#it was odd to ride without a saddle and stirrups i think the last time i used this sort of gear i must have been 7 at most

[feytouched]

🤍🤍🤍

[tamagoincident]

To Lure a Bird

arthur morgan x reader

summary: The Van der Linde Gang plans to rob a train, too bad you hit it first. You, being the reasonable person you are, coerce rough-looking men to run a job with you in exchange for the stolen money, and everyone gets more than they bargained for.

chapter: 1/10

link: AO3

Chapter One - A Mutual Enemy

On the evening you first heard of the Van der Linde Gang’s presence in Valentine, you stood at the bar of Smithfield's Saloon disguised in men’s clothing. Not a typical Friday for you, as you tried not to make it a habit of sticking around places where reckless men became more reckless the further they disappeared into their cups. But years ago you’d helped the bartender, a giant man named Ernest, drum up enough money to pay off his debtors, and he held you in the highest of regards ever since. It was the only place you could drink without being disturbed. Ernest made sure of that.

“What’ll it be, the usual?” he winked at you, his large hands already reaching toward the whiskey.

You smiled and nodded.

“I have information you might want to hear,” he continued, pouring the liquor into a glass and sliding it towards you. You caught it easily.

“Oh?”

“There was a young lady here last night. Overheard her talkin’ to some fancy pants New Yorker who kept braggin’ ‘bout the luxury train he’ll be taking back to the North. She seemed awfully intrigued,” Ernest said. “And get this, it weren’t the only instance I’d seen her, neither. Few days ago she’d been traipsin’ around the outskirts of Valentine with a bunch of scary lookin’ out-of-towners.”

“Figure they’re planning on robbing the train?”

Ernest shrugged. “It’s easy pickin’. You know how naïve high society can be.”

Maybe easy enough for a one-person job, if done quickly and with care. You’d only robbed a train once with two people you used to run with. You didn’t run with them anymore. It hurt you to think of it.

You held up your glass for a refill and leaned forward, brimming with interest. “Tell me more about this train.”

—

The train tracks rattled underneath Arthur’s feet.

“Get movin’,” he said to Sean, pointing towards the trees hidden in the darkness. Arthur climbed atop the wagon they’d rode in on and placed in the middle of the tracks, which bore five hundred gallons of oil. He widened his stance for balance and pulled a bandana over his mouth and nose. “Here she comes.”

Arthur squinted against the blinding brightness of the incoming headlight, cocking his rifle as it approached. The train’s horn bellowed into the night.

It saw him. Good.

It came to a hissing and screeching halt. A uniformed man stormed out from the front cab. “What's goin' on here? What's—aw hell,” the engineer wailed, kicking the dirt underneath his feet. “Not again! Gettin’ real tired of this shit.” Behind him, a shadow of blurred movement. Charles, ready to strike him unconscious.

Arthur jumped off the wagon. “Hold it!” he yelled to Charles, who paused his assault and instead restrained the man with a pistol aimed at his head. “What d’you mean, ‘Not again?’”

“If y’all are trying to rob us, we’ve already been hit,” he wheezed.

“You’re bluffin’.”

“You and your boys are more than welcome to board and check. Reckon it’s a waste of time though.”

Arthur swore. “Let him go, Mr. S.”

Charles let go. The engineer stumbled forward, sputtering and coughing. In between heavy breaths he said, “Happened near the Heartlands. Strange feller in a mask robbed us blind and then pointed a shotgun at me, gruntin’ at me to start the engine or he’ll call for his gang to kill everyone on board.”

“Why in God’s name would he do that?” Arthur said.

“Beats me. But now that I think of it, he was probably expecting y’all. Here, he gave me this—” he moved to reach into his coat pocket, but ceased upon the chorus of rifles cocking. Sean and John had appeared to find what the holdup was.

“Don’t move a goddamn muscle,” Arthur growled. “Mr. S., if you could kindly grab whatever’s in that fool’s pocket.”

Charles complied, plucking out a wad of paper. He handed it to Sean, who read aloud:

Don’t want the loot, only your attention.

Have your lady informant go back to the saloon and talk to the bartender.

He’ll tell you where to find me.

Cause any trouble and you won’t see a cent.

Sean laughed bitterly, waving the note in the air. “Got us good, didn't he?”

“Give me that, you idiot.” Arthur snatched the note and tilted the lettering towards the train's headlight. “Goddamn it—”

A bullet whizzed by Arthur’s head. The engineer dove to the ground for safety.

“Get on your horses!” Arthur yelled to the gang and whistled. Once in the saddle, he spurred the horse on and rode hard into the trees, past the storm of bullets, and evaded capture.

He was the last to arrive back at camp, after making sure he hadn’t been followed. He passed Dutch’s closed tent and found Sean blackout drunk near the fire. John sat close by, clearly on the same trajectory as the Irishman, with the amount of empty beer bottles at his feet. Arthur cleared his throat. “Where’s Charles?”

John glanced up, eyes bleary and lined with red. In the firelight he looked small and exhausted. “Asleep.”

“You should be too.”

“Well, I ain’t,” John mumbled tipping the beer to his lips and draining it. He tossed the bottle aside with a crash.

“Need me to tuck you in Marston? How ‘bout a bedtime story?”

“Real funny, Arthur."

Arthur sat down across from John, allowing the sound of crickets and snuffling horses to fill the silence between them. When he spoke, his tone was softer. “Don’t think I’ve seen you this shaken. Not even when you was freezin’ your ass off after them wolves got to you.”

John’s gaze dropped to his lap. “I’m a bit rattled, s’all. I got a bad feelin’, Arthur.”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t you think the law showed up a little too fast?”

“Maybe,” Arthur said. “I’m more curious about the son-of-a-bitch who knew we was gonna rob that train.” He turned, pulling the note he’d stashed into his saddlebag and brandishing it.

“See? You’re worried too. S’not just me.”

“I’m not worried,” Arthur cast the notion aside. No use in admitting to being worried unless there was really something to lose sleep over, especially in front of John, who looked like he was fixing for an excuse to leave again. Arthur didn’t want to be the person to give him one. He would gladly take a bullet before he watched Abigail’s face twist back into sorrow and disappointment on account of John flying the coop.

“We gonna be okay, Arthur?” John asks.

“Can’t tell the future anymore than you can, Marston,” Arthur said, crumpling the note in his fist. “What we can do is find the bastard who pulled the wool over our eyes, and deal with the rest as it comes along. I’ll talk to Mary-Beth tomorrow. Ask her to go back up to the saloon.”

John watched as Arthur tossed the paper into the fire, the edges curling into black.

—

You waited across the tracks from the abandoned trading post in Roanoke Ridge, taking shelter behind a sturdy tree (you’d almost hid behind one crawling with poison ivy vines, what a sight that would have been). The instructions you’d given Ernest to pass on had been clear: Whoever is sent must be on time and arrive alone. You checked your pocket watch. Already a half hour late. Out of desperation you remained a few minutes longer. The sun was almost at its peak in the sky, and you were getting hot with your scarf obscuring the lower half of your face. You cursed yourself for wearing such bulky trousers and long sleeves.

In your mind, the heist had been preferable to wasting away in the heat. With a little theater and luck, you managed to rob the train heading north. You still couldn’t believe your good fortune. Keeping your voice low and husky, the passengers and engineer had mistaken you for some hardened outlaw. You’d threatened them with your non-existent gang that was supposedly trailing close behind. In reality, the only thing riding alongside the train was the horse you’d borrowed from Ernest.

You scanned the landscape with binoculars, on the precipice of calling it a day, when you saw a pair of figures ascend the hill behind the dilapidated structure. The taller of the two was wearing a fading grey shirt that you imagined was once white, which stretched across his broad shoulders. He staked a far contrast to the companion at his left, a leaner man with dark hair that extended past a deep scar on his cheek. Both looked tough and mean. Exactly the type of men you’d hoped for.

Though two against one, the odds weren’t good if things went south.

You dropped the binoculars and reached for your rifle. Steadying yourself, you squinted through the scope, drifting down the length of their bodies until their dusty leather boots came into view. You cocked the gun, exhaled, and took the shot, aiming inches away from them.

“Shit!”

“Thought I’d said to come alone,” you called out. “If one of you gentlemen doesn’t get going, the next two bullets will be right in the forehead.”

“Jesus Christ,” the dark-haired man yelped. “Is that a woman shooting at us?”

“Woman or not, doesn’t change the fact she’s got a goddamn rifle!” the other fired back. “Alright, miss, my friend here is gonna get on his horse and leave. Ain’t that right, Marston?”

“Rode all the way out here for nothin’,'' he complained loudly and whistled. When his horse came around, he placed his foot in the stirrups and swung his leg over the saddle. “If you ain’t back by sundown, I’ll come lookin’ for you, Arthur. Hear that, lady?”

Arthur waved a dismissive hand. You waited until the horse disappeared behind the hills before coming out from the brush. At this distance, you could discern more of his features. The first of which you noticed were bright blue eyes that writers and painters alike had mused over for centuries.

He directed them at you. “There,” he said. “Happy?”

You lowered your rifle. “We’re off to a poor start, I’m afraid.”

“Don’t want no trouble. Just didn’t know what we was walkin’ into,” he said, moving closer, hands up slightly as if to not appear threatening. “You were real vague in that note of yours.”

You reaffirmed your grip on your rifle. “That’s close enough,” you said. Any closer and he’d eclipse you, your neck within snapping distance of those strong hands.

“Then, how about you tell me how this is gonna go?”

In the days leading to this moment, you’d thought of the ways you were going to approach this. Never did you imagine getting this far. “Do you have any idea why I may have invited you here?”

“To gloat, perhaps? About beatin’ us to that train?”

An involuntary upward twitch at the corner of your mouth. “Not quite, sir. I value my time and yours, so I’ll keep it short. I need you.”

Arthur pointed to himself. “You... need me?”

“Yes, you.”

He dipped his head, obscuring whatever expression he was making beneath the brim of his hat. Rubbing his neck, Arthur said, “Can’t imagine why you’d need me, lady. Accountin’ for the fact you don’t even know me.”

“I’ll rephrase. It’s not you I need exactly, it’s somebody like you. And your friend, for that matter.” You paused. “I used to have partners, too. One is dead, the other is in need of rescue. She was kidnapped. I want to hire you to help get her back.”

“Why not go to the sheriff? Seems a hell of a lot easier than getting up to all this trouble.”

“The sheriff?” you scoffed. “You really think he’d risk himself and his men to help me save a working girl from outlaws? Most likely he’d look into my background, and then I’d be arrested before I could even blink.”

“So all we gotta do is save your friend from her kidnappers and what, you’ll pay us?”

“You’ll get the money from the train, and I’ll throw in seventy dollars on top of that,” you said.

“What’s the catch?”

“Pardon me?”

“The catch,” Arthur repeated. “Seems too easy.”

“Didn’t say it’d be easy. Are you familiar with the O’Driscoll Boys?”

A spark of recognition. He was, in fact, familiar. “Yeah, I heard of ‘em. Your friend Emma… them boys captured her?”

You nodded. “A former client of hers runs with that gang. He found us in a hotel room, shot Henry, and knocked me out. When I came to, Emma was gone, and I was alone.”

“Under ordinary circumstances, I’d be glad to help,” he said. “You see, there’s someone I’d need to run this by and he’s already got it out for their leader, Colm O’Driscoll. This’d be the perfect excuse for him to do something goddamn stupid.”

“Please. If you’re familiar with them, you can imagine how awful it must be for her. I’ll even give you half the money upfront,” you said, decocking your rifle and slipping it back over your shoulder by its leather strap.

“Can’t promise nothin’, but I’ll talk it over with some people tonight. Meet me at that saloon in two days, same time. If it goes in your favor, I’ll take you to see the man who makes all the decisions.”

“Are you going to make me wait again?” you asked.

“You’re the one asking for favors, miss.”

“I’m offering a job.”

Arthur’s lips set into a hard line. “A job that might get us into a world of trouble, adding fuel to a fire that’s been burnin’ for a long time now. Frankly, you don’t know what you’re getting into.”

And because you didn’t want to push your luck, you fell silent. You watched him call for his horse and mount it.

“I’ll be on time,” he mumbled as an afterthought, and rode off in the direction he came.

[bluebellhairpin]

Never Forget, Never Regret (1/?)

Levi Ackerman X Reader (But like, less than normal?)

A/N: Blame that conversation I had with Suz a couple weeks ago for this one. #BEST DECOY CLUB!!! - Nemo

Summary: They’ve always been a duo, riding along the exact same path in the exact same way. But then they aren’t, and (y/n) can’t tell if that’s a good thing or not. 

Warnings: Character Death. General AoT themes. Blood. Injuries. 

Listening to: ‘Apple Seed’ - Attack on Titan OST (Bertholdt Transformation Theme) - ‘Old man please remember me.’ 

Series Masterlist

Masterlist 

Eventually, when someone's faced with something that they're unable to overcome, they have to make a decision. Keep fighting, and overcome the situation. Or get help, find someone who can overcome it. 

These two Scouts managed to do both. 

When they were in the training corps they met someone who they soon came to realized was a lot like the other. And to this day they had yet to meet anyone who didn't think they both were absolutely insane. 

Training s cadets was more a time they'd both spend bonding rather than actually training - even if an obscene amount of training did get done anyway. It was like they both really wanted to be there. They'd blabber on about how each other would kill the titans, how efficient they both could be if they tried the odm gear this way or that. They would keep score when they spared, rewarding whoever 'won' with some of the loser's food at dinner. The most unusual of all the things they did was probably joining the Scouting Legion - without flinching, or a single second thought.

No one would think that was a good choice, not until a boy came years after they both joined. He had the same pure, unrestrained audacity as both of them did - and did he latch on to their examples like a man starved. 

On their first expedition beyond the walls, everyone thought they'd both die. Not because they were inexperienced or lacking skills - they both were some of the top ranking in the whole cadets - however they were also self-destructive. 

When the time came to using the odm gear to avoid the titans during the expedition, they went nothing short of buckwild. 

Their superior was horrified. The other Scouts were shocked into awe. And when they returned within the walls, their superior's superior wanted to 'ground' them both for recklessness. However, like some angel of death, second chances, and blond hair, Erwin Smith came and simply asked for them both to be transferred to his section. Erwin, being new to his higher position in the Scouts, was seen as just gathering people to join his expeditions. 

The two had been outside the walls. Riden. Fought. Lived. Protected. In fact, despite their reckless moves and haphazard techniques, they'd been a great help - only three people came back to be buried, and one didn’t come back at all. 

A new record.

Erwin didn't understand how bad they must've been, facts considered. Not until he saw them in action too. 

Then and there, in a forest filled with titans, he knew. 

They were smiling. Laughing. They both sounded like they were having the time of their lives. He concluded they were absolutely bonkers. But in a flash, he also knew they were going to be useful. 

They went ahead, letting out whoops and cheers, while watching each other's backs, but they drew a lot of the titans to themselves too. They put themselves into a buttload of danger, but the other Scouts, especially the new cadets, were having it much easier. Erwin could see a method to the madness, even if they themselves couldn't, and from then on he decided he'd use it as best he could.

And that's exactly what happened. 

───────✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧.｡✰✧.｡:✱───────

You hung up your saddle, fixing up the stirrups, and deciding to not clean it today, as much as Levi might nag you about it later. You did do it last week, and again lightly before you left yesterday. 

After today, however, you had a feeling he'd be lenient. 

Despite how Erwin planned, and how the Cadet Armin offered his opinion, the losses counted were not something you, nor your titan-killing counterpart could've stopped. Said counterpart soon appeared at your side. 

By now you could tell when it was her behind you and when it was Hange trying to test your 'connection'. You could tell she was going to say something, just from the way she let out a huff. Turning, you saw she was looking slightly disheveled, which was odd considering how kept she normally looked. 

And for once, you didn't know what to say to make her or yourself feel better. 

"I'll miss them," she said, saving you from having to say anything, "But we've got to keep fighting. For them." 

"Never regret." You said, lifting a fist up to her, and she mirrored you, her fist now touching yours.

"Never forget." She finished. 

"Oi, (y/n), Nerva. Erwin wants the both of you in the dining hall." Levi said, appearing from thin air to startle you both half out of your skins. "Now." he added after a beat.

"Yessir." She drawled, earning a scowl from the short captain. Even though you'd both been here longer than him, he still thought he had more authority than you. Nerva said it was because he was 'so old', but you were pretty sure it was just because of how skilled he was. You worked a lot on luck, and he didn't like leaving things to chance and bets. 

"Sure thing Levi." You said. If one of you were going to be less than pleasant, then it was probably going to be you. It helped that you had a soft spot for him. 

You both watched Levi eye you one more time, before he left. No sooner had he left, then Nerva had a hand on your shoulder.

"'Sure thing Levi'," she started, mocking you in a hushed and too goodie-two-shoed voice, "Also, I love you and want to marry you and have your babies please, Mr. Captain Levi Sir." 

You laid a heavy backhand on her shoulder.

"Shut up!" You scolded, "After everything that happened today, you're doing that?" She smiled sadly, shrugging with a hand on her shoulder.

"Humour makes it easier for me. You know I don't cry, ever, so this is second best." she said, "And you know, well might I add, that if Petra were still here I'd be doing it to her too. The both of you were groupies." 

Your eyes darkened, a ghost of a wicked smirk flashing on your face before you returned to your stoick look.

"I supposed I shouldn't bring up that 'meeting' you had with Miche and Erwin then. Without me." You said, sticking your nose in the air. "You and I both know we always go to meetings together. That one was suspicious."

Nerva sputtered as you took off towards the main building, catching up to your side with a few quick strides. 

"I've sworn that was just a meeting, nothing happened!" 

"Sure sure." 

───────✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧.｡✰✧.｡:✱───────

They had a plan. 

The Cadet Armin thought he knew who the Female Titan was, and as a group you'd all come up and approve a plan. 

You and Nerva didn't have a lot to do, if you were to compare this mission to normal circumstances. Your main job was to make sure things didn't go too out of hand, and to take civilians out of the way if they couldn't in time. Your unprecedented odm moves would be utilized, just like Erwin normally did, and Nerva was practically vibrating for a chance to catapult and slingshot through narrow streets. 

You hadn't done something like that since the 104th Cadets joined the Garrison and Scouts to help with the second wall breach. 

Standing atop a rooftop each, you and Nerva huddle behind some chimney's. You both share a couple looks, and you knew what she was saying. 

'Something's gonna happen. Something bad.'

And you couldn't help but agree. You don't survive this long in the Scouts without getting an intuition. A sixth sense for when things are going to turn sour. This was one of those times you were right. 

The sky rumbled, shaking the building you were on, and there was a bright flash of light. You slid down the roof but caught yourself, and Nerva surged forward with a stumble. 

"Damn," she swore, hands on her odm handles, "It really was Annie." 

You turned and climbed back up the roof to see what Nerva saw - the same blonde-haired titan that had killed your friends. 

"That's a titan I'd cut to splinters." Nerva muttered.

"She's just a kid," you said, also reaching for your gear, "I bet she doesn't know any different." She clicked her tongue, before pointing around. 

"Let's get moving. I'll tell Erwin, you tell Hange. Collect and corral civilians on the way if you have time. Go, go, go!" 

You both had an intuition that day - that something bad would happen. At the time you didn't know how bad that thing was. But you found out. 

Annie and the Female Titan soon became the least of your problems. 

───────✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧.｡✰✧.｡:✱───────

Series Taglist: @miss-consulting-timelord​​ (idk if you did want to be tagged or what, but all things considered?) 

Taglist is Open!

[sixth-light]

Original Horse Girl Andy insists that Nile learn about the best mode of transport, a ficlet:

The fourth time she fell off, Nile didn’t bother getting up right away. It would happen, she was just taking a moment. It turned out to be a sad fact of the particular brand of immortality she’d been...given...that the bruises healed so quickly she barely noticed them, and likewise the two broken toes she’d had so briefly this morning, but the ache in her muscles was just as inescapable as it had been in Basic. At least the grass was soft and the sun was out.

Andy appeared over her, silhouetted against the bright blue sky, a halo of light on her short hair. Nile had been prepared for her to look impatient – impatience was Andy’s thing, of the four of them, she was learning that – but it was worse: she looked amused. Maybe even, hidden in the corner of her mouth and the tilt of her head, the tiniest bit sympathetic.

Nile got to her feet. Her horse had wandered a few feet off and was trying to stick its head through the fence - apparently the grass really was greener there. “Let me guess – we go again?”

“No,” Andy said. “Here’s your next lesson about horses; they only put up with so much. We’ll walk them for a bit before you get back up there.”

Despite what she’d said, Nile’s horse only made a gentle sort of huffing noise when she took the reins to lead it, and nudged her in the shoulder with its nose. It didn’t seem that put out that Nile couldn’t stay on.

“You still haven’t said why this is so important,” Nile said as they made a slow circuit around the field. Nile still wasn’t quite sure these two great beasts – horses were a lot bigger than she’d thought, close up – weren’t going to break another toe or two. “Learning to ride.”

“It’s useful. Horses don’t break down, they don’t need gas, they don’t need roads -”

“I believe you, but tell me honestly, when was the last time you needed to ride?”

“Iran, 2002.” Andy’s response was prompt and without hesitation. “Saved our asses – as much as they ever need saving.” She grinned. “Book hated it. Next time you see him, ask him about it.”

Andy kept doing that, kept telling Nile things she should ask Booker next time she saw him. Nile didn’t know what to say to any of it; what were the odds she’d remember, ninety-nine years and seven months from now? But she didn’t think Andy was saying those things for Nile, so much.

“Just so we’re clear,” Nile said, “that was eighteen years ago.”

“You never know.” Andy was firm, the tone that said you wanna argue? Go ahead, worse than any drill sergeant. “Now – get back up there.”

The first time, Andy had given her a leg up. The second and third and fourth, she’d let Nile do it on her own. The horse, Nile thought, was very patient as she scrambled and rolled onto its back. Andy, of course, sprang up from the ground like it was nothing, and sat bareback on her own horse like they were one creature.

Nile made herself hold the reins lightly. Head up, back straight, use your knees, not so stiff; she ran through the instructions in her mind. None of that made sitting astride what felt like a warm, hairy sofa any easier. It just meant she hadn’t fallen off again. Yet.

Andy patted her own horse on the neck. “Once more around, then we’re going to try going a bit faster.”

“I will fall off again. You sure about this no saddle thing?”

Andy snorted. “Saddles make you stop paying attention to the horse. You fall off, you’ll learn quicker. I don’t have all the time in the world to teach you, you know.”

She looked away after she said that, towards the trees on the other side of the field. Nile waited until she looked back. “Joe and Nicky can always show me how in a few decades. If it ever comes up and we’re not making our escape by hovercraft, or something.”

“They’ve been promising hovercraft since before you were a gleam in your father’s eye,” Andy said with the dignity and disdain of someone who’d seen a hundred futures come and go, “and Nicky still rides like he’s wearing mail.” She amended that last when Nile frowned. “Chainmail.” Then she nodded to a tree on the other side of the fence. Nile recognised it; she’d been lying in the grass next to it. “Look, all the way around and you’re still here. Time to up the ante.”

The best thing about doing this with Andy and nobody else, Nile decided, was that there wasn’t anybody else around to hear the noise she made when Andy clicked her tongue and they went faster.

*

When they got back to the farmhouse, after a whole lot of extra work in the stable that made Nile contemplate again how much less trouble cars were, Nicky had his rifle stripped down on the kitchen table and was meticulously cleaning every part. Joe was chopping onions; he’d explained to Nile, a few months ago now, that Nicky loved cooking and would fight off competitors to do it, but hated chopping onions.

“Have a good afternoon?” Joe asked.

“I found out about muscles I didn’t know I had. But yeah, I think we did.”

“How many times?” Nicky didn’t look up from his work, but she could feel his attention shift.

“How many times what?” Nile said, holding on to the out he’d given her.

“Fourteen,” Andy said, shuffling through kitchen drawers and giving up to open the bottle of beer she was holding on the edge of the stone bench, a trick Nile was going to have to learn. “She fell off fourteen times. I thought it’d be a lot more,” she added, in Nile’s direction.

“There was no saddle,” Nile pointed out, for the others’ benefit. “Forget stirrups. Not even a saddle!”

“Andy thinks saddles make you stop paying attention,” they chorused together, without even looking at each other.

“And I’m right,” Andy said with satisfaction, taking a swig of her beer. “Nile, you want one?”

“I’m gonna shower first, but thanks.” Nile made it all the way out of the kitchen before a thought crossed her mind, and she poked her head back in. “Hey, you guys are into bets. Anybody want to bet me I’m never going to need to ride a horse?”

Nicky gave Andy a quick sideways glance. “Sure. A hundred euro says you will.”

“That’s a terrible bet,” Joe chided them, sweeping a pile of onion across the chopping board with his knife, as practised as Nile had ever seen him cut a throat. “She can only lose.”

“But I get to live in hope,” Nile countered.

“Sounds about right to me,” said Andy. “In the long run.” She tilted her head. “It’s not that bad, right?”

“On the scale of ‘you tried to get me to jump out of a plane when we first met’? It’s not that bad. But I still say we’re gonna get that hovercraft first.”

Joe turned to frown at her. “What?”

“Ask Andy,” Nile said, winking at him, and went to have her shower.

[fedeipox]

The Way of Time (Rdr2 fanfic) - Chapter 1 (2/4)

Hey there! Yesterday was Thanksgiving! 

For a simple Italian girl this holiday seems so strange and exotic to me and I have never seen a whole turkey in all my life (not IRL anyway). I hope it was a good day for all the American people around here!

Part 1 here: https://fedeipox.tumblr.com/post/635776269297008640/the-way-of-time-rdr2-fanfic-chapter-1-14

Words: 2,5k

Chapter 1 (2/4) - What year is it?

A warmer place, that was all she could think about and if the price to pay to reach it was telling them her name, she was more than willing to pay it.

“I’m Dutch Van der Linde, Miss Emily, and these are my men” said the picnic-man pointing at the people walking around them. “I must warn you, we are outlaws.”

She knew it! She thought looking at him with her eyes wide open.

“Oh, don’t worry, we won’t touch a hair on your head. You see, we’re criminals, but we’re not bad men. Not when we can avoid it.”

Weren’t they the same men who just robbed a train? How could they be criminals without being bad? It was a contradiction. She fixed her eyes on the ground as they kept walking, thinking about the nonsense that man was saying.

“You’ll ride with Lenny.”  

Just when she lifted her gaze she understood what he was talking about. Right in front of her there were around three thousand pounds of well kept horse meat, including saddles, bits and stirrups. 

They rode horses? In 2020? They were really old style criminals those ones, but she… she had never rode a horse. She didn’t know where to start. She didn’t even like horses. 

It wasn’t something personal, but since her father told her horses were dangerous animals she had always been afraid of them. They were dangerous under all aspects, he had told her: they had big teeth and powerful jaws that could cut your fingers with just one bite; they had four strong legs which they used to kick you if you went too close to them; they were big, but they were unaware of their force and got scared pretty easily and could throw you away from their backs any moment.

No. In no way they could have convinced her to get on one of those things.

“Don’t you have a car?” she asked.

Dutch looked back at her with a perplexed expression. 

“You know something less… alive?” she added nodding towards the animals.

“Don’t worry, Lenny is an excellent rider” said Dutch.

“It’s not him I’m worried about” she murmured taking a few steps in the direction of the boy of color. 

He was next to one of the horses, petting its neck and whispering soothing words to it.

“Her name’s Maggie” he informed her when she reached him.

Her eyes moved upon the strong muscular neck of that creature, then down its leg until she reached the hoof that it was nervously stomping on the ground, and then up again until she met its crazy bloody eyes that the creature pointed on her. That thing was warning her, it was telling her “if you only try to touch me, I’ll show you how hell it’s done”. 

No, she would have found another way, a bike, a moped, on foot, she didn’t care. 

Lenny raised a leg, put the foot on the stirrup and hoisted himself, sitting perfectly on the top of that dangerous killing machine. 

“Now your turn, Miss. I’ll help you” he said reaching out a hand signing her to take it.

Emily, without moving her eyes from the boy’s face, shook her head with conviction. 

“I’ll help you, lady” said a voice from behind her back and a moment after she felt herself being lifted from the ground by two robust hands and pushed towards the horse. 

Even though the last thing she wanted was to mount on a horse, as an instinct she grabbed Lenny’s arm and sat astride on its back. They gave her no time to get used to the new sensation she was proving. Someone, who she thought to be Dutch the boss, yelled “let’s ride” and she had to clutch around Lenny’s waist not to fall back. 

Emily tightened the blanket around her shoulders with one hand while with the other she didn’t dare let Lenny go. She had to admit, it wasn’t such a bad experience: apart from the constant up and down it was very similar to riding a motorbike; she just had to clench her legs around the beast and her arms around the boy’s waist. 

As they kept going, she felt the temperature of the evening air drop and that was the sign that they were taking her to a higher ground, up and up in the mountains. Just now she was understanding why nobody had heard neither the gunfire nor the explosion: they were in the mountains and, even though she wasn’t very good with geography, she could still tell that the mountains covered with snow in May had to be somewhere in the North. Only, she had no idea how much North, nor how she got there.

She lost track of time, she couldn’t tell anymore how long she had been on the back of that horse, moving her eyes from the sky to the earth, both of the same bluish white that made the landscape look all the same. The only thing that changed during the journey, and that could give her any idea of what part of the day it was, was the light: all around her darkness was falling and soon she wouldn’t be able to see the tip of her nose.

Besides, the boredom was forcing her to focus on something else, like her frostbitten fingertips, her feet inside her soaked snickers, the smell of the ass of that horse. Yes, she hadn’t noticed that before, but that horse really stank. 

Something else that she hadn’t noticed was that they weren’t following any road, or if there was a road, it was completely overwhelmed by the snow. That was strange, too. What state was capable to neglect the safety of its citizens in such a way to leave the roads in that condition?

“We’re almost there, Miss. We're camped a little more North, in an old mining town” said Dutch.

Old mining town. Was he talking about one of those towns of the past which afterward developed into industrial or trade cities? Why couldn’t he just say ‘we have a hotel room in the city’? Why they had to play all that trivia game about “old mining towns” and “camps”? Was it some kind of gang slang?

But when they slowed the horses down, that meant they had reached the “camp”, what she saw made her understand they weren’t making a wordplay: what she was looking at was a true old mining town, and as they got to the entrance, on a wooden sign almost completely hidden by the darkness, it was engraved: “Colter”.

“You can get down, Miss” said Lenny turning to look at her as they all stopped the horses.

Emily looked first at the boy’s face and then at the ground. It was covered with snow and jumping down she would have dipped down till her knees. 

Next to her there was another one of those strange criminals: he had an old style bowler hat, a ridiculous parted thin black mustache and he had just dismounted his horse.

“Can you help me?” she asked reaching out a hand in his direction.

He looked at her like she was asking him to bring her to the moon, but after a moment of obvious confusion he said “sure” and walked closer, taking her from her waist and helping her to get down gently.

“Miss Grimshaw, we found this girl on the train, would you warm her up a little and find her a place to sleep?” she heard Dutch’s voice saying.

...

“Ah, another one?” asked Miss Grimshaw looking at the blonde skinny figure who just dismounted the horse.

This was the second woman Dutch brought in in those last few days, without counting the O’Driscoll, who they weren’t going to feed anyway, but he still was an addition to the group.

“She says she’s been kidnapped” answered Dutch.

With a sigh and a gesture of her head she told him she would have provided for her, just like she had done for Mrs. Adler.

“Come with me, Miss. Let’s get you warm” she addressed the girl.

Rising her lantern a little, so to spread the light even  farther, she observed the girl as she walked in her direction, stumbling in the high snow and tightening the blanket on her chest, under which she could still make out those unusual clothes. Together they reached the main shack, where some minutes before she had left Marston’s bedside to rush out when Mary-Beth informed her of their arrival. 

“Here” she said pushing the rickety door that let them both inside the crowded room.

“There’s the fire, so you can get warm” she said pointing at it and closing the door again to avoid that little heat inside the room to go away.

“Miss Jackson will bring you some dry clothes” she added putting out the fire of the lantern.

“No” she heard the newbie saying and she turned around to look at her.

Tilly froze in her place, with her legs still half bended in the act of standing up, hoping that the girl’s objection would have changed Miss Grimshaw’s mind, so that she didn’t have to walk out of the room and face the snow, the cold and the darkness.

Everybody now was studying that odd figure standing in the center of the room and looking around her like she was in some kind of bad dream: she was terrified, but they couldn’t understand why. 

They had saved her, they were giving her a warm place to stay for the night and probably some food too, so why was she afraid? She should have been grateful, thought Karen frowning at her.

“Sorry, but… what year is it?”

...

Emily kept moving her eyes around her, focusing on the long wide skirts of the women, the hats of the men and the overall look of the people around her. Her nose caught all the shades of the moldy planks of the walls, the burning wood in the fireplace and the smell of badly washed bodies. 

The clothes, the locomotive, the explosives, the horses, the old mining town, the camp. Why didn’t she think to ask it before? It seemed impossible, but at the same time it was the only possible explanation. She just had to put two and two together.

At her question they all exchanged some puzzled looks. 

“It’s the year of our Lord 1899, what a question!” answered a male voice behind her making her turn around.

There were four men in the room: one, who seemed to have had some kind of accident, was asleep on a cot; one, with a pair of tiny glasses and a rat face, had his nose buried in a book; one with a reddish mustache, had his dark eyes lost in the air; and the last one, an old man with a white beard which made him look like a Santa Clause wannabe, was the only one looking at her, so Emily supposed that voice belonged to him.

“1899” she whispered analyzing the man’s face to understand if he was making fun of her. He seemed dead serious and so did everybody else in the room. 

That explained why she was there: she had made a jump in time and, unfortunately for her, she must have arrived inside that train, which brought her away from Saint Denis and right in the hands of those criminals. 

1899. It was one hundred and twenty one years before. What a strange number, 121. She always thought time leaps happened with round numbers: 100, 200, 300. Actually, she thought time leaps only happened in the movies, sci-fi movies, like “Back to the Future”. 

Now what? She should have told them? They would have probably thought she was nuts. But how could she explain her situation? How could they help her? 

She froze: no-one could help her, because in 1899 no-one had the slight idea of how to make a jump in time. What was she thinking about! She hadn’t any idea of how to make a jump in time, either! Because it was impossible! 

She was starting to panic. She was stuck in 1899, in the middle of nowhere, with a bunch of dangerous outlaws and she probably would have never go back to her home, her family and her friends. So, what was she going to do?

Her heavy breath and her wide open eyes caught the attention of the people in the room.

“Are you okay, honey? You want to sit down?” asked a woman with red air and an Irish accent taking a step in her direction and putting a hand on her shoulder.

Emily moved quickly away from her when she felt her touch. 

“Sit by the fire, we’ll get you something to eat” she added.

Eat… 

She fixed her eyes on her freckled face.

“Fuck the fire, fuck the food and fuck you!” yelled Emily slapping her hand away.

Now the woman’s look changed, she didn’t take those words too good, but she couldn’t care less. Emily started pacing the little space inside the room which wasn’t occupied by a table a chair or a person. She was definitely panicking and she knew she wasn’t good at controlling herself. 

She had lost everything, everything! Her job, her family, her friends, her life, her future, everything! It was all gone! What was she supposed to do? Her limbs started to feel heavy and her eyes started to fill with tears. 

“Don’t worry, you are safe in here, no-one is going to hurt you” said someone, but she didn’t focus on the person who pronounced the words. 

They couldn’t understand, no-one could understand what she was feeling in that moment. Everything was fucked up, gone to hell, destroyed, vanished from the world, forever. No. No, that couldn’t be real. It was a joke, a bad joke someone was making to piss her off, and it was working. 

“You!” she snapped pointing her finger to the face of one of the women in the room.

“What year is it! And don’t you try telling me a lie, I want the truth” she said with a high pitched tone, the kind of voice she had when she was nervous, stressed, scared or any other moment of non-calmness.

“We already told you, it’s 1899, so calm the hell down and don’t point that finger to me” answered the girl.

Emily groaned with frustration and turned to look at the door. She had to get out of there, reach Saint Denis, go back home, look for her parents, look for someone who wasn’t part of that act.

She took the blanket from her shoulders and threw it on the ground, looking at the people around her, those people who where doing her wrong for no apparent reason. Then, she took two big steps and reached out a hand to take the doorknob, but in that same moment, the door busted open. 

[lady-divine-writes]

A Change in the Weather AU (inspired by Cacophonylights's A Change in the Weather) - Chapter 30

Read on AO3.

(Author’s note - the above cover gives hint about this chapter, and chapter 31 :D)

Kurt appreciates drama.

He appreciates it to a degree rivaled only by his dad’s love of NASCAR and Finn’s obsession with grilled cheese sandwiches.

It might even be said, by a select few, that he possesses a flair for the dramatic.

Kurt isn’t, however, a fan of the fact that drama seems to follow him wherever he goes, comes courtesy of big ticket items, and hangs over his head like a sword held aloft by a single thread of red rope licorice.

That he doesn’t appreciate.

The drama Kurt does enjoy happens to be genre-specific, goes hand-in-hand with sweeping, over-the-top, romantic gestures, and maybe a dance number or two.

Like the situation he’s currently in, preparing to perch atop a magnificent red roan mare. Kurt has never been up close and personal with a horse before. The first thing he notices is they’re so much taller - and wider - in real life than they seem on screen. He also didn’t know he’d have to be introduced to his horse before he could mount it (though when you use a word like mount, the need for an introduction makes sense).

Their groom teaches Kurt how to brush his mare’s mane (which he is determined to braid somewhere along the way, get it out of her eyes). Then he earns her favor by feeding her sugar cubes. She plucks them one by one from his outstretched palm, and Kurt falls instantly in love.

If his future as a Broadway phenom ever hits the skids, equestrian sports are beginning to look like an acceptable replacement.

But there is a problem.

Everything about potentially riding this horse terrifies him.

Sebastian rented the horses from a stable nearby, one the Smythe family frequents whenever they’re in town. The horses don’t belong to the Smythes, but according to the man who saddled them, they might as well, as Sebastian’s family reserves the exact same beasts every summer.

Sebastian mounts his own mare with the skill of an accomplished equestrian because of course he does. Kurt, on the other hand, requires the assistance of two bubbly blond stable hands (who remind him enough of Brittany and Sam that he has to do a double take) and a large wooden block. Sebastian watches the calamity go down from his own saddle with intense interest and a twinkle in his eye. Between trying to maintain balance and not roll his ankle, Kurt spots Sebastian sporting his signature smirk and braces for the taunts guaranteed to come, which he plans to volley with comebacks he’s already preparing in his head. But when Kurt finally finds his seat, Sebastian gives him a smile that appears to have nothing devious hiding behind it.

“All set?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Kurt manages, panting from the exertion of pulling himself up and throwing a leg over, doing both so enthusiastically he nearly propelled himself clear over the other side of his horse. “All set.”

“Everyone’s first time goes like that,” Sebastian reassures him with a dismissive wave and only a sliver of innuendo.

“Even Julian’s?” Kurt asks bitterly, his ego stinging. He imagines the older Smythe boy launching himself onto a stallion’s muscular back from the ground using only the saddle horn to boost him up, then galloping off into the sunset, leaving the rest of his family in the dust.

But Sebastian dashes that image with a nod. “Yup. Julian excels at a great many things. But for some reason, horseback riding isn’t one of them.”

“A-ha. Somehow I don’t believe you.”

“I’ve got no reason to lie, babe. And besides - I have videos.” Sebastian bounces his eyebrows, apparently relishing the fact. “Lots of them.”

Kurt’s left eyebrow bobs up. “So you gather blackmail material on your brother, too?”

“I don’t see why you’d assume he’d be immune.” Sebastian’s horse, itching to get on the trail, shifts her weight underneath him. He strokes her neck, shushing her to keep her still. It’s such an endearing gesture, so unlike the Sebastian Kurt once despised �� but so much like the Sebastian he’s grown to love. “It’s tit for tat, really. Lord knows he’s got tons of stuff on me. I’ve got stuff on Liv, too, but I’m smarter than to use it.”

“Why’s that?”

Sebastian barks out a laugh that, underneath the surface, is laced with genuine fear. “Are you kidding? She’d murder me in my sleep!”

“Then why have it?”

“As leverage against Julian.”

“And that works how exactly?”

“If I let something I have on Livvie slip but I can convince her that Julian is responsible …” Sebastian sucks a breath in through his teeth, his eyes going distant, like he’s imagining the outcome of such an act, the gruesome devastation that would ensue. “But I’d only do that as a last resort. Julian would have to do something particularly heinous for me to go that far.”

Kurt shakes his head disapprovingly. Poor Olivia. Kurt wonders if she knows that she’s Sebastian’s nuclear option. Sebastian and Julian must be rubbing off on Kurt more than he knows because he also wonders how much that information might be worth. “Oh what a twisted life you lead. You are truly a criminal mastermind.”

“You know it,” Sebastian says, throwing Kurt a wink. He clicks his tongue and leads his horse away, Kurt’s mare following behind as if she knew that was the plan all along.

