#in the very few shots of the dress from the back without the coat overtop

[sheliesshattered]

first time ever working on a cosplay where the question “how do you know if the dress is spiral laced or cross laced?” can be answered with “because you can see the crossed laces coming undone in a 2 second shot in the sex scene”

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

Wrack and Ruin: Final 

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

Part V

Part VI

What an end to a day. Arthur is frustrated. Feeling bad for a monster! Indeed. How typically French. How typically Bonaparte. How typical it is for one from that family to go and throw the entire plan off. This is how society falls, he thinks, when we start feeling poorly for monsters like the Jersey Devil. As if it inhabits any humanity within it to warrant pity or kindness.

What a miserable end to his letter to Liverpool. Well, perhaps not miserable. Bonaparte, that is Napoleon, assured him that the creature posed no military threat or otherwise to England or her colonies. What would happen were it to go to Upper and Lower Canada? Nothing, Bonaparte had said. Eat some cattle? Scare a few farmers?

He will admit he was not sure what he had expected from the entire expedition which hadn't been his idea to begin with. There was no great confrontation as there had been in Woodford and for that he is thankful. He isn't sure he is up for more confrontations with mystical beings of supernatural power. Age does catch up with one.

He concludes his letter to Liverpool and adds it to the stack that is to be sent on ahead of them before they embark on their journey homeward.

'No dinners with a president,' Napoleon says, letting himself in. 'Are you offended or relieved?'

'Relieved, I assure you. And I had dinner with the director of the Federal Bank and the former, if temporary, King of Spain. I think I can forego dinner with Monroe for that.'

'And you dine regularly with the former emperor of France, how your other dinner guests must pale in comparison.'

'That is a title we do not recognize,' Arthur replies in a stiff manner.

'But Joseph is King of Spain! That is unkind. Not to mention a work of great mental elasticity. Who made him king of Spain I wonder.' But Napoleon is smiling as he says it so Arthur does not take umbrage.

They end up topsy-turvy on the bed with Napoleon's stockinged feet on the pillows and head by the foot of the bed with Arthur the opposite. It is a quiet evening, no formal dinner. At some point soon they will go downstairs and be social.  Both are still in their hunting clothes, buckskin breeches and wool coats deposited on chair backs.

'I still cannot believe neither of you shot it,' Arthur says. He can feel circles being traced along his hip.

'It was no wolf, bear or boar. There would have been no honour in it. You would agree with me had you seen it.'

Arthur props himself up and looks down to Napoleon who has his eyes closed. One arm is beneath his head as a pillow, the other against Arthur's leg drawing those absent shapes.

'It's the Jersey Devil,' Arthur says.

'It was sad.'

'Sad? You don't look at a deer and think, oh it's sad so I shan't shoot it today.'

'No, no.' Napoleon's face screws up in thought then regains composure. He unwinds his hand that was a pillow and rubs his eyes. 'It's different. I felt pity for it. Not the pity you feel for a wounded horse or hound, where it is a mercy to shoot them. But the pity you feel for a man who dies alone with no one to hold his hand. Or the pity you feel when someone is dead and there is no one to mourn for them. The pity associated with extreme isolation.'

'That is all very well but it is hardly human.'

Napoleon thinks on this then sits up and frowns at Arthur. He holds out his hand and balances it side to side, 'yes and no. When I met its gaze I felt there was something humane about it. It's eyes, though red and yellow, were still human eyes.'

'You mean they expressed human emotion.'

'No, I mean they literally were the eyes of mankind. The eyes of Adam.' He rubs his face again. 'It's hard to explain. I hold no grievance with Joseph for not shooting it. I didn't run it through either. We just sort of exchanged eye contact with it then it went on its way. The only of its kind Joseph thinks. How sad. Alone, exiled from its family all those years ago.'

Arthur, 'there is no similarity there. Your family still cares. Well, some of your family cares.'

Napoleon laughs. Says that Arthur really knows how to make a man feel loved. Excellent ability to improve a person's mood. ‘God,’ he sighs as he lies back down, ‘what would I do without you to remind me that some of my family cares?’

'I wager you would get on well enough.'

'I'd be a puddle of despair.'

Arthur rolls his eyes, mutters that Napoleon is not being serious anymore. Always skirting away from difficult truths. At that Napoleon sits back up and with a grave expression says, 'I'm sorry.'

'For what? I was just grumping. It's my way.'

