired of them all. hell is just an eternal continuation of your earth life....which in hindsight can be considered hell for many. if you commit a crime in hell you suffer for it which is now the demon’s primary function. they do operate on earth too as servants of magic users. they are essentially free agents to do as they please. lucifer is running this show on his own and can only do so much to keep things under control even if he is a very powerful being.

meeting morgan when he prayed for satan to take away his abusive father was coincidence. but it intrigued the tired fae for children never prayed to satan of all people! by this time he had become a demonised character in religion. it didn’t really bother him. some demons probably bs’d the whole thing to gain some wealth of treasure. think of it as a shitty tabloid that makes up stupid stories to sell more copies and get more money. demon’s sold lucifer out to humans to make a buck because it was just in their nature to do bad things.

the bible - helped created by demons.

christian mythos - started by demons to cause chaos and conflict.

lucifer is a very neutral being. he’s not especially evil, he’s not especially good. he’s too old and tired for earth bs. but morgan intrigued him in being one of the first children to pray to him. he answered after morgan began insulting him in prayer because he was failing to get results. and it was true, god did nothing when people prayed, because god didn’t exist. all they really had was him. a being from another world. trapped there without his wings.

after responding to morgan and scaring the shit out of him in the process. he kept an eye on the child swiftly growing into an adult that was so interested in following teachings he had never even really endorsed, practicing magic that even he didn’t truly know where it came from. but the people that professed to be followers of the lord satan reminded him of something from a long time ago. they reminded him of himself---rebelling against conformity and injustice. choosing to live their lives and they saw fit and not how society deemed it fit. he slowly became more involved with the ‘satanists’ and even began to enjoy getting attention after so long of being alone. morgan was especially attentive in his worship and had become a beautiful being from the scared child he met in a pantry years before.

though there is flirtation between the two and brief moments of passion over the centuries. the two don’t embark on a real relationship until james abandons morgan and irvine after causing the death of his other son. he sees morgan at a very low point and unable to really look after irvine properly because of their emotional state. lucifer offers a rare hand of kindness to make morgan the queen of hell in exchange for helping him run the place with their vast magical knowledge. stunned, morgan agrees. running hell, marrying lucifer, and keeping an eye on irvine keeps them distracted from thinking about james’ betrayal as much. plus, lucifer grows fond of irvine quickly. helping to raise him as if irvine was his own son. lucifer becomes aware of james searching for morgan and irvine, but never says anything of it for many years. the two start to grow apart in the early 20th century and morgan takes a break, leaving hell to go live in new york with irvine. the two amicably separate after some time though a divorce has never taken place.

lucifer’s has another blood child that is thought to be the anti-christ. but it is once again more demon and human propaganda collaboration. not much more if known about him at this point.

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reluctantwrites · 7 years ago

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Subject 027 (part 2)

The sequel precisely one (1) person asked for, so naturally I indulged.

In which merman!Hanin is rescued by an unlikely bunch of misfits (a.k.a. The Dawn Squad).

How many days had it been? Weeks? Hanin couldn’t say. He had lost track of time, somewhere between the sedation and the containment protocols. In fact, he had nearly lost his life when they drained the tank and observed him for hours as he flagged on the cold metal floor. He’d never been out of the water for so long before. It was worse, not knowing what to expect as his muscles began to cramp and sweat formed on his brow for the first time in his life.

It was torture, not knowing if – or perhaps when – he was going to die.

The tank had been refilled, and while still weak, Hanin was no longer in such a dire state. He swam as much as he could in the restricted space, trying to keep his muscles from growing as frail and tired as his mind. It was something he only did at night, now that whoever was observing him had ceased their constant monitoring. They left after the red numbers on the far wall reached 2330. They must have decided he didn’t have the strength to free himself.

They were right.

It was while Hanin was performing his makeshift laps that he heard it. A strange, sharp click. It reminded him of the sound of snapping coral and he turned towards the source, squinting into the dark. In a world of black and white, it was difficult to discern machinery from walls and doors. But he saw something open, and something else make its way inside. Some part of Hanin screamed that he should be wary. Some old instinct, he supposed, that had yet to be burned away.

But at the end of the day, what more could they possibly do to him?

Another figure slipped through the door, then a third. Then a forth. Heart hammering, Hanin watched as they moved about, pressing their faces to the array of tanks, attempting to peer at their contents through the darkness. They would find nothing in those vessels. Hanin, as far as he knew, was the only one in the facility. Perhaps that was why his captors had started getting so… creative.

“Fucking hell - anyone got a light?”

“Um, but d-don’t we have to be careful? The cameras…”

“Are disconnected, kiddo. Connors took ‘em offline, remember? They should be looping for another hour or so.”

“Exactly. So stop freaking the fuck out and get the torch, Darren.”

Hanin had no idea who was speaking or what they were talking about, but the harsh whispers shared between them gave the distinct air of something secretive and urgent. They were over the other side of the large observation room; Hanin watched them as they moved about, their forms dark shadows staining far wall.

Suddenly, he cried out in shock when a bright light – he swore it was as bright as the sun – blazed directly at him. Reeling, he threw his arms up and turned away, his back rebounding off the back of the tank.

“Shit! Fuck – point that thing away from him!”

“S-Sorry! I didn’t know he was there!”

Hanin’s hands were covering his eyes, and for a few terrified moments he thought he was blind. But through the haze of panic, his vision slowly returned. He shuddered in relief, blinking in an attempt to banish the circle burned into his retinas by the sudden blaze. By the time it finally dissipated, four faces were starting at him through the glass of his tank. Three young men and a young woman.

What was this? Some kind of trick? Another test?

“Do you think he can understand us?” one of them asked, his brown hair pulled back into a high tail, brows knitted in concern as he studied Hanin. He nearly jumped a foot in the air when Hanin immediately nodded his head. “Whoa, okay. Well, uh... hey there.”

“Gods, can all of you stop gawking and help me with this?” The blonde woman had circled the tank and paused at the side, where a metal scaffold gave her direct access to its top. “Ralon, Darren, hold this steady. I’m gonna check out the lock.”

The man who had spoken, Ralon, and a young blond boy who had to be Darren moved to do as instructed, while the last member of the group followed and immediately started climbing the scaffold after the woman. She paused halfway up, firing a glare down at him. “Cyrus, what the hell are you doing?” she demanded sharply, but he man ignored her, rolling his pale blue eyes.

“Figured you might need an extra set of hands. So stop bitching at me and get that tank open.”

“The only bitch up here is y—”

— “Lyrene, Cyrus, stop fucking around,” said the brow-haired man in a sing-song voice. It seemed he was quite used to the bickering. “C’mon, Darren looks like he’s about to cry. Let’s wrap this up.”

“I am not,” the boy protested as he helped hold the scaffolding in place. “I-I mean… Ralon’s right, though. We should hurry.”

The pair at the top of the scaffolding muttered something but Hanin didn’t quite catch it. He watched them warily as they inspected the top of the tank, the woman snorting in amusement as she reached out and ran her fingers over the lock. “Child’s play,” she murmured. “Cyrus, get me my bag and hold it open.”

“Knew you’d need another set of hands,” Cyrus muttered, but did as instructed as Lyrene got to work. The sound of metal scraping on metal set Hanin’s teeth on edge, but he ignored it, still not entirely sure what to make of it all. What was this? Who were they?