Sebastian takes them to a rise overlooking the beach, the trail to get there narrower than Kurt likes. He’s sure his horse knows what she’s doing. This isn’t her first time walking this trail, after all. But again, Kurt’s mare is a big animal, and she lists from side to side. This trail, flush up against the cliff side, is one Kurt would think twice about taking on foot before calling it quits, doing an about face, and going off in search of the nearest coffee shop. Since there are no seat belts, the only thing keeping him from sliding off and falling to his death is the strength of his thighs.

Kurt thought his thighs were strong. Only now does he see that cutting the 30 Minute Buns and Thighs video he used to do religiously from his cardio rotation was a huge mistake.

Fear for his life aside, the view from the overlook is spectacular, but the height vomit inducing. Kurt leans forward, barely budging in his saddle to peek over the edge, and his stomach lurches up into his throat.

He has to trust his horse. She wouldn’t go running off this cliff for no reason. She wouldn’t do anything to hurt herself. But what about him? Would she buck him off? What motivation would she have to do so? Horses, like dogs, can sense the good in people, can’t they? Not just the shallow good like, “I put a dollar in a Salvation Army bucket once,” but the deep down, selfless good. Kurt isn’t a bad person, but he can be a bit inconsiderate at times, especially with wait staff.

If this horse decides to judge him, his inability to stop snapping at waiters will be the hill he ends up dying on, he just knows it.

The path takes his mare nauseatingly close to the edge for a brief second, and Kurt bites his tongue to keep from screaming.

“Whoa, Nellie,” he says in a wobbly voice, pulling up beside Sebastian’s mare, stopped on a ledge wide enough to accommodate both animals … and the two of them should Kurt decide to crawl off his horse, lay flat on his stomach, and hug the ground.

Sebastian, watching Kurt’s silent crisis run its course, points out, “You do know your horse’s name is Desiree, right?”

“I do. And by the way, I have questions about that. But whoa, Desiree doesn’t have the same ring to it.”

Sebastian shrugs. “You’re not wrong.”

“So,” Kurt starts, swallowing half a dozen times to stop his voice from shaking, “does your exceptional riding proclivity qualify you as a ‘horse boy’ then?”

Sebastian chuckles. “No. No, Livvie is the horse person in our family. Always has been”

“That’s right,” Kurt says, wrapping the reins around his hand for security so tightly he’s afraid his fingers might turn purple. “She got the pony.”

“Mm-hmm. Pony, private riding lessons, the whole bit. The trails around the beach are perfect for horseback riding. So when we’d come out here, my dad and mom would take her, and Julian and I were forced to tag along. To teach us important life lessons, they said. I think they just didn’t want to leave us alone, afraid of the trouble we’d get into unsupervised. Needless to say, Molly here and I have a special relationship.”

Kurt eyes Sebastian coyly through lowered lashes. “Should I be jealous?”

Sebastian eyes him back, wearing a way-too-suggestive smile considering the subject matter. “Tremendously.”

“I’ve always wanted to learn to ride a horse,” Kurt admits. “I think a lot of kids do.”

“Did you picture yourself as Liz Taylor in National Velvet? Or Robert Redford in The Electric Horseman?”

“More like Viggo Mortensen in Hidalgo.”

Sebastian gives that some thought before commenting, green eyes aimed at the sky, peering at strings of clouds overhead. “I can see that. I think you’d look rather distinguished in a Stetson Diamante.”

“I’ve always thought so,” Kurt says, pulling himself up in his stirrups, a proud expression on his face.

Sebastian’s eyes, tracing the clouds, find the ocean, stare off into the sunset as the tide rolls up the sand. “Julian teased her endlessly for it.”

“Julian did?” Kurt asks with a dubious tilt of his head.

“Yup. Just Jules. I didn’t.”

“Why not?” It sounds like an odd question after Kurt asks it, grilling his boyfriend to find out why he didn’t cut down his older sister over one of her favorite hobbies.

“I envied her her love of riding,” Sebastian replies without turning to look Kurt’s way, the way Kurt had expected. “You know, when kids ask their parents for a pony, it’s usually because they think it’s going to be fun and exciting, make them look cool, turn them into a superhero or something. Not her. She loved riding for the sake of riding and for no other reason. She loved horses simply because she wanted to take care of a horse, even before she ever sat on one … or so my parents tell me.” He looks at the reins pooled in his hands, the horse’s mane beneath them chocolate brown, close to the shade of his own hair. Sebastian sniffs … or Kurt thinks he does. He only sees the subtle movement, doesn’t hear from where he and his horse are standing. “I don’t think I’ve ever loved anything that way.”

Kurt nudges his horse closer, feeling too far away with the few feet of space between them. “Not even your car?”

“Oh, well, cut me to the quick, I guess.” Sebastian throws his head back and laughs. This time Kurt definitely hears him sniffle, sees him wipe a tear from his cheek with the back of his hand. But there must only be the one because when he turns to look at Kurt, his cheeks are dry. “No, Olivia is special. When you take riding lessons, the first thing your instructor tells you is that riding is less about getting on a horse’s back and flying down the straightaway and more about taking care of something other than yourself. You put your horse first at all times. Its comfort is paramount.” Sebastian looks back at the ocean, clears a catch from his throat. “To ride a horse is to put your trust in someone else, and have someone else trust you back. Whatever you do, you do to bring out the best in the animal you choose to ride. If you hate horses, you’re going to be a lousy horse person. Olivia doesn’t see things the way they are,” he says after a pause. “She sees things the way they could be. People, too. Always finding the best in everyone. She’s not a cynic like me and my brother. She inherited the lion’s share of my parents’ optimism and goodwill. She didn’t leave any for the rest of us. And she knows what she wants, has since she was little. She launches into life with both feet. So does Julian, though, in his case, he doesn’t always land on them.”

“What about you?”

A hint of the cynicism Sebastian mentioned comes to rest in the corners of his mouth, pushing it into a half-grin. “I’m not quite as brave as they are.”

“I think you are.”

“Reckless isn’t the same as brave, babe.”

“I think it depends on how you look at it, on how you define reckless. But you have so many opportunities available to you. And a built in safety net. You can afford to be reckless.”

Sebastian chews his lower lip, seems to contemplate his next words carefully. “Because I have money, right?”

“Right,” Kurt answers quickly, then suddenly feels like he’s taken a wrong turn down a one-way street.

“Money doesn’t help when you don’t have a path.”

“Yes it does!” Kurt says, wondering why it is that Sebastian doesn’t see his wealth as a boon when it’s as clear as day to Kurt. Enjoy all the things his wealth can buy him. Sebastian had repeated that sentiment last night when they were talking about Kurt going to NYADA, and taking that $10,000 check so he could get there. Which proves that wealth can definitely buy a future. A good one, even if Sebastian might be on the fence about which way to go. “It can help you build your own path. It can build you a dozen paths!”

“But where would they lead?” It’s a rhetorical question, but one that sounds like he’s pleading with Kurt to give him an answer. Not in general terms, but a specific destination. “If I don’t know which direction I want to go, what good does a path do me?”

“It gets you started going somewhere! Anywhere!”

“And what’s wrong with staying where you are when you don’t know where to go?” Sebastian asks, his voice so thick under the weight of his emotions, it cracks. This isn’t just a friendly discussion they’re having anymore, Kurt realizes. This is something else. Something Kurt doesn’t fully understand. “Isn’t that what they teach you in wilderness survival? Stay where you are until someone finds you? Hug a tree and shit?”

That remark strikes Kurt as so absurd considering the context of their conversation, he almost bursts out laughing. “Do I look like I would know the answer to a wilderness survival question?” But then that context becomes clearer, and Sebastian’s remark even more absurd. Wait … is he thinking about … staying in Ohio!?!?

“Do you think money solves everything, Kurt? Do you think those rich people on the Titanic could buy their way off that sinking ship?”

“They kinda did,” Kurt says sheepishly, face scrunching apologetically knowing that’s not the answer Sebastian wants to hear. “They were the only ones allowed on the lifeboats, so …

“Yeah. Right. Okay,” Sebastian says, each word clipped within an inch of its life. He turns away in frustration, focusing on the sunset as if he has to watch every last minute of it or suffer dire consequences.

“But you’re not on a sinking ship,” Kurt continues, watching his step with every word. “You can literally choose any direction and go. You wouldn’t have to know what’s there or even have a reason why. Just pack a bag and start walking.”

“You make it sound so simple,” Sebastian mutters grimly, followed by something else Kurt doesn’t catch, although he does hear the words know what you want to do.

“It sounds to me like you’re making excuses,” Kurt counters but not unkindly, “and I don’t know what for. To tell you the truth, I feel like I’ve entered an argument already in progress.”

Sebastian bristles, his back going rigid. Kurt holds his breath, unsure what he’s about to do. Would he turn his horse around and leave without a word, abandon Kurt there on the top of this rise in the dark?

No. Kurt is confident he wouldn’t. Sebastian isn’t that person. Not anymore. He wouldn’t do that.

Besides, Kurt’s mare would simply follow his. He’s really in no danger unless Sebastian comes up to him and shoves him off his horse.

Kurt isn’t convinced his thighs would protect him.

Kurt’s words seem to take the steam out of Sebastian. When he turns around to face Kurt, he looks tired. Worn down. “I’m sorry. Kurt. I’m not trying to start a fight. And don’t think I don’t understand where you’re coming from. I do. I really do. Maybe not from first hand experience but I get it. And you’re absolutely right. When you don’t have money, when you have to worry about where your next meal is coming from or how you’re going to pay your rent, it sucks. Money greases so many wheels, can take you to so many places. I’m fortunate. So fucking fortunate. But there’s something to be said about having an identity that doesn’t revolve around money.”

“I don’t … I don’t think I understand.” Kurt says it, but then he realizes that’s not entirely true. On some level, he does. For a good portion of his high school career, he had to contend with being known as the one out-and-proud gay kid. To most people, it was his sole descriptor. But there’s so much more to him.

Just like there’s so much about Sebastian’s situation that Kurt doesn’t understand.

“No matter where I am, if I’ve been there longer than a week and you ask someone about me, ask them to describe who I am, they’ll tell you I’m some rich douche. That’s it. That’s what I am. That’s who I was at Dalton. It doesn’t matter that I was a straight A student, 5.0 GPA, on the lacrosse team, that I was a Warbler, or any of that. I’m an asshole and I have money. That’s it. That’s my identity. But not you,” Sebastian says, his voice becoming hard and soft at the same time. “You’re Kurt Hummel. You’re a trail blazer. You’re compassionate and brave and talented ...”

“Who told you that?” Kurt interjects, squashing uncomfortable laughter with disbelief.

“Blaine for one,” Sebastian admits, though from his expression, he would rather pry up his fingernails than say that name. “The Warblers, your friends at that public school you went to, your teacher Will Schuester, your father, your stepmother, Finn and Puck. You do your own thing no matter what other people say. And even if they knock you down, you stick up for them. You ran for student body president on a platform of stopping bullying. I would never do that!”

“You don’t want to stop bullying?” Kurt asks, appalled enough to overlook the fact that Sebastian knows any of that. But when Sebastian shoots him a You have got to be kidding me! look, Kurt is immediately confronted with the reality of who he’s talking to. Sebastian was a bully! He blackmailed and schemed. He photoshopped vulgar pictures of Kurt’s stepbrother, and tried to steal his boyfriend. He’s only recently redeemed himself for any of that. There are people who would still consider him a bully - Kurt’s friends, people he loves - who haven’t had the opportunity Kurt has to get to know him.

But it’s also an unfair question. From what Kurt has learned, Sebastian wasn’t always that way. The person he was while he was at Dalton - that person was created, and by someone other than himself.

“I would never run for student body president in the first place!” Sebastian yells. “I don’t care about other people’s problems! I can’t be bothered! If I went to your school God forbid and people bullied me, I wouldn’t want to help them! I’d want to watch the place burn to the ground!”

“That … that’s not true!”

Sebastian leans towards him threateningly. But not threatening to hurt him. Threatening to make him see the truth. “Isn’t it!?”

“I …” Kurt puts a hand to his head and closes his eyes. Sebastian’s words pound in his brain. They connect a bunch of dots, but they also leave other sections of the overall picture blank. “I’m sorry, I … I don’t know what’s going on. We’ve gone from horses to your sister to student body president to arson and I … I think … I may have missed the point somewhere.”

“The point I’ve been trying to make,” Sebastian says slowly, bringing his mare closer to Kurt’s, “and very badly is that money is a wonderful thing to have. But it shouldn’t be your identity. You need to be something more. Money will never make you a whole person if you can’t be one without it.”

Kurt nods, relieved to have it summed up so nicely before either one of them accidentally says something they’ll both regret. With his own deadline of NYADA looming, Kurt forgot that Sebastian said he hasn’t chosen a college yet. What if that’s not the entire story?

What if he doesn’t know what he wants to do with the rest of his life? And what if that scares him?

“Okay,” Kurt says, accepting Sebastian’s hand when it finds his. “I … I think I get it. That makes sense.”

“I’m glad. Because believe it or don’t, I didn’t bring you up here to start an argument. I just wanted to watch the sun set. Show you one of my favorite thinking spots. To be honest …” Sebastian shakes his head “… I don’t know where half of that came from.”

Kurt gives Sebastian’s hand a comforting squeeze. He hopes that Sebastian might be willing to bring this subject up again at the beach house when they’re both a little more level-headed, better equipped to handle it. “Where would you say you fall on that spectrum? Between being whole and being not?”

“I’d have to say I’m extensively ventilated …” Sebastian brings Kurt’s hand to his mouth for a kiss, disarming smile locked back in place. “But on the mend.”

Kurt watches Sebastian run his thumb over his knuckles, hesitant to give his hand back, even with the darkness settling in around them. “You know,” Kurt says, “this picture you’re painting of who you are … if I wasn’t here, seeing it for myself, I don’t think I would ever believe any of this about you.”

Sebastian frowns, looks like he’s about to rush to his own defense, but he stops. “I guess I didn’t really give you the chance to find out for yourself.”

“Why isn’t this the foot you put forward all the time?”

“Because … I don’t like being vulnerable with people.”

“You don’t have to be vulnerable. But nice would be …” Kurt searches his head for the perfect word, but only comes up with “… nice. You know what they say - more flies with honey and all that.”

Sebastian sputters. “There you go again with those archaic expressions! Who on earth wants to be surrounded by flies? Being this version of me is too much work for too little pay off most of the time. For what I usually want, my methods get me results quicker.”

“So … what does that say about me?” Kurt asks. “You and I have been at this for months. And it’s not as if I rolled over for you the first chance I got.”

Sebastian tugs Kurt’s hand, brings him close enough to give him the whisper of a kiss against his cheek. “That says you’re worth the effort.”

***

It’s been well over a week since the Smythes descended on the beach house, and as much fun as it is having them there, Kurt is steadily becoming paranoid. He wouldn’t have had Olivia not made that remark about keeping an eye out for her mother. Now he’s convinced that every look Charlotte tosses his way holds significance.

A silent warning.

That she knows about him and Sebastian, and that the two of them are royally screwed - Sebastian more so than he, of course. Only she’s too nice to shred him to pieces in front of the family, so she’s waiting to do it in private.

He won’t know for certain until she corners him and they talk.

So he does the mature thing.

He avoids being alone with her at all costs.

He doesn’t hide behind curtains or vault over furniture when he sees her approach. He simply makes certain he’s never by himself for longer than a few minutes. That amounts to trips to the bathroom and any time he needs to change clothes, which (and he’s not proud of this) he’s done twice as an excuse not to talk to her. With Sebastian’s new found need to be with Kurt every conceivable second, that takes care of every time else. Still, in the confines of the beach house, Kurt knows it’s impossible to dodge Charlotte forever. He just hopes he can figure out what he’s going to say when the time comes, how he’s going to defend his and Sebastian’s actions.

How he’s going to make being a boyfriend-for-hire in order to deceive her in specific sound not so bad.

Sitting on Sebastian’s lap on the porch swing, Kurt’s favorite place in the house to be hands down, he’s finding it difficult to relax. Even though she’s nowhere where she can see them, Kurt feels her eyes on him. Several times he pops his head up and scans the beach to see if she’s walking along the shore, but no. She’s not there.

This is all in his head. He knows it. He’s building it up to something bigger than it needs to be. But if he doesn’t deal with things soon, he’s going to give himself a nervous condition.

“Hey, babe. I have to run to the bathroom,” Sebastian says, sliding his hands underneath Kurt’s rear and relocating him to the far side of the swing.

“O-okay,” Kurt says, a knot starting in his stomach, like a stop watch zeroing out before a tie-breaker race. “Don’t take too long.”

“Yeah, alright. I … won’t,” Sebastian says, giving Kurt an odd look before heading towards the door to his room. Kurt watches him go, crossing every finger on both hands and his toes in his socks, praying Sebastian returns before Charlotte discovers he’s alone and swoops in. Kurt doesn’t see her, hasn’t seen her for most of the day actually. He’d be hard pressed to say whether or not she’s even there.

Kurt and Sebastian ate dinner on the porch, intend on sleeping out there, too, in the tent still set up in the far corner. Did he see her before dinner? Or did Greg take her out to eat? They’d been discussing an Italian place not too far from the beach. They could be there, enjoying a romantic evening alone, with not a single thought to the deceptive practices of her son and his boyfriend. Or did she go shopping with Olivia? Olivia mentioned wanting to hit Yankee Candle for apple pie scented wax melts after stumbling across one of Kurt and Sebastian’s vanilla scented votives. That’s a possibility.

Unfortunately, there’s only one way for him to inconspicuously check. He’d have to go inside and take a peek for himself. If he texts Olivia, he runs the risk of her coming out to ask him what’s up with her mother in tow.

Kurt gets so wrapped up in thinking about where Charlotte could be that he misses her sweeping through the door right as Sebastian leaves, stopping her son to give him a kiss on the cheek.

“Hey, Kurt!” she says brightly, striding across the porch toward him, wrapped in the coziest looking, camel-colored, cashmere duster. He’s been looking for one just like it - not super chunky the way knitted dusters tend to be. This one looks soft, and clingy in all the right places. And that color - super complementary. Once she’s done verbally disemboweling him, he’ll have to ask her where she got it. “I was hoping I’d get you alone! You and my son seem to be locked together at the hip lately! I’d need a crowbar to separate you two!”

“That seems to be the consensus,” Kurt says, banishing the image of sweet matriarch Charlotte Smythe wielding a crowbar. He shouldn’t be this nervous around her. She’s never given him reason to be. She treats him like he’s part of the family. Besides, Sebastian and Julian both agree that Olivia is the scary one. Not their mother.

Then again, where do they think Olivia gets it from?

“That’s not a bad thing. I remember being your age, locked at the hip with my boyfriend,” she reveals, a speck of wickedness coloring her smile. “But as much as I adore my son, I was hoping I could talk to you - one on one.”

Kurt’s stomach flip-flops the way it did during his NYADA audition. The only difference is, at his audition, he had a pair of gold pants to give him strength. He loves borrowing Sebastian’s Ralph Lauren lounge pants, but it’s not the same. “Absolutely. What’s on your mind?”

“Well, I feel like you may be avoiding me … just a little,” she says, bringing a hand up, putting her thumb and forefinger together for emphasis.

“Oh, uh … no. No I haven’t. Not … consciously,” he fibs, but she stares him down. Even if she doesn’t know about him and Sebastian pretending to be boyfriends, she knows that Kurt has been lying about something. Charlotte is an intelligent woman. Kurt is not about to disrespect her. “I’m sorry if it seems that way. That wasn’t my intention.”

She stays silent a moment longer, scrutinizing him the same way Carole does him and Finn when her motherly instincts tell her not to trust them. And Carole’s instincts are pretty much consistently on the nose. But Charlotte may not feel comfortable scolding her son’s boyfriend.

She may have decided to let the guilt eat Kurt away for her.

“Sebastian says you have quite a fondness for this old swing,” she says. “But before you came along, he’d never come out here. Ever. You would think he was afraid of heights or something the way he avoided it, and my son is definitely not afraid of heights. In fact, if someone were to ask me what Sebastian is afraid of, I’d have to say there isn’t a thing … except losing you. And your good opinion of him.”

Kurt goes temporarily speechless. He wants to say he knew that, but he can’t. Because he didn’t. “Really?”

“A-ha. So imagine my surprise when I found out that the two of you weren’t actually an item.”

Kurt’s eyes pop open. He hopes he looks stunned, hurt, maybe even a little too scandalized for words. But he knows he’s not that good an actor. Not yet. Give him a couple of semesters, maybe a year abroad …

But right now, he probably looks exactly the way he feels.

Busted.

“That’s … that’s not …” Kurt tries, but he can’t get the rest of the words out. They physically refuse to leave his tongue.

“It’s not what?” Charlotte asks in that stern way mothers do when weeding out the truth.

When they know for a fact that they’re being duped.

“You’re … you’re right.” Those words are a bit harder to say but at least they come out. “We weren’t a couple. B-but we are now,” he adds, praying that makes everything right, that he didn’t inadvertently toss Sebastian under the bus and lose him everything.

“As of …?” she presses.

Oh God, Kurt thinks, losing the feeling in his entire body. Even his tongue goes numb. Nope. He didn’t lose Sebastian everything before. But he may right now. God, he wishes he’d thought to talk to Sebastian about this! Gotten some sort of story straight. “A…after the gala?” More like after they got to North Carolina, but Kurt is not about to split hairs.

Charlotte, who had been sitting with her legs crossed, an elbow resting comfortably on one knee and her chin cradled in the palm of her hand, straightens in surprise.

Oh no! Kurt panics, knowing by the look in her eyes that she’s putting two and two together, time lines readjusting, figuring out just how long they haven’t been a couple.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry for lying to you! It’s … it’s all my fault!” he says, hoping that if he keeps her attention locked on himself, that if he can somehow spin it so he’s the perpetrator here and not Sebastian, she’ll forget that they were going to empty out his bank account and take back his tuition money. They can’t do that! Not after what Sebastian told him today! Not after everything he might be afraid of! “Are you angry? Disappointed? I’ll make it up to you somehow! I swear!”

“Calm down, dear.” She has an exquisite poker face. Kurt has to give her that. He doesn’t have a clue what she’s thinking. But the parts of her expression that aren’t blank are slightly sad. “I’m not disappointed. Or angry.”

“If you don’t mind my asking,” Kurt says, feeling like he’s walking on eggshells made of plate glass and battery acid, “how did you figure us out?”

Charlotte smirks. “Well, whether they like it or not, I know my children. And to be honest, because he’s my youngest, I probably know Sebastian best of all. Which is how I know this arrangement the two of you had …” She wiggles her forefinger between Kurt and an invisible placeholder that represents Sebastian “… whatever it entailed, wasn’t your idea. But I can appreciate you throwing yourself on that grenade, and don’t think I don’t know why.” Kurt is about to launch into a new line of disagreeing, but Charlotte sighs uncomfortably, and that makes him hold back. “Kurt, I’ve walked in on my son mid-coitus more times than any mother should, and what I saw when I walked in on the two of you … that wasn’t Sebastian. Not the one I’ve seen torturing himself with different sexual partners for years. The giggling, the smiling - that was different. It was honest. It’s what I’ve wanted for him for longer than I can tell you. And I was so happy to see it. But in a way, because of that, I knew it wasn’t real.”

“But … why didn’t you say something earlier?”

“Because of all the boys my son knows, he chose you. So he had to have a reason. And aside from that, I like you, Kurt. My husband husband likes you. We think that you’re good for our son. So I thought that, given enough time, what you two were pretending to be might become real.” Charlotte smiles. “As it turns out, it did.”

“Yes, it did,” Kurt agrees shyly.

“And I don’t want you to worry. Sebastian is safe. And that’s not contingent on you or on anything the two of you do. Gregory and I, we both bear some responsibility for Sebastian hatching this little scheme. Ultimatums don’t always work the way you intend them to.” That should sound like she’s admitting defeat, but the wink she gives Kurt admits anything but. “Just make sure you get what he promised you.”

“I did,” Kurt assures her. “It and a lot more.”

“Good,” she says. “Very good. You know, being a parent, you raise your kids the best way you know how, in the hopes that they grow into adults that can make good decisions on their own. I may not agree with all of the decisions my children have made, but they are their decisions to make. I can’t micromanage their lives. I have to trust them.”

“I think my dad would agree with you,” Kurt says, thinking back on all the times his father stressed that Kurt was an adult, that he’d be out of the house soon, and that his decisions were his own. And as much as Kurt appreciated the sentiment, the look in his father’s eye when he said it, one he probably thought he was covering so well, gutted him.

“Your father is a good man,” Charlotte says, giving Kurt’s hand a pat. “And from what I can see, he did a wonderful job raising you.”

“Thank you,” Kurt says, feeling way more at ease now than he did when this conversation started. “For what it’s worth, I think you guys did an amazing job as parents, too.”

Charlotte’s smile dips, wobbles at the corners, and Kurt wonders if he said something wrong. She sits back in the swing, turns her head slightly away. She gazes down the beach, the same way Sebastian does when he thinks about something sad, watching the water rush in to meet the shore, then out to join the waves. “Thank you, Kurt,” she says finally. “That does mean a lot.”

***

Julian’s demeanor has been changing in increments.

Kurt thinks he may be the only one who notices since he’s spent time alone with every member of the Smythe family and no one else has mentioned it. But Julian has become sullen.

Downright sulky.

He hasn’t gotten on Sebastian’s case recently half as much as when he got there, hasn’t flirted with Kurt in the past few days other than to tell him he looks good wearing his clothes (a black Henley Kurt thought was Sebastian’s, which had found itself in Sebastian’s room due to an unfortunate dry cleaning mishap).

The change started about the same time Kurt began to notice that the long phone conversations Julian had been having with Cooper - the ones that started in the family room or in the kitchen after dinner but eventually sent Julian outside searching for privacy - seemed to happen less and less, and with no estimated time of Cooper’s arrival in sight. Kurt reminds himself that Julian and Cooper’s relationship has always been a volatile one, so maybe this is just the way things go between them.

But it’s still heartbreaking.

Julian seemed so happy when he first arrived, first told them about Cooper spending the summer with him, and now ...

Kurt hopes that their flame hasn’t burned out so quickly, the way he feared his with Sebastian would, the thrill of the chase gone, the shine of the taboo beginning to take on a matte finish.

“Hey, gorgeous,” Julian says, catching Kurt off guard and staring as he makes his way up to their towels spread out on the beach. Kurt wasn’t staring at Julian, even though he’d been looking in the man’s direction. He was just staring, lost in his own thoughts. But he’ll never convince Julian of that. “Why don’t you take a picture? It lasts longer. In fact, I have a few I can text you, save you the trouble. They’re organized by various states of undress …”

“That’s a surefire way to end up with a broken screen,” Olivia says while Sebastian scoots his towel over, scoops up his boyfriend.

“Happen to have any of you in a Franciscan robe?” Kurt counters. “Maybe even a kaftan?”

Julian smirks, and even though it makes him look as handsome as ever, it doesn’t brighten his face, doesn’t reach his eyes. “You know, I might.”

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” Olivia snickers, “so be careful what you ask for. Even if he does, nothing says it’ll be PG.”

“Speaking of, what are you two gentlemen doing tomorrow night?” he asks. “I mean, between the sex, sex, and more sex.”

“Have they been having a lot of sex?” Olivia asks offhandedly while she scrolls through her phone.

“As far as I can tell. I don’t know one hundred percent. They haven’t invited me to join in.”

“We don’t have any hard and fast plans,” Sebastian says, diverting the topic of conversation away from his and Kurt’s sex life. “Why do you ask? And before you say anything, threesomes are out.”

“Airiel Down is playing at Red Hat,” Julian says, reaching into the pocket of his shorts for his phone. “I got two tickets. I was going to take Cooper, but he hasn’t …” Julian’s voice waffles, goes minutely hoarse.

Olivia’s eyes dart his way.

No. That didn’t go unnoticed, Kurt thinks when her gaze shifts to Sebastian, and then Sebastian looks at Kurt. All three of them had heard the same thing.

“Anyway, anyway,” Julian says, pushing past it, “no reason for them to go to waste.”

“Are you sure? I mean, you could still go. Scalp the other ticket,” Sebastian suggests, but from the tone of his voice, it sounds like he’s asking another question entirely.

“I’m sure, little bro. No worries.” Julian chuckles, but it’s as dry as the sand they’re sitting on. They watch in silence as Julian types out a text and attaches the electronic tickets. A second later, Sebastian’s phone in his pocket beeps. “Your boyfriend here needs a night out, and exposure to some of our fine North Carolina culture.” Julian grins. For a moment, he’s closer to normal than he’s been in days. “Besides, you two need to give that beautiful ass of his a break.”

[freudensteins-monster]

The Governess and the Liesmith - Chapter Three

FIC SUMMARY: Sigyn finds herself accepting the position of governess to Prince Loki’s children. She quickly endears herself to them, despite her firm hand, but the closeness and trust she worked so hard for is threatened by the return of the children’s notoriously absent father. RATING: T AUTHORS NOTES: As promised, after four long years, here is a new chapter. Thank you so much for all your love and support, especially after so long. xoxox Like I mentioned in the last "chapter" I've only managed to finish one or two more so far, but who knows, if I keep chipping away at it, Sigyn might meet Loki in about five years :P

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

It took Sigyn longer than she would have liked to admit to find the stables again, and she hadn’t taken more than two steps inside a minute before the stablemaster, the same man who had laughed her out of the stables that morning, started barking at her.

 “You again? Get along, you stupid girl. There’s no work for you here.”

 “That’s alright,” Sigyn replied casually. “I’ve already found a new job.”

 “Then what the Hel are you doing here bothering me for?”

 “I have been hired as a governess to Prince Loki’s children. I believe one of them is here.”

 “It’s a horse, not a child. What are you going to do? Read it bedtime stories?” the man sneered.

 “The queen herself hired me to look after all of Prince Loki’s children. Sleipnir was mentioned by name, and so, Aesir or not, I shall be looking in on him from time to time to ensure his needs are being met. I would like to introduce myself to him, if you would be so kind as to show me to his stall?”

 The stablemaster growled, but spying the queen’s golden seal on the letter in Sigyn’s hand, pointed her in the direction of Sleipnir’s stall before storming off.

 “Sleipnir?” Sigyn called, smiling when she got a whinny of acknowledgement.

 As she approached the stall she tucked her letter of employment away and pulled out an apple. Sigyn couldn’t help but gasp when she saw him. Sleipnir was as tall as a draft horse, but with none of the bulk. His lean body was grey with a black mane and tail, and black socks on each of his eight legs.

 “So it really is true,” she whispered to herself before stepping within arm’s reach of the magnificent animal, holding out the apple to him. He sniffed it warily before seemingly turning his nose up at it. “Hello, Sleipnir. My name is Sigyn,” she said self-consciously, though she didn’t know why. It wasn’t unusual for her to have conversations with her family’s horses, after all. “Queen Frigga hired me to work as a governess, looking after Prince Loki’s children. Though you are all but grown she asked if I could check on you and make sure you are doing well. Would this be alright with you?”

 Sleipnir sniffed the apple again before greedily accepting it, devouring it in two bites. Sigyn took it as a sign that he wouldn’t mind her company and risked a step closer, reaching out to pat his nose, which he allowed. She moved closer and the horse began to sniff her clothes and Sigyn felt compelled to answer a question that hadn’t been voiced.

 “Ah, that would be Léttfeti,” Sigyn explained. “My father’s prized mare. She’s quite pretty and as fast as the wind. But… they say you are faster, the fastest in the Nine, even.”

 Sleipnir neighed again, standing up straighter and puffing out his chest.

 “Oh, you are, are you?” Sigyn laughed. “I would love to see you run one day.”

 Sleipnir nudged Sigyn with his nose before turning and drawing Sigyn’s attention to the tack room next to his stall.

 “You would like to go for a run? Now? Well… I suppose, as you are technically my charge it is my duty to ensure you are happy and healthy, and getting enough exercise…” Sleipnir nodded enthusiastically. “And it would make the stablemaster really angry.” Sleipnir laughed, as much as a horse could laugh. “Alright, you’ve convinced me,” Sigyn announced, moving to the tack room, gasping at the extensive collection of custom tack for the exceptional steed. She glanced at a huge, shining black leather saddle with gold detailing that took pride of place and shook her head in distaste. “I think we could do without the finery today, don’t you?” she asked aloud, getting a grunt in reply.

 Once her new charge was tacked up, with a blanket and a simple, weathered saddle, Sigyn turned her thoughts to how she was supposed to get up onto his back as the stirrups were far too high for her to simply put her foot into them and there didn’t appear to be a stool in the tack room. Sleipnir, seemingly understanding her plight, knelt down and waited patiently for Sigyn to get settled before standing and walking out of his stall, kicking the door closed behind him.

 “You are, most definitely, the smartest horse I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.”

     Naturally    , he seemed to reply, happily trotting out of the stables, the pair of them holding their heads high as they passed the bemused stable hands.

 “Sleipnir has been kind enough to offer to take me for a ride,” she advised them, her hand straying to her bag and the queen’s letter therein in case one of them wanted to argue with her. “We will be back shortly.”

 Sleipnir trotted away from the stables until they were out of earshot, turning back to his rider, silently asking her opinion.

 “I think we’d best stay within the boundaries of the palace grounds, your grandmother was quite insistent on that,” Sigyn answered. “But as fast as you can,” she added with a smile, before holding on for dear life as Sleipnir bolted for the tree line.

   Hours passed in the blink of an eye and Sigyn reluctantly returned Sleipnir to the stables, laughing joyously. He had raced up and down the boundary of the palace so fast Sigyn felt like she was flying. It was the most amazing feeling and Sigyn wanted to keep going until they both tired, but alas, she had other charges to attend to. Sigyn would have been happy to have taken care of Sleipnir herself but the moment he trotted through the stable doors they were surrounded by grooms who insisted on doing it for her. From their nervous and insistent manner Sigyn had to assume it was on the explicit orders of the boorish stablemaster, wherever he was hiding. With Sleipnir’s assurance that he was fine with the arrangement, Sigyn dismounted and patted his nose, laughing as he kissed her cheek.

 “Thank you so much for accompanying me today, Sleipnir. I had a wonderful time, and shall tell anyone who will listen that I have the privilege of knowing the fastest steed in all the Nine,” she added with a warm smile. “I would very much like to visit you regularly, but I’m afraid I’m not sure how much free time I shall have, what with looking after your siblings and all.”

 Sleipnir snorted, offering his sympathies.

 “Oh, thank you for your vote of confidence,” Sigyn smirked before finally handing over his reins to the waiting groom. “Good day, Sleipnir. I will return as soon as I can, I promise.”

   Sigyn made it back to the nursery, with a minimum of wrong turns but more than a few odd looks. She was too happy to pay them much mind, but accepted that the sight of a masculinely dressed woman with windswept hair wandering through the halls of the palace warranted a second glance from the highly polished courtiers. The children would be in their seiðr lessons for another hour or so, leaving Sigyn alone in her new accomodations. She loitered awkwardly in the main room for a moment before going to inspect her rooms for a second time. There had been a few changes in her absence; a vase of flowers sat upon her desk and a small pile of clothes had been placed at the foot of her bed. She sorted through them, eyeing her new uniform curiously before deciding that a bath and a change of clothes would be for the best. She washed quickly, more accustomed to sharing hot water with eight others, but allowed herself to be momentarily distracted by the array of perfumed lotions and soaps that had been provided for her use. She dried and braided her hair before dressing in her new uniform, a simple grey dress over which she wore an emerald green apron, a woven gold belt cinched around her waist. The gold marked her as a servant of the royal family while the emerald green marked her as Prince Loki’s personal staff. She examined her appearance in the bathroom mirror for several minutes, bemused to think that she looked quite nice in servant’s clothes, and that they were probably nicer than her finest dress.

 Sigyn was putting away her spare uniforms when there came a knock on the nursery door. She quickly stepped into a pair of grey flats with a gold trim that she’d found tucked under her bed (in her size, just as her uniform had been) before going to answer it.

 “Syn?!” Sigyn exclaimed, pulling her wide-eyed, trembling sister into the room. “What are you doing here?”

 “You’re really a governess?” Syn squeaked, her hands squeezing Sigyn’s arms as if to test if the vision of her older sister was merely a figment of her imagination. “A palace ship came to the farm and a guard said you’d been hired as a governess for the royal family. It’s really true?”

 “Of course it’s true. Do you really think the queen would send a royal ship all that way for a laugh?”

 “The queen!” Syn gasped and Sigyn feared she might faint. Sigyn gave her a meaningful look and pulled her inside, allowing one of the guards to place a large flour sack that had been hastily filled with everything Sigyn’s mother had deemed important on the floor beside them.

 “Thank you…?”

 “Ívarr, miss. I have been instructed to escort your sister home when she’s ready to leave.”

 “Thank you. If you wouldn’t mind waiting outside.”

 “Of course, miss,” Ívarr bowed, his eyes flicking to the younger sister as he pulled the doors closed behind him.

 The moment she heard the doors click shut Sigyn took Syn by the hand, grabbed the sack and dragged them both into her room so Syn could have her panic attack in private.

 “Oh my goodness!” Syn exclaimed, turning in a circle to take in Sigyn’s new rooms. “Sigyn, this is… Does this mean I can have your room?” she queried before breaking into a fit of nervous giggles. “You must tell me everything!”

 Sigyn quickly ran through the events that had transpired in the hours since she had left home whilst her sister sat beside her on the bed, her eyes almost bulging out of her head.

 “And here I am. New job, new uniform, new room… and I haven’t told you the most ridiculous part.”

 “What could be more ridiculous than my sister bossing around Queen Frigga’s grandchildren?” Syn wailed, still shaking her head at the tale.

 “The queen will pay me five gold coins a day to do so.”

 “No, no, no…” Syn muttered, pacing the room. “This is all some bizarre dream, and I shall wake up any moment to be told that you went to the stables and instead of a job you accepted a marriage proposal. That makes more sense.”

 “Oh, Syn, why are you so upset by this? If anyone should be panicking, it should be me.”

 “I was expecting you home this evening,” Syn explained, her eyes welling up with tears. “And now you say you don’t know when you’ll be home next. What am I supposed to do without my big sister to confide in?”

 Sigyn hugged her sister, trying not to let her own emotions get the best of her, because if she started crying then there would be no end to it. The queen would find the pair of them huddled on the floor in a pool of salty tears and promptly have both of them escorted from the palace for making such a scene.

 “There, there, Syn, enough of that,” Sigyn scolded, wiping away her tears. “It will be alright. The queen said that once I’m settled that we can discuss me having a day from time to time to visit. Until then you shall have to have mother write to me, and I shall endeavour to improve myself so that I can write back. And I shall send almost every coin I earn home, I swear it.”

 “Oh no, Sigyn, you should keep it. Norns know you will earn it, looking after any child of Prince Loki’s.”

 “Hush,” Sigyn scolded, slapping her sister on the arm.

 “You must have heard the stories, Sigyn. They say Prince Loki was a mischief maker of the highest order in his youth. And a temper as volatile as the storms his brother wields. Oh, you will be careful, won’t you?”

 “I’m not the one running my mouth and speaking ill of the prince in his own palace. I shall be fine,” Sigyn remarked pointedly. “Now, I thank you for bringing my things, but I’m afraid you will need to return home now, sister dear. The little mischief makers will be back shortly and I’d like to get everything unpacked before then.”

 “Very well,” Syn huffed, hugging Sigyn once more before moving to the door.

 “Ívarr,” Sigyn called, pulling back when the guard appeared suddenly in the doorway.

 “Yes, miss?”

 “Syn’s ready to return home now.”

 “Yes, of course,” the guard nodded, his too-big helmet rattling with the movement. The sisters did their best not to laugh.

 “Goodbye Syn,” Sigyn said, hugging her sister one last time. “Tell the others I’ll miss them terribly, and tell mother and father not to fret. I’ll write soon, I promise.”

 “Goodbye Sigyn,” Syn replied tearfully as Ívarr moved to her side, barely restraining himself from offering her his arm.

 “That’s my favourite sister in your charge, Ívarr,” Sigyn called out as the pair headed down the long corridor. “Take good care of her.”

 Syn laughed and waved back enthusiastically as Ívarr led her around a corner, Sigyn’s smile slipping as her sister left her sight. She closed the nursery door with a sigh and returned to her room, emptying the flour bag of its contents and sifting through them. It was mostly clothes, which she put away, her new uniforms sitting atop them, and a few trinkets that had previously adorned a small ledge in her attic bedroom; a horseshoe, a seashell, and a squat clay vase. She looked each of them over before placing them on her new desk, smiling at the memories.

 The vase rattled in her hand and Sigyn tipped the contents out with a scowl; two pieces of silver which her mother had no doubt been saving for a rainy day. Sigyn put them back and vowed to keep no more than one out of every ten coins she earned and send the rest home. Her parents would soon enough be needing the extra coin to pay a new farmhand if the blush in Ívarr’s cheeks every time he had so much as glanced at Syn was any indication.

