#isle harp

[underfell-crystal]

I just thought of this, but I should absolutely redesign the little nightmares duo, and make Harp with longer hair, maybe dragging across the floor

Dude that's literally what my Isle Harp has

Another idea I had was to split her hair to look like a seal tail like this

[that--unusual-person]

ATTENTION

(Spread word as much as possible)

After a recent fallout with a close friend, I am writing this post with full evidence + screenshots that the user, Grim or Grimoire, had committed some careless and irresponsible acts over ROBLOX and Discord with a minor. Many communities she’s known in is FNAF, Creatures of Sonaria, and Harp Isles. She has a high reputation in them all and exploits her power to prove her false innocence. She is very active on either and is continuing to engage in minor populated spaces/servers.

From being close to her and word from her former long-time friends, it is rumored she is bipolar, narcissistic, greedy, and lacks awareness and consequence to her actions/words. We advise you or anyone you know to stay away from this person regardless of what she says or does. If she is seen in a server, report her and block her, avoid communication as much as possible.

This linked document contains information regarding her actions, who she is, and what she has done in the past month of June 2024.

DOCUMENT IS HERE (WARNING! INCLUDES: grooming, mentions of RP rape, pedophilia)

CALLOUT on GRIM

[beamer7thepoko]

The precursor with a tail pt.3 The awakening

radio chatter dies…

Limix then wakes up from a dream and he was listing to something sorta similar what had happened above while he was asleep but it had sadly ended where he could not re-listen to the recording (we're go back to the exact details to what exactly happened one day hopefully. depends if i will continue to write this.)

He then hears his alarm go off

Malrear: Well that's a start of another day.

Limix: why was my dream such a cool ride that end up in a mess?

Malrear what was the dream about?

Limix then tells the ghost everything then the intercom goes off The Intercom: Good morning everyone please be weary but kind to gurah. She's a member of the witnessses species that the vanguard has been looking into since yesterday night. If anyone has nay more info on gurah please do not delay and tell any member of the vanguard the info. thank you for listening to this message hope you all have a good and uneventful day.

Limix and Malrear both look at each other for a moment when a very scary elder eliksni runs into the room

vsee: you and the ghost need to vist the edz to find the hidden artifact that's hiddin in the cave and then you two must to bring it to mithrax.

poof then it throws a smoke bomb and was gone.

Limix and Malrear both get ready to go to the edz Meanwhile in space 07 wakes up and descends into a world that is made up of rock, plant, water, and void. this world is called mashtra-19

07 then lands on this world and finds void fruit. then a purple chipmunk like creature was being chased by a big blue lizard and 07 snacthes it off of the ground and eats it after the fruit too. but the void fruit was so suspiciously yummy (these fruits have special healing properties and boost void and stasis powers) that 07 had put several in one of her belt pouches to enjoy later.

07 then goes on to drink from the pink water and it was strangely extra refreshing so she had put some into a thermist (it was actaully from the healing springs of prisma) to find out it's properties later on and then moves on to collect her healing herbs. Then a ghost come out of nowhere to say...

Shardin: I sense some weird signatures over to the east and what are you doing?

07: I have this fruit and this special refreshing water and more of these healing herbs.

Shardin: ... why does the fruit and water look familiar?

07: they look familiar? also Lets go check out these weird signatures Shardin: they probably just look like mythical fruit and prismatic water and these signatures could be from the hive.

07: that's weird. Shardin: ikr.

07 and the ghost head towards the signature and then they find a small green sphere floating in the middle of the forest.

07: Oo green orb thingy

07 then picks it up and collects it and put it in one of her belt pouches

Shardin: Huh that was all

wewawarped~

Shardin: Dah!

07: the orb is now clear and notices that they are now in a frozen place where are we now?

Shardin: well I guess we're doomed unless you want to teleport us back.

something then jumps from the snow and runs away

Shardin: guwh god damn!

07: that was really fast

the creature then turns back around.

Shardin: uh oh I think that's actaully a thrall!

07 then throws a power orb at it and it was down and defnally a thrall too.

Shardin: that was close a hive kight roars in the distance

Shardin and 07: 00 uh oh! they both start running from the hive knight now and it keeps after their tail untill 07 finds a castle with frozen fountains and hides in it.

Shardin: That was close

07: we should be safe in here for now

the kight contiouns to roar in the distance

07 and the ghost both turn to the statue of a winged hive with horns and a queen bee abdomen where a tail would be.

Shardin: Oh hell no! these hive arew getting much worse than we've thought! wait is that why this place is frozen. phew

07 continues to stare at the statue and then notices a second statue of a kight hive guarding the frozen hive queen.

Shardin: Hopefully he's not still around.

The hive knight finds them

thk: No you shall not disturb the queen!

both 07 and shardin power up

07 throws three fire solar balls at the hive knight while shardin shoots a arc bolt at the knight.

thk: guwah auwh! he then goes down but a witch is heard in the distance while the ice begins dripping.

shardin: omg...

07 then teleports her and the ghost to a different place in the castle. the ice then cracks everywhere

Shardin: that was close or too close actully

a creature then scuttles by and takes on of 07's void fruit and runs off.

Shardin: uh oh that might not be good 07 then lifts off into the air and follow the creature

then the creature stops at a human body.

Shardin: Wait a sec

the creature makes a muur sound and it's realiviled that it was actully harp and isles. 07 takes the fruit from harps mouth and the makes a herb mixture with a lil bit of that water from the void world and gives it to isles. who then wakes up

isles: oh no where still in the hive frozen world

harp: muur

the hive wizard then finds the 4

hw: there you 4 are-

07 then teleports everyone except the wizard another spot in the frozen hive realm but this time when she had a wave of heat energy knocks out the wizard and the rest of the hive. the heatwave then completely changed the world to being snow covered garden world.

shadrin and isles: uh that can't be good! when they see how much of the world had changed.

07: uh oh

A giant hive rises from the snow that looks like the frozen queens gaurd.

isles: oh shi...

the kight then comes after the 4 when 07 puts up the half bubble barrier up

shardin: that was close! Isles: go 07!

the kight: what!? a barrier shield!? what kind of power is this

he then keels over for some reason

everyone is now looking at each other

the wizard then appears in the distance

07 then puts down the barrier and tell's everyone 07: we've got to start running!

everyone runs into the what looks like the woods and then variks voice is heard of him insect chattering and the he says

variks's echo: Be weary of the hive from the frozen place. they are not like the hive that we have seen. more insect chattering

isles: thanks varkis.

Shardin: why is that place melting!

the gaint hive kight is heard from the distance saying

tghk: the last queen had awoken!

isles: gulp

shardin: oh crap!

07: crudo lets leave this place!

07 then teleports everyone to safety...

-the characters

Gurah is the same species that the precursor's to the witness actually was. She's very mysterious for now.

isles is the sassay gaurdian that the hive abduct and because of that happing multiple time or something else happens her charater may change later on. while she has a pet munfity whos named Harp. while her ghost name is grolo

07 is kinda mysterious but is kinda like the irl me with many powers and ties that'll be mentioned later on. while shardin is 07's ghost

zilverite is my guardain taken from the game while zilverites ghost is nammed ghoztt.

w-11 is a older guardian like ikora He helps keep the races organized and helps with the security where he tries to keep an eye out for possible danger that could threaten them. His ghost name is veerland

Limix is a void, warlock who can have strange visons his ghosts name is Malrear

The frozen hive queen is not well known but varkis or eris morn might know more about her and her throne world.

[kaerinio]

god, imagine being a bard at court . . . and rhaegar walks into the room??

[lieutenantbiscute]

Also I might add that it’s kinda hinted at in 2018 that Kratos made Atreus wood carved toys and figures growing up! In one of the artifact sets Atreus states that he use to have toys similar to the ones he’s found.

Also the figures Kratos had made of himself and Atreus (though I don’t know why he hadn’t made a Faye one, maybe we just haven’t seen it?)

Thinking about how Angrboda asked Atreus if Kratos draws and he laughed and said "no" but we see Kratos' journal and there are beautiful drawings of things he is describing haha

[gamerseal]

do you count phone games? if so, the mobile game penguin isle has a ribbon seal, a harp seal, an elephant seal, and i think maybe a couple other pinnipeds

Games with seals in them day 88

Penguin Isle

[wutheringmights]

Okay but I really want to see your review of Onyx Storm though because I can’t help but feel like this one was a lot safer in terms it’s themes regarding misinformation and propaganda than the last two books. Idk how to explain it properly. It just feels hollow

I don’t blame you for thinking the book is shallow and builds nothing on the series’s supposed themes of propaganda and misinformation-- Onyx Storm says nothing about it. Both Fourth Wing and Iron Flame had major plot points centered around uncovering some truth that had been obscured by the government. At best, Onyx Storm has a plotline about Violet’s dad being cryptic as hell. It’s a stretch to call it propaganda or whatever. 

We’ve already exhausted the existing misinformation plot line in Navarre. Yarros has to take it a step further. The natural progression from “there’s a secret war beyond our borders” is “the dehumanized enemy beyond our borders is human and possibly morally correct.” After we went out of our way to meet Theophanie, I was certain this was where we were going to go. Hell, Xaden was slowly turning into one! What an easy albeit cliche way to complicate the war.

 But, no. The story refuses to evolve. The venin are still horrific freaks of nature, and it is still right and just to kill them. They’re evil, and we’re good. I won’t put it past Yarros to wait until the last minute to pull this move, but I also wouldn’t be surprised if she never does it at all. 

Onyx Storm’s biggest problem is that it spends the bulk of its time on world building that ultimately does not matter. We spend hundreds of pages going to islands that’s not even on the inside cover's map, learning about their cultures, and getting nothing of value from it. The world building is shallow, painting their cultures in cartoonishly broad strokes. Here’s the warrior nation, here’s the smart people, here’s the partygoers-- these are really basic ideas! Where’s the substance?

The most valuable world building we get is more on how the gods work in this world, but it never quite feels like it’s important. Yes, one of the big plot points at the end of the book involves one of the gods. But until now, when has religion mattered to any of the main characters? There’s a scene where our main cast sits in a tavern (drinking lavender lemonade, of all things) and compares the religious differences between Navarre and Poromiel. Why am I learning about this through a table discussion? This could have been developed organically through the characters’ behaviors. But it’s not because, despite what a hearty lemonade-fueled debate would imply, none of them have been any shade of religious up until this moment. 

I harp on the religion point a lot because it’s the most thorough world building Yarros has to offer. When it comes to the cross-isle adventure, it’s the point she falls back onto again and again. Here’s a new country, here is the god they worship, and here is how that religion colors our entire cultural understanding of these people. None are more egregious than the last nation we make contact with. They worship some luck god, and our entire experience with them is more or less just a gameshow performance for a crowd. This is the only nation we make a meaningful political alliance with. That their soldiers are present in the final battle is vital. We only know these people through a weird lottery game. That’s it. 

There are smaller world building points she throws in as well, but none have as much thought dedicated to them as the religion. For example, it seems like all of these isles have a native language with some important people knowing the common tongue. Great. So... what is the common tongue? Navarre doesn’t seem to have a native language, so is their language the common tongue? If so, why? They’ve been isolationists for hundreds of years. Why would anyone need to know their language? If they have their own language, then why does Violet and all of her friends know the common tongue when, again, they’re from an isolationist nation? 

Why is there a common language? When it appears in fantasy works, it’s less because the author appreciates pidgin languages and the worldbuilding they require, and more because they do not want to deal with the logistics of characters of multiple cultural backgrounds being unable to understand each other. That’s fine. I am more than happy to accept a common tongue the same way I accept potatoes in a European-based fantasy.  

But Yarros clearly establishes Dain as the group translator. His entire purpose in our little quest squad is to translate.You have a translator. You don’t need a common tongue. But you do, so all of the effort you went through to build Dain up as a polyglot is wasted. He never gets to do any translational work. Why are you offering two solutions to the same problem? You did twice the work for no reason. 

(Put a pin in Dain-- I will have more to say about him later.)

What stings the most is that we know that all of this effort is for nothing. None of these extra island nations matter. We will never go to them again, and what importance they have will never justify the number of pages dedicated to them. This is a waste of time. 

Why are we spending so much time world building these nations when we still have very little idea about Navarre and Poromiel? Does anyone actually know what life is like for the average citizen of either country? How do they dress? What jobs are available to them? What do they do for fun? I barely have a grasp of the level of technology in this world. In fact, I keep forgetting that this is in a fantasy world and not some urban fantasy story.

Yarros’s characters don’t really mesh with the setting either. From the very first novel, the main cast has been a little too-aware that they are characters in a book-- they know they are in a fantasy story, and they think this is all very, very cool. 

Any suggestion of a situation being dangerous is undercut by a character’s sense that this is really cool or, conversely, really annoying. Unlike the earlier books, everyone in Onyx Storm quips like they’re in a Marvel movie. Every conversation is bloated by a barrage of  jokes. No one takes the setting seriously, which means that I don’t quite believe in the world we’re in. 

Moreso, some of Violet’s narration is... you know what? Just look at this:

Xaden’s hand tightens around mine, and he leans down to brush his lips against my ear. “The shadows here are not mine. I know your skill with a dagger. I’m not discounting your ability to protect yourself, but for the good of my sanity while I try to get Halden out of whatever mess he’s created, will you please stay by my side?” I nod. How can I not? He’s not asking me to hide behind him, nor did he leave me with Tairn to keep me safe. He’s just asking me to stay close. (226)

Are you serious? Why would you say this unless you know you’re in a romantasy novel written and published for BookTok? Why would a character reassure herself that she is still a strong independent female protagonist? Why is the fourth wall paper thin? 