'Now who isn't being serious?'

'Fine, fine I accept your strange and unnecessary apology.'

Napoleon smiles and pats Arthur's cheek. 'I am glad.' Bringing up Arthur's hand he brushes a kiss along the knuckles then says he must go and bathe and change if he is to be in anything resembling a presentable state for dinner.

//

It is later, after food and drinks and several rounds of cards and Arthur has retired for the evening that Napoleon finds Joseph in his library with a thick blanket on his lap and reading Defoe. Joseph looks at him from overtop his glasses.

'You appear comfortable,' Napoleon says. He lingers at the edge of the room. Outside the light of the fire and the lamps and candles. Joseph motions him to the chair near him.

'I hate this book but I'm too committed to stop now. Besides, I promised Cadwalader that I would give him my assessment of it and I would like it to be more thorough than 'absolute rubbish, feed it to the pigs with turnip tops'.'

'What a country gentlemen you have become.'

Joseph smiles, says that the same could be said for Napoleon. He heard of the garden from Wellesley who was really just complaining about the bees. Bees, how fitting. He has thought about bees as well.

Napoleon, 'what I said today. I didn't mean it.'

'Yes you did.'

'No,' he sighs. 'No, I didn't. I was angry more at myself than you. I'm never angry at you.'

'What a lie.' But Joseph laughs a bit as he says it.

'I am trying to apologize brother. Very well, I have been angry you in the past. I am capable of being angry and frustrated and all manner of other things with you but I still love you and I am sorry for the unkind words I said today. I do not truly believe them of you.'

Joseph takes his glasses off and sets them aside along with Defoe. He looks at Napoleon with great patience. Napoleon ponders for a moment longer then goes, 'and I am also sorry for making you King of Spain instead of letting you remain King of Naples like you preferred and I am sorry for leaving Elba thus setting in line a chain of events that lead to this current situation and I am also sorry for making you do my homework on Corsica when we were seven and never managing to keep my stockings up then blaming you for my state of undress to mother.' A tentative look. 'Shall I continue?'

'Perhaps you should just write me a letter. No, no, Nabulio it is all right. I thank you for your apology. I always know that you generally do not mean what you say in the heat of the moment. What was it Duroc said about you?'

'Oh no not the Duroc quote.'

Joseph, in an aproximation of Duroc's manner of speaking, "The emperor speaks from his feelings, not according to his judgement; nor as he will act tomorrow."

‘How perceptive of him...I miss him a good deal.'

'I know.'

'We are leaving for England tomorrow.'

'I know.’ 

Joseph searches his brother's face and finds sadness but it is a well-restrained emotion. At first he is annoyed because even now, even after it all, even in this intimate moment when it is just the two of them, he must be in control of himself but then he remembers being ten years old and going to France and how he wept and wept and made his brother's shoulder damp and Napoleon, who was Napoleonne then, just cried a few tears. Two, or three. And he swallowed a few times but couldn't speak. The empire just made him worse.

When do walls develop? Is it when you are taken from your family who you will not see for another fifteen years and thrust into a country whose language you do not speak, whose customs you do not understand and told to make friends with boys you cannot interpret? Is it when you witness war for the first time? Mobs running wild? Your friend taking a piece of shrapnel and dying atop of you as they cough blood onto your face? When do you bury yourself in irony and smiles and wry social observations?

Joseph wonders how much he has changed as well, in all those years. He looks back to Corsica and it feels as if it was ten minutes ago. Then, at the same time, it feels one hundred years ago.

Napoleon is staring at the fire and breathing very carefully. He is tapping out a rhythm on the armrest.

'I should go to bed, it is late.'

Joseph, 'no, no. Stay. We may not see each other for some time after this.'

Napoleon does not look at him. Joseph wants to say, You know I have seen you naked and squalling, right? You know I have seen you screaming in our father's lap because you scrapped your knee, ruined your breeches and everything is terrible?

But that would serve no purpose. Joseph instead goes to a shelf and retrieves a selection of books. 'Do you remember when father read Cicero to us for the first time?'

'Vaguely. I remember sitting on the floor of his study and listening to him read. I don't remember what it was about. It was our tradition whenever he was home. He would let you sit in his nice chair because you were always in a better state of dress than I.'

'You had just spent the day chasing around with the shepherd boys in the hills. You were filthy.'

'I was six. All six year olds are filthy.'