“Um… excuse me? Sir?”

Hanin’s gaze snapped across to Darren, who flinched as though his stare had been a slap. He was clearly terrified, although Hanin could not imagine it was because of him. No, he doubted there was anything about his current condiiton that would make him seem even remotely threatening. How far he had fallen, since the days of protecting his clan.

“I-I was just, ah, wondering if you’re okay,” the blond continued, stammering his way through the sentence. “They, um, haven’t hurt you or anything, have they?”

How to answer that? The truth would take too long, so Hanin just shook his head. “I… am fine,” he said carefully. Even so, the boy gasped at the sound of his voice.

What had he been expecting?

“Oh Maker, you can talk,” he squeaked, then swallowed and flushed red. “S-Sorry. I just… wasn’t sure how it would work, with you being underwater and all.”

“Kid, you need to relax before you rupture something.” Ralon sighed, then turned his attention to Hanin. “Okay, so this is probably all sorts of confusing, but for now all you need to know is that we’re getting you out of this place. You okay with that?”

Am I okay with that? The question was almost enough to make Hanin laugh, if he had the energy left for humour. He nodded, that jolted in shock as something thudded sharply above him.

“Yes! Got it.” The woman hung over the side, grinning, a metal device clutched triumphantly in her hand. “Creators, I’m brilliant. Aren’t you lucky you have me?”

“Yeah, yeah, pat yourself on the back once we’re out of here.” Cyrus had his hands on the top of the tank, fingers curled beneath the shallow lip. “F-Fuck… it’s heavy. I can barely get a grip. Stop celebrating and help.”

Lyrene made an exasperated noise but joined him. Between the two of them the top of the tank started to creak upwards, the metal shrieking in protest of the movement. But they were struggling, sweating and swearing, their grip occasionally slipping, causing it to thud back into place. Despite his exhaustion, Hanin couldn’t just sit by and watch his strange rescue take place without him. He had to do something.

Swimming up, he breached the surface of the water. There was less than a foot of space between the surface and the top of the tank, so he beat his tail and rose up, pressing the back of his shoulders to the cold metal. With the two humans pulling and him pushing, the lid began to slowly rise. As soon as Cyrus and Lyrene could get a proper grip on it, they threw it up and over, the metal crashing against the side of the tank, the glass shuddering but remaining intact.

The exertion had exhausted Hanin. Breathing hard, he reached up, trying to catch the side of the tank, but his fingers slipped off the slick glass. Luckily, the two humans grabbed his arms before he had a chance to sink back beneath the surface, and between them they managed to haul him up and out onto the scaffolding.

“Fuck me, you’re heavy,” Cyrus panted, groaning. Lyrene swatted him scoldingly, but didn’t necessarily argue as they struggled to get him over to the side of the scaffold. From there, Hanin used what little strength he had to hold onto the metal and climb down, grateful for the waiting arms of the two other humans on the ground as they caught him and helped bear his weight. Before he knew what was happening, he was held between Darren and Ralon, his arms draped around their shoulders, the pair supporting him without a word of complaint.

“Alright, let’s go. Connors is waiting out back.” Ralon glanced across and flashed Hanin a brilliant grin. “One premium rescue, coming right up!”

As they started moving, Hanin struggled to think of what to say to that. “Who… are you?” he asked, his voice raw and rough from days spent screaming. It sounded like… well, someone else entirely. Perhaps that was fitting. He felt nothing like himself.

Puffing, Darren looked at him and smiled. The boy was surprisingly strong, despite his size and age. “Friends,” he breathed, boots squeaking on the smooth metal floor as they struggled through the corridor. “F-Friends who don’t like seeing folks get hurt.”

It was so… simple. But right then, in that moment, it was enough. It was enough that Hanin was free of that tank. Free of the pain and the fear, even if only for a moment. Even if it only lasted for a few more minutes and they were all caught, it would be enough. Enough to keep him going. It was enough to know that there was some kind of hope out there, however slim.

“Thank you,” was all he managed to say, the adrenaline rushing from him as they burst out onto the street. The cold night air crashed into him like a hammer and he gasped, muscles tightening, teeth gritted against the strange sensation.

“Quick, get him in the van and covered up,” the dark haired man – Cyrus – instructed, running ahead to throw the doors open. The vehicle was rumbling, ready to move. Hanin vaguely made out the shape of a woman in the driver’s seat before he was ushered into the back and deposited on a soft mattress. His rescuers climbed in with him and slammed the doors shut. Immediately, the van took off, tires squealing as they swung out onto the street.

Breathing hard, they all collapsed in exhaustion. Lyrene let out a dazed, almost delirious laugh as she tipped her head back against the side of the van and raked her fingers through her hair. “Fuck me… I can’t believe we pulled that off.”

“Told you they’ve gotten lazy,” Ralon replied with a lopsided grin. “It’s been too long since our last raid. We let them get comfortable. Worked in our favour.”

Cyrus snorted. “Yeah, just as fucking well, or we might all be limping our sorry asses back to base like last time.”

Struggling to think, Hanin let himself sink down onto the mattress, head spinning. “You… have done this before?”

There was a beat of silence, as though they had all momentarily forgotten he was there.

“Oh shit, right!” Ralon crawled through the back of the van, cursing as the driver made a hard right, nearly sending him sprawling ass-over-ankles. He grabbed a bundle in the corner then moved back, tossing it over Hanin. It was thick and warm and… damp. It wasn’t the same as being it water, but Hanin had to admit, it helped. “Here,” Ralon continued, settling beside Hanin once more, helping tug the soaked blanket over him. “That should keep you going until we get you to base and into the pool. Sorry, but with the way Connors drives,” he raised his voice pointedly, angling his head towards the driver’s seat, “we couldn’t risk having any glass on board.”

As if in reply, the van made another hard turn, this time to the left, rattling them all like stones in a cup. But Hanin only vaguely registered the noises of complaint and indignation from his rescuers. His head was throbbing now, and he groaned softly, reaching up to press a hand to his brow. It was in that moment that he realised he was shaking.

“You need rest.” The woman, Lyrene, had a kind face when she wasn’t directing insults at her teammates. Gently, the reached out, placing a hand behind Hanin’s neck and coaxing him to lie down. “Just close your eyes, yeah? You’ll be fine.”

“Yeah.” Cyrus shifted, speaking to Hanin directly for the first time, his pale blue eyes flicking across to meet his for only the barest of moments before darting away. “You’re safe. Don’t worry about it.”

Don’t worry about it. Funnily enough, all Hanin had ever done for most of his life was worry. Worry about his clan. His clanmates. The reef. The creatures that lived in it.

But this time, he just sighed out a weary breath, closed his eyes, and let himself sleep.

#mermay #mermay2018 #dragon age fanfiction #merman au #hanin lavellan #the dawn squad #hanin #hanin au #ralon au #cyrus au #darren au #lyrene au #connors au #hanin hurtcomfort

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quaintremedies · 3 years ago

Text

that kid with a code

Prompt number: 18 (”This was not part of the plan.”)

Original Fiction*

Rating: teen and up audiences (may not be appropriate for audiences under 13)

Warning/Tags: none

---

"Adda."

