#i built him a little vegetable-garden shrine thing

[spod3]

i should've wet specimened my beloved and very dead and gone and deep in the ground and loved-a-lot cat tbh it would've been interesting

JUST FOUND OUT ABOUT WET SPECIMEN !!!! well, i've seen them before, but...... but now I've REMEMBERED ABOUT THEM SO COOL !!!! SO COOL !!! I WANT TO HAVE A JAR OF SOMETHING WET YESSSS !!!!

[azvolrien]

Two Months

This is another little Asta-and-Roan vignette series, this time featuring the run-up to their wedding. Maybe a bit shorter than the last couple, with only four relatively short segments, but it gives a little more detail to some stuff that, while it’s been part of the setting inside my head for a long time, hasn’t really come up on the page before.

---

           15th of Messis – Two months to go

           Auchtertan Public Library

           Auchtertan was a small town – only a couple of thousand people called it home – but it drew custom from dozens of small farms up in the hills and tiny fishing harbours along the coast of Loch Gorm, people who either could not or did not want to make the long ride up to Duncraig, and so it had far more on offer than some of the bigger towns nearer the city did. Market stalls were set up in the town square every weekend, forming a loose ring around the ancient carved stone in front of the temple, but even during the week the grocer, butcher and baker were well-stocked. The post office was constantly bustling, there was almost always smoke rising from the bathhouse’s furnace chimney, and the library above the beach boasted two storeys filled with books on all subjects.

           Roan padded along one of the rows on the first floor, running her hand over the spines of the books on their shelves, to the desk Asta had claimed below one of the windows overlooking the sea.

           “Were the librarians able to give you the forms?” asked Asta without looking up from the slim paperback lying open on the desk.

           Roan laid the forms on the desk beside the book and sat down opposite her.

           “Good, good,” said Asta, still without looking up. Roan smiled and propped her chin on one hand, taking a moment to just admire her new fiancée. At this hour of the morning, the sun hit the library window at exactly the right angle for Asta to glow in its light. It drew out the warm gold of her skin and the black-tea chestnut brown of her eyes, and cast enchanting bluish highlights on her deep black hair. One lock had escaped her ponytail, falling forwards over her face. Roan reached out to tuck it back behind her ear, trailing her fingertips gently over Asta’s cheek.

           Asta finally glanced up from the book. The sun caught her eyes, turning them a beautiful reddish amber for an instant. “What?”

           “I like seeing you in your element for a change,” said Roan. “You do love your books.”

           “Yes, I’ll have to have a browse in their fiction section before we head home,” said Asta, turning her attention back to the book. “I’ve been meaning to find something new to read of an evening.”

           “Has that one been useful?” asked Roan.

           “Yes, as a matter of fact,” said Asta. “It’s a very comprehensive guide to marriage in the Sea Lochs. It’s actually a lot more straightforward than I was expecting – things would be more complex if we needed to arrange a temple service or book a venue for a big reception or get the registrar to come to us, but since we agreed we don’t need any of that, essentially all we have to do is fill out these forms telling the registrar that we want to get married and confirming that we’re both of age and of sound mind and so on and so forth, post them up to Duncraig, and they’ll get back to us with an appointment to actually go and get married.”

           “You don’t have to… I don’t know, get your House’s permission or anything? I don’t know how it works with the nobility.”

           Asta glanced back up and shook her head, smiling. “I would if I was in the core family or just outside it, but I’m so minor a branch of House zeDamar that I doubt I even qualify as a leaf. The only reason they would arrange a marriage for me would be if they wanted to emphasise how unimportant my potential spouse was to them.” Her smile faded and she cast her eyes back down at the pages. “Besides,” she muttered. “House zeDamar abandoned me when I needed them. I don’t owe them anything any more. I’d even give up the name if I could.”  

           Roan leant over the desk and kissed her forehead, bringing the smile back for a moment. “Can you not?”

           Asta shook her head again. “It’s not allowed. If you’re born to a noble house, you’re a part of it for life – and if you weren’t, you can’t claim the name through marriage or adoption. Which I suppose at least saves us any arguments over who’ll be changing their surname.”

           “��NicBruide’ isn’t really a surname anyway,” said Roan. “Let’s get these filled out – they can be in Duncraig tomorrow if we get them posted by lunch.”

           ---

           13th of Sanguis – One month to go

           Dun Ardech, just inside the outer wall

           Asta knelt in front of the little shrine beneath its wooden shelter and lit three small cones of incense, one in front of each pewter god-figure on the flat slate altar, then clapped three times to draw the gods’ attention.

           “Mighty Voynazh,” she murmured, and laid a small beaker of wine before the god of war. “Great Siraki.” She placed a sprig of rowan-berries in front of the goddess of commerce and the protector of travellers. “Blessed Kura.” An ear of wheat for the goddess of agriculture and fertility. “Grant us your protection and your guidance.” That much was a standard invocation. Asta fell silent, considering what else to say. Whatever prayers her parents had offered during their engagement, they had never told her any of them. What was one supposed to say at a time like this?

           “I… am getting married.” Well, that was a start. “We received a letter from the registrar in Duncraig. They have availability in the middle of Gracilis. It’s sooner than we expected, but we decided to take it.” She lifted the beaker and poured the wine out on the ground before the little statue of Voynazh. “Mighty Voynazh, keep the shadow of war far from our doorstep,” she went on quietly. “Whether a blessing from Torravon is the same as a blessing from you or not… Please, let us live in peace, and make it so Roan never has cause for battle-madness.” She crushed the rowan-berries with a mortar and pestle, then tipped out the resulting paste on the flat stone before Siraki. “Great Siraki, clear our path on all our journeys; grant us safe passage over land and water, and be generous in the markets.” She picked up the wheat and rubbed it between her fingers so the grains scattered on the altar. “Blessed Kura…” She paused. “I suppose this is where newly-betrothed people would usually ask you to bless them with children, isn’t it? I suppose that would take divine intervention for Roan and I, at least without involving a third party in some way. But they never featured in our plans anyway, so… Help the hens to lay, keep the vegetable garden going, and I think we’ll be content.”

           The wooden chimes hanging above the shrine clicked gently and spun in the wind; the galloping horses carved around the top chased each other in circles. Perhaps that was an answer. Asta straightened her back and closed her eyes, breathing slowly and deeply as she listened to the wind rustling gently through the trees and the waves lapping against the rocks outside the wall. A couple of the hens wandered over to take charge of the wheat.

           After little while, Asta got to her feet and brushed the dust from her skirt. “How long have you been standing there?” she asked without turning around.

           “Couple of minutes, maybe,” said Roan. “I was wondering if I should chase the hens away from your offering.”

           “No, they’re fine,” said Asta. “I think Kura takes everything she can from it fairly quickly.” She did have to step in to set the statue of Voynazh back upright when one of the hens knocked it over.

           Roan picked up the hen, tutting in amused disapproval. “That’s probably heresy, you know,” she said to one beady yellow eye.

           “From a chicken?” asked Asta.

           “Henresy, then.”

           “Yes, they are known for their schismatic temple practices,” said Asta as Roan put the hen down and shooed her back towards the coop. She closed the shrine’s shutters and turned the little wooden bolt to secure them.

           “It’s not too late to try and arrange a priest for the wedding, if you want,” said Roan, chasing the other hen off for good measure. “I’m sure there’ll be at least one in Duncraig who’s free.”

           Asta shook her head. “I’ve never liked having a go-between – if I need to speak with the gods I’m quite capable of doing it myself.” She paused. “Roan?”

           “Mm?”

           “Do you believe in the gods?”

           “Are you calling off the wedding if I say no?”

           “No, of course not. I was just wondering – I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you pray. There wasn’t even a household shrine until we built this one.”

           Roan didn’t answer immediately; instead she pursed her lips and folded her hands behind her back, watching the hens.

           Asta went on. “There was a wizard I knew in Stormhaven who didn’t. Believe in them, I mean. I asked him why one day, once we were on good enough terms that he wouldn’t take it as either an insult or a challenge. He just shrugged and said he’d never encountered a good enough reason to.”

           Roan nodded thoughtfully. “I… believe that they exist in some shape or form, aye. Granda raised me on tales of the fearsome goddesses of the Sea Lochs – Torravon, the Cailleach, the Storm Hags – and I reckon I’ve seen enough of their work. I’m just not convinced they pay any attention to us.”

           “Maybe not.” Asta smiled and brushed her fingers through the windchime. “But I suppose it won’t hurt to try and stay on their good side just in case.”

           ---

           11th of Gracilis – Three days to go

           The City of Duncraig

           It was mid-morning by the time Pardus set its paws on the Kingsferry Bridge. At a gallop, the construct could have covered the distance between Dun Ardech and Duncraig in less than a day – and had done so more than once – but they hadn’t wanted to rush the journey and so had broken it at a coaching inn at a village halfway up the coast.

           Roan’s arms tightened around Asta’s waist. “I haven’t been back here in a very long time,” she said, her voice subdued, as Pardus strolled along the bridge. It was a spectacular piece of engineering: four towering stanchions of concrete and steel supported dozens of seemingly slender cables – each one thicker than Roan’s arm in truth – which in turn supported the roadway itself, high above the surface of Loch Gorm. At the far end loomed the city of Duncraig, creeping down the steep, rocky hillside from the crag-top fortress of the High King – now the seat of the Imperial Governor – to the hundreds of docks and jetties along the edge of the water.

           “Nor me,” said Asta, steadfastly keeping her eyes on the city, refusing to let her gaze drift to Castle MacArra atop the ridge on the other side of the loch. “Not since I came back through the portal from Stormhaven, and I was only passing through then; I didn’t stop to look around.”

           “I never wandered all that far from the university when I lived here,” admitted Roan. “Chances are you probably know the city better than I do.”  

           They rode up through the city streets until they reached Siraki Square, the wide granite-paved marketplace up against the cliff face below the fortress. The market itself was not yet open, though the stallholders were setting up in the stone-built booths around the fountain at the centre of the square. Around its edges, would-be customers killed time in other shops or waited at pubs and cafes. Roan eyed them with distinct wariness as Asta reined Pardus in outside the four-storey hotel that took up almost one whole edge of the square. Flags hung from a row of poles jutting out along the façade of white marble, displaying the rampant bear of the Empire, the dragon ship of the Sea Lochs, the striking wildcat of the monarch of Loch Gorm, and the castle-and-mountain of Duncraig itself. Above them, tall glass windows looked out across the square to the fortress, while the rooms on the other side would gaze down the loch towards the distant sea.

           Asta double-checked the letter from the hotel, nodded firmly to herself, and dismounted. Roan followed her a second later, casting another wary glance at the square behind them.

           “We’ll check in just now and leave our bags in the room,” said Asta, unstrapping the suitcases from behind Pardus’s saddle. “Then we can maybe go out for an explore, find somewhere to have lunch…”

           “Aye, that sounds like a plan,” said Roan absently, lifting one of the bags under one arm and hefting the other onto her shoulder. “I… Never mind.” Asta gave her a searching look, but did not press her.

           Their room overlooked Siraki Square from the second floor. It was not lavishly decorated – the walls were painted a plain, warm cream colour, their only extra adornment a small painting of a stag hanging on the wall above the bed – but the bed was wide and soft with a heavy feather quilt, a pair of comfortable armchairs and a small coffee table were arranged by the full-length window, and the bathroom was equipped with a long tub of enamelled cast-iron. Hinged wooden shutters – currently folded back against the thick stone wall – could swing across to block the light from the windows, while thin linen curtains could be pulled over to soften their lines.

           Roan placed the suitcases carefully on the floor behind the door, straightened up to roll her shoulders back, and flopped face-down on the bed. “Give me a few minutes before we head back out,” she said, her voice rather muffled by the quilt.

           “You can’t possibly be tired already,” said Asta, kneeling beside her. She pulled back the hood of Roan’s sealskin cloak so that the skull rested between her shoulder blades. Roan turned her head slightly to look up at her out of one eye. “You, of all people? It’s not even lunchtime yet!”

