#i only wish to outdo the versions of me that came before who i am now and i see that. i've read that.

[hunkydorkling]

Do I think now's a good time of day to second guess myself? Yeah.

[cyborgsquirrel]

Sanctuary: Chapter 4

Pairing: Wolfstar

Summary: The epic tale of Remus Lupin and Sirius Black, from their first meeting until their happily ever after.

Link to Prologue

Link to All Chapters

September 1st, 1971

Remus had checked his trunk four times that morning, but he checked it again, just to be sure everything was there. He couldn't quite believe it was true. He was going to Hogwarts. To learn magic. With other people his age. Like a normal person. He glanced around his room, looking for anything he might have left out, but saw nothing. It was unlikely he would have forgotten anything if he were honest; he'd been making lists for weeks.

'Remus, are you ready? It's time to go,' his mum shouted.

His heart leapt with excitement. Grabbing onto the end of the heavy trunk, he dragged it into the living room where his mum was waiting for him by the fireplace. When he reached her, he bent over with his hands on his knees to catch his breath before returning to his room for his owl. She was already perched in her travel cage, and she whistled at him softly when he picked her up.

'Don't worry, Rieka. You won't be in there for long. You'll have the whole owlery at Hogwarts and the freedom to go for a fly whenever you like.'

She whistled again, and he assumed she understood and wasn't mad at him. He carefully carried the cage out to where his mum was waiting for him, trying not to jostle her.

They were taking the floo to Platform Nine and Three Quarters, much to Remus' dismay, but nothing could spoil his mood today. He placed the cage down and grinned up at his mum.

'Ready!'

The two of them travelled through the floo and emerged on the platform at quarter past ten. It had been Remus' suggestion to arrive early to avoid the crowds, and his plan had worked out well. The platform was almost empty. There were only a few early arrivals dotted about, and it was close to silent, so his mum crouched down to speak to him.

'Now, remember, you need to be careful. Try to eat your meals when there are fewer people in the hall and avoid crowded places.'

'I know, Mum. Don't worry.'

He was getting annoyed with the constant reminders. He knew what he had to do to stay safe. It was his life on the line if he messed up, not hers. Yet she kept telling him again and again like he was stupid.

'Good. But try to have fun too, sweetheart, and don't forget to write.'

Remus nodded.

'I'll owl you tonight.'

'I'll look forward to hearing all about it then. You better get on the train before more people arrive. I love you, and I'm so happy for you.'

She stood up and smiled at Remus, clasping her hands to her chest. He smiled back, feeling a tad guilty for his uncharitable thoughts a moment ago and wishing he was allowed to hug her. But knowing it was impossible, he turned and grabbed his trunk and his owl instead, hauling them onto the train in search of a secluded compartment.

-o-o-o-o-

Sirius was running late. Kreacher had apparated him to the platform at 10:55 am, despite Sirius having been ready since ten o'clock. The crotchety house-elf had deposited Sirius' trunk next to him and disapparated without a word, leaving him alone on the platform.

The place was crowded, people swarmed the platform in groups, talking loudly and pushing trolleys full of belongings. Sirius couldn't see anything. He didn't know which direction the train was in, and he only had five minutes to board. He panicked.

'Don't I know you?' a female voice said close to his ear.

Sirius whipped his head around in surprise and saw an old woman with grey hair. She was bent low to speak to him. He didn't recognise her, but she might be able to help him.

He gave her his most charming smile and said, 'I don't think so, ma'am, but if you would point me in the direction of the train, I'd be grateful.'

She stared at him, her eyes roaming his face.

'Yes. I do,' she said thoughtfully. 'You're Walburga's boy, aren't you? The train is this way, dear. Is that your trunk?'

He nodded to both questions, and she shrank his trunk down to the size of a small suitcase with a quick Reducio. He picked up the now miniature trunk and followed her to the train, grateful that at least some people were kind and helpful. Unlike his bitch of a mother who had purposefully made him late to the station "so he wouldn't have time to disgrace himself."

'Oh look, there's my James. Why don't you go with him? James!' she shouted, waving at the messy-haired boy with glasses who stood near the train.

He was dressed in muggle clothes, which looked very comfortable to Sirius, and was standing next to a much older version of himself, most likely his father. Next to him was a very expensive-looking mahogany trunk. Sirius sized him up in a moment and was left confused. He had the air of a wealthy pureblood about him, but his muggle attire didn't fit. Blood-traitors, then? Excellent, his mother would be furious.

'There you are, Mum. We thought you got lost,' James said with a grin. Spotting Sirius next to her, James turned his attention on him. 'Hi there. I'm James Potter. Who are you?'

Ah, a Potter, that explained everything. They were wealthier even than the Blacks, but they were muggle-lovers, a disgrace to their name if you asked his mother. Which he didn't. Ever. He couldn't let a Potter outdo him in confidence though, so he stepped towards the boy.

'My name's Sirius,' he said, purposefully leaving out his surname.

He flashed his trademark grin and held out his hand to shake.

James shook his hand and leant forward.

'Do you like pranks?' he asked, in a whisper.