 Sigyn went to fold up the flour bag but stilled when she found two golden cuffs hidden beneath it. She turned them over in her hands, her fingers running over the spellwork that had been etched into them to bind young Sigyn’s seiðr. Used on more pure metal the spells could be permanent, but the dampening abilities of the cheap gold plated scrap metal in Sigyn’s hands had faded in a matter of years, just long enough for young Sigyn to get a handle on her abilities. Sigyn hadn’t seen them in years, had thought them long since traded away, and wondered at their inclusion. Perhaps they were meant as a warning, to caution her against losing her temper as she did quite often with disastrous results as a child. But perhaps they were simply a reminder of what she could do with a little help and sheer bloody determination. Sigyn smiled and wrapped the cuffs around her wrists, returning to the main room to await the return of her new charges.

NEXT CHAPTER

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[d3-iseefire]

She Walks in Shadow Chapter 17

Bilba studied the pony critically.

The animal, in turn, completely ignored her, which was simply rude. Particularly given how sore she was. Everything hurt, and she could barely walk straight thanks to all the riding from the day before. One would think the least said pony could do was acknowledge her presence after causing her so much physical discomfort.

Instead, said pony was focused on its food, munching away with a glassy look in its eyes. Most likely fantasizing about how it planned to torture her later.

"What are you doing?"

Bilba jumped and spun around to see Fili standing behind her, studying her with a raised eyebrow. Past him most of the Company milled about, finishing up preparations to head out.  

"I think they've gotten bigger since yesterday," Bilba complained, crossing her arms.

Fili came and stood beside her, studying the pony. "I don't know. Seems the same size to me."

"That's because you're bigger," Bilba grumbled. "Hobbits were not meant to ride ponies. It's why our feet are so tough, so we can walk where we need to go."

Fili chuckled. He had a nice laugh, Bilba noted. It was deep and rumbling and seemed to build upward from his toes until it simply rolled out of him.

The young prince flung the bags he'd had over his shoulder onto the pony's back and strapped them into place. Then, before Bilba could react, he grabbed her and, as if she weighed nothing at all, lifted her up into the saddle.

She grabbed at the reins and sat stock still, terrified the slightest movement would send her sprawling to the hard-packed dirt below. She glared down at Fili, who gave her an entirely unrepentant grin in return. He grabbed the front of the saddle, forearm pressing into her leg for a moment, slid his foot into the stirrup and, in one easy move, swung into the saddle behind her.

The motion caused her to rock and Bilba tightened her grip on the reins as his body settled in, legs on either side of hers, chest pressed into her back. So inappropriate, her mind informed her. Her neighbors would be scandalized. She should insist he allow her to ride her own pony or walk or...something.

She really, really should because all this was just...completely...inappropriate.

Fili leaned forward, pressing harder again her, and brought his head nearly alongside hers. His hands came to rest on her elbows before slowly sliding forward to cover her hands where they held the reins in a near death grip. "I should probably take those."

"What?" Bilba's brain was legitimately not working, had stopped working the moment he'd pressed forward. An odd thrill she'd never felt before ran through her and her heart pounded in her chest.

"The reins," Fili clarified. "I should probably take them."

"Oh, of course." Bilba released her death grip, put her hands on her legs and stared very hard at her lap. Her face felt like it was on fire. Fili settled back again, and she risked raising her head, only to see Kili a few feet away openly smirking at them.

If possible, Bilba's face got even hotter.

What would her mother think?

She frowned.

Her mother would probably congratulate her.

Fili clicked at the pony, and she felt the muscles in his legs tense as he urged the pony into motion. The first few steps threw Bilba back into his chest. The day before she'd spent most of her time trying to hold herself away from him which, she was sure, had doubled how sore she felt today.

Once the pony settled into an easy gait she took a deep breath and stayed right where she was.

She was simply trying to cut down on being sore.

Honest.

Fili couldn't take his eyes off her.

Not that he wanted to.  

He'd expected Bilba and Dwalin to ride behind the Company as they'd done the day before and had deliberately held himself back to try and ride near them.

Instead she was up front, next to his uncle. Dwalin rode on Thorin's other side while Gandalf was just out in front.

She'd been chatting with his uncle for over an hour now, voice too low to carry to where he was.

She hadn't looked back once but, even so, Fili had no doubt in his mind that she was fully aware of him staring at her. He didn't know how he knew. He just did.

"You know," Kili said from next to him, "you're beginning to worry me, just a bit."

"I'm beginning to worry myself," Fili admitted.

Kili fell silent, watching where Bilba rode easily next to Thorin. She'd been sore that morning, Fili knew. He'd seen her trying to hide it though he didn't know if it was a result of the prior night's activities, the day spent in a saddle or a combination. In any event, he doubted riding was a pleasant experience for her now, but one wouldn't know it to look at her.

"I really would have thought she hated you," Kili said, almost to himself. "Like, stab you kind of hate you, not--" he waved his hand vaguely. "You know."

"When she came in she was actually looking for you," Fili offered, giving his brother a slight smirk as he did. He kept his voice low as he spoke. They were well back of the others and should be out of earshot, but the last thing he wanted to risk was anyone overhearing him talking about things that were simply none of their business.

Kili gave him a horrified look. "You're joking."

"I'm not." A thought occurred to him and Fili frowned at his brother. "Wait, about what you said happened --" his eyes flickered toward Bilba. "You don't think that -- I mean, are you feeling --"

"The only thing I feel toward her," Kili cut in, "is mild terror and a strong desire to sleep armed."

"You already sleep armed," Fili said in exasperation.

"Yes," Kili agreed, "but now I have a desire to do so."

Fili chuckled. He started to look back toward the front, caught himself and forced himself to focus on his surroundings instead.

There wasn't much to see.

The land was mostly flat, or given to gently sloping hills, as far as the eye could see. Every now and then they would pass through copses of trees, some big enough to almost qualify as a small forest, but that was about it.

"Uh-oh," Kili said suddenly, under his breath. "Looks like you're getting competition."

Fili's head jerked back around to see Bofur had moved up to ride alongside Bilba and was now engaging her in conversation. She had her head turned toward him, but her expression was flat. It had been flat, in fact, since she'd returned from wherever she'd gone earlier in Bree. Back when she'd panicked over the thought of having hurt him. Dwalin had gone after her and, when they'd returned, her face had been neutral. Flat.

Entirely blank.

"He's no threat," Fili said, startling himself at the conviction in his own voice. He scowled at his brother. "She's not that fickle."

"No," Kili agreed, voice slow and careful, "but just because she --" his eyes went to the backs of those riding a distance in front of them, and he cleared his throat. "It could have just been a thing, you know? I'm not saying that means she's going to just--" another vague hand wave, "you know, but she could if she wanted, you know? I mean, if someone catches her eye --" He trailed off as Fili just continued to stare at him intently. "You did say she was looking for me at first," he finally tried, weakly.

"She was lying," Fili stated. He knew she'd been lying. He just didn't know why she'd been lying.

"Are you sure that's not just your --" Kili scowled suddenly. "Okay, how about this? Did you feel any spark when you touched her?"

Fili settled back again into his saddle. "It occurs to me," he said slowly, "that none of us actually know what the spark feels like. Since it's so rare there's no one I can even ask to see what it felt like for them."

"So does that mean--" Kili asked.

"I felt something," Fili said, "but I can't begin to explain what it was."

"Huh." Kili frowned. "Well, that sucks."

Fili sighed. "On that, little brother, we can agree."

                                                ***

They stopped for lunch a little after midday when the sun had just moved past its zenith. Thorin kept them going until they came to a moderately sized grove of trees where they could rest without being visible for miles across the open plains.

After they'd dismounted, Fili volunteered to go collect fallen branches and sticks to start a fire. It'd be a chance to stretch his legs and give him a chance to, perhaps, clear his head.

Bilba had dismounted stiffly and was currently glaring at her pony. Dwalin said something to her and, even from where he stood, Fili could see that her response was less than polite. Dwalin simply shook his head and wandered off to speak to Thorin. Bofur, who'd been in the process of heading toward her, suddenly veered off and went to help Bombur unpack the cooking supplies.

Deciding the two had the right idea on leaving Bilba alone, Fili strode into the small cluster of trees. He walked until the voices of the others had faded to a low murmur in the background before finally stopping in a small clearing where he sighed and closed his eyes relief.  

"You shouldn't close your eyes when you're out in the open like that."

Fili didn't react aside from fighting a slow smile trying to spread across his face. He'd felt her approaching. It wasn't simply his warrior's sense, or the extra sense that told him when another presence was near. He'd known it was her, specifically, without having to look.

He opened his eyes to see her standing at the edge of the clearing behind him. She had a quiver of arrows and a bow held loosely in one hand, while the other gripped a small clay pot with a boiled leather covering over the top.

It was funny, Fili thought. The entire reason he'd gone off by himself was to be alone and clear his head yet the sight of her, rather than rather than causing him irritation or resentment, brought nothing but a sensation of peace, and happiness.

He liked being around her, even when she was at her worst and he just wanted to be left alone.

"Is that my brother's bow?" he asked in amusement.

She shrugged. "He wasn't using it."

He probably also didn't realize it was gone, Fili thought, but he didn't point it out. He did, however, feel compelled to ask, "what happened to it pulling to the left?"

"I can adjust to it," she said simply. "They didn't have one in Bree."

Fili raised an eyebrow. "They didn't have a bow in Bree?"

"Not one I liked." Bilba frowned at him. "Take off your shirt and get on your knees."

Fili's eyes narrowed. He ran her words back through his mind, decided he had, in fact, heard her correctly and then ran them back through again just to be sure. "That is -- probably the strangest proposition I've ever heard."

She rolled her eyes. "It wasn't a proposition." She made a "hurry up" motion at him with the hand that held the small pot. "Shirt off, now."

This time it was Fili who rolled his eyes, even as he obediently unstrapped his swords and shrugged his coat off. As he started pulling other weapons off he nodded at the small pot. "Let me guess, Oin doesn't know you have that either?"

"Burglar, remember?" Bilba asked.

"I don't know." Fili reached behind to grab his tunic and pulled it up and over his head. As he dropped it on the ground he saw her eyes flicker down his body and back up again. He smirked at her to let her know he'd noticed but was promptly ignored. "Nori's a thief but you don't see him rummaging through our packs."

"I didn't rummage through anyone's packs." She moved toward him and Fili sank dutifully to his knees.

Bilba went behind him, threw a foot over his bent legs and knelt. The position, in addition to the soreness he knew she was already suffering, had to be insanely uncomfortable but she made no effort to adjust.

She must have put the bow, arrows and pot down because he felt her hands lightly pulling his hair back. She drew it into a short ponytail, folded it in half and secured it with what felt like a leather thong at the base of his skull.

With his hair up, and her so close, he could feel her breath against the back of his neck. He heard her moving and then felt her fingers lightly on his back, spreading the thick ointment from the pot across the welts crisscrossing his shoulder blades.

"I'm sorry," she said softly as she worked, fingers impossibly light against his skin. There was a slight burn as she touched the abraded flesh, but it was quickly dulled by the ointment she worked in, spreading a cool feeling across his back.

"I don't recall complaining about it at the time," he said.

"You should have." Her fingers drifted lower on his back, and he let out a hiss as her thumb dug into the knot in the middle of his back. "Why are you so tense?"

"Have you met my uncle?" Fili asked dryly.

She was silent, her fingers moving back up to his upper back and the welts. The feel of her fingers lightly kneading the ointment into his skin was soothing and Fili let his eyes drift closed again. He relaxed, pressing back against her fingers and felt them dig into the muscles in response, massaging out the knots.

At some point, he became vaguely aware that the ointment had long since been completely absorbed, but her fingers continued to knead the skin around the welts, moving down to the middle of his back and his flanks. That stubborn knot loosened at last and he resisted the urge to groan in relief. He had a feeling that, if he did, he would only succeed in spooking her.

Suddenly the fingers on his waist slid forward, until her arms had wrapped entirely around him. One of her hands came around to press flat against his stomach while the other moved to rest in the same position over his heart. Her body pressed against his back and he felt her rest her head over his spine just between his shoulder blades.

Fili could feel her breathing against his back and, as slowly as possible, he moved his hands to cover hers where they lay on his stomach and chest.

After a few seconds she suddenly sucked in a breath, and pulled away from him, tugging free of his hands and standing to her feet behind him.

"I'll put more on this evening," she said, voice flat behind him. "The wild is no place to get an infection."

"Don't I know it," Fili murmured. She moved past him, bow and arrows back in hand, pot presumably shoved into a pocket somewhere inside the coat she wore. For the first time, Fili noticed the twin swords she wore strapped to her back.

"Maybe we could spar some time." He stood as he spoke, grabbing his tunic to pull it on.

She twitched but didn't stop or look back. "No."

"Is that no because you're worried you'll lose?" he challenged.

She laughed. "Nice try."

She vanished into the trees, leaving Fili alone behind her.

He grinned and reached for his weapons to arm himself again.

He'd made her laugh and was determined to accomplish it again.

It wasn't at the place he wanted to be with her, but it was a start he decided.

A very good start.

Follow on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16547237/chapters/38767136

[notes-from-sarah]

A Coal Black Colt

Summary: When Diego catches a magnificent black colt in the hills his father tells him to turn it loose. After all, wild horses are dangerous because they cannot be broken. Diego has no intention of breaking this horse and knows he must find a way to keep him. Disney’s Zorro. One-shot. Canon compliant.

AO3 Link     FFN Link

“His name is Tornado. An old shepherd has been keeping him for me. He was a colt when I left…Even my father wouldn’t recognize this horse” – Diego de la Vega (Season 1, Episode 1, Presenting Señor Zorro)

“¡Papá!” Diego’s voice echoed into the stables. “Papá, where are you?”

Alejandro looked up from inspecting one of his mares that was due to foal soon. “I am here, Diego. What do you need?”

Diego sprinted into view holding a rope lead. On the end of the lead was a coal black colt.

“Diego, where did you get that colt?” He hadn’t the faintest idea where Diego could have gotten the animal, the boy certainly didn’t have the money to buy it.

“I caught him in the hills. Isn’t he beautiful?” Diego patted the horse lovingly. Running his hand over the colt’s mane and neck. The animal was surprisingly calm, only betraying the slightest bit of nervousness.

Alejandro blinked in surprise. “He’s a fine looking animal, but-” he didn’t know what to say. His son had been known to drag home the odd pet or two in his life, but a wild horse was another matter entirely. “But how on earth did you catch him?” Alejandro knew the story was probably a good one, Diego’s stories always were.

“I was out riding in the hills past the big meadow,” Diego gestured away from the house in the general direction he meant, “and I saw a herd of the wild horses. This one caught my eye because I didn’t see a mother anywhere nearby. I followed them-”

Here Alejandro sighed. He was sure one of these days his son would follow some creature into the wilderness and never come back.

“-and they went deeper into the hills.” Diego began scratching the colt behind the ears. “The more I watched this one the more I knew I had to catch him. He ran like the wind over the hilltops and showed the most agility I’ve ever seen in a horse of his age. I believe he is an orphan.”

Alejandro guessed that the foal was about eight months old, quite old enough to get by without a mother. Alejandro opened his mouth to make a few remarks but Diego continued.

“He is such a fine animal, but he is smart too, I had to be very clever to catch hold of him. I decided to lay a trap there in the hills. I could tell he was intelligent and curious so I took off my hat and propped it up on a stick and put it in the ground where he could see. Then I hid myself behind a rock and waited with my lariat.”

Alejandro tried to stay quiet through Diego’s story, but he was already imagining how surprising a herd of wild horses while on foot might have gone ill for his son.

“My deception worked.” Diego patted the little horse’s head proudly. “He alone out of all the herd came to discover who the stick-man was, he was most curious about it. But he was cautious too.” He ruffled the horse’s forelock. “But not cautious enough! I sprang from my hiding place and lassoed him neatly. And do you know what?” Diego looked down at the foal with a grin.

“What?” said Alejandro with some trepidation.

“He didn’t even fight back. He was a bit frightened at first, but he didn’t try to run. I knew he was special.” Diego petted down horse’s nose ending at the velvety muzzle. His eyes shone with pride.

It was more than obvious that the boy was already in love with the animal. Alejandro sighed again, this wasn’t going to be pleasant. “Diego,” he said gently, “you must realize you can’t keep him.”

His son looked at him, surprised. “But Papá, he’s perfect. With a little training and more time he’ll be the most magnificent stallion.”

“Diego, he’s a wild animal.” This was not the first time he had some version of this conversation with his son. “He’ll never really be tame.”

“Of course he can be tamed,” said Diego. “I will train him most spectacularly.”

At times Alejandro wished he had even half the confidence of a teenage boy. “It won’t work, my son. It is simply impossible to make a wild animal tame.”

“But, Father,” Diego protested, gripping the colt’s mane, “I can-”

“No, Diego, you cannot.” Alejandro already had visions of his son being thrown by a half-trained wild horse. He had witnessed other dons attempt to break the wild ones, it never went well for them.

“I just need a little time,” Diego insisted. “I know it can be done.”

“But, Diego, you don’t have time.” Alejandro hated disappointing his son like this, but he needed to see sense. “You will be leaving for university in just half a year. Not only do I doubt that you can tame the wildness out of this horse, but even if you could you do not have the time needed to do so. I am afraid I must insist on you turning the animal loose. It will be better off with the other wild horses than languishing here, unrideable, for four years.”

“But,” Diego tried one last time, “I could start his training and then maybe Benito could work with him, or I might delay entering the university for a year and-”

“No, Diego, I have made up my mind on the matter and I want no more argument. He is not fit for breaking and I will not hear another word of you delaying your start at university. Take him now and turn him loose before he becomes to accustomed to the domestic horses. We do not want him returning and leading them off.”

Diego was bitterly disappointed. He cast his eyes downward combing his fingers through the colt’s mane. “Yes, Father,” he said finally.

“There’s a good boy,” said Alejandro. It was difficult for him to let down his son like this. He hated to take away something Diego so clearly enjoyed. “You had best go about it quickly, I’ll see you at supper.”

Diego nodded. “With your permission,” he said, not meeting Alejandro’s eyes. He tugged at the rope around the colt’s neck and the horse and boy left the stables.

Alejandro sighed. He wished Isabela were here to help manage this, her death last year had made parenting that much harder. She would have been able to make Diego see sense. At the same time, Alejandro thought, she probably would have convinced me to let Diego keep the horse. He was certain he had done the right thing in telling Diego to release the horse. Wild animals were just that, wild, and had no place in a domestic herd.

Diego mounted his palomino, Sinfonía, and leading the little black horse began to ride towards the hills where he had captured the colt. He was aggravated. He had spent most of the day tracking and capturing this foal, he hated letting him go again. He hadn’t even had a chance to tell his father the name he picked out for the animal. Tornado. His father hadn’t even seen how Tornado could run like the wind or turn on a pin. He was frustrated to be dismissed so quickly.

Glancing at Tornado cheerfully trotting beside Sinfonía his heart sank. The small horse was magnificent. To turn him loose was a waste.

“Do you want to stay with me, Tornado, or shall I set you free? I could train you to be the most legendary horse in all of New Spain.”

In way of response Tornado snorted and kicked up his heels, shaking his head. The colt was energetic even after the long day of activity.

“That’s what I think too,” said Diego, taking Tornado’s gestures for an answer. “Papá thinks that a wild horse can never be broken, is that true?”

Tornado twitched his ears in various directions.

“Well, I suppose it is true a little bit, but I do not want to break you. I want us to be amigos. I think we can work together most fabulously.”

Tornado scampered through the grass at Sinfonía’s side.

“Do you think I should listen to my Papá and turn you loose?” Diego was debating the issue internally. This little horse was so full of life and practically begging to be his friend. It would be cruel to send the animal back out to the wild when fate had so clearly intended for them to be together. Diego realized he couldn’t turn Tornado loose, he had to find some way to keep him without his father knowing.

He rode deeper into the hills, the hacienda disappearing in the distance. He knew the herd wouldn’t be where he had left them earlier, but he was beginning to think he wasn’t going there anyway. Still, where could he keep a horse so that his father wouldn’t suspect?

“So, Tornado, if I am not to turn you loose, where shall I put you? Shall I swear Benito to secrecy and have him hide you among our herds?”

Tornado frisked along oblivious to Diego’s troubles.

“That would not work for very long, Benito is too good a man to hide you from my father.” Patting the neck of his Palomino Diego said, “What do you think, am I being stupid, Sinfonía?”

Sinfonía just climbed through the hills calmly giving him no opinion.

Diego scanned the horizon hoping inspiration would come to him regarding his predicament. Presently the smell of smoke wafted over him. He stood up in his stirrups looking around for the source of the smoke, one could never be too careful about that sort of thing. The breeze was coming from the east so Diego rode in that direction hoping to find the source a campfire or something equally innocuous.

The source of the smoke, it turned out, was a cooking fire made by Old Cristóbal the shepherd.

“Don Diego,” Cristóbal rose and hailed him, “it has been a long time. Come, sit with me and tell me about your life.”

Diego smiled. He liked Cristóbal, and would on occasion seek him out just to enjoy his company. The man had many stories of his adventures as a shepherd in the wilderness, and he knew everything there was to know about the Californian countryside.

“Buenos días, Cristóbal.” Looping Tornado’s lead around Sinfonía’s saddle horn, Diego dismounted and shook the old shepherd’s hand. “How have you been?”

“Each day is like the other, but no two are the same.” Cristóbal smiled at him. It was a warm, earthy smile that Diego liked very much.

The two of them sat down near Cristóbal’s cook fire where he was preparing a pot of what smelled to be beans. His mule grazed nearby and Diego saw a small, neat tent erected a couple of yards away.

“Has your work been kind to you lately?” Diego asked. The shepherd looked to be in good health.

“It has been kind enough. It is my old bones that are not kind to me these days.” Cristóbal’s eyes twinkled.

Diego laughed. “I hope they provide you with a few more years of kindness all the same.”

“And what of you, Don Diego. I see you have a fine colt hitched to your horse there.”

Diego looked at Tornado. At least he wasn’t the only one who could see Tornado’s worth. “Sí, he is the finest I’ve ever seen. I caught him in the hills earlier today, and as you can see, he is already half tame. I think he will be the most magnificent stallion when he is grown.”

Cristóbal stirred his beans to prevent them from burning. “Why do you take him on a lead through the hills? Would it not be better to start him in the paddock?”

“My father does not believe a wild horse can be tamed and has told me to return him to the wild.” Diego’s voice held an edge of the irritation he felt about the issue. “I think he is putting one of the finest horses in California to waste because he assumes that good things can only come from Spain.”

“That is a difficult spot, Don Diego.” Cristóbal took a delicate bite of his cooking off the end of his spoon. “What are you going to do about it?”

Diego rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Well, when I left the hacienda I intended to do what my father told me to, no matter how loathsome. But now,” he looked back at Tornado, “I want to find a way to keep him. I know I can prove my father wrong, I just need to be given a chance.”

“An important time in every young man’s life, when he eschews the counsel of his father and begins to make his own decisions.”

“He will not be happy when he discovers I’ve disobeyed him.” Diego grinned a little. “What a tongue lashing I will receive.”

Cristóbal laughed. “Your father’s way with words is legendary.”

“It is most certainly that.” Diego smiled and shook his head. “At any rate, I had just come to my decision when I smelled your fire and came to make sure that the hills were not ablaze. I don’t know what I’m going to do with Tornado, I just know I need to keep him.”

“Tornado, a fine name for such an animal.” Cristóbal stroked his mustache for a moment as he gazed at the colt. “I agree with you, Don Diego, you must find a way to keep him and train him in secret.”

“There’s another problem,” Diego said, thinking of the future. “My father is sending me to university in Spain early next year and even if I make progress with Tornado, I will have to interrupt my training of him for four years.”

“Oh, Don Diego, this is good news, though. You will get the most fantastic education.” Cristóbal’s voice was filled with enthusiasm.

Diego raised an eyebrow, softly skeptical. “Do you think so? To tell the truth I am a little nervous. I’ve never traveled so far before, or been away for so long. I keep thinking that maybe I could put it off a year or two. What difference does it make if I enter university when I am nineteen or even twenty years old? And if I stay I could train Tornado and show my father that the wild horses are every bit as good as the domestic breeds.”

“But Don Diego, opportunities like this come only one time in a man’s life, if ever. You need to reach out boldly and seize it.” Cristóbal mimed a grabbing movement plucking the spoon from his one hand to the other. “When you are older you will find that you no longer care to do things to impress your father, or show him that he’s wrong.”

Diego considered Cristóbal’s words for a moment. “So, you think I should leave Tornado?”

“Right now it is necessary for you to go to university. You will get an education and return to the pueblo with a mind sharpened and ready for action. You will contribute something to all of us who cannot go to Spain for an education and lift us all with your learning. You must go, Don Diego, and not worry about what will happen to Tornado.” Cristóbal returned to stirring his beans.

In Cristóbal’s words Diego heard a hunger for learning. He was sure Cristóbal had only the most rudimentary education, if any, and it was certain that a lot of opportunities had been lost because of this deficit. “But what then of Tornado?”

“Don Diego, if he means so much to you, I will look after him until you return.”

“Really?” Diego sat up a little. “But I could not ask you to do such a thing.” He sat back again, then sat up again a second later and said, “What if I pay you? I can give you a salary for four years to keep him, watch him, feed him and work with him? Would you do that for me?”

“Don Diego, it would be my pleasure. Now, my beans are ready, join me and we will work out the details of this arrangement.”

Diego came to say goodbye to Tornado and Cristóbal. He was leaving for San Pedro in the morning and from there taking a ship to Spain. Tornado, just over a year old now, was shaping up to be a fine animal. Diego had not breathed a word about Tornado to his father. He wasn’t entirely sure how this would work out with him being gone for four years, but he was willing to give it a try.

Tornado was grazing in the small pen Cristóbal had for his mule. Upon seeing Diego the young horse nickered excitedly and raced to the fence. Diego reached over the fence rail and petted Tornado’s nose. He looked magnificent. “Hello, boy. Are you glad to see me?”

Tornado nuzzled Diego’s hand affectionately.

“I’m glad to see you too. I brought you a present.” Diego reached into his jacket and produced a carrot.

Tornado reached for it instantly.

“Wait,” Diego told the horse, holding the carrot out of his reach, “first you must do a trick.”

Tornado seemed to shake his head.

“Yes, you must. I want to know you will not forget everything I’ve taught you. Kneel, Tornado.”

Tornado backed away from the fence rail at Diego’s command.

“Kneel, come on boy, kneel,” Diego repeated.

Tornado sank down, bending one knee in a facsimile of a kneeling bow.

“Good boy, Tornado!” Diego said.

Tornado sprang back to his feet and ran to the rail again. Diego handed him the carrot. As Tornado munched the vegetable Diego scratched his neck. “I won’t see you again for a long time, boy. You must promise not to forget what I’ve taught you. When I come back you’ll be waiting for me and I will have the most exquisite horse in California to ride every day.”

Tornado leaned into the scratching, enjoying Diego’s attention.

“You must behave yourself while I am gone, be good to Cristóbal.”

“And I will be good to him, Don Diego,” said Cristóbal.

Diego turned to see the old shepherd. “Cristóbal, Buenos días. I came to say goodbye. I’m leaving for San Pedro in the morning.”

Cristóbal came to the fence and patted Diego’s arm. “Is it that day already? It seems only yesterday it was more than six months away.”

Diego nodded. “I am afraid you will not see me again for four years.” Diego reached into the pocket of his jacket and produced a fat purse. “Here is the sum which I promised you for taking care of Tornado.”

“Don Diego, you are too generous.” Cristóbal attempted to refuse the purse.

“I insist,” Diego said firmly, “you are doing me a great favor and I would not dream of treating you any differently than the best stables In Mexico City which house the finest racehorses.”

Cristóbal smiled. “Even though he will eat only plain grass and not imported oats?”

“The plain grass of California will make him strong, not soft like those Spanish imported breeds.” Diego placed the purse into Cristóbal’s hand and closed the man’s fingers around it. “No, I want him to be a true steed of the country. Swift, confident in the hills, and strong on good Californian grass.”

“You are too generous, Don Diego,” Cristóbal said again, finally accepting the money.

“Really, I am not. You are helping me, providing me with a service, and I am paying you a fair wage. There is no generosity in that.” Diego patted Cristóbal’s shoulder warmly. “Now, no more talk of our arrangement, it is settled. You will keep him and train him while I am gone and that is all I need to know.”

“Will you not stay for a light meal, Don Diego?” Cristóbal gestured to his small house.

Diego smiled. “I would like that very much, but I’m afraid I must get back home, I still have many things to do before tomorrow.”

Cristóbal nodded. “Then I wish you safe passage and look forward to your return.”

Diego embraced Cristóbal. “Thank you. Know that you and Tornado and all of California will be in my thoughts often.”

Turning to Tornado he motioned the horse back to the fence. The colt ran forward at full speed before coming to a halt at the last second sending a spray of dirt and a cloud of dust into the air. Cristóbal and Diego laughed and Diego reached out to pet his horse one last time.

“Goodbye, my friend, I will return soon.”

[hattywatch]

T. Seguin - Back Road Part 2

Author’s Note: This fic has been in the works since JULY, it is now January of 2019. Just so you guys know how slow and hard this has been (that’s what she said). It would not have been possible without various drunken nights on my part and encouraging text messages on @hockeyandtaylorswift ‘s part-  and all of the lovely tags that people created when they reblogged the first part. I read every single one of the tags that anyone makes when they reblog any of my fics and they keep the content coming (PSA I’m sure all fic writers will tell you the same thing. Tags, comments etc spark the muse for real), so thank everyone who ever wrote anything nice about it, I love you. As a caveat, this one is 20 pages long. Go to the bathroom, grab a snack and a blanket, and settle in for the long haul. It’s also smutty. Are we back to using the term *LEMONS* now to fight the Tumblr bots? Am I showing my age? Yes, to both. 

Part 1

He really takes your teasing in stride, which is awesome, since that's the kind of person you are.

He almost seems to revel in it.

After you sprung that kiss on him and all but slammed your door in his face, he was quick to text you when he got back to his place:

Tyler: Well, my ego is in shreds, but aside from that I'm home safe

was the exact text you got, but close enough.

If you were worried that his chase would be over the second you showed any interest, that text certainly helped calm your nerves.

It turns out that where previous guys all maintained a cool indifference and responded only when you initiated, Tyler was the opposite. He text you almost daily after your movie date. A picture of a dog here, his breakfast there, and best of all there was no shortage of selfies, a truly amazing perk. What a face on that man, honestly.

You never stopped teasing though, because, quite frankly it was nice to be pursued and you were more than a little gun-shy of getting in too deep.

___________

After constant texts back and forth for a week following your date, your nerves had calmed considerably. The chemistry was always there and he even started teasing back a little.

Tyler: You never send me any pictures. This is so one-sided.

You sorely hoped he wasn't asking for what you thought he was. You weren't sure you'd have the willpower to cut him out of your life if he was trying to solicit nudes.

Opting to be cheeky and hoping for the best, you sidle up to your fish’s tank and pucker your lips together, before taking a selfie with Brendan, the goldfish.

You: May all of your fishes come true.

When the tell-tale bubble appears to denote Tyler forming his reply, your heart patters double time in anticipation.

Tyler: That's the stuff I'm looking for 😁

Breathing out a sigh of relief, you're delighted that he's a gentleman and you're morally justified to continue this infatuation.

___________

It's been well over a week, closing in on two, and Tyler has texted lots. He even called once, from the grocery store to ask your opinion on cheez-its vs cheese-nips (cheez-its > cheese-nips, obviously).

He hasn't however, attempted to schedule another date. You're not sure why. He initiates texting and responds pretty quickly usually, aside from the odd early morning or late night text.

You're starting to get a little down on yourself about it until he sends you a picture of him in what is obviously the first-class area of a plane, followed by the message:

Tyler: I'll be home soon, what are you doing Thurs?

You nearly knock Brendan off the end table when you flail your legs in excitement that's decidedly uncool.

Tyler suggests a few date ideas before saying that you’re no help and telling you to wear jeans and closed toe shoes.

___________

When Thursday finally comes you slide back into those lived in jeans you love so much. In full honesty, you did go out and buy a new shirt and some cool slide on sneakers, so you're feeling pretty good about yourself when you're adjusting your hair in the mirror and there's a knock on your door.

You sprinkle a little food into Brendan's bowl as you pass through the living room and grab your keys to meet Tyler at the door.

“Trent! Good to see you,” you lock the door behind you and turn around and meet Tyler's eye with a big grin. He dips down, leaning in for a hug and a respectful peck on the cheek.

“Tear my heart out why don't you? A guy's liable to develop a complex.” The complex is short lived, you can tell since he snakes his arm around your waist and leads you to the flashy sports car that sits in front of your house.

“Where's your Jeep?” He smiles at you as he opens the car door and closes it, walking around the car getting into the driver's seat.

“You know how it is,” he buckles his seat belt and finishes, “boys and their toys.”

“Apparently,” you answer coolly, refusing to be charmed by a shiny, expensive car. What type of girl does he think you are?

Whatever type of girl he thinks you are is quickly what you're becoming as he parks outside of a ranch.

“Are we being real Texans today?” you ask, letting yourself out of the car before he can come around and open the door. He walks around anyway, grabbing your hand and continuing up the dirt road to the ranch.

“Yee-haw,” he says seriously, looking straight into your eyes, but his eyebrows rise to belie his voice.

You can't hold back the giggles that brings out, and let him half drag you the rest of the way through the dusty parking lot to the instructor, who's waiting in the stables.

___________

Overall you are a much better rider than Tyler.

You can see the instructor getting frazzled as she tries to get him to loosen his grip on the reins and to stop inadvertently signaling for the horse to start a trot with the way he's squeezing his calves around the animal’s sides.

After a small lesson in the paddock which easily takes twice the time it should, you're given the okay to take the trail. The horses seem to know the trail so you and Tyler are free to chat, side by side as your horses gently lead the way. Tyler's horse mostly ignoring the inexperienced rider on his back.

“I was worried you wouldn't say yes to me again,” Tyler looks over at you grinning and you can't tell if he's kidding or not; after all, it was you and not him who initiated physical intimacy on your last date.

“Why is that? I thought I made it pretty clear on my porch that I would be open to another date,” you will your cheeks to cool down, it seems just the memory of your mouth on his has you a little warm.

He smiles warmly at you, a little blush appearing high on his cheeks, “Oh, I remember,” he takes a breath before continuing, “but I've been pretty busy with work, ya know, out of town a lot. I wasn't sure if you were sick of waiting for me to be around. Barely got you to agree to the first date.” He must signal the horse to speed up in some way, which Buttercup does with ease. Tyler's face looks stricken for a second until the horse seems to remember who is sitting in the saddle. She slows down to allow you and Spirit to catch back up.

You're laughing, hunched forward on Spirit, Tyler's panicked face burned into your brain.

“ 's not funny,” he's visibly trying to relax, since Buttercup is feeding off of his nerves.

“It so is,” you make out between giant gulping breaths while wiping the tears from your eyes. Spirit has finally caught up with Buttercup and Tyler's pout has subsided.

“Why couldn't you pick something that I'm better at. Let me impress you and feel manly?” You laugh again before reminding him that he's to blame for today's activity.

“Yeah, but I only picked this because you said that you like horses and haven't been riding since you moved here,” he gets a little line between his eyebrows as he scrunches them up and mock anger.

“Well, at the very least, I am impressed by your listening abilities,” you nod primly and he gives you a cheesy grin, before he agrees that he'll take whatever win he can get.

You can see the ranch through the trees and it seems like your ride is coming to a close. The sun is beginning to lay lower in the sky and overall it's been a really peaceful few hours.

You don't want it to end.

Hopping off of Buttercup is much easier for Tyler than disembarking off of Spirit is for you. It probably has something to do with him being 6 foot plus and incredibly fit, not that you like, noticed or anything. He smiles at you from below as he sees you struggling with the stirrups.

“C'mon cowgirl, time to go,” he extends his hand up to you and you obviously accept it. Any excuse to get closer to the man in front of you.

He grips your hips tightly from behind to steady you, as you swing your leg over and try to gently lower yourself back to solid ground. If you were watching the scene play out, instead of being a part of it, you'd surely roll your eyes. But that’s not the case, and his hands are strong and warm and you can feel them through your jeans. It sends warmth radiating through your body and you bite your lip to keep yourself from saying anything foolish.

Normally, you’d be a bit more than a bit self-conscious about him grabbing your hips. They’re wide and thick since that’s where most of your extra weight seems to congregate, but Tyler isn't shying away, and it isn’t necessarily hidden in these snug pants.

You're both silent on the walk back to his car.

___________

He drives back in the direction of your house, but is going well under the speed limit, which is odd for the ostentatious sports car you're in.

He hits a red light and finally looks over at you, “Did you have other plans tonight… or?”

His sentence tapers off and you stare at him with your lips pursed.

“Did you have something else planned?” It comes out a little too high pitched and excited to be passed off as cool, but you sort of hope he does, because you really don't want to go home and wait for him to contact you again, especially if his work schedule is as erratic as he's claimed. Who knows how long you two could draw this thing out for.

He stares at you now, seemingly mulling something silently. “Light's green,” you nudge him with your elbow.

He focuses on the road again but eyes you subtly, “I could make us dinner, if you wanted to come to my place?” He's tentative, like he's not sure what you're going to say- like he hasn't taken you on the best dates of your life, hasn't been unabashedly pursuing you and making you hot under the collar with every look he sends in your direction. Like you could ever say no to that face of his.

“Yeah we can do that, Tony” a grin splits his face and you just couldn’t help yourself.

He hunches over towards the steering wheel in what can only be described as giggles.

“You'll remember my name one day,” he warns as he makes a u-turn, driving the opposite direction of your home.

He'd be hard to forget, all his weirdness and sweetness and playful tenacity. You sit quietly, hoping his invitation to dinner is a little less innocent than face value.

___________

It seems Tyler is absolutely full of surprises, because the driveway he pulls into belongs to a veritable mansion and you're instantly uncomfortable.

Before you can help yourself a small, “oh,” drops out of your mouth. You hope he doesn't hear you, because that's embarrassing. You just feel a little out of place, since you're a waitress and he's picked you up at your house before, which is really just the first floor of a house in the suburbs that you rent and definitely could not afford to own.

He hits a button on his phone and the garage door opens and it's literally like you're sitting next to James- fucking-Bond. Once he's pulled in you see the Jeep sitting in the garage as well, along with a few other cars you wouldn't be able to identify as anything other than wildly expensive. He doesn’t seem to catch the noise you make, but he does catch you surreptitiously looking around. He parks and starts getting out, walking over to the door and unlocking it as you trail behind him.

“I told you, I like my toys.” He lets you into the house before him and you kick off your shoes at the door, afraid to track dirt all over the pristine floors.You follow him through the hallway and into the kitchen. It’s bright and beautiful, with marble floors and countertops and what are surely restaurant quality appliances, and if he told you his personal chef would be preparing dinner for you tonight it honestly wouldn't surprise you in the least.

But he doesn't.

He gets out pans and bread and butter and cheese and starts the stove before glancing at your shocked face, “Grilled cheese okay? I haven't really gone grocery shopping since I got back. Ya know, too busy trying to plan dates with girls who can't remember my name and getting shown up by rowdy horses.” You nod and he turns back to the pan, buttering it up as it heats over the open flame.

He motions over to the island stools and you hop up, watching him cook. “Can I help at all?” You don't really know where anything is, but your momma raised you right, so you ask anyway.

“There’s some wine in the fridge, if you’re interested,” he tells you, and you pour out two glasses as he pops the grilled cheeses onto two plates, placing one in front of you and scooting onto the stool next to you with his own.

“Wine doesn't really go with grilled cheese, huh?” He makes a face, but it doesn't stop him from washing down his second bite in the exact same fashion.

“Excuse you, grilled cheese goes with everything.” Sure it's just grilled cheese and all, but it's really actually pretty good and it's made even better by how sweet Tyler was to do it himself and not take the easy way out and order something in. It feels cozy and private sitting in his kitchen, drinking wine and eating the food he made. You eat mostly in silence, sipping your wine and looking around at the grand kitchen.

___________

It's hard to imagine what Tyler does for a living that he could afford a place like this. He doesn’t give off a businessman vibe and he doesn’t seem like the kind who was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, so you’re at a loss thinking of a position for him to work. Mostly you just don't want to be seen as a gold digger, even though you couldn’t have possibly known about this in advance; if you had known, you would have been even more reluctant to agree to a date than you already were.

“You okay? Kinda quiet, usually you're making jokes at my expense, I'm a little worried,” he nudges your knee with his under the table as you finish up your food. You pick up the wine glass and stand,  filling both of your glasses again. “Yeah. I'm good. Gimme a tour?” You open your eyes wide, tilt your head, and give him a genuine smile, it's not his fault that your uncomfortable about him being loaded. He obviously wasn't turned off by you not being rich, so you do your best to put it out of your mind in the effort of having a good time.

He smiles and stands dropping both dishes in the sink before he heads off into another room motioning for you to follow.

The two of you must make a decent amount of noise, because as you leave the kitchen, you can hear the tell-tale sound of paws on hardwood and before you know it, you're surrounded in labs. Before you get pummeled, Tyler grabs your wine glass from your hand before they could pounce you with love.

The dogs are wonderful.

He makes a fuss of trying to get the yellow one to stop jumping, but the brown and black ones are a little more well behaved, a little older and calmer. They hear his stern voice and sit and allow you to ruffle their ears, while the yellow one dances around happily, in between you and Tyler.