           Roan made a noncommittal sound.

           “Well…” Asta lay down so they were face to face. “I’m sure we can find some way to entertain ourselves if you’d rather stay in here.” She grinned, poking the tip of her tongue out between her teeth, and slowly ran one finger down Roan’s nose to her lips.

           “Tempting,” said Roan, smiling at last, “and for more than one reason. But I’m sure there’s a museum or something you want to visit.”

           “Well, I wasn’t going to push the matter if you didn’t want to, but I did see a poster for an exhibition on aquatic constructs-”

           Roan laughed, rolled over onto her back, and sat up. “Sounds good. Let’s have a look.”

           The market outside was in full swing by the time they walked back down to the hotel entrance. There wasn’t a single stall without a queue of waiting customers, and the crowds had spilled out from the cafes and shops to mill around in the square itself. Roan took one step over the threshold and froze at the sight.

           Asta looked back over her shoulder. “Roan?”

           “I…” Roan’s eyes were wide and staring, her pupils dilated despite the bright sunshine in the square. Teeth bared, she groped blindly for the doorframe and clutched it, the tendons on the back of her hand standing out like wires.

           “Hey! Hey.” Asta caught her other hand and reached up to stroke her cheek. “It’s all right. Look at me.”

           Roan closed her eyes hard for a few seconds, pressing her lips together and breathing heavily through her nose, before she obeyed. Her pupils had shrunk back to a more normal size, but her eyes were still wide and her breath still trembled.

           “Come with me,” said Asta. “There’s somewhere I want to show you.”

           She led Roan out of the square and down a series of side-streets until they reached a gate in a waist-high iron fence. It was only locked by a simple sliding bar, clearly more to stop animals than humans, and they walked through into a steep-sided ravine lined with dense bracken – now mostly dead and brown for the winter – and tall pine trees. The path of packed earth and scattered bark zigzagged down the slope until it levelled out by the shallow, swift-flowing river at the bottom. Asta sat down on a wooden bench by the river and patted the seat beside her. Roan lay down on her side on the bench and rested her head in Asta’s lap, closing her eyes.

           “I used to come here on the weekends, or when I had an hour or so away from Lady MacArra’s office,” said Asta, stroking Roan’s hair. “It was quiet, a good place to read – I’m not sure if even many life-long residents of the city know about it. South Craig – Lady MacArra’s house – is just downriver of here, down at the seafront.” She paused. “I knew you didn’t like crowds. I never realised you were afraid of them.”

           Roan took a long, deep breath in through her nose and slowly let it back out through her mouth. “I’m fine with thirty, forty people,” she said without opening her eyes. “A bit more if there’s enough room for them to spread out, like at the market in Auchtertan or out on the island. But when there are hundreds all close together like there were back there, it… It feels too much like a threat. And that doesn’t mix well with battle-madness, however well I have mine under control.”  

           “No, I suppose not. Gods, if Duncraig bothers you this much, you would hate it in the Imperial City.”

           Roan just nodded without sitting up. “Never felt any urge to visit it. Don’t think that would end well anyway.” She turned onto her back to look up at Asta. “Did you ever want to go back there?”

           “There’s nothing left for me in Kiraan,” said Asta. “Just a lot of memories, and the good ones are too tangled up with the bad. I do miss it sometimes, all the places I grew up with… but no, I never wanted to return.” She brushed Roan’s fringe back out of her face and leant down to kiss her forehead. “We can go back to the hotel if you want.”

           Roan took another deep breath and shook her head. “I don’t want to keep you cooped up all day. I’ll be all right if we can avoid the crowds.” She sighed and sat up. “So, did those posters say where this exhibit of yours is?”

           Asta smiled. “It’s at the Marine Museum down at the quayside. Don’t worry, I know a few shortcuts that’ll get us there without any crowds.”

           ---

           14th of Gracilis – A few hours to go

           The City of Duncraig

           Roan carried her plate back to the table. “I’m not sure about hotels,” she said as she sat down. “I don’t like hearing strangers moving around nearby at night. But it is nice to have a breakfast we didn’t have to make ourselves.”

           “They lay out a good one here, too,” said Asta, checking over the day’s itinerary in her notebook. “So, our appointment at the registrar’s office is just at the back of five and then we have dinner in the evening, but the day isn’t too busy up until then. Did you have any plans?”

           “I booked us a tub for a couple of hours at that huge bathhouse near the university. You know the one I mean? Our slot starts at half-ten, so we can find somewhere for lunch afterwards.”

           “Oh, is that where you vanished to when I was in the library? You were oddly evasive about that.” Asta added it to her notes, then glanced up, frowning. “There’s a bath in our room here.”

           “Aye, but it’s not very comfy. Not for two people, at least.”

           “True. Well…” Asta reached back over her shoulder and beneath the collar of her blouse, rubbing her fingertips against the raised cords of old scarring.

           Roan caught her reluctance immediately. “It’s a private tub,” she assured her. “No one has to see your back. Not even me, if you don’t want me to.”

           “Oh, I’m used enough to you seeing it,” said Asta with a small smile. “So, two hours at the bathhouse, maybe another two for lunch…”

           “If we make it a very leisurely lunch.”

           “Then that still gives us two and a half hours in the afternoon.”

           Roan scooped half a fried egg into her mouth and swallowed. “I… have a couple of things to take care of then,” she said. “But I’ll meet you at the registrar’s office.”

           “Will you be all right by yourself?”

           “I… will manage.”

           Asta silently searched Roan’s eyes for a few seconds before she nodded. “Five o’clock sharp, then,” she said, giving Roan’s chin a little shake between thumb and forefinger.

           Roan caught her hand and gently kissed the backs of her fingers without breaking eye contact. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

           After a long, relaxing soak in the bathhouse’s steaming, floral-scented water – “I’m very fond of our little bathhouse at home,” Asta commented, “but you have to admit it smells a bit eggy.” – and a lunch that was indeed leisurely in a neighbouring café, they split up outside the gates of the university. Roan gave Asta a quick farewell kiss on the forehead – as much for her own reassurance as Asta’s – before she pulled up the hood of her cloak, squared her shoulders, and strode away. Asta watched her until she had disappeared around a corner, then sighed and returned to the hotel. There were a few things of her own she needed to organise.

           Much to Asta’s relief, as the afternoon wore quietly on she received no word of anyone going berserk in the street and getting either injured or arrested. Five o’clock approached; Asta donned her new blue dress, gave her hair – loose from her usual ponytail – one last careful brushing, and took several slow, steadying breaths in front of the bathroom mirror. She didn’t usually bother with makeup, but for the occasion she had added some pinkish polish to her nails, a subtle shading above her eyes and a hint of a deeper red around her lips. Finally she put on a pair of earrings, each one a plain gold hoop about an inch across – a little showier than the simple cuffs or studs she usually wore, but not to the point of discomfort or distraction.

           “Everything’s going to be fine,” she said to her reflection, before she picked up her satchel containing her purse and the ring box, draped a woollen shawl around her shoulders against the chill of a Gracilis evening, and left the hotel. The sky was almost fully dark, but the streets were busy and well-lit and it wasn’t a long walk to the registrar’s office.

           Like most of Duncraig’s buildings it was a stern construction of grey stone, with a short but impressively broad flight of steps leading up to double doors of sturdy oak, but the windows showed a welcoming gold light from the offices and meeting-rooms behind them. Asta waited at the foot of the steps. A bell chimed somewhere, perhaps from one of the city’s temples. Five chimes. Asta bit her lip, glancing up and down the street and wondering how long she should give it before she started getting worried. She had no fear of Roan getting cold feet, but if something else had happened…

           “I’m here, I’m here! Sorry, not quite five sharp, I know.”

           Asta smiled; a tension she hadn’t really noticed until it was gone fell from her shoulders. She turned towards Roan’s voice and her jaw dropped.

           Roan gestured down at herself, grinning. “How do I look?”

           She still wore her usual cloak, plain yellowish-tan trousers and tough leather boots, minus her gaiters for a change, but one of her afternoon tasks had clearly been to pick up a new tunic. The fine woollen cloth was dyed a rich blood-red, trimmed around the hems with intricate patterns of interwoven vines with strange creatures – birds, dragons, even a water horse – hiding amongst them, all embroidered in varying warm shades of yellow and orange. It was still sleeveless and knee-length like her everyday tunics, but was split into two wide panels front and back, slit up the side from the hem to her hips, and was tailored to accentuate her bust and her waist. A strip of red-and-gold cloth had been tied around her brow, keeping her hair out of her face. Perhaps she had had someone see to that, as well – it had been unbraided and allowed to flow in loose waves down her back, brushed until it shone like polished copper.

           “Great gods,” was all Asta managed. “I – gods.”

           “Not often I render you speechless,” said Roan. Her grin widened. “Not without the use of my hands, at least.”

           “Roan!” Asta blushed and looked away, but she was still smiling.

           Roan ran one hand down over Asta’s hair, combing her fingers gently through it. “You look perfect, mo chridhe. Utterly perfect. Oh, I almost forgot – these two are Kirsty and Erik. They’ve agreed to be witnesses.” She jabbed a thumb at the two people who had been standing behind her.

           Asta gave them a polite nod, returned by both of them, before a flash of white in the corner of her eye caught her attention and she looked down at Roan’s left arm. There was a bandage of some odd, faintly shiny material wound securely around it just below the elbow. “Your arm – are you hurt?”

           “Hm? Oh, that. No, it’s fine – I’ll show you after the ceremony. Shall we?” She offered Asta her other elbow and they walked arm-in-arm up the steps. A clerk met them just inside the doors and led their little group through to one of the offices, where the registrar had already laid all the relevant paperwork out on his desk.

           “Wedding party of zeDamar and MacBride?” he asked.

           “NicBruide,” corrected Roan, her tone suggesting it was not the first time she had encountered this error. “But aye, that’s us.”

           The registrar glanced down at the forms. “Yes, I apologise – I misread.” He cleared his throat. “We are here to witness and register the marriage of Asta zeDamar and Roan NicBruide. Have you written any personal vows you’d like to say or shall we proceed with the standard version?”

           “I… have a few words,” said Roan. She turned to face Asta and clasped both of her hands between her own. “Asta zeDamar. I… I have spent a lot of my life alone. I’ve never made friends easily, not as a bairn or as an adult. Sometimes people would come into my life, but… sooner or later they all left. Because they had to. Because they were afraid.” Her voice trembled. “Because I sent them away.” She released Asta’s hands and held her shoulders instead. “You are the only one who ever came back. That alone would amaze me every day if nothing else did – and believe me, much else does, from the strength of your heart to the sharpness of your mind, every single day since that night you first showed up on my doorstep. You’ve put up with me for longer than anyone but my grandfather. You are the best friend I have ever had, the most trusted ally of my heart, and the love of my life, and I can’t bear to spend one more day of that life without being married to you.” She sniffed and scrubbed at her eyes with the back of one hand.

           Asta reached up to wipe the not-quite-shed tears away with her thumb. “You saved my life,” she said, “and I mean that in so much more than the purely literal sense. Yes, you treated my wounds and rescued me from the people who wished me ill – but more than that, you made sure I had the time and space and help I needed to heal, in that heart and mind you love so much as well as physically. Nobody has ever understood me – has ever listened to me – the way that you have. You make me happier than I’ve ever been before just from being your own kind, capable self, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” She pushed herself up on her toes to kiss Roan softly on the lips.

           “That part comes later,” the registrar reminded them with a smile. “Do you have rings?” Asta fished the little box from her satchel and handed one ring to Roan.

           “Silver,” commented Roan, holding the unengraved band up to the light.  

           “Gold felt a little too much like brass,” said Asta quietly, rubbing her throat with one hand. Roan just nodded, understanding immediately.

           “Asta Irina zeDamar,” said the registrar. “Do you assent to marriage with Roan NicBruide?”

           “I do.” She slid the ring she still held onto Roan’s finger.