Here’s another example:

“Nope.” I brush a kiss across his lips, knowing I wont need to use the weapons. “It wouldn’t be the first time I raised a blade to you.” He stares, utterly bewildered, then flashes a grin. “I’m not sure what that says about us.” Is it toxic? Maybe. Is it us? Absolutely. (408)

This one manages to replicate the feeling of spotting a SEO valuable word, but in print. Yarros, you’re just lying to the audience now. We all know Violet and Xaden aren’t toxic because every time something outside the bounds of the modern Hays Code happens, you pad it with reassurances to the reader that, truly, this is a very healthy relationship. 

I’m putting “toxic relationship” on a shelf, and I’m not giving it back until people absolve characters of the responsibility of being role models and they get to be the fucked up little freaks I crave. 

Beyond annoying quips and self-aware narration, a lot of plot armor is endowed onto the main cast by virtue of them being the main cast. On three different occasions, Violet and company disobey military orders and risk being court-martial. Every time, they avoid suffering the consequences of their actions. Why? Because Violet is too important to arrest (she’s not), or she uses a clever loophole to absolve herself of blame (the law does not work like that). 

It’s staggering how much the main cast breaks military law, and how little they suffer for it. General Aetos is supposed to be a villain, but honestly, I’m on his side; I too would be pissed if these bozos kept on endangering themselves and their comrades out of some stupid belief that they are more important than everyone else. 

This is such a weird trend when the previous books were really clear about the stakes of insubordination and the consequences of rebellion. Violet was tortured in Iron Flame. Where did that energy go? If Yarros let Violet suffer the consequences of her actions, she could have had something to pad out the plot between the end of the island quest and the beginning of the final act. As is, there’s a hundred-plus page slump where nothing of importance really happens. 

But Violet and company are the heroes, so the narrative will bend over backwards and comply with irrational logic to allow them to continue to do cool heroic things like breaking the rules and stuff. 

The strangest instance of the book’s self awareness is how the narrative treats Dain. 

As previously established, I think Dain is the most reasonable character in the series. Did he mess up in the first book? Sure, but given what he knew, it was the correct decision. He has continued to be a bastion of sanity since. And, because everyone kinda hates him, I’ve made it my mission to go up to bat for him. 

Dain is never out of character. He’s still the reasonable one. But god, the narrative sure likes to make him look like a loser. His contributions to the quest are negated both by the common tongue and by another character, Aaric, being a better polyglot than him. In a ritualistic fight, he’s the first person to be knocked out; and I assume the post-fight scene features him prone on the ground and bleeding out because he’s not mentioned past it. During the gameshow scene, he’s bitchslapped-- a “gift” far more humiliating than what everyone else receives. 

At one point, the cast cracked jokes about Dain being no help and his presence ultimately being pointless. Yeah, Dain doesn’t have to be here. He serves so little purpose that he can be written out of the storyline. But he’s here to be mocked because Yarros knows the reader wants to see the loser second male lead humiliated. 

I’m not even offended as much as baffled by it. I don’t think Yarros hates Dain. If she did, his treatment would be far more egregious. Instead, every joke made at his expense feels like a wink at the audience, like we’re collectively making fun of our ex-boyfriend. The narrative has to commit to Dain being the reasonable one, but it still wants to play into a fandom joke. 

Stop winking! The fourth wall should not be this transparent. Respect your narrative, your world building, and your characters! I begging you, on my knees, to be sincere for more than two seconds. If the book can’t ascribe to its own premise, how can I suspend my disbelief?

I don’t think this is so much of a symptom of Yarros not giving a shit or being a bad writer. I think Yarros can write, and I think she cares about composing a good story. I also think she is influenced by the goals of her publishing house, Red Tower Books. While every publishing house is ultimately a capitalist cog, Red Tower Books was engineered to prioritized marketing above all else. The New Yorker’s profile on the Tracy Wolf plagiarism case provides some context as to how Red Tower Books operates. (Site note: what gives software engineers the audacity to think they can “revolutionize” everything but software engineering?)

 All Yarros wants is to sell you a good time. That means not complicating your premise with sticky moral quandaries. It means abstaining from rigorous, thoughtful world building. And it means prioritizing a figment of fun over plot coherence. She never tries to sell us anything else. We should stop asking for more. 

[caliburn-the-sword]

how come ONLY mal's parentage was ever important enough to have BOTH her parents name dropped in the movies, and not only that, both MAJOR antagonists and not just sidekicks or goons?? cause like. i get that carlos and jay aren't that much of main characters as the girlies, but c'mon after mal and ben, evie was more or less THE main characters. like. when mal was getting all angsty over her dad i whole heartedly believe that evie would've been "hey i get it. yk my dad ________ was also super absent in my life. i understand you <3"

anyway here are my theories on the unknown blank parents of some of the VK's, in order of how much i believe it to be true. shoutout to @piraterefrigerator who heard me out on this and let me bounce ideas off him to try as i tried to figure out who was whose parents

evie

now, we all know that the evil queen is the gold digger of all gold diggers. now, i believe that unlike most other villains and their henchmen, the second that snow white became queen, all of the evil queen's staff would've started serving snow white, snow white is beloved, and none of the evil queen's staff actually had anything to do with her vendetta against snow white OTHER than the huntsman, who i actually don't believe is on the isle since he was good and maybe?? died?? i can't remember

while the evil queen has a killer reputation like the rest of the parents of the core4, since she has no loyal army, no threat of magic to hold over peoples' heads once they all escape the island (i believe she was a potionsmaster/alchemist rather than someone with innate magic like maleficent or jafar), and we don't really know HOW those core 4 ever actually came to power, but we do know she came to power last out of those 4 on the isle since the maleficent exiled her for 10 years

... the place that i'm going with this, is that the evil queen MAY have seduced jafar to be able to share in his power on the isle. but to prove this, i'm going to have to dive into jafar as an individual

the only 'romantic' subplots we ever see jafar in are when he's pursuing jasmine. jafar may have soley wanted to marry jasmine for legal purposes (becoming sultan) and the pedo implications were a complete accident on disney's part. and since he has no claim to that throne through jasmine anymore once he was defeated

his plan getting with the evil queen COULD have been to take back her kingdom and become the king of that kingdom once they escaped the isle, especially because we NEVER actually see jafar complain about aladdin or jasmine, whereas maleficent wants to take over auradon, the evil queen gets pissy over snow white, and cruella harps on about the dogs. not only that, the evil queen is also the ONLY formerly royal woman on the isle that we're aware of in canon

i think. jafar would have ditched eq the second that maleficent banished her because he's more afraid of maleficent than he would have feelings for the evil queen, and he took jay since he wasn't in the immediate blast range (jay isn't eq's son) which is how that all worked

i also think that evie might be one of the only girls that jay doesn't flirt with??? i could be wrong. since i haven't read the first book in a few years

but like. evie is quite racially ambiguous, so while i don't think that makes or breaks this theory, i do think it supports it

a crackpot theory for another candidate of the evil queen's baby daddy is

but that's a furry, and evie has no furry qualities

dizzy

lady tremaine and her daughters are, you guessed it, also gold diggers, and i think that they, like all villains on the isle, would have clawed onto whatever power they could, especially given that they had none of their own legions, magic outside the isle, any reputation that they could stake their lives on (in the grand scheme of things, making a girl clean the house isn't all that grand compared to people that tried to conquer kingdoms)

now. we never see the tremaines in descendants so i'm inclined to believe that they look exactly as in the animated/live action cinderella movies, aka european descent, but dizzy herself is portrayed by a wasian actress

while the descendants casting was more or less raceblind for the vk's, i'm still inclined to believe that dizzy is actually the daughter of shan yu, which effectively would grant that evil stepsister a bit of a leg to stand on in the isle

carlos

now, carlos has NO magic, and is also noticeably paler than his mother. which means his father could be any white disney antagonist, which is *check notes* a lot of them. cruella is a nepo baby, so i don't think she would've been a gold digger like others on this list. especially because, as "the bitch that wanted 101 puppies dead for her fur coat" i don't think she needed anything for her reputation as the scary crazy bitch that wants 101 puppies for her fur coat

... narrowing down her baby daddy's identity to "possibly white" and "not magic" does not narrow it down by much since i don't have any other personal taste i could attribute to her, other than perhaps hunters

the candidates are, in most to least likely, are:

because i think only a catnapper would get behind cruella's batshit dognapping plan

however, there is also this guy:

cause i think she would appreciate his hunting of an exotic animal

this guy, because i think she would like the idea of a fox fur coat

this guy, because he does animal abuse and cruella would get behind that

or, my most crackpot theory yet:

"but cal, that's a wolf!! and cruella fucking hates dogs!!"

i could argue that cruella wanted to skin that guy for a coat and was gonna get him while he was a asleep, failed, and then raised carlos to believe all dogs are bad because fuck that guy in particular. also, carlos DOES run fast enough for the sport team as like. their canonically fastest player, despite him being a little computer nerd. that boy has never run in his LIFE. so like. you could attribute having a wolf father to him being a fastboi

harry hook

as for harry, i honestly think his mother is a milf. because those good looks had to come from SOMEWHERE

also, if we're following punnet squares, harry has light coloured eyes and hook has brown eyes, so one of hook's parents probably had blue eyes, and i imagine either hook's mother or his grandparents on that side of the family would have to have blue eyes. for simplicity's sake, i'm gonna assume that it was his mother so that i can narrow it down

harry ALSO doesn't have magic, so i'm running with the assumption that his mother has blue eyes, maybe dark hair (unimportant), and no magic, and is presumably white. one woman that fits the bill is mother gothel

jay

i will be referring to this post quite a bit

i need to start this by saying, there is a popular theory that jafar swapped out his actual child for aladdin's son, and jay is actually the son of aladdin and jasmine. i think that this is a stupid ass theory, because the barrier had already been up on the isle for 4 years at that point, and if jafar had managed to SOMEHOW get off the isle, travel all the way to agrabah, swap out their similarly aged children, do you not think he would have just STAYED off the isle instead of returning with his new son to stock the store??? he wouldn't need to stock the store if he WASN'T ON THE ISLE is all i will say. also, you don't just genetically inherit your parents' ability to steal, it is a learnt skill. jafar learnt how to do it, and then taught jay, plain and simple

however, unless jay is more than 9 months older than evie but less than 12 months older than her, then his mother would be some other woman, especially because the two were raised completely separately. i DON'T think that the evil queen is jay's mother, but i still think jafar would've gone as close to royal as possible since we know he values economic status

there aren't many female villains, so the main candidates for this would've been yzma (kuzco's royal adviser, very close to successful to stealing his throne), or the other tremaine evil stepsister??? since that was a reasonably wealthy family considering their inheritance

as for yzma, i don't think she has any inate magic of her own, just alchemy, which accounts for jay not inheriting any magic like mal. yzma is also, i assume, an albino latina, but whether jay has a european mother or a brown mother i don't actually think that matters too much since he's fairly ambiguous

sidenote, i always knew that booboo stewart was indigenous but i didn't know he was also asian omg

now for the son of jafar, obviously they couldn't be raceblind when casting him and had to find someone not white for the role. and hollywood treats brown people as quite interchangeably and just casts whoever as whoever (see the oscar isaac joke that in the 'a priest, rabbi, and imam walk into a bar' joke, he can play all three), but i'm using this as my proof anyway that jay is (possibly) a son of yzma

uma

uma is unfortunately at the bottom of this list, because i actually have no idea who her father would be. like sure, it would be easy to just go and say "well the only other Black villain on the isle is facilier so it must be him" but he is SO present in celia's life and has such a good relationship with her that i refuse to believe that he would in the same beat be completely absent in uma's life. unless there are other disney villains that got racechanged in the descendants universe that we're unaware of, i actually have no idea who uma's father would be, ESPECIALLY because the only comment ursula ever makes on men is in poor unfortunate souls, but that was more her gaslighting ariel than her actual proper view on men and romance. the only thing i can say is that since ursula is in squid form on the isle naturally despite the magic ban, but uma is naturally in human form, i definitely think that uma has a human father rather than a father from an undersea kingdom. if any uma stans want to weigh in here, please go for it because i'd love to hear who you think is uma's father

[royaltysimblr]

Maria Christina, Princess of the Isle (1843-1869)

read about her below!

Infanta Maria Christina of Selvadorada was born in 1843 to King Felipe III and his wife, Princess Maria Annunciata of Tartosa. Maria Christina grew up in a large family, having four brothers and four sisters. The Infanta enjoyed singing and dancing and often performed for her family at the palace. Infanta Maria Christina enjoyed a close relationship with her two older siblings, Infanta Isabella and Infante Gabriel who were close in age. Maria Annunciata was a strict mother and was often harsher on her daughters. Infanta Isabella was a rebellious princess who pushed boundaries with her mother and used her sister, Maria Christina, as an accomplice. As Maria Christina became older, her cheerful demeanor diminished until she became a quieter and more mellow version of herself. Maria Christina found joy in reading and playing music which her mother encouraged. The young Infanta often accompanied her parents to official engagements and was always described as charitable and kind.

In 1863, the Princess became engaged to Charles, Prince of the Isle, heir to the Windenburgian throne. While staying at the Champes Les Sims residence of her cousin, Princess Anna of Tartosa, she met the Prince of the Isle. The Prince became enchanted by the young Infanta whom he saw playing the harp. The couple were described as "instantly smitten with one another" by Princess Odette at a banquet she had hosted for the Prince. Odette, who had orchestrated the engagement, was eager for the match, as Maria Christina was a cousin of her husband.

In 1863, the Infanta was married to Charles, Prince of the Isle. The wedding was a grand affair, taking place at the St. Bartholomew Cathedral in San Myshuno. A second Jacoban ceremony was held privately afterward. Following the ceremony, a week of banquets and balls were held to celebrate the new couple. Infanta Maria Christina remained a devout Jacoban, however her children would be raised in the Peteran faith.