Joseph sits back down with the books and sets them on the floor between them. He says they should read from one, that he has chosen all those he remembers them going through when young. There is even Ossian, Napoleon's favourite though Joseph never quite understood why. And beneath that Virgil and Ovid and Caesar and Roland and countless others. Napoleon picks up Ossian and thumbs through a few pages.

'I was once accused of having Ossian dreams,' he says as he reads a section.

Joseph shrugs, 'there are worse dreams to have.'

'What do you want to read?'

Joseph picks up dusty Virgil and hands it over. Anything of his, for now. And really, it doesn't matter, they have all night.

Later, several books alter, Napoleon bids good evening. It is half two in the morning and Joseph says, 'I am glad you came. Even if we didn't succeed in anything remotely close to what we set out to do.'

'Next you must come to England. We have trolls.'

Joseph grasps his brother's hand and says that it is a plan then pulls Napoleon into a hug. He tells himself to not cry so much as he did when they were boys. The sense of separation is not as large as it was then. There has been a decreasing in the miles in the gulf that Joseph had imagined between them. Perhaps scouting for trolls would be just the thing. A vacation from sometimes-dreary Bordentown.

Pulling back Napoleon's hand stays on Joseph's neck and he looks his brother full in the face. It is like he is memorizing him, or seeing him afresh for the first time in many years. Joseph grins.

'Don't get into too much trouble, Nabulio.'

'Don't worry, Giuseppe, I have made enough noise for one lifetime. Come to England for the trolls?'

'For the trolls. Maybe we'll find some humanity in them, too.'

'Sure, but don't tell Wellesley, he'll have an apoplexy.'

Sometimes, Joseph thinks, it is like that poem wherein we go into the forest and carve the words of our love into trees and as the trees grow so do our loves become louder. There will be some forgotten people whose trees do not grow and their voices petrify, freeze in time. But they have been lucky, he thinks. Their voices are still heard, they are not reduced to living in silent woods barren of human contact and love. Their exile could have been thus - could have made of them unspeakable creatures not to be seen or heard or known.

A gentle thank you to all who stuck with me this week and through the strange and odd journey of this wee story. It went in an unexpected direction for me and I am glad you all kept with me as we jointly became emotional about brothers being brothers. 

I also want to thank everyone who lovingly liked, reblogged, and commented. You are all so great and wonderful and supportive and it means the world. Really though, you’re all the best. 

Thank you also to the anon who sent in the prompt of Napoleon and Arthur vs. Cryptids. I am not sure if this is what you wanted but thank you for the inspiration! It has been a pleasure to write. 

<3 <3

[argysnotes]

Ch4

The bed Dawn woke up in was quite nice, much nicer than she was used to. It was extremely soft, and the covers were smooth and warm, encouraging her to keep nice and snug for a while. She was content to relax, forgetting all about her problems in the toasty blankets. She was roused from her slumber as she heard a door open and close, followed by footsteps.

           She opened her eyes, finally deciding to prepare for the day. The ceiling was high and vaulted, built out of white marble, and the panels were painted a light blue with pale clouds, like the daytime sky. The walls were similar, although below its horizon were fields of deep blue flowers.

           Her vision traveled lower, but was obscured by the covers. She propped herself up, bending her torso in the process. A sharp pain shot through her from the stomach, making her shut her eyes, grab at her gut and hiss audibly. The person in her room hastily set down a tray of dishes and rushed to Dawn’s side.

           “Your Highness, I beg your pardon for disturbing you! Please do not rise, you are still recovering and need rest!” they said.

           Dawn peeled her eyes open, seeing a maid dressed in a pale blue uniform and white apron. Her face was covered with anxiety. Around her, the room was decadently furnished, with a small couch, several chairs and tables, an armoire, and various vases of flowers.

           “Don’t worry about me, I’m alright. I’m more concerned about where I am,” Dawn replied, trying to put a smile on her face to put the maid at ease.

           “Of- of course, Your Excellence. You are currently in the guest room of Chateau Fleur Bleu Ciel, the estate of his Lordship Master Avidité. Now that you’re awake, I must go and fetch him. Pardon me,” she states, bowing and quickly darting out of the room before Dawn could ask another question.

           Dawn sighed to herself, leaving her wondering about where her companions were. She kept herself occupied by taking in her environment. Windows were placed along the left wall, with blue curtains. Light peeked in through the gaps, bouncing off the floor. The tiles were intricately designed, depicting a field of blue flowers.

