#i was thinking that he calls her beast as well or lass/girl/beastie

[swordmaid]

but consider vampire au’s wench is lambkin or mouse tho 👁👃👁

[nerevar-quote-and-star]

do you think the companions have a closet of like. flea and tick preventing stuff/medicine somewhere

Imagine someone opens that closet and they don’t know about the werewolf thing and they ask someone “hey why do we have all this dog stuff??? Where are the dogs???”

Hey, not only do I think that, I think it's entirely possible that they have their own mini veterinary closet, including the dog treats. The dog treats are the most important.

I'd like to thank you, though, because as soon as I read this ask, my mind start buzzing, or yipping, as the little dogs, might, and, well. . .

Chasing Tails, or Why is the Circle Like This?

Lucia's sure taking a long time . . .

Lars fidgeted in his seat at the end of the table, casting his eyes once again to the stairwell that led down to the Companions' living quarters. It wasn't the first time he'd sat around their hearth to wait on his best friend and it definitely wouldn't be the last, he was sure, but he always felt a little nervous sitting by himself as large warriors with huge blades went about their business around him. Eating, drinking, laughing . . . wrestling. The first time he'd seen Lucia's papa and uncle get into an all out brawl there on the hearth stones, he'd had the shakes until long after his grandma tucked him into bed.

A thud on the table startled the boy from his thoughts. "Here, kid, watch this for me, will you?" Lars stared wide-eyed as Ria, who was generally the nicest out of all the Companions — aside from Lucia, who insisted she was one despite only being ten — darted back up the steps and out the double doors to the Winds District. Not a moment later, the doors from the training yard banged open as Njada Stonearm — who was definitely the meanest Companion — barged in, eyes aflame like the hearth. Lars shrank back in his seat.

"Ria!" her voice echoed above the crack of the fire and the murmur of a few others talking across the room.

"Not here," called Athis, snickering.

"Jus' missed 'er," slurred Torvar.

A growl left the Nord woman's throat as her eyes swivelled round and landed on Lars, who was peaking out from behind the large satchel Ria'd left on the table. The boy's eyes bulged in horror as she took three long strides and arrived beside him, arms crossed under a face painted with a harsh scowl.

(Sometimes, a lot of times, Lars wished he was brave enough to ask Njada Stonearm to beat up Braith, but he had the feeling she'd either laugh him off — or worse, encourage the Redguard girl to redouble her efforts to kick his—)

"—dumped this here, huh?"

"W-wha—"

A hand, large and strong enough to crush his skull, shook the bag in front of him. "Ria left this here, didn't she?"

"Ye-yeah—"

"Quit mumbling!"

"Y-yes sir, I, I mean ma'am!"

If anyone ever looked absolutely done with the world, it was Njada Stonearm in that moment. Lars squirmed under her glare, but said no more, and the Nord woman grumbled under her breath. "I've gotta hunt down that rabbit brained . . ." she trailed off, eyeing Lars with a cold interest. "You. Take this downstairs and put it in the Circles' supply closet."

Lars tried to swallow, but his throat was too dry, and he let out a strangled cough instead. He choked a gasp when Njada Stonearm thumped him on the back. "Get going, kid," she said as she turned on her heel and marched out the same doors Ria fled through earlier.

With shaking legs, Lars got to his feet and hefted the satchel into his arms. There was a faint clink! clink! of glass, and he wondered if it was some kind of fancy reserve just for the Circle. He knew Lucia's mama was fond of Imperial brandies, so maybe that was it?

He crossed the hall, an easy task as Athis and Torvar promptly went back into their cups once Njada Stonearm had redirected her ire to Lars and so they didn't bother him. It was when he got to the stairs that the wobble in his knees became a full shake. Braith often told him he was infected with the Rattles and no one bothered telling him because it was more fun to watch him convulse like a half dead draugr. Sometimes, like right now for instance, he almost believed her.

One of the men barked a laugh, Lars wasn't sure which, but it jarred his limbs into motion; he eased his way down the wooden stairs, scared every moment that he'd trip, fall, and anger not only Njada Stonearm, but the whole Circle as well. His heart lodged in his throat. If he broke the bottles and made a mess of their contents, would he ever be allowed back in Jorrvaskr? Would he ever get to play with Lucia again?

The heavy door into the basement quarters was an almost reassuring barrier to the boy as he aligned his back with it, arms full of the satchel's awkward bulk. With a grunt, he thrust back, and the door creaked slowly open. When it was wide enough, he slipped around the dense oak, and once again hesitated. Now where? He didn't actually know where the Circles' supply closet was. Though, he thought, shifting from foot to foot with the wide hall empty before him, it might be down near the Circles' private quarters.

The supply closet wasn't really the difficult to find, being one of the few closed doors at the end. The other was the door to the Harbinger's room, but that'd been shut for months since . . . Lars swallowed, coughed again, and with the bag balanced precariously in one arm under his chin, he opened the door.

"What're you doing?"

"Gah!" Lars teetered forward, and if it weren't for Lucia's hand clenching the back of his shirt, he'd have fallen face first into—

"Um, better question: why do your parents' have a closet full of pet care products?" Lars asked, once he was steady on his feet and able to take in the concents of the supply closet.

Beside him, Lucia's face scrunched in clear confusion. Shelves on shelves of bottles, bright yellow and each marked with a label depicting some kind of nasty insect underneath a vivid red X, filled the majority of their vision. Lars' arms almost went slack under the weight of the bag. Was he carrying more of that stuff? Flea and tick repellent? Below the shelves was a stack of huge sacks that smelled a little too strongly of dried meat. Was that—?

"What's all this for?"

Lars gaped at Lucia. "You mean, you don't know?"

She shook her head, teeth gnawing her lip.

"Lucia? Lass, what are you doing in the closet?"

The two kids whirled around to find Lucia's uncle striding down the hall toward them. In a blur, Lucia sprinted to him, and, grabbing at his gauntlet clad arm, hung on for dear life. "Uncle Vilkas! Uncle Vilkas! Did you know about the pet medicine? Are those bags full of doggy treats? Oh! Is Mama getting me a puppy? Is that why she left for Markarth yesterday? Is she getting me a war dog so I can take him with me when I'm doing contracts? I've always wanted a puppy! The Circle always goes and visits the Jarl's kennels and I never get to go!"

"What—"

"I mean, why else do Mama and Papa always smell like they've been rolling around in a dog bed whenever they come back in before breakfast? Or when they're sneaking in during the middle of the night? Or when—"

"Lucia! What are you talking about, lass?" Vilkas, at last, cut in.

"Oh! Well, I was consalt— consulk—"

"Consulting," her uncle supplied.

"Yeah, consulting my beasty, beast, uh, animal guide before I came looking for Lars 'cause we're gonna go hunt goblins in his mom's vegetable garden when I found him in the Circles' closet, which I thought was weird because I thought this was where Papa was hiding Mama's New Life present — so maybe Papa is getting Mama the puppy? — but I didn't get to ask Lars why 'cause he was about to crash into the shelves, and then I'd have had to help him clean up the mess, and I'd rather go hunt the goblins than do chores, so . . ." Lucia rambled on, fast as a dartwing. All the while Vilkas nodded along to what she said, before at length raising a hand to hush her, his pale eyes resting on Lars. The young boy felt his knees start to wobble again.

"What's this, then?" Vilkas gestured to the bag.

"Uh, Njada Stonearm sent me down with it, sir. She um, she said to bring it to the Circles' supply closet . . ." By the end, Lars could barely hear his own voice, but whatever he heard seemed to placate Vilkas. The man took the satchel from Lars', the boy's thin arms falling limp with relief.

"I'll take care of this, Battle-Born. Lucia, you two run along," he said, holding the bag as easy in one hand as one might hold an apple. Lars couldn't help but feel a little envy at the dark warrior's ease and strength.

"Wait," Lucia's fingers twisted together around the hilt of her wooden sword. Lars hadn't even noticed she'd brought it. "I don't understand though! Is it a puppy? Is it Mama's? Will she share him? Uncle—"

Vilkas laughed. Lars never really heard the man laugh before. It was different from his brother's: deeper, richer, almost wolfish, whereas Farkas' laughter was a booming bark. The boy's brow creased at the comparisons, his eyes traveling to the inside of the closet again. There was more in there beside pet medicine and dog food, but before he could read anymore labels, Lucia's uncle shut the door and was ushering them down the hall a moment later.

"You'll know soon enough, lass. One day, when you're in the Circle yourself," he was saying.

"In the Circle? Myself?" Lucia's eyes glittered.

"Aye," Vilkas nodded. He pulled the basement door open and waved them up the stairs. "Then, and not a moment before. And lass?"

"Yes, Uncle?"

"While you're out hunting goblins, keep the little Battle-Born out of too much trouble, will you? Lad needs someone looking out for him." Lucia was already halfway up the stairs, but Vilkas could still reach to ruffle her dark ashy hair, and the girl preened under the attention.