Sirius thought back to the dungbomb at his mother's party. All the guests had been stinking like dragon dung when they left. It was brilliant. He smirked at James.

'Who doesn't?'

'Excellent!' James said, clapping his hands.

He grabbed Sirius' arm and dragged him towards the train.

'Let's go to school,' he said, and then much quieter, and for Sirius' ears only, he added, 'and become pranking legends!'

Sirius laughed. James' exuberance was a little overwhelming and not the kind of behaviour he was used to. The people in his family were all sedate and dignified. Passion was not a trait the Blacks were known for, not in public at least. But it also pleased him to have found a potential friend so fast, and a Potter no less. That would piss his mother off more than anything. Well, not as much as if he befriended a mudblood or some filthy half-breed, but it was a close second, and the best part was she couldn't object because the Potter's were higher up the social ladder than the Blacks.

Mrs Potter waylaid them in their quest to board the train, grabbing James by his arm and pulling him in for a hug.

'How dare you try to leave without saying goodbye,' she said, showering kisses down on his head.

James struggled in her arms.

'Mum! Not in front of Sirius,' he whined.

Sirius would prefer it if she stopped too. Not because he thought James had anything to be embarrassed about, but because the display of affection reminded him how little of it he received in his own life, and the pang of jealousy didn't sit well with him. He was the Black heir; he shouldn't be jealous of anyone.

'Oh, don't be silly. Why should you care if your friend knows I love you?' she asked, laughing. 'Go on then. You can leave. Don't forget to write!'

She unshrunk Sirius' trunk, and they both dragged the heavy boxes onto the train and into an empty compartment.

The train ride passed uneventfully, mostly. There was an argument with a greasy, dark-haired kid and his red-headed girlfriend about Slytherin. It seemed like James really hated Slytherins, and that knowledge made Sirius' gut ache. He didn't think he would be placed in Slytherin, but if he was, would James still want to be his friend? From what he'd seen, he doubted it. They had only known each other for a few hours, but already he felt a deep bond with the other boy. A fellow heir to a high-ranking house and a sizable fortune even bigger than his own. He didn't want to lose his friendship so soon.

There was also a minor incident with a firecracker in the bathroom, but that had nothing to do with them, honest.

When they were roaming the corridors, Sirius had kept a look-out for Remus, the boy from the apothecary. But he didn't see anyone who resembled him in any of the carriages they explored. Maybe at the welcome feast, he thought hopefully.

They disembarked from the train at Hogsmeade Station and joined the other first years gathering around a giant man covered in more hair than any animal Sirius had ever seen. He introduced himself as Hagrid and led them to the edge of the Black Lake. Apparently, they were expected to get to Hogwarts by crossing the water in rickety old boats that looked ready to sink.

Sirius boarded a boat with James and gingerly took a seat, hoping it was clean and dry. How embarrassing would it be to arrive at the feast with a dirty wet patch on his ass? He scanned the bank and the other boats for anyone who resembled Remus but came up empty. It wasn't long before they were joined in their boat by a plump boy with a round face. He said his name was Peter, and he was dressed decently, even if his robes weren't quite the quality of James' and his own.

A few minutes later, a small boy with long tawny hair and robes that were two sizes too big approached them. His face was gaunt, and he had dark circles under his eyes. He looked like a strong wind might blow him away. Sirius put on his best haughty expression and spoke with the perfect enunciation of a pureblood who had received speech tutoring since the age of two.

'Can we help you?'

He even managed to look down his nose at the strange boy despite being at a lower elevation. His mother would be proud.

The boy seemed to quake a little, but then gathered courage from somewhere and spoke in a soft, clear voice, 'Oh, um, I was hoping I could ride with you?'

'I'm afraid not. This seat is taken,' Sirius said, before turning away in dismissal.

He watched out of the corner of his eye as the boy's shoulders drooped and he wandered off to find another boat. Sirius felt a little bad for being so rude to him, but he needed to save the seat for Remus in case he was here.

'Who are we keeping the seat for?' James asked.

'Someone I met when I was younger. I was hoping he'd be here, but I don't see him. His name's Remus,' Sirius said.

A few minutes later, the bank was clear of students, and the boats moved off across the lake. He scanned the boats again and caught the eye of the strange boy from before. He was in the same boat as Hagrid, and he looked terrified. His knees were pulled up to his chest, and he appeared to be trying to make himself as small as possible. A flash of guilt shot through him, and he looked away.

The boats took them to a docking area on the other side of the lake, and Hagrid led them into a compact waiting room, told them to wait and left. Sirius and James made their way to the back of the room with Peter following like a lost puppy. Sirius noticed the sickly boy had huddled himself into the back corner of the room. With the better lighting inside, he looked even more unwell, and he was watching his surroundings in a way that felt familiar. He was scanning for danger.

The door to the little room opened, and a severe-looking woman walked in. She had her dark-brown hair secured in a bun at the back of her head, and she peered at them over her glasses. The story of her life was mapped onto her face in wrinkles, and her hair had streaks of grey. Her appearance was so unlike that of Sirius' family. He liked her immediately; she looked so real.