“It's fine,” you tell him. “If this is how I die, it's worth it,” you're fully sat on the floor now, giving pets and staving off sloppy kisses. He lets the dogs attack you with love for another minute before he helps you up from the floor.

“You'll spoil them.” He hands you back your wine and tells the dogs to go lay down, which they surprisingly do as they head off into an adjacent room. Tyler follows behind them.

“This is the living room,” he pauses, eyeing the dogs who look up at the sound of his voice from their position on the couch. “No,” he stares them down sternly and they plop their heads back onto the couch cushions and ignore you as you walk though.

“This is the dining room, I never use this. I don't even know why I have this room. I only use it when my mom's here.” It's amazing how the house is beautifully furnished and decorated, without looking like a 20 something male threw it all together or looking too overly pretentious, like it was done by a pricey designer.

He drags you into the game room, through the media room, and he ducks his head into a room that he calls his office. “I probably use this room less than the dining room.” He doesn’t even cross over the threshold, and keeps on his way to the stairs.

Letting the curiosity get the better of you, you step in and see stacked hockey pucks and gloves on the desk and jerseys on the wall. It starts to click. It would make sense for him to work in sports; it would afford him the money to own a house like this, and would probably require travel. He’s in great shape and Texas is wrought with professional trainers. You make a mental note to ask him about it later when you get the chance.

Suddenly though, you feel a little uncomfortable in your tight jeans, thinking about all of the hard bodies he probably comes into contact with daily.

“Hey, where’d you go?” Tyler calls from outside of the room, and decide you should probably stop snooping around without his consent; it’s not nice.

___________

The tour continues upstairs.

He shows you where his mom likes to stay, and then drags you into the room his sisters fight over for when they visit.

You know where this is going. Normally, you'd be delighted a guy like him was interested in getting into your pants, but you're not really in the mood to take them off anymore, considering how self conscious you're feeling. You feel a little claustrophobic in your own clothes, your shirt feels constricting around your arms and chest and you can feel where the waist of you jeans is digging into your flesh.

It's an honest shame, because his bedroom is awesome. Everything is a soft neutral. It's decorated minimally but tastefully. There are floor to ceiling windows that light the room up in warm reds and oranges with the dusky sky and the bed looks huge and warm.

You end up not having to deny him, because he doesn't even spare the bed a second glance before he's dragging you into his closet, which is like, wow.

“Hooooooooly,” you're almost reverent looking at the amount of clothes and shoes and, quite frankly the solid organizational skills that were put to practice here.

“Yeah, it's okay.” He looks almost sheepish. Like he doesn't want to be showing off, but you did ask for a tour, so he’s just giving the people what they want. .

“I think your closet is bigger than my entire bedroom.” You're backing out into his bedroom again and see another door.

“Do you have two closets you absolute diva?” You gently slap his chest, unable to stop teasing him as his face gets that distinct pink tinge again. Your face heats up as well at the hard muscle you feel under your hands. That smirk makes its way back to his face as he catches your hand lingering on his pecs. His eyebrows approach his hairline, so you turn away from him, pushing the door open, nosy once more.

“Okay, your bathroom is definitely bigger than my bedroom,” you do a little spin to take in the whole thing. Looking up at the skylight and out the window at the view. He laughs it off before grabbing your hand and tugging you.

“C'mon, I'm going to kick your ass at pool... unless you have to go?” He looks at you, waiting for approval.

You think about leaving for about a second, overwhelmed by- well, by everything. This house, and the cars, and his general… overwhelmingly handsome, charming self. But then you think about it again, and really, you do honestly like him, so you decide to throw caution to the wind. You’ve gotten this far with false bravado and flirtatious teasing,

“You don't even stand a chance, Tommy,” you smile before ducking under his arm and out of his room, hurrying down the stairs.

He chases you, right on your heels until he catches you at the game room, pressed against your back, all warm and big. He puts his hands on your hips and whispers low in you ear, “Let's see what you got, tough guy.”

___________

Once you're away from the bedroom you start to feel a little better. He keeps making sure you're comfortable and wanting to stay, he doesn't seem to be less attracted to you because you're not wealthy or shaped like a runway model. You can't seem to find a fault with him; normally that would be annoying, but you're just happy the only issue you have now is whether or not you want to make a move on him, since it seems he's letting you control all things carnal.

There's not as much pressure down in the game room, far away from the expectations of the bedroom.

Scratch that. There's a lot of pressure, but it's a different type of pressure. Because you were definitely shit talking before and you've lost 3 games of pool in a row. Not just lost; lost would be underselling it.

You were absolutely eviscerated- sinking only 1 of your own balls before Tyler cleared the table, then calls the 8 ball's pocket and smoothly shoots it in without a problem.

Pouting, you turn around and poke Tyler in the chest, “I don't want to play with you anymore. This isn't any fun!”

He grabs your wrist and tugs you towards him. He's laughing, a full loud thing that makes his eyes scrunch up and shows all of his straight white teeth. Your competitive side is still feeling pouty, but your red-blooded-female side is hot under the collar for this idiot.

He wraps his arms around you. “Now you know how I felt when you were showing me and Buttercup up. Sucks doesn't it?”

You let him wrap you up in his arms, it's a nice consolation prize for getting your ass handed to you over and over and over. “Yeah, yeah. I've never played before so… you should be a lot less proud.”

He looks down at you a little affronted. “Let me show you proper technique. I can't keep beating you mercilessly when you're such a rookie. It's not even a challenge.”

___________

You'd like to say that your heart rate and body temperature remained steady as he oh-so-innocently bent you over the table to show you how to properly line up a shot, but you make it a habit to not lie through your teeth.

It feels incredible. He's all angular, hard lines against your curves. It makes you feel distinctly feminine and small, something no other man has ever really accomplished.

Tyler is keeping it strictly business. No funny stuff at all. His left hand on your left elbow helping you stay steady against the felt of the table, while his right hand covers yours, far back on the pool cue.

He shows you a few times, slowly pulling your arm back and smoothly sliding it forward to make contact with the cue ball. You'd never assign the term “erotic” to billiards, but now you'd be hard pressed to ever look at a pool table again without thinking of this moment.

“Go easy. Gentle hands. You don't need a lot of force. It's more about finesse,” he's so close the words drop out of his mouth and settle onto the column of your neck.

Odds are really high you might jump him. It's absolutely terrible.

When he finally stands up and lets you have a go at it alone, you're practically vibrating out of your skin. You hit the cue ball all wrong since your hands are shaking, and it hops right over the ball you're aiming for and off of the table.

“You okay there hot shot?” He's stood up behind you as you drop your face onto the table in embarrassment. You can hear the laugh in his voice.

“It's going great, Trevor,” you manage, raising your head and scowling at him over your shoulder. ‘Great’ may be embellishing, but then he runs a finger over the sliver of skin that's exposed from where your shirt has rucked up, and all of a sudden you need to reassess your choice in adjectives.

The moment can easily be upgraded from “great” to transcendental.

You're not sure if you should stand up and turn around, since that would be prime position to get your mouth on his again. Or maybe you could stay bent over the table and see where he plans on going with this. Or maybe you just let your body turn into a pile of goo here on the table under his hands. They all seem like pretty solid options as far as you're concerned.

Tyler's hand shimmies your shirt up a few more inches and you entertain a flash of insecurity at the thought of your love handles existing, but you're happy to report that you forget about it pretty quickly as Tyler stretches his front over your back once more, clearly undeterred.

He pushes your hair to the side and tucks his chin into your neck, murmuring directly into your ear.

“This good? You want me to stop?” He's grabbing both sides of your waist and there's not a single gap between your bodies.

You're not quite sure you can fully formulate a coherent sentence with his lips running wild on the nape of your neck, so you press your ass back into him so he knows to continue.

“That's a yes then? Use your words, babe” you feel his smile against your jaw before he gently lets his teeth scrape over a particularly sensitive spot under your ear.

All the air in your lungs leaves you in a breathy moan, “Yeah. Yes. You're good.”

His hands drop lower and squeeze your hips, “I'm ‘good,’ what?” He presses his hips closer to yours before pulling away. The friction, while short lived, is sorely missed and leaves you wishing he'd do it again.

The short circuit in your brain isn't making the connection he's trying to lead you towards, and you turn your head towards him, eyes half-lidded while letting out an extremely intelligent, “huh?”

He repeats the motion again, pulling you back harder against him this time. “I'm good- what, (y/n).” He puts emphasis on your name, growling it into your ear.

This time he backs away entirely and pulls you to stand up and turn to face him, eyebrows raised, waiting for you to give him what he's looking for.

“You're good…” you swing your eyes skyward and pretend to consider it while wrapping your arms around his neck, eyebrows furrowed and nose wrinkled, “Todd?”

Tyler's jaw sets, but it doesn't reach his eyes. “You wound me.” His hand is over his heart. “Maybe I can jog your memory.”

He's got your ass in his hands before you can blink, and you're suddenly sat on the edge of the table. His hands rise to the waist of your pants while his mouth is fixed against yours, playfully dragging his tongue over the roof of your mouth. It tickles and is sharply contrasted with the stinging bite he leaves on your bottom lip.

“Can I take these off?” He's still tugging at the top of your jeans, so you stand and nod rapidly, shedding your pants before he has the chance to do it himself.

“Thanks,” he kisses the word into your mouth as he puts you back onto the edge of the table and gently pushes you back. “I'm going to do these too, if you don't mind,” his index finger slips in between your lacy thong and your hip. He succeeds in tugging it down off of your ankles when you nod your approval.

His hands grip your thighs just above your knees as he settles himself onto the floor between them.

You know what's coming and are so keyed up you're not sure you can even watch. It's a struggle to keep your eyes open, but the alternative is missing it, and you definitely don't want that to happen.

He goes slowly, licking gently up your right leg, but not breaking eye contact. “You know that's not my name,” he shakes his head gently.

Even now, he's such a little shit that you don't want to give into him. So, you press your cheek to your shoulder and lean back on your forearms, your eyes staying on his, “Tyson?”

He moves onto your left leg, licking from your knee into the crease of your hip. “Not quite. But I'm sure it will come to you.”

His hands push you over the lip of the table and onto the playing surface. A small shriek leaves your mouth because you hadn't been expecting it. He takes the opportunity of you being momentarily stunned to press his tongue against your pussy.

It's been more than a while since you've been privy to such lovely treatment, and you can't help it when your thighs tighten and your hand digs into his hair, while your head tips all the way back in bliss.

“Oh my God. Oh my God; I'm so sorry!” You pull your thighs apart, embarrassed that you'd boxed his ears so firmly between them, but he doesn't stop or even seem all that phased by it. Instead he responds by digging his fingertips into your flesh, pulling your legs wider so he can wedge his shoulders between them while moving closer into you.

Everything feels too good. His hands on your flesh burn in the best possible way and his mouth moving against you is making you lightheaded. You can't control it when your breath starts coming in quick pants as he starts running a finger up your slit while focusing his tongue on your clit.

It's stupid, but you open your eyes and  chance a peek down at him. Tyler must be able to feel your gaze, because he opens his eyes then and halts all his movements.

The needy whine that makes its way out of your mouth is ten different kinds of embarrassing, but you need him back on you. Your nerves are on fire, waiting to be sated, but Tyler just looks up at you, inches from where he was, haughty.

“Please don't stop.” Your hand finds its way back into his hair and you tug him forward a little. It's his turn to moan out, and he puts his mouth to you again with renewed fervor.

You can't help yourself when his tongue pushes into you and his nose nudges your clit and he lets loose a growl. No one could blame you for pressing further against him as you beg-

“Tyler, please. Please don't stop,” breathlessly while staring down at him.

You don't realize what you said until he pauses and looks up at you. You can't see the smirk, but you can feel the sweet kiss he places on your clit before he buries his face against you again. He contains multitudes.

It almost makes you wish you kept your mouth shut, because you know you gave him exactly what he'd been after. But you can't be bothered to care as the pressure in your belly becomes too much to bear. He focuses his mouth on your clit, relentlessly circling his tongue around it, and slips two fingers into you, stretching you, and the pressure explodes. Your vision spots as you try to keep your eyes on what Tyler is doing between your legs, but you have to close them when he reaches up to grab your breast over your shirt, too overstimulated by the way he's still sucking at your clit to need any more.

He rises up when you start to whine and wiggle against his licks, his face is wet with you and he looks so painfully sexy, lips swollen and red.

“That's it, baby. That's all I wanted. I knew you’d remember me.” He leans over you and kisses you gently on your lips. Tasting the combination of his mouth and your cunt is only serving to make you wetter.

He grabs your hand and pulls you up, “C’mon, baby, let's go upstairs.” He drags you behind him as he heads up towards his bedroom.

___________

When you get to his room you're magnetized to him. Up until now, you really haven't gotten your hands on him much. So you kissed him, and let your hands slide up his shirt and straight to his chest, you can tell before you've even gotten him undressed that you grossly underestimated how fit he is.

It's so unfair. Everywhere you're soft and curved he's hard, unyielding edges.

The moan slips out before you can close your lips over it, with your face pressed against his neck and your hands running up and down his firm stomach. You shake your head against him, disbelief at how hot he is and how he’s encouraging you to touch him like this.

If you thought he was unbearably smug before, you clearly hadn't seen anything yet. Tyler reaches behind his neck to pull his shirt off and you literally feel like you're in Magic Mike. He's too perfect. The black ink swirling over tanned skin, all pulled tight over his thick muscles.

Your hands go to his shoulders sliding down his triceps and his forearms, before linking your hands with his. You coax his tongue out of his mouth and into yours before sucking gently on it.

The hand holding doesn't last, he pulls your hands back up to his chest, “No, don’t stop. I like that. Do that again (y/n).” He presses your hands flat against him and rests his on top, dragging you up and down his chest and abs. His eyes drop closed and his head is tipped back just a little, savoring the feel of your hands all over him. Tyler clearly wants you to enjoy his body, and you can't say it will be a hardship to give him what he wants; he looks like he stepped out of your wildest fantasies. A tattooed bad boy with a secret heart of gold, the cliches write themselves.

You desperately want to make him feel good, he gave you what was surely the best orgasm of your life down in the game room. But, you just can't help the teasing; it's how you flirt, after all.

“What's that, Tyler?” Speaking soft and low into the shell of his ear, you keep your left hand where he's positioned it on his chest, but slowly slide the right one down his chest, down his impossibly defined stomach, and down to the drooped waistband of his jeans as you tuck a finger into them, hoping he gets the hint. “Tell me what you want, Tyler.”

His eyes look wild as he steps back and reaches down to unbutton and drop his pants. He's so hard already, you can feel it as you get your hand around him through his boxer briefs. Continuing to palm him, you feel a little drunk with power. He's letting out these little huffs and whines that fall into your neck and he's wrapped one arm around you and is grabbing at your ass so hard you're sure to have bruises.

He seems content to let you have your way with his body for the time being, almost egging you on with all his noises and gripping you harder when you give him something he likes. Currently it's the fact that you've pushed down his underwear and are continuing to pull his dick in long, smooth strokes, rolling your thumb over the head, that has him gasping in your ear.

“Yes, like that- wanna be inside you, please,” he's tugging at your shirt trying to pull it off, but you're having so much fun turning him to putty you're not sure if you want to give into him.

You've never had a man like him before. He seems content to let you set the pace of everything. To be in control of this huge man and how he'll get his pleasure, it- it knocks the wind out of you a bit to be honest.

Shortening your strokes, you pull your hand away from his cock, and lift your shirt over your head. Tyler's opened his eyes and looks over at you, groaning when he takes in your breasts. Your bra is pulled down over them, nipples peeking out, since he's been feeling you up over your shirt for the past few minutes. There's really no point in having it on, so you unclasp it and shimmy it off of your shoulders.

He's reaching out to touch you, but before he can, you're on your knees in front of him, sat fully nude, ready to make him feel good.

Dropping his head, he looks down at you and lets out a whine, “That's not fair I can't touch you from up here.”

Bless him, you're going to wreck him.

You take just the tip of his cock into your mouth and he stops complaining.

“You can so,” you tell him, grabbing his hands and bringing them to your head. You wrap your own hands around his thighs. They're firm and muscular like the rest of him, and you can't help yourself, so you lean over and lick up his inner thigh, back to his cock.

He's being so gentle, not using any of the leverage you gave him. So, you use your grip on his legs to force yourself down on him and hope he'll take the hint. After a few bobs of your head, it seems he understands and softly pulls you down over and over onto his cock with the hands that are wrapped up in your hair.

You love the way he's falling apart above you, breathy and begging for more, but you really don't want him to finish in your mouth tonight. Mostly in case you never get this opportunity with him again; you want the memory him inside of you at the very least.

He has the same idea because he tugs gently at your hair. “(Y/n), you gotta stop.” The pride swells up inside you as you feel his legs shaking. “I can't- just get up here.”

You stand, your thighs are a little a shaky themselves from being on your knees for so long, but he grabs you by your upper arms and helps you up.

“Lay down,” you barely recognize the gravelly voice that commands Tyler to the bed, but you know it's your own. He's so good, horizontal before you can blink, lying there waiting for you.

“Please, (y/n). Wanted this for so long, since the first time I saw you. You're so sexy.” You roll your eyes, mostly to stop them from watering at the heart wrenching sincerity that he speaks with. You straddle him and kiss his lips,

“You're awfully sappy for someone who was just fucking my face.” It's his turn to roll his eyes, but they're forced closed as you sink down on him.

He winds his arms around your waist and sits up just enough to watch your ass bounce on him from over your shoulder.

“Tyler,” he tears his eyes away from the image and looks up at you, “I want to make you come.” You stop bouncing on him and slowly roll your hips until his head knocks back against the pillows. He isn't looking up at you, eyes wrenched shut, so you assume you're on the right track.

“Such a good boy. Waited so long for me, Tyler,” he's breathing is labored at best but he manages to slow it enough to answer.

“Love when you say my name. I want you to come, can you do it again?” He's flushed from his face down to his chest and he's practically art, slick with sweat, muscles straining.

All it really takes is him leaning up a little and licking at one breast before sucking a hickey into it for you to lose it around him once more. It's overwhelming this time too.

Tyler is relentless. He takes over this time too, pressing up into you as you try to clamp your legs down around his hips to slow him, used to him letting you be in control, but it seems it's his turn now. He manages to get you onto your back without pulling out, and you haven't stopped coming around him yet.

“No, no. You had your fun. My turn, trust me.” You push up at his chest without any real intent of removing him from you. Your overstimulation quickly turning into another orgasm under his unrelenting hips. He can see the second you're falling apart, the legs that were wrapped around him twitching and squeezing at him.

“Yes, good girl,” he's cupping each breast roughly and you think if he makes you come again you may just pass out.

“Tyler please, I think you're going to kill me,” you scramble underneath him, grabbing at any skin of his you can find. He does that laugh again, with his head back and mouth open wide, nose scrunched. He's honestly a blast and if this is the last time you get to see him like this you will be sincerely disappointed.

“Keep saying my name like that,” he looks down at you all soft, eyes glinting, “that'll make me come.” He fucks into you three times, quickly, almost snarky, before returning to long smooth strokes. Pulling all the way out so only the very tip of the head remains inside of you before pushing all the way back inside, and shuddering each time.

“Is that all it takes?” You kid with him, pushing his hair back off his forehead. “You just want me to tell me how good you are, Tyler?” You feel him pulse inside of you and pause for a brief second before he picks his rhythm back up. “Yes, that's what you want. Tyler, you're so good, baby. I love your dick, Tyler. Fuck.”

Honestly, the way he's staring down at you like you're the one who hung the moon and the way your voice sounds wrecked and breathless is enough to have to clenching around him again, and it isn't even for his benefit when you cry out, “Tyler! Fuck like that Ty, don't stop, please, please, please, Tyler!”

The combine of his voice and you clamping down around him must finally send him over the edge and as soon as you feel him pulse inside of you, you open your eyes. He's absolutely gorgeous, face screwed up in pleasure, breathing hard through his teeth before he's spent and pulls out of you, rolling onto his side.

You scamper out of his bed to clean up and pee. The whole time trying to delay the rough thought of him kicking you out or calling and Uber to send you home in. Just the idea grates against your brain and has you nervous to leave the bathroom.

When you finally build up the courage, he's lying there, still gloriously naked, one foot tucked under the blanket. You search around for your underwear and remember that you left them down in the game room before sighing. Tyler's eye peeks open.

“What are you doing? Get in bed. It's late.” You're stunned and tilt your head blubbering out before you can stop yourself, “You want me to stay?”

“Yeah of course, I'll take you home in the morning after breakfast. I think I have some eggs downstairs?” he scratches at his hair before rolling to face your side of the bed, patting the pillow welcomingly.

Huffing out a surprised laugh, you pull the blankets up the bed and slide underneath them, so grateful that you finally gave into him all those weeks ago.

[faveficarchive]

Decisions

By Blue

Pairing: Xena/Gabrielle

Rating: Mature

Synopsis: After losing track of Xena during a battle, Gabrielle will do anything to find her best friend and tell her how she feels. 

PART ONE: A Romance a Day

Gabrielle hiked along the road behind Xena and Argo, seriously considering the offering of a few heartfelt prayers for deliverance. Nothing major: a severe thunderstorm would do it. Local, of course. There was no point in risking crops. Her feet hurt, she had a headache and, above all, she was hot.

Very hot.

She looked at Xena's back almost resentfully. After all the time they had been together, after all they had been through, it was still a complete mystery to Gabrielle how the warrior always managed to look the way she did right now, as if she had just stepped fresh from a relaxing bath.

Not even the road dust dared to settle on the Warrior Princess.

At the moment, that was bothering Gabrielle more than anything else. She swatted impatiently at the tiny dust cloud that seemed to perpetually follow her around these days and resigned herself to looking, and feeling, like the victim of a recent cave-in.

She sighed in frustration. Things hadn't gone too well lately, and she was actually having to work at staying positive. Somebody had to. Xena wasn't a ray of sunshine at the best of times, and Gabrielle had no problem with labeling the last little while the worst of times.

Xena heard her, and turned in the saddle to look back, reining Argo to a halt.

"What's wrong?" she asked as Gabrielle caught up to her.

"What could be wrong? Nothing like a pleasant stroll on a beautiful day to whet the old appetite." The bard fixed a smile on her face.

"Uh huh." Xena surveyed her appearance, and swung down from Argo. She unhooked the waterskin and tossed it to the bard.

Gabrielle took a long drink and handed the skin back.

"What is it?" she asked. Xena was giving her an odd look.

"You have mud on your chin," said Xena carefully.

"Oh for..." began a thoroughly fed up Gabrielle, swiping at her face. "Get on the horse and ride for a while," interrupted Xena.

Gabrielle eyed Argo. They had a truce of sorts, but the bard wasn't inclined to push it. "No, thanks. I'll walk."

"Another two leagues to go." said Xena flatly.

Without a word, Gabrielle put her boot in the stirrup and Xena helped her up. As she thumped into the saddle, Argo turned her head and gave the warrior a reproachful look Xena ignored it and led her off as soon as Gabrielle was settled on her back.

***

"I hope there's a decent Inn. What I wouldn't give for a good long soak and a night in a bed for a change," said Gabrielle presently, good humour restored once again. "If there's a good crowd, I can tell some stories and pick up a few dinars. Guys with a couple of drinks in them should be suckers for a good...romance." She looked down expectantly at Xena's back, waiting for her to make some typically caustic comment.

That was hardly the case in Xena's experience, but she didn't have the chance to say so, even if she'd wanted to. Gabrielle didn't wait long for an answer, she was off and running with some tale or other, and Xena shook her head slightly and smiled to herself. She let the words flow over her, relieved that Gabrielle seemed more her usual self. It bothered her when Gabrielle behaved uncharacteristically, and what could be more so than hours of silence?

"...So her father finally gave in and granted permission for them to get married. They had a big wedding, lots of children and lived happily ever after. So, what do you think? I know it's an old story, and it needs a bit of polish, but I don't think it's too bad. "

The look of polite attention on Xena's face never changed as she asked, "How many?"

Gabrielle was confused. "How many what?"

Xena glanced up at her. "How many children," she said patiently.

"I don't know. Many! What difference does *that* make?" Gabrielle demanded.

"There's a reason these guys are drinking in taverns. I imagine it has to do with many children." Xena's reasonable tone put a scowl on the bard's face.

"This is a story about the triumph of love over adversity, *not* a population survey," she observed tartly "Look what the guy went through to rescue his true love. Come on, don't you think that's romantic?"

Xena privately considered the girl a spineless little thing, and the boyfriend an incompetent fool who could have avoided the whole mess with no trouble at all, but she knew better than to say so.

"It's a popular subject," she evaded. That, at least, was true.

"Huh," sniffed Gabrielle, "and how would you know? You leave the room before the poor bard has a chance to open his mouth."

"Why would I want to listen to any of them? I have the benefit of private performances." Xena said dryly.

Gabrielle was pleased with her success. That amused gleam in Xena's eyes had been missing for too long.

"Nice diversion. Maybe I should stay with adventure stories." She shifted uneasily in the saddle. She had more against riding than the height of the horse, but she had no intention at all of telling Xena that.

"Why don't you ride now," she ventured. Really, the ground was looking more appealing with every step Argo took. She hoped fervently for a hot bath.

"No, that's alright. You stay up," said Xena. Her long stride ate up the distance. With Gabrielle on foot, they wouldn't make the village until after dark. "We could get you a horse."

"Oh, right," replied Gabrielle." Look, everyone! It's Xena, the mighty Warrior Princess, and her brave warhorse, Argo! Oh, and the bard with the pony."

Xena contemplated that image for a moment or two, then grinned. A genuine, full-faced grin, thought Gabrielle, that had the bard wondering about the shape of the imaginary pony. Knowing Xena's sense of humour, the poor thing was likely a barrel with legs.

"It's not that funny," Gabrielle snapped, feigning annoyance.

"No, of course not," answered Xena, clearing her expression with a visible effort.

Gabrielle regarded her with narrowed eyes.

***

They arrived in Antes around dinnertime, Gabrielle still on Argo and still talking. Xena was ready to swear that she'd heard every romance every written, and a few Gabrielle had undoubtedly made up on the spur of the moment. She resolved never, ever, to mention horses again without careful consideration beforehand.

"Looks like there's a festival going on. I hope we can get a room. There should be a good crowd in the tavern anyway," observed Gabrielle, as Xena led Argo to the front of the village Inn.

The bard climbed down from Argo, gleefully watched by a group of snickering, nudging young boys. She smiled at them, caring not at all, and fled gratefully inside.

"Is this your horse?" asked one of the boys, bending his neck back to look up at the tall warrior. .

Xena nodded.

"What's his name? Can I pat him," another wanted to know.

"Her name is Argo, and yes, you can pat her, but stay in front so she can see you," said Xena.

"Your friend doesn't ride very well, does she?" said the smallest one boldly. The others looked at him in horror. Everyone knew it wasn't safe to upset warriors, and to a boy, they shifted their eyes back to the woman.

Xena looked down at him. "Oh, she has her moments," she replied mildly, thinking of a certain mad dash down a river bed and an exquisitely detailed description, provided by Salmoneus, of the fastest exit from a courtyard he'd ever seen. Xena had been suitably impressed. Few people knew more about fast exits than Salmoneus.

"All set," said Gabrielle, coming back out. "We got the last room. There's a bard here already, but Polonius seems happy to have some new blood."

"Are you a bard?" one of them asked.

"That's right. You guys like stories?" Gabrielle gave them a friendly smile, certain they hadn't got one from Xena.

"Who doesn't? What kind of stories do you tell?" demanded the tallest.

"Romance," said Gabrielle brightly.

"Yech." They turned away.

Xena turned quickly to the saddle to untie the packs. Gabrielle glared at her back, then returned to her vanishing public.

"Just kidding. I tell adventure stories," she said reassuringly.

"No kissing?" asked one suspiciously.

Xena moved quickly to Argo's off side, earning another look from the bard.

"No kissing," Gabrielle assured him.

"If you're finished..." said Xena, coming back around with a bland look on her face. She piled the two packs and bedrolls into Gabrielle's arms. "I'll stable Argo."

"Around the back," said one boy.

"I can show you, " said another.

"You can all show me, " said Xena, holding up her hand for silence. She led Argo off, following behind the boys.

Gabrielle staggered back into the Inn, feeling over-encumbered and under-appreciated. "I will never understand why everybody is so fascinated with horses." she muttered to herself.

She dumped the gear onto the bed, noticed with a grin that Xena's feet were going to be hanging out over the end, and headed back out to the main room. Hunger had won out over a bath at the top of the priority list.

"So what can I get you," asked Polonius from behind the bar. "We've got a pretty decent mutton stew, fresh bread and cheese."

"Sounds good," said Gabrielle, surveying the room. It was a popular spot, filled with chattering customers and a few drunks propped up in the corners. "Business looks good," she remarked.

"Sure, until that bard shows up," said Polonius sourly. "Find a table, I'll bring dinner over."

"Thanks. For two, please. My friend will be here soon. I'd like a cider and a port as well."

Gabrielle took the two cups and threaded her way to a table tucked in the back of the room. She drank her cider and tried to get a feel for the crowd. When she went up to get another, she had to wait while Polonius posted a notice, and moved hastily out of the way of the crowd that formed around it.

"What's all that about?" she asked.

"It's the list of contests for the festival. You know, the usual. You should take a look. Only 3 dinars to enter. Prizes for the winners, too."

" I don't know. There's not...what's the matter?" Polonius was staring at the door.

Gabrielle sighed and reached to take her cider as Polonius said respectfully, "oh my..." he caught the look on Gabrielle's face and subsided.

She signaled to Xena, standing in the doorway and carefully looking over the room, to follow her over to the table.

"What's the matter," asked Xena.

"Nothing the gods couldn't fix. What took so long?"

"Argo had to be groomed." Xena reached for her cup.

"Since when does it take you this long/" asked the bard.

"Since I had help," replied the warrior, taking a swallow of her drink.

***

Polonius came over, carrying their dinner himself. He eyed Xena, and started to say something that was drowned out by the sudden stampede towards the door. He watched with a disgusted expression as half his customers pushed their way out, leaving a clear line of sight to a weedy looking young man with a bewildered look on his face. The remaining customers all headed for the bar.

"Let me guess," said Gabrielle. "This is the bard."

"Yeah," sighed Polonius. "His name is Achilles. Can you believe it? He looks like that with a name like Achilles. Is there some kind of rule that says bards can't change their names?" He hurried to the bar and began filling orders.

"I'll see you later, " said Xena, her hands on the table and half-way to her feet.

"Oh, no," said Gabrielle firmly, snagging one braced arm. "Not this time. Dinner's here, you need to eat, and it won't hurt you to listen to another bard for a change. You might enjoy it. Besides, think how the poor guy feels, everyone leaving like that. I know how I'd feel.... " she let her voice trail off.

Xena's eyes narrowed slightly and she looked down. Gabrielle was ready for that. She had her most innocent look in place already. Xena could use some lightweight diversion that didn't involve weapons, or the application of boot to flesh, and the best way to manipulate her, when it was possible at all, was with an emotional appeal. She didn't dare do it often, but so far it had always worked.

The warrior recognized the look on Gabrielle's face. It was the one the bard used when she was trying to nudge her into doing something that Gabrielle was convinced was for her own good. Since she didn't use it often, and Xena knew that when the bard did, Gabrielle was honestly concerned about her, she decided to give in. Gabrielle would feel better for it: so far it had always worked.

Rolling her eyes a bit for affect, she settled back. Gabrielle released her arm and Xena prepared to reduce the stew to a memory.

"How bad can it be?" asked Gabrielle. "There are still people here." She started on her own stew. Storytelling was hard work.

Xena gave her a dark look, and concentrated on her bowl as the bard started to speak.

"I knew it. I knew it. Why didn't I just keep my mouth shut?" Gabrielle berated herself. "The second I said that, I should have known it was fated." She was afraid to look at Xena. The story was bad, it didn't make sense, you could hardly hear it (which might be a blessing), and, worst of all, it was about the Warrior Princess.

At least, Gabrielle thought it was. It was hard to tell. She couldn't take the suspense any longer, and shifted her eyes to her right. If she was lucky, Xena had fallen asleep.

Xena was staring at the bard as if he was some sort of curious animal she'd never seen before and never expected to see again. Fortunately, they were sitting in an out-of-the-way corner, pretty much unnoticed.

"I'm surprised you're still here," Gabrielle whispered to her.

"You know, maybe I haven't given you enough credit." said Xena thoughtfully.

"What?"

"I remember telling you that you're a good storyteller. If this is typical, you're obviously a great one."

"He is *not* typical," hissed Gabrielle, stung into defending bards in general. Then she realized that she'd just been given a compliment. "Is this story about you?" she asked. "Did he say you took on four giants all at once?"

"He said it, " said Xena. "I don't remember doing it."

Achilles came to an trailing halt, smiled weakly, and scuttled off, all to total silence.

"My turn, " said Gabrielle, already anticipating a standing ovation after what she'd just heard. "I'll meet you back at the room."

"Going to try a romance?" asked Xena laconically, leaning back and stretching out, her cup held in big hands. The very picture of relaxation, thought Gabrielle uneasily.

"After that, I could recite a grocery list and get a better reception. You're staying?" asked Gabrielle.

"There's a reason I shouldn't?" One of Xena's eyebrows went up.

"No! No, of course not. You just never have, that's all" Gabrielle said hastily.

"First time for everything," said Xena complacently. "I might enjoy it, isn't that what you said?"

"You don't have a knife to sharpen, or something?"

Xena's eyes narrowed. "What's going on here, Gabrielle?"

The bard sighed.

"Well, you remember when I told you no more secrets?"

"Yes," Xena's voice dropped ominously

"Well, there was this one thing...things, really...just small things..."

"Bard! Bard!" the crowd was chanting and Polonius was gesturing furiously. Gabrielle abandoned a very unrewarding conversation and moved quickly to the front of the room.

She needed to tell a funny story after Achilles had driven the room into near stupor, and one of her favorites was Meleager's defense of her village. She'd worked it up more or less privately, and it had turned into a real crowd pleaser, beginning it with her dramatic flinging open of the tavern door. She'd been looking forward to telling it, too, until Xena had decided to stay. There were one or two small details she hadn't felt it necessary to burden the warrior with, and she'd certainly never expected to have to inform her of them in a room full of people. Xena had been too distracted at having her back to think about asking how things had gone, and Gabrielle had been too happy at being back to think to tell her. Later on....well, she supposed, she could have said something, but the time had never been right. Gabrielle looked at her briefly.

Xena never failed to surprise her. That might be a good thing.

Oh well, too late now. In for a dinar...

Not until she got to the part about being captured by Damon's men did she take her first look at Xena.

She was still leaning back in the same position she'd been in before, and she certainly looked as if she was taking it calmly enough. The glint in her eye, however, was visible to Gabrielle even at the other end of the room. The bard refused to look as she described the events leading up to, and in the tent, then lost her nerve and left out the sound effects (which she thought was the funniest part of the whole thing), but there was no way to skip over just how she and Meleager had fooled the guards, not without losing the sense of the story. Possibly, she hadn't left out enough. Both of the warrior's eyebrows were now up: never a good sign. The customers loved it, that was something. The guffaws and catcalls were proof of that. So were the cheers when Gabrielle vaulted the cart, and the roars of approval and encouragement when Xena's chakram cut through the swords of the bandits, sending them scrambling away.

Three more stories had them stamping their feet, and as she finished, she grinned at the audience, who were calling loudly for more.

"Tomorrow", she said to the chants of "more."

Polonius pushed over a cider and port, grinning from ear to ear.

"On the house" he said. "Great job. They'll be packed in here tomorrow. He placed a bowl on the counter. "All right, you lot! Let' s show the bard some appreciation!"

Gabrielle headed to the table with both cups. Xena almost never drank more than one port, but Gabrielle thought she might need it herself.

Xena had an unreadable expression on her face as Gabrielle sat down to silence.

"Just small things..." quoted the warrior, finally.

" I would have told you, it just didn't seem... well, I....you know how it is." fumbled Gabrielle.

"Only too well, " muttered Xena. "You did a good job on the defenses," she continued in a more normal tone.

"Thanks," said Gabrielle, surprised. "I have a very good teacher."

"About that business in the tent..." started Xena.

"I knew the guards would fall for it." defended Gabrielle. She had a feeling this was a losing argument.

"I'm not talking about the guards."

"Xena, he's old enough to be my grandfather!" the bard tried.

"No, he isn't, and I don't mean that, either." Xena looked grim. Gabrielle felt grim.

"Did you know he killed 317 men at Liguria?" she asked in an effort to change the subject.

"Is that what he told you?" asked Xena.

"Do you know him?" Gabrielle asked, interested in spite of the current topic of conversation.

"Heard of him," said the warrior.

"Really? Where?'

"Not in Potidaea." said Xena pointedly. The thought of Gabrielle mixed up in - running - a defense of a village against a Warlord with no help except the slapdash, totally unimaginative, self-proclaimed ladies' man Meleager had her clenching her jaw. When she saw him ..and she'd make sure she did.... that would be the second item she'd be discussing with him.

The first...well... She drained the port in a swallow and got up from the table, followed by Gabrielle.

"So what did you think of the story?" asked Gabrielle, then mentally groaned. Of all the stupid things, remind her of that. On the plus side, Xena was certainly diverted.

Xena walked down the hall another few paces, then said " it was interesting. Parts of it were very....informative." She opened the door and went in, Gabrielle coming behind.

"Xena, there's nothing to be upset about," the bard said placatingly. " It was months ago, after all. Believe me, I have absolutely no interest in Meleager."

"I'm not upset," said Xena mildly. She dug into her saddlebag and pulled out the small bag that held her sharpening stone.

Gabrielle looked at her doubtfully. "Do you want first turn at the bath?" It seemed like a good time to change the subject

"No, you go ahead. I want to sharpen my knives."

"You could have done that earlier!" the bard said through clenched teeth.

"I could have," agreed Xena. She gave Gabrielle an "is there anything else" look

Gabrielle started to rummage in her bag, looking for the soap, and listening to the steady strokes of the sharpening stone drawn authoritatively down a blade. She shifted her eyes, frowning thoughtfully, and watched as Xena's attention was fixed on the knife she was working on.

She and Xena were both a long way from Potidaea, both in time and distance, but Xena's protective instincts had always been strong, and probably always would be. Things had been particularly bad since that....Ares, in Lotia. Gabrielle didn't mind receiving the habitual glances Xena directed her way. She'd long since grown used to them, they were reassuring, and lately, she'd been giving the warrior the same quick looks. She certainly welcomed the sometimes tentative touches whether she needed the comfort or not. What she did mind was a return to the "stay back" days. She'd never be in Xena's class, but she could take care of herself.

She stopped beside Xena's chair, and waited until the warrior looked up, eyebrow raised in silent enquiry.

"You know, neither one of us is the same person we were when we left Amphipolis together," the bard said carefully.

The other eyebrow rose. "I had noticed that." Gabrielle smiled affectionately and and briefly gripped Xena's arm. Thoughtful blue eyes followed her path out the door.

***

She spent much longer in the bath than she had anticipated. Polonius, well pleased with the night's profits and bolstered by an ale or two, extravagantly provided her with fresh hot water. Blissfully soaking certain portions of her aching anatomy, Gabrielle lost track of the time.

Humming to herself, she turned the corner to cross the hall when she literally ran into Achilles just outside the room she shared with Xena.

"Sorry," she said smiling, and tried to move past. He stepped in front to block her path.

"I enjoyed your stories very much, especially the first one. You're as talented as you are beautiful."

Gabrielle tried not to smile too broadly. Pretty poor line, even for this guy. Close up, and she was a lot closer than she wanted to be, he was as unprepossessing as he had been when she'd seen him earlier. At least he sounded more assertive. He smiled hopefully, and she returned it with the one she gave audiences that had been less than generous with the dinars.

"Thanks, I'm glad you liked it." She tried to move again.

"Who did you get the original idea from?" he asked curiously.

Maybe assertive wasn't the right word.

"It's not made up. It's real life and I did those things. Well, most of those things, and I had help, of course." Gabrielle was indignant.

"And so brave, too," he said, staring in admiration. "What did you think of my stories? Did you hear them?"

Gabrielle was momentarily at a loss.

"Oh, yeah...yeah, I heard them. It was....well, I don't have the words to describe it."

He beamed and she sighed to herself.

"I have lots of stories about the Warrior Princess character. I'd be glad to..."

"Wait a minute. Character?" Gabrielle asked in disbelief. Her eyes slid involuntarily to the door standing slightly ajar just a few feet from her.

"Certainly. She's not real, you know," his tone telling her that he just knew he was shattering all her girlish illusions.. "Oh, people like to pretend that she is, but let's face it, with all those skills she's supposed to have, strong as a dozen men..."

"Ten. Ten men," said Gabrielle, fascinated with a viewpoint on Xena she'd never even considered might exist.

"Whatever," he waved it off. "Think about it. She's supposed to be unbeatable in battle, never runs into trouble she can't handle, young, beautiful, comes out of some nowhere village, no explanation for all this skill, and to top it all off, there are even stories about her horse. And this round thing she uses to kill people...." he smiled condescendingly. "and her...friend....some storyteller she travels with. Now, really, why would someone who's supposed to be as awesome as all that, travel with a storyteller? Personally, I think it's just a cover for a group of raiders or something."