Maria Christina had a difficult time adapting to the Windenburg court but found solace in her sisters-in-law, Princess Charlotte and Princess Matilda. Queen Mary was instantly impressed by the Infanta's charm and beauty, comparing her to Helen of Troy in her diary. The Queen affectionately called the Infanta "Tina" which became a family nickname. The couple settled at Honey House, the former residence of Charles' grandmother, The Duchess of Rochester. Charles loved his beautiful new wife, however even her company couldn't cure his melancholia. The whole family was deeply saddened by the birth of Maria Christina's stillborn son in 1864. The Queen, who had shown little sympathy for the miscarriages her own daughters suffered, was reportedly heartbroken and shocked by the stillbirth. With the fragile state of her husband's mental health, and her sisters-in-law leaving Windenburg to get married, the Infanta found herself all alone at court. In 1866, she gave birth to a healthy baby, Princess Alexandra. Charles and Maria Christina were delighted by the birth of their daughter whom she nursed herself, which was quite unusual for highborn women of the time. Due to her isolation, the Infanta turned toward religion, visiting the royal chapel nearly every day. In 1869, her prayers came true, and the Infanta gave birth to twins, Prince Henry, and Princess Charlotte. Soon after the birth, Maria Christina passed away due to complications. The next day, her infant son, Prince Henry, would also pass away. The tragic deaths of Maria Christina and Henry would forever haunt Charles who would never recover. Her cousin's daughter, Princess Adelaide of Brichester would later marry her husband and raise her children as her own.

[zeloinator]

Glamtober day 1; On The Road

BRD outfit for day 1! Doin everything (except one) fully 100% vanilla (minus Zee’s scale mod for some) for this month's challenge, all from emotes and in game lighting (it gets better as I go I hope...) Not following my personal glam rules as well for Zee for this, figured I should branch out a bit when I can~

Hand; Majestic Manderville Harp Bow Matte Recplica

Head; Edencall Chapeau of Aiming (Pastel Blue)

Top; Felicitous Tunic (Pastel Blue and Celeste Green)

Hands; Isle Explorer's Leather Halfgloves

Legs; Virtu Aoidos' Tights (Chestnut Brown)

Feet; Isle Farmhand's Boots (Chestnut Brown)

[odetoalostpairofkeys]

The moths!

Purple who goes by Crescendo in the Valley House and Fortissimo who goes by Blue in the Wind Isles :D

They draw all over each others' arms and legs :D

Purple (Crescendo)

Season of Moments, They/them

Trix's Moth (and by extension, Flix and Pix)

Loves drawing and chatting with anyone nearby

Loves coming up with grand stories and games to play with Fortissimo

Fortissimo (Blue)

Season of Moments, They/them

Mixolydian's moth

Loves drawing and music

They're learning the harp from Aeolian

Loves playing pretend with Purple in the Wind Paths

[blackcrowing]

Blackcrowing's Master Reading List

I have created a dropbox with pdfs I have gathered over the years, I have done my best to only allow access to documents which I found openly available through sites like JSTOR, Archive.org, or other educational resources with papers available for download.

That being said I ALSO recommend (I obviously have not read all of these but they are either in my library or I intend to add them)

📚 Celtic/Irish Pagan Books

The Morrighan: Meeting the Great Queens, Morgan Daimler

Raven Goddess: Going Deeper with the Morríghan, Morgan Daimler

Irish Paganism: Reconstructing Irish Polytheism, Morgan Daimler

Ogam: Weaving Word Wisdom, Erynn Rowan Laurie

Celtic Cosmology and the Otherworld: Myths, Orgins, Sovereignty and Liminality, Sharon Paice MacLeod

Celtic Myth and Religion, Sharon Paice MacLeod

A Guide to Ogam Divination, Marissa Hegarty (I'm leaving this on my list because I want to support independent authors. However, if you have already read Weaving Word Wisdom this book is unlikely to further enhance your understanding of ogam in a divination capacity)

The Book of the Great Queen, Morpheus Ravenna

Litany of The Morrígna, Morpheus Ravenna

Celtic Visions, Caitlín Matthews

Harp, Club & Calderon, Edited by Lora O'Brien and Morpheus Ravenna

Celtic Cosmology: Perspectives from Ireland and Scotland, Edited by Jacqueline Borsje and others

Polytheistic Monasticism: Voices from Pagan Cloisters, Edited by Janet Munin

📚 Celtic/Irish Academic Books

Early Medieval Ireland 400-1200, Dáibhí Ó Cróinín

The Sacred Isle, Dáithi Ó hÓgáin

The Ancient Celts, Berry Cunliffe

The Celtic World, Berry Cunliffe

Irish Kingship and Seccession, Bart Jaski

Early Irish Farming, Fergus Kelly

Studies in Irish Mythology, Grigory Bondarnko

Prehistoric Archaeology of Ireland, John Waddell

Archeology and Celtic Myth, John Waddell

Understanding the Celtic Religion: Revisiting the Past, Edited by Katja Ritari and Alexandria Bergholm

A Guide to Ogam, Damian McManus

Cesar's Druids: an Ancient Priesthood, Miranda Aldhouse Green

Animals in Celtic Life and Myth, Miranda Aldhouse Green

The Gods of the Celts, Miranda Green

The Celtic World, Edited by Miranda J Green

Myth and History in Celtic and Scandinavian Tradition, Edited by Emily Lyle

Ancient Irish Tales, Edited by Tom P Cross and Clark Haris Slover

Cattle Lords and Clansmen, Nerys Patterson

Celtic Heritage, Alwyn and Brinley Rees

Ireland's Immortals, Mark Williams

The Origins of the Irish, J. P. Mallory

In Search of the Irish Dreamtime, J. P. Mallory

The Táin, Thomas Kinsella translation

The Sutton Hoo Sceptre and the Roots of Celtic Kingship Theory, Michael J. Enright

Celtic Warfare, Giola Canestrelli

Irish Customs and Beliefs, Kevin Danaher

Pagan Celtic Ireland, Barry Raftery

Cult of the Sacred Center, Proinsais Mac Cana

Mythical Ireland: New Light on the Ancient Past, Anthony Murphy

Early Medieval Ireland AD 400-1100, Aidan O'Sullivan and others

The Festival of Lughnasa, Máire MacNeill

Curse of Ireland, Cecily Gillgan

📚 Indo-European Books (Mostly Academic and linguistic)

Dictionary of Indo-European Concepts and Society, Emily Benveniste

A Dictionary of Selected Synonyms in the Principle Indo-European Languages, Carl Darling Buck

The Horse, the Wheel and Language, David W. Anthony

Comparative Indo-European Linguistics, Robert S.P. Beekes

In Search of the Indo-Europeans, J.P. Mallory

Indo-European Mythology and Religion, Alexander Jacob

Some of these books had low print runs and therefore can be difficult to find and very expensive... SOME of those books can be found online with the help of friends... 🏴‍☠️

library genesis might be a great place to start... hint hint...

My kofi

[beamer7thepoko]

Yep I'm definitely ma making my own mini series rn. Oh boy here we go

The Precursor With The Tail. pt.2

Day 2: An investigation quest!

Zavala: Hey guardian. I have something to ask of you. It could be dangerous so I'm gonna send you in a fire team to see what the heck what we saw last night while we was camping out in the farm. Whatever it was it definitely has ikora spooked and she says it could had been one of the precursors from before the witness is as it is today.

07:

... well uh. I can definitely go take a look for you. Hopefully it was just a racoon. It's also better than helping eris morn with collecting those hive worm samples from rhulks pryamid. I think the witness is on to me in that pryamid. I also could use a little break and explore the outdoors a little bit before the next time I go back to go get more of those samples.

Zavala:

So that's who Eris had sent to get those hive worm samples. Anyways I wish you the best of luck out there especially if the witness is on to you which is why I had hand selected the other fire team members you'll be joining soon.

07: thank you very much and who are the other fire team members that I'll be working with today?

Suddenly a smoke bomb explodes from out of no where. Then 3 figures appered from the smoke as it disapates

Zliverite: Hello!

Limix: I think the smoke bomb was a little too much for a secret mission.

Isles: He's got a point but it's good to be back on another mission!

Isles's pet whos named Harp: mee murrp

Shardin who's 07's ghost: well this is gonna kinda be interesting.

Random person: what secret mission?

Zavala: there's no secret mission it's just a scouting mission.

Isles: yep its definitely just a regular mission!

Zliverite: wait who's gonna be squad leader again?

Limix: I think I may be the squad lead on this one. Is that correct mr. Zavala?

Isles takes a sip out of her canteen

Zavala: I'm afraid zliverite is the squad lead on this one as he's the one with the most experience with dealing with the witness.

Isles: pfft!

Liquid had come out of Isles nose and mouth

Isles: wait the witness... Oh God.

Zliverite: Don't worry we've got 07 here who's been sent by eris morn to get hive worms out of rhulks pryamid. So you should be good on this one.

Limix: I heard it may had been a skinwalker, tannuki from Japanese folklore, a fox for some reason but I think that person had watched way to much inyuasha, and a racoon. Since it happened late at night last night so no one knows yet for sure and that's why we're on this mission. Also ikora is still kinda pale as a ghost. XD

Isles: is she's really?! XD

07: poor ikora

Zavala: yes and you four should head out soon since the ship is ready for you in the docking area. Hopefully it really was just a racoon and then we all could put ikroa and the rest within the last city at ease since we got to be very careful with the witness out there still.

Zliverite: alright on it.

Limix: yep let's get to the bottom of this.

Isles: whatever you all need!

07: poor ikora and the others. I'm gonna find out what happened last night.

Harp: chrip!

~

They then head to the docking port and see a blue exo standing next to their ship.

The blue exo: Hello are you four heading out?

Isles: Great now we have Increased security now a days.

The blue exo: ... Have you guys heard about what had happened last night?

Harps then sniffs the blue exo and Isles had pulled her back.

Zliverite: we're actually here to investigate what had happened last night.

The blue exo: I think that was actually a prank. Alright the ships all yours go ahead on out.

Harp blinks in disbelief

Limix: thank you sir.

The blue exo had nodded and then walks away shaking his head while the guardians head into the ship

07: that's crazy we now have increased security due to last nights stuff and I think the gaurd looks familiar

Isles: wait he does look kinda familiar tho

Limix: I think he works with the gun smith

Zliverite then plots the coordinates to the guardian camp.

They all had arrived at the guardian camp.

Zliverite: I'm gonna check inside the barn.

07: I got the tent

Limix: I'm gonna ask the elskini if they had seen anything and I'll check around here too.

Isles. I got the primaditor.

Harp goes to the clear areas with in the campsite.

Shardin then starts scanning the area for anything noteworthy and or unusual while 07 was in the tent.

07 kneels down next to the tent and finds a black scarf to add to her collection but has noticed that it's made of a strange material.

Shardin then sees what's 07 had picked up and scans it.

Shardin: Oh boy I think ikora may had been right about this one. I'm about to scan the area 07.

07: holly Molly! Woowoahwha! Wah!

07 then drops the foreign scarf but then realized the material was metallicy and shimmery in 3 different colors and then she took it and had put it in her temp keepsake bag.

Mean while limix had began talking to the locals

Limix: Hello there. Sorry to disturb you all but would you guys happen to know what had happened last night.

They all looked at him funny and had moved on then one purple exo waves his hand.

Purple exo: Hey you guardian! Quickly I got something to show you!

Limix then follows the exo inside a building and then the exo had closed all the blinds then the curtains and then the doors.

He then turns on the security footage and rewinds them to 2 weeks prior to the event that had happened last night.

Limix: umm what has been going on here?

Purple exo: that's a very good question Limix. I had also forgot to introduce myself I'm wearver-11.

Limix: ... how did you know my name so fast.

W-11: I had been listening on channel 7 all day since last night since Gruah had finally gotten comfortable with the vanguard and had appeared before them.

A light blue ghost appears from behind w-11

Vreeland: gruah is not the witness. She's harmless but it's very amazing that after all of this time that she is the only other Precursor who has manged not to be part of the merging of the witness.

Vreeland: yep and all the proof the vanguard will need is on that security footage.

W-11: Also there might be a mini pryamid ship she has been using but it looks different from the others because we've seen it fly past the mountain past east before she began appearing in this place.

Meanwhile zliverite has been searching the barn but only has seen lots of food wrappers, used coffee cups, alien foot prints and he began following them to a cave east of the camp and notices a pryamid ship and begins running back to camp at full speed.

Ghoztt: oh crap we need to leave now!

Zliverite: Oh! Oh crap indeed!

Both zliverite and his ghost: ahhhhhhhhhhhh! It's the witness! He's found us!

Meanwhile Isles is checking the primater finds what appears to be a old forgotten hive rune circle.

Isles: Oo

Then it starts glowing

Harp then notices it and scurries to it

Then there was a warping sound.

And

They was gone.

Then there was a hooded stranger who had witnessed it.

Hs: uh oh! They had to find the portal to the throne world of the 5th hive God in existence. Oi! Humans can be so slow and dumb and naive! Best to tell the lead to tell eris morn about this. Hopefully the munfty will help her because she's basically a gooner with out it.

More to come...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Orange = the good guys like the leaders like the vanguard and the cloud striders

While eris morn and the hive might be green

Purple = for my characters since I've used my guardian in game and am using my oc 07 a copy of my self kinda but with powers and stuff. Hence why this is a part of wackedverse.

Red = for the bad guys

Blue = for squadmates and allies

Idk what I'm gonna do with pink tho XD probably to use for nature idk. Edit: pink = mystery

<-first/cover ___ next->

Will add the page links later dw

Just had to get this all organized 1st.