She introduced herself as Professor McGonagall, gave a speech about the houses and said something about rule-breaking and house points that Sirius didn't catch. When the tedious speech was over, she took them through to the Great Hall for the sorting ceremony. James and Sirius stayed together as they entered the hall, and Peter continued to trail in their wake. They waited while a decrepit-looking hat on a stool sang a song about the four houses and what they stood for, and then McGonagall started talking again.

'When I call your name, you will sit on the stool and place the sorting hat on your head. When it calls out your house, you will join your housemates at their table.'

Sirius cringed at the thought of putting that ancient thing on his beautiful hair. How many other students had it touched in all the years since the school opened? How many of those people had had dirty, greasy hair? He shuddered. Professor McGonagall started reading out the names, and the hat sorted each one. It took longer with some than others, but each one brought Sirius closer to his fate. He was so nervous now that he was sweating in his robes.

'Black, Sirius,' she called.

'Good luck, mate,' James said, patting him on the shoulder.

Sirius glanced at his friend, keeping his expression smooth and free of the anxiety he was feeling inside. He ran a hand through his hair, stuck his chin in the air, and with all the pretend confidence he could muster, he strode up to the stool, picked up the hat, sat down and placed the disgusting thing on his head. Not Slytherin, he thought, please not Slytherin.

'Not Slytherin?' a voice said in his head. 'Well, isn't that unusual for a Black? Let's take a look at you then. No ambition as such, unless you count a desire to cause trouble. But plenty of cunning. You would do well in Slytherin.'

No, anywhere but Slytherin, please, Sirius thought.

'Well, if you're sure. Let's see where else you could go. Ravenclaw would not suit you. You certainly have the intelligence but not the desire for knowledge. And Hufflepuff is definitely out. But maybe Gryffindor. You have bravery in abundance, that much is clear from your request. Going against your entire family takes courage, and might also be considered rather reckless. I think you're right, young man. You're not a Slytherin at all. You're one hundred percent GRYFFINDOR!'

The hat screamed the last word, and Sirius sat there for a moment in shock. His heart leapt; he wasn't in Slytherin. School might be even better than he thought. Not just a brief reprieve from his parents, but an actual pleasure. He yanked the hat from his head to stunned silence in the Great Hall. There was a smattering of applause from the teachers' table, and a few students were clapping, but the majority just stared at him. All except for a lone voice coming from the group of waiting first years. James was at the back of the crowd, and he was jumping up and down, whooping and clapping enough for the entire hall. Sirius grinned at his friend, hoping James was right to believe himself a Gryffindor.

He stood up and walked to the Gryffindor table, head held high despite the silence of the hall. There were a few calls of 'traitor,' from the Slytherins, but that just made his grin bigger. He glanced over to the snake's end of the hall and caught the eye of Lucius Malfoy. The Slytherin prefect shook his head at him and averted his gaze. He was no longer welcome there then. Shrugging off the rejection, Sirius found a seat near the middle of the table and waited for James.

The sorting continued, and he was thoroughly bored. And hungry. It was taking forever. Name after name, child after child, was called and sorted. It all blurred together. Then he heard a name that made him sit up and pay attention.

'Lupin, Remus.'

Sirius craned his neck to see the stage and waited impatiently for someone to step forward. For the longest moment, no one moved, and Sirius' heart sank. He wasn't here; he hadn't come. His heart sank even further when a boy finally did move. He walked up to the Sorting Hat in his far too long robes, tripping on the way, and sat down. Well shit, Sirius thought, if this isn't the most stupendous fuck up of my life.

-o-o-o-o-

Remus had been terrified when Hagrid said he could ride with him. The man was humongous, and Remus had to curl himself into a ball to make sure he didn't touch him. He had made a very uncomfortable journey across the lake, catching the eye of the horrid boy who had been rude to him before. They still had an empty seat in their boat. They hadn't been waiting for anyone. It had been a lie. They just didn't want to ride with him, and he couldn't blame them.

He was relieved to reach the other side and escape the cramped confines of the boat. The relief was short-lived though. When he saw the size of the waiting room, he groaned. Why was everything so small? It was a castle for goodness' sake. Shouldn't everything be big? He crammed himself into one of the back corners out of the way and hoped no one would come too close.

Thankfully, they weren't there for long and were soon led through to the Great Hall for the sorting. Remus was glad to see the size of the hall but eyed the tables nervously. The bench seating would make things difficult. He would need to sit at the end so he could quickly slide off if someone sat too close, he decided.

The rude boy from the boat was sorted into Gryffindor, and Remus hoped he would be placed somewhere else. Anywhere else. Unfortunately, he had already deduced Gryffindor to be his probable destination. He was smart enough for Ravenclaw, but it would be dangerous to be surrounded by people with too much intelligence. Slytherin was out since he was a half-blood and a dark creature to boot. Hufflepuff was unlikely because, again, dark creature and that all left Gryffindor. Although he didn't really consider himself to be brave or reckless either. Maybe the hat would just send him home.