With a nervous look, young Alfons peeked from behind his bedroom door. The way his blonde tuft messily stood on his head shows that he just woke up from his sleep. Children weren't supposed to be awake this early, though.

Rez, whipping his head to the source of that tiny, sleepy voice, was only halfway done with tying his boots. His hardened gaze softened at once, motioning his son to come over.

"It's too early for you to be up." he said, scooting over a bit for Alfons to sit.

He shook his head, but he couldn't hold the small yawn that left his lips afterwards. The older man smiled, setting his large calloused hand on top of the small child's head.

"When I woke up, you were never there." Alfons mumbled with a pout. "Where are you going?"

As Rez lifted his hand, he sighed. He couldn't think of an easy answer for this kid. He wasn't really good with words in general; what makes him think that he could do any better with kids?

"Well--"

"Adda has to go to save people."

A soft whisper in Alfons' ears made him jump a bit, but it changed to a squeal when two hands grabbed his hips and lifted him up in the air. Soon, his mother's face came to view; her hair tied up into a bun and a gentle smile was visible on her face.

"Mama!" Alfons hugged her neck when she set him on one side of her hips.

"What is my little champion doing up so early in the morning?" she questioned with an eyebrow raised; not in a serious manner, of course.

Alfons turned to see his father already up on his feet, grinning widely. "I wanna see Adda!" he exclaimed. "Adda is a hero?!"

Rez shifted his gaze to his wife, Aellie, with an unimpressed expression. She, in return, simply gave him an apologetic smile.

"Not real--" he chuckled, patting the boy's head once more.

"Yes, he is." Aellie smiled at her young child.

He swore he could see Alfons' eyes twinkled in amazement, as if he just found the hero he had been searching for his entire life.

"Can I be like Adda someday, Mama?" he looked at Aellie. "Please?"

Aellie laughed as she pinched Alfons' cheek. "You can be anything you want."

"As long as it's for the good of our people." Rez interrupted with a hint of warning in his voice.

Alfons tilted his head curiously. "Our people?"

"Yes. Everyone in Arrion is our family too; our people."

The young boy formed an 'o' with his tiny lips, clearly receiving information that intrigued him.

"Why, Adda?" he asked again; children and their curious nature. "Why should we protect our people?"

Though, the question warmed Rez's heart slightly. He reached for his beloved's free hand, gently squeezing it in his grasp. The other yet again found its place on top of Alfons' head.

"Because it's the right thing to do." he answered. "We must become the hero of our lives, theirs, and the world's."

"So, what's the plan?"

Alfons was brought back to reality, immediately pushing the distant memory far away to the back of his brain. His gaze rested on the map being spread on the table in front of him. He knew few pairs of eyes were at him; either waiting impatiently or staring at him like he's an alien. This was not part of the plan, he said to himself, the past felt very haunting.

A tap on his shoulder yet again distracted him from his sudden trance. "You okay?"

He turned to find the banished prince looking at him with that vague concerned face. He still couldn't believe that he was tasked to assassinate this man almost a year ago.

"Yeah." the man answered, briefly glancing at each person present around the table.

Yes, he might be a traitor. The kingdom will burden him with the worst punishment they could think of. The current king, his trusted general, his men, would be disappointed at him to their core. Heck, he might die at some point.

Alfons leaned a bit forward, pointing a finger at one mark on the map.

Why? Because it's the right thing to do.

"Arrion Castle will be heavily guarded, there are soldiers situated on every corner of the gates--"

"Adda, I'm doing it now."

---

*A part of Arrion Universe, an original AU that I made with a friend.

#fictober21 #fictober day 18 #original fiction #short story #by ries

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fire-emblem-heroes-supports · 7 years ago

Text

Arvis/Seliph C-A Support

Written by animenutcase

CONTENT WARNING: Arvis’s marriage to Deirdre (his half-sister) isn’t going to be explored in-depth, but the subject is going to come up a couple times.

C SUPPORT

Seliph: Duke Arvis of Velthomer.

Arvis: …Can I help you? Seliph: I wanted to ask you something. Arvis: That’s fine, but we need to prepare for the next battle. Seliph: You wanted to unite Jugdral as one, correct? Arvis: Yes. My goal is to create a more equitable world, one without discrimination. Seliph: A noble goal. Then, may I ask why you killed my father? Arvis: …I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I don’t know who your father is. I don’t even know who you are. Seliph: I think you do. Arvis: My apologies, but I’m afraid I don’t. Seliph: Then why aren’t you looking me in the eye? Arvis: …! Seliph: I was told that my face resembles that of my mother, Deirdre of the Spirit Forest. It’s also my understanding that she was the wife of Emperor Arvis of Grannvale… in other words, you. Arvis: So it’s true, then. I could theoretically have pretended that Sigurd had been trying to trick me when he saw her at Belhalla, but this… You look too much like her for it to be coincidence. Arvis: Heh. Of course you do. Deirdre looked too much like… Seliph: Like your mother. Arvis: How- Seliph: Given how the Loptyr Sect was nearly hunted to extinction, it’s not that hard to guess that there was some foul play involved in Julius becoming Loptyr’s vessel. Lewyn only suggested it as a theory, but I think it’s true. He had some spies in Velthomer who distinctly remember a portrait of Lady Cigyun. Arvis: Tch! Seliph: I’m not going to force you to talk about it, but I will want some answers eventually. Good day to you, Duke Arvis. [Seliph leaves.] Arvis: He really does look like her... [Arvis and Seliph have reached support rank C.]