           “Roan NicBruide. Do you assent to marriage with Asta zeDamar?”

           Roan placed the other ring on Asta’s finger. “I do.”

           “Then I pronounce you married.” Roan didn’t wait for any further instruction and swept Asta right off her feet in a long and thorough kiss.

           “Well, then,” said Asta, resting her forehead against Roan’s. “There we go.” Roan just grinned and kissed her again.

           They all signed the forms to render everything properly official and left the building, bidding farewell to Kirsty and Erik at the bottom of the steps.

           “Do you really not have a middle name?” asked Asta as they strolled back to the hotel together.

           Roan shook her head. “I’m just Roan.”

           “It suits you, somehow. Very straightforward. You were going to tell me what happened to your arm?”

           “I was, wasn’t I?” She carefully loosened and unwound the bandage from around her arm. “The cloth is spelled and treated with a special ointment,” she explained. “It helps to quickly heal the skin without fading the ink.” Bandage removed, she held out her arm to reveal a dark blue, five-pointed star inked into the soft skin of her inner forearm, just below the crease of her elbow. Inside its crisp outline, each segment of the star was decorated with similar knots and spirals to the rest of her tattoos. “I get them to mark important occasions, remember?”

           Lost for words for the second time that evening, Asta reached out with one hand, but pulled it back a hair’s breadth before her fingers met Roan’s skin. “It won’t smudge or anything, will it?”

           “No – it won’t be fully healed yet, but the bandage moved things along enough that the ink is set.”

           Asta smiled and brushed her fingers against the star. The skin around it was still a little pink and swollen from the needle, the lines of the tattoo a little raised, but it would settle back as it healed the rest of the way. “It’s very neat work.”

           “Kirsty’s, as it happens,” said Roan. “She’s my tattooist. Erik, now, he’s just a random man who had some time to spare.”

           Asta had to laugh. “It’s beautiful. Thank you. Although�� You do know that the origin of my name doesn’t actually have anything to do with stars, right?”

           “I do, but ‘divine beauty’ is a lot trickier to make a tattoo design of.” Roan smiled and ran her fingers through Asta’s hair again. “However well it suits you.”

           Asta leant against her side with a smile, winding one arm around her waist as they walked, and said nothing.

           Roan laid an arm around her shoulders. “Our table at the restaurant won’t be ready for another hour and a half, ish.”

           “Oh, no.” Asta half-closed her eyes, her smile growing a little more suggestive. “However will we fill the time?”

---

What did you think she had in mind?

Roan has had her star tattoo in a few pictures I’ve drawn of her, but this is the only time the personal meaning behind it has actually been pointed out. ‘Asta’ is a diminutive form of the name ‘Astrid’, which does indeed mean something like ‘divine beauty’.

[myssamyss]

Everything Stays, Part 5 of 6

Inspired by: “Malon 1″, “Malon 3″, and “Malon 4″ by Jojo

Part 5: Crystal Tide Rising

Warriors was wrong, and Wild felt lighter for it. A small weight had settled in his chest when Time first announced their detour, but the pasturelands that now surrounded them were certainly no castle, and the woman kissing Time looked nothing like Zelda. Instead, everything about this woman announced her commonness, from her simple cotton clothes to the long working-apron belted to her waist. She held Time with two strong arms that had clearly seen hard labor. Her hair was tied back in what would be an unassuming style, were it not for its startling red color.

The heroes murmured their surprise.

“It’s not Zelda, pay up!” Legend whispered with glee.

Warriors grudgingly handed over a bag of rupees.

Sky clearly didn’t mind being wrong—he was beaming widely at the pair. Wild glanced at Twilight, whose face held happy wonder, and at Hyrule who, to Wild’s surprise, looked just as excited to see Time’s heartfelt reunion with his redheaded spouse.

“Everyone, this is my wife, Malon,” Time announced proudly, sporting a brighter smile than Wild had ever seen from him.

They piled into a small ranch house. Malon greeted each Link in turn with a warm smile and kind words, and Wild was immediately struck by her sincerity. As she flitted from hero to hero, Wild took the opportunity to glance around Time’s house, noting simple plaster-and-wood walls that held weapons and presumed mementos, a small vase of fresh wildflowers, wooden furniture appearing modest yet well-kept, and unadorned windows that lit the rooms with country sunshine. The ranch house held the lived-in feel of a true home, and Wild’s heart cheered with memories of Hateno.

Time seemed cheerful as well. His good eye crinkled with devotion and remained fixed on Malon even when he shrugged out of his equipment and hung his sword casually near the door.  Wild noticed a new easiness to Time’s walk as he led the heroes outside to help with chores.

Later that afternoon, Wild joined Malon in the cozy kitchen. He’d been volunteered for cooking duty.

“My husband says you’re good with a cooking pot,” Malon told him, smiling. She grabbed a cotton apron hanging from the wall and tied it firmly behind her back, then she tucked her red bangs behind her ears. Wild gathered his long blonde hair and re-bound it securely just below his neck. The ranch kitchen was small but well-stocked, boasting a full array of cookware that Wild rarely had access to on the road.

He grinned and shrugged.

“So, I was thinking,” Malon said, “this many people, on such short notice but still hours before dinner? It’s gotta be-”

“Stew,” they finished together. Malon beamed, and Wild found himself laughing.

“Exactly,” Malon said. “And we have plenty of milk and fresh cream, so probably something with a creamy base...”

“Do you have any radishes?” Wild asked, an idea forming is his mind.

“Out in the garden we do!” she told him with a small bounce.

“I have a recipe, but we’ll probably need to substitute some things,” Wild considered.

“We have a full pantry, hopefully it’ll do. And I just canned some berries last week, so I was thinking of sweet bread and jam for dessert, if you can do bread,” she said.

Wild grinned. He thought of the small clay oven in his own kitchen, and sweet memories of restful days spent baking. “I can do bread,” he told her, running a bashful hand behind his scarred ear.

The clatter of utensils and easy conversation filled the kitchen as they cooked together in happy company. The experience felt oddly familiar, and Wild struggled to place it. His thoughts flashed to little Koko in Kakariko; was he remembering that time he’d helped her prepare the recipes she’d learned from her mother? But no, that memory wasn’t quite a match... Where had he learned to cook from? he silently pondered. He’d woken up with an uncanny knack for paring vegetables, simmering sauces, and picking spices that only grew stronger with each recipe he learned. Maybe he’d once cooked with his mother, too. He’d add it to his long list of things to wonder about.

Wild had just begun mixing a sweet glaze for the bread when the other heroes piled into the kitchen through the creaky back door, led by Time. The Old Man wore a white linen shirt that contrasted sharply with his usual armored appearance. He gathered his arms around Malon even as she vigorously stirred the huge, simmering pot on the stove, earning him a playful kick and mischievous grin from his wife.

Wild finished mixing the glaze in absentminded contentment as Malon and Time entertained the eager heroes with stories of their past. He turned to retrieve the bread dough from where he’d left it to rise, and suddenly realized that the previously lighthearted conversation had shifted.

“WHAT?” Time demanded, leveling his good eye at Malon.

“Now-now, don’t worry—” Malon returned easily, but Time cut her off.

“Don’t WORRY!?”

“Don’t you start!”

Wild stared in disbelief, but the argument faded as soon as it had begun. It wasn’t long before the spouses shot sly looks at each other and Wild could see there’d been no harm done.

He transferred the dough to a deep pan, then he dunked his floured hands into the sink basin, all the while marveling at how Time and Malon had built such familiarity that they could argue openly and still make up with ease. A contrasting memory of a moss-covered shrine, Zelda stalking angrily toward him, and his own conspicuous silence rose in Wild’s mind.

“No doubt you boys are all thinking about your own situations,” Malon told the group. Wild immediately dropped his eyes to the bread pan now clutched in his clean hands. Time’s wife was clearly perceptive.

“You know one Link, you know them all,” Malon continued. “I’m sure you’ve found a gal with a little sass. You’re all attracted to that spark. It’s like you boys love a battle or something.”

She thumped Time’s shoulder playfully with the back of her mixing spoon. He turned, attempting to catch her in another bear hug, and knocked over the full jar of jam Wild had left opened on the wooden counter. Wild’s eyes went wide as the jar flew, showering the Hero of Time in gooey purple jam.

Time froze. He lowered his gaze to his ruined white shirt. For a moment, Wild feared he might become angry, but Malon cut through the tension easily.

“What did I say,” she joked with a cheeky grin. “Looks like I won that battle.”

“You’re right,” Time began, turning to her slowly. “Then let me congratulate your victory!” he announced, snuggling into his wife’s side and playfully smearing purple berries across her rosy cheek.

Wild breathed a sigh of relief and popped the bread pan into the warm oven. As he took a seat at the crowded table beside Warriors, he watched the berry-covered couple dissolve into giggles.

Wild was struck by just how differently Time acted on the ranch. Warriors had been very wrong, because Time was relaxed and even playful here. He wasn’t a man constantly on duty. Here, Wild saw that Time had clearly found peace. He told Warriors as much in a low voice.

Warriors flashed him a knowing grin. “Sounds like that’s what you want, too.”

“Well, I don’t know,” Wild replied. “But I bought a house...”

***

The heroes fell into an easy routine of chores, hearty meals, and soft beds (or at least, soft blankets over a wooden floor, which was still an improvement to cold ground). On their third day, Wild was surprised when Time called him from the kitchen to muck stalls with Twilight. Wild figured he’d be more of a hindrance than a help to the farmer, but he went along anyway. The two friends grabbed pitchforks and began sifting manure from the hay. Twilight hummed loudly through a few minutes of work, then he turned and shook his head at Wild.

“Two things,” Twilight told him. “One: you gotta really get under that hay, not just the stuff on top.”

Wild rolled his eyes and dug his pitchfork deeper into the soiled hay.

“Two: can we talk about what’s going on with you?” Twilight asked pointedly. He stared at Wild across the horse stall.

“What?” Wild asked.

“C’mon, you’ve been a little off for awhile now.”

Wild nudged the edge of his pitchfork with his boot. He knew how important this detour was for Twilight, and he’d been trying hard not to dampen it with his own problems. “I’m fine,” he replied.

“Really?” Twilight challenged. He flipped his pitchfork over in his hands with quick ease and playfully knocked Wild’s ankle with the wooden handle. Wild stumbled, unprepared. Twilight twirled his makeshift weapon and came around for another shot at Wild’s leg. Wild fumbled with his pitchfork and attempted a block with the tines, but he was too slow. Twilight hooked them with his own pitchfork and smoothly disarmed him. Wild’s pitchfork sailed across the stable. It hit the wall with a dull THWAP, then fell into the hay.

Wild stared sheepishly at his lost weapon.

“It’s about your Zelda, right?” Twilight raised his eyebrows in knowing accusation as he relaxed out of his fighting stance.

Wild didn’t even bother acting surprised; he’d explained much of his past during odd hours of the night while taking watch alongside Twilight’s giant wolf form. Wild knew that trying to deflect his friend’s concern any further would be pointless.

Wild twisted his mouth and finally nodded. “I don’t think she knows how much I don’t know,” he admitted. “About her. And everything that happened. Before.”

Twilight set his pitchfork against the wooden wall and crossed his arms in front of his broad shoulders. “I thought she knew you lost your memory.”

“She does. And like, I’ve gotten a few things back. It’s just so few, I don’t think she knows how few.”

“Why doesn’t she know?” Twilight pressed.

Wild shrugged. “Well, I don’t say much when I’m with her.”

Twilight gave him a patronizing look.

“Wild.”

“What?” Wild’s voice came out more defensive than he intended.

“Why not?”

“I dunno, I don’t have much to say,” Wild said lamely.

Twilight chuckled. “That’s a lie. I mean, you don’t talk out of your ass, but when you do talk you have plenty to say.”

“Fine, I dunno then. I guess I never really saw myself talking with her, in what I saw from before. And it’s not like we’re traveling together for the company, we have work to do.”

“Did she tell you that?”