           Dawn’s bed was massive, much bigger than any bed she’s ever seen. The sheets were pure white and fluffy, covered over top by a heavy blanket. She pulled up the sheets, looking at herself. She was wearing a pale blue nightgown, with long sleeves and a skirt that reached down to her ankles. She pulled open the collar of she her shirt, looking at her shoulder where she was previously grazed by a bullet. The skin overtop was completely healed, without even a scar left. She pulled up the bottom of her gown up to her chest, seeing the bandages that were wrapped around her belly. A bloodstained spot was easily visible over her the left half, where she had been shot before passing out. It throbbed in pain occasionally, but it was nothing she couldn’t handle.

           The burns are her side had shrunk in size, receding from her forearms and lower back up to just her shoulder and base of her neck. They pain from them was all but gone, but the skin was still very sensitive.

           The door opened abruptly, startling her. Dawn quickly pulled her gown down and pulled the covers over her. A heavy-set man, dressing in a deep navy, fur-lined suit with the jacket draped over his shoulders, walked into the room. His hair was deep brown, cut short, along with a meticulously trimmed beard, and dark amber eyes. In his hands was a cane, crafted from steel.

           “Greetings, your Highness. I do hope that you have found our accomidations to be satisfactory,” the man says in a deep voice, taking a bow.

           “Um, yes, I think. I would like to know why I’m here, if you don’t mind,” Dawn asked politely.

           “Your highness, you were injured on the battlefield, which is currently within my lands. I heard the story of an injured Princess and immediately sent for her to be brought to me for proper medical care and to allow me to offer the proper hospitalities as befitting for someone of your stature. You have been here for several days since then,” the man elaborated, an unsettling grin on his face.

           Shouting came from outside the room. It was muffled, but Dawn could faintly hear them. She ignored the Lord’s speaking on in favor of this, and tried to recognize who was speaking. After a moment, her eyes shot open as she realized who one of the voices belonged to.

           “It’s okay, you can let her in!” Dawn said, sitting up.

           The large Lord sighed and then spoke sternly, “I do, apologize, if we are causing you any inconveniences, but we cannot allow just anyone but myself and the attendants I have assigned to you can be in your presence. We need to maintain your security after all.”

           “I insist, Lord Avidité. She poses no risk to-”

           “We cannot trust anyone at this time. Especially not some beast who had attacked you,” the man spoke, his fake smile fading to a frown.

           Dawn could tell that this man was set on keeping those he didn’t want from meeting with her. It was far too obvious. She had to come up with some kind loophole to his little rules. She smiled to herself as she found her solution.

‘Time for me to throw some of my weight around,’ she thought to herself.

           “So, only you and my attendants can be with me right?” Dawn questioned.

           “Yes, your Highness, so please be rational about this-”

           “That girl is my personal attendant, so let her in,” Dawn replied with a grin.

           “With all due respect, I cannot let some dirty half-breed just-”

           “That ‘dirty half-breed?’ She is a proud Wolfwoman and my Personal Attendant, and she is to be at my side at all times. You will treat her as such, or are you going to go against the wishes of your Princess?” Dawn said with confidence.

           The Lord gritted his teeth in anger, cursing himself silently. “Very well,” he mumbled spitefully, “she may enter.”

           The guards outside the door shuffled, followed by the door opening up. Lucatiel slipped quickly through the door, dressed in a long brown trench coat and slacks. Her wolf ears were free from a hat, but she had bandages covering her left eye. She rushed quickly to Dawn’s side. Lucatiel’s hands were gripped tightly on the end of her sabre.

           “Dawn, are you-”

           The Lord coughed loudly to get their attention, and hissed “If you indeed are Her Highness’ attendant, you should be addressing her properly, not some commoner.”

           Lucatiel glared at the man with visible hatred, before Dawn whispered to her, “I convinced them to let you be around me by saying you’re my Attendant. Please, bear with it until-”

           Lucatiel shook her head and relaxed. She loosened the grip on her sabre and breathed deeply, turning back to Dawn.

           “No, it’s fine, Mil’lady. I’m just glad to see you,” Lucatiel spoke calmly.

           The man was clearly frustrated. “Now, I do greatly apologize, but I have other matters to attend to. If you will excuse me,” he said, taking a bow and making his exit.

           As soon as he was gone and out of earshot, Lucatiel’s expression changed quickly.