B SUPPORT

Seliph: Why don’t you tell me about Lady Cigyun, Duke Arvis? Arvis: You just dive right in, don’t you? You’re more like your father than I thought. Seliph: I’m just curious about the sort of woman my grandmother was. Oifey told me about Sir Vylon, but he never knew my father’s mother, so I can’t ask about her. I’d like to ask about Prince Kurth, too. Arvis: Prince Kurth was a kind and wise man. My mother always looked happier when he visited than she did with my father. Of course, Father also seemed to prefer the company of women besides his wife. Seliph: Duke Victor was rather infamous. I’d heard a few stories about him, as well. Arvis: How unfortunate for you. My father was a blight on the House of Velthomer, and his death was one of the few good things that came out of the mess with Prince Kurth. Seliph: Was your brother another of them? Arvis: You know about Azelle? Is he alive!? Where is he!? Seliph: I-I don’t know. I only know what I’d heard from Oifey, Shannan and Lady Edain, and none of them knew what happened to him! Arvis: I see. I apologize for grabbing your shoulders. Seliph: No, it’s my fault for bringing up a sore subject. Arvis: And yet you brought up my mother. Seliph: I… apologize. Arvis: Don’t apologize. It was a joke. Seliph: (It didn’t sound like a joke…) Arvis: As for my mother… I’d always loved her long, silver hair. I remember it tickling my face whenever she hugged me. Come to think of it, Deirdre’s silver hair was the first thing I noticed about her as well. It was a rather unusual color. In hindsight, I should have been more suspicious. Seliph: I’d… I’d prefer it if we kept the subject on Lady Cigyun, please. Arvis: Of course. My mother was a timid woman, but she was capable of standing up when she needed to. When Father tried to have Azelle’s mother banished, she argued that she should be allowed to stay. Seliph: Wow. Arvis: At the same time, trying to keep Velthomer stable and keep Father in check took its toll on her. I can count the number of times I saw her smiling in the days before she left on one hand. Seliph: It sounds like things were already starting to go bad even before the war with Isaach. Arvis: You may be right. That’s part of the reason I became as ambitious as I did. My mother swore me to secrecy the night she told me of her Maera blood. If anyone learned of it, we’d doubtlessly be burned at the stake. I couldn’t condemn her for fleeing Velthomer, especially after I learned the truth of why she did so. Seliph: … Seliph: When exactly did you learn the truth, Duke Arvis? Arvis: …It was shortly after the Battle of Belhalla. I had done some digging and learned that around the time Sigurd set out for Verdane, a woman matching Deirdre’s description had been seen near the Spirit Forest where my mother came from. That was where I learned the truth. At that point, however, it was too late. When I returned to Belhalla, Deirdre broke the news that she was pregnant. At that point, all I could do was pray that neither of the twins inherited our Maera blood. Seliph: Do you… remember finding out? Arvis: I spent every day praying that the mark on his forehead was just a birthmark. The day it became clear that it wasn’t was the worst day of my life. Deirdre went to check on the children, but then there was a commotion in the twins’ room. I rushed there, but when I arrived, Deirdre was lying on the ground and Julius had turned into… something I couldn’t recognize. And Julia was… gone. Seliph: Duke Arvis… Arvis: I don’t know anything beyond that. If Julia is alive, then Deirdre’s sacrifice at least meant something. Please, tell me! Seliph: She-she was alive last I saw her! But… she vanished in Miletos. We think she might have been abducted by Manfroy. Arvis: …I knew I should have killed him when I had the chance. Seliph: Duke Arvis, you’re getting angry. I think we should table this discussion for now. I’ll be happy to tell you about Julia later, but please try to calm down. Arvis: Very well, then. [Arvis and Seliph have reached support rank B.]

A SUPPORT

Seliph: Do you feel better, Duke Arvis? Arvis: Yes, thank you. Seliph: I met Julia right after we began our liberation of Isaach. She was rather quiet, but I felt drawn to her. Even if Lewyn hadn’t asked me to look after her, I think I would have done so anyway.

Arvis: How did she look? Did she seem healthy, like she was eating enough? Seliph: Heh, she looked fine. She seemed a bit shy about eating at dinner, but I think that’s because she didn’t know us very well, and it didn’t take long before she got used to us. Arvis: Good. Seliph: She’d lost her memories, however. Lewyn said that when he found her, the only thing she could remember was her name, and only because the words “Julia, you must live” were ringing in her head. Arvis: …! I-I see. Seliph: I’m sorry. I wish I could tell you more. Arvis: You’ve… told me enough. You could have lied to me or refused to tell me anything, but you were honest. I’m grateful for that. Seliph: Duke Arvis, how much do you remember of the future? Arvis: Like I said, my memories only go up to the night of Deirdre’s death. Why? Seliph: … Arvis: …You killed me. Seliph: I- Arvis: Don’t. I’m not angry. Your father was an innocent pawn in my schemes. I don’t have a right to condemn you for avenging him. I merely want to ask how you did so. Seliph: I… We rescued some children that had been taken in the child hunts when- Arvis: Child hunts!? By the Lopytr Sect!? Seliph: Y-Yes. The Bishop protecting them was from Chalphy, and he gave me the Tyrfing. He wouldn’t say where he got it, though. Arvis: He didn’t say? Seliph: It’s strange. People were saying that my father wielded it at the Battle of Belhalla, so I’m not sure how it got into his hands. The only person who could have had it after my father’s death is the king, and after King Azmur died, it would have passed into the hands of the… next king. Arvis: … Seliph: It was you. You sent the Tyrfing out with him. You were the one who let the children go. Arvis: I should hope so. The very fact that the child hunts were happening under my watch tells me that something went very wrong under my rule! Seliph: You really don’t know, do you? Arvis: Tell me what happened in the future after Deirdre’s death. I want to know every detail of what the Grannvale Empire was up to. Seliph: You’re not going to like it. […] Arvis: Hah. Hahaha! Seliph: Duke Arvis? Arvis: Oh, this is rich! You mean to tell me that everything I’ve ever worked for, every sacrifice I’ve ever made, has been for nothing!? Seliph: … Arvis: I wonder if I’ve been cursed. I don’t know if my brother is dead or alive, I’ve married my own sister, my son is going to turn into a monster, and my daughter is going to lose her memories and be raised on the run, and now you’re telling me that I’ve even failed to create the world I dreamed of!? Seliph: I-I’m... sorry. Arvis: As long as I put an end to discrimination and inequality, I could understand. Sacrifices need to be made for society to advance, and my own happiness is no exception to that. But it was all for nothing!? Arvis: Heh. I wonder if this is a curse from your father. Seliph: No, I don’t think my father resents you. Arvis: What? Seliph: After I killed you, I felt… empty. I went to the cliffs near Chalphy and held up the sword, telling my father that I’d avenged him, and… I saw my parents. Arvis: What!? Seliph: My mother said that Lewyn had done a good job with me, then asked about Julius and Julia. But my father… scolded me. He told me that I needed to know the suffering of the common people. I don’t think he agreed with your actions, but… I think he understood why you did what you did. Arvis: … Seliph: This has been an… interesting talk. I feel like I’ve gotten to know you better. Arvis: … Seliph: I understand if you don’t want to speak any more. I know you have a lot to think about. Good night, Uncle. [Seliph leaves.] Arvis: Idiots, both of them… [Arvis and Seliph have reached support rank A.]

#fire emblem genealogy of the holy war #male heroes #submission #arvis #seliph #arvis x seliph #seliph x arvis #oh gosh i feel so bad for arvis now... ;__;#thank you for this support chain it was GRAND!

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joyfullynervouscreator · 7 years ago

Text

The Queen

Art by Charlie Bowater

The ceramic bowl crashed against the wall, splattering its contents across the stone, porridge running down the wall in uneven lumpy stripes.

“Get away from me!” the red-haired elleth screamed, retreating into a corner and hiding her face in her knees, her shoulders shaking in sobs.

“Nínimeth,” her husband tried, aiming for gentle but knowing it would make no difference to his wife however he spoke to her, if she even heard him at all. Wrapping his arms around her, he tried to pull her close, tried to offer her comfort he knew she would not accept, his mind flashing back to the darkest day of his life and wondering if her eyes would turn black with hatred once more if he dared look. “Please, meleth, you must eat.”

“I want my son!” she screamed, pushing him away. Thranduil bit his lip, staring helplessly at the mithril-haired elleth across the room.

“He is right here, gwathel-nîn[1],” Rhonith murmured, rocking the fussy elfling in her arms. She did not move closer, however, hushing Legolas’ cries with gentle humming, stroking the pale hair that so resembled Thranduil’s own locks.

“That is not my son.” The Queen of Green wood fought her way free of her husband’s arms, pointing a shaking finger at the elfling she had brought into this world only a few months before.

“It is, meleth,” Thranduil murmured, “this is our leafling; you named him Legolas.”