Wild thought of the diary that he still felt strange to have read. I wish to talk with him more, she had written, to hear him speak freely and openly. He wondered, had they gotten that chance to talk? In many of his memories she was clearly frustrated by him, but in later memories they seemed so close. And after they left the castle, she acted close. What conversations had passed between them that he could only guess at? Who had she been expecting when she woke him from the shrine?

He realized Twilight was still waiting for an answer.

“Well, no. But I mean, she never really wanted me there… And maybe she grew to like me when we were traveling. But that was old me. Before.”

“Seems like you’re really struggling with this. You in love?” Twilight lobbed the question so casually—it hit Wild completely off guard. His breathing tripped and his face flooded with heat as he sputtered for an answer.

Twilight let the damning silence linger for a moment, then he mercifully doubled back to Wild’s last coherent statement. “For what it’s worth,” Twilight told him, “I appreciate whoever the ‘you’ is now.” He gave Wild an affectionate shove that broke through his burning embarrassment.

“That’s so sweet, wolfie,” Wild shot back.

Twilight rolled his eyes and grabbed his pitchfork. “You know who you should talk to about this? Malon.”

Wild threw him a dubious look. “You’re just saying that because she’s your long-lost grandma.”

“No, I’m saying it because she’s smart and kind and she knows how to talk sense into troubled heroes.”

Wild recognized wisdom in Twilight’s point, but he still sighed and turned away. “I’ll think about it,” he told Twilight.

Twilight shrugged and dug his pitchfork into the hay as he began humming his song once more. Wild retrieved his own fork from the far side of the stall where it had landed. As Twilight’s notes filled the stable, he realized the song was familiar. Hadn’t Time hummed the same melody, after their conversation on the road? Come to think of it, the melody seemed to stir up a cloudy memory, as if he’d heard it long before meeting Time...

“Twi, isn’t that Time’s song?” Wild asked.  

Twilight glanced up. “Oh, yeah, he knows it too. We share a lot of songs,” he laughed. “It’s like our horse song—he says he learned that one from Malon.” Twilight beamed.

“What’s this one called?”

“I dunno.” Twilight shrugged and returned to mucking. Wild joined him, brushing the thought from his mind. But later that day, as Wild helped Malon prepare dinner, he realized that she, too, was humming the exact same tune.

“That’s a nice song,” he told her as she handed him two eggs.

She smiled brightly, then she poured a generous splash of milk over a steaming bowl of potatoes. “Thanks. It’s very special to me. Link wrote it. He plays it best.”

“Huh,” Wild said, raising his eyebrows in surprise. “I didn’t know he played anything.” He cracked the eggs into his bowl and began to stir.

“Few people do,” she returned.

Mysterious songs aside, maybe he should talk to Malon about Zelda, Wild thought to himself. Twilight was right, she seemed to have a wisdom about these things. A wisdom about Links, at least. And Time said she knew everything about his adventures. Surely Wild’s own situation couldn’t be more convoluted than the Old Man’s, he convinced himself.

“So, wanna tell me about this girl?” Malon asked him.

Wild’s wooden spoon clattered to the floor. “What?”

“Did I get it wrong?” Malon asked, her face becoming suddenly apologetic. “Sorry sweetheart, I shouldn’t‘ve assumed.”

Wild grabbed the spoon from the floor and dropped it into the soapy sink basin. “No, you’re right. It’s just… not like that.”

“Well, then why don’t you tell me how it is?”

***

Malon trudged back to the ranch. She led her horse by the reigns; she didn’t want to overburden the mare after such a long day. Her father had sent her on a tedious series of traveling chores that began before sunrise, and Malon felt overjoyed to finally be home. Maybe tonight she’d try talking with Link, she thought to herself. He seemed distant lately. Only a few months had passed since he’d found her in his room, the evening she’d broken his trust. Sure, they’d made up—Link had a knack for forgiveness—but she still felt a fierce need to defend their growing closeness. She feared making another careless mistake. Would Link be so quick to forgive again?

She returned the mare to her stall, then left the stable and caught a glimpse of the setting sun as it dipped just beneath the horizon. Chilled evening air met her face and crickets sang in the tall grass. And on the breeze, she heard another sound... a strange, clear, lilting tune rising from somewhere ahead of her.

The notes were pure and otherworldly. The sound was growing louder now as she approached the main corral. She turned past the stable. A dazzling sight met her.

The field beyond the fence was aglow in a half-dozen colors of soft light. Pinpricks of shining yellows and light blues twinkled in the grass among the thistle, while soft pinks and whites floated whimsically through the air. As she approached, the music grew louder still. Each note sang through the evening air with a keen clarity.

It was a familiar tune, yet it wasn’t. She recognized bits of her mother’s melody, but with unexpected climbs followed by dips that turned the song into something more daring. If her mother’s song spoke of contentment, then this song cried out with wondrous hope.

As she opened the gate, her eyes found the very person she hoped for: Link knelt in the middle of the field on a woolen blanket while lights twinkled all around. And there, held to his lips with both hands, was the ocarina. A path of flickering glass jars lit her way to him.

Link had been absent often lately, disappearing from the ranch at odd times to odd places and leaving Malon to worry that they were growing apart again. But now she realized that he hadn’t been pulling away, he’d been preparing.

The cool grass brushed against her ankles as she made her way across the field. She saw that some of the jars held yellow tea lights, but others were filled with a strange blue fire that licked at the glass. As she neared, she realized the floating lights came from dozens of fairies dancing through the air. Malon gasped in wonder. She had never seen so many fairies in one place before.

Link glanced up at her beneath heavy lids. The dazzling lights reflected in the shine of his eyes and their corners crinkled in a smile. Malon folded her skirt as she sat gently beside him on the soft woolen blanket. Her heart pounded in her chest. She wanted to reach out and touch him, but she feared distracting him from his song, so she clasped her hands tightly in her lap to keep them from wandering and instead marveled at him as he played. His fingers darted across the instrument with a casual sureness and his chest rose and fell as he shaped each phrase. She’d heard him play only a few times before, and never with such sincerity.

The song slowed to a conclusion so sweet and hopeful that she felt tears welling in her eyes. Link lowered the instrument gently to his lap, then he raised his gaze to her.

“That was incredible,” she breathed.

Link smiled. “I made it for you. It’s your song,” he told her simply.

Malon felt stunned. She struggled with the gravity of his words. Because until moments ago, she doubted whether she would ever see the ocarina again. And now, he had used the ocarina to shape a song made just for her.

His face grew deadly serious as he carefully laid the ocarina beside him on the soft blanket. “I have something for you, if you’ll have it,” Link told her. His voice shook yet his eyes were resolute. Malon bit her bottom lip in anticipation.

He reached behind him and came back up with an ornate turquoise box, inlaid with gleaming yellow metal. He held the box out to her and pulled back the lid on its hinges, revealing what lay inside.

A large ring of sparkling amethyst and gold sat nestled on a satin pillow. The ring boasted a large center stone cut like a star, surrounded with dozens of smaller inlaid sister-stones adorning the band. The gems cast many-colored prisms of reflection in every direction around them. The ring was dazzling and entirely too much. Link’s face broke into a wide smile, gleaming in the light.

“Malon,” he began, and she saw the box shaking in his hand. “I love you. And I want to commit to you. No matter where or when we are, for the now and for the future.” He paused to draw a breath. “You are strong, and true, and kind... Will you have me?”

Malon nodded wildly as tears finally leaked from her eyes and down her cheeks.

“Yes, of course!” she cried. “Of course, Fairy Boy, a hundred times over!” She threw herself into his arms and he caught her, as he always did and always would. She kissed his cheek and his eyelid and his nose before finally kissing his lips. He returned her kiss more deeply than he ever had before, running his free hand through the hair at the nape of her neck.

When they finally broke apart, Malon found herself giggling wildly. Link’s joyous gaze remained fixed on her as their chests heaved with shared breathlessness.

“So, you want this?” Link asked, one hand still clutching the ring box.

“I dunno, I’m kind of afraid to wear it…” she began, eyeing the ornate ring suspiciously. But Link’s wide-eyed look of eager expectation convinced her to reach out her hand. He slipped the ring to the knuckle of her finger, then she used her right hand to pull it the rest of the way. It would certainly take some getting used to, she thought to herself as she fanned out her fingers and studied the ring. Then she glanced around the wondrously lit field once more.

“I do have to ask one thing,” Malon began.

Link gave a small frown of concern.

“No, I didn’t mean to worry you!” she told him. “I was just wondering, how did you get so many fairies here, Fairy Boy?”

Link chuckled. “I just asked them,” he said with a small shrug. Malon gave a loud, clear laugh at the obviousness of his answer.

“Speaking of, thank you, everyone!” Link announced to the field, and the lights in the sky wavered, then began to flit away.

Malon watched keenly, fascinated, until the only glow that remained was from the fire-filled jars. Then she snuggled into Link’s side and tucked her cheek into his broad shoulder. He kissed the top of her head and wrapped an arm tightly around her waist.

The two stayed entwined together, curled in complete, consummate happiness as the moon rose high in the night sky. ____________________ Author’s Note: thanks as always to @clumsydarknut for beta-reading. 

[drgnrder82]

   The edge of Chinatown was distinct. The lights on the archway radiated red, white and gold before your eyes took in the sight of the cluster of signs in the narrow streets. The street always seemed to be bustling, like most of New York, even after dark. This city is packed tightly together, but in this burrough it is more apparent. Each building felt connected to the next, the cross streets almost disappear and the gaps seem as small as alleyways. Traveling through this part of the city was easy.    Ignoring the fact that it was close to home, this was a burrough they grew up in, trained in, but over the years they frequented Chinatown less and less. He may not have come through this way at all if his brothers didn't start reminiscing about it with father. Chinatown was not out of his way from the junk yard, but he often kept to the sewers. Particularly in the day. Best not to get caught by people, especially on camera. At this time of night Chinatown was still as active with tourists and natives as the daytime.    Kitchen vents delivered new scents at every rooftop. Fried noodles from a restaurant. A street cart with fried dumplings. The next roof he could smell a whole assortment of fried meats from another of the array of restaurants. Great. Stopping for this detour delayed dinner already and the aromas were conspiring to make him hungrier. Sentimentality clearly came with a price. What was wrong with him, making this detour anyways? By the time he got back all of dinner would be eaten. Mikey and his bottomless stomach would see to that. The others would just laugh and he would be scrounging for food. Wait. Did he need to get groceries again? Probably. Another item to add to the list.    He continued to jump from rooftop to rooftop until a large gap at the far southern edge of Chinatown appeared. He wasn't sure the building was still there until he saw it. Every building in the area was at least three stories, usually more. An old, single story home sat at the edge of the district. When they were kids it was abandoned. From what he had gathered the it was a home and had been converted to a shrine. It was hard to say if it was supposed to be a Japanese shinto shrine, a Buddhist temple, or a shrine to a man from Chinatown. Not that it mattered now. Someone still owned the building but no one used it for anything anymore. From his perch on the rooftop, even in the dark of night, the building should be condemned. Holes littered the roof. A strange building to say the least. It was circular and he only remembered there being a few rooms inside when he was a child. The unique reason they stopped here at all was the garden. The building encompassed a small grassy garden with a single sakura tree. Sensei brought them there to see the sakura tree bloom in spring time for a couple years. Too early in spring for blossoms yet.    He jumped down the outer edge of nearby fire escapes until he could reach the closest section of roof. He judged where the best location to jump would be. Shingles were loose everywhere and he doubted the integrity of the wood supports.    All the windows were dark in the building. Didn't seem like anyone was around. He dared to leap onto the peak of the roof and vault immediately into the thin grass. The cherry tree seemed both bigger and smaller than he remembered. He could easily reach up and touch the lowest branches. Buds were starting to appear, it might blossom in the next couple weeks. He would have to remember to come back. Maybe he would bring father. Father rarely came to the surface but this shrine was generally a safer place to visit.    Something scraped the wood inside the shrine. Could have been anything, but he knew he shouldn't risk getting caught if some person was holed up in the abandoned building. At least the sewer entrance was still in the far edge of the grass, near the back gate to the alley. Swiftly, he ran to the cover, lifted it, jumped in and covered the entrance again. Next time he would do more recon. Or, if he was more intelligent and did not listen to Michelangelo and his stories, not bother being sentimental and just run his errands and get home.