The professor continued calling out names, and the closer she got to the Ls, the more nervous Remus became. Would the hat know he was a werewolf? Maybe it would refuse to sort him. Horrific visions flew through his mind. The hat screaming out, 'werewolf,' repeatedly while Remus was chased from the hall by students shooting spells at him. Remus sitting for minutes on end, surrounded by whispering students as the hat stubbornly refused to speak his house until Dumbledore came and led him away. Oh, Merlin, this was a mistake. He should never have come.

'Lupin, Remus,' McGonagall called, tearing him from his anxious thoughts.

Remus didn't move at first; he was frozen with fear. He took several deep and calming breaths before taking a step towards this fate. Once he had taken the first step, the second was easier, and he approached the stool and took his seat. He placed the hat on his head and waited.

'Well, well, well, what do we have here?'

The hat spoke in his head, making Remus jump. He hadn't expected it to talk to him.

'A young werewolf, coming to school to learn magic. This is new.'

Don't tell, please don't tell, Remus thought frantically, tears burning his eyes.

'Don't worry, little cub, I couldn't even if I wanted to. And I don't. You're a brave little cub, aren't you? I can see that, the way you walked to your first transformation, and your efforts not to scream. If I had eyes, it would be enough to make me cry. I have no problem sorting you. You're a GRYFFINDOR!'

The hat shouted the last word, and Remus pulled it off; he tried to wipe his eyes discreetly, but he was sure everyone saw. He put the hat down on the stool and hurried to the Gryffindor table, hating the sensation of everyone staring at him. The rude boy from earlier seemed to be beckoning him. Sirius Black he was called, Remus ignored him. There was no way he could sit in the middle of the bench even if he did want to sit with him, which he didn't. Remus took a seat right at the end as he had planned and turned his attention to the stage.

A few more students were sorted into Gryffindor, including Black's friends, James Potter and Peter Pettigrew, before it was over. Dumbledore stood and welcomed them to the school before announcing the feast. At his words, the tables filled with overflowing dishes and Remus' belly growled at the sight. He had never seen so much food in his life.

Remus eyed the food as he waited for the flurry of reaching hands to die down. What he really wanted was the roast beef he could see further down the table, but there was no way to get to it without risking contact with other students. So he settled for the mushroom and rice dish nearest him, wrinkling his nose at the taste. He hated mushrooms.

Dessert was a vast improvement. He was able to snag a piece of chocolate cake, and he ate it slowly, savouring every bite of its heavenly flavour. When everyone had finished eating, the prefects of each house led the first years to their common rooms. Gryffindor's was located on the seventh floor behind a portrait of an overweight lady in a pink dress. They were led inside, Remus waiting until last, and given a lecture about curfews and other rules and pointed towards their dormitories. Remus watched Black and Potter racing each other up the stairs, Pettigrew trailing behind, and decided to wait a while before going up himself, finding a quiet corner to curl up in.

When his eyes began to droop, he decided it was time to find out where he would be sleeping and headed for the stairs. He soon found the door with his name on it and groaned when he saw he would be sharing it with Black, Potter and Pettigrew. He was disappointed, but not surprised. It was typical of his luck.

He took a deep breath and gripped the door handle. He turned it and pushed. As the door swung open, he heard the unmistakable voice of Black proclaim, 'Ugh, this is a nightmare!' and his face warmed. The boy could only be referring to having to share a room with him. He decided the best course of action would be to keep his head down and stay out of the way. He didn't want any trouble.

-o-o-o-o-

Over dinner, Sirius had told James the story of how he met Remus. James was a pureblood and well aware of the Black family's reputation, so he had no trouble believing the tale regarding how vile his mother was. What he struggled to believe was Remus' part in the story.

'That sickly looking kid? He kicked your mum and shouted at her?' he had asked, looking at Sirius as if he'd said dragons were no more dangerous than a fluffy kitten.

'Well, he didn't look sick back then,' he'd replied.

Now they were in their new dorm room, which they would share along with Peter the excited puppy and Remus, who probably now hated him.

'I've screwed everything up, James. What am I going to do? He hates me now!' Sirius said, pacing the room like a caged hippogriff.

'You'll just have to show him you're not really a cold, upper-class dickhead,' James said with a shrug. Which was extremely unhelpful in Sirius' opinion. 'Unless you are a cold, upper-class dickhead, of course. Are you a cold, upper-class dickhead, Sirius?'

He looked up at Sirius from where he sat, cross-legged on his bed, with an expression of genuine curiosity on his face.

'No more than you, you wanker,' Sirius said before flopping dramatically onto his own bed. 'Ugh, this is a nightmare!'

At that very moment, the door opened, and the object of his distress tripped into the room. Remus' face was flushed crimson, and his gaze darted around frantically until he spotted his trunk at the end of one of the beds. He stumbled over to it, rooted through the contents and pulled out a wad of blue material before climbing onto the bed and drawing the surrounding curtains without saying a word to any of them.

Sirius glanced at James and flung his hands in the air in the universal sign language of, 'What the fuck do I do?' James just shrugged and started getting ready for bed. Sirius scowled at him and stared at the closed curtains for a minute, trying to decide whether to try talking to Remus now or wait until morning. Deciding to wait, he changed into his pyjamas and climbed into bed.