“No! My son is Hwinion, I WANT MY SON!” she bellowed, collapsing in tears again, covering her ears when her outburst made the little boy cry in fear. “I want my leaf! Not that one!”

Rhonith tried to hush the screaming babe, but eventually Thranduil waved her out of the room, kneeling by his distraught wife. It hurt him to see her so… not herself, not his fierce and fiery Nínimeth, see her reduced to this whimpering bundle of fear and mindless rage.

“I cannot give you our firstborn, my Queen,” he said, daring to reach out to stroke her hand. Now that the babe was gone, she leaned into his touch, her big green eyes watery and grief-stricken when she looked up at him.

“Where is he, Hwin?” she whispered, gripping his wrist. Thranduil swallowed. He had believed – once – that he would never hear her voice call him by that name again, but now it struck him with a thousand sharp knives, to hear it coated in despair he had believed she had conquered; grief they had survived at long last together. “Where is our son?”

“Thalion is dead, Nínimeth,” he said, as kindly as he could; grief still pulling on his soul whenever he remembered the bloodied body lying so very still in his Naneth’s arms, too still for life – especially a life that had been spent in nearly constant motion, even when their son was just an elfling. “He was lost in the War.” Her wailing did not surprise him; it was not the first time they had this discussion. At least, this time she had not asked him if he would give ‘that strange elfling’ back in return for their son. Thranduil did not understand; Nínimeth had been so happy about having a new leafling, even if it was not something they’d planned for – they had several grandchildren, after all! – but ever since the accident she had grown more and more despondent, retreating into herself. The birth had not – as he had silently hoped – relieved her fears that the little leaf would be harmed, had not convinced her that he would be well and grow up happy. Instead, she had developed a severely unstable mood; smiling and happy in one minute and bursting into tears in the next with an intensity that scared him. He could not reach her soul, not really, her brightness marred by shadow-like rends and scars that would not heal no matter how much love he poured into the bond between them. He did not know what to do, who to ask; part of him wished his Naneth had not returned to Aman, longing for her gentle calmness. This was a sickness for which he knew no cure and nor did Nestor, even if Nínimeth had been willing to talk to her former apprentice about what she was going through. Some days, she did nothing but sleep, others she would wander the hallways at night, snarling at those who attempted to speak to her. Of the gentle Queen and Healer there was precious little left, Thranduil feared, staring at the person who felt like a stranger in his wife’s body, felt like a wild creature; untameable and furious at times, deceptively docile at others.

“Get out.” Nínimeth said, her voice deadened. Thranduil stiffened. He had known she did not wish for his comfort, but she had never so bluntly stated that she did not desire his company.

“Nínimeth, please,” he whispered, “tell me how to help you.”

“Get out!” she bellowed, pushing him away. “Get out and don’t come back!”

He left; he did not wish to hear her tell him it was his fault their son died. Not again. Behind him, something else clattered against the door, a wounded scream following in his wake.

Thranduil was losing hope.

“We must do something!” Rhonith exclaimed, pacing with little Legolas in her arms, when Thranduil returned to the sitting rooms that connected his study with their bedroom before Nínimeth banished him from sharing her bed and forcing him to furnish a second bedroom for himself. Thranduil sighed.

“It is clear that things cannot continue,” he whispered, staring out of his window at the rapidly darkening night outside the Halls. “But I am at a loss, sellig, I do not know how to help her. She does not respond to me, pushes me away whenever I try to bring her comfort.”

“Do you think… Elrond might be able to help? They say he is a great healer.” Rhonith asked. Thranduil shook his head.

“If she will not speak to myself, or you, or Avornien, will not even accept Nestor entering her room, I do not think she would feel any more amenable to an almost stranger.” Furthermore, he wasn’t sure this was a disease that had a true cure; had he not thought she had been healed from her grief after Dagorlad, only now to suffer through a resurgence of that same grief once more? Perhaps this, too, would run its course. He did not say it out loud, however, failing to sound convincing even in his own mind. “I do not know what we can do, Rhonith,” he whispered, hopeless. “She… she is not Nínimeth, and I am afraid she will… hurt… Legolas,” Rhonith snarled, tightening her protective hold, “or herself.” He had not told her of the times she spoke of offering up one leaf for the gods to return their first one, filling his soul with revulsion; the Valar would not listen to such a prayer, and if she were in her right mind, Nínimeth would have been horrified at the very idea.

“She won’t harm him,” Rhonith swore, stroking the pale hair with a gentleness that belied the strength of her oath. Thranduil smiled knowingly, though she did not see the brief flash of humour in his blue eyes. He had not believed her when Nínimeth told him what she suspected about their adopted daughter’s response to having the new-born leaf placed in her arms, but he was beginning to see just how tightly his son had already wound himself into her heart; a bond that would only grow stronger as the boy aged.

“She would not want to, sellig,” he murmured, stroking her ear to calm her down, “yet I cannot silence the voice that sounds like a warning in my heart not to leave our son alone with her… but he needs her, there are no others who could feed him.” Even if the end of the War meant peace, it had as yet only resulted in a few pregnancies being announced – after the Queen had already given birth.

“He won’t be,” Rhonith said, her voice steely, “I’ll sleep in her room, trade off watches with Avornien.”

Thranduil just nodded, taking the leaf from her arms and attempting to smile at his son, who looked up at him with his own clear blue eyes. ‘Eyes like water’, Naneth had once told him, ‘my son who is so like the sea’. Will you be like the sea, ionneg, he asked silently, calm and tempestuous at once, ever-changing? He did not even notice when Rhonith left the room on silent feet, her soft leather boots making no sound on the stone.

“Gwathel-nîn is not getting better, Atheg.” The young elleth’s voice was quiet and sad. “She does not recognise the elfling as Legolas. As her son. She refuses to feed him, and she has little milk to do so either way. Maeassel has acquired a milk goat, she claims it should be possible to feed him with goat’s milk instead.” Thranduil looked down at the little leaf; he did look smaller than his brothers had when they were his age, he thought.

“Is she… otherwise well?” he asked, stroking the elfling’s cheek. Thranduil had not been allowed to visit for more than a month, but the reports he received from the servants who cleaned her room on the rare occasions the Queen allowed visitors other than her handmaiden, Avornien, were disturbing. Rhonith shook her head, joining him on the sofa and running her fingers across the ears of both father and son.

“No,” she sighed, leaning against him. Thranduil wrapped his arm around her shoulders, though he did not know whether he was receiving or offering comfort with the touch. “Today she did not seem to recognise my face,” she whispered, her sapphire eyes shiny with tears. “The one who has called me sister since the hour of my birth…and she did not know who I was.” Thranduil’s face crumbled as he looked at the younger elleth, pleading with his eyes for her to give him better news, but his despair was echoed in her drawn features. In his arms Legolas stirred, the leafling no more than 6 months old. Little Legolas was a quiet child, studying the world through large blue eyes.

“I will not lose her, Rhonith. I cannot.” The admission pained him, because it inevitable begged the question he dared not voice: Is Nínimeth already lost? He hugged his son tighter, tracing one finger along the cheek of his last leafling.

“I don’t know what we could do for her that we have not already tried, Atheg,” Rhonith replied, tears of sheer exhaustion sliding slowly down her face. Legolas gave her a gummy smile, oblivious to the turmoil in her mind. Almost despite herself, Rhonith returned the smile.