Note: I'm having trouble with the drafts so I may be posting these early and then send them. To be safe

Note to self: always refresh the screen after saving the work!

[flipperdipper10]

Memes on the Isles, Chapter 4!

The final stop after the tour of Hexside was to the local Empress's Coven Scout Precinct, of which Chris explicitly told Mario to stay in the carriage for.  It was about what Mario expected a police station to look like in this world. Not very flashy. More random teeth.

Personally, Mario was more than grateful for being told to stay seated, as he had no clue when the last time he had walked that much was, and his feet were getting very tired. Luigi always did harp on him for being out of shape. Maybe he had a point?

Thinking of his brother, his face began to droop into a frown. He missed Luigi. Even if the brother would run at the slightest thing and nag on Mario about everything from coming home naked to buying something other than pasta, he was still the only brother Mario had.

Plus Luigi was the one who did all the talking if they ever went out. So he missed Luigi also for sake of convenience. Because Luigi was way better at everything social than Mario was. The man had an invisible charisma that Mario couldn't even hope to compare up too.

But that was okay, because even though Mario was separated from Luigi now, Mario was going to prove he had what it took to survive here. He had the charisma, the rizz necessary to survive, no, THRIVE in this world.

...

Despite that whole internal monologue, Swag and Chris were still not back yet. Damn, they must be really talking in there, huh?

Mario pressed his face up against the carriage window. "I wonder what they're talking about..."

Read more here!

[nerevar-quote-and-star]

I Didn't Know You Were Keeping Count — Part XI: Cat

ao3

masterlist

first | previous | next

Author's note: All right, here you go: The first part of Season Unending, in which Leara is not as together as she'd like to be following the disaster in Solitude.

Tag list: @ravenmind2001 @incorrectskyrimquotes @uwuthrad @dark-brohood @owl-screeches @binaominagata @constantfyre @kurakumi @stormbeyondreality @singleteapot @aardvark-123 @blossom-adventures @argisthebulwark @inkysqueed @average-crazy-fangirl @the-tuzen-chronicles @shivering-isles-cryptid @orangevanillabubbles @cosmermaid @thelurkershideout

Content Warning: This time, it's not Bishop. Look out for Thalmor wearing dark robes.

#######

The claw traced an electrifying trail down the side of her face, nipping at her lip before cutting down her neck. 

“Oh, my pet, but you’ve been a terribly bad girl, haven’t you?”

“I’m sorry—”

“Ah!” The claw tapped her collarbone, sharp and piercing. Sparks sprang up in its wake, hissing as they kissed her skin. “Don’t speak. I’ll not have another lie off your pretty tongue tonight.”

Iron and ozone clogged her nose. “Please—”

The claw dug deeper, joined by others, and bit into the bare swell of her chest with the shocking teeth of the mythic swamp dragons in the south. Pain seared through her veins, eroding her heart and boiling her blood. Leara screamed.

Hard stone met her, and she jerked up. Something heavy drug her arms down, and with a cry, she pushed and thrashed. Then it was at her feet, and she saw it for what it was in the dim light of the white mage’s candle. Her blanket.

At the end of the bed, Karnwyr whined. 

“I’m sorry,” Leara gasped, voice hoarse. Dry, as if she’d really been electrocuted. 

She shivered.

Lifting the blanket from the floor, she wrapped the heavy wool around her shoulders. She felt Karnwyr’s eyes follow her as she slipped her stockinged feet into the shafts of her silver and leather boots. “Go back to sleep, I’m okay,” she whispered and, for good measure, gave the wolf a reassuring scratch under the chin. Karnwyr’s brow creased, clearly skeptical. Still, he huffed and lowered his head back on his front paws. “Shh,” Leara soothed, giving him all the comfort she couldn’t feel. “Sleep.”

As if against his will, Karnwyr was lulled back to sleep by the gentle affection. He was snoring as Leara slipped out of the room. 

It wasn’t yet dawn. No light teased the eastern horizon to proclaim Magnus’s rise. She hoped it would be a bright, sunny day. She wished to feel the touch of magic on her skin before she plunged into the pending maelstrom that would be the peace conference. Yet with every breath, she could almost taste the approaching storm, hard and cold and as real as the chaos that would soon house itself in High Hrothgar. Even in the silent hallway, lit by nothing save faint starlight and her own trailing candlelight spell, she could feel the bitter wind bite at her cheeks and stir her unbound hair. Was it a bad omen, or was she still shaken from her nightmare?

What did she dream, anyway?

A cooing voice and an electric touch. Leara swallowed, her throat tight. Some variation of the same nightmare that haunted her sleep since the night of that thrice-cursed ball. Sometimes, there were other voices, and sometimes, there were knives or harp strings. Burns and smoke. But always, always there was the voice and the lightning. White hot and cloying in her veins. The stuff of nightmares that never ceased to dog her steps in the waking world. 

Bishop’s solution to her nightly awakenings was to sleep through them. In the near fortnight since leaving Solitude, Leara began to wonder if anything short of a rampaging mammoth or a legion of Daedra could be counted on to wake the ranger from his deep sleep. It worked in her favor, though. He didn’t ask about the thrashing or the crying – he didn’t know about them. Rudimentary Illusions, the kind every girl in High Rock learned to use, covered up the signs on her face. Illusion itself was never her strongest school, save her practiced Muffle and Clairvoyance, but hiding the bags under her eyes and the pallor of her skin was becoming second nature. It wasn’t the first time she’d used magic to disguise her appearance. In a twisted way, it was almost a comfort.

The door to the courtyard opened noiselessly under her hand. The frigid air didn’t bite her as hard as she might have expected, but her system was still flooded with adrenaline from the nightmare. Overhead, the thin forms of Masser and Secunda cast distorted shadows over the snow and stone, twisting the world into a vision of another world. She remembered the dancing auroras overhead when she’d left Paarthurnax that first time, back when he’d directed her to find the Elder Scroll. Now, the skies were shrouded in clouds through which only the brightest stars could pierce. All around her, the world was haunted, holding its breath on the edge of doom. The last sigh before the final plunge. 

Creeping across the barren snowscape, Leara eyed the archway and the path to the top of the Throat of the World. High winds howled against the mountainside, barring the way to Paarthurnax. Yet Leara wanted desperately to make the climb to meet him. Do dragons sleep? Would he be curled against the ruined Word Wall, lost to dreams, or awake in silent contemplation of the heavens? Would he welcome her company or turn her away at such an unholy hour?

Her legs trembled beneath her. Leara collapsed to the flagstones, her back against the unlit brazier stand. The blanket fluttered around her. Her chest ached. Burned. Froze. Then her head rolled back against the stand, her eyes sliding closed. 

She was so tired. So tired. She couldn’t make the climb.

Tears froze on the ends of her lashes.

“Paarthurnax, please . . .”

·•★•·

A gentle hand shook her awake. 

Predawn was sweeping in across the sky, depthless midnights touched here and there with the golden pinks of pending morning, mixing in a dappled grey and bruising violet off toward the west. It wasn’t yet half after four in the morning. 

Blinking in a slow haze, Leara peered up to find Master Arngeir standing over her, a frown set on his weathered face. 

“Are you well, child?” he asked, worry set around his mouth. Leara supposed she’d worry too if the prophesied hero she’d had to nurse back to health went and froze to death on the back porch before fulfilling her destiny. If her face wasn’t numb with cold, Leara imagined she’d have blushed with shame. 

“I’m all right,” she whispered. She wasn’t, but it was fine.

Master Arngeir’s frown deepened, probably because he wasn’t foolish enough to take her words at face value. He offered her a hand, and after a moment, Leara took it. Some other time, she may have been alarmed by how easily the elderly Greybeard pulled her up, but she already knew she hadn’t been eating well since long before Solitude. Maybe since before Mirmulnir. She wasn’t sure anymore. “Good morning.”

“Let us hope it will be,” said Arngeir, grim. “There are many hours still before our guests arrive, but there is much to prepare.” His hand on her shoulder, her teacher guided her back toward the monastery. 

An early breeze swirled the edges of her blanket, brushing her bare legs. Leara cast a longing look to the mountain peak, hidden as it was by clouds and the vanishing night. Her gaze fell, and she found Master Arngeir watching her, knowing. 

“It isn’t forbidden for you to make the climb whenever you wish,” he told her.

“I was worried he was sleeping,” she blurted, not willing or able to admit the exhaustion gnawing her limbs, rooting her to the earth when she sought the sky. “Have you ever seen a sleeping dragon?”

To her surprise, Master Arngeir laughed. Full of the same light, wry amusement she could almost recall in her grandfather’s voice from her earliest childhood memories. “I imagine that even dragons must rest sometimes.”

Good, maybe when this was over (if she was even there when it ended), she could rest, too.

·•★•·

Master Borri spied the Imperial and Stormcloak delegations coming around the curve of the mountain near noon. They were maybe around half a mile apart from each other, neither party daring to get too close to the other. Each was mounted with additional guards and pack horses. Amid the snow and ever-present ice on stone, it was a slow climb to the monastery. 

Even from the table where Leara sat with a light lunch of dried berries and herbal tea, she could feel the tension growing like a tightening bowstring. Or perhaps a noose, growing tight around her throat as she fell through the gallows—

No, she would not think like that! This was an opportunity, a hope to forge peace – if not a lasting peace, then perhaps a peace that could pave the way for a stronger, more steady solution down the road. Skyrim was in turmoil, and if she could in any way soothe the gash made by the Civil War while tending the burns from dragon’s fire, then she would do her best. As Dragonborn, she could only succeed or die trying.

Of course, it was as impending death crept back into her mind that Bishop finally made his appearance. Yawning and stretching, he gave his side an absent scratch as he sauntered over to Leara’s little table. Snagging a fistful of berries off her plate, he threw them back, chomping down with a short cough.

Leara winced behind her teacup. “Lovely for you to grace us with your presence.”

Beside the table where he was gnawing on a cow bone, Karnwyr grunted.

Bishop burped. “Took me forever to get comfortable on that damn cot,” he grunted. He plopped into the chair across from Leara and reached for her plate. 

She smacked his knuckles. “Oi! Let off! You snooze, you lose!”

“Please, woman, I catch most of the food you eat!” Bishop snorted. 

Leara withdrew her plate from the table, holding the remaining fruit out of Bishop’s reach. “I’m afraid you don’t have time to filch off my plate. You need to get ready!”

“Ready for what?” he asked, wiping crust from his eye.

A grimace twisted Leara’s mouth. Bishop was a frightful sight: His hair stuck out in nearly every direction, and his night clothes were in equal disarray. She was glad none of the Greybeards were there at the moment to see him. As dignified as they were, Bishop was just as frightfully embarrassing to look at. 

“The delegations will be here within a half hour or so. We need to be ready to open the doors and get the peace talks underway.”

Bishop flapped his hand in mimicry of her talking. Leara pursed her lips in a tight line. “This little tea party of yours has nothing to do with me, sweetness. It's all you and the old windbags, thinking you can get everyone in Skyrim to kiss and make nice.”

Leara ate a berry, grinding the semisweet fruit into shreds. 

“What are you going to do?” he went on. He pushed the chair back on its rear legs and leaned against the wall, his arms behind his head. “Are General Troll Face and the Stormdrain going to sit around the campfire and braid your hair? Will you do each other’s nails and makeup, too?” He leered at her, “Can I watch?”

Silently, Leara drained her teacup. Then she set it down. “You will not make a fool of me in front of them,” she said, voice cold. 

“Me? Make a fool of you? No, darling, you do that all on your own!” Bishop laughed. “What are you even trying to accomplish here, anyway? Because you sure as Hell aren’t going to establish a lasting peace between those two warmongers.”

Scooping the rest of the berries into her hands, Leara restrained the urge the throw them at Bishop’s head. Instead, she dropped them one by one into her mouth, methodical. She was too tired for this. So little sleep and such a long time before she could try to get more. The day stretched miles onward in front of her, but her patience with Bishop was growing desperately short. She was done tiptoeing around him.

“I’m trapping a dragon in Dragonsreach.”

Then she walked away, the clatter of a falling chair and broken pottery behind her. 

·•★•·

Leara was careful to avoid Bishop in the intervening time before the Imperials and Stormcloaks arrived. After leaving him in a spluttering mess of chairs and pottery shards, she’d disappeared into her cell. Her blue gown hung on the wardrobe where she left it the night before, freshened and primed for the council. Wearing armor to conduct peace talks didn’t sit right with her, so the blue dress it was. Running her fingers, still tinged pink from frostbite, over the lace, something in her chest loosened. She made it this far. She could do this.

She had to.

Once dressed, she went to stand in the foyer of High Hrothgar, her hair carefully pinned and her hands folded before her. Nerves ran electric up her arms and around her ribs, but she pushed it away. She had to. This was for Skyrim. Her discomfort wasn’t even worth considering.

The heavy doors opened, and she heard Master Arngeir greet Ulfric Stormcloak and his party. Leara’s hand tightened over her rings, the enchanted bands biting into her skin. Master Arngeir said something. Ulfric replied, his voice humming against the stones. They exchanged words that she couldn’t understand, but she remained in place. 

The thump of heavy footsteps came down the corridor, and then Ulfric Stormcloak entered the hall beside Master Arngeir. His gaze wandered over everything but her, for which she was almost grateful. Let her be a backdrop. He was taking in the ancient stones and carvings that formed High Hrothgar. Oh, yes, he lived here once, didn’t he? He was supposed to be a Greybeard a long time ago. Before the war. Odd that that slipped her mind. She needed to remain focused. It wouldn’t do for her memory or attention to slip during the peace talks. Things were tense enough as it was without her issues getting in the way. Leara swallowed, her eyes trailing from the Jarl to his party. There weren’t many of them in reality, just Ulfric, one of his generals – Galmar, wasn’t it? – and some guards. A few carried bundles of supplies on their backs; these followed Master Borri into the west wing, where the parties would be housed in empty cells for the night. The couple that remained stood near to their Jarl’s back. 