--

   “Did you see someone in the garden?” a girl turned to a boy at the door of the former temple. Tools, new wood, a few pieces of furniture littered the room. The electricity was on, and being paid for for that matter, but not really working in this room yet. Extension cords ran all around the room, mostly connected to work lights. A girl, average height, small build, had tripped over the hammer while trying to avoid a ladder.    At the front door, the boy she was talking to, clicked another work light on from the floor, “Nope.”    “I'm serious.”    “You must be seeing things again. Think this place is haunted?”    “You're an idiot.”

--

Donatello threw his messenger bag on his bed. The lair was dark and still save for the graphics on the video game consoles dancing around. His brothers had retired early after their hard day training. And as he predicted, no one left any dinner for him. Michelangelo ate every last piece of pizza and finished off the cereal, which meant little for breakfast in the morning. He would definitely need to ask April or Casey to get some more groceries for them in the morning. Donatello switched on his work light in his computer lab before he booted up his work PC. Another late shift working as a IT phone technician. Waiting for the PC to boot he rummaged in the cabinets, not surprised to find them mostly bare. He felt fortunate to find a box of ramen hidden in a cabinet and enough oatmeal to lead to a loud, complaint filled morning. Waiting for water to boil he checked the security system cameras, ran back to the kitchen for his ramen and a soda, grabbed his headset from his bed and sat heavily in his computer chair. Before he logged in to the VOIP account for work, he thought about his detour. He really shouldn't have stopped. He kept kicking himself that Mikey got in his head. Now that Leo was back, their family whole again, Mikey was becoming rather reminiscent about childhood. Every time April or Casey came over Mikey would convince Master Splinter to tell different stories about their childhoods. The most recent being some of their rare outings to the surface. “Ever since the day we were mutated we have had few safe havens above ground. Day or night.” Splinter curled his tail around his feet on the couch, settling in next to April. “When they were small children I kept them bundled on me with a blanket, but as they grew they would not heed me, or be still. It was impossible to keep them safe above ground.  It was my duty to keep them safe, even if Michelangelo insisted on climbing the pipes all the way to the ceiling.” When the giggles died out, April asked, “Where could you take them that was safe.” “Of all places,” Leo needed to stifle another round of rare laughter, “the junk yard.” Appearing to meditate on the story, Splinter continued, “It was the only place with a fence Michelangelo would not climb over. I also was able to run them around finding what we needed for our home. To an extent.” “Let me guess, Don would try to bring everything he could home.” Casey tipped back his beer, eager to get a shot in.   His brother’s enjoyed that barb too, “Yes, laugh. I built that warming lamp we still use in the winter.” Claiming the room again, Splinter continued, “When they were older, and I could venture out further and leave them in the lair, I started to explore different neighborhoods. I enjoyed the atmosphere of my old home in Chinatown, and knew the streets well enough and that I may go unnoticed. The boys were young, five, perhaps six years old when I stumbled on a community garden on a roof near the edge of Chinatown. Fresh vegetables were the hardest foods to come by. We only took sparingly and I taught them to help care for the garden as our way of repayment for the food.” Pausing, Splinter sipped at his tea. “One evening as I searched for food behind the restaurants I was almost found by some cooks coming out on a break. I dove behind the dumpster, cornered.” “Like a rat?” Mikey yelped as Splinter’s tail whipped the side of his head. “Police were investigating a murder at a small house on the edge of the district. I had seen this place. It did not look like a house, many people visited, like a shrine. It was a peculiar building. Short and round. From the rooftops I could see a small garden. Weeks passed and I studied the building. It was most certainly abandoned and no police visited any longer. During the depths of the night, I woke my sons early and took them to this small house.” “Wait wait wait…why would you wake them to take them there? I mean…” “Grass.” They intoned quietly. “Grass?” “Hey, it’s not like we can just waltz around Central Park!” Raphael’s face fell but lifted again seconds later, “And that tree.” “What tree?” “In the middle of the garden, a sakura tree.” Their father stretched out his hand, he’d concealed a paper flower in the folds of his robe. “And it was mid spring. The blossoms were just opening.” April tried to conceal tears welling in the corners of her eyes as she watched each of the turtles relive the moment. They could still feel the breeze swirl around them, allowing the light scent of the cherry blossoms to wash over each of them. Donatello opened his eyes. Back to reality. While living in the sewers offered relatively low amounts of bills, he still had to pay for gas and groceries for the family. Reminiscing was nice but he needed to get back to life. IT, as painful a job as when Leo was gone but at least he got the occasional technology repair job in his drop box. Money was money. A wall full of monitors sat in front of him, lighting the entire room. Gadgets in various stages of build were scattered among his floor, desk space all the way around the room with remnants of wires and bolts making a trail practically to his bed in the next room. Maybe he would consider stopping at that building again on his next scavenging trip. Or even the community garden.

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

I literally don’t know how long it will take me to edit this thing. I am near the end of the first arc and starting to edit the beginning. I may get to posting it on AO3 in chapters if I am happy with it. Either way...I liked how the beginning started to turn out. (Post 2007 movie)

[gatesofember]

The Sun Palace

PJO Arranged Marriage/Royalty AU Part 3

Rating: T | Pairing: Solangelo

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Summary: After meeting with the Prince, Will travels home to tell his family the good news. Will loves his family, even if they are a bit...eccentric. For one thing, there's the complicated web that is his father's love life. For another, there are his older siblings, who tease him mercilessly, and his younger siblings, who are rarely up to any good. But even if his family is a bit odd, they will always love and support him

....and then there's Octavian.

Will and Artemis had intended to leave in the fall, before the cold made travel difficult, but the sudden arranged meeting with the Prince had delayed their departure until later in the season.  It took longer than usual to leave Pluto because of the cold weather and Diana was far across the Jupiter, in the southeastern corner of the empire.  The duchy of Ceres was near Diana, a little to the southwest, and Artemis had intended to travel there after seeing Will to Diana so that she could be present for the annual Chronalia festivities.  As a result of their lateness, Artemis took Will to Ceres with her.  She sent Apollo a letter notifying him it would be about a week before they arrived in Phoebus, but neglected to inform him about Will’s success in securing a fiancé, and forbade Will from doing so, as well.  She wanted to see his reaction to the news in person.

Ceres, being a duchy with a primarily agricultural economy, always held the largest and most exuberant celebrations for the Chronalia harvest festival.  Hundreds of people from across the Juvian Empire traveled southward to attend.  There was always plenty of food from the harvest, games and competitions, and the entire festival was dedicated to Chronos, the protogenos of time, to thank him for a successful harvest season.  Artemis always tried to be present at major celebrations like the Ceres Chronalia festival.

Artemis encouraged Will to enjoy himself at the festival, and he did.  He entered the foot-racing competition and ended third, then he helped Artemis lure Thalia into having a bit of fun when she wasn’t on guard duty.  At the feast, Will ate until he couldn’t eat anymore; there were various kinds of meat, vegetables, and fruit—like pomegranates, which he had been nervous to try before he’d eaten one to impress the Prince.

Will wrote to Prince Nico during his stay, describing Ceres and the Chronalia festival.  He wasn’t quite sure what was appropriate to write and he wasted a few sheets of paper before he was satisfied with his letter.  He wanted to tell Nico about how happy their meeting had made him and how much he was looking forward to seeing him again.  Would that be too forward?  Will had a hard time remaining focused and refined when he thought about the Prince; he always found himself to be far too excited.  He ended up settling for writing, “I hope to receive word from you soon,” as that seemed suitable and communicated his excitement about their new relationship, and sent the letter off.

Really, Will was beyond the point of excitement.  He was going to be engaged to marry Nico, the Duke of Angelus and Crown Prince of Pluto—how could he not be?

By the time Will arrived in Diana, it was already winter.  The golden fields of tall grass were dusted with frost and the roads, not designed for such cold weather, were slippery.  As they rode through Phoebus, Will saw people peering out of buildings and stopping to gawk at the Matestra’s carriage.  Will recognized a few faces—not many, as Phoebus was a large city and he didn’t spend as much time there as he did in his childhood, but some.  He poked his head out and waved to a few passersby, and they waved back, recognizing him as the Duke’s consor son.

“I will see you in and talk to your father before I leave for Delphi,” Artemis said when Will ducked his head back inside the carriage.  Delphi, located just outside of Phoebus, was almost an entire down on its own: the grounds included the main Sororal estate, beautiful gardens, a massive theater, and even a few taverns where visitors could find food, in addition to the usual shrines and temples to the protogenoi that could be found on all Sororal grounds.  The Gardens of Delphi, which referred to the grounds as a whole, was a popular vacation spot for the Juvian nobility.  Delphi was a great supporter of the arts; firework shows were put on nearly every night and there were always travelling acts who came to perform music, dance, or act in the theater or even in the gardens themselves.  As the Matestra, Artemis would stay in the Sororal residence with the Soror Princepa of Delphi, Rachel, but would return to Phoebus to visit Will and his family.

Apollo’s palace was sometimes called the Sun Palace—and with good reason.  It stood on the outskirts of Pheobus, and the grounds covered a great deal of land that included not only Apollo’s gardens, but also farmland and ranches where many citizens of Pheobus worked.  The Sun Palace itself, however, was one of the most stunning structures ever built, in Will’s opinion.  Although only three stories tall and simply rectangular in shape, the Sun Palace served as a testament to the wealth of Diana.  The exterior walls were stunningly white, and the ornately carved molding along the windows, the staircase leading to the main floor, and each corner of the building was gilded and gleamed when the sun shined against the palace.  It was positioned in a location that received a great deal of sunlight and was far enough away from the center of town that no shadows fell on its walls.

A paved roadway curved around a large fountain in front of the palace, and as Artemis’ carriage pulled up, a few groomsmen stood ready to care for the horses.  The front facade of the palace featured a grand staircase leading to the main floor, and Will could see his parents and siblings gathered at the top, watching as the carriage came to a halt.  Lee was carrying Kayla, who was only six, so that she could see, and Austin, who was thirteen, was leaning so far over the railing that he looked like he was about to topple over.  When Will stepped out of the carriage, all of his siblings raced down the staircase to meet him.  Michael, Will’s second oldest brother, was the first.  He was followed by Austin and Lou Ellen, Lee’s wife.  Lee and Kayla arrived last, as Kayla had tried to make Lee carry her the whole way before he finally set her down because she was getting too heavy.

When Michael slung his arm around Will’s shoulders and ruffled his hair, Will had to stoop down a bit to meet his height.  “Ouranos’ baubles, you’ve gotten tall!” he said.  Will supposed he had—he’d grown a few inches since he’d last seen his family the spring before.

“You took too long!” Kayla pouted.  She and Austin grappled Will’s waist in an aggressive hug.  “I barely remember you!”

“My most sincere and remorseful apologies, Kayla,” Will said.  “I promise I’ll make it up to you!”  In truth, when Kayla had been younger, she had forgotten him several times because Will was away so often.  Now, she was old enough to remember him, but Will still felt sorry that he wasn’t always there to see her grow up.

“You’ve got a lot to tell us, sir,” Lee said, giving him a hug while Will’s sister-in-law kissed his cheeks in greeting.  “But first off, we are desperate to hear how your meeting with the Prince went.”

All five pairs of eyes looked up at him curiously, and Will could only blush and smile shyly.

His siblings erupted with shouts of victory.  Kayla screamed and Austin started crying.  Will thought he saw Lou Ellen slip Michael a silver coin.  Lee hugged Will so hard that he lifted his feet off the ground and Will had to beg for release so he could breathe.