Chapter 5

[greyskywrites]

Wolf’s Price

[First] [Previous] [AO3] [ko-fi]

XXIII. Long Live the Wolves

2.6k

I will tell it to you as it was told to me.

That, on a warm summer evening, Crown Prince Andon of Kressos was host to a feast and a ball in the Grand Palace. It was a magnificent affair, by all accounts. Garlands of summer flowers strung from wall to wall, filling the ballroom with their scent. Wine flowing freely, near everyone who was of any importance in Kressos present and attending. Naturally, no Sarenn lords or ladies had been invited.

In the few months since she had arrived, no one had paid much attention to the quiet cook who had so quickly ingratiated herself with the kitchen staff. If they noticed that she stained her hair a darker hue, that she was always careful to be absent when some attendant close to the prince arrived, no one thought to be suspicious. Many women wish their hair were a different color. Many women are wise enough to avoid powerful men.

It was quite unexpected, when the head cook suddenly took ill before the ball. It might have promised disaster, except for the new cook, who took command of the kitchens with such ease, directing the roasting of many kinds of fowl, of the enormous river fish of which Kressosi are so fond. Of venison and pork and veal. They said to themselves, how lucky we are, to have her here. Perhaps someday she will be head cook, herself.

And always, most importantly, was the wine. Great barrels of it, I was told, big enough to drown a man in. These, the new cook tended to most especially, because by custom the prince would begin the festivities with a toast, and everyone would drink together.

No one thought it strange that this new cook worked late into the night, often by herself. It was an important event they were preparing for, and she was determined it be perfect—but she was kind enough to insist they all be rested, so that nothing go wrong because of their weariness. So no one was awake to think it strange, when the new cook whispered secret words to the herbs she boiled over the fire, or to think it strange how carefully she let the mixture cool before she poured it into the barrels of wine. Perhaps, upon waking, they did not notice the particular green smell that had filled the kitchens, because she had already begun to prepare for the making of breakfast, and melting fat will cover a great deal.

The noble lords and ladies of Kressos all began to arrive early that night, each determined to outdo each other in the show of their clothes, of their carriages and horses. Such noble houses of Kressos, Stefjan and Kellar, Gerr and Hoss, and so on.

Prince Andon and Princess Arabel were most gracious hosts, each finely outfitted in Luon silk and Sarenn fur, the white manes of snow lions, and a comb of Sarenn ivory in Arabel’s dark hair.

Delicate glasses were filled with dark wine, and given among the lords and ladies, who simply held onto them until the prince could give his toast, as was custom. They whispered of rumors of what had occurred in the north, of Commander Emiran’s disappearance, as well as the vanishing of the prince’s personal physician. No one dared speak aloud what they truly thought, that His Highness the Prince must have decided that Emiran’s popularity was too great a threat to his own. There was a great deal of whispering among those who had brothers and sons who were military men, about whether it would be more prudent to call them home.

The prince gave his toast, in which he spoke of Kressos’ success, and, most alarmingly, brought up the missing commander. He promised that Muras Emiran and his companions would be found soon enough, he would make sure of it.

No one in the kitchen had yet noticed that the new cook was missing.

They toasted, and drank, and at first it seemed that all was well. There was a great deal of eating and merriment, trying to put the thought of the missing commander out of their minds. Andon, especially, drank quite heavily.

It was Lord Stefjan, who fell first. So every version of this part of the story tells me, without doubt. Stefjan who keeled back out of his chair, and fell dead to the floor. Then, all at once, it began. One after the other, everyone who had partaken of the wine began to fall, some choking and unable to breathe, some vomiting.

In the most dramatic of the stories, it is Arabel and Andon who fall last, the prince cradling the body of his dying wife, but that all seems quite tawdry to me, and the person I trust most to recount it to me was not there to witness it. A hall full of corpses, and a few in the kitchen, after unwise servants had stolen a swallow of wine. It took some time for the panic to abate, for those people left alive in the palace to think to look at who had been in the kitchens, and discover the new cook missing.

She was searched for, and in the searching, so too was found the body of King Isaec, who had not been poisoned. In his weakness and old age, his throat had been cut. Written on the wall, and this I do know to be true, though I still find it in poor taste, were letters in the dead king’s blood. The same phrases, written twice. Once, in Kressosi, that everyone who saw them might be able to read them. Again, in Sarenn, so that it would be clear.

The king is dead.

Long live the wolves of Saren.

#

Lor had long since fled, when the search for her began. There was a boat waiting for her at the river, a small one, manned only by someone who had long since given up river travel. He did not know exactly what she had been about—stories of the deaths in the Grand Palace would not reach him until days later, after Lor had already left his company. He had agreed to meet her for exactly one reason: because she had promised to bring him news of me.

She told me that Kaspar was in good health, that he was relieved to hear that I was alive and safe, and that he grew quite somber when she told him that it would not be possible for me to return to Kressos. Of Kip, she learned that he was also well, that he was beginning to learn his letters. She said Kaspar was wistful, when he spoke of our son.