"Do you?" asked Gabrielle sweetly. She was half tempted to scream and let Achilles see for himself just how much of a character Xena could be. If he hadn't been so utterly pathetic, she would have. Still, she'd be able to turn this into a funny story for the fire some night.

Not in the near future, though. She doubted that Xena would currently find this as amusing as she did.

He smirked at her, and she began to feel sorry for him. Having to use other people's stories, well, bards did that all the time, of course, but most of them liked to tell their own, too. She didn't expect much had ever happened to him, and he didn't seem to be the creative type.

"I have to get back. My friend will be waiting for me. Good luck," she started to move past again, and looked down in surprise as he gripped her arm.

"Wait! Listen, I have to leave tomorrow, and I think it would be a great idea if you came with me. I could help you with your stories, and I think we could make a good team. What do you say?" He had an eager look in his eye that reminded Gabrielle of a puppy she'd once had.

She allowed him five minutes to declare undying admiration, mostly because of the puppy, before she cut him off.

"Sorry, but that's out of the question. I told you, my friend is waiting for me." She jerked her arm free.

"Your lover," he said, heavily. He looked disappointed, and the bard suspected it was a familiar expression.

"Well..." Gabrielle said, then stopped suddenly, looking closely at him. Just maybe, she thought...

"What's wrong," he asked uneasily, as the bard continued to study him..

Xena had sharpened all her knives, her sword, checked and cleaned her armour, chakram, and boot laces, and still no Gabrielle. She didn't really want to go looking for her...Gabrielle took that as a lack of confidence on her part, these days, and it wasn't easy to move around an Inn unnoticed.

Xena often found herself wishing that Gabrielle could somehow overcome, at least some of the time, the habit of acting without thinking. There was no telling what she was going to do next,. and it was very hard on the nerves, especially lately, with trouble lurking around every corner. The bard could be anywhere right now, doing who knew what. She was pacing the width of the room when the voices in the hall outside caught her attention. She started for the door.

"I'm sorry, I just can't go with you...you're sweet to ask, but....can you keep a secret?"

The warrior frowned, recognizing Gabrielle's voice, and paused. Go with who? What secret? She looked back indecisively at the chair by the fire. This was a private conversation, after all, none of her business. Still, it was hard to imagine the bard with a secret. She talked all the time, surely something would have slipped out, some sort of indication that there was something bothering her that Gabrielle didn't feel she could confide.

Xena looked back to the door and bit her lip. Gabrielle didn't have secrets, not exactly, but she did have a tendency to forget to pass on information that somehow always seemed to become essential at some point or other. This might help her head off trouble, she told herself. 'Just great,' she thought, 'reduced to listening at doors.'

She moved forward on silent feet in time to hear a voice say, "Of course I can keep a secret."

Hmmm. The would-be bard. She raised an eyebrow.

"See, I love another, and my heart isn't mine to give away." Gabrielle threw herself into her explanation with a certain amount of tragic enthusiasm that would have had Xena narrowing her eyes in suspicion if she hadn't been, at the moment, frozen with the shock of her life. The warrior's eyes had widened and her lips parted as her hand fumbled for the door.

"It's a secret, you see, because I haven't said anything. I didn't quite know what kind of reaction I'd get, and...."

Xena had to force herself to breathe, and her eyebrows had disappeared into her hair. All the Warlords in Greece couldn't have moved her away from the door. She fixed her attention on the conversation in the hall.

"...not say anything then?"

"It just recently happened, and there really wasn't any time to say anything...the circumstances weren't right....lack of opportunity...I'm not sure it's mutual. I think it might be, but it's pretty important. I don't want to make a mistake and risk ending up alone."

"But that's so sad...." Achilles said sympathetically.

"Yeah," Gabrielle agreed morosely.

"You haven't told me who he is."

Behind the door, Xena was silently begging Gabrielle for the same information.

"I can't tell you that," protested Gabrielle. "It's a secret. I wouldn't feel right about telling someone else first."

"At least tell me what he looks like," Achilles pleaded.

Gabrielle considered. She supposed it wouldn't hurt.

Xena was straining every muscle forward, hand gripping the door, grimly determined to hear every word. She ignored the tightness in her chest, it wasn't important, she had bigger problems than trying to breathe. As incredible as it was to hear that Gabrielle had fallen in love, it was infuriating to know the worthless bastard hadn't even had the guts to say anything. What kind of man was walking around maybe not knowing, or caring, that he had Gabrielle's heart? How could he not know? What kind of man would leave her?

Unconsciously, her lips had drawn back into a snarl.

"Well....tall, naturally, you may have noticed I'm not......dark hair, blue eyes, nice cheekbones, a good jaw...big shoulders...a bit on the grim side, but I can fix that......oh, and a really great...."

Xena had ceased to listen, wracking her memory for someone they'd met who fit...

"Toris!" she thought savagely.

Her fingers drove through the paneling on the door. Her own brother was the worthless bastard who'd left Gabrielle, who'd gone back to Amphipolis. And she'd let him leave. She swore to herself. Of course, she hadn't seen it, but that wasn't the point. She'd let him go And all because Gabrielle hadn't told her. Told Toris, she corrected herself. Told both of them, although it was obvious now why Gabrielle hadn't said anything to her.

She took a deep breath and tried to get hold of herself, working her fingers out of the door after a puzzled look at them. She didn't remember how they got there, but that wasn't important now, either.

She picked up her knife and dropped heavily into the chair. Her eyes travelled aimlessly around the room, seeing nothing until they ranged over the bed and stayed there. Gabrielle discovering herself to be in love with Toris. Gabrielle leaving her to follow him to Amphipolis, the way Gabrielle had followed her. Toris claiming her as his....holding her....kissing her....making love to her....

"Xena...answer me!"

Xena jerked her head around, focusing on Gabrielle's face inches away from her own, small hands gripping her arms.

"Don't shout, I can hear you," she said irritably, trying to cover her confusion.

"You haven't heard a word I've said," retorted Gabrielle. "Are you all right? You're not getting sick?"

Xena brushed away the hand that Gabrielle tried to put on her forehead. "I'm fine."

"Really. Then how did this happen?" She pointed, and Xena looked down, surprised to see the blood on her hand where the newly sharpened blade had bit.

"Just an accident."

"Right. You cut yourself with sharp weapons all the time." Gabrielle's voice was as sarcastic as Xena had ever heard it, and she was conscious of the bard's eyes on her back as she swiped roughly at her hand with a rag.

She stowed her knife and left for her bath with as much dignity as she could.

***

When she got back, Gabrielle was already in bed asleep, the shutters were fastened and the fire banked. Laying her sword on the floor within easy reach, Xena slipped in beside her, kicked at the short blanket in annoyance, and determined to mind her own business.

She was still minding it an hour later.

Gabrielle's safety and well-being were very much her business Xena wanted few things from her own life anymore, and expected even less, but Gabrielle's happiness was important to her. If Toris could give her that happiness...she shifted uncomfortably. It was inconceivable that the fierce, bright soul that was Gabrielle would endure long in the living death that life in Amphipolis would be to her. Excitement, adventure, meeting new people.....Gabrielle left friends behind her wherever she went. The same faces, the day-in and day-out routine of a village.....the safety, the security, Xena reminded herself. Gabrielle knows what life in a village is like. No one leaping out of bushes, or off roofs. No pitched battles, no ambushes, no come-ons in bars. No more hard ground, no more rainy nights, no more horses, Xena thought.

She glanced over as Gabrielle murmured softly in her sleep and turned over.

Fine-boned features and clear green eyes that laughed up at her to coax a reluctant smile. Compact build to her own rangy height. Small, deft hands dwarfed by her large ones. Innocent soul and blood-washed Warlord. Light to her dark. Xena exhaled slowly. It was hard to imagine a more unlikely pair. What we have most in common, she thought ruefully, is stubbornness. That damn braiding business...

She'd been saddling Argo one morning when she'd felt Gabrielle's eyes on her back.

"What?" she'd asked without turning around.

"I think we have to do something about that," Gabrielle had said in a critical tone.

"About what?" she asked puzzled, turning to face her.

"Your hair. It's all over the place. Doesn't it get in your eyes when you have to fight?"

At first, she'd thought this was just another one of Gabrielle's odd conversational forays. When she'd seen that the bard was serious, she'd shrugged and taken out her knife.

"What are you going to do with that?" Gabrielle asked, apprehensively.

She'd gestured to her hair. "Cut it," she said, fighting back a grin.

Smiling, she remembered Gabrielle's cry of horror, and how she'd almost ripped the knife out of her hand.

Gabrielle had spent ten minutes trying to convince her that there were other ways of keeping hair out of eyes than wrapping a leather tie carelessly around whatever could be gathered up. The bard ruthlessly swept aside any objections about constant tugging and pulling. Xena didn't intend to cut it, it was a certain statement of ability that she'd found useful in the past. Most warriors were very careful about anything that could be grabbed by an enemy, and kept their hair short or tightly bound. Long, flowing hair sent a message all it's own, but if it was going to make Gabrielle happy to braid it, what harm could it do?

"It hurts," Xena complained, more for something to say. She knew she was going to give in. Gabrielle had that look on her face, and the warrior wasn't going to dwell on other reasons she might have for agreeing.

"I won't hurt you. I promise," the bard said in a solemn tone, though her eyes were laughing.

Gabrielle had kept her word. At first, Xena thought she'd make use of the time to sharpen weapons, but that was usually what occupied her after dinner, when the fire was crackling and Gabrielle was either working on one of her parchments, or sitting back and just talking while Xena worked with the stone and oil. That hadn't gone well, though. After a number of sharp comments to 'sit still and stop fidgeting', she'd sat back and set herself to endure. Gabrielle's touch was gentle and soothing, and if it took longer than it would for Xena to braid Argo's mane, well, that was all right.. More than all right....

Xena blinked. Don't go there, she told herself. Gabrielle loved Toris, and it wasn't as if she had any claim on her, and no right to one either, really. Gabrielle had almost lost her life on more than one occasion because of her. True, the bard loved her, but she'd loved that strangely named pony, as well, so how much could that mean, really?. She should be grateful that Gabrielle had stayed as long as she had, although lately, she'd thought a few times, after catching a look out of the corner of her eye that Gabrielle....no. Why would she, after all?

Her brother was, she supposed, a good, steady...she didn't like to use the word 'dull', but she suspected it fit... man who would give Gabrielle the love she deserved, and she would be happy for her. She could visit, meet the newest members of her family. Gods above, she thought, children. Babies. Noisy ones, if they took after their mother. She looked down as Gabrielle flung out her arm, turning onto her stomach, her hand relaxed and warm across the warrior's chest. Smiling faintly, she shook her head at the sound muffled by the pillow. It wasn't easy to sleep with Gabrielle.

She'd be damned if she'd visit.

***

Xena was tired and irritated when she rose. Her hand hurt and her feet were cold. She was almost finished strapping on her armour when she heard Gabrielle's voice behind her.

"Morning." the bard muttered, half asleep.

"Hmph"

Gabrielle opened her eyes completely and looked at her.

"I take it you didn't sleep well."

"Get dressed, Gabrielle. I'll pick up supplies and meet you back here. Be ready." She left rather abruptly, leaving Gabrielle staring after her, and at four holes in the door panel.

Xena was making her way through festival bound villagers, her saddlebag slung over a shoulder, when the commotion behind her caught her attention. She turned to see a group of heavily armed riders coming towards her, and she tensed as she recognized the lead rider. With no surprise, she watched him stop in front of her and dismount.

"Haven't seen you for a while, Xena," he said cheerfully.

"I can't say that I've missed you," she replied evenly. " You're a little far south, aren't you? What do you want, Merius?" She noticed that he appeared to have lost weight since she'd last seen him.

He spread his hands out.

"Relax. I don't want any trouble. I've..well..sort of settled down. You can only burn so many villages before you want something more in your life." He glared as she looked in disbelief.

"It's true," he said defensively. "I even got married a while back. Nice woman, didn't want me away from home." Xena recoiled slightly at the faint, silly grin on his weatherbeaten face. He saw, and frowned at her.

"Try it yourself if you don't believe me."

Xena restrained herself from asking if he expected her to find herself a nice woman as well, and instead asked him again what he wanted.

"I'm looking for someone."

"So much for married life," she said dryly.

He flushed. "Not that kind of someone. My brother-in-law. A few spears short of a cartload, if you know what I mean. He's all right most of the time, but when he gets a little....well, he can be dangerous. He got away and the wife's worried. I thought he might come here for the festival. He thinks he's a bard. Gods above, Xena, you've never heard drivel like his in your whole life," he said disgustedly. "Night after night...romance! What happened to good honest stories about killing? I can handle the romance myself just fine."

Xena stared at him for a moment, a familiar chill running up her back.

"What's his name, Merius," she demanded.

"Don't tell me you want to meet him."

She stepped forward, twisted her hand in his shirt and lifted him up. "His name!"

"Petrus," he said. He looked puzzled at the relief on her face as she set him down. "Likes to call himself Achilles, though."

Xena took off at a dead run for the Inn, pushing her way through the crowds at first, then with a clear way as bodies melted away in front of her. Behind her, she could her Merius shouting and pounding along.

She slowed down as she saw the ring of people ahead. No one was moving, not a good sign. She rose on the balls of her feet, and looked over the crowd, Merius coming up beside her.

"What's going on?" he puffed.

"Your brother-in-law just dropped another spear. That's not all he's going to lose. He's got a knife to my friend's throat." Her eyes were hard and her face set as Merius grabbed her arm. It was his turn to recoil. He'd seen that look before.

"Xena...he's not responsible, truly. It just happens to him. Your friend won't hurt him, will he?"

"It's not my friend he has to worry about. No one lays a hand on her. No one," she finished in a low, cold voice.

"Xena, don't hurt him. You don't have to. You can usually talk him him out of it. Look, he knows who you are. Find out what he wants, and he'll let the woman go. Humour him. He probably just wants to hear a few stories," he urged. If anything happened to the little bastard, his wife would kill him.. And Xena, and anyone else she thought was involved. He swallowed nervously.

Xena paused, considering what she knew. Anyone could kill with a knife to someone's throat. She couldn't endanger Gabrielle, or anyone else, by charging in like a bull, so she'd have to try it Merius's way. She could still keep her options open. One drop of blood, just one...and Merius wouldn't have to worry about his brother-in-law anymore.

"I'll see what I can do. But, Merius..." she met his eyes. His mouth twisted, and he gave a short nod. Xena started to push her way to the front of the crowd, trying to hear what was happening in front of her.

Gabrielle tugged slightly at the skinny arm around her neck, the one holding the less-than-skinny knife. She was worried, but not seriously concerned. Not yet, anyway.

"Look, Achilles," she used her most reasonable tone, "you really don't want me, you just think you do. I told you, I'm involved. Sort of. Why don't we just go somewhere quiet and talk about this before my friend..."

"Your friend! Your friend's not here, you've been left behind. I can make you happy, why won't you go with me!"

Achilles was actually whining. Gabrielle made an exasperated sound and promised herself a good talking to about keeping her mouth shut when she had an urge to be helpful in the future. Assuming she had a future. Achilles was sweating nervously and his voice was cracking as it rose. She had to end this fast, before Xena came back. The warrior had a tendency to get very irritated, very quickly, when little things like this happened. Gabrielle's best chance was to play the hopeless romance angle for all she was worth, and with luck, no one would get hurt.

"Achilles, how can I say this? I don't want to hurt you, but try to understand...I already love..."

"Me," said Xena, pushing her way past the last man in front of her to stand in the clear space around Gabrielle and her captor.

It seemed obvious that Achilles believed that an abandoned, heartbroken Gabrielle would be willing to go with him, given the right encouragement. The easiest way to handle this was to convince him that Gabrielle was neither abandoned nor heartbroken. If that didn't work, there were other ways. Faced with unwelcome reminders of that idiotic girl and her fool of a boyfriend in the story Gabrielle had told her, she'd forced her way forward in time to finish Gabrielle's sentence before she got herself into even more trouble.

Gabrielle was giving her a strange look, but her concentration was on Achilles, taking note of his appearance. He was gaping at her like a dying fish and she tried to look as non-threatening as she could. Probably she wasn't succeeding very well. She wasn't feeling non-threatening. Achilles took a step backward, dragging Gabrielle with him.

"But...you're not..." he stammered.

Xena raised an eyebrow and opened her mouth, but Gabrielle hastily intervened.

"I..um...never...well, actually told you it was a man."

Xena heard Merius behind her, muttering something, she couldn't hear what.

Achilles was just staring at Xena, standing a few feet away, her hands relaxed at her sides, well away from her weapons. Gabrielle could feel his arm trembling.

"But I thought...she said...you didn't know!" Achilles sounded confused. Xena could sympathize with that. She was feeling confused herself. Worry about it later, she thought.

She rummaged through the memories of all those stories she'd been hearing, searching for something to say that might sound convincing, but she couldn't remember a word of any of them. Can't just stand here, got to get that knife, she told herself.

"I did know," she said in a low, soft voice, holding his eyes with hers and inching forward. "How could I tell her until I was sure of my feelings...sure of her feelings?" Just a bit closer, now. "I would rather die alone and silent than cause her a moment's distress." Yes, she thought, seeing his expression change. There was that same slightly silly look she'd seen on Merius's face.

Time to go for it.

"I love her more than my life and I would die for her without hesitation." The crowd around them had gone completely silent. "She is sunlight on the darkest day, and when the moon bathes the night, she haunts my dreams."

Xena was close enough now to count Gabrielle's eyelashes and she flicked a glance at the bard in warning. She frowned slightly. Gabrielle was staring at her as if she'd never seen her before, her eyes...Xena blinked and looked back at Achilles.

Carefully, slowly, she reached out and lifted his arm from around Gabrielle's neck. Her other hand went to Gabrielle's shoulder, and she pulled her clear as Merius came up from behind Achilles to take a firm hold on his brother-in-law. The crowd burst into chatter around them as Xena looked closely at a slightly glassy-eyed Gabrielle, who for once seemed to have nothing to say.

"Are you all right?" Xena asked. She exhaled sharply when she received no answer and put a finger under the bard's chin to lift her head, leaning down to look at her throat. It was unmarked, no sign of blood, thank the Gods.

"Gabrielle," she said loudly.

Gabrielle looked up. "Mmm? Oh...yeah, hi." Xena quirked an eyebrow, but Merius got her attention. He had Achilles...Petrus, Xena remembered, by the arm.

"That was beautiful," Petrus said, blinking rapidly up at her.

Xena straightened to her full height, looming over him and transforming herself from soft-voiced, would-be lover, to cold-eyed warrior. Petrus moved back a step into Merius, who scowled and lifted his boot.

"I'm sorry about this. That was quite a...well, thanks for not hurting him, Xena," Merius shot his brother-in-law a quick glare.

She nodded shortly.

"Xena? Xena...now, where..." Petrus muttered.

Gabrielle did her best to stifle a snicker as Petrus stared at Xena with a terrified expression. "Xena? The Warrior Princess? " His voice cracked. "But you're just a story...you're not real!"

Gabrielle gripped Xena's arm at the same time that Merius pulled back on Petrus, and the ex-Warlord chuckled. "Believe me, boy, she's plenty real. Don't press your luck, now."

Petrus swallowed, and his eyes darted over the woman in front of him: tall, dark hair, a heavy, businesslike sword on her back, good cheekbones that framed two blazing blue eyes, and a jaw that was clenched with annoyance.

"I assumed...I mean," he started a bit wildly, "you look like..."

"My brother," said Xena flatly. Only Gabrielle heard the almost undetectable bite in her voice. She looked sharply at her, but Xena's attention was on Petrus.

"I didn't know you had a brother," remarked Merius. "Thanks again."

Xena turned to glare at the crowd as Merius took Petrus back to his men, gesturing angrily as he pulled him along. Gabrielle felt sorry for him.

"Sure you're OK?" asked Xena.

"Yeah, fine." Gabrielle gave her a look. "Are you sure you've never been a bard? That was...pretty inspired."

Xena shrugged slightly. "All those romances you insist on telling me..." she said vaguely. The Gods knew she'd heard enough of them.

"Mmm."

"What did he mean when he said I wasn't real?" Xena changed the subject.

"Oh...long story," Gabrielle said, grinning. Her eyes shifted to look Xena over slowly, from dark hair to booted foot. "You're real, all right. No doubt about that."

Xena quirked an eyebrow, puzzled.

"He assumed you weren't. That's the really tragic thing about assumptions. Sometimes you don't find out until it's too late that they're dead wrong."

Gabrielle's eyes met Xena's for a moment, then she turned and headed for the Inn.

Xena watched her go, suddenly uneasy, and looked away after a moment, trying to shake the mood off. They'd lost some time in the past few days. Nothing to worry about, though. She headed to the stable to saddle Argo. They could go straight through Metoa and on to Athens.

PART TWO: The Last Stand

Gabrielle drew a deep breath of air into her lungs and squinted into the late afternoon sun. The cries and moans faded behind her as she headed for the gates, shrugging tired shoulders and wishing she was any place else. Exchanging small smiles with other women on the same errand, she rounded the corner into the small recess that housed the gates and had to stop short to avoid falling over Xena.

White teeth gleamed in the dirt-and-sweat streaked face, and Xena pulled her legs up so that Gabrielle could sit down beside her. She was sitting back, leaning against the heavy wood wall, relaxing while she could, eyes closed and face tilted to the sky.

"I suppose this isn't over," Gabrielle remarked, dropping carefully down.

"Doubt it," replied Xena. Her voice was hoarse from shouting and weariness, and Gabrielle winced as she heard it.

"Are you all right?" the bard asked, quietly. She ran her eyes over the warrior's body and dusty, bloodstained leathers, looking for signs of injury. Little of the crusted blood was Xena's, and Gabrielle thanked the Gods for that.

"Mmm." A corner of Xena's mouth twitched. "You?"

"Sure, I'm fine. Here, I brought you water and something to eat. It's not much," Gabrielle said apologetically. Xena didn't need to know that some of it was from her own rations.

Gabrielle watched as bloodshot blue eyes opened and studied her briefly. As they had almost constantly lately, they started with her face, moved to the bandage on her shoulder, now grimey from the need to be changed, then down to its twin wrapped around her stomach. Only when they were satisfied at what they saw did Xena reach out to take the waterskin, her head going back for a long drink, heedless of the trickles that tracked down her throat and chest as she swallowed.

"Better. Thanks." The weariness in Xena's face disappeared for a moment as her eyes met the bard's.

Gabrielle smiled up at her as Xena took the bread and cheese, the warrior's eyes moving around the square while she chewed. Everywhere Gabrielle looked, there seemed to be exhausted men slumped against anything that would hold them up. Women tried to coax husbands, brothers, sons or lovers to take just one more bite, one more sip of water while there was still time.

There were a lot fewer of them than there had been yesterday. Or the day before.

"The wounded?" Xena asked between bites.

"We're doing all right. It's pretty crowded in there, though. Some of the men want to be out here." The bard paused for a moment, then said quietly, "we'll need another pyre, tonight." Staring at the sky, head against sun-warmed wood, she felt Xena's eyes on her.

Still not fully recovered from her wounds, Gabrielle was working with the midwife. The village had no healers, and although they were doing the best that they could, it wasn't enough. Fire arrows burned people and property without discrimination, catapults didn't care where their burdens fell, and sword wounds needed fast, accurate stitching that no one was used to doing.

A dirty, callused hand covered her own in a brief hard squeeze, and Gabrielle gripped tight as it started to withdraw. She looked at Xena, saw the blue eyes soften slightly, and tried to smile. Gabrielle could feel the strength in the warrior, like a fire that refused to be quenched, and her spirits lifted. It was impossible to think of anything as hopeless when Xena was beside her.

They sat silently for a time, and Gabrielle could easily have thought that Xena was asleep, except for the firm hold on her hand. She should have been asleep, they all should have been. The last four days had been a blur of fighting, noisy confusion, and death.

***

Gabrielle had been half dozing in the saddle, lulled by Argo's rhythmic walk, when the horse stopped suddenly. Opening her eyes in sleepy puzzlement, she'd found Xena standing tensely by her knee, eyes searching out whatever had put her instincts on alert.

"What?" She kept her voice to a whisper.

Xena had shaken her head slightly, most of her attention on their surroundings. Her vigilance was rewarded with time to put the reins into Gabrielle's hands when the raiding party appeared out of the trees up the track.

"Get going, southeast - now!" Xena moved clear of Argo, her hand going back to draw her sword.

"I - " Gabrielle started to protest, but Xena had anticipated that. She was moving forward, and shouted over her shoulder, "Argo, go!"

The order sent Argo off the track with Gabrielle more passenger than rider. She'd heard the faint ring of swords behind her as the horse made her way through the woods and into the cultivated fields beyond. The bard had eventually found herself here, startled villagers clustered around asking anxious questions she couldn't answer. Argo had been stabled and fed, and she'd paced the outside of the walls for hours before spotting the figure breaking out of the trees, running easily toward the village. They'd been here ever since.

"Why are they doing this? Don't they care about the treaty?"

Xena shrugged. "Either word hasn't got this far out yet, or they're not interested in peace."

"What happened at that meeting?" The elders had gone out earlier, under a flag of truce to meet with the raiders. Only two had come back.

"The Metoans intend to take this village. It'll be leveled, just like the one over there." Xena didn't need to point out the village where the bulk of the raiders were. Gabrielle could see the smoke as it burned. They'd be facing those same raiders in the morning.

"So, what now?" she asked. Xena would have a plan. She always did.

Silence. Gabrielle looked at her in surprise, then with suspicion. Xena didn't look thoughtful, or worried, or confident. She had no expression on her face at all, and the bard felt a tiny shiver of cold run up her back.

"Tell me," the bard ordered. She knew that look

"It's not my decision, Gabrielle." Xena turned her head to meet her eyes. "There aren't many choices. They can either fight or run."

"They've been fighting. It hasn't done any good, and without you here, they'd need to be halfway to Athens by now." Gabrielle protested.

Xena smiled slightly. "I don't think so. They know about the treaty, I told them, and they don't want to give up their homes."

"They're just farmers. How long do they think they can hold out before they have to leave? That's a small army out there, in case they hadn't noticed."

"They know that."

"What about the women and children who've been hurt? Has anybody thought to ask them what they think?" Gabrielle was angry at what she saw as senseless stubbornness, but Xena understood, all too well, what kept the villagers from slipping out into the countryside.

"It's not up to me," repeated Xena. She had her eyes closed, but she didn't need to see to know that Gabrielle was watching her. She always knew. Releasing Gabrielle's hand, she rose to her feet, stretching thoroughly, trying to loosen sore, tired muscles. The bard gave her an appraising look and stood beside her.

"What aren't you telling me?" she asked, gripping Xena's arm. She got a quick glance, then the warrior turned rapidly at the sound of footsteps coming towards them. Gabrielle watched her friend's back for a moment, then went to join her and the two remaining elders.

"Tonight would be best. Even that might be too late." One of the men looked at the other and sighed heavily. Everyone was tired. "We'd best tell the others. Give them as much time as we can." Xena nodded and Gabrielle waited impatiently until they were out of hearing.

"What is..." she began, determined to get an explanation.

Xena's face was grim as she curled both big hands gently over Gabrielle's shoulders. Few things could have alarmed the bard more. Xena was not a demonstrative woman. She looked up apprehensively.

"I want you to get the wounded together and ready to travel. Only the ones who can walk." Xena hesitated visibly. "No stretcher cases. That includes the children, Gabrielle."

"We're leaving people behind? We can't do that...children!" The bard could hardly believe what she was hearing.

"It's not up to me, I've had my say about it, and they've made their decision. There's not much time. Hurry, and we'll talk when everything's ready."

Gabrielle opened her mouth to argue, but no words came out. She searched the warrior's face, but Xena wore the mask that had been so frequent in their early days together, and there was little to read there. The bard nodded, and Xena's face relaxed slightly. A small smile, and she was striding away after the elders, and Gabrielle headed for the injured.

***

Gabrielle was grateful that the patients already knew of their elders' choice. She couldn't have faced telling someone that they would have to stay behind. The next few hours flew by, and she was surprised to find it was full dark when she finally came out of the makeshift hospital in search of Xena. Argo was waiting, saddled and loaded, and although it was hard to see in a village that dared show few lights, she made out figures in the square, and nestled into the shadows of what buildings were left standing. Murmured voices came at her, directionless in the soft summer night..

"Ready?"

Gabrielle suppressed a start of surprise and turned to see Xena behind her. "Yeah, just a few more minutes. Are you going to tell me what's going on, now?"

Xena drew her around the corner of the building, moving carefully to avoid the debris..

"You'll leave here, and move immediately south for a half-league or so. That should take you around the army, then swing east. Head for the Temple, and send a messenger to Marmax. He'd better get down here if he wants to enforce the treaty, or there won't be any peace," Xena told her. "We'll hold out here as long as we can."

The bard stared at her in disbelief. "You're staying here? Without me? I'm not leaving until you do! These people know this country, they don't need me to lead them to the Temple. I'm not going." Gabrielle voice was low and hard.

Xena said nothing, just stared at the wall over Gabrielle's head.

"Well? Say something. Aren't you going to tell me that we have to help these people? That you'll meet me at the Temple? That everything's going to be all right?" she finished with a questioning note in her voice that she hated to hear.

Xena looked down then, and met her eyes. "No, I'm not going to tell you that everything's going to be all right, and I'm not going to tell you that I'll meet you at the Temple. If we can hold the army here, Marmax will have a chance to catch up with them. Otherwise, the fighting will just start again. They know I'm here, so they won't go around this village. That means there's a chance to finish this." She looked briefly uncertain, then continued. "That's why you're leaving. Not because you can't fight, I know you can, and not because the wounded will need your help, although they will. You're leaving because I want you to leave."

"No! Don't you ask me to do this." Gabrielle collected herself. "I can't. What happens if..." she tried to swallow around the lump in her throat, memories of the wounded and dying in the Temple, memories of that terrible night in Salmoneus's factory, all too vivid in her mind. "We can get these people out of here, it's just one village..."

"It's always just one village...and then another, and another. It just goes on until it's stopped. These people are farmers, not soldiers. They won't leave their homes, and I can't leave them." Xena's voice was so soft Gabrielle could hardly hear it, and it became softer yet.

"Gabrielle, I've lived a lifetime already. You haven't. I need you to leave. Please."

Xena watched Gabrielle's eyes blur with tears as the bard struggled with herself. Everything she wanted to say would only add to Gabrielle's grief, and she wouldn't do that, so she kept silent, wanting this to be over and the bard safely gone, but wishing it could go on forever. She envied Gabrielle her tears.

All around them, shadowy figures clung together in final goodbyes, quiet voices and low sobbing carried on the still air. Gabrielle heard it all as if it came from a vast distance away, and she wondered if the warrior could hear her heart breaking.

Her chin came up slightly. "I'll take them. Then I'm coming back."

The corner of Xena's mouth moved into a smile, and she reached out a hand. She touched Gabrielle's cheek, gently moving her fingertips on soft skin wet with tears.

"Thank you...for everything," she said quietly. Too late to say anything now. Gabrielle was strong, she would go.

Gabrielle threw herself into Xena's arms, wrapping her own arms around the warrior. She buried her face against her shoulder, heedless of the armour, and tried desperately to memorize the shape and texture of leather and Xena. Xena felt her trembling, clenched her jaw, and held her tightly. Soft hair brushed against her cheek, and she closed her eyes against the might-have-beens.

Gabrielle felt a warm hand on the back of her head, the rub of a cheek and felt breath stir against her ear. " Remember, I love you."

Then Xena was gone, melting into shadow and leaving her alone.

"I love you, too," she managed, and hurried to Argo.

Gabrielle didn't look back as she and Argo led the too-small group out past the walls and into the countryside. She didn't see Xena, standing in the darkness by the gates, watching with eyes filled with regret, her fingers idly resting on the shoulder still damp from Gabrielle's tears.

***

Marmax looked sympathetically at the silent woman beside him who stared down at the remains of what had once been a small but prosperous village. His soldiers were quiet behind him, no more anxious to go down there than he was. He rubbed at the stubble on his jaw, tired from the hard ride, the fighting, and the negotiations that somehow seemed to take more from him than the combat. Now, there was this to face, in some ways harder than anything coming before it..

"Why don't you wait for us here? There's no need..."

Gabrielle idly stroked Argo's shoulder, giving no indication that she had heard his words. Her attention seemed turned inwards, as if, he thought uneasily, she was listening to something only she could hear.

"Come on, Argo." The horse moved away from the line of trees and broke into a canter.

Argo's only reaction to the cloying smell of smoke was to roll her eyes nervously as Gabrielle led her through the remains of the gate and into the small square. The horse stepped carefully, avoiding bodies that lay where they had fallen.

Gabrielle looked around her. Now that she was finally here, she could ignore for a moment the constant cold fear that now lived inside her.

It hadn't been a big village, but in the short length of time she and Xena had been here, she had been impressed with the tightly knit community. That pile of rubble had been the shoemaker's home, this pile here the home of a woman who baked the best nutbread Gabrielle had ever eaten. A faint smile touched her lips as she remembered urging Xena to "try just one bite", and laughing in embarrassment as Xena held it to her nose and gave it an exaggerated sniff. The bewildered look on the woman's face had even drawn a smile from Xena.

Now, there was no more shoemaker, no more baker, no more village; a Thessalian village, reduced to ruin and rubble by captured Thessalian catapults stripped and wheeled for fast movement by Metoans. All that remained were piles of boulders, splintered and charred timbers, and bodies.

Everywhere, bodies. There was hardly a wall left standing.

Gabrielle registered the movement of skittish horses behind her and the voices of the men trying to calm them. They finally had to picket them outside the walls. Except Argo. Argo was Xena's, and she was as unique as the warrior princess. Gabrielle felt her heart constrict.

All around her, men were tying cloths over their noses and mouths against the smell of death that mixed in the air with the smoke. With a soft word to Argo, she took her staff and did the same.

Each body was checked and collected, every rubble heap examined, and Gabrielle was feeling lightheaded and sick. She'd surprised a pack of wild dogs at the far end of the square, and her heart was still pounding. Although they had found bodies with the characteristic wounds of the chakram, there was no sign of either the weapon or Xena.

Marmax came up behind her as she pulled the waterskin from the saddle, her shoulder rigid under his gentle hand.

"I'm sorry, we've found nothing. All the bodies have been collected and after we light the pyre, we must go. They aren't that far ahead of us." Gabrielle was silent, looking blindly toward the trees.

"Trees. Have you checked the woods," she said quickly, stopping in mid step when he took her by the arm. "She could have headed towards them, if she was hurt or couldn't..."

"Gabrielle, she knew where you were. If she could have made the woods, we'd have met her on the way, seen some sign that she was there. She would have come to you if she could." It was true, and she knew it. Her eyes blurred and she turned back to Argo.

"Just get ready to leave. It won't be long. Keep your horse saddled."

"I'm not leaving." Marmax raised his eyebrows. That flat statement sounded far more like the warrior he remembered than the bard he had thought too innocent to be in a war zone.

"You can't stay here alone."

Gabrielle turned angrily, and Marmax drew back.

"I'm not alone," she said insistently. "Xena's here, and I'm staying until I find her. I promised to take her home. I won't leave...I promised...she's going home..." Gabrielle turned away as her voice broke, leaning her head against Argo's silky coat. Her eyes were stinging with hot tears and she couldn't swallow. 'Gods, how many times will I have to face this?' was her only thought.

She heard a sigh behind her, and there was an awkward pat to her shoulder, and soon all she could hear was the crackle of the pyre and fading hoofbeats.

"We'll find her, Argo," she whispered to the mare, "we will..." but where? she thought. The only places left to look were under collapsed buildings.

"I'm sure the horse will be a big help."

Gabrielle felt her heart skip a beat. Once heard, that mocking voice couldn't be forgotten.

"Where is she," demanded the bard, whirling around to face one of the most handsome men she had ever seen.

"I don't know, where?" He looked around, wide-eyed.

"I want to know what you've done with her." Gabrielle took an angry step forward before she checked herself.

"Nothing. Yet." Ares shrugged, as if it was a matter too insignificant to bother himself about. "That's why I'm here."

"Oh?" Gabrielle was trying to remind herself that caution was called for, here. "Did you start this war?"

"No need. They did a good job of it all by themselves, don't you think? No reason not to take an interest, though."

"What is it that you want?" she asked.

Ares studied her. "Xena's pesky little friend." She flushed as he stared, repeating the words he had taunted Xena with, in Lotia. "I'm here to see you, of course. Maybe there's something I can help you with."

"Help me with? You?" Gabrielle asked in disbelief. "What could you possibly do for me?"

She swallowed and took an involuntary step back as he met her eyes.

"You're looking for Xena. I know where she is. I thought that you might be...interested."

"Yeah, I'm interested. What I don't understand is why you'd be willing to help me. I mean, she's...dead, isn't she?" Gabrielle bit her lip. Ares wasn't known for kindness. This couldn't just be about finding Xena's body.

"She might be. She might not be." He shrugged again

Gabrielle made a visible effort to keep from grabbing Ares by his tunic and wringing the information from him. Elation sang through her....Xena was alive. She had to be. Otherwise Ares wouldn't be wasting his time here. He certainly didn't need a bard. . 'Easy,' she told herself as his eyes narrowed in anger at her temerity, 'you can't help Xena if he turns you into a frog or something.'

"I see," she said carefully.

Ares looked amused. "Do you, Gabrielle?" he wanted to know as he sauntered to her side and let a lock of her hair fall over his hand.

She tried to keep from shuddering as he stood too close beside her. She could understand now just how hard it was to resist the pull of the God of War. Despite what she knew, despite what he had done to Xena, there was something incredibly compelling about him. She shut her eyes and remembered Xena, sword inches from her throat, standing calmly waiting for death at Ares' hands.

"Xena told you she'd rather be dead than go back to you. I won't betray her," she said flatly.

Incongruously, she thought of Petrus, and that ridiculous mixup in Antes. If he'd thought the Warrior Princess was fictional, he'd never believe that she was standing in a ruined village, bargaining with the God of War for Xena's life. She almost laughed, but caught sight of Ares' scowling face.

"Did I ask you to do that? This is between you and me, Gabrielle. Xena is just..." he searched for the right word, and smiled, "The prize. Think about it, " he suggested, "if she's alive and I tell you where she is, you can get to her in time. If she's dead, then you have her body."

"And what do you get out of it?" Gabrielle wanted to know. It was dangerous to bargain with a God, especially this one.

"Does it matter? This has nothing to do with Xena. This is between us." He lowered his voice. "You know what you want to do."

The bard swallowed. She knew. If Xena was alive, as she now believed, she might get to her in time without Ares. Or she might not. What could Ares want with her...

"What is her life worth to you, Gabrielle?" he asked softly.

Gabrielle looked up and met the eyes of the God of War squarely with her own.

"Everything," she said simply.

Ares looked smugly satisfied and held out his arm in a warrior's grip. She hesitated a moment before gripping it in the way she had seen Xena do. It surprised her that it felt just like any other arm, solid under her fingers.

"I'll get back to you on that," he said flippantly, before fading from sight.

"Wait!" She looked around wildly. No Ares, no Xena walking toward her, or lying at her feet. Just an anxious horse, village walls, rubble, the Inn, the funeral pyre...

Her head snapped back around and she stared in amazement. The Inn was wavering insubstantially in the sunlight, whole and intact on the outside. It was almost transparent and danced like a mirage as she watched. With a gasp, she broke into a run.

***

She didn't let herself stop to think, just charged in the open doorway, thumping to a halt. It was bare on the inside, except for the shreds of wood that had once been benches and table. The floor sounded firm under her boots, but the walls....she couldn't watch the twisting they were doing.

Calling Xena's name, she checked every room, heart pounding with fear. It didn't take long, there were only four, and all showed the same signs of devastation as the main room.

This was getting her nowhere. Back in the big front room, she calmed herself, slowing her breathing from the harsh pant that rattled in her ears, and just.....waited. Xena was somewhere in this building. All she had to do was find her. Eyes closed, she pictured herself in a market, completing her purchases, turning away and walking unerringly towards wherever Xena was. She opened her eyes, and looked at a small doorway cut cleverly into the wood behind the bar, tucked out of sight in the corner. Smiling in satisfaction, she walked over, reached out and opened it.

Narrow steps led down into a low storage room cut into the ground, the temperature dropping the further down she went. Stale ale permeated the ground and the air, she could see the ruined casks in the dim light. She refused to think about where that light was coming from, and she had other worries, anyway. She'd found Xena: that sword was unmistakable, and the only chakram she'd ever seen hung from the warrior's hip.

Threading her way through cramped rows of stretchers, each with a silent, unmoving occupant, she couldn't take her eyes from the figure lying partly on it's side, curled protectively over something on a stretcher beneath her. Gabrielle spared a glance around, then, trying to understand what had happened.

The cellar was full of the injured, and she couldn't see any armed men. There were none left by that time, she thought. Probably, the survivors had all come down here, hoping the stout floors of the Inn would save at least some of them when it became apparent that the raiding Mitoans intended to leave nothing standing. As Gabrielle knelt, she could see the imprint of wounds left by heavy floor beams caving in to crush the already helpless.