“She must take the ships,” Thranduil whispered, stiffening as the words passed his lips. Legolas grumbled in his arms, picking up on the distress the thought caused him. “Perhaps she will find peace in Valinor, find healing I cannot give her.” It was a terrible choice to make, but in his heart he had known the truth to his question for some time: Nínimeth would not recover, not this time, her mind was too far gone. Rocking the leafling gently, Thranduil tried to soothe, to protect his son from the grief that permeated the air. Little Legolas gave his adar a gummy smile, which did not make him feel better.

“Will you take her West?” Rhonith whispered, hardly daring to voice the words. This was the last resort; it was Valinor or fading entirely, a fate she did not wish upon either of them. If he sent her west, at least there was a chance of swifter reunion; if Nínimeth faded into death, she would be locked in the Halls of Mandos awaiting her Doom, her judgement. There was no guarantee that she would choose to be reborn as all that she was, and – even if she did – no way to return from across the Sea. Thranduil shook his head.

“No. I cannot.” The tall elf stood to face the window, through which the two could see the green leaves of spring. Hugging the elfling to his breast, he murmured quietly, despair in every syllable, “I cannot bear to stand on the piers of the Grey Havens and watch her leave without me.” The elleth sat down, leaning against his shoulder and ran a finger down the soft cheek of the small elfling, making him smile. Thranduil sighed. “I cannot recall her fëa, Rhonith. Not this time.” He had barely been enough, before, when she was battling only the grief of their son, but this… this was madness and rage mingled with grief so powerful he could not touch it, could not shelter her from the storm, light her path out of the darkness. “Sellig, she is almost lost and I… I do not know what else to do.”

“Will you not go with her?” Rhonith asked, though she hoped the answer was no; if they both left, she would have no kin among her father’s people but their twin sons, one of whom disliked her greatly.

“My sons are not ready to rule, Rhonith, you know that.” Thranduil sighed, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and stroking her ear gently. “Ninimeth must go West, to Valinor, if she is to live, and I must stay here until one of my sons can take the crown.” In his arms, Legolas cooed. “I do not wish for him to grow up without his Naneth,” Thranduil whispered, “but I do not wish to take this world from him before he is ready, either. Nínimeth said he would range far, and I feel our last son will have a destiny beyond this forest.”

“I will take her,” Rhonith sighed, knowing she would feel no peace on the journey, knowing that this was not what Nínimeth would have chosen if she still could – but Nínimeth no longer inhabited her body, replaced by an unrecognisable creature of rage. They both stiffened in surprise, but she did not take back her offer.

“Sellig…” Thranduil trailed off, staring at her. Rhonith gave him a pale smile.

“Perhaps, Avornien will join us,” she murmured, which gave him some hope that she did not intend to follow her sister to the Undying Lands. “I will take Nínimeth to the Grey Havens and put her on one of the swan-prowed ships with the white sails.”

Thranduil said nothing, simply stared at the small face of his son; the elfling he had never thought he would have, and in some ways the catalyst of his wife’s suffering. He wondered if his love for this leaf would be enough to counter the absence of his Naneth.

[1] My sworn sister

(For a little bit of backstory - I haven’t finished writing a lot of Dagorlad, for example - see the Thranduil Genealogy chart)

#thranduil #ninimeth #Dwelf-'verse #legolas' mum #queen of mirkwood

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dfroza · 5 years ago

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when we get to Heaven

we won’t need money. it won’t control everything. Love will. because Love is God.

and from Today’s chapter of the ancient book of Proverbs we read of the thoughts of a skeptic, as well as the significance of God’s living Words:

from chapter 30 for november 30:

God? Who Needs Him?

The skeptic swore, “There is no God!

No God!—I can do anything I want!

I’m more animal than human;

so-called human intelligence escapes me.

“I flunked ‘wisdom.’

I see no evidence of a holy God.

Has anyone ever seen Anyone

climb into Heaven and take charge?

grab the winds and control them?

gather the rains in his bucket?

stake out the ends of the earth?

Just tell me his name, tell me the names of his sons.

Come on now—tell me!”

The believer replied, “Every promise of God proves true;

he protects everyone who runs to him for help.

So don’t second-guess him;

he might take you to task and show up your lies.”

And then he prayed, “God, I’m asking for two things

before I die; don’t refuse me—

Banish lies from my lips

and liars from my presence.

Give me enough food to live on,

neither too much nor too little.

If I’m too full, I might get independent,

saying, ‘God? Who needs him?’

If I’m poor, I might steal

and dishonor the name of my God.”

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 30:1-9 (The Message)

and from The Passion Translation:

These are the collected sayings of the prophet Agur, Jakeh’s son—

the amazing revelation he imparted to Ithiel and Ukal.

God, I’m so weary and worn out,

I feel more like a beast than a man.

I was made in your image,

but I lack understanding.

I’ve yet to learn the wisdom

that comes from the full and intimate knowledge of you,

the Holy One.

[Six Questions]

Who is it that travels back and forth

from the heavenly realm to the earth?

Who controls the wind as it blows and holds it in his fists?

Who tucks the rain into the cloak of his clouds?

Who stretches out the skyline from one vista to the other?

What is his name?

And what is the name of his Son?

Who can tell me?

[A Pure Heart Is Filled with God’s Word]

Every promise from the faithful God

is pure and proves to be true.

He is a wrap-around shield of protection for all his lovers

who run to hide in him.

Never add to his words,

or he will have to rebuke you and prove that you’re a liar.

God, there are two things I’m asking you for before I die, only two:

Empty out of my heart everything that is false—

every lie, and every crooked thing.

And give me neither undue poverty nor undue wealth—

but rather, feed my soul with the measure of prosperity

that pleases you.

May my satisfaction be found in you.

Don’t let me be so rich that I don’t need you

or so poor that I have to resort to dishonesty

just to make ends meet.

Then my life will never detract from bringing glory to your name.

Never defame a servant before his master,

for you will be the guilty one

and a curse will come upon you.

There is a generation rising that curses their fathers

and speaks evil of their mothers.

There is a generation rising that considers themselves

to be pure in their own eyes,

yet they are morally filthy, unwashed, and unclean.

There is a generation rising that is so filled with pride

they think they are superior and look down on others.

There is a generation rising that uses their words like swords

to cut and slash those who are different.

They would devour the poor, the needy, and the afflicted

from off the face of the earth!

There are three words to describe the greedy:

“Give me more!”

There are some things that are never satisfied.

Forever craving more, they’re unable to say, “That’s enough!”

Here are four:

The grave, yawning for another victim,

the barren womb, ever wanting a child,

thirsty soil, ever longing for rain,

and a raging fire, devouring its fuel.

They’re all insatiable.

The eye that mocks his father and dishonors his elderly mother

deserves to be plucked out by the ravens of the valley

and fed to the young vultures!

[Four Mysteries]

There are four marvelous mysteries

that are too amazing to unravel—

who could fully explain them?

The way an eagle flies in the sky,

the way a snake glides on a boulder,

the path of a ship as it passes through the sea,

and the way a bridegroom falls in love with his bride.