He carried her as far as a more distant port, where Lor could safely depart for Saren. She clasped his wrist in her hand before she left him, and met his gaze. “There is more you ought to know,” she said, “about the woman who gave you your son.”

She said he did not believe it, when she told him my name. The name that I was born with, that I had picked up again. He thought it absurd.

“Believe it or not, as you like,” she said, “but it will become known, soon, and you will need to protect your son.” That was how she left him, slipping away into the weak morning light, to secret herself away on a river ship bound for Saren, before it could be known how many had died that night.

#

I met several lords, in the months while I waited for word of Lor. We heard quickly what had happened in Kressos, and even among those lords who had not yet seen me with their own eyes, confirmed for themselves that I was who I said I was, there began to be whisperings. Now, they said, now was our time. While Kressos was in chaos. While Kressos had no king, while Kressos was still trying to reassemble its noble houses.

I heard of riots along the river ports, though none occurred in Arborhall. We simply closed our ports to Kressosi ships, and waited. Those Kressosi that lived in and around Arborhall prudently retreated to their estates, or, if they had none, came to seek refuge from Julas. Julas imposed upon those Kressosi who did have country households to take those that did not, and I waited. I prayed.

The rumors of me spread nearly as quickly as the story of Andon’s death. Liana Anarin still lives. Liana Anarin has come home. The lost princess, the last of Corasin’s wives.

I spent those months sewing a banner. I had sewn them before, when I was yet unmarried. I could have sewn the black hounds of Anar by memory alone. But this banner, as it took shape under my hands, was different. Between the black hounds, I placed a white wolf. The field of red, bloody and bright, brought the wolf into sharp relief.

This was not a banner for my family, not a banner for my brothers and their children. This banner was mine, and for my descendants. We were Anarin, but we were different, too. My children would be Anarin not because of their fathers, but because of their mother.

“I would like you to fly this under the Anarin banner,” I told Julas. “As long as I am here.”

I went to my father’s burial mound many times. The dawnstars grew thickly there, for we had buried many of our ancestors in this place. I talked to him, told him of my doubts and my fears, of my daughter’s growing and Veland’s progress in learning Sarenn and Kressosi. That I hoped, still, that Lor would return to teach him Aziran. That I was sorry I had not gotten to see him before he died. Asking him to keep a place open for me in the halls of the dead, when I joined him to feast with our forebears until the end of humankind.

I heard some tale of the young son of Prince Andon being made king, which might have made me laugh if I had not been so sad at the thought. He was no older than Veland. Some cousin or other relative would manipulate him until he became too troublesome, and then that boy would suddenly take ill. His sisters, I supposed, would be safer, at least for a time. They would be raised until they were old enough to marry whoever was most able to claim the throne of Kressos. Whichever one of them proved a more agreeable option for queen. Whichever one of them was sly enough to survive.

There was never any official declaration of war from Saren. There was no one to give it. There was only a definite turning of the tides, one that must have seemed to come from nowhere to the Kressosi on the far side of the river. The ones on the Sarenn side, I suspected, were less surprised. I thought of the Sarenn women with Kressosi soldiers for husbands, and knew that I was just another in a long line of forces that had harmed them.

I thought particularly of Branhild, the dyer’s niece in Nolsaford. I hoped that she and her child were safe. She had already survived so much upheaval.

And still, I heard no word from Lor.

It would not be until nearly autumn that a woman came to Arborhall on foot, the stain long since washed out of her hair, a basket on one arm. I would have known who she was anywhere. I was, by then, quite well attended by guards, but I ran out reckless to meet her, and threw my arms around her.

Lor wrapped her free arm around me, and let out a great breath, pressing her face into my hair. “Ah,” she whispered, “I missed the sight of your face.” She pulled back, and stroked my hair. “Your daughter,” she said, “what’s her name?”

I had almost forgotten, that was the last thing she said to me. That she would be back to learn my baby’s name. “Roanna,” I said. “Her name is Roanna.” I had named her under the oak trees, and I had managed to do it without weeping.

Lor nodded. “It’s a beautiful name. She’ll do her namesake proud, I’m sure.”

“It took you so long to come back,” I murmured.

“Traveling on the river got quite a bit more difficult, recently,” Lor said. “I had to come all this way on my own two feet, and feed myself along the way. It’s a good thing there’s always a need for a good physician.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “Especially in war.” I held her by the arms, gazing up into her face. “You have to tell me everything,” I said.

“I will,” she said, touching her forehead to mine. “But first, I think we should eat. And I have brought you some delicious squash and rabbit.”

“It sounds wonderful,” I said. “Veland will be so excited to see you.” I looped my arm through hers, and we made our way back to the castle.

“The banner,” Lor said, pointing up at my white wolf and black hounds. “Your work?”

“Yes.”

“It’s good. The birth of a new house, I think. I’ve never seen a Tyna banner.  I suspect they were all burned, or any that survived went far away with all the cousins I’ve never met.” Their crest had been a maple tree. “But that one,” she went on, “I would be proud to fly it.”