           “Are you okay? Did he threaten you, or have you promise him anything, or-”

           “No, he didn’t,” Dawn responded, “I just woke up for the first time not long ago. Why are you so worried?”

           “You’ve been locked in this room for three days now, with no one allowed in or out but the Lord or a few maids,” Lucatiel said, “he was trying to keep you isolated from everyone who he doesn’t have control over.”

           “I noticed. I’m still sorry that you have to be all formal to me now,” Dawn spoke.

           “No don’t worry, it’s fine. I was supposed to take over for my mother eventually. I would be expected to address you like this, so I might as start now,” Lucatiel explained, “but please be wary around Avidité, he has a reputation for foul play amongst the Lords.”

           “I can tell he’s up to something, that’s for sure,” Dawn said, shifting towards the edge of the bed, “but I’m more worried about you. Your eye-”

           “You shouldn’t worry about me,” Lucatiel spoke, stepping forward, “you’re way more important than-”

           Dawn reached out and slipped her hand between Lucatiel’s, taking ahold of her bandaged hand. Lucatiel jumped at the sudden unexpected touch. Dawn pushed her right hand away, running her fingers over the bloody bandages.

           “Luki…” Dawn spoke softly and leaning her chin down, letting her bangs covering her eyes, “I’m okay. But you got hurt…protecting me…”

           A drop of clear liquid falls from her chin, soaking into her gown. Another drop soon followed after, then another, and another. Lucatiel’s ears perked up as she heard a snivel and pout come from down. A shimmering trial fed each drop, trickling down her cheeks from the corners of each of her eyes.

           Lucatiel’s face contorted with worry, and she started “Dawn, you’re-”

           Dawn grabbed her friend’s wrist in her hand, and pulled. It threw Lucatiel off balance, causing her to fall forward, using each arm to hold herself up by placing an arm to each of Dawn’s side, leaning over her. Dawn buries her face into Lucatiel’s shoulder, wrapping her arms tightly around them. Dawn began sobbing intensely, her tears soaking into Lucatiel’s coat. Each haggard breath pulled at her wound, causing her great pain, but she couldn’t control herself.

           “Why are you…” Lucatiel questioned, her eyes wide.

           Dawn’s grip tightened around Lucatiel. “You idiot! Why did you have to fight them alone!” she pouted, “I thought you were dead! Do you know how much it hurt, thinking that no matter what, I would never get to see you again, that I could never talk to you again, that I would never hear your voice again?

           “Luki…you were my everything. I looked up to you. Anything I did, you could always do better, and yet you always helped me with a smile on your face…”

           “Dawn,” Lucatiel said, “I did that because I wanted you to be strong enough to you could protect yourself if I-”

           Dawn twisted her body, ignoring the pain and pulling Lucatiel onto the bed. She then climbed into her lap, wrapping her arms and legs around Lucatiel, as if desperate to keep her from leaving. Dawn buried herself into Lucatiel’s chest, sobbing even harder.

           “I didn’t want to be strong to protect myself! I wanted to be strong so I could protect you! You worked yourself ragged, looking after me and everyone else, but never yourself!” Dawn cried, “You were always there for me, but when you needed me…I wanted to be there for you, but I wasn’t! My whole life, I wanted to be by your side, to be able to support each other and live a long happy life, and then you…you ran off! Luki, I…I…I didn’t know what to do!”

           Lucatiel wrapped her arms around Dawn, stroking her hair gently. She placed her head on Dawn’s shoulder, holding her close.

           “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you felt that way,” Lucatiel said softly, “I’m here now. I won’t run away again.”

           Dawn peeled herself away, looking up at Lucatiel. Her silver eyes were shining with tears, and her nose and cheeks were flushed. “Promise. Me,” she muttered between sobs.

           Lucatiel’s ears flattened against her head and she leaned forward, placing her lips on Dawn’s forehead. “I promise,” Lucatiel whispered, “I will never leave your side again, as long as I live.”

           Dawn’s grip relaxes upon hearing her words, and lets herself fall forward against Lucatiel. “Thank you, Luki,” Dawn speaks quietly, a smile on her face, “let’s just stay like this for a little while longer. I like being in your arms.”

           Lucatiel smiles, setting her head on top of Dawn’s with a smile, her hands playing with Dawn’s golden hair. “Of course, my Princess,” Lucatiel said, feeling Dawn’s body rise and fall against her as her breathing became steady. “I like holding you in my arms.”