Lars shifted about in embarrassment, but the Companion ignored him.

The two were halfway to his mother's garden, Lucia delivering a flash lecture on the nature of goblins, when a thought struck Lars, hitting him right between the eyes like Braith often did.

If the Companions didn't have any dogs, then why did he hear howling echo from Jorrvaskr at night?

[marbelmasnowshoe]

Forged in Flames (Part 4)

Five years later…

“Come on, Cinder!” Marb growled as she tugged on the hippogryph’s reins.  The fiery bird huffed as she pulled back.  Flameward Hippogryphs like Cinderwing were infamous for being as temperamental as they were rare, a consequence of being exposed to the Firelands’ elemental energies during the Fiery Invasion of Mount Hyjal.  So, it wasn’t uncommon for Cinder to give Marbelma the occasional bit of attitude.

Ever since Cinderwing hatched, Marbelma took care of the creature like it was her own child.  Partially because a paladin needed their own mount, and Cinderwing was the perfect candidate, partially because Marbelma didn’t exactly have a choice - the dwarf was the first thing Cinderwing saw after hatching, and so it was convinced that she was her mother.

So of course Marbelma took care of the creature.  How could she say no?  Cinder’s real mother died, making her an orphan.  She and Marb were like kindred spirits.  Birds of a feather, one might say.

Marbelma was trying to guide the hippogryph through the halls of Ironforge, a city that Marbelma hadn’t been to in years, mostly because the last few years had been very busy for Marbelma and her mentor, Rhyliaandra.  After the Cataclysm ended and Alliance and Horde ramped up their war, the vindicator/squire duo journeyed to Pandaria to fight the Horde there and prevent the Horde from conquering the new land.

Pandaria was a hell of a time.  Fighting the Horde in Krasarang, the Mogu on the Isle of Thunder, all leading up to the final, climactic showdown between Alliance and Horde with the Siege of Orgrimmar.  Finally, after years of dancing around it, the faction conflict would finally reach its end.

Or so Marbelma thought.

A new warchief was crowned (a damned troll at that!) and Varian just let it happen, letting the Horde off with little more than a wag of the finger and a ‘don’t do that again.’

They’re going to do it again.  They always do.

“Varian was trying to break the cycle.” Roniaar had said.

“And in doing so, he only perpetuated it.” Rhyliaandra had replied.  “How long?  How long until the Horde attacks again?  When we will finally have the strength to END the Horde once and for all?  For Light’s sake, all of their leaders were RIGHT THERE.  We may never have another opportunity like that again…”

The truce between the factions continued throughout Draenor, as the factions marched through the Dark Portal to fight the Iron Horde.  “Iron” Horde, they called it.  Like there was a distinction to be made.  ‘You can’t fight this Horde, but you can fight that Horde.’  It was the peak of ridiculousness.

Well, that war was over now, and a relative peace had settled over Azeroth.  But Marbelma knew that this peace wouldn’t last long.  It never does.  She could feel in her gut that another war was on the horizon.  But this one would be different from the others.

Because it would be the first war she would fight alone.

Marbelma was twenty years old now.  All throughout the Cataclysm, Pandaria, and Draenor, Rhyliaandra had trained Marbelma in paladin combat.  The dwarf knew every technique, every tactic.  Swing, block, swing again.  Such motions became all but second nature to her.  Rhyliaandra was impressed.  She said that she was ready.

Marbelma was ready to become a full-fledged paladin.  A Knight of the Silver Hand, as recognized by the Grand Alliance.  She was to attend the graduation ceremony in front of the Cathedral of Light in Stormwind in two weeks’ time.

Which is what brought the young dwarf to Ironforge.  Graduating paladins were encouraged to commission their own weapons and armor, separate from the gear they had as squires, to mark them as full knights.  Marbelma had been saving up her gold for years (with a little help from Roniaar - he was an annoying bastard, but he had his uses), and now had enough for a weapon and a full set of armor.  And there was no better place to find a good blacksmith than Ironforge.

Marbelma looked through all the shops, and was less than impressed.  Steel?  Silver with blue and gold trimming?  After years of training under an Exodar Vindicator, clad in golden armor decorated with purple gems, dwarven gear seemed so….basic.  She was honestly hoping to find something more exotic, like a blade forged in the fires of the Red Dragonflight or an axe that decapitated a hundred Amani Chieftains.  Something with a STORY behind it.

Her search took her through the Military Ward, Tinker Town, and into the Hall of Explorers.  Not a single interesting blade or hammer or suit of armor that was more than just so much steel.  Marbelma didn’t want to be just another rookie paladin, showing up with whatever cheap armor she could afford.  She wanted to stand out!  She wanted to be a beacon, both for her allies to rally around and for her enemies to cower before.  She wanted to look epic, damn it.  Or at least rare.

Finally, Cinderwing stopped pulling on her reigns.  In fact, she suddenly started trotting ahead of the dwarf.  “Now what?” Marbelma groaned, getting exasperated with the hippogryph’s willfulness.  She followed after the beast until she realized where the creature was heading.  That’s when she grabbed the reigns and pulled.  “No!  Bad girl!  We don’t go in there!”

She stopped her mount just outside the entrance to the Forlorn Cavern.  The bad part of Ironforge.  The part where the thieves and the outlaws and the practitioners of dark magic chose to call home.  And of course, it was a favorite hangout spot for the city’s populations of Dark Iron dwarves.

The hippogryph screeched in protest as it strained agains the dwarf’s grip, trying to enter the cavern.  “What’s in there that you want so bad anyway?” Marbelma demanded.  Whatever it was, Cinderwing wanted it bad, because it eventually broke free of its owner’s grip and charged headlong into the cavern.  “Oi!  Get back here!” she shouted as she took off after the renegade feather mane.

After pushing her way through a crowd of rogues, warlocks and degenerates in general, she found Cinderwing pecking at a grange full of some kind of weird red seeds.  Seeds?  That’s what Cinderwing wanted?  How did she even smell those seeds all the way in the Hall of Explorers?  “Come on, Cinder.” Marbelma whispered to the creature.  “Let’s get out of here before-“

“Ah, your hippogryphs got a taste for crimson seeds, I see.” said a voice.

We get caught.  Marbelma thought to herself.  She turned to the voice’s source and, sure enough, it was a Dark Iron.  He was an older Dark Iron, with a balding head but a very long beard, as if all the hair on his head migrated to his face over the years.  His skin was a pale grey and, like all Dark Irons, his eyes glowed an unnatural shade of red.  He wore a white smock over his clothes, and his bearded lips turned up in a smile.  “Can’t say I’m surprised - these are crimson lasher seeds, straight from the Firelands.  Flamewards like this beastie can’t seem to get enough of them.  I can give ye a bag for sixty silver.”

She pursed her lips.  “Fine.” she said.  As much as she hated the idea of giving a Dark Iron her business, maybe a bag full of seeds will convinced the stubborn bird to leave this place.  Sooner they do that, the better.

“So, what brings a Bronzebeard like you to the Forlorn Cavern?” the stand keeper asked as he shoveled seeds into a large bag with a small spade.

“An uppity hippogryph.” Marbelma growled as she sneered at Cinderwing.  The feathermane huffed and ruffled its fiery feathers in an almost haughty way.  I should’ve gotten a gryphon instead she thought to herself, and not for the first time.

“Guessin’ yer a paladin?” he asked.

“Who wants to know?” Marbelma asked.

“Well, you’re dressed like one.” he said, gesturing to the squire armor she was wearing.  She was almost always wearing her armor, always ready for a fight.  “Plus, I’ve got an eye for these things - used to be a paladin meself before I retired.”

Marbelma raised an eyebrow.  “A Dark Iron Paladin?” she asked, skeptical that such a thing exists.

“Contrary to our reputation, we Dark Irons are no strangers to the Light.” he explained.  “I mean….Fire IS technically Light, right?” he asked with a chuckle.

“I don’t think it works like that.” Marbelma said.

“Ye’d be surprised.” he replied.  “After I retired, I took to becomin’ a blacksmith by trade.  Ye’ll find no better smith in this wretched cavern.”

“I thought you sold seeds.” Marbelma said.

“Oh no - this is Mrs. Powderkeg’s stall.” the man said.

“Ack!” cried a Dark Iron woman as she rushed over to the stall.  “Get that beast away from me stall!”

“It’s alright, Bayla.  Here, I’ll cover for it.” he said as he handed her the sixty silver that Marb handed him a moment ago.  “Now then, ye got a name lass?”

“My name is Ms. Fuckin’ Business.  First name:  None o’ yer.” Marbelma replied.

The elder dwarf simply chuckled at that.  ��Pleasure to meet ye, Ms. Fuckin’ Business.  I’m Balokk Phoenixbeard, at yer service.”

“I don’t need service.” Marbelma said as she lead Cinderwing away from the stall and out of the Forlorn Cavern.

“You need gear.  Weapons and armor.  I can SMELL IT on ye.” Balokk replied.