Xena was covered in dust and dirt, and Gabrielle could hardly tell where her leathers left off and her skin began. Ever so carefully, she lifted Xena's head and slid it onto her thigh. She didn't look at the body of the child the warrior had tried to shield.

Shaking fingers gave her a weak but steady pulse. Dark hair framed a filthy white face, lips cracked from lack of water. The bard thought she was the most beautiful sight she had ever seen.

Gabrielle gently brushed her forehead clear and touched her lips to cool skin. She sniffled and wiped angrily at a tear, took a deep breath and ran her hands over arms and legs in a quick search for anything broken. The shallow breathing never changed, and she took that as a good sign. She talked to Xena as she worked.

"It's me, I'm here..it's going to be all right...I've got to get you out of here...I need to leave for just a minute, then I'll be back." She reached behind her and took the blanket off the body. It wouldn't be missed and she needed it. She'd spare a thought for taking from the dead later, she told herself, and pillowed Xena's head with it.

At the door of the Inn, she whistled for Argo. Xena was too heavy for her to carry under the best of circumstances and she'd never make it up those steps if she had to drag her. The easiest, fastest answer was a rope and Argo.

Argo didn't like the Inn. Not at all. Gabrielle made herself move to her, patted her, and explained the situation. At first, she'd felt silly about talking to a horse, as if she could understand what she was being told, but Xena had simply leveled one of 'those' looks at her and raised an eyebrow. Gabrielle had subsided and slid a dubious look to the mare. Xena talked to Argo, so Gabrielle resigned herself to the necessity of doing the same.

The bard wasn't surprised when Argo snorted, then stepped reluctantly into the Inn. Gabrielle stayed with her and led her over to the doorway.

"Ok, Argo. You wait here, all right? I'm going to tie this rope around Xena and when I give the signal, you move backwards. OK?" Argo blew air out of her nostrils, and Gabrielle fought back a desperate need to laugh. She would laugh later. With Xena.

The rope in her hands, Gabrielle cleared a path from the bottom of the stairs over to where Xena lay. The warrior never indicated that she was aware of the bard moving her onto a stretcher she'd rigged to be pulled, even though Gabrielle told her what she was going to do. A thick bunch of blankets went around her, and Gabrielle whistled up to Argo.

It went fairly quickly, but not fast enough for Gabrielle. She kept looking nervously at the building around her, and the only one happier to see the outside again was Argo, who came over and blew gently at the figure on the stretcher.

"Good girl, Argo. I have an apple for you, good horse." Gabrielle patted her, and laughed at the superior look she seemed to be getting. She turned her attention to Xena and had just knelt by her side when a faint sound caught her ear.

She looked up in alarm, ready to throw herself over the warrior, and watched, wide-eyed, as the Inn caved in. There was only the slightest of hint of what the actual sound must have been like, but she shuddered as she thought what it must have signified to the people in the storage cellar. It continued to waver in the dying light, a ghost Inn tumbling down to bury ghosts, and then there was only the pile of rubble, as it had been when she had ridden in. It was utterly silent, just the wind through the village ruins. Even the pack of dogs she could see again stood stock still as the hand of a God moved over the village and then withdrew.

Gabrielle discovered she was holding her breath.

***

She found a fairly sheltered spot and with Argo's help, she moved Xena there. The hearth was still good, and after she gave Argo her promised apple, she got a fire going, went to the well for water, and used one of Xena's knives to cut up cloth.

It was well after dark when Gabrielle had finished stripping and bathing a still unconscious Xena. She was worried, but one look at the heavy bruising and the partly healed sword cuts at least let her believe that unconsciousness was to be expected. The Warrior Princess would ride again, going forth into battle on behalf of the helpless. She smiled at falling into the comforting rhythm of storytelling, knowing what she was evading.

It was useless to tell herself that Xena was like family, that she loved her like family. Her family had never understood her hopes or her dreams, dismissing them as mere escapes from a life that was good enough for them and should be good enough for her. That had hurt the worst of all, Gabrielle thought. No one understood.

'Until I met Xena. She didn't expect me to be my mother. She didn't expect me to be anyone except myself. But is this the me I expected to be?'

Propped up against Xena's saddle, warrior breathing quietly by her side, she considered her life in the past year. Ambushes, pitched battles, narrow escapes from death, hard ground, rainy nights. Horses. People she'd come to care for, dying. Terror, gnawing at her. Having to struggle for answers to dilemmas she'd hardly known existed, or worse, finding there were no answers.

She looked down to Xena, thinking about the other side of the dinar. It was easy enough to list the places she'd been, the things she'd done, the people she'd met. That didn't have that much to do with Xena, though, not really, she thought. Xena was sunny days and the possibilities around the next corner. She was the realized dream of the Academy, the hard ground and rainy nights of a life being experienced, not simply observed. If the bard had lost people she cared about, well, everyone did. It was a risk, yes, but did that mean it was better not to care about anyone? And if you never asked the questions, how could you even begin to find the answers?

She brushed the hair back off Xena's temples. Her friend was evenings around the fire after a long day, the smell of dinner cooking, blue eyes looking up just before she spoke, a smile flashed at her after a silent thought. Joys, disappointments, dangers shared and survived. Answers to questions she hadn't asked.

And now there was Ares. And more answers, and more questions.

Gabrielle pulled the blankets up under Xena's chin, making sure she was well covered against the night's chill. The fire was built up next, both for warmth and to keep the dog pack away, the big sword unsheathed and laid beside her with her own staff. Her last action was to nestle in close to Xena. If she stirred during the night, Gabrielle intended to know about it.

Without moving a muscle, Xena tried to locate herself. She hurt all over, and it was hard to stifle a groan of pain. Feeling fuzzy, she separated out sounds individually. That crackle was a fire, yes, those were nightbirds that she was used to hearing all the time, that faint woof was a dog, and the rhythm of the breathing against her shoulder matched Gabrielle's. She dragged her eyes open, and shifted them to the right without moving her head.

She was on her back, Gabrielle's head pillowed on her shoulder. The weight across her chest must be the bard's arm, and with a grimace, she lifted the blanket, saw that it was, and took a second look. She had no trouble seeing the bruises. Given what she remembered, she'd been damn lucky to come out of there alive. Obviously, she had Gabrielle to thank for that.

Carefully, she eased out from under Gabrielle and hunted for the waterskin to quench a raging thirst. She could almost hear herself creaking as she sat back on the blanket, thirst satisfied for now, and looked around. Not that there was much to see. It was dark, but that wouldn't have made a difference. When she'd hauled the last stretcher into the storage room below the Inn, it had been the last building still more or less standing. Since she and Gabrielle were the only ones here, she was the last one standing, too.

"Xena!"

Gabrielle was propped on one elbow, grinning at her, and Xena smiled back. Scrambling out of the blankets, the bard sat next to her.

"How do you feel?"

"Like a building fell on me. Pretty much what you'd expect," Xena answered.

"You should lie down. I don't know if you've hurt your head or not. Or how long you were out."

"I'm all right. I didn't hurt my head, I just...went away for a while." Out of habit, Xena ran her eyes over Gabrielle, starting at her face, moving to the wound on her neck and down to her stomach. Thoughtfully, she looked back at the bard's face, Gabrielle evading her eyes. She'd seen it, though, fear and something else. She shifted her position, unable to prevent a groan.

"Lie down," Gabrielle ordered.

"I should really..."

"Lie down." The bard met her eyes, then. "You're the only one left. Marmax and his men have gone after the raiders. Everyone in that storage room...they're all dead." Gabrielle looked down at her hands.

"Thanks for getting me out of there," Xena said gently. She reached out to touch Gabrielle's shoulder. Gabrielle looked up and Xena could see the tears in her eyes. "Even the children, Xena. There was nothing I could do."

"There was nothing anyone could do. That's the true horror of war. It touches everyone one way or another. Ares loves it," Xena finished bitterly.

"I know." Gabrielle spoke without thinking, and Xena's hand tightened on her shoulder.

"You saw Ares?" she asked, very softly. Her eyes were suddenly hard in the firelight. "What did he want?"

Gabrielle looked at her with frightened eyes, and Xena felt cold waves ripple up her back.

She moved and put both hands on Gabrielle's shoulders, holding the green eyes with hers. "Tell me."

"She can't do that. She doesn't know."

At the first word, Xena was moving, rolling on the blanket to take her sword and rise to her feet. She ignored the fiery lances of pain running through her body and concentrated on staying between Gabrielle and Ares.

He ran an appreciative eye over her. She'd forgotten she was naked, and it seemed to distract Ares. Good. She could use that. If she had to fight a God, she'd need all the advantages she could get.

"Then suppose you tell me." The flat command in her voice brought a smile to Ares' face.

"Gabrielle and I have an...understanding."

"And what kind of understanding would that be? You want to be told a story?" Understanding? What in Hades would Ares want with Gabrielle?

He started to move closer, and she lifted her sword suggestively. "Keep back," she told him softly.

He just grinned at the steel in her voice and asked, "don't tell me you want to fight?"

"If it comes to that. You're not taking her."

"Oh? And why is that? And what makes you think you can stop me if that's what I want?"

Xena narrowed her eyes, set herself. "I'll stop you. She stays with me. You hurt her, you change her, and I swear, God or not, I'll kill you if it takes me until the end of time to figure out how."

"A battle between us would be interesting. Not like that last time. You'd do it, too. And that's why I want you back." He eyed her again. "Partly, anyway. She's already given me what I want."

"And that is?" Xena held her breath. There wasn't a sound from Gabrielle behind her.

Ares flashed white teeth in a grin. "Now I know for sure just what a life is worth. Something to think about, don't you agree?"

Xena snarled as Ares vanished, sword rising as she took a step forward. "Xena, no!"

She swung her head to look at Gabrielle rising to her knees. "No, don't. He didn't hurt me. It's all right."

With another glance toward the spot where Ares had vanished, Xena let herself sink back down beside Gabrielle. Anger and fear were warring in the blue eyes she turned on the bard. With deliberate motions, she laid her sword down, collecting herself.

"You're sure he didn't hurt you?" she asked unnecessarily.

Gabrielle tried to smile. Xena flinched inwardly at the effort her friend was having to make.

"Yeah, I'm sure." She took a deep breath. "When we got here, the village...well, there was nothing left. I looked everywhere and I...couldn't find you. Marmax, he went after the raiders. I stayed here." She looked away, her hand fidgeting with the blanket, and Xena could see her trembling.

She hesitated for a moment, reached out for another blanket and threw it around herself, then pulled the bard close.

Gabrielle leaned into the solid shoulder, feeling the reassuring hold of the warrior's arms, and went on. "I couldn't think of where to look next, except under the buildings. Even then, maybe I wouldn't have..." she swallowed, and Xena tightened her hold slightly. Gabrielle turned her head to look up at her. "Ares offered to find you. I accepted."

Xena's mouth went dry. "And what did you agree to do?" she asked apprehensively.

Gabrielle looked puzzled. "I don't know. He just asked me..."

Xena didn't let the silence hold long.

"Asked you what, Gabrielle?" she demanded softly.

The bard bit her lip. "He asked me what your life was worth to me." She tried to shrug. "I told him." She couldn't look at Xena. "I said...everything."

The warrior's breathing stilled, and Gabrielle twisted in Xena's arms to look up.

"I wasn't going to leave you, not again," she tried and failed to keep her voice even. "If you were dead, I wanted...if you were alive, I would have given him anything he wanted if that meant finding you.." she couldn't finish.

She was enveloped in strong arms, her face pressed against the warm skin of Xena's neck. A large hand rubbed her back, and the low voice she loved to hear, the one she'd been afraid she'd never hear again, murmured comforting sounds.

The bard pulled back, reached up and touched Xena's jaw. Questioning blue eyes looked down at her, and she said quietly, and with absolute certainty, "I'm not leaving you again. I knew I loved you, but I guess Ares just...well, clarified things. I don't know what's going to happen now, not with Ares, or anybody else, but I want to face that together." She looked away for a moment, frightened that she'd mis-read the warrior completely.

She stared into Xena's eyes, trying to read what she saw there. Disbelief battled with the flare of hope, and she held her breath as the fight came to an end. What shone out of eyes as blue as the summer sky was love.

The bard stroked her hand gently over the line of Xena's jaw, smooth, warm skin like silk against her fingers.. The warrior closed her eyes, shuddered and inhaled sharply.

"But I thought - " she was stopped by Gabrielle's fingers against her lips.

"I know what you thought." the bard teased. She felt almost lightheaded. Xena loved her. "What did I tell you about assumptions?"

"Sometimes they're wrong, I remember." Xena pulled back for a moment. Gabrielle felt a shiver run down her back at the look in her eyes. " Are you sure, Gabrielle? You have to be sure. There's no going back."

Gabrielle trailed her fingertips over Xena's lips, anxious to get past the warrior's reservations. "When I left home, I knew I didn't belong there. I wasn't sure where I was supposed to be, just not there, and I was afraid I'd never find out. Now I know." She looked into Xena's eyes again. " I belong with you.."

"And I belong with you." Xena lowered her head, threading her fingers through soft hair and brushing Gabrielle's lips with hers. She felt Gabrielle's trembling echoing in her own body, deepened the kiss, and her heart skipped a beat when her tongue tasted Gabrielle's mouth. The little sound that Gabrielle made went right through her.

"Kiss me like that again, and I'll follow you anywhere," Gabrielle said unevenly. Her arms were wrapped around Xena's neck.

"No," said Xena softly, fingertips tracing the line of Gabrielle's cheek. It seemed almost too good to be true, holding her bard like this. 'Gabrielle loves me', she thought. "I don't want you to follow me, I want you beside me...a part of me."

The breath caught in Gabrielle's throat, and she felt Xena's arms tighten around her again, gently moving her closer. She went eagerly, lips parting for another kiss, tightening her own arms around her warrior.

Gentle hands removed her clothing and she took Xena's warm weight on her, skin to skin. She closed her eyes and whimpered as caressing lips moved slowly on her throat, tasting and teasing her breasts, kissing their way along her ribs and stomach. Fingertips explored her body, Xena's ragged breathing magnifying the sensations that ran through her like fire. When Xena finally slipped between her legs, soft lips and tongue grazing the inside of her thighs, Gabrielle moaned. Xena looked up in silent question, and Gabrielle wound her fingers in dark hair and lifted her hips to meet Xena's waiting mouth. That darting, stroking tongue gave pleasure such as she'd never imagined, and just as she thought she couldn't bear it any longer, she shook with the strength of her climax, already anticipating the next time.

Xena kissed her way up Gabrielle's body, feeling the quakes still running through her lover. 'My lover,' she thought incredulously, fighting against desire so strong it threatened to overwhelm her. She kissed a breast, marveling at the softness of the skin, only to be taken into Gabrielle's arms. A searching tongue slipped between her lips, and soft hands set out to discover her body. When, finally, Gabrielle's tongue and fingers, at first tentatively, then with growing confidence, urged her to her own release, it was as if she had truly made love for the first time. Every nerve ending in her body exploded.

***

Gabrielle felt Xena stir under her, and sleepily lifted her head.

"I guess I'm hurting you," the bard said regretfully. .

"No, you aren't hurting me. Not at all. The building did that, already," said Xena wryly.

Gabrielle bolted upright, drawing a groan from the warrior. "I forgot."

"So did I...not that it would have mattered." Xena smiled, and Gabrielle grinned back, then looked down at the bruises. "I never noticed them,." said the bard apologetically. A strange look was on Gabrielle's face, prompting Xena to raise an eyebrow.

Gabrielle blushed slightly. "Um, I was just wondering...you're a pretty fast healer, aren't you?"

Xena chuckled and drew Gabrielle back down, wrapping an arm firmly around her to hold her in place. "You know I am," she reminded the bard, "and, by the way, if you're wondering just how much this might have...slowed me down, well, you'll have lots of chances to find out. Assuming you found anything lacking earlier, that is." Her tone of voice made it clear that she considered that a remote possibility.

"How did you...I wasn't thinking that." Gabrielle said defensively. She lifted her head at the skeptical sound Xena made, and smiled. "Well, maybe I was." The smile turned into a grin at the look on Xena's face. "Alright, I was thinking that. And no, I didn't notice anything lacking, and if you insist on compliments and the absolute truth, we could have been attacked and I wouldn't have known a thing about it " She settled back down, refusing to acknowledge Xena's self-satisfied grin, then just as quickly lifted her head again.

"Toris, Xena? Toris?" The bard.asked disbelievingly, then looked slightly shocked as she remembered that he was, after all, Xena's brother. She looked down cautiously.

"Well..." Xena didn't quite know what to say.

"Toris seems like a good, steady - and I'm sorry, Xena, but 'dull' kind of applies, here - type of guy. Even if I hadn't already pretty much sensed that it was you I wanted, Toris is just not my type. I left one of those already, remember? Besides, I can't see myself lying here, in a ruined village, making love with Toris, can you?" She added after a seconds' thought, "not even once, never mind several times."

"I'm trying not to," agreed the warrior, fighting to keep a straight face. Gabrielle was full of surprises, tonight, she thought, but she kept that to herself.

There was a moment or two of silence and Xena, who knew her Gabrielle, was anticipating a comment any time.

"Lots of chances?" the bard asked hopefully.

Gabrielle felt as much as she heard the low laugh that rumbled in the warrior's chest, and was hugged tight.

"Lots," Xena promised.

End

[tilltheendwilliwrite]

Of Blood and Roses

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Master List  |  Loki Laufeyson Master List

Previous Chapter

Pairing: Loki x Lauren  |  Word Count: 8632 Warnings: none

“Good. Keep those heels down, Baron. Hedda, relax your hands. It’s light contact with the horse’s mouth y’all want, not so much they toss their heads around,” Lauren called to her class. “That’s real nice, Etsuko. Now, relax your hips a little. Excellent. Your center of gravity needs to be in line with the horse’s or you’ll throw them out of balance. Two hands, Maja. This isn’t Western equitation class.”

“What’s Western equitation?” the girl asked.

“Just another style of ridin’ where I’m from. It’s a little more laid back and has a bigger, heavier style of saddle to it. I’ll teach y’all about it another day. How’s everyone feelin’ about walkin’?” A chorus of ‘greats’ lifted from all the children but Etsuko. Still, the girl’s grin was enormous. Lauren didn’t expect her to be silent for many more classes. “Alright. Let’s learn about leg cues before we get up into a faster gate. Everyone come to the center and line up a few feet apart.”

It took some finagling and a little bit of help from Lauren, but eventually, they all faced her with space between the horses. “Y’all know how to guide your mount by rein, but you can cue them just as easily with leg too. A brush of heels or squeeze of calf gets ‘em movin’ but what happens if y’all apply pressure with one leg and none with the other? Everyone, I want you to press your right heel into your mount’s side, medium pressure - no need to make ‘em jump, and lift your left away from their side.” Standing on one leg, Lauren demonstrated the distance away with her other. Sure it probably looked odd to anyone watching, but visual aids had always been part of her process. “Keep your hands down, only a little contact on their mouth, or you’ll have them headin’ backward on you instead of sideways.”

One by one they horses slowly began to take a few steps to the side as the kids got the hang of what she was asking them to do.

“Great job! Now back the other way.” She beamed proudly at her class when everyone was moving together to the right. “Aren’t y’all so smart!” Lauren waved a hand. “Back to the rail with you. Hedda, as I know you’ve got the most experience with horses, we’ll start with you. I want you to ask Elf to trot a circuit around the arena and line up behind Maja. Then the next will go, and the next, until it’s Hedda’s turn again.”

Hedda gave a little whoop of excitement and planted her heels in Elf’s side. The poor gelding, having been half dozing with the lazy nature of the class gave a startled grunt and whipped his head up before taking off like a shot.

Without thinking, Lauren raced to intercept Elf, hands up and out as she barked a sharp, “Whoa!” The horse sat on its hindquarters, coming to a sliding stop, throwing Hedda up on his neck as Lauren grabbed the reins and shot Hedda a stern look. “And just what was that, missy?”

“I’m sorry! I always have to give Big Boy a real good kick to get him going. I didn’t think-”

“No, Hedda, you didn’t think. Every horse is different, and it’s your responsibility as his rider to learn their way of goin’. Not only did you startle Elf, but you could also have had an accident, or caused an accident.” The horse whickered and brushed his soft nose on Lauren’s cheek. “Don’t go makin’ excuses for her,” Lauren scolded him though she scratched his chin, and stepped closer to Hedda’s knee.

The girl looked near to tears, and Lauren set her hand on Hedda’s leg as if adjusting her stirrup. Quietly, in voice only loud enough for Hedda to hear, she murmured, “Y’all are a lot like me when I was your age. So eager to rush forward, do it all, take risks, but risky behaviour with horses can cause severe consequences. There was a stallion of Daddy’s when I was knee-high to a grasshopper I so badly wanted to get to know, but Teddy, our stable master, he swore up and down the horse was too skittish for little girls like me to be around. I didn’t listen, and one day when I thought no one was lookin’, I snuck into his stall, startled him, and damn near took a hoof to the head. Luckily, Teddy had been watchin’ and managed to yank my dumb behind outta there, but not before gettin’ clipped by that hoof. It broke his arm.”

Hedda’s face was pale by the time Lauren finished her retelling. “What… what happened then?”

“I spent six weeks fetchin’ and carryin’ for him till his cast came off, and another three helpin’ out around the barn until he’d gotten his strength back. The point is, Hedda if I give you rules and restrictions, they’re not just for your protection, but everyone's. Now, walk Elf to the back of the line. You can try again after Maja.” Both girl and horse hung their heads but did as told. “Baron, your turn.”

The boy looked equal parts terrified and excited. He gently urged Mistral into a walk, and another squeeze had the horse moving out at a trot, setting the boy bouncing along with him.

“Good! Now, I want you to try risin’ up in your stirrups with every other stride. Squeeze with your knees and rise. Up, down, up, down.” It was a little rough, and he didn’t quite make every beat, but it was damn close and an excellent first try. “Great job, Baron. Y’all, that’s called “postin’,” and if you want to have any feelin’ left in your bum at the end of a long ride, postin’ will help you do that.” A smattering of chuckles came from all over the yard, making Lauren giggle. “Etsuko, you want to give it a go?”

She nodded and squeezed Ørn up into a trot. The natural grace Lauren had noticed in the girl was apparent as she easily mastered posting, rising and falling with each smooth stride like an experienced horsewoman.

“Well done, Etsuko! Very nice!” The girl ducked her head, but the same shy, sweet smile seemed a permanent addition to her face. “Maja, you’re up.” Flekk stepped out swiftly for her, his trot flashy with his high stepping feet. “Remember, you’re in charge. Just cause Flekk knows what you’re gonna ask of him, smart little pony,” Lauren grumbled as they went by, “doesn’t mean he gets to make those decisions. You’re his rider. He goes when you say, and he stops when you say.”

“Yes, Lady Lauren,” Maga giggled as she bounced around, her posting ability failing her.

“Alright, Hedda.” Lauren nodded, indicating the girl head on out. This time they were more subdued, moving out together nicely. Like Etsuko, Hedda mastered posting with little trouble. “Beautiful. Nicely done.” The smile returned to her face, and Lauren was relieved. The scolding was, perhaps, a little sharp, but she could see so much of herself in Hedda. The last thing Lauren wanted was for the girl to make the same mistakes she had growing up around the barn. “Everyone together now. Give the person ahead of you a few strides before followin’. Practice your postin’ and keep them ponies movin’ till I tell y’all to stop.”

Dagny leaned against the rail, and Lauren snuck between Flekk and Elf to join her. They watched the kids for a moment longer, Maja giggling once in a while, her laughter spreading until they all laughed and bounced and trotted around, having a great time.

“I honestly had my doubts about this,” Dagny said as Lauren climbed up and sat on the top railing. “More on sticking three nobles kids and a stable boy on horseback than your teaching skills, milady, but you’ve done it. I’ve rarely seen a more competent instructor.”

“It was my favourite job growin’ up. Workin’ with the little ones like this, teachin’ them somethin’ I love. I’ve missed it.”

“I still can’t believe those three mucked stalls,” she chuckled. “I’ll never forget it.”

Lauren only smiled. It didn’t surprise her at all. The children who wanted to learn, ride, and become horse people did the work. The ones for who it was a passing fancy, they were the ones to gripe about scooping poop. None of these girls had done so. While Lauren had moved the groomed and tacked horses out to the arena, Baron had given a stuttered lesson on the proper removal of manure. When she’d returned for the last two horses, the girls had been hard at work clearing piles. Once they finished, she led them all out to the arena, assisting those who needed it to the backs of their geldings, and the class had begun.

“Any more requests for lessons?” Lauren asked Dagny. “Drop your heels, Baron. You’ll have less difficulty.”

“Another dozen.”

“Maja, squeeze with your knees and tighten your belly. Y’all have got the look of a floppy fish about you,” Lauren murmured as the girl passed her place on the rail. “Have the requests sent to my office. I’ll look them over later. Y’all don’t need to be dealin’ with court nonsense. I’ll get them sorted.”

Dagny breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, milady. That would be most appreciated.”

“How is it you haven’t been named stable master? You’re clearly competent,” Lauren wondered. “Everyone halt for a moment.” She smiled apologetically at Dagny and jumped down to adjust Baron’s posture.

“I’m sorry, milady,” he whispered, face flushed with embarrassment. “I can’t seem to get it right.”

“Baron, it’s only your first lesson. Y’all are doin’ just fine.” She reached up an placed a hand on his belly and the other on his low back. “Remember what I said in the beginnin’ about “sit bones”? You’re driftin’ a little forward which is a dangerous position for a boy if Mistral gets frisky. Catchin’ yourself on the saddle would be real unfortunate. Rock back a little. Good, now, scoot your bum forward, so you sit- Yes! Right there. Tighten your belly muscles, straighten your spine, look out between Mistral’s ears, and squeeze with your knees as your rise and fall with your postin’.” Even his ears were red by the time she finished, but Lauren paid it no mind. The boy would thank her for it if she kept him from cracking himself on the front of the saddle.

She stepped back, gave him a once-over, and nodded. “Resume.”

Dagny was snickering behind her hand when Lauren returned. “Poor boy’s about as red as I’ve ever seen him get, but he’ll thank you for it later, he will, if you keep him from nutting himself.” Lauren suppressed a snort. “As for your question. Stabio’s family has been in charge of the stables for generations. When Odin implemented the breeding program that’s produced what you see before you, it was that family who oversaw the barns. Through the years, they’ve kept the bloodlines pure, and it made sense to pass the position from father to son as they were all trained in the tradition, but with the dwindling interest in Sleipnir's Children and Stabio’s removal, we’re all just waiting to see what happens next.”

“Did you have a hard time with Stabio?” The way Dagny looked away, her face hardening into unreadable lines gave her answer better than words. “I’m sorry.”

She shook her head. “Don’t ever apologize for him. He was making the horses miserable. Aye, he was. You’re intervention likely kept Sleipnir from getting to him. You may have even saved the bastard’s life. Once word came to Sleipnir, well…” She shrugged and let the conversation end.

“And do you know as much about the barns, horses, and people as Stabio did? Could you run this place if you had to?”

Dagny gave an inelegant snort. “I’ve been doing so since before he left. Stabio only wanted one thing. He wanted to break Snøstrom and every Wild One of their temperament. He cared little for the day to day of running this place. He thought if he could prove Wild Ones would accept any rider as these fine fellows do, people would proclaim him a greater horsemaster than his father.”

A tired sigh escaped Lauren. “Unfortunately, the need to be the best can bring out the worst in people.” She patted Dagny’s hand before heading back into the center of the arena. “Alright, y’all. That’s it for today.” Loud groans of disappointment came from all the kids. “I know, I know, but for those of you unused to this much time in the saddle, y’all will likely thank me for endin’ things now when your legs give you grief tomorrow. I want everyone to dismount like we practiced at the beginnin’ and then you will walk your horses around the arena for five minutes before returnin’ them to their stalls where you will untack and rub them down. Baron is familiar with the process, and will answer any questions y’all have.”

After watching to see they all made it down without too much trouble, Lauren smiled and nodded. “I’ve yet to see my schedule, so when I know the date and time for our next class, y’all will be informed. Everyone did wonderfully today. Great job!”

They all beamed and lead their mounts around the rail, allowing the horses to cool down. As Lauren turned to go find her own mount, she arched a brow in exasperation, for Dagny was leading Snøstrom toward her, tacked up and ready to go.

“Wasn’t sure if you wanted this today,” she held up Lauren’s helmet, “or if you were just going to do ground work with him?”

She looked at the kids watching hopefully and chuckled. ��I think I’ll run him through some leg cues today. See if I can teach him a little dressage.”

“Dressage?” Dagny asked, excitement in her voice and face.

Lauren laughed and opened the gate to let Snøstrom in. He immediately set about rubbing his forehead on her arm. “Another form of equitation. I’ll see what I can teach him. Get off, you big lug!” Suddenly, his nose dropped to the satchel on her hip where the horse snorted and pinned his ears, backing swiftly away. “Easy. It’s alright.”

A frowning Dagny was watching intently, and when Peaches, evidently concerned by the change in Lauren’s voice, poked his head out to see what was happening, she too gasped and took a swift step in retreat. “Milady!”

“Stop!” Lauren held up her hand, causing both horse and woman to freeze. “He’s fine. Please. Peaches is mine and won’t hurt either of you, but I’m not supposed to be tellin’ people about him yet, so can we just… keep this between us?”

“But that… that’s… it’s…” Dagny never did get a full sentence out before her head snapped up and she gaped at Lauren. “You're an Earth Mother…”

It was barely a whisper, but it had Lauren leaping forward to take the woman by the arm. “I’m not ready. Do you understand? I’m not ready. I can’t be what everyone will expect of me, not yet.”

Whether it was her pleading tone or the fear that must have been present on Lauren’s face, she didn’t know, but Dagny suddenly snapped back, relaxed, and nodded. “Of course, Lady Lauren. I understand. Aye, your secret is safe with me. This is just so exciting! And thinking about it now, I’m surprised others haven’t figured it out.”

Lauren released her arm on a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Dagny. Peaches only arrived hours ago. I’m sorry if he frightened you.” She rubbed her fingers over the snake’s head and encouraged him back into the satchel. “And you, you big chicken. C’mere.” Snøstrom snorted and stamped his hoof. “Don’t be like that.” He shook his mane. “Fine. Then I’ll leave, and we won’t ride at all.” Lauren crossed her arms and glared at him, even as his ears sagged and lower lip quivered. “Pout all you like. Y’all are the one bein’ a big baby.” He plodded forward with his head down, looking very put out, before stopping and resting his forehead on her chest. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

“The way you talk to them, I’d think you had a touch of all-speak or transformation magic in you.”

“What’s that?” Lauren asked.

She stepped forward and checked Snøstrom’s saddle. “Well, the prince has transformation magic. His ability to assume an animal’s shape gives him the power to speak to them as well. While the King is capable of all-speak. It matters not what world Thor is on; he can speak the language thanks to his magic.”

“I didn’t know that!”

“Aye. And he can share it with those around him, making it easy for interspecies relations to take place. Of course, there are people on Asgard specifically trained in the various languages around the universe, because even though Thor can speak it, he can’t read them all. Most, but not all.”

“Well, blow me down with a feather! You learn somethin’ new every day!” Lauren giggled and mounted Snøstrom.

“Enjoy your ride, Highness.” Dagny patted Snøstrom’s flank. “I’ll keep an eye on the little ones.”

Lauren threw her a grateful smile and moved out onto the sand. The children all continued to circle with their horses, watching her as she urged Snøstrom up into a smooth trot, warming his muscles for the work to come. “Let’s see what we can teach you today, hmm, boy?” He nodded his head and whickered as if in agreement.

She started with something easy, a collected trot that had her moving past the children at a slow jog. Snøstrom picked his feet up nicely, a quick action that had him looking very sharp and proud. After a few rounds of that, making sure he was warmed up, she sat into the trot, pushing forward through her seat as they came to the long side of the arena, asking him to lengthen his stride. Those quick, flashy feet became ground eating strides that sent them sailing swiftly down the arena. At the corners, she collected him back into the short, flashy trot, then pushed him down the sides, repeating the action until he was confident and paying attention to her cues. Smarter than any horse she’d ever ridden, Lauren slowed him to a walk and patted his neck. “Good boy. Should we try somethin’ harder?” She got the same nod as before, making her giggle.

The kids were in the process of exiting the arena, so she waited a moment, gently pressing her hand to Peaches. He didn't seem at all concerned with the motion of riding, and for that she was thankful. Dealing with a grumpy snake was not high on her list of priorities. Once the gate closed, Lauren squeezed her heels and sent Snøwstrom up into a trot. After a few strides, she placed gentle pressure against his side with her inside leg, and slowly asked him to bring his nose back toward her knee, bending his thick neck into a deep curve. It was like she could see the question in his dark eye.

“This exercise helps with flexibility. Once we get you nice and supple through the pole -” his ears twitched, “yes, the space between your ears - and down your neck, I can start showin’ you other fun stuff. Flyin’ lead changes, turns on your hindquarters, and the real hard stuff.” His ears pricked toward her. “One's called a piaffe. It's a trot in place.”

He ignored her leg cues and turned into the center of the arena where the stallion proceeded to try and trot in place but kept falling to the side. When he finally came to a stop, head down and blowing hard, Lauren bit her lip to keep from chuckling. “Not as easy as it sounds, huh?” Snøstrom lifted his head, nose in the air as if to say he didn’t care to learn such things. “And why not?” He snorted in dismissal. “Foolish, hm? Well, if you’re not interested in learnin’ military maneuvers…” His whole head swivelled around, and he looked at her through narrowed eyes. “I swear!” Lauren held up her hands. “A piaffe was originally meant to keep you warm and ready to move forward into battle.” He looked intrigued before straightening out and stamping a hoof. “I’ll teach you, eventually. Right now, you have other things to learn before we get there.”

He worked the bit with his tongue, grumbling about it in his horsey way, but when she collected the reins to return him to the rail, Snøstrom went without protest. “Good boy. We’ll get there. It just takes time.” She patted his shoulder in sympathy and went back to softening his neck with a gentle inside bend.

***

Loki returned to the barn to find it abuzz with talk of Lauren and her class, both the one with the children in it and the one of the stubborn stallion she’d schooled afterward. It made him chuckle to listen for they were all so impressed with her and how she’d made Snøstrom sweat with nothing more than an hour of trotting and exercises none of them had ever thought to try. It was clear to Loki, if the barn staff had their way, Lauren would never be allowed to leave. They were all unendingly curious to see what other ingenious ways of training she had up her sleeve.

He found her in the calm quiet of Sleipnir’s stall, running a brush over the stallion’s hide. It already shone in the low light like pure silk. His mane now played host to a bunch of small braids, while a fishtail had been worked into the base of his tail before falling free into smooth strands that brushed the hay of his bedding. The stallion was dozing on four of eight legs, though his ears continued to flick back to where Lauren was working, her voice a low drone as she talked to the horse about nothing. It appeared she was telling him a story ��� one about a girl named Goldilocks and three bears.

Loki leaned against the stall door and listened to her talk, weaving the tale in such a way it painted pictures in his mind. When she finished the story with Goldilocks running from the house of the three bears to never be seen again, Loki lightly clapped his hands.

“Oh!” She turned with a flush building in her cheeks only to smile and relax when she realized who it was. “You gave me such a fright, Loki.”

“Apologies, love, but I didn’t want to interrupt your fascinating tale.” He frowned to find her snake looped around her neck again. “I thought he was staying out of sight?”

“He did, but no one bothers me in here and,” she bit her lip, the blush renewing, “Dagny knowns.”

Loki’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

She hurried toward the stall door. “There was an incident with Snøstrom and Peaches she happened to see, and then when I tried to explain it away she just knew, but she’s promised to keep it to herself, sweetie. I trust she will.”

He opened the door for her as she encouraged the snake back down into his pouch. “I see.” He sighed, but it was understandable. Peaches was a deadly snake all creatures knew better than to mess with. That her stallion would not only notice but protest proximity to the dangerous viper wasn’t that big a surprise. “If you believe Dagny will stay quiet, then I believe she will.” He pulled her closer and ducked down to kiss her slowly. She smelled of horse and barn and Amazonian Lilies, somehow a scent so uniquely her he couldn’t find fault in it and hummed his pleasure. “So,” he murmured, pecking her lips, “sweetie?”

She giggled and twirled a lock of his hair around her finger. “I thought I’d try it out.”

“It’s… different.”

“Not sure it fits you though. You’re not really the “sweetie” type. Elskan min is a better fit.”

“Hm,” he chuckled. “That it is.” Loki nipped her lip between his teeth and worried it gently. When he finally released it, it was plump and red and lush looking. He wanted to keep kissing her, or pull her in a stall and have his way with her against the wall, but refrained. “Are you ready, my sweet, to see your public and private spaces?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

“Still a little nervous?” She nodded, clutching the strap of her satchel. “That’s alright. You’ll see there is nothing to fret over once you’ve been. But first, I want you to cleanse yourself of the scent of horse and remove the dust from your hair, body, and clothing. I’ll be changing your makeup, so you may take that off as well.” He stepped a pace away, having no desire to be doused in water if she made a mistake, but he needn't have feared when with a few whispered words, narrowed brows of concentration, and a twist of fingers, she was once again clean and refreshed. “Lovely. Very well done, darling.”

Sleipnir stuck his head over his stall door and whickered.

“Even he is impressed at how much you’ve learned in such a short time.”

Lauren blushed and smiled shyly, so adorable. “Thank you. I’m tryin’ real hard.”

“You’re doing amazingly well, pet,” Loki purred, surrounding her in ropes of magic that twisted and shaped and changed her garments, leaving her standing in a beautiful periwinkle gown with an overcoat of the same colour, heavily embroidered in pale violet. Her hair curled loose and flowing down her back and over her shoulders in youthful whimsy, a match to her glossy lips and thick lashes. The court makeup of this morning had been stunning but had masked her natural beauty. This was much more natural and in keeping with her personality.

He held out his hand and had her turn, admiring every angle. “You’re exquisite, my love. Simply breathtaking.”

“I would hope you’d think so, seein’ as you’re the one dressin’ me!” she laughed, petting Sleipnir’s cheek before taking Loki’s arm. “I’ll be back when I can.”

The stallion wickered, and Lauren looked up at Loki. “What he say?”

“That he looks forward to more stories from the Lady of Stars and Fire.”

Lauren smiled over her shoulder. “I’m glad you enjoyed them!”

Laughing softly, Loki led her toward the exit, not blind to the men and women who stopped to bow and murmur quiet greetings to her as they passed. She’d earned much respect today. “It appears your lesson went well. You seem to have impressed everyone who works in the stables.”

“It was so fun, Loki.” Her joy appeared to radiate from her like the sun. “The kids were great, though Hedda reminds me a little too much of myself. Lady Anna brought Maja, and there was a bit of a set too, but I handled it. She may get her natter on, but Lord Aslin was so nice about the whole thing, I don’t even care if  Anna and Haddy get their knickers in a twist. One was rude, and the other was up to somethin’.”

“Lady Anna was rude?” Loki asked, having heard nothing of the confrontation what with dealing with petitioners all day.

Lauren waved a dismissive hand. “It got handled. Maja stayed for the lesson and said she’d be speakin’ to her father about how her mother insulted me. She didn’t figure she’d have a problem returnin’ properly attired for her next lesson.”

He came to a full stop in the door of the stable. “Darling,” he said quietly, working to contain his rage. “Was Lady Anna rude or did she offer insult?”

She frowned up at him. “What’s it matter? I dealt with it.”

“It matters quite a lot. If Lady Anna insulted the Princess of Asgard, recompense will be required.”

“Loki,” she sighed and shook her head. “I think it was a big enough blow when Maja refused to leave with her and took my side. Let it go.”

“You do not understand, my heart. You are the Princess of Asgard. An insult to you is an insult to me and indirectly to Thor. Such a thing cannot, will not, simply be swept beneath the rug. It cannot go unpunished, no different than what happened with Gerda. While I have no plans to set Geri and Freki on the woman, you can bet her husband will hear of my anger.”

She gazed up at him for a long moment before asking, “Is this an Asgardian thing?”

“Very much so,” he answered without hesitation.

“Fine.” She tugged his arm to get him moving and recited as best she could what had happened. By the end, Loki was biting his tongue to contain his laughter.

“I see what you mean. I think a strongly worded missive and baning his wife from appearing in your parlour until she executes a formal and public apology while actively inviting her daughter to join you should be punishment enough.”

“And Daven and her girls. I was supposed to have tea with them and haven’t. And I invited Lord Aslin. He was ever so sweet, Loki. His daughter is a little darlin’, but the loss of her mama has made her darn near mute. I think havin’ her spend time with Hedda and Maja will be good for her.”

“You’re probably correct, my heart.” He led Lauren into the gardens and smiled when the blooms along their pathway began to open in her wake. As there was no one near, he didn’t bother to say anything.

“I do have a question about Hedda though.”

“What’s that, love?”

She drew him to a stop beneath the arched branches of a willow tree. “You saw my magic in my eyes first, right?” He nodded, intrigued by her question. “Well, when Hedda met Elf today, I swear I saw somethin’ in her eyes. She kept insistin’ Volstagg’s horse didn’t like his name, and then with Elf, she said he liked his name very much, and there was this… flicker of pink in her eye.”