A blond head caught her eye, and Leara blinked. Then, a genuine smile blossomed over her face. 

“Ralof!”

All heads turned toward her, and Leara’s ears grew warm as she realized that, yes, she did call out her friend’s name. Her smile curved bashfully as one of the other guards elbowed Ralof, snickering. Ralof gave her a jaunty wave, and she relaxed. 

“Ah, Dragonborn,” Ulfric Stormcloak began. He stepped forward, his attention on her. “It seems your efforts have paid off.”

“That remains to be seen, Jarl Ulfric,” she said. She squeezed her rings, the black band hot. Meeting his eyes was incredibly difficult, especially after the incident with Bishop in the Windhelm Jail. Mara’s mercies, she managed it, if only because of the iron stiffening her neck and spine. “Thank you for making the trip.”

“You made a convincing argument. I’m hoping your position at the negotiation table will be as credible.” He didn’t appear quite as hard as before, but Leara remained on guard. 

“I hope not to disappoint.” 

The General, Galmar, grunted. Leara recalled how he initially scoffed at the idea of the peace council, though he gave Ulfric his support when the Jarl asked for it. She found herself glad that Ulfric brought him and not the other general, Yrsarald. Both were opinionated, yet Galmar gave the impression of being a little deeper in thought than Yrsarald. “Make it worth our time, then. The road from Windhelm was too long for us to come here to be made fools of.”

Leara’s smile was thin. “I wouldn’t dream of it, General.”

Beside them, Master Arngeir held out his hand. “Dragonborn, if you would, perhaps it is time to show Ulfric and his party to the meeting hall.”

“Of course, Master,” Leara bowed her head. “Please follow me.” 

Up the steps and down the wide stone hallway, she led them, Ulfric and Galmar at her shoulder and the guards behind. This close to Ulfric, the fine hairs on the back of her neck prickled. Did any escape her bun? She’d need to duck out and get another pin before they opened up the peace talks. Maybe two, just to be sure. 

“Well, Dragonborn, I trust there will be a point to all this,” commented Ulfric.

Leara cleared her throat. “We haven’t discussed the terms yet, Jarl Ulfric. You may not like them. Besides, General Tullius isn’t even here yet.”

“He can take his time getting here,” Galmar scoffed. “Damn faithless Imperials. Can’t even get to a meeting on time.” 

One of the guards chuckled. Ulfric’s wry face caught in her peripheral. Leara stared resolutely ahead. “They should be here fairly soon. Only, their party is larger than yours,” she said. “It’s slower going on the steps with so many.”

“Aye, too many. They can’t go anywhere without their Thalmor handlers holding the leash, and Talos knows those elves are dragging their feet every step up this mountain.”

The Thalmor . . .?

If Ulfric and Galmar hadn’t been at her back, Leara would’ve frozen in place. As it was, her knees wobbled, threatening to buckle under her. The Thalmor? She shoved her right foot forward, continuing her walk down the corridor. The Thalmor were coming? Electricity stung the too-raw nerves of her hands, biting and itching under the skin as it crawled up her arms. The Thalmor were coming. Anxiety and lightning gathered in her chest, burning and binding. 

Elenwen. 

There was the door to the meeting hall. It was a wide, low-ceilinged room with a large round table dominating the center. Its shape rather resembled a horseshoe, with a low hearth burning between the table’s arms. It was empty: Master Einarth had gone to help Master Wulfgar with the delegations’ animals. “If you’ll please be seated on this side,” she said, indicating the left. To her ears, her voice was high away and cool, lost in the clouds her head was threatening to dive through. “Would you care for some mead?”

“Yes, if you please,” Ulfric said. He was watching her. He knew. He knew. He knew—

“For me as well.”

“Right,” Leara nodded. “I’ll be back.” She turned and left. 

But barely had she stepped into the hallway when a large hand slipped around her arm, encircling her small wrist. Panic seized Leara’s heart, squeezing harder and tighter than before. She whirled around, free hand freezing over with frost magic. 

. . . and then it dispersed just as quickly. 

“By Shor, you’re still as flighty as a pine thrush!”

“Ralof!” Leara scoffed and swatted his arm. But the relief that eased her heart and muscles was visible in the small smile she shot her friend. 

“I figured you might want some help,” Ralof shrugged. 

“Sure!” 

Her arm linked with Ralof’s, Leara guided him down the monastery corridors to the kitchen. High Hrothgar was ancient: From what Leara understood, the monastery once housed dozens of disciples and students to Jurgen Windcaller’s Way of the Voice, as well as masters of the Voice and clever arts (or whatever it was the Old Nords called their magic). It was an old building, very cold, but made of a sturdy dark stone that blurred the building’s silhouette from afar during snowfall. It was tranquil and distant, far apart from the world below and full of peace. Despite the turmoil twisting in her soul over her destiny, High Hrothgar held in its walls a centered grounding that reminded Leara of her youth at Cloud Ruler Temple. Reminiscent, but calmer and heavier, too. Heavier with the weight of the world. Leara couldn’t help but hope that the Imperial and Stormcloak delegations would feel some of that peace mingled with purpose when they met at the negotiator’s table. 

“How have you been?” she asked Ralof. 

“I can’t complain. No more near executions, so I’ve had that going for me,” he laughed. His golden hair and sunshine smile were a bright spot in the dim halls. “Can’t believe I’m actually here at High Hrothgar. But you’re used to it now, right?”

“Hardly,” Leara echoed his laughter. 

Ralof grinned, “It’s hard to believe that scrawny elfling from Helgen turned out to be the Dragonborn.” 

There’s a good-natured disbelief in his voice that reassured her. Ralof’s was a genuine and kind character. Without him, she’d have never made it out of Helgen. His company on the road to Riverwood and the invaluable aid his family gave her once they got into town were vital components to her journey into Skyrim, without which she would have been in dire straits. Leara smiled softly. She’d missed Ralof. “Yeah, it really is.”

Earlier, Master Einarth had set a pot of spiced mead on the hearth to warm. It was meant to be served when both parties were present, but Leara needed space from the anxiety of Ulfric and the Thalmor pressing into her lungs. A platter of goblets sat on the heavy wooden table that served as both a counter and dinner table. Passing these, Leara took up the ladle to gauge the mead’s temperature. 

“I don’t mean to pry—”

“You do a little bit.”

Ralof chuckled. “All right, perhaps I do. But what is this meeting about? How is peace going to stop the World-Eater?”

Her hands stalled their stirring. “Did Jarl Ulfric tell you it was Alduin at Helgen?”

“Aye, he did.”

“Ah.”

“Leara,” Ralof hesitated, “what are you planning?”

She pressed her lips together, hard. Was it only over an hour ago that she fired the answer off in Bishop’s face? Her throat tightened. She’d need to get a hold of herself before the meeting began.

“I need to go to Sovngarde,” she whispered to the hearth. 

“What?”

“I—” Am going to die. “Need to trap—” A dragon, a live dragon. “I need to use Dragonsreach. Peace is Jarl Balgruuf’s price.”

Large hands gently pried the ladle from her brittle fingers. Ralof hooked it on the pot’s handle. “You don’t have to tell me everything,” he said, not unkindly. “I’d just like to know you’re taking care of yourself. You look tired.”

“Thanks,” she laughed, but it wasn’t as full as before. “I’m fine, really.” She wasn’t, but she would be. She had to.

Carrying the platter of goblets, Leara led Ralof back to the meeting hall. Entering, she found Ulfric already seated at the table, a frown creasing his face. It smoothed out when he looked up at her, a cloud passing from in front of the sun, but Leara could only offer a small smile in return. Galmar stood beside him, talking lowly, though, on Leara and Ralof’s entrance, he went silent. Akatosh, please let me make it to Sovngarde. If she was to die, it’d be far more beneficial for everyone if she did so while defeating Alduin rather than if Ulfric exacted revenge for her Thalmor past and her role in the war. 

“We’ve prepared spiced mead,” Leara explained, gesturing for Ralof to set the pot on the stone sideboard rather than the hearth. Best to keep it out from the middle of the potential battleground. Lips pursed, she cast a subtle warming rune on the bottom of the pot to keep the mead hot. She took a goblet from the platter and ladled it full of mead, then she faced the table. The guards were watching her, and Galmar, his arms crossed, was eyeing her, too. Was Skyrim much like High Rock? It was better to be safe than sorry. She brought the goblet to her mouth and swallowed a mouthful. Master Einarth’s spice blend was warm and comforting and left her chest warm for a blissful moment. 

Then she handed the goblet to Galmar, and the feeling was gone. 

“What are you doing?” he asked, gruff. 

“It’s not poisoned,” she replied. 

“Why would it be poisoned?” 

“Galmar, don’t torture the woman,” Ulfric said, sitting sideways in his chair so as to face his general. 

The grin that curved across Galmar’s face ruffled his mustache and crinkled his eyes. “I’m only putting her through her paces.”

Leara tried to muster a light smile, but she was sure it looked like a grimace. “Perhaps that’s best left for the peace talk.”

“Perhaps,” Ulfric said, accepting the goblet from Galmar. 

Perhaps. Leara nodded. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to be ready to greet the other delegation.”

“Of course,” Ulfric lifted his goblet. 

Skirts brushing around her ankles, Leara forced herself to walk sedately from the room. Ralof shot her a quick, reassuring look, and some of the renewed tension in her chest eased. Once in the corridor, her shoulders dropped, and she heaved a sigh.

“Having fun playing hostess?”

“As much as I can, I suppose.”

Bishop pushed off from the wall, his arms crossed over his chest and his face dark. “We need to talk about this circus of yours.”

“What’s there to talk about?” Aside from the litany of issues she needed to address this afternoon alone. 

He followed her down the hall. “You want to trap a dragon in a damn castle, and for what? So, you can fly off into the sunset and die?”

“That’s not why, and you know it.”

Bishop caught her wrist in his. His hands were harder than Ralof’s. “You know why I worry about you, woman. You know why—urgh!”

Resigned, Leara came to a halt. “Bishop, please. Whatever concerns you have, can we please discuss them after the meeting? I’m pressed for time now.”

“You sure as Hell weren’t pressed for time when you were avoiding me all morning,” Bishop grumbled. “All right, fine. Have it your way. But when they hang you out to dry because even your demands are too much for those egomaniacs, don’t come crying to me!”

“I’ll try to remember that.”

Pulling her wrist from Bishop’s grip, Leara continued down the hall. She wasn’t surprised when, a moment later, his footsteps echoed after her. 

“Where’s Karnwyr?” she asked.

“In your room, out of the way.”

Oh. That was probably meant to be considerate. Still, she missed the wolf’s comforting presence by her side. 

“I saw you getting friendly with that guard. What was that about? You taking in any man who bounds after you like a lost puppy, or do you just prefer blonds?”

“What, Ralof?” Her head twinged. Lovely, on top of the discomfort from sleeping outside, she was gearing up for a headache. “He was helping me with the mead. Which, by the way, I didn’t see you offer to do.”

Bishop barked a laugh. “Me? Serve mead to the Stormdrain himself? Listen, sweetness, you and the old windbags can play political nursemaids all you want, but I’m not getting involved.”

Not getting involved, her right hip! Bishop had done nothing but insert himself in her business since she met him! And, all right, she did allow him to after the entire Blackreach incident, but still. His definition of non-involvement was clearly from a different dictionary than hers. And it was wrong. 

She moved to tell him so, then paused. A familiar voice caught on her ear, and Leara spun, her eyes blown wide. “By Akatosh.”

“Now what is it?”

Ignoring Bishop’s question, Leara lifted her skirts and hurried down the corridor. She rounded the corner, only to freeze at the top of the stairs, a confused Bishop at her heels. There, in the foyer, were precisely who she didn’t want to see standing in the middle of the Greybeards’ home. 

Delphine and Esbern. 

The Thalmor were coming. The Blades were here. Ulfric Stormcloak was down the hall.

Nausea rolled in her stomach. She swallowed hard, her throat dry. Her attempts to keep the Blades and the Greybeards apart in the course of her destiny were in vain. Delphine would figure out how much she sympathized with the Greybeards’ philosophies over those of the Dragonguard that Delphine sought to restore, and Arngeir, Arngeir would learn of her red past as a Blade, and the Greybeards would banish her from High Hrothgar. The sanctuary at the top of the mountain would be lost. Paarthurnax’s guidance would be lost. She was going to be ill. She couldn’t afford to be. Akatosh.

Master Arngeir towered over Delphine, though he stood eye to eye with Esbern. For a peace-loving monk, he looked ready to toss the two Blades out on their rear ends—violently. “You were not invited here. You are not welcome here."

Delphine was dressed in Akaviri armor; prim and put together, she looked every inch the Knight-Sister. Conversely, Esbern was in warm wool, making no distinction toward his affiliation to the Blades. But his Thalmor dossier aside, his association with Delphine was enough. 

“We have every right to be here for this council,” Delphine said, glaring down her nose. Watching a small Breton glare down a venerable Nord was jarring enough to be funny if Leara weren’t agonizing over why they were here. “Actually,” she went on, “more so, since the Dragonborn is a member of the—”

Esbern, who was busy studying the architecture of the monastery, caught sight of Leara at the top of the stairs. “Ah, Elanor! There you are!”

It was like watching a train of merchant wagons piling up in the marketplace, unable to prevent the accident and unable to look away from the disaster. Master Arngeir’s frown turned to her, and Leara’s heart sank. 