“There’s plenty of blacksmiths in Ironforge.” Marbelma sneered.

“But none that have what I have.” Balokk pointed out.  “Just come have a look at me wares.  If ye don’t like what ye see, yer free to move on to greener pastures.”

Marbelma thought about it.  Normally, she wouldn’t give a Dark Iron so much as the time of day.  But a deviant part of her brain was curious.  She supposed there was no harm in looking and then telling him where to stick it before going back to looking for a REAL blacksmith.  “…Fine.  Show me then, old man.” Marbelma said.

The old Dark Iron took Marbelma’s insults and disrespect in stride (which somehow irked her even more) and lead her deeper into the Forlorn Markets.  A few minutes later, they’d arrived at one of the city’s many stone buildings.  Marbelma tied Cinderwing’s reins to a hitching post and followed the elder dwarf inside.

It was dark inside, the large forge being the only source of light.  Actually, no, not the only source.  She looked at some of the armor sets on display along one wall, and realized they were dimly glowing, like embers.  They seemed to glow just a little bit brighter every time Marbelma’s hand drifted close to them.

“Impressed yet?” the Dark Iron blacksmith asked.

“What sort of cursed magic is this?” Marbelma asked.

“Nothin’ cursed - I ain’t no warlock.” Balokk harrumphed.  “Just good ol’ fashioned fire magic.  Same kinda stuff those mages in Dalaran fling about.  We Dark Irons have been proud practitioners of fire magic for centuries!  I incorporate it into all me work.”

“How?” she asked.

He rapped his knuckles against his forge.  A fire elemental peaked out and looked around, grumbling as though annoyed.  “With a little help from me business partner, Charlie.  Say hello, Charlie.”

“My name is Charralox.” the elemental hissed.

“Friends call him Charlie.” Balokk replied.  The elemental sighed and returned back inside the forge, hoping to be left in piece there.

Marbelma looked back to the armor sets, and how they seemed to glow brighter every time she tried to touch them.  “Are they gonna burn me?” she asked.

“No, but……hm……” Balokk replied.  “Not every day armor glows like that….I wonder…..”  He retreated into a back room and a few minutes later, came back with an ornate-looking weapon case - red with gold trim.  He hefted it onto a nearby table and beckoned the young lass over.

“This is a very rare, special item.” he said as he unlocked the case and opened it.  Marbelma gasped as she looked at the weapon inside.  It was a hammer, and a truly massive one, with a long shaft and a head that was covered in spikes.  The orange coloration and dim glowing made it unmistakable.  “Is that…”

“Aye.” the blacksmith replied.  “A Sulfuras-mold.  Modeled after the legendary weapon, wielded by Ragnaros himself.  The Fire Lord would only bestow these to his most trusted and loyal lieutenants.  Ever since his defeat in the Molten Core, these puppies have become very rare.”

Marbelma gocked at the hammer with a strange mix of awe and disgust.  This was the weapon of Ragnaros, the weapon of an enemy that has brought nothing but destruction to the world.  And yet, she found the hammer strangely alluring…

“Well, don’t just stare at it, lass!” Balokk said, snapping Marbelma from her reverie.  “Pick it up!  Give it a go!”

Marbelma hesitantly took the hammer and picked it up.  It wasn’t that difficult to wield it, so either it wasn’t as heavy as it looked, or Marbelma really hard gotten stronger over the years.  Suddenly, the hammer’s head roared to life, like a torch being lit, as flames now wreathed the business end of the weapon.  As Marbelma drifted her hand through the small flames, finding it didn’t burn her the way flames should, the Dark Iron blacksmith was wooping and hollering.

“I knew it!  I knew it the moment I laid eyes on ye!” Balokk cheered.  “A Sulfuras hammer doesn’t light up like that for just anyone!  No doubt about it, lass.  Ye’ve got a FIRE in ye!”

“A fire?” Marbelma asked.  “Hold on, I ain’t no Dark Iron!  I ain’t no cultist!”

“Not sayin’ ye have to be.” Balokk said.  “The Molten Core and the Firelands gave people the wrong idea about fire.  They view it as a destructive force.  Truth is, it’s a neutral force.  A tool, like that hammer.  Whether it does good or bad depends on who uses it.”

“What good can fire do?” Marbelma asked.

“Well, there’s the obvious - instead of burnin’ good folk, you can burn bad folk.” Balokk explained.  “Then there’s the more mundane uses we take for granted - cooking our meals, keeping our homes warm, and generally giving us comfort on cold winter nights.  Much of the same can be said of the Light.  Light and Fire are practically one in the same.  At least, that’s the way we Dark Irons always viewed it.”

Marbelma looked back down on the hammer, which kept burning steadily like a well-fed hearth.  She had to admit, out of all the weapons she saw on display, this was definitely the most epic she had seen.  Legendary, even.  “I’m tellin’ ye Ms. Fuckin’ Business, you were MEANT for that hammer.  Sometimes we choose the weapons, other times the weapons choose us.  And from the way she’s burnin’, that hammer definitely fancies ye.”

“…How much?” she asked.

“For a beauty like that, I’d normally charge a king’s ransom.” Balokk said.  “But for you, I’ll offer a discount of about….oh….let’s say 500 gold.”

Marbelma winced.  That’s more than half her budget.  Still, for a weapon like this…  “250.” she haggled.

“Haven’t ye been listenin’ lass?  That’s a SULFURAS.” Balokk said.  “It’s as much a collector’s item as it is weapon.  I won’t go lower than 450.” he said.

“375?” she asked.

“Tell ye what - 450, AND I’ll throw in a custom-made suit of armor to go with it for an extra hundred.” he said as he crossed his arms.  “That’s as good a deal as you’re gonna get today.”

She ground her teeth in frustration.  She shouldn’t.  550 is simply too much.

But she could see it in her mind’s eye already.  The hammer lighting up the darkness like a torch of holy fury.  Smiting her enemies, leaving nothing but ash in her wake.

She imagined the troll.  The troll.  Burning alive until there was nothing left but a charred corpse.

She smiled at that thought.

“Deal.” she said as she took the Dark Iron’s hand and shook it.

“Pleasure doin’ business with ye.” he said.  “Now then, I’m gonna need to take yer measurements, and also I’ll be needin’ yer real name.”

Marbelma sighed.  “Marbelma Snowshoe?”

“Snowshoe?  Ironic name for someone about to clad in holy flames.” Phoenixbeard observed.

The paladin graduation ceremony.  Every year, dozens of squires are recognized as having finally completed their training and given the title of full Alliance Knights.  This year’s graduates were assembled on the steps of the Cathedral like every other year’s, assembled in a wide variety of armors and armed with all kinds of swords, hammers and shields.

But few stuck out as more as Marbelma Snowshoe.

Her chest and leg pieces were a brilliant cascade of red, orange and violet, with a golden belt adorned with the stoic lion, symbol of the Alliance.  Her boots were orange and and seemed to shake the ground a bit and even leave a soot-covered footprint whenever she took a step.  Her shoulders and gauntlets were black with orange and gold trim, flame-shaped spikes molded adorning the shoulder pieces.  Hovering above her head was red jewel that formed a fiery ring above her red hair.  Finally, strapped to her back was bar-none her most impressive feature - Sulfuras, the Extinguished Hand.

Damn I feel badass. Marbelma thought to herself.

The graduation ceremony was already well underway.  The Bishop Arthur was giving a long-winded speech about the next generation of champions or something.  Marbelma wasn’t really listening, truth be told.  She was eager for some action.

The new war had arrived.

The Burning Legion was invading once again.  The Alliance tried to launch an attack on the Broken Shore, where the orc warlock Gul’dan had opened a portal to bring in an entire army of demons to Azeroth.  The Alliance sent a whole fleet’s worth of its worthiest champions to try and end the Legion threat before it could spread across Azeroth.  Not only did they fail, but they also lost their leader.  Varian Wrynn was dead, and Anduin Wrynn was the new High King of the Alliance.

And all because Varian made one big mistake - he chose to trust the Horde.

He was the one who spared the Horde after the Siege of Orgrimmar, and how did they repay this act of mercy?  They left him and his forces to die at a crucial moment.  Word had already reached Stormwind that the Horde lost their own leader, Vol’jin, on the Broken Shore, and that the new Warchief was Sylvanas of all people.

She was a monster.  Even by Horde standards, which was no small feat - Garrosh set the bar pretty damn high back in Pandaria.  The Horde was bad enough with orcs and trolls at the helm, but the undead?  The Horde would be worse than ever.

Good.  Marbelma thought to herself.  It was as if by fate that this would be the moment she finally becomes a true paladin - the exact moment when the Horde would be at its worst.  When it would be the most deserving of the Light’s retribution.

Suddenly, the graduation ceremony was interrupted by an Alliance soldier, a courier judging from the satchel of scrolls and papers that hung around his shoulder.  He saluted the bishop and informed him of the news - the Burning Legion was attacking again.  This time, their target was Westfall.  If Sentinel Hill fell, Stormwind wouldn’t be far behind.