#

In Saren, there is a saying. As we were made, so we make what comes after. Which is to say, that we are each of us shaped by what has come before us, and so we are making now what will come after us, that which our children will inherit.

I am what I am because I was born in Saren, because when the king decided he wished to have me, my father could not refuse him. I called on the Wolf because I had decided that death was a price worth paying for freedom. Because I had thought a long, long time on Anar’s hounds, who ripped him to shreds for his negligence. I am what I am because when I was given the chance to live, I took it.

When were the threads of my life interwoven with Muras’, with Lor’s? Was it when the war began, or earlier? Perhaps when Corasin decided he wanted another wife. Perhaps when Muras decided he would rather be a soldier than his father’s heir. Perhaps it was long before any of us were born, when the people on each side of the river took the names of Saren and Kressos, and decided that we were enemies.

A thousand threads I cannot see, spun together by Mother Spider who made the world. What tapestry it will make at the end, only she knows. But I have my role to play in it, however reluctantly I have picked it up. I am the woman who should have died a dozen times over, and have not. I am the woman who was chosen by the Winter Wolf, to speak with his voice, to wear that skin.

Weta gave me a horn, perhaps the oldest symbol of war to the Sarenn people. Women do not wield horns, but I have one. Mine is the breath meant to sound the call. I cannot make men go to war, I cannot stop them once they have.

I am not the hero my country would have wished for, and I doubt I ever shall be. I am, I think, happier that way.

Heroes, after all, seldom have happy ends in our stories.

I still have hope that mine might be different.

[shinneth]

6, 1, 7, 5 and 10 for the fic writer meme!

OKAY. Finally got free from the distractions. Let’s see how well I can answer these. 

6. Share one of your weaknesses

Oh, I have a good amount of those. I would say my tl;dr curse (I don’t think I’ve EVER written a fic below four-figures, and very rarely does it end up 5k or lower), but I know there’s many out there who’d tell me that’s definitely a strength and that they’d love to be able to churn out six-figure epics in their sleep like I do. So let’s go with a more objective weakness.

I have the redundancy curse. I have this really, really really really really really really really bad habit of somehow reiterating a statement twice within the same sentence. Or at the very least, my verbiage will get repeated more times than it should within the same sentence (enough to the point where the sentence sounds very awkward when you read it out loud). This almost always happens because I’ll establish something at the beginning of my sentence, somehow forget about it midway through, and think I need to add it to the end.

I can’t tell you how many times I fall into that trap. Only through rereading my progress to get back into the groove to continue a chapter is when I’ll really have an opportunity to catch these slip-ups. Since I’ve never used betas and I’m pretty much fine finishing everything in one draft and all that. It’s astounding how many of these errors I’ll catch, really. And despite that, a few will always end up slipping through in the final product anyway! 

It’s a very annoying quirk that I’d love to fix, but again, it almost always happens right under my nose. No matter how conscious I try to be about this sort of thing, it’ll pop up when I least expect it. So really, all I can do is just try and catch as many as I can after I’ve written my stuff down, but before I finalize my piece.

1. Describe your comfort zone—a typical you-fic.

I think the name of the game here is Adaptation Expansion. I focus on a character (or a small group of characters) that I feel

A) Didn’t get as much canon development as they deserved

or

B) Might have gotten a decently good amount of focus, but I’m seeing many unsolved mysteries/curiosities around said character(s) and many possible routes to explore any headcanons that are raging inside of me.

Or the headcanon itself is just really nagging at me, so I make a whole story dedicated to it. 

In your typical Shin fic, the more Shin likes you, the more you should be afraid. Outside of having a wildly creative sadistic streak, my best ideas are usually best suited to my favorite characters, and I happen to be very big on the Earn Your Happy Ending trope. Certain series I feel kind of gave their characters a good conclusion a little too easily, and so I’ve made it my life’s mission to erase any doubt in my readers’ minds about whether or not the characters truly paid their dues to get their reward at the end. 

So of course, you add that with the sadism, and that means you’re very likely to get a fic that at least somewhat leans on the dramatic end. I think the vast majority of my Fanfiction.net stories are listed under “Drama”, now that I think about it. But really, drama’s what you go with when you wanna raise the stakes to crazy-high levels. It won’t be melodramatic 100% of the time, nor will it be grimdark or consummately edgy; I do make a point to add some witty humor and even fluff if it’s appropriate. But Shin fics are all about letting you see the kind of hell certain characters could be going through in canon and thankfully aren’t - yet you’re also seeing those same characters achieve a level of greatness canon would have never permitted because they put their all into reaching their goal. 

That’s about the gist of it: trying to outdo canon at its own game, giving justice I feel my favorites are due, but only after I put them through the seven circles of hell. 

7.  Share a snippet from one of your favorite pieces of prose you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

Hm, okay. When it comes to pride, I’m typically very reserved in that regard. However, I was very proud of how This is Who I Am Chapter 5 turned out. I had an idea well before writing it about how I wanted to do a twist on the Mirror Match trope with Steven and Peridot - basically, forcing their light sides to fight off the dark sides of each other, rather than themselves. The more accurate terminology for what I actually pulled off was an inversion of Opponent Switch.