Loki inhaled sharply. “In her pupil or did it curl around her iris?”

“In her pupil.” She frowned at him. “Why?”

“A curl around the iris is the indication of seiðr in the blood, but a flame within the pupil is something different. An indication of transformative magic or all-speak.”

“Like what you have and what Thor has?” When he tilted his head curiously, she smiled and explained. “Dagny said when I was talkin’ to Snøstrom it was like I had all-speak, and I didn’t know what she meant.”

“Ah. I see. Forgive me. I never thought to explain about all-speak.”

She shook her head. “It’s fine. I’m beginnin’ to see there are things y’all learn early that are just part of bein’ Asgardian. I think it’s important that you find me that tutor. Yes, I could learn as we go, but havin’ someone who can start at the beginnin’ and help me adjust? I want that, Loki.”

He cupped her chin, so incredibly proud of her. Finally, she was asking for what she wanted and requesting what she needed like a true princess. “Whatever you want, my sweet, stunning little Earth Mother.”

When he bent to kiss her, he found her fingers pressed to his lips. “Speakin’ of “whatever I want,” just what were you and Thor thinkin’ buyin’ that costume from Ingrid?”

Loki nipped the end of her finger. “We were conspiring to give you something that obviously brought your pleasure. I take it, it arrived today?”

“Mm, along with the earrin’s from Clareon and the fairy orbs for Gran.”

“And how did they turn out?” He collected her hand back to his arm and continued through the garden.

“Oh, Loki. She’s just gonna spit when she sees ‘em!” Lauren squealed and tugged on his arm. “They’re so pretty, and the colours! The colours are just gorgeous!”

“I’m happy they please you, pet. I’m sure your Gran will love them.” He led her up the stairs onto the terrace that wrapped around the lower level and through the nearest doors.

“Hey, hun? Why are we walkin’?”

He smiled down at her and led her to the stairwell. “It isn’t far, and I thought you might like to know how to get there on your own.”

She lifted the front of her gown as she climbed the spiral stairs. Loki couldn’t help but watch her as she went, her hand in his. She was so graceful. He just couldn’t get over how stunningly sleek and beautiful she was. There was no one in all of Asgard who could compare to her.

“You’re starin’, honey.”

“I think when it comes to you I will always stare. There is no greater beauty in all of Asgard.” He drew her up to his stair and kissed her sweetly when her pleased blush coloured her cheeks.

Then a voice cleared and broke them apart. “Excuse me, your Highness. I need to get by.”

He could feel Lauren stiffen at the sound of that voice and tucked her in tight to his side. “Teacher.” Loki nodded politely and stepped up a step to give Sigyn space to pass. It was a narrow stairwell, old and made of stone from the first days of Asgard and the old keep, but it held a nostalgic air for his father and had been left as a reminder of bygone days. Now, Loki wished he’d torn it down and put in something more practical, but at the time, such stairwells made it difficult for invaders to ascend higher in the keep.

Sigyn swept down the stairs with her nose in the air, ignoring Lauren completely. He knew he shouldn’t do it, but then Loki was never one not to poke the hornet’s nest. “Aren’t you supposed to be with students this time a day?” He guided Lauren up the stairs past him, so he stayed between her and Sigyn.

The redheaded witch slowed to a stop and looked up at him. “It appears fewer children require my skills. Fewer and fewer are showing any magical leanings.”

“Strange,” Lauren murmured, her hand resting on Loki’s shoulder. “I found one just today.”

“You?” Signy scoffed. “What would you know of seiðr or the magic of Asgard?”

“You’d be surprised what I can learn in a short amount of time.” Lauren picked up the front of her dress and continued up the stairs without another word.

“I see she’s found her inner princess,” Signy sniffed.

“Glorious isn’t she?” Loki smirked proudly and followed his wife up the stairs, ignoring the glare Signy shot his way before she swept down them. He contemplated magically shifting the bottom step, so she stumbled ungracefully out in view of everyone, but she would know it was his doing, and he wouldn’t give her a reason to retaliate.

Lauren waited for him at the top, and Loki bound up the last few steps like an overzealous stag. It made her giggle and reach out to close her hands around the straps on his chest. “If you’re gonna act like a deer, you should’a kept the horns on.”

“Maybe I’ll return them for you later,” he purred, clutching her waist to draw her closer.

She tugged until he bent down and kissed him. “Thank you for sayin’ what you did to Sigyn, honey.”

“Mm,” he hummed against her mouth. “I think I like honey.”

“Sweet,” she purred and dragged her fingers down his chest to sneak between the edges of his tunic and find the front of his pants. “And thick like you.”

“You naughty, wicked woman. I love it!” he growled and ravaged her mouth.

Titters of giggles erupted up and down the hall, but Loki took his time releasing his wife, mostly so she could sneak her hand away from him before everyone noticed just what her grasping fingers were gripping. He looked over her head and grinned at the maids giggling behind their hands. They rushed away with his notice, and Loki led Lauren down the hall.

The pretty blush he adored coloured Lauren's cheeks, her shyness always so sweet. “Don’t worry, darling. It was only a couple of maids. Most people have no reason to be here, but I informed Selvina you would be entertaining tomorrow, and she sent a few girls to get the furniture dusted. I’m sure they have seen worse things than a husband kissing his wife.”

“I find I quite like it when my husband kisses me.”

She flirted with her lashes and had him lifting her palm to his lips. “My love, how well you stroke my ego.”

At a set of ornate wood and gold doors, Loki released her hand to push them both open, revealing a room with a large fireplace set against one wall. The floor rose in tiers, creating separate seating areas right back to the highest section - no more than three steps up - placed back against the expanse of windows that looked out over Asgard’s gardens, currently covered by thick brocade drapes in antique gold. Chairs and couches in creams and golds would seat a good thirty guests, but the room itself was large enough for many more.

Lauren inhaled in wonder and walked through the doors onto lush green and black carpets which muffled her steps. “Loki… it’s so… grand.”

“It’s meant to be.”

She tilted her head back to take in the coffered, and carved ceiling hung with shining gold chandeliers, then made her way toward the highest tier where she pulled back a curtain and peered out over the garden. “Would you be upset with me if I asked to change a few things?”

His heart skipped in excitement. For her to want to make changes meant Lauren was feeling at home and comfortable with her position. “Anything you want, my heart. Name it.”

“These weren’t your mama’s rooms were they? I don’t want to upset anyone if they were. I’d feel like I was erasin’ bits of Frigga’s memory and that would be wrong.”

Loki shook his head. “Not at all, darling. Mother’s rooms will belong to Thor’s wife, as is proper. These rooms have sat empty since before my time. What you see was put in place when it became known I had an Ástvinur, so anything you’d like to change, you need only ask.”

She turned from her view of the window with such a deviant smile on her face; he had a thrill race up his spine. “Would you be at all against havin’ a little fun with Thor’s court?”

“Wicked girl. Whatever plan you are hatching, I want in.” He flicked his fingers and the doors to the hall closed and locked.

“Well.” She dug her toe into the carpet and swung back and forth like Sara was want to do. “Seein’ as how people are so interested in Midgard, and I am a true southern belle, what’s say we show ‘em a little of where I come from.”

He inhaled sharply, then swiftly cupped her face and kissed her hard on the mouth. “Brilliant! Damn, how did I not think of that?”

She giggled wildly and sat down hard when he let her go. “Well, my tricky God. You’d best make with the magic while I sit here and look for the bone you stole from my legs.”

“Do I make your knees weak, pet?” He turned a devilish smile on her and caged her into her chair.

“You know you do.”

Eyes like emeralds were full of laughter and just the first stirrings of desire when he lowered himself to his knees and began to draw her skirt up her legs. “Perhaps I should assist you with finding your wayward bones before I make with the magic?”

She arched a brow and offered him an inviting smile. “Maybe you should.”

With an excited growl, Loki pounced on his wife.

***

It was over an hour later when they emerged, Lauren bright-eyed and flushed, Loki looking smug and thoroughly relaxed. Her viper had stuck his head out once when Lauren had carefully dropped his satchel onto a nearby table but quickly went back to napping when Loki’s tunic landed on him.

Now a bright, sunshine laden parlour waited beyond the closed doors. The furniture was of the antique variety within Ellie’s home, while the walls between the panels of wainscotting and crown moulding now contained copies of art by some of Midgard’s touted masters. Such paintings as Monet’s Water Lilies, and Van Gogh’s Starry Night, and The Skiff by Renoir a painting Lauren loved so much, she had a poster of it framed on the wall of her suite in the tower.

He'd transformed one entire section of seating into a library containing much of the writings Loki enjoyed - Shakespeare, Byron, Poe, and the complete works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle - available for perusal whilst visiting. And the upper section where the heavy golden draperies had hung, now a transparent film of curtains meant to soften the sun, but not block it completely covered the windows. Flowers such as Orchids, Amaryllis, and even a small Magnolia tree bloomed in abundance throughout the room. Even the ornate gold chandeliers were no more, replaced by elegant crystal ones. There was not another place like it in all of Asgard.

Loki had even changed out the floors to wood ones of a herringbone pattern he then overlaid with soft, thick Persian rugs. Some of what she’d asked for were things he’d been unfamiliar with, but when he explained about being able to see her memories if she allowed it, Lauren had agreed without hesitation and opened herself to him, giving him unrestricted access to whatever he wished. He’d only plucked the bits of knowledge required for the transformation from her mind, and left the rest alone.

He led her across the hall to a single door through which there was a smaller room much the same as the previous. “This is what would be called your keeping or retaining room.”

“It’s cozy. Is it soundproof?”

“It is indeed,” he grinned down at her. “What private conversations you wish to have will remain so within the walls of this room. Should we spruce it up as well?”

Lauren shook her head. “I feel like if people are askin’ for an audience, it would be better to have them be comfortable when they speak their peace. If everythin’ is so different in here, they may have a hard time askin’ what they came to ask.”

“How very astute of you, darling. You are becoming a wonderful princess.” He kept growing prouder of her day by day.

She looked up at him with soft eyes and a sweet smile. “Guess Sadie was right. I kinda like this princess thing.”

“My love. If you keep looking at me like that, I will feel the need to christen this room, and the one beyond it as well with your sweet cries.”

“Hush, you.” She swatted playfully at his chest and followed him to another single door set in the wall of her keeping room. “And where does this super secret doorway lead?”

Loki chuckled and pushed it inward. “Not so secret, but it does give access to your office.” It was a room roughly double the size of the one they’d just passed through. Soft pastel colours and ivory furniture had it looking light and airy, and when Lauren smiled, he knew there would be nothing to change in this space either.

“It so pretty!” She hurried toward the desk and poked through piles of blank paper, pens, and all manner of things she would need. Then she held up the cylinder of violet wax. “What’s this for?”

“I will show you after you write your thank you to Clareon.” Loki rounded the desk and plucked a note card from within a shelf containing a multitude of them. “As it is a note of gratitude, you should use a card that can be kept and or displayed like a souvenir. For things like a summons, a letter of condolence, or an answer to a message received, stationary is preferred.” He handed the card to her and watched her frown. “What is it, love?”

“Why are your serpents purple?”

He chuckled and tapped the front of the card. “The violet colour is your royal colour. Mine is green, Thor’s is red for personal missives, but messages sent from the crown are gold. The symbol is mine, as Thor’s is his hammer, but as your place on Yggdrasil is unknown, we haven’t yet set you a seal. For now, you will use mine in our official colour, and when we announce you as an Earth Mother, banners with your chosen image will be made, a seal forged, and new parchment created.”

“For such an advanced society, why y’all don’t use computers and email is beyond me,” she muttered and sat to write out her message to Clareon. “Even your pens remind me of the kind we all used to dip in ink before things like ballpoints came around.”

“You mean this ink?” He nudged the pot toward her.

“Oh, crap.” She thunked her head down on her desk. “I tried calligraphy once, Loki. I sucked at it. Can’t you just magic me a ballpoint?”

“It takes a little practice, but I’ll help.” Moving around her chair, he closed his hand around hers on the pen and dipped it in the ink, showing her how to judge when she had enough, then helping her run through the alphabet on a scrap piece of paper. “As to why we choose to do things this way, it’s to remain connected to our people. Could we have a network of computers through which to send instant messages? Absolutely. But taking the time to sit down and actively write a card or letter shows the receiver the sender put thought and effort into their answer. It also weeds out things of a trivial nature because of the time one must put in to write their message.”

“I get it.” Lauren bit her lip as she tried repeating his actions without his guiding hand. “People can be real disconnected on Earth with email and instant messagin’. It’s why I wrote to Sadie and Gran, Sue Ann and Teddy. It kept me connected when it would have been real easy to lose touch.”

“Quite right, darling.”

“I’d still be better with a ballpoint pen,” she grumbled.

“You’re doing fine, Lauren. Now, write your note. It’s best to address him as Master Goldsmith Clareon. It will stroke the little farts ego.”

Lauren snorted a laugh. “Both you and the twins keep givin’ me the impression he’s a difficult person.”

“He’s a dwarf from Nidavellir. They are all difficult!” Loki huffed. “Careful. If you think you may have picked up too much ink, you can always run the pen over a piece of scrap.”

As soon as she set the tip to the scrap paper she’d been using to practice on; she left behind a large ink blot. “That was close.”

“You’ll be proficient in this in no time.”

The quiet scratch of her pen was the only noise in the room for a few minutes before she sat back and motioned to the card. “Well?”

Loki stroked his hand down the body of the viper who’d slithered up to rest on Lauren’s shoulder, appearing as if he could read when he stared at the paper. “Dear Master Goldsmith Clareon. It is with my deepest sincerity that I thank you for your generous gift. You made it exceptionally difficult to choose from the extraordinary collection you sent until the beautiful diamond drop earrings caught my eye. I shall think fondly of you every time I wear them. Yours…” Loki frowned. “You didn’t finish.”

“I don’t know how to address it. Princess Lauren feels a little strange. Lauren Odinson doesn’t quite do it either, and if I sign it Lauren Annandale, he won’t know who I am. How do you sign yours?”

“Loki, Prince of Asgard, brother of Thor, son of Odin, God of Mischief.” She gaped up at him in mild exasperation. “What?”

“I should have known.” She picked up the pen and bent over the card, then handed it back to him.

“Lauren, Princess of Asgard.” Loki smiled and nodded. “Yes, that will do well. Now, most people would need to blot the ink or sand it before closing the card, but we, my love, have magic.”

“Oh! I know!” She called her magic to her fingers with a speed that astounded him, then breathed a soft, “Bris,” that sent a gentle curl of breeze drying the ink.

“Well done, darling!” he exclaimed, impressed with her reach in logic. “Grab an envelope and add the card. Now, the wax is to seal it closed so if it arrives at its destination cracked, we will know someone intercepted it on route.”

“Couldn’t someone just use magic to lift it without breakin’ it?” she asked.

Loki lit the small wick at the end and added a few drops of the wax to the tip of the closed envelope. “The wax itself has magical properties sealed into it to keep such a thing from happening. Grab that seal.” He motioned to the stamp with the wooden handle. “And press it into the wax. You can rock it a little to get decent definition in the design, just remember not to twist.” When she pulled the seal away, his serpents remained embossed in the wax. “Perfect. Now, lift the letter, turn it over, and speak the name of the person you are sending the letter to aloud. For Clareon, you would say “Clareon the Goldsmith.’”

“Clareon the Goldsmith.” Lauren’s eyes grew round when the words appeared on the front in violet ink. “Wow!”

“Still missing email?” he teased.

“Not at the moment. Now what? Do we give it to someone to deliver?”

“Yes, indeed we do.” Loki made his way to the window and pushed it open. “Raven!” Within seconds one was sitting on the windowsill, croaking curiously. “Your willing messenger, my heart.”

Lauren got quickly to her feet and came closer, her snake once again curled loosely around her neck. “Do I just give it over?”

“It’s best to tell them where they are going, though the letter itself is now spelled to lead them to the receiver. You will also need one of these.” From the jar below the window, Loki plucked the lid and held out a small cracker. “Payment for work.”

She giggled and fed the cracker to the raven. “Can you take this to Clareon the Goldsmith? Please?” The raven bobbed up and down, and gently took the letter in its beak before hopping around and flying away. “Thank you!”

“So polite,” Loki teased.

“Of course. One never knows when a raven is really a God in disguise,” she snickered, lightly stroking the scales of her familiar.

He shook his head in wonder. “By the Norns, pet. What a goddess you will make.”

“It’s all because of you, Loki.” She smiled, lifted up on her toes, and pecked him a soft kiss. “All of this is 'cause of you.”

For the first time in his life, he actually believed that.

Next Chapter... coming soon.

[imagine-loki]

Soulbonds and Fairy Dust

TITLE: Soulbonds and Fairy Dust CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: 13/? AUTHOR: nekoamamori ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine one of the fae has been helping the Avengers, jumping in to help them on missions and vanishing before Shield can bring her in.  Loki joins the team and convinces her to come talk to the team and consider joining before Shield takes more drastic measures. RATING: T (so far)  NOTES/WARNINGS: Also on AO3 here

You all woke early the next morning to get to the gate as soon a possible.  You blushed when you realized you were cuddled with Loki, still wrapped in her arms.  Loki gave you a bright, happy smile, a smile you loved on her face and never wanted her to lose.  “Good morning, darling.”

You returned her smile a little shyly from you position curled in her arms.  “Good morning, princess,” you replied.  Her smile widened even more if that was possible.  She apparently loved being called princess by you.

You would have to keep that in mind.

“We should get going. You have a doorway to close as long as you’re feeling up to it?” Loki added the last hesitantly.  She didn’t want you overexerting yourself, and you smiled at how much she cared.

“We should,” you agreed and disentangled yourself form Loki’s arms to stand and get dressed with magic.  You were looking much better after proper rest, which made Loki relax some.  Loki stood and dressed with magic as well.  She was apparently deciding to stay female for awhile.  You didn’t mind one way or the other.  Loki was Loki no matter her form. 

After a quick breakfast your group headed out of the town to find the gate.  It was a short ride through the woods to where it was.  Thor led the way based on the map, but once you got close, you took the lead.  You could feel the doorway by its magic. As you drew near something sparked your senses.  You had your magic, your senses, cast out around you to try to spot danger before it reached you.  You stood in your stirrups, sensing something. 

“Sig?  What’s wrong?” Loki asked, noting your odd behavior as you cast around, trying to figure out what you were sensing. 

“We’re expected,” you told Loki as you finally figured out what you’d been feeling.  “There’s a whole group of creatures at the gate to defend it. At least one giant and troll,” you told him.  The rest of the group had too similar of magical signatures for you to be able to tell exactly how many of them there were, or what the group would be facing.  

Loki nodded and turned in her saddle to look to the others.  “Be ready. We have a battle on our hands.” They said their agreements and loosened their weapons in their sheaths, readying themselves for the battle ahead. You couldn’t help in this battle and you knew it.  You needed to keep your strength and magic to close the doorway.  Much as it pained you, you needed to stay out of the fight.

“Stay back, darling. Let us handle this,” Loki told you gently.  She knew how hard it was for you to stay behind while your friends were in danger. 

“I know,” you told her softly.  You knew that’s why the group was here.  The warriors were here to defeat any obstacles from keeping you from closing the doorways. That’s why they were here. “I know that’s why they’re all here, it still feels like I should help,” you added just as softly.

Loki nodded. “I understand. But we are here to keep you safe.  You’re the only one who can close the doorways,” she reminded you.  You nodded and your group reached the break in the trees.  You could see the group of thirty-odd creatures prepared to defend the gate as you approached.  You all dismounted at the tree-line, where you could see the battle, but were safely away from it.  “Stay here, Sig. I’ll come get you when the battle is over,” Loki told you firmly.  She didn’t like leaving you alone about as much as you hated staying behind.  You knew it was the best plan.

“Be careful!” you told Loki nervously.

Loki gave you a reassuring smile.  “I’ll be fine, Sig. I’ll see you soon,” 

You waited nervously from your safe spot with the horses while the others went to battle.  The battle was glorious, according to the moron boys.  You were just watching in horror as your friends fought, and were injured too.  You had to watch them take small injuries and you prayed that they wouldn’t be truly injured. You had to admit that they were skilled warriors, even if you were worried for them the entire time.  

It took awhile but they did finally all return to you, alive.  Loki was uninjured, so was Thor.  Sif only had a small wound.  Fandral was bleeding from a nasty-looking head-wound, and the other morons were bandaging wounds as well, but they were all relatively alright.  

Loki nodded to you. “Whenever you’re ready, darling,”

You hugged Loki around the neck instead.  “You’re ok!” you told her, obviously you’d been worried over Loki’s safety.  Thor chuckled when Loki stiffened at your hug.  Loki hadn’t expected to be hugged so enthusiastically.  

Loki was surprised, but her arms immediately wrapped around you.  “I told you I would be alright, darling,” she told you gently.

You let Loki go slowly.  “I still worry, especially when you go off to battle without me,” you told her softly. You blushed a little at such sentiment, especially as you fought the urge to kiss Loki’s cheek.  You turned to go to the doorway to seal it.  Loki remained by your side as you did. She wasn’t taking chances with your safety.

You sliced your hand and drew the power to close the doorway.  It was harder than any of the previous ones.  It was draining and you felt like the power was tearing you apart as you finally got the doorway closed.  

You sagged visibly when it was closed, drained and exhausted beyond belief.  Loki steadied you and healed the cut on your hand quickly.  She wrapped an arm around your shoulders, seeing that you were too incoherent with exhaustion to make any decisions on your own, or be trusted to walk anywhere on your own.  She helped you back to the horses and you let her steer you, wrapping your arms around her waist and laying your head on her chest as you walked, leaning heavily on her. “Let’s find something to eat. You need to get your energy back before the next gate,” Loki told you gently and you nodded, agreeing with that plan.

The warrior boys flittered around you both, concerned.  They highly disliked seeing noble ladies in distress.  Their instincts and training were to immediately help.  To sweep you off to a nice safe bed, to do something.  Loki glared at them to back off.  She had it handled.  She handed you up into your horse’s saddle and you held onto the saddle horn to keep your seat.  The rest mounted quickly and Thor led the way back to the town so you could all find somewhere to rest and recover before you moved onto the next doorway. 

“How are you feeling, Sig?” Loki asked you as you rode.  You figured it was equal parts checking on you and equal parts making sure you stayed awake enough to stay in the saddle.  

You gave her a tiny smile meant to reassure her, but didn’t think you succeeded.  “Tired, but I’ll be alright,” you replied. 

“Hopefully when you get some food in you, you’ll feel a bit better,”

You nodded and Thor finally found an eating house that was acceptable.  You dismounted and walked inside with Loki.  The warrior boys loudly cheered about the glorious battle, even though they were injured. Morons.  You picked at the meal, but you ate, knowing you’d need the energy to close the next gate that day. 

Loki watched you carefully, but you stayed coherent enough to assure her that you were ok enough to keep traveling. When you finished eating, you returned to the horses to head to the next doorway.  The group decided you were going to stop halfway there to rest for lunch as it was farther away than the others had been. None of them trusted you to travel that far.  You tried to hide how drained you were, but you were exhausted, staring listlessly and unfocused as you rode.  

Sif rode up to Loki’s other side.  “I don’t understand the difference,” she told Loki softly so as to not disturb your listless half-dozing.  “You mages aren’t usually so drained by your magic and Sigyn has always been a strong sorceress. Why is this magic so draining on her?” Sif was curious and not asking maliciously.  She really just wanted to know why this was different.

“Blood magic is not the same as the magic you see me or my mother use. It’s a more physical form. It takes an individual’s energy from the blood they spill to cast their spell. It drains them physically and mentally and can be extremely dangerous. That’s why every time Sig closes a gate, she looks and feels drained. It’s because she actually is. The magic I use takes a lot more power before I were to become drained like that,” he gestured to you.  Sif nodded her agreement, accepting Loki’s explanation.  There was a reason blood magic wasn’t allowed to be practiced on Asgard.  She still looked understandably worried about you, and more urgently, your ability to stay on your horse.  

You managed to stay ahorse and awake until you found a village to have lunch in about halfway to the next gate.  “We should rest here. We can continue onto the next gate after Sig gets some rest,” Loki told the others, getting more and more concerned about you as you rode.  

“There’s a tavern, they should have lunch and Sig can rest there,” Thor agreed and the group started to dismount in front of said tavern. 

Loki helped you down from the saddle. “Do you wish to eat now or rest first, Sig?” she asked you gently.

“Eat first,” you replied, ducking under Loki’s arm to wrap your arms around her waist. You trusted Loki to steer you where you needed to be while you closed your eyes for a moment and leaned your weight on her.  Loki led you straight to an empty table and coaxed you into sitting down.  She’d noticed how unsteady you were on your feet from closing the last doorway.  It had been a miracle that you’d remained in the saddle.  You ate what was placed in front of you without paying attention to what it actually was and laid your head on Loki’s shoulder as soon as the food was gone.  Loki stood once she had finished eating and dragged you to your feet.  She helped you to a room in the inn so you could get some desperately needed rest.  

“Do you wish for me to stay?” Loki asked after she’d gotten you tucked into bed. 

“Only if you want to,” you murmured, mostly asleep the second you were lying down.  

“I’ll stay with you if you’re ok with that,” Loki would rather not leave you so defenseless.  You nodded and moved over on the bed to make sure there was room for Loki to sit with you if she was so inclined. You closed your eyes again the second you’d moved.  Loki settled on the bed next to you and summoned a book to read to pass the time. You wrapped your arms around Loki’s waist like she was your favorite plushie and used Loki’s lap as a pillow, purring softly as you got some much needed rest. Safe with your Loki. Loki smiled warmly and ran her fingers through your hair while you napped.  She thought you were adorable and loved having you safe in her arms.  

You napped for a couple of hours before you stirred and sat up again, blushing a deep red at having used Loki as a pillow.  Again.  She was going to get annoyed if she kept getting used as a pillow.  Loki didn’t like being touched.  You didn’t quite understand yet that you were the exception to that rule. It had only been a few days after all. 

“How are you feeling, darling?” Loki asked you gently.  

“Better,” you replied and gave her a real smile.  

Loki’s smile grew even brighter and warmed your heart.  “Wonderful. Though we should be heading out before night falls,”

You nodded. “We should have time for me to get the third doorway before dark,” you agreed and moved to get out of the bed.  Loki nodded as well and you headed out to the tavern area where the morons were drinking.  Thankfully, they were only drinking ale, so it hadn’t affected them much.  They’d be fine by the time you made it to the next gate.  It didn’t take long to get everyone back on the road.  You rode next to Loki chatting with her as you rode.  “Was the battle awful at the last gate?” 

Loki shook her head.  “Not really. At least, not for me. The others had a much harder time,” she teased the warrior morons.

“Of course they did,” you agreed with a smirk.  “You’re a much better fighter,” you told Loki warmly.

“He took all the easy ones!” Fandral protested, which just made you giggle. Annoying Fandral was a fond pastime from days long past. 

“No. You just aren’t as great of a fighter as me,” Loki replied easily.  Taunting Fandral was fun

You giggled even harder at their argument as Fandral spluttered that he was a great warrior.  You all chatted for awhile and you eventually went back to reading your books.  “So what do you think, Lady Sigyn?” Fandral asked you about…Something… you hadn’t been paying attention while you were reading.  

You saw that he was arguing with Loki over whatever it was.  “I wasn’t paying attention,” you admitted, “but whatever it was, I side with Loki,” you replied with a smirk. Loki smirked over at Fandral triumphantly. 

“You can’t take Loki’s side without even listening to the argument!” Fandral protested while you turned your attention back to your book.

You flipped a page in the book as Fandral started to try to explain it again. You held up a hand to stop his explanation. “I can.  I’m going to side with Loki regardless, so save your breath,”

Loki’s smirk only grew.  “Thank you, darling,” she replied warmly.

Fandral spluttered indignantly at you, the noble lady who wasn’t charmed by him.  You smiled warmly at Loki. “Of course, Lokes,” you said brightly before you returned to your book.  

It wasn’t much longer before you approached the third gate.  You vanished your book as you got closer.  You could sense the fae better than any of the others and you were on alert for danger. “Will we be facing any resistance, darling?” Loki asked when she noted your glazed expression as you focused on your surroundings.

“Yes, but not how you mean,” you told Loki, your eyes unfocused as you focused instead on what you were feeling.  “You’re going to argue, but I have to deal with this one.  She’ll kill you all on sight,” you told Loki.

“Darling? What are you talking about?”

You were close enough now that your group could see the gate and the lone figure standing in front of it.  A fae child, or so she appeared. “She’s who I’m talking about,” you replied, pointing to the girl.

“And she is?” Loki asked impatiently.  You weren’t being particularly clear or helpful.

You rolled your eyes and huffed just as impatiently.  “She’s the realm I’m sealing away,” you told Loki too patiently.  “I did mention that she’s sentient.  That is her. To name her is to give her power,” you reminded her that there was power in the name of things. 

Loki nodded her understanding once you’d spelled it out for her.  “Are you sure I cannot help?” she asked.  She didn’t want to leave you in danger, though she accepted that you knew the fae better than she did.

You considered that, considered your options. “You can come.  They cannot.  The soulbond should protect you, but there are two conditions,” you told Loki firmly.  There could be no deviating from your conditions and you would leave Loki behind if she couldn’t agree to your terms. 

Loki nodded while the others looked like they wanted to protest.  They were supposed to protect you, not let you go into danger alone. “What do you require of me?”

 “Don’t speak to her unless she asks you a direct question.  If she does. Do not lie,” you told Loki firmly.  Loki was the goddess of lies and sometimes her default was to lie or fib.  She couldn’t do either in front of Underhill.  You hesitated before you added.  “I won’t stop you from coming with me, but the other condition is that you cannot go before her with any kind of illusions.  Any.  She’ll see through them and take it as an insult.  I can face her alone and I won’t ask that of you,” you added the last gently.  You wouldn’t ask Loki to strip her last illusion.  

You couldn’t do that to her. 

Loki shifted back to his male form.  “No illusions. I may be the god of lies, but I know how to tell the truth, Sigyn,” he told you firmly. 

It broke your heart what you had to do to get your point across. He hadn’t understood.

“No, Loki.  No illusions, not even this one,” you told him gently.  You knew what it would cost him to strip the last illusion.  “I told you that I won’t ask it of you.  You can guard from here with the others.  I won’t ask you to strip the last illusion in front of them,” you indicated the others, reminded Loki that they were here.  They would see, if he went through with this. 

Loki sighed heavily once he understood what you meant.  “Is this the only way I can come with you?” he finally asked.  “I do not want you facing her alone,” 

You nodded. “It’s the only way.  She takes great insult at any who come before her under illusion.  And she is the one who enforces the rule that the fae cannot lie,” you explained.  You then added. “She likes me, I’ll be perfectly safe.  You don’t have to come the rest of the way.” You wouldn’t ask him to strip his last illusion in front of the others. 

He sighed again and hesitated, but dropped the last illusion, appearing in his jotun form with his beautiful sapphire skin and scarlet eyes.  He looked sheepish and afraid to be seen like this, but you just gave him a warm smile.  He was your Loki no matter his form.  “We do this together. We’re soul bound. You don’t have to do anything on your own anymore,” he told you firmly, determined to see this through with you.

There were gasps of shock from the morons.  Sif and Thor were more polite about their curiosity.   They’d all been told Loki was a jotun, but none of them had seen his true form until now.  You stood on your toes to kiss his cheek and he blushed purple. “Thank you,” you told him, though the words were hard for you to say.  You saw his nerves at the reaction of the morons, but he was more shocked by you kissing his cheek.  You concentrated a moment and your own illusions faded.  There were more gasps from the morons as they saw the scars all over your body from duels in the seelie court.  You hadn’t told anyone about them.  

Loki would grill you about them later.  For now, you took his hand and the pair of you walked down to where Underhill was waiting for you. You dropped Loki’s hand a few steps in front of the girl and took another step forward alone, leaving yourself as the focus of conversation to protect Loki.  You dropped to one knee to be on the girl’s level while she looked over you both with ancient eyes that didn’t fit the form she wore.  “Hello Tilly,” you greeted her gently.

“Siggy!!” she replied happily and you prayed to any god who would listen that Loki wouldn’t pick up that particular nickname.  She looked at Loki.  “Who’s he?” she demanded suspiciously.  She didn’t like strangers.  

“He’s my soulmate,” you replied carefully, answering her question without naming Loki.  “and my other best friend, besides you of course.” Loki wisely remained silent while you spoke with the child-shaped realm.  He was immensely curious, but he wouldn’t put either of you in danger. 

Underhill nodded, accepting the answer. “The Seelie Queen said you’re trying to seal me away.  She knows better than to lie to me,” she accused you.  

You smiled kindly.  You could deal with Underhill if she continued being reasonable.  “Seal away my friend?  Not at all.  The queen must be confused.  I’m only closing a few gates that are in inconvenient places.  You don’t want more sad children like I was, right?  The Gray Lords like taking children like me, and these gates are too close to places with lots of children.  I want them safe,” you explained to her.  You were careful to tell her the absolute truth, just twisted in your favor.  

She thought about that for a terrifyingly long time.  “Stealing children is bad,” she finally agreed and you nearly breathed a sigh of relief.  “You’ll come visit me again?” she asked softly.

Shit.

You had to agree.  There were no other options.  You also had to be careful about it.  “I will in the future when it is safe,” you replied, making the promise since you had no other choice.  

Underhill hugged you.  “Then you can close the doors,” she looked at Loki and you could see that she was looking not at him, but into his very soul.  She was a realm of magic and could do such things.  “I like him,” she finally said and you breathed another sigh of relief.  It wouldn’t be good if she didn’t like Loki, or decided he needed to die.  You couldn’t take on an entire realm and hope to win.  “He can take care of you for me,” she added before she bounced back through the doorway to her realm. 

You sighed heavily in relief. Loki brought back his Asgardian illusion once she was gone.  “Are you alright, darling?” he asked, knowing how difficult that conversation had been for you.

You nodded and stood again.  It was emotionally draining to keep up that conversation with her, to be so careful not to offend her.  “One must tread carefully around her.  It’s a good thing she likes me and was being reasonable today,” you told Loki.  

He nodded and you got to work on closing the doorway.  Loki stayed at your side, wary of Underhill and not trusting that she would keep her word.  That doorway was even harder to close than the others.  Underhill said you could close it, but she wasn’t making it easy on you.  You managed, but the color seemed to drain from you when the doorway was closed.  Your hair had lost its vibrancy, your eyes dull.  You swayed, fighting to keep your feet under you. Loki’s arms were around you in an instant, holding you on your feet.  You held onto him, exhausted, letting your head rest on his chest for a moment.  “Tilly didn’t have to make it so hard…” you grumbled softly. 

“She said you could close the doorway. Why did she make it so hard?”

“Because she can? Because that’s how the fae are and she rules all of them? Because she still doesn’t like that I’m closing them?” you whined too exhausted for existential questioning.

Loki sighed.  “Come on, darling. Let’s get back to the palace,”

“No!” you protested, looking up at him horrified.  “There’s still two more gates, we can’t go back yet!!” you continued protesting, distressed by the suggestion that you were failing and needed to go back home. 

“Darling, you can barely stand on your own,” he told you gently. 

“I’ll sleep it off and we can close the last two tomorrow,” you insisted.  You didn’t want to fail Mama Frigga and you didn’t want the Asgardian children in danger. 

“One gate at a time, darling. Two nearly has you passing out,” Loki insisted.

“There’s only two left. I’ll be fine,” you tried to reassure him. “Then we can go back to the palace,”

“Are you sure that’s wise?”

“I want this done,” you told him softly and stood on your own again.  “Once it’s done then we can go home to a hot bath and comfortable beds,” you added wistfully.

Loki sighed, but gave in, knowing it was no use arguing against duty.  “Alright. But let’s head to an inn so you can eat and rest,”

You nodded and took his arm to walk back to the horses and the others.  “Did you defeat the vicious little girl child?” Fandral teased Loki.  

You glared at Fandral. “That was an entire realm personified as a child. She could have killed us all where we stand and not broken a sweat,” you informed him with a snarl.

Loki was also glaring at Fandral. “Magical beings are more powerful than anything else. You would do well to remember that,” he told Fandral coldly.  Fandral wisely shut up and you headed to the inn in the nearby town. 

Loki got you settled at a table with food in front of you and stayed by your side. You knew he was worried about how exhausted you were. You nearly passed out and your colors were so muted.   You were still unsteady on your feet.  “You really should get some rest, darling. That last gate took a lot out of you,” Loki told you the second your plate was empty.  

You nodded, noting how worried everyone was and got to your feet to head to your room.  You had your own, but you’d already told Loki he was welcome to share with you, no matter what form he was in. Loki took you up on the offer.  He was concerned over you and not willing to let you be alone when you were so drained.  “I told you this wasn’t going to be easy. You know why Mama Frigga won’t let you learn blood magic…” you reminded him as you headed upstairs, your arms around Loki’s waist as you walked.

“I know, but I worry about the toll it is taking on you. I know the dangers of blood magic, but seeing it first hand helps me better understand Mother’s warnings,”

“Please don’t think I’m weak because of this,” you told him softly. “I don’t want you to think I’m one of the helpless feather brained noble ladies you despise…” it was one of your concerns if Loki kept seeing you weak like this.  

Loki stopped in his tracks and turned to you, cupping your face in his hands to make you look up at him. “I would never think you weak, darling.  I know how difficult blood magic is.  I know how hard this is for you and I see you persevering despite how difficult it is for you.  In fact, after all this, I consider you one of the strongest people I know. Do you understand?” he demanded firmly.

You gave him a warm, exhausted smile.  “Understood, my prince,” you told him with a hint of teasing in your voice.  

He smirked in reply, glad you were still up for sarcasm and sass.  “Good,” he replied warmly and wrapped his arm back around your shoulders to steer you to your room. You headed straight to the bed to crash and made sure there was plenty of room for him in the bed too.  You knew he wasn’t going to leave you alone. 

Loki read for awhile while you rested, before he got some sleep himself, wrapping you safely in his arms. You gave him a warm smile when he pulled you into his arms, but didn’t stir.  You were exhausted and too drained to wake.  It was extremely powerful dangerous magic you were using and the doorways were immensely powerful as well.

You woke right after dawn and smiled at Loki.  Your color had returned and you looked better at least.  “Good morning, prince,” you greeted him warmly.  You found that waking in his arms was a pleasant way to start your day. 

He easily returned the smile.  “Good morning, darling. How are you feeling?”

“Better,” you told him.  Your smile was still a little tired, but that could easily be due to the early hour. 

Loki wasn’t quite sure whether to believe you, but finally nodded, accepting your word.  “Alright. Should we head out to the next door?”

You nodded and climbed out of the bed, riding clothes shimmering into place as you did. “So how long before you grill me on every detail of my conversation with Tilly?” you asked him lightly as you collected the others and breakfast to eat in the saddle.  

Loki smirked. “Since you brought it up…” he teased.

You giggled in reply. “Ask and you shall receive,” you told him warmly.  Your group mounted up quickly and set off towards the next doorway. 

Loki turned to you once you were settled on your horses.  “So, what did you and a magical realm talk about?” he teased.

You rolled your eyes. “You were there for the entire conversation, princeling,” you teased him right back, much as you’d done with him as a child. 

He chuckled.  “The fact that a magical realm likes me was certainly shocking to hear,”

You laughed. “Well Tilly likes me so I’m not surprised she likes you too,” you replied warmly.

“A magical realm was speaking to you and likes you?” Fandral asked stupidly, eavesdropping on your conversation.  “Someone likes you?” he added even more stupidly in Loki’s direction.

Loki ignored the moron.  “Are you actually friends with her, darling?”

You nodded.  “I didn’t know what she was when I first met her, but she was so glad for someone to talk to and be nice to her. She’s the reason I survived when most of the other changelings didn’t,”

“Then I’m grateful to her for keeping you safe,”

You nodded. “She did keep me safe and helped me learn to control the fae magic. And she made the queen and gray lords be… not nice… but bearable. Or at least let me hide with her when they weren’t,” you added with a shrug when he looked horrified at how you were treated.  

When he finally got his emotions under control again he spoke. “I’m glad she made your life there a bit more bearable,”

“Me too,” you agreed. “The gray lords didn’t much like a mongrel in their court, especially one as powerful as I am. At least not until I came of age, then I was suddenly useful,”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about them. You’re home now,” Loki reminded you.  He was so relieved that you were home.  So were you.  Asgard was your home and you were beyond grateful to be back here, back among your people, back with the princes you grew up with.  

“The gray lords are powerful, Lokes. I doubt they’re going to just let me go without a fight…” you reminded him, though you were hesitant to say more about fae politics.

“Meaning what, exactly?” he demanded with a scowl.  If any of them even dare to mess with you, they would have to deal with him first.  Loki’s overprotective nature was as legendary as his temper.

You sighed and committed yourself to the explanation.  “The gray lords are the most powerful of the fae,” you explained.  “Besides the queens of the two courts. Their will is law and they dislike being defied. The soulbond will protect me from having to marry one of the fae, but that doesn’t mean the other gray lords won’t want me returned to the court,” you looked away with a blush when your tongue slipped.  And you hoped Loki hadn’t caught the wording.