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 30:1-19 (The Passion Translation)

and to accompany this, a portion of a Letter apart from Today’s chapters that was written to inspire us in seeking after the truth in Love in our relationships:

So put away your lies and speak the truth to one another because we are all part of one another. When you are angry, don’t let it carry you into sin. Don’t let the sun set with anger in your heart or give the devil room to work. If you have been stealing, stop. Thieves must go to work like everyone else and work honestly with their hands so that they can share with anyone who has a need. Don’t let even one rotten word seep out of your mouths. Instead, offer only fresh words that build others up when they need it most. That way your good words will communicate grace to those who hear them. It’s time to stop bringing grief to God’s Holy Spirit; you have been sealed with the Spirit, marked as His own for the day of rescue. Banish bitterness, rage and anger, shouting and slander, and any and all malicious thoughts—these are poison. Instead, be kind and compassionate. Graciously forgive one another just as God has forgiven you through the Anointed, our Liberating King.

The Letter of Ephesians, Chapter 4:25-32 (The Voice)

my personal reading of the Scriptures for Saturday, november 30, the 69th day of Autumn and day 334 of the year:

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the-blind-geisha · 7 years ago

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Who is Emuntin and the demon lady?

XD The fact Irie is called ‘demon lady’ makes me happy, I suppose.

Emuntin Haverstar is Oreana Galena’s older brother:

Emuntin was the first child born from Pharaoh Saa and QueenDonianna. He was only 9 when Anubis threatened the birth of the family’s secondchild, Oreana, and wished with all his might that he could help the family inprotecting her.

Saa kept his son from dabbling in the thought at such ayoung age and insisted the boy stay out of trouble and mind the guards aroundhim.

Much to his dismay, he did so only to feel the threat from thecorrupted Anubis quake the Eytheria Island, causing Oreana (only a few weeksold) to be pulled from her family and rushed to safety to a fellow island intheir world. For 24 years, Oreana was gone and never heard from again until shewas rescued from the brothels of a foreign world and brought back to herfamily.

During the time of her absence, Emuntin felt he was to blamefor not being able to help. With his sister gone, he took it upon himself tolearn high defense and healing magic, only carrying the Phoenix Crest of Eytheria(a shield) on him and never a weapon. His magic is used to detain and not hurt,making that his weakness as he sees good in everything and everybody—also believingthat he is far from the man to decide when someone should die as the godsthemselves would see to it when it was someone’s end.

When Oreana returns, the people do not trust her as they seeher as cursed with her pale skin and the aura of death being around her. Notwanting to lose his sister again, Emuntin fought hard to keep her in Eytheriaand swore with all his might he would detain her if she were to lose control ofher powers as she had in the past. However, his plight to do so hardly quelledthe people’s fear or desire to threaten an uprising against the Haverstarfamily, resulting in Oreana’s forced destiny and Emuntin being the only familymember who will listen to her.

In Anubis’ desire to seek revenge on Saa and his family (asSaa was the one to land the final blow on the corrupted god that sealed himaway), Emuntin has felt that wrath as well—having horrible visions andnightmares nearly every night from his world and other worlds surrounding them.It causes him to be restless and find sleep at odd times of the day or justlook very tired when he’s awake.

The scar on his lip is one not from battle but from fallingand cutting his lip on some stairs when he was younger. He jokingly says it isfrom a great fight he was in, but then finally downplays it into the truth, explainingthat ‘not all scars have glorious back stories’.

Emuntin in the comic is 40-years-old, and the reason he doesn’tlook that age very well is because the royal families in these worlds haveprolonged life—a blessing from the gods themselves, but they are not immortaland can still die of old age and of injuries.

Irie

Irie is a succubus who uses dark magic as a means to getwhat she wants. She was originally a part of Osiris’ court centuries ago, butfell to the corruption of Anubis when the corrupted god tried to reach out andkill Osiris through his most powerful generals. The generals fled when they couldn’tignore the whispers of Anubis, falling to his command in time and spreadingchaos throughout the multiple worlds.

When Irie was bold enough to attack Saa and his court headon in the man’s ‘youth’, Saa banished her to a demon world, causing the rootsof the Tree of Temptation to bind her in place for centuries. As time passed,Irie began to manipulate the roots at will and was able to find a means ofwhich to still depart from her hellish home now and again when able—finding comfortin the land of dreams, draining the souls and life of people she encounters ifthey are foolish enough to touch her as touching her gives her strength and aportion of that person’s spirit energy.

Irie found that Isis, the goddess she had loved in life aswell as in damnation, had turned to a ‘new favorite’, Oreana, and because shedesires to have Isis to herself, Irie delightsin tormenting the princess in her dreams. When Oreana’s sights get turned tosomeone she loves, Irie then turns to the princess ‘new toy’ to torment them inreturn to see if she cannot extract some form of revenge on the woman forstealing Isis’ attention from her.

The collar she wears is a symbolic meaning to the factAnubis ‘owns her’ and she is at his command as Irie is hard to control and withher own agenda at times. If she disobeys Anubis, the spikes yet inward,piercing her throat and torturing her as she cannot die.

More of Irie’s story will come about when or if I draw and publicizeSeduction, the sequel to Temptation, but we’ll see. Irie has been with me forYEARS. She was the first villain character I ever made as a child, so she’s gota twisted special place in my heart.

#but the fact people are telling me they love Emuntin makes me super happy??#like seriously #that's so sweet to hear #my characters #myart #original characters #artwork

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chameleonspell · 8 years ago

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189: dead

Blooooood. The ghastly spectre writhed in the darkness, its mouth a void, the edges of its smoke-like form roiling and churning. Its voice was deep but echoless, bypassing mundane concepts like mouths and ears to arrive directly in Iriel's head. Shared blood and spilled. Clan blood cries out for blood. "Yes." Ire rubbed his brow; this was melodramatic and needlessly invasive. "You said. But I can't spare any, so if you've quite finished moaning at me, I need to get past." He moved towards the rock opening behind the ghost, but it whipped into his path, sending a shock of cold through his chest where it touched him.