I was very happy how I managed to execute this plot, since so much of it was rigged in the dark sides’ favor and almost insured that only Steven or Peridot would come out of this alive; not both. When it came to Light Steven meeting Dark Peridot, I finally had the opportunity to properly write for Pre-Series Peridot, who I established earlier was a bit of an opportunistic sociopath. I was eager for the chance to make my version of Socio-Peri a legit unsettling psychopath and boy did I revel in it. So, without further ado:

Steven desperately tried to find any trace of hope remaining in this situation. "E-Even if you and him are just the worst things about us made into people, like you said, you are still part of Peridot, 5XG! You're linked, me and the other Steven are linked… and you two shouldn't want to shatter your loved ones, either!"

5XG found herself legitimately enjoying this; savoring Steven's agony and dwindling optimism. It had been far too long since she was able to relish in the pain of another; especially when it resulted in her getting rewarded for it.

"If you're attempting to argue that we don't have a single iota of contempt for one another, I suggest you spare us any more of your unacceptable stupidity by jumping off this platform and descend into the abyss where you belong," she said in a sharp tone. "You'll recall I absolutely despised you for quite some time before my weaker self got the better of me. Past-tense or not, it is a fact you cannot deny. Therefore, it is part of me. Consider it as valid as the fact that, regardless of tense and however I changed over time, I am and always will be a murderer."

"NO!"

Steven was completely shaken up, now driven to tears and cowering away from the Peridot who was his adversary long before becoming his soulmate.

"Please, don't!" he urged. "I've forgiven her already! I-I never hated her for–"

"You hate murderers," 5XG stated in a calm, neutral, but very firm tone that was sharp enough to cut Steven off. "Anyone who takes the life of another, you hate on principle. The cause or circumstance is of no concern to you and never has been."

Steven swore his blood ran freezing cold for a moment after taking in those words. He was stunned to the point of being unable to rebuke any of this.

"The Bismuth told me how events played out when you first met her," 5XG added, readily rubbing salt into the wound. "After knowing by this point how the Diamond Authority were responsible for committing multiple acts of global genocide, how this very planet was on that list, and were prone to shattering members of their own court on a misdemeanor or even on a whim. You were aware of all of this."

Steven squinted his eyes, trying his best to shut away any more tears. He tried to turn away from 5XG; his entire body was shivering while his hands balled up into fists. "P-Please, stop…"

"Yet you admonished the Bismuth for daring to create weapons made for wiping out an enemy with lethal force; legitimate ways to justifiably defend yourself against an enemy you know would not hesitate to take your life if they had an opening. You stood there, and you actually labeled her as one who is completely indistinguishable from White, Blue, or Yellow Diamond," 5XG continued; of course she wouldn't honor his request. "A loyal ally of your maternal unit whose focus was always on doing her best to defend her friends and loved ones, who only fought when forced to by the Homeworld gems… to her face, you belittled her convictions and you said there was no difference between her and the maniacal, genocidal dictators that you yourself were defending against along with your loved ones – just as the Bismuth herself. I honestly don't blame her for trying to kill you that day. You should have died."

5. Share one of your strengths.

Phew... this one’s a little awkward for me. I know one thing I’m objectively good at is writing insanely long shit that is at least good enough to compel people to lose sleep or pull all-nighters as they strive to finish it. I can at least safely say that because nearly every goddamn reviewer I’ve ever had has gone out of their way to mention this. Even if they don’t review, if I ever have a chance to talk to them personally, they’re normally gonna let me know they sacrificed many hours of sleep because of me :P 

But really, I’m consistently praised for expanding on characters or concepts that canon either could have touched on more or barely touched at all. Some people have gained newfound appreciation for characters they didn’t care about or even hated because of my portrayals, and that’s pretty damn empowering to hear. I’ll often get remarks along the lines of me taking a character and “really making them my own” - in a positive way. Sometimes I have plot twists that are complete and utter batshit on paper, but then I’ll get commended for making it completely believable to the point where readers tell me they wish it was actually canon. 

So, that’s enough of a strength, I would say. I can reach really far and still make an AU story sound like it could have easily fit in canon even if my ideas are ones the staff won’t touch with a 10-mile pole.

10.  Which fic has been the easiest to write?

rsilgjdgkljdgsjgahhahhhh, that’s not as easy a question as you might think! Every story has given me a hurdle or two. 

I think by default, I’m gonna say it’s Peri-dise: The Capitalist Anarchy. Because while I put my own spin on it and added a lot of things to make a proper story out of it, Peridot’s little Citystate session was almost exactly to the letter like a certain one by GrayStillPlays. So a lot of the heavy lifting was already done for me in that regard. Still made sure to add plenty to it just to ensure it wasn’t SOLELY just a retelling of that video with some name changes.

And that takes care of my first big ask! Hopefully those were satisfactory answers. I’ll... TRY and get to another before I pass out. Really wasn’t fair of CN to drop this leak on the same day I’d have to contend with 3 hours of Monday Night RAW...