The bishop turned to the newest generation of paladins.  “The Church of the Holy Light recognizes you as full paladins.” he announced.  “Now go!  Fulfill your purpose!”

The paladins didn’t hesitate.  They all took to their flying mounts and started flying south, towards Westfall - their first real battle, baptized in the blood of demons.  As Marbelma egged Cinderwing on, she knew that this battle would only be the first of many.  Once the Burning Legion was dealt with, then she could turn her attentions on the Horde.  She would finally find the troll that killed her family, ruining her life, and bring to him the justice that he had eluded for too long.

He can’t hide in the darkness forever. she thought to herself, as she could feel her hammer’s flame burning ever brighter.  For the Light will illuminate him.

[betweensceneswriter]

Second Wife-Chapter 22 Unbearable

Second Wife Table of Contents

Second Wife on AO3

Previously -  Chapter 21 : The White Lady Jamie and Laoghaire separately remember the trial at Craignsmuir

He sighed and closed his eyes. “She was afraid of me,” he said softly, a minute later. “I tried to be gentle wi’ her—God, I tried again and again, everything I knew to please a woman. But it was no use.” His head turned restlessly, making a hollow in the feather pillow. “Maybe it was Hugh, or maybe Simon. I kent them both, and they were good men, but there’s no telling what goes on in a marriage bed. Maybe it was bearing the children; not all women can stand it. But something hurt her, sometime, and I couldna heal it for all my trying. She shrank away when I touched her, and I could see the sickness and the fear in her eyes.” There were lines of sorrow around his own closed eyes, and I reached impulsively for his hand. He squeezed it gently and opened his eyes. “That’s why I left, finally,” he said softly. “I couldna bear it anymore” (Voyager 460.)

     Jamie knew, even before he saw it fall. 

     He had taken his shotgun out early, thinking to give Laoghaire a gift of a pheasant, several grouse, or a few rabbits.  The meat of farm animals was fine, but there was something special about the flesh of wild creatures.  They tasted of the Highlands, the past, freedom.  And knowing that Laoghaire especially gained joy from working in the kitchen, it was an effort, on his part, to be satisfied with what was.

     He’d taken along their mutt Cùram.  The hairy beast wasn’t much to look at, but he was good at flushing fowl from dense undergrowth.  In flight, birds were more predictable, Jamie considered.  You could see the direction they were going and anticipate their path.  A bird worth eating wasn’t any good at quickly changing direction.  He smiled, imagining a fat duck trying to rapidly change courses mid-air.

     Cùram had leapt ahead excitedly at one point, and seeing the glimmer of water behind bulrushes, Jamie was certain the dog was going to flush out some ducks or geese.  He readied the rifle, making sure it was cocked, his hand on the trigger.  He pulled it to his shoulder, ready to sight.

     Some ducks or geese?  That was an understatement.  Once Jamie whistled and Cùram spooked the birds the sky was filled with them, a fat-bodied cloud of well-fed fowl, plump white underbellies visible, flanked by white, gray, or brown flapping wings. 

     He sighted, followed, shot, then shot again.  Two bodies, or was it three? froze in mid-air, hesitated, crumpled, and fell to the ground.

     And Jamie’s heart sank. No.

     He whistled for Cùram to heel. He didn’t want the wee beastie worrying their dinner.

     Jamie tromped through the sedge, his boots making sucking sounds as he pulled them out of the spots of soggy marsh.  Please, no, he thought as he approached the place he’d seen them fall.

     He reached two white geese first.  Blood stained their fine white feathers, and they were intertwined, having been shot by the same bullet, the first pressed toward the second by the force of the shot, and then their bodies brought close by their swirling dance to the ground.

     Jamie left them, and took several steps more.

     At first, she simply looked like she was sleeping.  Her orange beak was hidden, tucked under her wing, the frilled white tips of her feathers creating the illusion of dark brown and white stripes.  Claire had told him about zebras.  He wondered whether their stripes looked like this.  Peeking out from under her body were the pink tips of her webbed feet. 

     Graylag geese did not have long, slender necks.  They were heavy and thick, compact-bodied, fat and meaty.  Jamie sat on a rock a distance from the still form.  He sighed, reloaded his gun, and waited. 

     When he heard the sound, his chest ached.  A plaintive, honking cry announced that he was coming, returning for his mate, missing her presence in the skies—she was not with him where she was supposed to be.  The gander circled repeatedly before he found her, crumpled in the tall grass.  Jamie had withdrawn a distance away by then, camouflaged by his drab colored jacket and breeks.

     Her mate landed gently, walking up to her, his head lowered.  He made small sounds, not honks exactly, as he circled her, as he nudged her with his beak.  When she didn’t answer, his honks grew louder.  Finally, with no response, he settled his body near her, touching her, leaning over her, comforting her with crooning, crying sounds.

     Jamie blinked repeatedly until he could see clearly through the sight.  When he pulled the trigger, though, he closed his eyes.

      “Two geese?” Laoghaire asked happily as Jamie entered the kitchen, Cùram dancing around his feet.

      “Yes,” he answered, handing two fat white bodies to her with a smile, empty-eyed.

     Laoghaire bustled about, readying the geese to roast for several hours so they would be done for dinner.  Jamie had been right; the kitchen was one place she seemed happy.  Perhaps it brought back good memories of Castle Leoch’s mother hen, her grandmother, Mrs. Fitz.  Perhaps it was the one place she felt confident of her skill.  Jamie smiled, shaking his head in confusion as he watched her.  She was even humming a little tune, not like the bitter creature who could sulk or give him the silent treatment for days on end.

     Now that the sun was higher in the sky, Jamie headed out for the real work of his day, making sure that animals were where they belonged, and that crops were well-watered.  He checked on the bees, stopped by the stable, then gave directions to the workers in the field.  He rested on a rise, gazing out over the land, fields and forests, lakes and marshes, rolling hills topped with trees.  It was lovely at Balriggan, just as it had always been lovely at Lallybroch.

     He was trying to be a man, like his sister had challenged him.  To do what was right, to take care of others.  To stop holding onto the past as if it was something he could bring back.  “This is what there is,” Jenny had said, taking in the Highlands with an expansive gesture of her arm.

     And so, gazing around the dinner table that evening, Jamie worked to enjoy what there was.  Tender roast goose with a delectable mushroom wine sauce.  Potatoes and vegetables grown in their garden.  A flaxen haired young girl, soon to become a woman; a spit-fire, ginger-haired giggly thing; and a woman with a familiar face.  Maybe that was enough.  Maybe I could be satisfied, Jamie thought, satisfied with what there is.

     Something was different when Jamie entered their bedchamber.  Laoghaire was in a white lace-trimmed nightgown.  Her cheeks were blushing pink.  She looked—Jamie finally decided the closest approximation was excited.  When was the last time Laoghaire had looked excited to go to bed?  It stirred him slightly just to consider it.  It had been several weeks at least since the Lallybroch visit.  Laoghaire had been quite chilly since they had last been together, and just the thought of the release, of that death-like slumber after satiation, was enough to wake up the necessary equipment.  He hoped he wasn’t misreading her signals.  Attempting to fall asleep with aching balls would accomplish the exact opposite, and he’d worked hard enough that he didn’t want a sleepless night.

     She approached him shyly, with a small corked jar in her hand.  “I wish to try something tonight,” she said.  She was blushing profusely.  “Well, three things.”

      “Yes?” Jamie said, turning away to give her the privacy to speak, and taking off his boots, his belt and breeks.

      “I dinna care for being touched or petted like a cat, but I ken you like it,” she said.  “So I thought, once it was dark, I could touch you….Just your back and your hair!” she quickly clarified at the widening of Jamie’s eyes.

     Jamie was surprised by his body’s response to the promise of touch.  There was more of a surge of blood to his groin when he thought of touch than release.

      “And then,” she handed him the bottle.  “When it’s time, will you put this on yourself?  I think it will help me.  It’s oil.”

     Jamie nodded, and set the jar on the table on his side of the bed with a quick glance at her.  Her face was scarlet, her pupils wide. The thought of sharing her next request was obviously troubling her the most. 

      “Shall I blow out the candles so you can ask more easily?” Jamie asked.  Laoghaire was breathing rapidly, and nodded. 

     Jamie quickly traveled the room, snuffing candles until the light was all gone.

      “I’m sitting here on your side of the bed,” she said.  “Take off your shirt and come sit in front of me.”

     Jamie was grateful that the lights were off before he reached her, and that she wasn’t rubbing his front. He felt her knee, then turned and sat between her legs, feeling the warmth of her body and arms right behind him. And then she began to stroke him.  It was blissful and grounding, being touched.  She ran her fingers through his hair, combing out the curls, spreading it out so the tips of his hair tickled his shoulders.  Then she began stroking his back.  Though there were areas that were so badly damaged he could not feel touch there, his back was still sensitive, and the touch sent shivers down his spine and up to his scalp. 