She descended the stairs. “Good afternoon, Esbern, Delphine. How remarkable to find you here, seeing as I didn’t invite you.”

“An oversight on your part, right?” Delphine lifted an eyebrow, as pale and condescending as ever. “You look comfortable.”

Stopping short of standing by Master Arngeir, Leara was keenly aware of the room’s tension settling on her shoulders in a heavy shroud, all attention on her. “How are you here?”

“It’s no secret that you fought Alduin and lost,” Delphine sniffed. She cast a wary glance over Leara’s shoulder at Bishop, then, ignoring the darkening glare on Master Arngeir’s brow, she went on, “Just because we packed up and moved shop doesn’t mean I don’t still have my contacts. I’ve not been on the run this long making stupid decisions like completely cutting myself off.”

“Of course not,” Leara smiled, gritting her teeth. 

“I still have my contacts in Whiterun. You’re not as subtle as you think. I’ve known about this little council meeting for nearly a month.” Which meant as soon as Delphine found out, she was ready to make the trek to High Hrothgar. Wow. “We have just as much right as anyone else to be here, seeing as we’re the ones who helped you get this far in the first place, Elanor.”

Leara spluttered. Arngeir’s scowl deepened. “Is that so? The hubris of the Blades truly knows no bounds.”

“If it were up to you people, she would stay sitting here on your mountain all day with her head in the clouds!”

It was Bishop’s hand on Leara’s elbow that kept her from popping Delphine in the mouth. Absence, it seemed, made the heart grow fonder. Leara felt better about Delphine and the Blades’ contempt for the Greybeards when she wasn’t in the same Hold as her. 

“Delphine, please,” Esbern said, speaking for the first time. “We didn’t come here to debate the philosophies of Blade and Greybeard. Remember the issue at hand: Alduin must be reckoned with.” Then he turned to Master Arngeir, a tired look on his weathered face. “You called this council for that reason. You wouldn’t have done so otherwise. We have much information on Alduin and the crisis at hand.” There was a glimmer in his eyes. “You’ll need us here if you want the council to succeed.”

Despite this, Master Arngeir’s scowl did not relent. However, after a long moment, he bowed his head—shallow but acquiescence, nonetheless. “If this is how it must be, then so be it. You may attend the council.”

Esbern nodded his thanks, but Delphine only smirked. 

Leara wanted to scream, and they hadn’t even started the damn meeting yet. “If you’d please follow me—”

“Actually, Dragonborn, I would like a word,” Master Arngeir went on. He did not look at her. 

Oh. Her throat tight, Leara turned to Bishop, who, by some undeserved mercy from the Divines, had kept whatever snide comments he usually had to himself during the exchange with the Blades. “Escort Delphine and Esbern to the table.”

“Are you serious?” said Bishop. “Did we not just have the conversation about why I’m not getting involved with your little—”

“Bishop, please.”

He quieted. Then, casting her a shady look under pinched brows, jerked his head toward the stairs. “C’mon,” he told the Blades, “What her ladyship decrees.”

A harsh breath pushed through Leara’s nostrils as the Blades followed after a grumbling Bishop. As he passed, Esbern clasped her shoulder, but it did nothing to settle her nerves. Actually, Leara was feeling too much. She knew it. Too much was happening. She thought she could handle it, but . . .

No, she had to handle it. She would. It was fine. 

“When you told us that it was the Blades who showed you Dragonrend, I knew to worry about what other counsel you might take from them,” Master Arngeir said. He did not look at her; instead, his gaze was fixed on the tapestry above the entrance. Leara remained silent. “Their claim that they are responsible for you traveling the course of your destiny should be laughable.” Then he faced her, his eyes tired. “I have told you before how the Blades use the Dragonborn, but it seems you already know it.”

“Yes,” Leara said. She recalled the lessons, the stories. Watch for the Dragonborn. Protect the Dragonborn. Follow the Dragonborn.

“I did not fathom that the Dragonborn was a member of the Blades, and yet, all this time, that is who you are.”

Leara lifted her eyes, her shoulders set though they wanted to sag. “What do you want me to say, Master? That I should never have joined the Blades? That I regret the years of service I gave and the lessons I learned? That I renounce them?” And hadn’t she thought of it? If Delphine’s dismissal of Leara’s standing as a Knight-Sister wasn’t enough, the fact that she abandoned her post during the war was enough. She all but did renounce the Blades, for all her delusions on the contrary. 

Master Arngeir’s countenance was grim. “I would know that we can take you at your word, but now I see that we have reason to question, not only your means, then your intentions as well. We must take you for what you are, Dragonborn.”

“And what am I?”

“A charlatan.”

·•★•·

His thumb stilled on the goblet’s rim when she entered, followed by the Imperials.  

He stood at her entrance, Galmar following suit. His eyes met General Tullius’s over the Dragonborn, Leara’s shoulder, and his jaw tightened at the sight of the towering forms of the Thalmor ambassadors behind him. A smirk cut across Elenwen’s face, and Ulfric’s scowl deepened. So, they expected him to sit down and treat with the Thalmor today. 

They were wrong. 

In with Tullius and Elenwen came a host of others, a great number that drowned the small company Ulfric selected for his entourage. Ever present at the General’s side was Rikke, as fierce and hawkish as he remembered her. There was a storm in Rikke’s eyes that seemed determined to strike him across the room. After Rikke’s gale came the slight figure of Jarl Elisif, barricaded by her ever-present housecarl. The would-be queen was wide-eyed and still, almost as if being in High Hrothgar, in this room, drew her into her shell. Mousy, he thought. 

Two legionnaires trailed the group, a small blonde woman and a taller Nord with a dark mustache. They, like he and his men, were disarmed, their weapons likely in the antechamber with the Stormcloaks’. After them came two guards with the golden horse of Whiterun on their armor. Balgruuf came between them, apart from the Imperials, but clearly of their delegation. Even if he would not choose a side, Ulfric questioned whether Balgruuf could ever truly be persuaded from the safe path laid by the Empire. It was the type of safety that bore complacency from the familiar, refusing the call to action from conviction. Balgruuf knew what was right. Ulfric knew this. But Balgruuf would sooner turn to the familiar for the protection of his people rather than risk all for his convictions. This was the truth. 

And yet. And yet, for the sake of their old friendship, Ulfric hoped Balgruuf would find the courage to follow his convictions, to join the cause and free Skyrim from her bondage. That alone would carry more weight than any peace treaty that the Dragonborn thought she could orchestrate. 

After the delegation came Master Arngeir and the other Greybeards. Not for the first time, Ulfric wondered why they agreed to host the war leaders in their monastery. High Hrothgar, always remembered as a bastion of peace, was now the host to warriors and their opposing views. How Leara convinced the Greybeards to open their doors to this council, even to discuss the dragon threat, Ulfric didn’t know. But no, one glance at Master Arngeir’s face showed a lingering shadow in clear eyes. Arngeir, at least, was not happy about this turn of events. 

At once, Leara returned to the pot of spiced mead and prepared the tray. Ulfric only caught a glimpse of her pale eyes as she passed in a swirl of blue. 

“Take your seats, and we can begin,” said Master Arngeir, sitting himself at the head of the table. Off to the right, Delphine huffed. “Now that everyone is here, the Dragonborn will serve the mead. We offer this in goodwill, in the hope that everyone has come here in the spirit of—”

As he spoke, Elenwen sat down at the table. Ulfric, on the cusp of sitting back down himself, stiffened to his full height. 

“No, we will not sit at the same table as that woman!” he said, forceful. “You insult us by bringing her here as if you expect us to just accept the presence of your chief Talos hunter!”

Legate Rikke scoffed. “Here we go.”

Galmar growled, eliciting an eye roll from Balgruuf. Elisif sighed. 

“Now, Ulfric, I have every right to be here,” Elenwen said, poised like a serpent on the edge of her chair. “It is in the best interest of every party for a representative of the Aldmeri Dominion to ensure that the terms of the White-Gold Concordat are upheld. Particularly given the history of certain local governments in disregarding those terms as they see fit. Such a breach of treaty is a reason enough to be concerned, wouldn’t you agree, Miss Ormand?” 

The air stilled, cooling. “Yes, Mistr—Madame Ambassador, perhaps.”

Then the room warmed again, but a chill ran up his spine.

Her head bowed, Leara returned to his field of vision, her tray laden. In silence, she served the mead. 

“Look here, Ulfric,” Tullius said, pointing his hand. “You cannot dictate who I bring as part of my delegation. If you can’t accept that, then there’s no point in us going any further.”

Ulfric gritted his teeth. Beside Rikke, the Dragonborn stilled. Across the table, he saw her purse her lips. Elisif took a goblet, and Leara moved on.

“If we must negotiate the terms of the negotiations, then we will never get anywhere,” Arngeir said. There was a rumble in his voice. “Perhaps this is a matter best addressed by the Dragonborn.” 

Standing between Balgruuf and the Thalmor, Leara’s cold eyes flicked from Tullius to Ulfric and back. “I believe—”

The nerve of those Imperial bastards, Ulfric brooded.  

“As Ambassador Elenwen said, we are discussing matters that may encroach on the terms of the White-Gold Concordat. It is to the benefit of all that we respect the existing treaties so that we can work out an agreement that works for everyone.”

And here was the Dragonborn, with her half-answers and line-walking. The chill curled around his spine again, sharper. He did not expect this, not from her. But what does he really know of her? “Either she walks, or we do,” he declared. “If you think I will sit at the same table as that Thalmor bitch—"

Leara’s chin was defiant. “You misunderstand me, Jarl Ulfric. It is imperative that we observe the existing treaties, but I don’t think we need the Dominion to hold our hand to do so.” She turned to Elenwen, who was within arm’s reach of her. Behind Elenwen’s chair, another golden-haired Altmer woman stood, her statue’s face unable to conceal the heat as she stared down the Dragonborn. Leara merely smiled. “If you’ll pardon us, Madame Ambassador, your presence may do more harm than good here. Please, excuse us.”

Elenwen stood. She was taller and darker than the Dragonborn, Ulfric noticed. He had never used magic himself, but there was something in the air that left an electric film on the back of his throat. He wondered if anyone else could feel it. 

“Very well, Miss Ormand, you may conduct this meeting as you see fit.” Elenwen’s eyes cut to Ulfric. “Enjoy your petty victory, Ulfric, as long as your Dragonborn is here to win the battles for you. The Dominion will treat with whatever government rules Skyrim. We would not dream of interfering in your civil war.” Turning on her heel, she beckoned her lackey. “Come, Hindalia,”

Tearing her glare from Leara, the other Altmer followed her mistress. 

“Run away!” cried Galmar, slamming his fist on the table. His goblet wobbled. “We’re not as easily culled as your Imperial pets! Skyrim will never bow to the Thalmor!”

Rikke charged to her feet. “You’re lucky I respect the Greybeards’ council, Galmar, or I’d—"

“Legate!” Tullius’s hard snap cut her off. “We’re representatives of the Emperor here! Act like it!”

Her dark scowl carved a harsh line across her face, but Rikke obeyed like the good legate she was. “Sorry, sir.”

Leara placed a new goblet in front of him, removing the old one. She did the same for Galmar. 

Arngeir cleared his throat. Despite the Thalmors’ exit, the tension in the room was heavy. “Now that that is settled, may we proceed?” 

Ulfric cleared his throat. “I have something to say first.” 

“Are you serious?” muttered Rikke. 

“I agreed to attend this council to come to an agreement about this dragon menace. That is it. Beyond that, we have no interest in negotiating with the Empire over any terms.” After all, hadn’t the Empire denied them in the past? Turnabout was fair play. “I consider even talking to the Empire a generous gesture on our part. It’s only a matter of time before they’re driven out of Skyrim.”

“Are you done? Or did you want to continue dictating from your soap box?” Tullius asked, eyebrow raised.

Galmar bristled. He moved to speak, but Ulfric held up a hand. “Fine, let’s get on with it.” 

On the other side of Galmar, Leara sat in the empty chair. Intention lit up her face, but there was a shadow lurking there, under the blue. She watched them. 

Master Arngeir stood. “Good. General Tullius, Jarl Ulfric, this council is unprecedented in nature. Never before has High Hrothgar opened its doors to mediate a war, yet we stand here now at the Dragonborn’s request. I would ask that you respect the spirit of High Hrothgar and its history of peace and benevolence. Your being here brings the hope that we can find a lasting peace for the good of all Skyrim. Dragonborn?”

“Yes, thank you, Master Arngeir. Jarls, Generals, Legate,” she nodded to Rikke, “I have asked you here to discuss the present dragon crisis. The Greybeards have been generous enough to open their halls to us, allowing us a neutral meeting ground where we might discuss terms for a truce that would allow for a swift handling of the dragons’ threat.” Perched in her chair, Leara leaned forward as she spoke, straight-backed and still. “Jarl Balgruuf has agreed to allow me to use his palace Dragonsreach to capture a dragon, but it is imperative that we first reach an agreement that protects the people of Whiterun in such a delicate situation.”

Capturing a dragon! So, that was her plan. Ulfric wasn’t sure what to make of it. When he agreed to the council, he knew it was an opportunity to confront Tullius without a battle’s bloodshed, but even when the Dragonborn insisted this circus was necessary to defeat the World-Eater, Ulfric never expected her solution was to capture a live dragon! Did she hope to ensnare the World-Eater himself, or was this dragon a rung in the ladder as she ascended toward the top? What did she hope to gain from capturing a dragon, information, allies? Ulfric sat back in his chair, lost in thought.