“He did it!” Lee shouted towards Apollo and Daphne, who were still at the top of the staircase.  Chiron was there, too, along with Will’s cousin and Apollo’s ward, Octavian.

After greeting their aunt almost as enthusiastically, the siblings ushered Will up the staircase to meet their parents.  “Is Hyacinthus not here?” Will asked Michael in a whisper, noticing his absence.  Apollo was rarely seen without his courtesan.

“He’s with Zephyros,” Michael whispered back.  “Don’t talk to Pa about it.  He’s a bit sensitive.”

Will nodded in understanding.  Apollo and Hyacinthus both had additional lovers, but their only serious, long-term romance was with each other.  Hyacinthus’ relationship with Zephyros, Earl of Favonius, was becoming quite steady and, apparently, Apollo wasn’t entirely comfortable with that.  Will liked Hyacinthus—everyone did.  He hoped that Apollo and Hyacinthus would be able to work everything out before something went wrong.

“I’m glad you’re back,” Austin suddenly said, pushing between Michael and Will without warning.  “They’ve been putting me on Octavian Duty.”

Will sighed.  If there was one thing he dreaded every time he went home, it was Octavian Duty.

Apollo hugged Will even more tightly than Lee had, but Daphne’s embrace was gentler and she kissed his forehead before Chiron welcomed him home and offered his congratulations.

“It is good to see you again, cousin,” Octavian greeted, although he appeared to be trying very hard to look bored.  “It’s good to know that another rationally-minded, decent person will be living in this little house for a while.”

Octavian made it no secret that Will was his favorite cousin.  Perhaps it was because Will wasn’t home as often as his siblings and Octavian hadn’t worn through Will’s politeness quite yet.  Will hated offending people, even people as petty and haughty as Octavian.  If the rest of his siblings had their way, Octavian wouldn’t be living with them, but Apollo was Octavian’s legal guardian and, as a consequence, Octavian had to stay.

“It’s good to see you, too, Octavian,” Will replied politely.

Supper was prepared shortly after their arrival and they ate in the dining hall while Artemis updated Apollo and Daphne on her conversations with the King about Will’s pending betrothal.  At the other end of the table, Kayla and Octavian were arguing about something that had Lee, Michael, and Lou Ellen red in the face from holding back laughter.  Austin enthusiastically informed Will about his upcoming piano recital in Delphi, and Will promised that he would be in Phoebus to attend.  Austin was still quite resentful about Will missing his last recital.

Following supper, Artemis and her party left so that they would make it to Delphi’s Sororal estate before it became late, taking with them some of Apollo’s horses to give her own a rest.  After seeing her off, Will and his family gathered in his father’s largest drawing room and they asked him about his meeting with the Prince.  Kayla busied herself with her blocks, being far too busy to pay attention to the adults talk about boring things.  Austin sat with her on the floor—although they were far apart in age, they were the two youngest and had always had a special bond—while Lee, Michael, and Lou Ellen sat together on one of the couches and Apollo and Daphne took their own seats on opposite sides of the room.

Chiron entered the room along with the family, wheeling in on a chair that Will had designed with his friend, Leo.  Leo was another consor who specialized in engineering, and when Chiron’s knee troubles led him to have difficulty walking several years before, Leo and Will had worked together until they designed a seat on wheels.  It wasn’t the first wheelchair to be invented, but they had made it much more convenient, adding the ability for the seated individual to propel themselves without assistance.  The design was also made to be cheaper and more accessible to common people, which gave the injured and elderly more mobility, and Will and Leo had received reports that it even provided some opportunities for those populations to seek employment.  When they presented their work at a convention in Venadica, they were awarded with a stipend to pay for their future research and the development of new products.

“Where to start?” Apollo mused when everyone was settled.  He looked Will over with a delighted expression.  “Well, I suppose that first I should say that I was extremely happy to hear about your meeting from my sister.”

“He was thrilled,” Lee said.

“Elated, really,” Lou Ellen elaborated.

“He cried,” Michael added.

Apollo looked betrayed and turned back to Will.  “That is not at all what happened—you know how prone those three are to exaggeration.”

Daphne scoffed.  Apollo pretended not to notice.

“Don’t listen to him, he absolutely cried,” Austin piped up as he passed Kayla a square shaped block.

“He was bawling, to be honest,” Michael said.

“He wept tears of pure joy, and he carried the letter around with him for days,” Lee said dramatically.

Apollo frowned.  “Now that is a lie—”

“It’s not,” Daphne cut in.  “He sometimes took it out to stare at it.”

“And then he’d cry again,” Austin added.

“He cried lots,” Kayla affirmed, laying down blocks for the walls of a model house.

“Sobbed, more accurately,” Michael said helpfully.  “Huge, convulsing sobs that made the entire estate tremor.  I wouldn’t be surprised if he tickled Gaea’s—”

“Lord Michael, your language, if you please,” Chiron chided.

“Yes, Lord Chiron,” Michael said dully, like he was still a child and Chiron was still his tutor.

“Really, Uncle,” Octavian drawled, “the scene you caused was quite excessive.”

Michael immediately whirled around to face his cousin, having apparently forgotten about Chiron’s warning a moment before.  “Don’t talk about my father like that, you puny, ungrateful d—”

“Lord Michael,” Chiron scolded, and Michael sat up politely and mumbled out a yes, sir.

“In any case, this is all a complete exaggeration,” Apollo said.  “Wouldn’t you say, Lord Chiron?”

Chiron cleared his throat.  “I’m afraid I found the description rather accurate, Your Grace.”

Apollo looked lost for a moment, but then Kayla reached out and patted his knee.  “It’s fine, Papa, I cried, too.”  

Apollo’s expression warmed.  “Thank you, dear,” he said, looking much more chipper.  “In any case, Lord Chiron, I would like to hear your thoughts.”

“I hardly think much is required to be discussed, Your Grace,” Chiron answered.  “The Prince of Pluto wishes to negotiate his betrothal to Lord William.  That being said, I would like point out that Pluto is struggling economically.  They will require a substantial dowry.”

“I will pay it,” Apollo said.

“And there is the Prince’s reputation to consider,” Chiron added.

Will frowned.  “To be frank, Lord Chiron, I am the only one present who has met the Prince.  I believe my testimony is more reliable than that of rumors.  I admit that at first, I feared His Highness was disinterested in me, but he continued to meet with me for hours every day, and, at the end of my stay, he told me that he thought a marriage between us could ‘work quite well.’”

“And he wasn’t as nasty as the rumors say?” Austin asked, looking up from Kayla’s model block-house, which was steadily turning into a block-mansion.

“Not at all!” Will said.  “He’s quite kind.  Stern, but kind.  The Matestra thinks he is kind, as well.”

“Will, you have admired the Prince since you were six years old,” Apollo said.  “Are you certain you are thinking clearly?”

Apollo looked more solemn than Will normally saw him.  His father took the subject of marriage quite seriously, especially when it came to finding spouses for his children.  They had found Lou Ellen for Lee after an extensive search followed by a long period of courting.  Michael still hadn’t found a serious suitor.  Apollo was determined to arrange perfect matches with people his children could form friendships with, and Lou Ellen fit in with his family perfectly.  She was between Lee and Michael in age, and the three of them quickly became friends.  Lou took on the role of older sister for the youngest siblings so easily that Will often wondered how he’d ever thought the family was complete without her.  

Will suspected that Apollo took the subject of courting so seriously partly because of his own failed marriage.  He’d chosen Daphne on a whim of passion, not because of her wealth or status or because they formed a friendship that they could build a family on.  On one of the rare occasions he opened up about his marriage, Apollo told Will that he had been smitten with Daphne, arranging their betrothal before they had really gotten to know each other and without much input from his family.  Daphne had known that Apollo was the best offer she would ever get, so she, with the approval of her own family, agreed to the marriage.  He and Daphne did their best, however; they’d never been able to get along in Will’s memory and avoided each other whenever possible, but they tried not to let their problems impact the family.  Daphne was always good to their children—even the sons who weren’t hers by birth.

Will could understand why Apollo was concerned; with respect to social standing, Will was in a position that was very similar to Daphne’s.  Apollo rarely showed it, but Will knew that he felt responsible for the failure of their relationship.  Apollo wouldn’t want Will to end up in a marriage like his.  Will also knew his father did not want him to make a decision based on fleeting emotion—and while yes, Will could admit that his admiration of the Prince may fog his judgment, Will did not think that his situation was like Apollo’s.  The admiration he felt was not based on passion, as Apollo had described his attraction to Daphne.  Instead, his esteem for Prince Nico came from respect and appreciation—the very feelings that Will had been told were necessary for building a strong marriage.

“I am certain that His Highness is a good man,” he said, recalling the kindness with which the Prince cared for his hound and the gentle way he had spoken to his sister.  If that was the way he treated those closest to him, Will had no doubt that he would make a fine husband.

Chiron folded his hands in his lap and looked Will over thoughtfully.  “And what does your family stand to gain from this marriage?  Very little in terms of economic advantages.”

“Lord Chiron, need I reiterate that a prince has told me that he wishes to marry me?” Will asked.  “This is easily the best offer I will ever receive.  I think it would be foolish not to take it.”

Chiron nodded slowly.  “Indeed, my lord,” he said.  “However, we must continue to take the precautions appropriate for any potential betrothal.”

“We have plenty of questions, and I don’t want you to think we mean to dissuade you from marrying him,” Apollo added.  “We only mean to bring a few concerns to your attention so we know you have thought about it.”

“For one, it is very far from home,” Lee pointed out.  “I fear we won’t have many visits from you.”

Will nodded.  “Yes,” he agreed.  “I am not sure how often I will be able to travel here.  But I will write and do my best to visit, and Lou Ellen is from Pluto; she’s very far from home, as well.”

“Truthfully, Will, it did take me several months to adjust,” Lou Ellen said.  “The weather is different, the people are different, and I was never as close to my family as you are to yours.  It will not be an easy transition.”

“Perhaps not, but I am used to Pluto; I have attended school there for quite some time.  I will miss you all, but we have been able to manage the distance so far.”

“It’s not only distance; have you considered exactly how different Pluto is from Jupiter?” Chiron asked.

“Well, of course; but I have lived in Venadica since I started my schooling,” Will said.

“Venadica has its own culture, Lord William,” Chiron said.  “The rest of Pluto can be very different.”

“Then I suppose I will have to learn,” Will replied.

Octavian suddenly sighed dramatically, as if he felt bored of not being the center of attention.  He was draped across a chaise in front of the fire like he was too exhausted and amazing to deal with the inferiorities of the mundane world.  “I don’t understand,” he said.  “Why is it that Will gets to marry a prince, but I do not?  Aunt Artemis has always favored him.  It’s horribly unfair, wouldn’t you agree, Will?”

Will faltered.  He was a bit sensitive to the fact that Artemis seemed to pay him more attention than his siblings—he always wondered if it made them jealous, and he hated to upset them.  “Um—”

“Octavian, let’s not turn this against Will or Artemis,” Daphne interrupted while Lee, Michael, and Lou Ellen shot Octavian ugly looks.  “Will has brought us wonderful news.  We ought to be happy for him.”

“I am, of course, but this has nothing to do with Will and everything to do with me.  Why am I not engaged to a prince?”

“Maybe because you’re a complete twat,” Michael muttered, softly enough that Octavian couldn’t hear him.

“I have had very few suitors, and none have been satisfactory,” Octavian went on.  “Uncle, you really must do a better job of finding me a fiancé.  Now that Will has been taken care of, you should focus on me—I should have been your first priority, as I am older than our dear Will, but never mind that.  Prince Jason is still a bachelor, is he not?”

“Yes, but Prince Jason is not an option,” Apollo replied tiredly.

“Why not?” Octavian demanded.  “After the fiasco with that girl from Mars who ran off to become a soror—such a scandal that wretched girl caused—don’t you agree that he would be relieved to see me?  I am, of course, exactly what the Prince desires.”