"Stop that," he said. "I'm not here to disturb the spirits or desecrate anything. I thought this was a cave, not a tomb." This not our ancestral holy ground, but we come here bound to a purpose. You shall not interfere. "I don't want to! I'm just here looking for someone, and as soon as I find him, I'll be on my--" No. The one you seek is ours now. "He's... dead?" Ire tried to seem impassive, this was no time to give them emotional leverage. "Show me his body, then. Or are you trying to get rid of me?" His heart still beats, but he is ours now. You cannot have him. "I can, and I will. He's outcast, and you're dead. You have no claim over him." He will give himself willingly. He has no alternative. This is clan business, family business. Stay out of it, earth-walker. Iriel hadn't crossed miles of stony scrubland in the rain, then spent hours blundering through a pitch-black cave complex for this. He drew a Daedric dagger from his belt. "I'd prefer this didn't come to violence," he said, "but I'm going down there." We are the honoured ancestors of the Ahemmusa, the ghost told him. You cannot harm us. You may banish our wraiths, but our eternal souls shall return again through the Waiting Door until our purpose is fulfilled. "Mm. About that." Iriel angled the ebony blade, so the enchantment shimmered in the small magelight he was managing to maintain. "This dagger has a soul trap spell on it. Trapping sentient souls is terribly unethical, of course, but where I trained, you'd technically be classified as an undead revenant." His mouth twisted. "It's a grey area. So I'd prefer not to, but if--" He didn't need to continue. The ghost had already vanished into the rock, wafting off to cause trouble elsewhere. Iriel exhaled, thankful that bluffing still worked on the dead. True, his blade was enchanted with soul trap, but he had no soul gems on him at all. He resheathed the dagger and began clambering down into the near-vertical tunnel the ghost had been guarding. He wished he had a clearer idea what was going on, here in this ugly crack in the earth between the Grazelands and the mountains. He'd found Julan's boot-marks near the entrance, but no sign of anyone else. Inside, the first open space he'd reached had been burned black with ash and strewn with broken arrows. The scene of a battle, but years cold. A hole had been cleared, in the back, the fungus and cave-weeds hacked away to reveal a deeper passage. Soon, he'd found Julan's boot-prints again, and, half an hour on, a freshly dead Scamp. Three wrong turns and a damp skid down a slimy crevasse later, he'd tripped over the first dead ash-beast, and begun to suspect Mashti had been right that these caves, too, led beneath Red Mountain. The corpses had kept him on the right track, after that, becoming more frequent, both Daedra and Dagoth-spawn. It was hotter, too, and from time to time, his magelight was supplemented by crystal outcrops, flowering from the walls in wan blues and nervous violets. No sound but the scrape of his feet, the rasp of his breath, and the slow, distant rumble of molten rock. Until he began to hear the voices of the dead. Voices or voice, it was hard to distinguish. It wasn't one monologue, but a stream, a chaotic jumble of psychic flotsam and jetsam, shreds of memory and threads of thought, snarled one into another, dragged from the peace of the void and tossed through time, breaking still further, former identities fragmenting in the physical, smashed on the cruel certainties of Mundus. All that remained was the ghostline. Soul energy, bound together by age-old spells, and the blind cohesion of liquid, like clinging to like. Almost, but not entirely. There was one... not quite a voice, everything in his head had the same faceless, toneless quality, but... one strand that was consistent. That repeated, again and again, until Iriel saw the threads as a rope of meaning, knotting and holding the weaker souls in its narrative net, pulling them in a shared direction. ...heard her, the zainsubani girl, heard her weeping, heard her demand to speak to my husband in secret. i followed them. i learned the hard way not to leave sashael alone with pretty girls half his age and half again... ...not what i feared, and yet worse. she told sashael he must tell HIM the truth, must take as son the one who was NOT his son, never his true son, who was outcast, was nothing... that he must do this because the mabrigash was weaving a plot that would kill the boy... He'd begun seeing them, then, briefly, at the edges of the light. The wispy recollections of past lives. Always moving away, oblivious to him, lost in their soul-shocked navigation of this arduous and hostile world. ...held my breath in the shadows, ashamed of my hope, ashamed of my wish to remove this blight on my life and my marriage. since for all that i hated him, he was only a child. and had i not promised? had i not suffered him in the camp, so that my husband might look on him? not speak, never speak, but look? Only when he'd come to this passage had the ancestors noticed him, tried to stop him. And even then the resistance had been distracted, half-hearted, gone before he could press for more information. Iriel chewed his cheek and crept forwards. The clamour of the dead was angry and insistent, their attention compressed into singleminded focus, like rapids rushing through a gorge. ...had i not agreed this? and sworn no harm upon the boy or even upon the witch? though all knew i could call down the bitter curses of lord boethiah any time i wished? and oh spirits, i did wish. but i did not, because i had promised. promised on the one condition that he never acknowledge him, never speak his name or hers. and i swore, and he swore, on blood and ash, soul and bone, the three blessings and the four corners, oaths deadly to break... ...yet i heard him say now that he would break them. would risk raining destruction on all our clan, for this outcast not-son. i knew then i had to act, to protect my people, to protect my marriage, to protect my husband from his endless foolishness... The rock beneath him was steep and slick, but there was light ahead now, crimson and spiteful. ...when he came to me, and begged me to release him from our compact, i pretended to understand. i told him i would undo the curse-bonds, and i did so... ...but if he was released from his vows, so too was i... Halfway down the incline, his feet went from under him, and he crashed, toppled, rolled helplessly through the opening and into the red cave. Through a dizzy blur, Ire took in a high, cragged ceiling, glowing lava far below... and a ledge beneath him, shrinking rapidly as he barrelled forwards. Flailing every limb, he clawed his way to a halt, spreadeagled on the edge of the precipice. Inside his head, the ghostline howled, drowning his thoughts. ...i prayed to lord boethiah as soon as he was gone. i prayed that sashael never speak a word to the boy. i prayed for cunning vengeance for the insults cast upon me. i prayed for blood. i prayed for that foul witch to feel all the agony i had suffered, and more... ...i was angry. i spoke rashly, imprecisely. the daedra offer us great power, but they take delight in such things, and grant prayers to suit their own amusements. i received the trap that took my husband from me, nothing of him spared, even for the bone-rites... ...all her fault... forcing my hand... i paid the price she should have paid, but she shall pay it yet! when i sent my soul to the ancestors, i charged it with spells that would bind them to my vengeance! we called to him, in his dreams, but he would not listen. now he knows her treachery, he will finally be our sword! Through the furious anguish of the dead, Iriel heard Julan scream, somewhere above him. He looked up. There was a narrow spit of rock, high and far across the cavern, lit by the lava below. Julan was half-way along it, legs braced for balance, hands shielding his head. The air around him... the entire ceiling of the cavern... was full of ghosts. They surrounded Julan like light-maddened insects, diving and swarming, blocking his way back to the tunnel he'd entered from. One swooped straight through his shoulder, and he flinched, staggered, screamed again. Ire called his name, to no avail. "Get out... of my head!" Julan's voice was uneven, exhausted. Louder, closer, were the dead souls, curse-fused by power and malice into a whip, their demands piercing Iriel's head like skewers, and he wasn't even their target. You would still be her shield, after such a betrayal? "No," he heard Julan rasp, "but how can I--" You would turn from justice? This one act would prove you his true son, let you claim your place. You would spit on his bones instead, and pledge yourself to the witch? "No!" Then take back his blood from her! This is your initiation test, outcast! This will make you Ahemmusa, from breath to ash. Clan must cleave to clan, dead to living, life to death. Will you turn away from your people when they need you, when they cry out for your aid? "No!!" Then answer betrayal with betrayal! Eat your mother's sin, purge her poison from your blood and strike her down! Swear it, bind yourself to us! A silence that cracked and bled, then: "No... I need to think, I can't just... I came here to find the truth, not..." So you choose her. "No..." Then you choose nothing! Outside the clan, there is nothing! Choose nothing, and you will be nothing, have nothing, mean nothing! "...that's... not..." Lies and delusions! You are still her creature, then. Break free! Choose!! "NO!!!" The ghosts dived at him, a swarming mass of mindless rage. Then Ire saw him fall. Saw every thread in him snap clean. And Iriel launched himself into space. No rope, no cape, no spells, no thought, no hope, really, of saving anyone from anything, only of sharing in it. Of being with him, when the impact came. next: 190: weight previous: 188: despair beginning: 1: numb

#howtodisappearcompletely

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