Around the table, the other reactions varied. Balgruuf, knowing Leara’s plans from the start, simply stared ahead, determined. Galmar, however, and Rikke too, it seemed, were more affected: Galmar’s loud splutter over choked mead nearly drowned out the Legate’s heated swear. Her General, it seemed, didn’t quite catch the ramifications of such a declaration. This was to be expected. Ulfric didn’t imagine an Imperial like Tullius would realize the meaning behind holding a dragon in Dragonsreach, much less comprehending the threat of the World-Eater himself! But it was Elisif’s reaction that caught Ulfric’s attention. Her hands pressed to her mouth, the Jarl of Solitude was wide-eyed and speechless. 

Good, Ulfric thought. Perhaps with the legend of Olaf One-Eye brought into the modern age, she might learn a new respect for Nordic history and tradition. Somehow, though, he doubted it. 

Delphine’s near-silent “Damnit” against the whispering of the guardsmen pricked at the edge of his attention. When the Blade appeared in the doorway, clad in her Order’s armor and shadowed by the old man, Ulfric hadn’t known what to make of it. Hers was a face he’d never expected to see again, and yet here she was at the Dragonborn’s peace council. He half-wondered why she was here. 

After the initial reaction, Leara continued, “In light of this, I would ask that the members of the council look beyond things such as territory and resources in order to help ensure the dragons are dealt with swiftly. Thank you.”

“Yes,” Arngeir nodded. “Now, let us open the floor. Who would like to start the negotiations?”

The muscle worked in Ulfric’s jaw. Until now, he fully intended to open his position by demanding Markarth be handed into Stormcloak hands. Still—

Tullius held up his hand. “Our terms are simple: Riften must be returned to Imperial control. That is our price for agreeing to a truce.”

Elisif’s eyes darted to the General, wide, then, finding Ulfric’s gaze, they hardened. Her mouth thinned.  

“By Talos, he’s got stones!” gristled Galmar. “You’re in no position to dictate terms to us, Tullius! If you think we’ll turn Riften over just because you barked an order, then you overstep yourself!”

Crossing his arms, Ulfric leveled a look at the Imperials. “That is quite the opening demand. Tullius.” One he was loath to meet. 

Galmar’s scowl was fierce. “Ulfric! Don’t say you’re considering accepting this demand! It’s outrageous! We can hold Riften against these milkdrinkers, and Jarl Laila—”

He could see Rikke bristling. For all that he appreciated Galmar’s gumption and tenacity, it could easily lead them into trouble. Ulfric was no fool: He knew good and well that there was little stopping Tullius from making another attempt to capture him on the road from High Hrothgar. It was only the respect held by Skyrim’s people for the Greybeards that stayed the General’s hand. But respect could only be stretched so far before it snapped with tension. Ulfric’s men were outnumbered here. Their cards needed to be handled with care.

 Ulfric held out his hand. “Peace, Galmar. We’ll do whatever I find to be in the best interest of Skyrim, understood?”

Still glowering at the Imperials, Galmar nodded, “Yes, my lord.”

“Come on, Tullius, do you really expect us to simply hand over Riften? Just like that?” A wry smile tugged at Ulfric’s mouth. “Because your legion has failed to take it by force, do you think we’ll surrender our hold if you ask instead?”

“I’m sure that General Tullius does not expect something without discussing a price,” Arngeir said, voice hard and peaceable all at once. 

In the corner of his eye, Ulfric saw Leara cross her hands. Her face was closed. 

“Of course he doesn’t!” Galmar barreled on ahead. “What are you willing to pay for Riften, Tullius? Empty promises and more Imperial bluster?”

“That’s enough, Galmar.”

“Jarl Ulfric, in exchange for the Rift, what would you want in return?” asked Arngeir.

Now, since they were asking. “First, let me be clear: The sons of Skyrim have learned from bitter experience that talking to the Empire is a waste of time. Their promises are always punctuated with a sword and a shackle.” The memory of the betrayal at the Markarth gates still gnawed at him decades later. “However, I accepted the Dragonborn’s invitation to this council, and so, whatever the Empire does, I will negotiate in good faith.” Galmar nodded his agreement. 

Turning to the Dragonborn, Ulfric found himself met with a cold blue stare. Unlike a month ago in the Windhelm jail, when she would no longer look him in the eye, she met him head-on. But there was an edge to the ice that he hadn’t seen before in their previous encounters. If he weren’t so preoccupied, he might have wondered if it had anything to do with that fleabag, Bitchup, or whatever his name was. He would have wondered if the man was still hounding Leara. He may even have spared half a thought toward the woman’s dog. But they were fleeting curiosities. This truce and its potential ramifications dominated his attention, and he couldn’t spare much more from that. 

“Well, Dragonborn, this is your peace council, right? Tell us, what do you think the Rift is worth?” he asked.

Tilting her head, Leara regarded him from the end of the table. “The Rift has its own advantages that would be hard to match from another Hold,” she said. “If you were to trade Riften for, say, the Reach, that would split the holdings and scatter both sides across the map. No matter how you cut up the map, problems rise up.”

“This whole Civil War is a problem, Leara, or have you forgotten?” Tullius asked. 

Leara’s lips thinned. “I am keenly aware of what’s at stake here, General, but I don’t consider tossing Holds back and forth like some kind of game to be a productive use of our time here. The Stormcloaks cannot surrender the Rift.”

“You’ve disappointed me,” Tullius grumbled, brows drawn low. “I agreed to attend this council based on your good name, but it seems you’re determined to favor Ulfric at every turn!”

“You’re mistaken, I do not—”

“Markarth is our price,” Ulfric stated, coming to a decision. He did not want to give up the Rift. That would put the Empire right on his southern flank. But if he could gain the Reach from it, the silver mines and its proximity to Solitude would soften the blow. And who’s to say they couldn’t retake Riften in the coming months? His soldiers knew Riften and its advantages better than Tullius could ever hope to! The sons of Skyrim would shatter the Imperials in a siege. Of this, Ulfric was certain. 

“Are you serious?” Elisif said, speaking up for the first time. “This, both of you—you disrespect the Greybeards and the Dragonborn by using this council as a means to advance your war engines! We are here to negotiate a truce, not draw new battlelines!”

“Jarl Elisif!” barked Tullius. “Let me handle this!”

“But General!” the woman persisted. “These demands are outrageous! Did none of you hear what the Dragonborn said?” 

“Jarl Elisif—”

“I can’t believe this,” Balgruuf said, half-rising from his chair. “This is how the Empire repays us for our loyalty? By trading us like playing cards?” Ulfric moved to speak, but Balgruuf jabbed a ringed finger at him. “And don’t you start on how your cause is any better! That’s a load of sheep’s dung! You came here intending to barter for Markarth, consequences be damned!”

Ulfric ground his jaw.

“General Tullius!” cried Elisif, refusing to back down. Over her shoulder, her housecarl lurked in threat. “You don’t intend to go through with this! You can’t trade Markarth for Riften! Not to that, that traitor!” Well, the girl had guts, Ulfric could give her that. If only she’d found them before. 

“Enough!” Tullius snapped, rubbing his temples. “That’s enough!”

“What’ll it be, Tullius?” demanded Ulfric. “Markarth for Riften? Or is that too steep a price for your vanity?”

Galmar huffed.

“Don’t try me, Ulfric! The day is coming when I’ll have you back under the headsman’s axe, and there will be no dragons there to save you!”

With a shout, Galmar shot to his feet. “I’d like to see you try, leech!” 

“That’s IT!” Rikke was out of her seat. “Keep your tongue, Galmar Stone-Fist, or I will take it from you!” 

Noise sprang up around the room. Ulfric was on his feet. The cries of his men and the legionnaires joined in a maelstrom of sound, drowning Galmar’s shouts and Rikke’s threats. Balgruuf was on his feet, but Ulfric couldn’t understand what he was saying, though the red in his cheeks hinted at his explosive anger. Elisif’s housecarl had a hand on the back of her chair; his Jarl pressed backward as Tullius leaped up beside her. 

“Never trust an Imperial!”

“Have you heard nothing—?”

“—will not stand by while you—"

“Damn faithless—"

“Oh, I should’ve expected this!”

“—nothing left to say to—”

“We will WALK!”

“This is a farce!”

“How dare you—”

“By Talos!” Delphine swore, “Can you hear yourselves?” She was drowned out. 

“This is no negotiation at all!” yelled Tullius, voice loud above the din. 

“You’re losing the war, and you know it!” Ulfric retaliated. His fingers itched for his sword. 

“How many lives must be spent before you see the cost of this war?” Elisif cried out, rising to her feet. Her housecarl hovered nearby like a mother hen.

Galmar’s snarls filled Ulfric’s ear.

“You always were a fool, Ulfric!” Rikke’s voice went shrill.

“The Empire’s pretty words are worthless!” 

“Says the speechmaker!”

“Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth!”

“QUIET!”

A thrill of chilled air curled through the chamber, dowsing the storm of voices in cold silence. Ulfric turned, words caught in his throat, to see Leara at the foot of the table. He was alarmed to see frost creeping along the tabletop from where she’d braced her palms against the stone. A lock of hair curled from the braided bun at the base of her neck, as frozen still as the rigid set to her thin shoulders. He caught her eye, then, as she stared down everyone at the table. The guards behind him shifted in discomfort, and Ulfric couldn’t say he wasn’t unsettled himself. It was like looking into the Sea of Ghosts in the dead of winter: Desolately cold and inhospitable. The caress of frost from her glare was as bitter as the icy mists of the northern waters. 

“Be quiet,” she said again, tone level. Power hummed in her voice, even at a lowered volume. “Please. You’re acting like children.”

Arngeir let out a weary sigh, his hand over his eyes. Guilt and embarrassment niggled at Ulfric at the sight. Despite his leaving the Way of the Voice and his future as a Greybeard to fight in the Great War, he still held the utmost respect for Master Arngeir. It was not lost on Ulfric that he’d spent more time with the elder Greybeard than he had with his own father during his childhood. 

Clinching his fist, he held his tongue, but he stood his ground.

“Is this what passes for diplomacy in Skyrim?” Leara sniffed. “I expected better.”

Ulfric rounded on her because, Ysmir’s beard, she wasn’t helping, despite Tullius’s assertions, but then the old man beside Delphine stood. There was a shift in Leara’s posture then, almost imperceptible as she drew back from the table. Her hands fell to her sides, drawing the frost away with them. Ulfric turned away. 

The man tugged at his wool scarf, sorrow written in the lines of his face. “You are all so consumed by your hubris that you are blinded to the real and present danger! What do wars and territories matter when the doom of creation hangs by a thread? Nothing!” 

“Is he with you, Delphine?” Ulfric asked, crossing his arms. “If so, I’d advise you to tell him to watch his tongue.”

Short though she was, Delphine forced forward an imposing figure in her armor. “He is with me, and I would advise all of you to shut up and listen to what he has to say before this gets any more out of hand.”

Across the table, Tullius rolled his eyes. 

Squaring his shoulders, Delphine’s friend stepped closer to the table. He was tall. Ulfric imagined he’d been taller before age set into his bones, but there was a spark of wit about him that pushed back the years. Long ago, Ulfric recalled learning that the Blades Order consisted of more than just knights and warriors. Throughout their vast network were spies, scholars, and scouts, among other things. Although the Empire dismantled the Blades after the war, leaving them to be picked off by the Dominion’s hunters, the infamous Order’s operatives were no strangers to hiding. Or so the stories told. But looking at Delphine and her companion, Ulfric wondered how many Blades really evaded the Thalmor. He hoped more were as successful as Delphine and the old man seemed to be. 

“Don’t you understand why the Dragonborn must capture a dragon? Don’t you understand the reason why the dragons are such a threat to us?” the old Blade said. “Alduin the World-Eater has returned! He is here, now, at this hour, and he devours the souls of the dead, of your fallen comrades! Every life lost in this pointless conflict only adds to Alduin’s power. If it goes on, his strength may become unmatched.” The Blade’s focus centered beyond Ulfric, and he knew the man was watching the Dragonborn. The woman who had offered hope. “Can you not, just for a moment, set aside your anger and hatred in the face of this mortal danger?” 

Isn’t that what the Dragonborn asked when she met with him in his war room? And he agreed to come, didn’t he? He knew what the dragon threat meant—Leara told him then, and since Ulfric found himself dwelling on it when his mind should be on the movements of his troops and the planned attack on Fort Snowhawk. Yet field reports and casualty lists struggled to hold his attention when contending with the World-Eater’s shadow. Every soul in Sovngarde fed the World-Eater’s strength; whether it came from an Imperial or a Stormcloak, every child of Skyrim whose spirit sought the solace of Shor’s Halls was lost to the black dragon’s maw. 

It was sickening. 

“I don’t know about the end of the world,” Tullius began slowly. He rubbed his chin in thought. “But these dragons are getting to be more than the Legion can handle. If this truce can help the Dragonborn eradicate this menace, then we all benefit.” Lifting his gaze, Tullius sent Ulfric a hard glare. “It would do you well to remember that, Ulfric.”

“If he’s right about Alduin,” and Ulfric was sure the old Blade was, “we each have just as much to lose as the other. Remember that, Tullius. Now,” his hand on the back of his chair, Ulfric sat back down. “Back to the matter at hand—”

“I would like to call a recess.”

Almost as one, Ulfric and Tullius turned toward the Dragonborn. Leara was sitting back in her seat, prim yet for her drawn face and the still-frozen curl. Her gaze glossed by his to meet Master Arngeir’s. 

“I think a break might benefit us all,” she continued, straightening. 

Master Arngeir nodded, slow and tired. Ulfric could see the exhaustion creeping across the elder’s face. This council was wearing on him. Part of Ulfric regretted that. Another part wished to have things over with so that he could return to the Palace of the Kings and plot his next course of action during the intermittent peace. “We will adjourn,” Master Arngeir said. “The council will reconvene in an hour’s time. When we do, may cooler heads prevail.”