     He groaned slightly, and Laoghaire froze.  “No, no, it’s good,” he said.  “Very nice.  Thank you, lass.”

     His cock wasn’t the only thing swelling, feeling stimulated, aroused, and awake.  It felt like his very heart was expanding.  Jamie realized that this—being touched—was what he had missed more than anything, for years. 

     With a small smile Jamie thought, Blessings on Jenny if she talked to Laoghaire about the marriage bed. 

     It was Janet who occasionally called him “Kitty” when they were growing up, because of the way he would cuddle up to Ellen or Brian, snuggling into their sides, begging to be petted as they read to him.  Jenny would say that if she rubbed Jamie’s arm while he slept, he would smile, sigh, and continue to slumber.  That was why she and Ian had named Kitty Katherine—because when the wee lass was growing inside Jenny, she wouldn’t flee from being touched.  If you pressed where her little foot was, she would stretch and press back.  If her back was facing Jenny’s navel, she would lie still as long as Jenny was rubbing her belly.  If Jenny stopped, Kitty would pepper her insides with kicks until Jenny started stroking her stomach again.  And when she was born, Kitty didn’t want to be put down for the first six months of her life.  Jenny finally had to rig a fabric sling around her shoulder and torso to put Kitty in, just so she could get anything done.

     Finally the stroking stopped.  Jamie sighed with pleasure.  “Thanks, lass,” he said.  “Would you like anything?” he asked.  In the darkness, at least, she didn’t appear to be afraid to talk.  “And you never told me number three.”

      “Kiss me, gently,” Laoghaire said.  He turned to her then, not daring to put his hands on her, except for one hand on her cheek to guide him to her lips.

     She pressed him lightly away after a short time.  “The third thing may help it to hurt me less as well,” she said.  “I wish to have you enter from behind me.”

      “Aye?” said Jamie.  “I can do that.”  Again he was grateful the lights were off, to hide the look of surprise on his face.

     He stood up, reached od his way over to the dresser and located the jar.  He could hear Laoghaire getting off the bed, lifting up her nightgown.

      “I’m right here,” she said quietly.  She reached out for him, and they touched hands briefly.

     Jamie’s heart was pounding in anticipation.  He uncorked the bottle, poured some oil in his palm, spread it on himself and reached for her, then eased himself in. Christ, that was good.  He missed this touching, too.  No other sensation felt so all-enveloping, engaging his whole body and mind, making him feel whole and present and alive and sane.  If they could find a way to make this work, maybe this would be enough.

     She gasped a little, but it wasn’t a groan or whimper of pain.

      “Can I hold your hips?” Jamie asked.

      “Yes,” she said willingly. Not wincing, not gritting her teeth, not crying out.

     He had placed his hands on her warm, round hips and started moving in her when the smell hit him.  Lavender.

☆☆☆☆☆

     She had blocked out the memory of her wedding night with Hugh.  After the devastation of losing Jamie, after the humiliation of finding out John Robert was married, she had been grateful for Hugh.  Reliable, faithful Hugh.  He’d begun taking care of himself better in the past months, keeping his hair neatly in a plait.  Working regularly in the out of doors had improved his color and slimmed his body.  If she didn’t focus on his pock marks, she could almost consider him handsome.

     When she finally came to him and told him that she had reconsidered his proposal, Hugh’s response wasn’t what Laoghaire expected; he was less eager than she thought he’d be.  But still, he went ahead with it.  Asked her da for her hand in marriage.  Arranged with Father Bain to have the banns read three weeks in a row. 

     It was during those three weeks that Laoghaire, going to the privy one day, determined that despite all the evidence to the contrary she wasn’t going to have a bairn.  She didn’t have to marry.  But Jamie was gone, and she didn’t want to be alone.

     Their wedding was simple, in the kirk, with family and friends there.  Mrs. Fitz had made the moistest cake Laoghaire thought she’d ever eaten, and they had all danced into the evening.

     Finally, Hugh took her by the hand and led her home.

     When they entered the house, Hugh turned and locked the door.  She turned her face up to him to be kissed. John Robert had always been so gentle, and she had truly enjoyed herself when he took her to bed.  She was grateful to have Hugh to marry, and had begun to anticipate intimacy with her sweet husband.

     Instead, Hugh grabbed her face roughly and pressed his lips against hers.  Then he pushed her face away and walked across the room, his back to her.

      “Hugh,” she said.  “What’s wrong?”

      “You don’t think I know?” he asked bitterly.

      “Know what, Hugh?” she asked.

      “That ye aren’t a maid?” he said scornfully, turning back to her.  At the shock on her face, he said, “Aye.  They saw ye in the alcove wi’ Jamie Fraser.  They saw ye coming away from the river where he was.  And they said ye were naked under yer cloak.”

     It was no use arguing the finer points of the story, Laoghaire realized.  Her heart was pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears.

      “And I heard ye’d been seen meeting with John Robert MacLeod at the tavern, and at least once at the castle.  John Robert MacLeod?  He’s married, d’ye ken?”  Hugh’s face was full of disgust.  “Ye already gave yer maidenheid to one of them, didn’t ye?”

      “Hugh,” she said, reaching her hands out to him plaintively.  “You’re the good one.  Yer a hard worker, and ye love me, and I’m happy to be yer wife.  Neither of them are anything to me anymore!”

     Hugh started crying.  “How could ye, Laoghaire?  How could ye give it away, but not to me that’s loved ye forever?”  He turned his tear-streaked face to her, and suddenly the sadness took on toxicity.  He strode over to her, grabbed her arm, and pulled Laoghaire over to the table in the kitchen.  Pushing her torso onto the table, he scrabbled at her skirts, pulling them up and keeping her trapped where she was with his hips, then tearing at the button-front of his breeks.

      “Well, Laoghaire,” Hugh said, hard and merciless.  “If ye act like a whore, I can give it to ye like a whore.”

     He had raped her. 

     And until he was recruited to fight at Culloden, Hugh never once made love to Laoghaire.  He was kind in public, a hard worker, kept food on the table, kept Laoghaire clothed and fed.  But any time he got the urge to be with her, his terrible jealousy and rage would flare up, and he would leave Laoghaire defiled, bruised, and devastated.

☆☆☆☆☆

     After he smelled lavender, the first thing Jamie noticed was the pain in his hand.  It felt like it was on fire, like a burning torch on the end of his arm.

     Suddenly the remembered caresses still warm on Jamie’s back weren’t sweet caresses from his wife.  Instead, those were Jack Randall’s hands tracing his scars.  He could almost feel ghost hands, ghost lips on him now.  “Oh, Jamie, lad, you are so beautiful.  You are my masterpiece.”

     And what was he holding?  Doing?  What was in front of him?  Someone’s back, and ass, and slick oil, and the smell of lavender.  And thrusting, thrusting.

     It’s not real, it’s not real, Jamie told himself.  It’s Laoghaire.  We’re married.

     He was horrified, and aroused, ashamed, and angry.  For the next minute he lost himself, and then he heard something.  A woman’s voice crying out.  Claire? Was it Claire?!!

     They were beating her.  They had stripped the clothes off her back, and they were whipping his wife.  His wife.  Claire!! 

     And who was that, standing in the crowd?  With a self-satisfied smirk on her face?  As the madmen whipped marks on his precious Claire’s back?

     Laoghaire.  She had left the ill wish under their bed.  She had come to him, meaning to seduce him.  And with him gone, she would stand by and watch his wife be beaten.  Cruelly, with a smile on her face.

     He had rushed to Claire, rescued her, spirited her away, and taken her to Lallybroch.

     But the screaming was still going on.  Claire? 

     No. It was Laoghaire.  Laoghaire was crying out, screaming, “No, Hugh! Stop!  Stop!”

     Jamie pulled himself from her body, and put his hands to his face—but the cloying, pungent smell was even stronger than before.  He flung open the bedroom door and let the faint light and fresh air of the hall in.

     He fell to his knees and vomited, repeatedly.  When he collapsed to the floor, he could see back into the bedroom.  Laoghaire was huddled against the bed, her arms clasped about her knees, shaking and sobbing.

     It was over, and they both knew it.

     The next day, Jamie packed his things. 

     As Jamie rode away from Balriggan, all his worldly goods in the pack behind him, his face was set resolutely. He didn’t have it in him to do this again. No loneliness, no desire, no hunger for human companionship, (and no ache in his balls, he told himself grimly), was worth this terrible pain in his heart. 

     Perhaps it was wrong, but he’d minimized his departure for the girls.  He was going to Edinburgh to find a business for Fergus to run, he’d told them.  He would be sending money and letters.  He would see them at Lallybroch for Hogmanay, though of course, he hoped to be home sooner.  He’d hugged them, holding each of them close for a moment, his cheek resting on their hair as he memorized their scents.

     Marsali would be fine, Jamie thought.  He worried for Joanie.  His little kindred redhead, who was always being mistaken as his blood daughter in town, she with her quirky ways and kind heart; he would truly miss her.