“Prince Jason is looking for a wife, Octavian,” Daphne said.  “Not a husband.  He needs to carry on the royal line with a legitimate heir.”

“Oh, curse my unfortunate anatomy,” Octavian sighed.  “Prince Triton has already married, but what about his younger brother—what was his name?”

“Percy,” Will answered patiently.  “And he is already engaged.”

“Oh, right, to that odd consor girl that Lady Athena took in as a ward.  Deplorable choice of a spouse, if you ask my opinion.”

“We didn’t,” Lou Ellen muttered.

“It appears we’ve run out of princes, Octavian,” Michael sighed.  “Tragic.”

“Truly, it is,” Octavian agreed.  “Especially when you consider that I am perfectly available to court.”

“What about a princess, Octavian?” Austin asked.  “I think Prince Nico has a younger sister, does he not, Will?”

“She is a child,” Octavian hissed before Will could speak.  “Besides, I do not want a wife.  Women are much too bossy and they all think they’re smarter than me.  I find them annoying.”

“As though you aren’t annoying?” Lee said under his breath at the same time that Kayla shouted, “I don’t like you either, Octavian!”  Daphne coughed to cover a laugh, but Lou Ellen didn’t bother to hide a snort.

“Oh, Kayla, hush,” Octavian snapped.  Kayla punched her model mansion in irritation, scattering the blocks across the floor, and scowled at Octavian like his very existence insulted her personally.

“Have you ever considered that all women are smarter than you, Octavian?” Michael drawled.

Octavian looked appalled.  “Of course not!  What a ridiculous suggestion, Michael.  Truly, I hope you jest.  You are made to believe such things because the Sorority only accepts women to study with them officially; it’s dreadful, really, the way it demeans men, wouldn’t you say, Will?”

Will cleared his throat awkwardly.  “I...I can’t say that I’ve ever felt that I was being demeaned in Venadica, no; they are very welcoming to male consors.  But as a general rule, women do tend to seek out and receive a longer and more comprehensive education, so it follows that their intellectual aptitudes—”

Octavian waved a dismissive hand to cut him off, as though Will’s testimony was inconsequential.  “In any case, it’s unfortunate that Prince Nico does not have a brother.  Will, wouldn’t that be lovely?  We would see each other all the time!”

Michael sniggered.

“Uh...I....” Will stumbled.  Sometimes, Will wished he were not so nice.  There were few advantages to being Octavian’s favorite cousin.  Usually, it meant that he was the one sent to deal with him because no one else could bear to be in the same room with him for long.  Will hated being put on Octavian Duty.  “It’s unfortunate, yes.  Quite unfortunate.”

“Well, you must notify me if he desires to take an additional lover.  I would be glad to offer my services.”

Will flushed.  He was certainly not prepared to think about that particular duty of marriage, and not at all inclined to imagine his cousin in such a situation—particularly not with his to-be-fiancé.

“Octavian, I do not believe that Will’s future husband requires your ‘services,’” Apollo said before his two eldest sons could react with inevitable hostility.  Lee, Michael, and Lou Ellen had turned to Octavian in outrage, looking like they were ready to fight for Will’s honor—and Will knew they would.  When Will neglected to defend himself, the three of them were always prepared to do it for him.  Perhaps as a result of Will’s desire to be polite, Octavian had a tendency to say insensitive things to him without fearing repercussions.  Will did not think Octavian was attempting to mock him maliciously; in Will’s opinion, it was more likely that Octavian simply didn’t bother to think of how Will might feel before he spoke.  Lee, Michael, and Lou Ellen tried to get Will to stand up for himself more, but Will felt guilty that Octavian didn’t have a single ally in the family.  Even people like Octavian needed friends, after all.

“For now, I think it is time for us all to retire to bed,” Daphne said.  “We will discuss this more when the Matestra comes tomorrow.”

Will started to get up, but Apollo shook his head.  “Not you, Will.  Everyone else, off to bed.”

“Why does Will get to stay up?” Octavian whined loudly as he followed his cousins out of the room.  “Everything is always about Will Will Will.  I am, of course, the most eligible bachelor of us all—”

“Shut up, Octavian,” Will heard Michael say tiredly, apparently too drained to deal with Octavian any more that evening.  There were a few mumbled agreements, followed by Octavian’s outraged gasp and subsequent lecture on his own eminence and importance until their voices dwindled away.

“Have I done something wrong?” Will asked, turning back to face Chiron and his parents.  Will wasn’t alone with both of his parents very often, even with Chiron there to mediate.  Daphne and Apollo, as a general rule, avoided each other and were rarely seen in the same room without enough people to lessen their obligation to speak to one another.

“No, of course not,” Daphne answered.  “We won’t keep you long; you’ve had a long trip and you deserve some rest.”

“The three of us wanted to talk to you alone,” Apollo explained.  “I hope you realize that we did not mean to question the Prince or your pending betrothal when we spoke before.  We only meant to be sure to understand the situation.”

“We’re going to support you no matter what,” Daphne added.

It was only at times like that when his parents worked well together.  They usually could hardly stand to be near each other, but when it involved their children—illegitimate or not—they became allies.

“Will,” Apollo said seriously.  “Do you want to marry him?”

“Yes, of course I do,” Will answered.  “I’ll never find a match as good as this.  Beyond that, I think I’ll be quite happy with him.”

“Then I will make this happen.  If the King asks me to increase your dowry by ten thousand aurei, I’ll do it.  I’m proud of you, Will.  If the rumors have any truth at all, you must’ve treated His Highness very well to have earned his favor.”

Will blushed and nodded vaguely.  Chiron smiled at him, as well, and said, “We’ll begin formalizing our response tomorrow.  I think it is time to retire for now.  Sleep well, Lord William.”

Will got up from his chair.  “Yes, Lord Chiron,” he said.  “Then I bid you all a good night.”

“Sleep well, Will,” Daphne replied.

“Your brothers and sister-in-law will likely try to catch you,” Apollo added.  “Don’t let them keep you up too late.  Oh, and watch out for Octavian.  He’s been particularly nasty ever since the Matestra’s letter.”

Daphne sighed.  “Only one more year,” she said desperately, rubbing her temple as though the thought of Octavian made her head ache.  “Then he’ll be old enough for us to get him a place of his own to live.”

“Are you really…?”

“They have been searching for a good spot of land for a while now,” Chiron answered.

“Can’t be too far,” Apollo said.  “I’m afraid of the damage he’ll do if we leave him on his own for too long.”

Daphne nodded.  “But too close and...the noise.”

Will shuddered.

“It’s a delicate balance,” Chiron added.  “Don’t concern yourself with it; we’ll have the situation taken care of.  Now, to bed with you.”

“Yes, Lord Chiron,” Will said again, and he nodded to his parents before leaving.

Just as Apollo had predicted, halfway to his room, a hand reached out of a door and grabbed his arm, tugging him roughly into Lee’s drawing room.

“Have a seat, little brother,” Michael said, shutting the door behind him.  Will was pushed into an armchair in the center of the room, and looked up to see three pairs of eyes staring gleefully down at him.

“You didn’t think we’d let you off, did you?” Lee asked.

“No, but I’d expected you to do it a little more gently,” Will said, rubbing his sore shoulder.

“Well, that’s no fun,” Lou answered mischievously.

“Lou Ellen, I had such high hopes for you,” Will said.  “I thought you would change Lee for the better—perhaps force him to cease to abduct me whenever I walk down the corridor—but instead, you have joined him—him and Michael!”

“Oh, William,” Lou Ellen said.  “Do you know me at all?”

“Sometimes I wonder,” Will muttered.

“In any case,” Lee said, “We want to hear all about your little trip to Divitia.  I heard you stayed in the Privilla?”

“Alas!” Michael sighed dramatically.  “With such luxuries, I fear that my dear brother will never wish to associate with plebeians such as ourselves!”

“Betrayed by our own brother!” Lou Ellen cried, wiping away an imaginary tear.

Will’s lips twitched into an almost-smile.  “You haven’t even let me say anything.”

“Sometimes I still think I can hear his voice,” Lou Ellen went on.

“Lou!” Will protested, but he couldn’t help laughing when Lee offered her a handkerchief for her fake tears.

“So, was he...scary?” Lee asked.  “He seems like he’d be frightening.”

“Not scary, no, but he makes one feel intimidated,” Will replied.  “He’s not frightening at all.  He likes to play Acies and his laugh is terribly hideous, but I like it.”

“Of course you do,” Michael sighed with a shake of his head.

Will frowned.  “What do you mean?”

Michael snorted.  “Don’t think I’ve forgotten the trip home from Venadica ten years ago—you would not stop your chatter about the amazing Prince Nico.”

“I thought it was cute,” Lee said with a shrug.

“It was, for all of a minute, but then he wouldn’t stop.  ‘Prince Nico likes to dance—I want to dance.’  ‘Prince Nico has an older sister.  Papa, can I have an older sister?’  ‘Prince Nico wore red, I want to wear r—’”

“Green,” Will corrected.  “He was wearing green that night.”

Will didn’t realize what he had said until a second later, when both brothers and his sister-in-law were staring at him with dumbfounded expressions.

“Trinkets of Ouranos, you really did worship that boy,” Michael said.

Will flushed and sank into his chair impolitely.  He didn’t care about etiquette at the moment.  “I...suppose.”

“Oh, I think he still does,” Lou Ellen said with a smirk.

“Is that so, Will?” Lee said, grinning in a way that Will knew meant trouble was coming.  “Are you still smitten with the Prince of Pluto?”

Will gripped the edges of his chair nervously.  “I...um...well, I wouldn’t say I’m exactly smitten.”

“No?” Lee asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Why, I think our brother is embarrassed by his feelings,” Lou Ellen said.

“I think you’re right, my dear sister,” Michael replied.  “Tell us, Will, was he very pretty?”

“Michael!”

Michael shrugged.  “Well, if you’ll soon be polishing rifles with him, I think it should be relevant.”

“Polishing...Michael, don’t tease me that way!”

“Speaking from experience, it helps to have a partner you’re attracted to,” Lou Ellen purred, sliding an arm around Lee’s waist.

Lee looked smug, but Will flushed at her implication.  “Lou, if you would please refrain from alluding to your bedroom activities with my brother, it would be greatly appreciated.”

Michael chucked.  “Oh, Will, I fear that hanging around those sorors all the time has begun to affect your—”

“Michael, I beg you,” Will pleaded.  “Don’t make this any more uncomfortable for me than it has to be.”

Lee laughed, but disentangled himself from Lou’s arm.  “Alright, enough.  We’ll go easy on him tonight.  But we know you’re smitten, dear William.”

Will blushed.  “I...I don’t...he’s...good.  He’s very good.”  An unbidden smile slid onto his face and he looked down at his lap, absentmindedly picking at the chair’s fabric with his fingers as he tried to keep himself from giggling.  “I’m going to be very happy with him.  I hope I can make him happy, as well.”

Michael sighed.  “How is it that you always make me feel guilty for teasing you?”

“His purity is so pristine, it’s blinding,” Lou Ellen agreed.

“I’m glad to hear you be honest, brother,” Lee said.  “Because we expect a full story, in detail, starting now.”

Will sighed.  “Where do you want me to start?” he asked.

“From the beginning, of course,” Michael answered.  “The very beginning.”

Next

[tanuki-kimono]

Japanese folk tales #26 - The year of the Rooster

(find my tales tagged here or visit my blog for both english and french versions)

Wish me to cover a special youkai or subject? Contact me, I’ll try to accommodate ❤️

Once upon a time, there was a small village where two little farms stood side by side.

In one of them, lived a farmer named Tora-san. He was a keen hunter and a hard-working man, with a booming voice and large calloused hands. His fields were always neat and tidy as was his wooden house.

The other farm was inhabited by a strange man named Tori-san. Lanky, always daydreaming, Tora-san's neighbor was not a very good farmer. His fields were always full of weeds and his house always seemed dusty.