This time, the scraping of chairs was loud against the silence. Properly chastised, the council members stood. No doubt, each would go off into their corner to discuss new terms and unravel the reasoning of the Blades and the Greybeards. 

And the Dragonborn, Ulfric thought, watching her disappear through the doors in a swirl of blue skirts.

Ulfric didn’t understand her at all.

·•★•·

The echoes of the fight rang through her head as she darted down the hall, away from the meeting hall and the crowd gathered there. She needed a minute. She needed water. She needed sleep. She needed, she needed to breathe. 

Bursting out one of the side doors, she entered the courtyard. The sun glittered off the surrounding snowbanks, lighting the area a brilliant white. It was perhaps a little warmer than it had been during the night, but Leara didn’t pay any attention.  She fled toward the overlook near the edge of High Hrothgar’s mountain shelf to a half-moon of stone benches facing out toward the Whiterun Plains below. She collapsed on the middle bench, half laying, half reclining on the cold stone. With a shaking breath, she pressed her forehead into her arms.

Elenwen, Elenwen was here. And so were Delphine and Esbern. 

And the peace talks!

Arngeir thought she was a liar. 

Leara’s chest constricted. She forced icy air into her lungs. Her hip ached where it dug into the bench. 

What in Akatosh’s holy name were they doing? What just happened? As soon as she gave either man the floor, Tullius and Ulfric made grabs for the other’s land. What they could not take by force in battle seemed like fair game at the negotiating table. But didn’t she tell them this wasn’t that kind of negotiation? They were here for the good of all Skyrim—all Tamriel, and yet they used their compliance as a shield to guard their true purpose: They both sought power over the other. 

That’s the way of war, Leara reminded herself. Just or unjust, to show weakness to the other side was a risk most didn’t recover from. Was leaving Whiterun alone a weakness? She didn’t think so. She knew Balgruuf agreed with her. Whiterun’s safety when Leara captured the dragon was his utmost concern. But how far would Balgruuf go to ensure Whiterun’s safety and neutrality? Further than she would, Leara mused darkly. She wasn’t willing to appease egos just for her own benefit. Balgruuf, loath as he might be to surrender to either side, would make concessions if it was for the wellbeing of his people. But Leara couldn’t choose the people of Whiterun over the rest of Skyrim. She didn’t have that luxury. She needed an agreement that took care of everyone, or if not that, at least one that didn’t put them into a worse position than they were already in. Trading Markarth for the Rift was not the answer.

Hard nails bit into her palms as she squeezed her fingers into fists. No, she and Balgruuf might have a similar goal, but even he wasn’t on her side. He didn’t owe it to her to be. Neither did Tullius. Certainly Ulfric didn’t. 

We must take you for what you are.

A charlatan.

A dry sob seized her ribs in a vice. After today, she wouldn’t have the Greybeards either. Despite everything she’d done to follow their teachings, her past as a Blade won out. Arngeir no longer trusted her. Oh, he put on a good show for the negotiations, but there was a weary shadow over his shoulders. She knew what he wasn’t saying. She was a monster—

Not even Delphine and Esbern could be counted to side with her. Delphine never made her distrust of Leara a secret, and Esbern’s proximity to the other Knight-Sister cast his friendship in doubt. She missed Cloud Ruler Temple. She couldn’t trust the Blades. 

There was no one’s side for her to be on, because no one was on her side.

“Akatosh, don’t let me be alone,” the sob broke from her throat, rocking her body in its wake. “Don’t let me be alone!”

“Oh, but my pet, you are alone.”

Leara stilled, her muscles tensing. She didn’t dare raise her head from the nest of her arms.

The whisper of boots on stone was her only warning before a familiar hand trailed long fingers through her hair to the coiled bun. The nails dug into the back of Leara’s skull, drawing out a gentle pain. Leara inhaled, breath catching in her throat. The hand left her skull for her neck, trailing lightning to her shoulder. Her nerves burned. 

“What do you want, Elenwen?” whispered Leara, holding herself still. She could not defend herself. She couldn’t even move from the fear freezing her blood. 

But she could still hear the smirk in Elenwen’s voice. “Is it too much to believe I might wish to speak to a very old friend?” 

Her fists tightened. “We are not friends.”

“Oh, but weren’t we?” Then Leara was wrenched into a sitting position, Elenwen’s thin arms disguising the strength in her hold. Leara was pulled up to face her and found herself powerless to stop it. But that’s how it always was. 

When Elenwen and her newest protégé had swept into the foyer behind General Tullius and Jarl Balgruuf, effectively ending Leara and Arngeir’s conversation, an iron corset had laced itself over Leara’s lungs, pulling her inward and stealing her breath. The haunted memory of the Aldmere’Loren weaving its darkling shroud over the ballroom at the Blue Palace asserted itself, drawing with it the sight of hundreds of devastated faces, each wrecked with emotion too deep for mortal hearts to comprehend. The image shadowed Leara’s gaze as she greeted the Imperial delegation, spine stiff, face frozen. Night terrors full of cooing whispers and crackling electricity threatened to take her in the light of day as she led the group to the meeting hall. The entire time, Leara could feel the pinprick of lightning on her skin, a shadow and a threat, ever real, never sleeping. Elenwen knew, and what was more, the Ambassador had told her companion. One needed only to meet the younger Altmer’s burning glare to know this. 

Yes, Mistress.

Where Leara found the strength to deny Elenwen’s attendance to the council, she wasn’t sure. But if she took nothing else from him, she could thank Ulfric’s adamance that the Thalmor be denied presence. And he had every right to do so. How could any of them fathom what Elenwen had done to him during the war?

What Leara did to him.

She shuddered. 

The golden iron of Elenwen’s grip held Leara’s wrist in a snare. “Considering all the years we spent together, I had hoped you would think differently.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, but don’t you, Vilya?”

Leara twisted back, tugging at her wrist, but Elenwen’s grip remained firm. The other hand came to catch her chin. Again, Leara threw herself back, but Elenwen was firm. Then her thumb and forefinger cradled Leara’s chin as the other fingers, long and biting, splayed across the side of Leara’s neck. She could feel her pulse drum against the steal hold. 

“Don’t be a brat, Vilya. You know how I hate your childishness.” 

The fingers tightened, pressing into her windpipe. “Yes, Mistress.”

“Good girl.” The hand did not relent. No, instead, Elenwen leaned closer still, lips so close to Leara’s ear that she could feel the cool breath brush her skin. A shiver ran down her neck and into her chest. The corset tightened. “This is how it is going to be. Your little charade is over. This defiant streak you’ve fostered will be pruned. Perhaps you believe you’ve been clever in your evasion of the Aldmeri Dominion, but no one can run forever, not the Blades, and certainly not you, my pet. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Elenwen regarded her with green-gold eyes, as bright and acidic as any ripening citrus fruit. Unbidden, a memory of someone in her class comparing Elenwen’s eyes to Lady Finduilas’s citrus orchard rose up. Their glower was just as sour. “The only reason you will walk out of here alive,” Elenwen said softly, poisonous, “is because intelligence reports you are the only one capable of ending this little dragon crisis. Certainly, those fools you’ve invited to this mockery of diplomacy seem to think so. Once it is resolved, expect to be visited by a Justiciar force. Resistance is futile.”

Leara tried to swallow, only to gag against the collar of flesh around her neck. 

“I don’t know how a half-breed such as you managed to infiltrate the ranks of the Thalmor and ascend to such a high position,” Elenwen continued, low in Leara’s ear, “but believe me, we will find out. When we take you, you will beg for death before the end. We will unmake you, and when at last you die, you will not know your own name, Vilya, or any other.”

The mechanical “Yes, Mistress” clawed its way up Leara’s throat, but she fought it down. She fought Alduin—and lost—but she survived the first encounter. She wouldn’t, couldn’t, shouldn’t let Elenwen leave here believing she had the upper hand. Again. Leara tricked the Ambassador for years, back when she was not nearly as important as she was now, and hadn’t Leara done it again just months ago at the Embassy party? She was a Blade first, and hiding was in her nature. 

You are the one who revealed yourself to the Dominion, you bloody bimbo.

Wasn’t she? The pieces didn’t all fit within her mind, but then, Elenwen’s intelligence network was more than Leara could keep up with amid the dragon crisis. The Thalmor had agents hunting her for months. Every move she made was chronicled by their eagle-eyed spies. And she’d made some bad moves, her encounter with the wizard Ancano, for one, and the performance in Solitude, for another. And then she answered to Vilya. Yes, Leara passed the point of deniability long ago. It seemed Elenwen anticipated that, or else she wouldn’t have touched her. She knew Leara for what she was. 

Hopefully, hopefully, Leara could pull the wool back over her eyes when she came for her. Or, if not, daze the Thalmor enough so that Leara could once again escape their grasp. 

The defiance strangled the old compliance. “Surely you realize I will go to someone and tell them what you’ve said. You’ve promised me death. I don’t think the Nords will take kindly to their Dragonborn being threatened by the Thalmor.”

But Elenwen only smiled, flashing pearly teeth in a predatory gleam. “Who would you run to? After all, you said it yourself: You’re alone. Tullius is mine, and Ulfric won’t help you once he realizes what you are. Sooner or later, the Jarl of Whiterun will ow to one of them, and you’ll have nowhere to turn. Not even the old men want you here.” Her thumb stroked along Leara’s jaw. “I do hope you’re not counting on that little ranger of yours. He will soon flee than fight for you.”

Tears bit at the corners of Leara’s eyes, icy as they wound down the side of her face. Cooing, Elenwen released her wrist and brushed them away. “Now, now, my pet, don’t cry. You knew this was inevitable the moment you crossed the Dominion. Perhaps if you hadn’t left, I’d have kept your secret. After all, you always were my most promising instrument.” 

Then Elenwen drew Leara forward and placed a kiss on her forehead. It was dry and hard, just as it always was. Her thumb brushed the lingering tears on Leara’s still face, and then she stood. The sudden cold was a relief from the intensity of Elenwen’s proximity, but still, Leara couldn’t breathe. She would relearn to breathe soon, but for now, she was still choking on the doom in her chest. The bands of iron did not release her lungs. 

“Compose yourself quickly, my pet,” Elenwen sang, saccharine. “Didn’t I teach you not to fall apart outside closed doors?” Her laughter was light and high. “Don’t fret. I will see you again before we leave High Hrothgar. And after that,” her eyes softened, but not truly. It was a false gentleness. Infantilizing and demeaning. “It won’t be long until I have you again.”

Like that, Elenwen was gone, leaving Leara in a huddle of gooseflesh covered by too-thin clothes. Her hair was a mess, but she couldn’t bring herself to care anymore. The iron corset encasing her lungs was freezing over, binding hard around her. Was this what others felt when she cast the Frozen Façade over them? Her fingers jerked, painful as they unwound from the tight fists, but nothing happened. Not even her magic could banish the feeling. Feim. Zii. 

Pressing both palms over her heart, Leara pushed against them, panting. Air trickled into her lungs, painful against the force Elenwen exerted on her throat. Just enough not to leave a bruise but enough that Leara wouldn’t forget the touch too quickly. She kept panting, and soon, her lungs were working against the fear strangling her. Feim. Zii. 

Once she felt she could breathe, Leara wavered to her feet. Her mind reeled at what Elenwen had said. The Thalmor weren’t just coming for her. They were going to kill her, and now there was no doubt. And there was no one to help her. No one.

She was alone. 

But hadn’t she always been? It was foolish for her to ever think otherwise. 

Yet that never stopped her from surviving, did it? She had until she faced Alduin to decide how best to evade Elenwen’s agents. But such a decision hinged on Leara’s surviving the battle in Sovngarde in the first place. More and more, she was starting to think that it may be best for her to die facing Alduin, so long as she took him down with her. Perhaps it wasn’t a matter of surviving indefinitely but surviving until she faced Alduin for the final time. 

Because that was her destiny, wasn’t it? She was Dragonborn. By the grace of Akatosh, she was born to face the World-Eater in this twilight hour. Everything before that a stepping stone needed to reach that point. 

Dashing the remnants of half-frozen tears from her face, Leara turned back toward High Hrothgar. And then, the fine hairs at the back of her neck prickled as if there were eyes still on her. Eyes that never left her. Lifting her skirts, she hurried back toward one of the side doors, the closest to her bedroom. 

But even in the shadow of the monastery, the eyes never left her. 

[agentisclickbait]

a grimwalker and a pseudo titan walk into a cafeteria.........(long post featuring my terrible grammar!!)

CALYPSO, a rebellious grimwalker apart of a metal/rock band. he was created by Terra Snapdragon, as a 'failsafe'. Even with her loyalty to Belos, her superiority complex decided to take a page out of his book...though, even for a plant coven head, she fucked up the recipe. at first, he was obedient and complacent, but it eventually decided to rebel, running away from Terra and hiding since. he's certainly been around, from group to group, even trying to join the CATS...but settled on a band, and found a love for drumming. he even found a 'family' there.

notes: I've gotta work on his monster (?) form, as I'm kinda iffy on it. love my boy, I don't know if he'd get along w hunter,,,

FLEUR, a pseudo titan with a passion for cheerleading! coming from the nearly off-the-maps island named The Harp, titans there began to evolve, as they didn't have many superior predators (like the titan trappers and archivists). losing most of their blood's potent magical properties, and ending up with normal witch/demon powers (for the most part). they aren't very well documented. she moved to the Boiling Isles recently, and enlisted in Hexside.

notes: MY GAL !!!! um the harp is a made up island I made, where the island is just like...a head/ribcage w/ loads of land. stuck 'in its wild magic ways' as people say.

is this just belos and the titan but healthy? mabye. (....sidenote yall like toxic yaoi until its toxic....cough anyway)