     After embracing the girls, he had turned to Laoghaire.  For the girls’ sake, for Laoghaire’s sake, and maybe for his own sake, he brought her towards him in an embrace.  He gave her a sisterly kiss on the forehead, like he always kissed Jenny.  Fini, he thought.  The end.  Painful as it had been, when he looked back on his life, he didn’t imagine his time with Laoghaire would occupy many of his thoughts.  Grimly he realized that he still had an eternity of time stretching out in front of him.  Time unending, without Claire.

     Now he sighed wearily, his horse plodding along the path that wended its way through the marshes.  In the distance, Jamie could see the sun glimmering on a pond surrounded by bullrushes.  What he could not see was the mound of freshly dug dirt beneath the willow tree, close to the edge of the water.

     He had lain them in a grave together, arranging them close, their bodies touching, the male’s wing reaching over, sheltering the female, their necks intertwined, orange bills close enough to whisper to each other.  He had been near blind as he filled in the dirt over them, imagining that their spirits would be thankful, imagining their final calls to each other as they flew in tandem through the heavens. 

     I’m here.  I willna leave ye.  It wouldna be living wi’ out ye.

Fini

It’s been months, but I’ve begun again, hoping for a lighter tone now that Jamie isn’t constantly reminded of the contrast between Laoghaire and Claire...

The Madame (Second Wife, Book Two!)

[epag88]

Dragon Treasure Chapter: 16

Summary:  Hiccup is just a little seven year old boy running away from his father’s disappointment and meets a new friend hiding in the woods. Stoic is about to learn that one man’s burden is another man’s treasure.

Stoick had been patrolling the village as normal but there had been a change in his routine for the past while that made the residence of Berk very happy. He no longer made his rounds by himself, it seemed like all day long Valka was by his side during his strolls and smiled quietly as she watched the chief work. Although the village kept Stoick as busy as ever he seemed passionate about it again and it reminded the Vikings of when the chief was a young man and taking his father's place. Everyone had recognized the man's long lost wife almost instantly making it very awkward for poor Valka to go anywhere without being stared at. Stoick had made it clear to everyone that neither Valka nor Hiccup were to know anything about the woman's past until he could properly bring it up or have the memories resurface on their own.

'I forgot how beautiful she is Thor how I miss her' Stoick thought as he gazed at the woman adoringly.

"Chief, are you alright?" she asked looking at him concerned.

"Of course why do you ask?" he replied.

"You seemed to be staring off into space and drooling so I was concerned," Valka explained and the Viking chief immediately wiped his face on the back of his sleeve as she giggled at him.

'He's ridiculous and disgusting and yet I feel so natural here in this moment' Valka thought to herself as she shook her head at Stoick.

Gobber watched on from the healer's hut with a smile before a distraction caught his eye….a round curvy distraction in the form of Eira's backside as the healer was gathering her things. Suddenly the viking's smile grew into a happy grin.

"Gobber...I can see you," Eira said over her shoulder with a raised eyebrow.

"I have no ide-"

Gobber was cut off in mid-sentence by the healer pointing to the potion bottles on the shelf that clearly reflected Gobber's form sitting on the bed.

"Can't blame a guy for admiring. It's a compliment," he said with a smirk.

This only seemed to make the healer's glare intensify in his direction before she turned around and continued rummaging. When she completed her task she turned her attention to Gobber's prosthetic hand and began examining it. Since the Viking first lost a limb at the age of eighteen Gobber had been a frequent visitor to Eira's hut to be examined and refitted particularly after battle or bad weather that could rust the metal on his detachable limbs. On some occasions Gobber would just go there after a very long voyage for what he liked to call a bed breaking good time.

"The arm looks good. I see you've been actually cleaning it," she commented in her work tone.

"Ai, damedest thing happened. When I cleaned the stump it stopped gettin' infected," Gobber said proud of his discovery.

"Imagine that," Eira replied in mock surprise.

"No kiddin'," Gobber said completely missing the healer's sarcasm.

"So I think we should celebrate this grand news. My hut or yours?" he asked with a sly grin.

Eira rolled her eyes but before she could say anything, a panic stricken pair of dragons and their human partners ran up to Stoick before transforming into their human form.

"What's going on?" Stoick demanded them.

"Find my mother and father we need to meet in your great room immediately," Tyra explained quickly before turning to the Night Furies and speaking her native tongue while still in her human form.

The humans were beside themselves in surprise at the display of a young human looking girl releasing an animalistic growl to the crowd around them.

"What the hell was that?" Stoick asked Valka as they ran to the last known location of Hàkon and Eldrid.

"She was speaking the language of dragons. Basically she was summoning the Night Furies to the great hall. It must be important for her to suddenly become so authoritative," Valka explained.

"She usually leaves business to her mother then?" Stoick inquired.

"Yes, she's an extremely obedient daughter and will not take command unless her mother tells her to or when Eldrid is not around," she explained.

Valka was silent for a moment before she started giggling to herself and noticed Stoick giving her a look and smiled at him.

"There is actually one other reason a female Night Fury would suddenly become feisty and bossy towards someone," she said.

"Oh do tell," Stoick said suddenly amused.

"When the females find themselves attracted to a male they give off a scent full of pheromones and each distinct to that woman. After the female has the male's attention she will test him by bossing him around and torturing him a bit to ensure he is loyal no matter what," Valka explained before nodding towards Toothless and Tyra.

"Take the children somewhere safe," Tyra demanded.

"What?! No I should be there this concerns me as well," Toothless replied.

"I will send for you now go!" she shouted back to the stubborn dragon.

"No! Who do you think yo-"

"GET THOSE CHILDREN TO SAFETY NOW. IF I HAVE TO REPEAT MYSELF AGAIN I'LL RIP OFF YOUR LEFT TAIL FIN NOW FLY YOU FOOL," Tyra roared at the other Night Fury.

Rather than test the girl's anger Toothless transformed back into a dragon and stopped long enough to let Hiccup and Astrid on his back before taking off in another direction. Satisfied Tyra took off towards the hall. Stoick and Valka ran towards the cliff where they knew the dragon and human were resting. When he knew the dragon girl was out of ear shot Stoick turned to Valka chuckling and shook his head.

"That beastie is doomed," he joked making the other woman laugh.

It didn't take much longer after that for the pair to locate Hàkon and Eldrid. They quickly told them of what happened before they ran to the Great Hall to meet the others. When they got to the great hall Eldrid immediately went to her daughter who was standing in front of everyone. Like the first day of their arrival, all of the Vikings and dragons were gathered together to figure out what was going on.

"Child what has happened?" she asked.

"The one known as Toothless has had rebels spying on the mad queen for quite some time now. Others have been hiding waiting for the next move including the ones the humans have locked away. They have informed him that there will be a raid on the village. We don't know when it will be but we do know that they will hit hard and viciously for something specific," Tyra explained.

"What the hel could they possibly want from us other than food?" Stoick asked furiously.

Tyra hesitated before she admitted, "They come for your child Stoick. When Toothless escaped her, it was because he stood his ground against her tyranny and the mad queen wanted him destroyed for it. She has found out through the food raids that Hiccup is his treasure and means to take what's his."

The crowd suddenly went into shocked mumbling wondering what would become of the child and what would become of their home. Before Stoick could respond Mildew stood up and made his way over to Tyra and stopped when he was standing in front of her before facing the crowd.

"Let the beasts have him then, he's been nothing but an annoyance to us. These devils can take him and then this island can go back to the way it was before," Mildew said before turning to Tyra.

"You can lead them. After all you are their disgusting half breed bitch of a queen," he hissed.

Mildew suddenly felt dazed. One minute he was trying to convince the Vikings of his 'common sense' and the next he was being held up against a poll by a half transformed Night Fury. Mildew watched in horror as the dragon's sharp teeth slowly came out of his gums.

"I'm assuming Kelda is with the children," Tyra said trying desperately to sound calm so nobody would hear how much that actually stung.

Toothless was too furious to verbally answer and simply nodded not taking his eyes off the old Viking for anything in the world. Not only had this sad excuse of a creature insulted his future queen and all of the Night Furies collectively, but he also dare demand that they hand over his hatchling to that monster. As far as the dragon was concerned there was not a whole deep enough to bury this thing alive in. Oh how he wanted to rip out his still beating heart in that moment but a scent filled the air that he knew very well that seemed to calm him instantly followed by the owner's gentle touch on his human shaped scaly shoulder.

"Release him. His kind will deal with him appropriately," Tyra whispered comfortingly to him before she reached over and gently pried the black human hand with the ferocious claws off the man's neck.

Toothless continued to glare at the man with rage filled eyes even though he was facing the other Night Fury.

"I suggest you leave old man you will find no friend here," Stoick commanded Mildew with a dark glare. For once he was only happy to obey and quickly left the hall but not without a glare or growl from everyone in the hall.