In fact, the most incredible thing about Tori-san's little farm was the army of chickens the man raised with great care. He had hens, chicks and roosters, big and small, russet, white and black. They were his greatest pride.

If when night came, the birds all slept in the beautiful henhouse Tori-san had built in his courtyard, daytime was far less peaceful.

All day long, chickens roamed in the village. They strutted the streets, perching and pooping on roofs, carts and people alike. The birds also vandalized fields and gardens, damaging vegetables while searching for juicy worms and insects.

Villagers were fed up with Tori-san's troublesome poultry. One day, as chickens had ruined his tasty radish crop, Tora-san had enough and he went to his neighbor's house:

- Tori-san, we can't take it anymore: you must do something about your chickens. You can’t let them run wild in the village all day long!

The lanky man opened wide eyes, full with fake tears:

- But, Tora-san I was born on the year of the Rooster. It is my duty to raise chickens: they are such gentle creatures!

Tora-san went back home fuming:

- What an idiot! I must teach this man a lesson but how...

The jaded man didn't sleep much that night, as he racked his brains for a way of making Tori-san understand how burdensome his attitude was. Then as the first sunray appeared, he had an idea.

A few days later, as Tori-san was grooming of his beloved chickens, he suddenly realized:

- Thirty-seven, thirty-eight... Wait, where are Sweet-eyes, Fluffy-feet and their chicks?

Distressed, the farmer counted and counted again. Yet, no counting could change the fact that eight birds were missing.

Tori-san thoroughly inspected the henhouse. No cracks could be seen but, near the western wall, he found a strange track imprinted in the mud.

- This is no bear, wolf or fox. And it's far too big to be a cat...

The poor man tried to follow the track but it soon disappeared into thin air near the village road.

The following night, Tori-san woke up with a start. Deep in the night, he could hear a big beast growling. He got up on shaking legs and grabbed a staff and a candle. But before he could set a foot out, the farmer heard a thundering roar.

When he finally mustered enough courage to reach his courtyard, he discovered the same big paw tracks surrounding the wooden coop.

Tori-san ran to Tora-san's house:

- Tora-san, Tora-san! You are a skilled hunter! Please, please help me!

Tora-san put a large, heavy hand on the leaner man:

- You seem quite shocked, what on earth did happened to you?

Tori-san led him to the henhouse and showed him the tracks. The big man made a grimace:

- Oh Tori-san I am so, so sorry but I cannot help you.

- B-but why? You are a man not even afraid of bears! Is the beast attacking my dear birds a demon even you fear?

Tora-san let out a heavy sigh:

- It is no such thing but you see, those tracks were made... by a tiger. And, Tori-san, I was born on the year of the Tiger. It is my duty to protect those amazing creatures.

The other man cried:

- But what can I do! I cannot let your bloodthirsty beast eat my beloved birds!

Tora-san pretended to think out loud:

- Hum… maybe build some barn where you could kept your chickens night and day…  like a huge henhouse or...

- This is an excellent idea! Wall, fence, I’ll do anything to keep them safe.

And the little man went picking planks, already planning to work despite the night.

Tora-san smiled and went back home. He closed his door and from a bag, he took a pair of wooden shoes. He had spent several evenings carving the soles like tiger’s paws. In a corner, was a little cage where the missing chickens soundly slept.

- I’ll bring you back to your master in a few days. But I must admit... I kinda like being a tiger!

And he went out howling.

Notes:

Unlike other Asian countries, Japan tends to celebrate lunar zodiac signs along with gregorian New Year, on January 1st. Which is why you can already see many cute chickens on the Japanese internet and in shrines, supermarkets etc. 2017 is the Fire Rooster year (which if you follow lunar calendar, will officially starts on January 28th).

Lunar zodiac uses special ideograms to designate animals: for example, tiger is usually written 虎 when lunar sign is 寅 (both are read tora in kunyomi). Rooster sign is 酉 which is read tori in kunyomi.

There is a lot to say about asian zodiac animals, their archetypes, traditional symbolism, use in astronomy and calendar etc. but it is such a wide and ancient subject (at least Han dynasty!) I must admit I don’t even know where to start! This wiki page about Chinese astrology has good leads as has this page more specifically about Japanese Zodiac and its links to buddhism - but if find them both difficult to read if you don’t have any background on the subject :( (if you know any good and clear sources, link them in the com!)

I have read different versions of this tale. One was much more gruesome, with chickens being killed ten by ten. I prefer this gentler one which stress both bad and good sides of our farmers!

[pictures sources:  1/ 2/ 3]

[decouvrir-le-monde]

(warning: this is a stupidly long post)

Beyond National Borders

Well, it’s official on Facebook, so it must be true. I’m living in Hanoi, Vietnam. I’m going to be here for two months, and some might say that’s too short a time to be called *living somewhere*, but to me it really does feel like it. I’ve been here about three weeks and I’m settling in. It’s astonishing how quickly difference becomes normal.

I’m living beyond the borders of my native country. That much is obvious. But I’ve been thinking a lot about boundaries in other ways as well.

  Beyond Cultural Boundaries

Something I noticed from getting to know a lot of the foreign teachers last weekend, was how much more I am in Vietnam than they are. What I mean is this: they live in an expat community. Despite having lived here since August, a couple of them were remarking that they know very few Vietnamese people. They all live in the same neighborhood–in an area of Hanoi saturated with expats. And when they go out, they do so with their foreign teacher friends. I went to a movie with them on Friday.

two out of three caught unawares

Hearing them talk about that experience made me think of my travels last summer. We often tried to engage in the country–eat foreign food, read about customs, pick up basic survival words in the language, etc–but so much of a place is its people. And we had very little opportunity to communicate or forge friendships with anyone. And as I hinted at in blog posts from that time, it made us feel isolated–like we were drifting above the substance of the place, rather than truly walking on the ground, among the people. Maybe I should only speak for myself, but from talking to him I know Andrew felt something very similar.

I’ve found that there’s an inherent cultural boundary between people: language barrier, different customs, etc. And often when traveling, people build their walls up by following the natural inclination to self-segregate. By engaging in what’s comfortable–only going to restaurants with English menus, hanging out with fellow English speakers, avoiding situations where you might have to interact with people across a language barrier–we avoid the “foreign”.

I don’t fault those who do this. Because when I was without a local host family, I did the same. Even now, if I’m out on my own, I still tend to avoid situations. But immersion is so much more interesting: I get to go to restaurants only locals go to, I get rides on motorcycles often, and I’m constantly learning tidbits of language and culture.

  Learning Outside School Walls

In everyday conversations, I learn things I never would have found out otherwise. While playing with my baby host brother one day, I asked Mr. Hai about the silver anklet he always wears. I learned that in Vietnam, silver is traditionally believed to ward off the flu and other sicknesses. I then noticed that many of the BME staff have little pieces of jewelry that they wear near always–a delicate ring, a necklace. Son has a bracelet chain of silver.

Eating dinner with my host family, and navigating the constant offers of more food, Ms. Yen explained something that made it click: giving food is giving love. She explained that during the war (40/50 years ago) food was scarce. People were starving. There were profound implications of giving food away at that time, and these have endured. And so, I can better appreciate the custom that I was finding increasingly difficult.

family dinner

My first weekend here, Mr. Hai took Son and I to Hoàn Kièm Lake. It’s a huge lake with a small island in the middle and a mythos attached to it–legend has it that the Emperor Lê Lợi, who was given a magic sword to fight off the Chinese in the early 1400s, was called upon by the Golden Turtle God to return the sword in this lake in 1428. Thus, the lake is now called Lake of the Returned Sword. Every weekend, the streets around the lake are closed off, street vendors collect, a tiny amusement park is opened, and locals come to enjoy the weekend with their families. There are street musicians, child-sized cars to play with, art shows, and a temple to visit. All this surrounds a beautiful lake, surrounded by weeping willows grazing the water’s surface.

a little fledgling policeman!

The Red Bridge connecting the Temple to the shore

15 year old Son refuses to smile in photos 😀

Turtle Tower and an onlooker

  Last week, Ms. Thuy’s daughter, Đung, came to visit, and I got to meet her. She’s the first person my age who I’ve met, and (leaning heavily on Google Translate) we made plans to visit the Temple of Literature later that week with a couple of her friends. One of her friends speaks English very well and she acted as a sort of tour guide. I had researched the Temple of Literature–it being one of the major tourist attractions in Hanoi–but I had not been able to get a clear idea of what it is really. A library? A temple? Visiting with locals gave me insight. On the surface, it looks just like a beautiful temple and garden. But I found out that it is really a temple for the students of Hanoi. It was built in the 11th century, as a tribute to Confucius, and has been largely untouched since. Apparently, students flood the Temple during exam season in prayer for good scores. Afterwards, we went to their favorite restaurant for bún chả. So far, my favorite meal here.

the beautiful pathway of the Temple of Literature

One of the many shrines inside

Selfie culture here is a Big Thing

the intricate entrance to the temple

riding on a motorcycle!

eating bún chả with new friends!

this is bún chả: a sweet broth with meatballs and pork, served with glass noodles, vegetables and small citrus fruits

  Just eating dinner with the family, I’ve been introduced to tons of new foods. Many new fruits–pomelos, custard apples, “fat bananas”, and nhans (look it up, it’s very strange-looking, but delicious!). Also I think the fruit that I thought was a lychee nut, is actually a rambutan. Regardless, I’m a fan.

fat bananas!!

a very blurry picture of a custard apply

my rambutan?

I’ve been eating a lot of fruit here, with almost every meal. “Fat bananas” are a special treat: they are about half the length of a normal sized banana, and almost taste like all the banana flavor of a regular banana is condensed to half the size. Sweeter, tangier, and yummier than a normal banana, fat bananas are a new go-to.

But I’ve also been introduced to a bunch of other new cooked foods. I haven’t been trying everything because I’m still struggling to find the omnivore inside me, from being vegetarian at home. But I’ve been eating lots of rice, boiled veggies, eggs, some salmon, and meat broths. I also bought peanut butter today. But the best thing I’ve been introduced to is actually quite simple. It’s my favorite, not necessarily because it tastes the best, but almost exclusively because of its name: it’s called monkey rice. You grab a handful of sticky rice from the rice cooker, and roll it around in your hands until it takes on a shape. Then you eat with with whatever toppings you feel like. That’s it. But I like the image of a monkey eating rice that way. Just because it seems like that’s really how they would do it.

Last week, I made friends with Son’s Vietnamese English tutor. She came to the house and ate dinner with us. She offered to take me to the Ho Chi Minh Museum, so last Wednesday, that’s where we went. We met some of her other students there, they wanted to practice their English and meet an American, and it was fun getting to know more people my age. But the museum was an experience in itself. It was built after Ho Chi Minh’s death in the 60s, and it memorializes all the places where he lived and worked. It sort of took me off guard how mundane his office and living quarters are. I was expecting something similar to when I visited Versailles. But maybe that was the point; that he lived like the people, and thus should be loved by the people. The museum centered around the idea of nationalism. The honor of fighting for your country. The greatness of Ho Chi Minh’s time in power. The kindness of the man himself. There were many quotes–both in English and Vietnamese–from those who fought America in the Vietnam War, and those who met the leader himself. There were POWs talking about being tortured by Americans. There were accounts of Ho Chi Minh’s philanthropy. One quote that stuck with me was from a female soldier who met Uncle Ho. She recounts that he asked where she got her name from. After telling him that her grandmother gave it to her, Uncle Ho (as they refer to him) decides that her name doesn’t suit her. He has a better name for her: a word meaning “flower” to represent her beauty and grace. She writes, ‘I am honored and proud to use this name for the rest of my life’.

Ms. Thu Hang and I by Uncle Ho’s pagoda

A selfie next to a random church that we found

A wax model of Uncle Ho in his study

posing in a lamp store in the Old Quarter

Traveling is education. Traveling changes the way you think. It is learning outside the walls of a school.

Day 15-22: Beyond Borders (warning: this is a stupidly long post) Beyond National Borders Well, it's official on Facebook, so it must be true.