"Toothless I need you to focus on me right now," Tyra said gently as she put two hands on either side of his face and forced his gaze on her.

"You are in mid transformation this will cause you a lot of pain if you stay this way much longer. Take deep breaths and go completely dragon or human. It doesn't matter which just which ever you are closest to," she explained.

Toothless gazed into the girl's blue eyes before doing as she instructed. He took heavy breaths, focused on where he was in his transformation, and decided he was still more dragon. Slowly he felt his body reverse until he was completely dragon once more. Tyra smiled at him before she laid her forehead on his snout to help him calm down completely.

"You are a natural," she teased as she gave him a quick rub under his chin before turning to the others.

"You better have a plan lass because I will be dammed if I let some beasties take my boy," Stoick said darkly. Suddenly remembering the room full of Night Furies he turned to the group and mumbled an apology before going back to business.

"We do have a plan but you need to trust us. This is going to require all of our reinforcements," Tyra explained.

"Are you seriously suggesting that we release those dragons in the arena. Dunno if you noticed lass but they kinda want our heads," Stoick explained.

"We will speak with them," Eldrid said stepping forward.

"What of us, how are we to protect ourselves?" someone asked.

Both Night Furies were at a loss they didn't know how they were going to protect the humans. How could they have forgotten that these creatures did not have the protection they did? Suddenly an idea came to Eldrid and she hoped that this idea would work.

"I have heard rumors of gronkle medal and its strength but it requires specific nourishment to create it," she explained.

"There is a gronkle in the arena that we've been working with to train the children. It seems to be taken with a lad that sweeps out the cages," Gobber explained.

"She," a tiny voice piped up and everyone turned to look at the shy little boy with chubby cheeks and messy blond hair.

"What are ya saying there Fishlegs? Speak up boy," Gobber demanded.

"The gronkle in the arena...is a she not an it," the boy explained then looked as though he was second guessing saying anything.

"Is that the lad?" Hàakon asked Gobber who only nodded in reply.

"Come here boy," he told the boy who reluctantly approached him.

"Ya like the dragons? Like learning about them?" Hàkon asked Fish legs. The boy nodded and gave a hint of a smile secretly excited to have someone ask him about his secret obsession with dragons.

"Would you like to come with us to ask her for help. You two seem to be friends so it would be easier to approach her to talk if she saw you with us," the man explained and watched in amusement as the boy's lit up like torches.

"I don't think this is a good idea," Stoick said concerned for Fish Legs on behalf of his parents who stood in the crowd scared for their only son.

Hàkon turned to his younger brother with a confident smile and said, "I will personally take responsibility for this boy's safety until he is returned to his parents."

With that the meeting was adjourned and slowly everyone started walking out of the great hall. Tyra turned to leave but was stopped by Toothless gently biting on to her wrist with a toothless hold to keep her in place.

'What is it?' she asked him in their native tongue.

'I know how we can help protect the humans. I've done it before for Hiccup so I know it works' he replied to her.

For a moment Tyra stared at him confused until it suddenly dawned on her what Toothless was talking and she smiled back at him.

'I will speak to mother about this. She can help us gather the others and discuss your plan' the girl replied.

Toothless looked at her nervously before she smiled at him before and said 'Don't worry, I will support you'

[lullabymichelle-blog]

I must admit, I always had a crush on Gaston, from Beauty and the Beast. Yes, he was an idiot, but I loved his character design. I imagine a world where he got over Belle and knew another girl.

The girl’s name is Claire. She is Gaston’s wife, but aversely to most girls he had known, she was strong tempered and had a silver and often viperine tongue. When he married her, he knew exactly what he was getting into. He would spend a whole hour trying to avoid her killing every single girl that dared to lay eyes on her husband. 

But when she’s calm, she takes care of their house, reads to him when he gets home and enjoys teasing him until he kisses her. They do complement each other, as Gaston thinks she is the only one in the world that can compete with his beauty, and she knows he’s the only one that can make her calm and not die trying when she gets mad. 

So, AU’ full story under the cut if you like :D...

Gaston just let her go. She wasn’t into him, he got it, so he moved on, it was her loss.

Soon, news about Belle’s wedding with that beasty prince came to town. She had broken the spell, and now she became royalty. Totally out of his league now, but not that he cared much anymore.

A few months later, he was summoned by one of the richest men from the area. As a hunter, he was asked to provide food for him and his family, in exchange for payment. So he accepted, a job as good as any other. 

After a few months, he was carrying his hunting bounty to the noble’s house, when he saw a little lass for the first time: She was short, her hair was silver as the moon and her skin as pale as snow. He couldn’t see her eyes, as they were following a lecture while she was in the garden. Well now, never in his life he had seen someone who could beat his own beauty.

He got close to her and said hi. To his surprise, she lifted her eyes and stared right to his. She nodded slightly, and he knew he was doomed. She had greeted him, a commoner, even when it was against common customs to greet a stranger and that he had that macho aura around him. She didn’t ignore him, nor looked down on him, but she also didn’t throw herself to his arms as many girls from town. Then he knew he had to own her.

When he asked the noble about the girl, he noticed that the man seemed uncomfortable. At first he claimed he didn’t know who he was talking about, but then the little lass walked in the room. So he introduced them; she was his oldest daughter, named Claire due to her light appearance. She offered her curtseys, but she kept her face free from emotion. His inner self was screaming to achieve a smile from that stiff lady.

As time went on, he found himself visiting the manor more often than before. Sometimes Claire would go out to the gardens, but most of the time she spent her days in her room. But when he was able to approach her, he never could get that promised smile. He started to notice that most of the time she seemed depressed, she had one heck of a bad temper and was sarcastic and would scold him for his bad manners, but she was never rude to him, even though his lack of  subtlety. And boy, he knew she wasn’t that patient, as he had heard the screams and fights with her parents, followed by the sound of broken plates and slammed doors. What a hell of a pretty, little girl.

After many attempts, he gave up. He wasn’t going to achieve something by his ways, so he stopped, and began listening. She would start reading him beautiful though sad poems  soon after he stayed in silence. Surprisingly, he found himself still awake and enjoying her company, longing for their meetings, wondering how her soft hair would look tangled around his rough hands, and hunting with all his might, so she could taste something from he had got specially for her delight.

One day, his curiosity won over, and he asked her how could a girl as beautiful as her be single. She choked, piercing him with her eyes, but she had built some trust towards him, so she told him his story.

Long turned short, she was born in a family that often bore girls who married higher ranked novelty. As the first child of her generation, her parents expected her to marry the prince from France in the future, but their hopes burnt to ashes when she was born as white as snow, as  beliefs said kids with her hair color and skin where evil and people thought they carried misfortune. When she was rejected by the royal family, her parents thought she still had hope. But no one would want to marry her for something as stupid as her appearance. So she had grown up in that manor, away from society and constantly hearing that she was a failure, that she couldn’t manage to fulfill the family’s expectations and that the family’s honor had been damaged by her.

When she finished telling her story, she could see rage into his eyes. She was right. Gaston couldn’t believe it, it was plain 18th century and people still believed those kinds of superstitions.

“Marry me” He said. She opened her eyes wide opened, but regained her composure pretty fast, “I’ll ask your father for your hand, tonight”.

“Calm down, Romeo. He won’t let you. He plans to send me to a cloister as soon as I reach majority”.

He wouldn’t take it. Over his dead body he would let her beauty and grace get rotten in such a place.

“Then... scape with me. Let’s run away, come to my town. Everyone there respects me, no one will hurt you there”.

“What? Have you gone mad? My father will get you killed by dawn, pretty lad!”

“He has no power where I come from. No one knows you exist, he has kept your existence a secret as good as he can. I’ll let him know that if he tries to chase you, everyone will know about his run-away daughter, and as I am incapable of harming you this way, only you know about this. He will care about his family, his honor, and he will let us go away”

Claire stood there, frankly surprised. Amazing, this young fellow proved himself to be more than the pretty face she always thought he was... she didn’t had any attachments towards her family, so she cared a rat ass about her own reputation. But there was only one thing that kept her from accepting his offer.

“Gaston, I really appreciate your intentions, but you can’t play with a lady’s heart like that. A lady will think that you have feelings involved and get the wrong idea. You deserve to be happy with someone you love, someone happier and light hearted”

She almost fell back as she saw him moving so fast towards her that she couldn’t react. He grabbed her by the waist and lifted her, making her spin in the air as easily as if she was a doll.

“Is that one your only objection?” He asked, blissfully.

“W-what? How dare you touch a lady like this! L-let go off me, Gaston!” 

He stopped and put her back to ground, smiling.

“A lady is the most foolish and hardheaded woman I have ever met, and I fell in love with her just the way she is”

And grabbing her head closer to him, he kissed her. 

...

They did run away, and yes, her father had tried to chase them, but as expected, Gaston was really respected in town, and no one dared to lay a finger upon the newly weds. Her father gave up, secretly feeling relieve as she had finally gotten married. After a few years, he would even send presents and support to the couple once in a while.

As Gaston had promised her, she could freely go around town and she wouldn’t get insults because of her looks nor people would treat her differently from others. He had made it very clear, to whoever made her feel excluded or sad in any way possible, he would make their life’s a living hell and then he would spread their bodies across the nearest forest to feed the wolves. Everyone knew you don’t screw with Gaston. 

He would also work really hard to give her everything she could wish, from jewelry to dresses, so she would be the luckiest woman in town by having him as her husband. She really didn’t need anything, but she gave up trying to convince him. He liked to show her around beautifully dressed. 

And of course, she was aware that she was married to the most desired man from town, so shortly after getting married, Gaston realized that she could be amazingly possessive and jealous, while she would get mad whenever some girl started drooling about him. He found it kinda cute, but he also cherished his life and safety, so he stopped flirting around, finding it incredibly easy as he had the most beautiful girl in the world, he was sure. 

And they lived happily ever after... well, not always happily, because each one had their own flaws to fight against to, but they stayed together and had each other’s backs, so they decided to call that happiness.

....

If you read this far, thank you so much for doing it! And please, forgive my English and any grammatical error or spelling mistake, as English is not my first language and I live in a hispanic country. And most important, excuse the excessive use of the word “as”, I really felt like I used it too much but I’m too lazy to change it. I hope you liked it! :D Yeih for villains redemptions!

“

[thenewbrotherhood]

Lassiter -Lassiter had been prowling around the mansion for the last week or so, foul tempered and waiting for the other shoe to drop. After the stunt he’d pulled with Murhder’s injured nephew he’d fully expected to have the Scribe Virgin or another Higher-up-Mucky-muck waiting for him when he’d returned to the Sanctuary. But nadda…nothing… and no one had accosted him about it since. There was just no way he was going to get away scott-free after something like that, no matter the promotion; but no way was he going to seek anyone out and apologize. Nope. He’d just keep movin’ on, head down and nose clean. There was just one other little tiny thingy that was playing into his rotten mood. The female Tamsin. It hadn’t escaped his notice that she’d also been injured that night at the cabin, and it seemed likely had she not been championed so bravely by the injured twin, she could very well have ended up within the Fade. Rhage’s only daughter. Holy. Shit. It was the other half of why he’d decided to stick his neck out for the kid. He certainly didn’t owe Murhder anything, but saving his blooded nephew, who just happened to also be the fellow who’d saved Rhage’s daughter…well, now, THAT had seemed like a justifiable position to him. Given time to rethink his actions, Lassiter knew that he’d do the same thing over again. Maybe that was why no one had shown up to haul his fantastic ass before a Deity. Lassiter stepped out of the shadows in the underground garage just as Rhage pulled in with is purple GTO. He had decided that it was time Daddy Dearest stepped up and did right by his little girl. Tamsin needed someone to help her adjust to her new life with the dangers it held and it should be her own blood…before Murhder and those twins of his got her the hell killed.- Rhage -As he pulled in, headlights flashed over the form of the angel and with a little bit of a groan, he rolled his eyes- Now the fuck what? -Since Lassiter had dropped the bomb on him a few months ago, the angel had been mostly scarce around the mansion, giving Rhage plenty Of time for reflection and self-hate, add in a little guilt and top that with a whole big dose of "daddy issues"...yeah, now really wasn't the time. Rhage had a feeling though that Lassiter was gonna make it thr time. With a big intake of air and a loud exhale, he opened his door And stepped one big bit out- Can I at least get this black shit off of me before you start? -Yeah tonight had gone messy, thanks to V.- Lassiter -Lassiter had gotten pretty used to seeing the various members of the Brotherhood painted in the black goop that passed for lesser leavings. As far as Rhage went, it seemed coming home oily was a big win over coming home naked, shaking, with a belly like a watermelon; but hey maybe that was just him.- Sure...we could do that. -The angel gave a nonchalant shrug and started to turn away.- It's already been 27 years, what's the rush... Rhage -Lassiter had a way of slam dancing on every one of his nerves and it was even worse when the bastard was speaking the truth. Throwing his hands up in the air, he all but shouted.- FINE! SAY IT MOTHERFUCKER ! I'm a SHIT! I know it! I don't know what to do alright? How in the HELL do you expect me to take care of my kid when we both thought the other was dead? Tell me THAT Doctor Phil! -he slammed his fist down so hard on his hood that he dented it, and didn't that do wonders for his mood. With a growl, his eyes flashed white for an instant as his beast moved just below the surface. Taking several deep breaths before clenching his teeth and willing himself to calm down, he stumbled back and caught himself on the car.- Shit. Shit. This shit ain't happening. Here I am having a fucking panic attack like some damn human. Lassiter -Lassiter spun back around and eyed the slumping brother. His pupil-less eyes narrowed and he watched with greedy interest as Rhage's skin seemed to ripple. Man, what he wouldn't give to watch the Beast emerge with a front row seat. Lass had to admit he'd been mildly obsessed with the whole dragon-cursed episode ever since he'd been given all the deets from the Scribe Virgin herself during their little transition of power. She'd made a point of making that arrangement between Rhage and herself tamper proof. No way Lassiter could reverse it or amend it in any way. So of COURSE, he'd been giving it a large amount of his bored attention. He was one angel that didn't really take well to the word "No". As entertaining as it would be to feel like an extra in a real life monster movie, he'd quickly done the math and having the creature an the rampage within the mansion complex wouldn't end well. Wrath and his ilk would surely take the beast down, brother or no...and a dead Rhage wouldn't benefit any of his future plans. With a sigh of regret for himself, Lassiter moved next to the struggling brother and applied his most relaxed tone of voice.- Look, it's okay. Just had some news that I was pretty sure you'd want to hear about, but if this really is a bad time. I'll hit you up later, no problem. Rhage -Taking a deep breath, he rested both palms on his damaged hood, his head lowered in shame- No, no, I've been waiting for news and I've been too chicken shit to ask. -His had shot up quickly- Is she alright? Holy fucking Scribe tell me she's ok. Lassiter -The angel nodded, crossed his arms and leaned one hip against the front fender of the GTO.- She is now, as far as I know. But sweet Tamsin had a close call just over a week ago. Seems she and a companion were set upon by lessers after leaving a down-town club. From what I saw she had several cuts and scrapes, although most of the blood she was covered in belonged to her date for the evening.- Lassiter paused for a minute to let Rhage's brain catch up.- It's lucky that she happened to be out with the younger of Murhder's twin nephews. The male almost earned himself a ticket to the Fade but managed to save Tamsin and himself. ((((Tamsin - The angel bends the truth))) Rhage -He frowned, trying to follow along as best he could, growling at the part where Tamsin was injured. Though mad as hell now, he still listened, picking up the part where Murhder's nephew, one of the twins, saved her. Despite his first opinion of the two as incompetent idiots, they were both warrior sized and could have easily learned a thing or two from Murhder by now.- I...guess I should be thanking him. Thank the Scribe everyone is alright now. She's....still with them? Murhder and his nephews? -He was still mad as fuck, wanting nothing more thank to slay some Lessers in retaliation for his little girl getting hurt but he tried to focus on what was important. She was safe for now, but might not be for long if another attack came along.- Ok, shit, ok I know it's time I stepped up. Where the fuck do I start? Lassiter -Lassiter kept the smile off his puss with hardly any effort, he was just that good.- She is still with them. Can't blame her for that really. This is a whole new unimaginable existance for her. She's only had them to teach her what she needs to know. If you're asking meeee... I think she'd be better off with family. Her real family. Rhage -He looked a little surprised- You think I should bring her here? To the Brotherhood? -He nodded as if thinking it over- She would have other females to help her understand what's happening...get her out of Murhder's hands. And away from those males. Lassiter Why didn't I think of that? -So much for being good, the words escaped him before he could stop them.- Might not be that easy, little Tamsin has been on her own a long time. I think you might have to take things slow, but don't leave it any longer. She needs you. Rhage -His chin lifted as he made up his mind- Take me. Take me to her, now. Right now. Before I chicken shit out again and change my mind. Lassiter Yeah, about that... I'm not exactly sure where she is right at this moment. Not really my turn to watch her. -Before Rhage could focus all that beastie-wrath in his direction. Lassiter held up his hands and took a step back.- Now wait...wait...I can take you to where Murhder is, he's a cinch to find. He's often out with a twin in tow, so they would be able to take you to your daughter. Deal? -Lassiter gave him a pursed-lips onceover.- You want to spray off the gore first? Or just risk scaring the shit out of your little darling? I can hang a bit... Rhage Yeah, he didn't like that at all. He didn't like depending on Murhder to find out where his daughter was, but fucking hell, he was sure Lassiter was going to make that part of the deal. The Richard Simmons of Angels didn't do one thing without it leading to another. Ok, so he had to play nicey nice with Murhder and one of the Bopsy twins, so be it. With a frown and a growl to his voice, he took a step forward toward Lass- Just take me to Murhder now.