“Other gray lords?” he asked and you cursed to yourself.

You sighed heavily. “Of course you caught that…” you grumbled at him.  “Too observant for your own good…”

“Don’t avoid the subject, Sigyn. Tell me, please. Let me help,” he pleaded.  He wanted so desperately to be able to help you, protect you.

You sighed and stared at the pommel of your saddle instead of looking at him. Your voice was soft, shy, nervous, when you spoke again. 

“I’m one of the gray lords,”

[drabbleitout]

Chapter 1: A Horse with no Name

( Playlist | Prequel | Ch. 2)

The wound was hindering everything.

The arrow had come out clean and the packed bandage helped, but that didn’t mean it stopped hurting. On top of that, Ira had talked him into accompanying him to a nearby town where he could get treatment and both of them could stock up on supplies. But worst of all was the heat.

Being from the south he was used to humid plains, baked clay and burning sun. So the fact a little noon warmth had him sweating bothered Myghal. He let his horse ride alongside Ira, tender with his shoulder as he pulled off his tunic. Draping it on the saddle, he tugged at his undershirt trying to circulate cooler air. Ira made no snarky comment.

In fact, it had been awhile since he had said anything.

For the past few days there was nothing but quizzical conversations with Ira. Wanting to know about Myghal’s home, the wars he fought in, what sort of weapons he could use. They were odd questions, details no one ever asked. Yet, Ira hadn’t spoke in nearly half an hour.

Myghal leaned forwards in his saddle, casual at first. He pretended to pick something out of his horse’s mane, stealing a glance at Ira. His hood was still on, head slightly bowed, but he made no notion to turn and look. Leaning further still, Myghal stood in the stirrups in hopes of getting a peek under the hood. Ira’s eyes were closed, swaying with each step, mouth slightly open and face lax.

“Are you asleep?” Myghal whispered.

There was a moment of delay before Ira’s dark eyes slid open. He blinked, uneven in a flutter as they rose to the road before them. “I was,” Ira mumbled. “Is something wrong?”

“You’re supposed to be guiding us, for starters.”

“This road leads straight to Felmire. As long as Berma is moving, I know we’ll get there.” His eyes closed again.

“Berma?”

“My horse.” Myghal glanced to the horse, and only then realized it didn’t have a name. “Isn’t always safe to sleep at night, and some of us have been on the road for over a year.” Myghal was starting to realize Ira wasn’t going to let that go, as if it had been his fault he was stuck in the Arctic Ridge.

“How can you sleep and not fall off?”

“Practice,” Ira lifted his head, yawning as he pulled off his hood. He scratched at his short, dark hair, swiping his hand upwards at the back of his head a few times to displace sweat. “So, what were you doing with the Northmen?” It didn’t take him long to start back with questions.

“Fighting. Wasn’t much else to do,” he shrugged.

“If you lived in the south, what are you doing all the way up here? You didn’t just join the Northmen, I take it.”

“No,” Myghal laughed. “I’m a solider back home, and, sometimes, instead of being killed, you’re captured. The other side gives you a choice, that you can join them and turn on your family, your country, or they can get rid of you.”

“And, yet, you’re not dead.”

“They meant sell me,” Myghal glared. Ira considered this, jaw working as he thought. “They wanted me as far from home as they could get me, so I couldn’t help my family anymore. Their solution was to send me to the Arctic Ridge and I was forced to be a solider for a Northmen Warmaster.” Ira was quiet until he glanced up to the sky.

“Why didn’t you merely agree to help them?”

“Turn on my family?” Ira only shrugged, “Because it was my family, the people I was fighting to protect. I wasn’t just going to turn on them just because someone threatened me.”

“But you could have ran from them like you did the Northmen, and you’d be closer to home, wouldn’t you?” Ira looked over, not sarcastic, not cutting, impassive and curious.

“I couldn’t stand the idea of working against my family.”

“I guess that’s where we differ,” Ira shrugged, arranging in the saddle as he reached for his canteen.

“I have this feeling there’s more than that,” Myghal mumbled. “And your family?” Ira hummed a laugh as he took a drink, “would you turn on them?”

“Never had the chance.”

“But would you?”

“Probably.” Ira glanced over, “Oh, what? You’re going to hate me for that? Don’t forget I saved your life.”

“And not out of the kindness of your heart.”

“Not all families are the same. I’m sure you’re not that ignorant.” There was a dark edge to Ira’s tone, a warning. The feathers clipped in his hair caught a breeze and Myghal was hooked on them.

“What are those for?” He asked without any tactic in inserting the question. “The feathers?” Ira stared as he put his canteen away, narrowed eyes never leaving Myghal.

“They’re a reminder.”

“What of?”

“Not to forget.” And that was the line drawn. Ira made it clear when he didn’t want to get into something. He didn’t bother with softening blows or caring if he was too calloused. There were signs, like when a cat arched it’s back or a dog bared its teeth, and Myghal had an instinctual understanding that he didn’t want to know came after warnings. So he let it go. There were other curious things about Ira anyway.

“Alright, where did you get Berma?” He tried instead.

“I stole her.”

“Who would have guessed?”

“I’m sure you’d agree with me,” Ira patted her neck. “Being sold as a warhorse, to fight and bleed for some baron. What do you think? Wouldn’t you be glad if someone came along and flipped the latch to your cage?” It was Myghal’s turn to be speechless. “But I’m the crook, when you haven’t even named your horse yet.”

“Haven’t exactly had the time.”

"Hey!"

Myghal flinched, pain rupturing in his shoulder causing him to grip at his chest. Ira didn't seem to startle. He slowed Berma, head lifted towards the tree limbs.

"Yeah. Hey!" Myghal looked up too, searching the wide limbs for the owner of the voice. Ira made a disgusted noise, turned, and continued on. "No, no, don't leave. I need help!" That's when he noticed the thrashing. High up in the tree was a person, small, short, shawl caught on a branch. Myghal smiled, waving.

"Hello. Are you stuck?"

"They're fine," Ira called back.

"I can't get down." Myghal glanced at Ira, dropped his reins, and carefully dismounted.

"What's your name?"

"Zabiri,"

"Myghal," Ira warned. "Aren't you the last person who should stop?"

"It'll just take a second, quicker if you'd help." But he didn't. He merely turned Berma, letting her graze at the roadside to sit and watch. Myghal unsheathed the hatchet from his saddle. "You have any rope?"

"This is your project." Myghal went over, hand held out. With a deep breath Ira shifted, taking the loop from the saddle to hand over.

"Thanks," Myghal tied one end to his hatchet, knotting it before loosening the loop.

"Whoa, wait, you're not going to throw that at me, are you?"

"Just the limb you’re stuck on," Myghal explained, squinting through patches of sun in search of which limb it was. "If I can hook it, you can pull yourself free."

"This... no, this is a horrible idea!"

"It's a great idea." Ira chuckled.

"No! What if you hit me?"

"Won't, I promise." He let the hatchet hang, giving the rope a lazy swing before bringing it into a twirl. "Just be still."

"Never mind!" Zabiri cried. "Just go!" Myghal hopped into a throw, the hatchet flying up through the limbs. Zabiri squealed, arms thrown over her head and scrunched up as it sailed past her. It hooked a limb above, not the right one, but close enough.

"See there? Harmless." He gave it a tug to make sure it was anchored. "Now, do you think you can grab on and pull yourself free?" Zabiri took a moment to unfurl, peering up at the hatchet. Carefully she reached out, grabbing the rope. There were a number of thin limbs stuck in her shawl, between her and the small pack she carried, and in the back of her coat. Myghal feared she was too tangled to simply pull herself free. But she didn't give up easily. She yanked, pulled, growing frustrated causing limbs to shake. "Take it easy, don't–"

A limb broke and Zabiri screamed. Myghal dropped the rope, rushing forwards as she plummeted. Sliding on his backside he caught her, a sharp pain bursting in his shoulder. It took her a moment to stop screaming. She uncovered her eyes, brushing long, colorful braids from her face. Her complexion was similar to his with warm brown eyes. She reminded him a puppy, an abandoned, lonesome puppy that, in its relief, forgot it had been in danger to begin with. He gave her a squeeze letting her know she was alright.

"Gotcha," he chuckled and then helped her to her feet. She was short. If Myghal hadn't seen her face, he would have thought she was a child. Dusting off her coat she peered up to where she had been stuck in the tree.

"Feel better now?" Ira huffed.

"Yeah, actually," Myghal grinned as he stood, wiping dirt from his pants.

"Horses," Zabiri laughed, approaching Myghal's horse as if it were a well and she had been in the desert for a month. "Oh, what a sight for sore eyes. Do you know how good it is to see a horse?" The shaggy steed took a step back, lowering its head to study her. "Hey there, you're a unique big ol’ guy, aren't you? Look at this coat."

"That horse is a delinquent," Ira warned. "Wanted in the Arctic Ridge for assisting a fleeing criminal." Zabiri tilted her head, looking back to Ira and then Myghal.

"You're criminals?"

"Am not," Myghal glared at Ira.

"A wanted man, right here."

"Yeah, alright." Zabiri rolled her eyes, petting at the horse's nose. "Where are you ‘criminals’ headed?"

"Away from you."

"Come on, Ira."

"Yeah, come on Ira." Zabiri sang, "I might be able to help you, Mr. Smiles."

"Doubtful."

"Felmire, right? Yeah, think that's the name."

"Really?" She scowled. "You must actually be criminals." At that, Myghal turned to Ira for an answer. He got none. "Well, I guess it's better than being out here. Do you mind if I bum a ride?" She grimaced as she said this.

Ira huffed, Berma turning to walk away.

"I don't see why not," Myghal shrugged. She smiled, petting the horse's face.

"Thank you! I have to admit, I didn't want to have to leave after meeting such an adorable guy like this." She giggled, hand running along its side before getting up in the saddle. Myghal pulled down the hatchet, looping it up before joining her. They trotted after Ira, Zabiri happily holding onto Myghal.

"You're bringing that lichen with you?" Ira sneered.

"Just until Felmire. It's not like she takes up a lot of room." Myghal shrugged as Ira rolled his eyes. He pulled his hood back on, keeping quiet. “So, Zabiri, what do you do?”

“I’m a traveling smith,” she announced. “Everything from blades to wagon fittings. What about you? What are you heading to Felmire for? Looking for the Lost Prince?”

“He’s a prince. I’m sure he has plenty of people looking for him.” Ira was cold when he wasn’t curious, and Zabiri was no exception.

“Yeah, but there’s a reward,” She added.

“A Lost Prince?” Myghal again turned to Ira for an explanation, getting fallen shoulders and a sigh.

“Oh, you must be from outside the Empire.” Zabiri leaned around, “That makes sense. Yeah, the Lost Prince is a story about the Imperial Prince who went missing.”

“That’s right, a story.” Ira grumbled, “Clarify, because this idiot will actually believe you.”

“Well, no one’s ever said it’s just a story. Some people do believe it and are still looking for him. The Emperor set out a huge reward for whoever could find him. The story goes, his only son went missing after he found the Empress assassinated. It’s why the Empire has no allies. No one owned up to killing her, so the Emperor suspects everyone.” Zabiri threw her shoulders.

“Do you think, if someone found the Lost Prince, he’d remember who killed the Empress?” Myghal wondered aloud. Zabiri gave a hum that she didn’t know. “How old do you think the Prince would be now?”

“Uh, well, probably a teenager?”

“No and no.” Ira swiped out with one hand, “we are not here to search for some royal brat of folklore. We have enough to deal with as it is. You,” he pointed at Myghal, “get ideas like that out of your head. And you,” he flashed around to Zabiri, brow scrunched and glaring, “stop talking until we get to Felmire. He might have offered to take you, but I have no problem getting rid of dead weight.”

“Alright, alright.” Zabiri huffed, holding tighter to Myghal, “we were just having a little fun.”

“Stop it.”

“Don’t worry, Ira. I know we have to deal with… this first.” He decided against what he was going to say as Ira shot him a look. “Doesn’t hurt to learn a little bit about the area. I’ve never been inside the Empire before. I can’t say I’m not curious.” 

Berma slowed to a stop, Myghal doing the same watching Ira. He was intent on something, staring down the hill without as much as a word.

“What is it?” Zabiri spoke up. Ira only lifted a hand. Pulling the hood from his head he tilted his head. Myghal put a hand to his hilt, straining to hear as well. It was faint; pop of gravel, hiss of dirt, pace of horses. Several horses.

“Myghal,” Ira said with a smile, leisure in turning back to him, “what’s your opinion of the Emperor?” Zabiri scowled but only looked at Myghal in turn, waiting for his answer.

“My honest opinion?” Ira nodded patiently. “He’s a greedy bastard. He’s pushed borders knowing no one’s going to try to start a war with him; the Empire has too much wealth, too many soldiers. They’re encroaching on countries around them thinking no one notices. While I was growing up, we lost almost a hundred thousand square miles to them. Homes, cities, families –and they keep pushing.”

Ira’s smile widened, showing teeth. But it wasn’t a warm smile. It didn’t welcome or give Myghal any good feeling, and instead reminded him of the haunting cackle of coyotes in the night.

“That’s good to hear... very good to hear.” Ira went back to watching down the hill. The thunder of horses was closer. “Have you ever robbed anyone before?”

“What?”

“Robbed anyone?” Ira opened his cloak, digging into the satchel on his side. “You’re tall, strong, you must have used that to your advantage at least once to get something you want.”

“No,” Myghal frowned. “I’m not a thief.”

“Would you like to be?” The smile had softened, Ira offering out a folded scarf. “You hear it, don’t you? That’s a carriage, on this road, coming from Felmire? It’s Imperial. It’s either carrying nobles or funds.”

“No Imperial Noble would be caught dead this close to Felmire.” Zabiri snapped.

“Precisely,” Ira gave the scarf a small shake. The wagon was getting closer, able to hear the way the wheels jarred on the trail. Myghal didn’t like the idea, but it was the Empire. This is what they had been doing to others for decades.

“If it’s not Imperials, we call it off.” Myghal grabbed the scarf.

“You’ll find I don’t waste my time.” He looked to Zabiri, “You, wait here.”

“No!” She wrapped her arms around Myghal, “I want a share.” Ira rolled his eyes, pulling his hood back on.

“Then you best cover up.” He checked with Myghal, nodding at the make shift hood. “Don’t say anything, leave the rest to me.” Berma turned off the road, easy and light down the hill. The road beneath them was much wider, better suited for heavier traffic. Its shoulder was rock, broken boulders that guarded from the lake below. Ira broke a stick from a tree, centering them in the middle of the road. “Do you know how to shoot a bow?”

Myghal didn’t have to answer, watching as Ira flexed a hand bringing a bright blue light into his palm. He grabbed the end of the branch, running the light over it bending and twisting the wood. It became thin and sleek, his slender fingers twisting at the far end creating a string. He took off smaller twigs for arrows.

“The hell is that?” Zabiri squawked, “You a witch? One of them mages?”

“Just something I picked up.” Ira surrendered it to Myghal, letting him string it. A good size and weight, it was better than the hunting bows he had grown up with. But there was something unearthly cold about it in his hand. It was no longer a tree or alive.

The carriage came around the bend, pulled by four heavy horses. There were two riders alongside it, men in armor, helms decorated with long, red horse hair that spilled down their backs. The carriage driver pulled the horses to a slow and the guards pulled out in front. Ira hadn’t mentioned anything about guards. One brandished a crossbow, loading it as the other stripped their blade.

“Out of the road.” The swordsman ordered, but Ira only strolled Berma closer.

“Good evening,” he tipped his hooded head, bringing up his hands in surrender. “We don’t mean any trouble for such dedicated men like yourselves.”

“I said, out of the road!”

Ira brought his hands together in a ringing clap, a flash followed by rolling black smoke. It spread quickly. The crossbow clacked but the bolt never reached them. It was engulfed by the smog, heavy and rolling as it broke apart and took shape as a number of crude, winged creatures. Myghal calmed his horse, the guards not as lucky as they were thrown. On the ground they were tackled by the mist.

Berma strolled forwards.

“What’s inside?” Ira asked, pointing to the young man who sat beside the driver, “Don’t be stupid, my partner here is a flawless shot.” Myghal knocked an arrow, nudging his horse forward. The smoke-like creatures had vanished, leaving the guards groaning and fumbling for bearings. “Come on, hop down.” Ira instructed. The coachman nudged the boy and he slid from the seat. He wore the red and gold of the Imperial banner, constantly glancing at Ira with a squinted, angry glare. His face was still round in adolescence, fleshy cheeks covered in freckles that matched his red hair. He fumbled to open the lock, letting the door swing wide. “Well, look at that.”

Myghal came around, lowering the bow as he peered in. There was nothing besides a trunk, Ira looking over his shoulder letting sunlight fall across that chilling smile. “His Imperial Majesty’s coin.”

“You’re that knave, aren’t you?” The young boy spat, shoulders tense with the fists hanging at his sides. “The Rook.”

“Clever boy,” Ira leaned forwards on the saddle, crossing his wrists on the horn. “So, you still listen to your mother’s fairy tales?”

“That’s just it, sir,” the coachman called back, “he is just a boy. Doesn’t know any better.” Ira tilted his head, dropping the reins and deciding to get down. Twirling off the saddle he took a pause to lean down, face to face with the boy.

“And a fine Falconer you’ll be one day, won’t you?”

“Because of men like you.” The boy didn’t cower, didn’t even flinch as Ira snapped the leather string of the key looped around his neck. Ira straightened, giving a chuckle as he pulled the trunk to the door. Unlocking it he threw the lid wide. Withdrawing with four sacks, he tossed two of them to Myghal.

A hawk screeched overhead.

“You see?” The boy sneered, “They’re already here.” Ira tied one of the smaller sacks onto his belt, mussing the boy’s hair.

“Just because they’re here doesn’t mean they can catch me, and they’ve been chasing for years.” He climbed back onto Berma, head nodding down the road. “Take care, gentlemen. These roads can be dangerous.” Berma drove into a gallop, Myghal right behind him with Zabiri howling as she held on. They tore down the dirt road, Berma making a wide turn around a silver headed man in a long coat. Myghal held the scarf over his lower face, looking over a shoulder as the man stopped in his tracks to watch.

Zabiri hadn’t stopped laughing.

Eventually they moved up the slope, back into the trees, and finally back on the narrow trail from before. Ira stood in the saddle, hood thrown back as he stared behind them. He checked the sky and the trees, and only after they reached empty fields did they slow down.

“What did you mean by Falconers?” Myghal pulled the scarf off, glad to be rid of its heat.

“You know, the Royal Falconers,” Zabiri leaned around him, “What I want to know is if you’re really the Rook.”

“Don’t tell me you’re full of fairy tales too?” Ira growled.

“But what do the Falconers do?”

“They’re spies,” Ira chose his question instead. “The Emperor has a detachment of soldiers who use birds to keep an eye on his empire. The birds are trained to hunt certain people and alert their Falconers when there’s trouble. No one ever knows where Falconers are because they move around so much, and few have seen an actual Falconer and lived.”

“You’ve got to be the Rook if you have magic.” Zabiri opened one of the bags, an inane laugh slipping from her as she dug out a handful of coin.

“That’s about all you’ve earned.” Ira snapped, taking it back from her.

“Hey!”

“You didn’t do anything.”

“I was moral support.”

“You both have about as much morals as a sack of dirt.” Myghal mumbled, “And we need to figure out what to do with all of that coin before we’re caught with it.”

“I know what I’m doing.” Ira waved it away, “Just be sure this gremlin doesn’t take off with more than she deserves.”

“You didn’t steal enough to make up for what I deserve, Rook.” Ira shook his head and that was all. Zabiri didn't seem to mind the quiet, back to commenting to herself about the horse every so often. Her excitement reminded Myghal of his own when he had spotted the horse, without a rider, waiting on the road as if expecting him. The relief, the forgotten grief in seeing hope for freedom, just from one, shaggy horse.

"Nepenthe," he announced.

"What?" Ira turned his head. Myghal leaned up, giving the gelding a pat.

"That's his name, Nepenthe."

[icewraiths]

I wrote a thing about how Drusi ended up with her Jorvik Warmblood. .-.

(This takes place in the same AU with Ren and the kelpie, albeit earlier in the timeline. The events here happen about a year prior to Encounter.)

Drusi made her way out to the Moorland paddocks, fetching Firewind from his pasture. Leading him back to the yard, she groomed him, tacked him up, and retrieved her helmet. She had been tasked with exercising him for the day--apparently, his owner, Julie, couldn't be arsed to work with her own horse. Not when she had her father's money to spend at the mall, that was.

Firewind seemed to be in fine mettle. He was nearly prancing in place as Drusi led him out to the riding arena. She noticed another of the Bobcat girls--Stephanie, she surmised--already longeing a dark chestnut horse at one end of the arena. It was "In the Spirit of Danger", or just "Danger", as he was known around the yard. Everyone at Moorland Stables knew him as that one horse; he was extremely talented, but unfortunately also a complete shithead. Drusi hadn't been allowed to work with him yet. He was notoriously difficult to ride, but he could perform well if given strict directions. The lass could only guess that that was the reason Thomas Moorland bothered keeping the stallion around--he placed well in competitions, if only under particular circumstances.

Drusi intended to longe Firewind at the opposite end of the arena, well out of Stephanie and Danger's way. She noticed that the other girl was having trouble. Danger was tossing his head, nearly yanking the line out of the other girl's hands. Steph had her heels dug into the dirt, fighting with him and trying to get him back into a reasonably working frame.

Drusi decided it wasn't her problem if the other horse was acting up. She let herself and Firewind into the arena, closing the gate behind them. She retrieved the extra longe line and clipped it to the outside ring of Firewind's bit before sending him out at a trot on a twenty metre circle.  

After a few minutes, Drusi paused and called Firewind back to her so she could change the clip on the bit and switch directions. As she did so, she realized the situation with Danger and Stephanie had escalated. The stallion was cantering sidelong towards their corner of the arena. His eyes were rolling, and he was nearly dragging poor Steph off her feet.

Drusi hesitated, leading Firewind towards the opposite rail and out of the way.

"Need any help over there?" She queried. Just barely, she heard Steph curse under her breath.

"Um, I don't think you're allow-" Stephanie started to answer, but the stallion cut her off with another hard tug on the line. Drusi looked on in a quiet sort of amusement; Steph was going to be feeling that one in her shoulders tomorrow. "You know what? Yeah. I'll trade you. I'll take Firewind, you deal with this. I don't care anymore."

Drusi left Firewind standing quietly in the opposing corner of the arena, and then sidled past Danger into the longeing circle with Steph. The exhausted, pink-clad blonde practically threw the longe line and whip at Drusi before storming away towards Julie's much better behaved horse.

Once the line was securely in her grasp, Drusi snapped it to grab the stallion's attention. Fortunately, Steph had set him up in a halter for longeing, which meant that she wouldn't have to worry about changing the clip every time they switched directions.

Danger didn't care for any kind of opposition; he laced his ears back and winged a cow-kick in Drusi's direction.

"Hey! Knock that off!" Drusi snarled at him, flicking the whip after his hocks so that it popped audibly just behind him. The stallion started away from the sound, unaccustomed to being held accountable for his actions.

He was precisely the kind of horse that used to terrify Drusi as a little girl--reactive, challenging of authority, and overall difficult. She knew better now, though. Years of lessons and training and stablework had given her a fairly solid backbone.

She feinted towards the stallion's hindquarters, whip in hand, then backpedaled quickly without turning her back to him. Danger was caught off guard by this--exactly as Drusi predicted he would be--and he turned to face her, coming to a complete stop with his ears pricked forward.

The stallion snorted loudly, adrenaline quickening his breath.

Drusi waited. She wished she knew this horse's tells. It would make this process go much more quickly, but she could improvise if need be.  

Danger grew bored of standing and waiting for Drusi to move, so he pinned his ears and tried to take off at a canter again. The girl followed, holding firm to the line and stalking after him in an arc like a predator on the hunt. She kept her eyes on his flank, and she held her whip pointed towards his haunch as well. The tension on the longe line combined with the pressure she was putting on the stallion's hindquarters with her stare and her whip and her posture forced Danger into a tighter circle. She chased him until his hind legs crossed and he was forced to stop, facing her again. She immediately stood upright, turning the whip away and releasing the "pressure" she'd been keeping on his hind end.

The stallion snorted again, but this time, he lowered his head and stretched his muzzle towards Drusi.

Good.

The lass loosened her hold on the line a little.

"Are you ready to pay attention yet, or do we have to keep playing your stupid little games?" Her eyes met his. She grinned, keeping her stance solid and sure. "I can do this all day, pal. Try me." The stallion's posture relaxed, just slightly, and the hard line of his mouth softened. Perhaps he'd seen something in her gaze, or heard something in the tone of her voice, but the horse seemed to realize that Drusi was not one he should waste his time arguing with.  

Danger licked his lips, sighing.

"Nice job. Now, trot." Drusi stepped back, using the angle of the whip to drive the horse out on the circle at a working trot. Danger obeyed, trotting along with a slight spring in his step.

She exercised him at a walk, trot, and canter in both directions for no more than ten minutes; if the horse was listening, she'd take what she could get and quit while she was ahead. She cooled Danger out at a walk before asking him to stop.  

Drusi approached the black chestnut stallion. He was properly tired now, and his neck was darkened with sweat. She reached out to pat him on the shoulder--his hide was sleek and almost glassy. It seemed as though some great unnatural heat roiled just beneath the surface of his skin. The lass moved her hand to the horse's neck, to his back, and to his legs. The odd heat was everywhere, causing her to worry he might be ill.

Puzzled, she turned back towards the stallion's face. He was watching her, his eyes a deep firey amber. He blinked slowly. Something about his expression was distressingly familiar, though Drusi could not place how.

"Hey," Stephanie called from across the arena. "I don't know how you got him to behave, but good going. I'm done longeing Firewind, is it okay if I ride him now?"

Drusi had forgotten that Stephanie and Firewind and Moorland had even existed.

"Yep, you are good to go. By the way, is Danger sick? He feels warm to me."

"I'm sure he's fine," Steph replied, pulling down the stirrups on Firewind's saddle before mounting up. "You can ask someone to check him over back at the yard if you're worried."

Drusi decided she would do just that. She led the stallion back to the yard, and thankfully, he did not put up any sort of a fuss. She passed her friend, Renata, just as she was about to return Danger to his stall. Ren was apparently on mucking duty that afternoon; the girl was just finishing up with shoveling fresh shavings into the last of the stripped boxes. The pale-haired girl appraised Drusi with a small amount of admiration as she led the stallion into his stall.

"They let you work with Danger? You're brave." Renata paused from her work, leaning on the handle of her shovel. If Drusi hadn't known her better, she might have mistaken Ren's tone as scoffing.

"Not exactly," Drusi said, sliding the halter off over the stallion's ears. "Steph was having trouble with him, so I offered to help. I made sure he listened to me."

"I'll say. Power to you. I don't even like having to turn that one out, he tries to run me over every damn time."

"He assumes he is in charge by default. You have to tell him otherwise." Drusi looped the lead back around Danger's neck, so he couldn't move away from her in the stall. "Would you mind coming in here for a second? He feels off to me. He doesn't seem lame, but his legs are hot, and that's usually not a good sign."

Ren's brows knitted together in concern.

"That... doesn't sound so great. I'll come look him over. You have a good hold on him, right? I don't want him trying to kick me, or anything."

"He's not going anywhere," Drusi replied.

Renata let herself into Danger's stall. The stallion shuffled a bit as she did so, but Drusi tightened her hold on the lead to remind him to stand still. Ren eyed the stallion warily, but reached down to feel his near-side foreleg for heat or swelling. When the pale-haired girl stood upright again, she opened her mouth as though to comment on something, but she stopped mid-breath and her expression blanched.

"What is the matter?" Drusi pressed. "Is something wrong?"

Ren seemed to fumble a bit, taking a moment to find her voice. She definently lived up to her reputation as one of the weirder girls in Moorland's JEI summer program. Drusi was one of the few who had the patience to tolerate her quirks, and she had even stood up for the girl a few times when the Bobcats and their ilk had started gossiping about her.

"Sorry," Renata said, finally. "He doesn't seem warm or lame to me, but there is something definitely off about him. I'll go get Jenna." With that, she darted out of the stall, disappearing from view before Drusi could ask her what she meant.

As promised, Ren returned with Jenna moments later. Jenna was no vet, but she'd been working at the yard long enough to know the tells of equine illness or colic.

Danger's legs were inspected, as well as his hooves, pulse rate, gut sounds, and temperature. Jenna found nothing unusual about him.

"This fellow seems perfectly all right to me," Jenna told them. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention, though. I'll keep an eye on Danger tonight when I'm doing the last bit of chores around the yard." She patted Drusi on the shoulder, thanking her again before departing.

Drusi pressed her hand to Danger's shoulder again. The warmth was still there, as though some unbound energy was coiling within him. She left the stallion's stall, where Renata was waiting for her.

"Am I losing my mind?" Drusi asked. "I saw his temperature reading for myself, and Jenna even showed me how to listen to his heartbeat and gut sounds with the stethoscope. Everything checked out as normal. But he still feels off to me if I lay hands on him at all."

Renata had her arms crossed; her expression indicated she was very deeply lost in thought. Without looking Drusi in the eye, she responded.

"You aren't losing your mind. Jenna may be right, though. Danger's probably fine. However," Ren paused, glancing up to look at her friend. "I think you should ask Thomas to assign him to you as your horse for the rest of the summer. I know that you and Whisper make a good team, but... I don't know. Just ask. I think you would be good for him. I think he might be good for you, too."

Drusi looked at her doubtfully, taken aback by Ren's suggestion entirely. The pale-haired girl was usually cautious and more than a little bit timid. To tell Drusi to do something about her assigned horse--in no uncertain terms, at that--was uncharacteristically upfront for her.

"What makes you say that?"

Renata was quiet for several beats.

"I... I have a good feeling about it, I suppose. That's all I can say." She shrugged, her gray eyes distant.

Drusi sighed, sinking her shoulders a little. Quirky as she may be, Ren was still her friend, and there was little harm in trusting her on this.

"You are right, it probably won't hurt to ask Thomas to make a slight change to the summer roster. Worst that can happen is that he says no, and even then, it's only my pride that would be getting bruised."

Ren nodded.

"Exactly. Well, I've got to go finish readying the boxes. I still have to make sure all the water buckets are topped off." With that, Renata turned on her heel and disappeared into a stall at the far end of the yard.

Drusi turned back towards Danger's stall. She leaned over the doorway, resting her elbows against the cracked and peeling paintwork on the frame. The stallion looked over at her, his eyes glinting from the shadows of the stall.

"What do you think about all of this, hm? Would you be willing to work with me as a team?"

Danger huffed in response, blowing dust particles from the fresh shavings all about the box.

"That's what I thought. I guess we will just have to wait and see." Drusi gave him one last look, rapping her fingers on the edge of his stall door twice in parting. "Have a good evening, fella."

The lass made her way over to the main office at the Moorland yard, gathering her courage and bracing herself before opening the door. Thomas Moorland himself was seated at his desk, apparently sorting through a stack of old ribbons and show photographs. He looked up when he saw Drusi enter the room.

"Ah, hello there. Drusi, is it? Is something the matter?" Mr. Moorland's eyes looked tiredly nostalgic--Drusi suddenly wondered if she'd been intruding upon his reminiscing over the photos.

"No, sir. Sorry, it's just that I have a request."

Thomas sat up a bit straighter, setting the photographs aside. Drusi couldn't help but catch sight of one; it was a faded image of a smiling, dark-haired woman perched proudly on a white horse. There was a dusty blue ribbon pinned to the corner of the photo, identical to the one on the bridle of the horse in the picture.

"Right then. What can I help you with, Drusi?" If Thomas had noticed her glancing at the photographs, he was tactful enough not to call her on it.

Drusi's mouth suddenly felt dry. She collected herself, mustering her courage.

"I want to ride Danger."

[spacekeets-artistic-madness]

Viggo Gladiator ‘What if’-chapter 1

Here have a dust bunny of a thing, won’t be very big, probably about 3-4 chapters max? Just playing with a ‘what if’ scenario.

some disclaimers; Set after twintuition but before Shell Shocked (that doesn’t even happen lel), they don’t go to Rome, these guys just got inspired from a visit there once

Rated T for language

word count: 2,103 (sorry)

Ryker kicked a small rock across their camp, sailing gracefully into a tree, denting it before hitting the ground, the Viking paces back the other way.

Hiccup approaches the pacing Hunter leader carefully, “Look, Ryker, calm d-” he doesn’t get far in the sentence when Ryker wheels on him, “No, I will not calm down, Hiccup, he has been missing for six months and we have found nothing on his status, he doesn’t do this. He never goes anywhere for long periods of time without telling me. So no, Hiccup Haddock, I will not calm down until we find him!” he explodes in the skinny rider’s face before turning on his heel away from Hiccup.

“Even a body?” Fishlegs asks carefully from behind Meatlug, this was not the first time Ryker snapped back at one of the Hunters or Riders.

Ryker stops and thinks, “At this point, that’s beginning to look more likely,” he says, going back to pacing.

The Twins look at the tree that Ryker kicked the rock into, studying several dents in the bark.

“So what do you say brother, did he beat his last record?” Ruffnut asks with a grin plastered on her face.

Tuffnut looks carefully at the marks, agreeing loudly to himself as he studies them, “I’d say, dear sister, that he has,” he confirms, both the twins laughing.

The entire camp stops when they heard the wing beats of a Nadder, Astrid coming into view, landing in the clearing.

“Anything?” Ryker and Hiccup ask simultaneously.

Astrid purses her lips, looking downcast away from them. The Hunters dip into their tents preferring not to hear Ryker’s next rant.

The Viking growls with frustration, stomping over to a tree he punches it, leaning against it, “Where the fuck could he be?!” he asks to no one in particular.

“Whomever kidnapped him, is very good at masking scents,” Dagur says, stepping forward, surprisingly the only one with a calm head.

Ryker looks towards the Berserker, struggling to keep calm, “And what would you suggest we do, Dagur?” he asks, tapping his fingers restlessly against the tree as the Hunters carefully peak out of their tents.

“Normally I’d suggest to calm down, but, you’ve made it abundantly clear that you don’t want to hear that any more,” Dagur says with a joking underlay to try and get Ryker to calm down for awhile.

Astrid walks up, “Yes, but we’ve found nothing of Viggo for six months, even after turning over the same rock on the same island four times,” she says, maybe just a bit worried about Viggo.

Dagur nods, “As I mentioned, these guys are good, it might be a year before we even find a trace or mention of Viggo, odd, shouldn’t Heather be back yet?” he asks, getting sidetracked when he realises Heather has yet to return from a similar patrol like Astrid’s.

“Not exactly, considering we sent her south and there’s not much that way,” Fishlegs says.

Ryker’s ear twitches to the sound of wing beats, “Funny, because I’m hearing the approach of a Razorwhip right now,” he says and Heather comes into view, landing Windshear in the clearing, looking conflicted but oddly relieved.

“Something?” Hiccup asks hopefully, side eyeing Ryker.

Heather nods, “He’s alive at least,” she says and everyone oddly enough whoops with joy.

“Where?” Ryker immediately prods, letting only a bit of relief show.

“Down south, apparently he’s been fighting in this gladiatorial ring for four months, and he’s been fighting side by side with a Terrible Terror and another Night Fury,” Heather informs.

“There are more!” Hiccup breathes out with wonder.

Ryker raises a brow, “What, did you think yours was the last one? Of course there’s more!” he says, rolling his eyes as he turns back to Heather, “Anything else you found?”

She shakes her head, “I didn’t dare get too close to this place, I just interrogated a fisherman. I did try to get close, but Windshear got on edge. It’s best we all go as one,” she warns.

Ryker nods, “We go now,” he orders.

Hiccup nods, “Alright everyone, mount up, Hunters choose a rider to ride with,” he says, Hunters equal to the riders numbers for better efficiency at finding Viggo.

Ryker approaches Dagur and Shattermaster, nodding. Dagur gets on the green Gronkle, patting the dragon’s skin behind him, Ryker getting on and everyone takes off, following Heather.

***

It took five hours to reach the island following Heather’s stead, but when they got there they just see bodies strewn across the island, the island and the large, crude, arena standing in the middle, slightly blown up, devoid of living humans.

The riders land, dismounting from their dragons as they look on with horrified curiosity, “What happened here?” Fishlegs asks no one in particular.

Ryker kneels down to look at the corpse of a fallen soldier, a deep diagonal cut parting his chest armour, “Who ever did this, did it with impressive efficiency and ferocity,” he observes, looking over to another corpse with its head caved in. He shudders.

The Twins land after surveying the arena, “Ok so, what ever made that explosion was definitely a Night Fury, but I’m not seeing Viggo anywhere,” Tuffnut says, pulling a face at seeing another corpse with its throat ripped open.

“So he escaped then,” Ryker says, looking over the damage, thoroughly impressed at what his younger brother accomplished.

“Ummm,” one of the Hunters start, “And he did all this? Sir, there is more than a hundred men that I can see and they’re all dead,” he says.

Heather lands after her survey, hearing the hunter, “Not a single Civilian is dead, he must’ve evacuated them himself, killing all the guards and arena ordinator,” she says.

Ryker purses his lips, “And the ordinator?”

“I can’t tell if his head was cut off then burned or if his head was burned off,” comes Heather’s answer.

Hiccup groans, “So great, back to square one,” he says, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Not necessarily, because this time, Stormfly has his scent,” Astrid says with pride, grinning as the Nadder squawks proudly.

Ryker approaches Shattermaster and Dagur again, “Alright, we follow the Nadder,” he says, everyone nodding, mounting the dragons taking off.

***

Five hours later at dusk, they’re back at the island they’re camping on, following Stormfly through the forest, very confused as to why they’re going back to their camp when they part the bushes, seeing no doubt Viggo wearing odd armour pieces, sitting on the back of a Night Fury, looking through their camp.

Everyone pauses, taking in the scene, the Terrible Terror is devoid of any armour, perched on his right shoulder pad, the Night Fury though, has Gronkle Iron armour from head to tail, a saddle working into the armour with stirrups that Viggo has his feet in at the moment.

He angles his body to the left, facing himself and the dragon towards the others, his brows shooting up in surprise, “Uuuuuuuuuh…..,” he trails off, holding a piece of bread.

“I uh, left Catcher’s armour, wing blades, claw blades as well as Stalker’s wing and claw blades, over there,” he starts again, pointing to a spot in the corner, the aforementioned armour pieces dumped in a small pile next to a moderately large bag, Viggo seems to suddenly remember this bag, “Oh ya, also a bag of extra medical supplies in case I rip a stitch, please don’t touch,” he says, patting the armoured head of his Night Fury as he bites into the bread.

The gathered Hunters and riders continue to stare with much confusion at his change in personality.

Ryker manages to be the first to gather himself, “Why are you acting so strangely?” he asks, actually slightly worried about his brother’s well-being.

Viggo moves a lock of his brown hair, grown longer in his six months absence from scissors, out of the way of his eyes as he looks at Ryker, mildly confused by what he meant by the question before it suddenly seems to click by what he meant, “Oh, really strong painkillers with a bit of Dragon nip to help a wound heal, Imma bit loopy,” he says, letting out a weird laugh.

Everyone gets an ‘oh’ look before Dagur walks towards him, stopping when the Night Fury growls at him, Viggo patting its head, “Easy girl,” he assures.

“Right,” Dagur starts, “Two things, one; are you going to continue beating around the bush or are you going to tell us how you’re wounded and two; is that a female Night Fury?” he asks.

Viggo raises a brow as he shares his bread with his dragons, “Considering that I just referred to her as ‘girl’, yes, her name is Stalker, the female Terrible Terror on my shoulder is Catcher,” he informs, answering the second question first, gesturing to the yellow greenish Terrible Terror on his shoulder, eating bread.

“Alright, and wound?” Ryker asks, scanning his brother, Stalker seemingly helping him favour his left side.

“Aaahmmm,” he starts unsure, blinking in attempt to clear his head, brushing bread crumbs out of his short, scruffy beard. He regains his composure and starts again, “Four days ago I got hamstrung on my left leg, quiet severely too,” he says with cheer, getting distracted from what he was going to say.

“Viggo,” is all Ryker says to get him back on track.

“Oh right, I was uhm, hamstrung to the bone just about, according to the healer anyway, that blade came out of nowhere,” he says, getting distracted again with remembering the battle as everyone else cringes with sympathy.

Hiccup shudders again, “And they didn’t just amputate that?!” he asks incredulously, Toothless crooning at Stalker.

Stalker huffs harshly, Toothless looking offended then sorry, Viggo patting her head, “Don’t be so harsh Stalker! And honestly I wish they did, but nooOOOOoooo, they had to just numb my leg, stitch it back up, throw me back in my cell and woop-dee-doo back in the arena the next day with basic painkillers and fighting on Stalker’s back at her insistence,” he rants with sass, his dragons matching his mood.

Ryker winces, “Ooookaaay, howabout we get you off of Stalker so you can sleep?” he asks.

Viggo looks grateful, “That would be lovely, thank you brother, could you also remove the rest of her armour? She’s not that fond of wearing it unless we’re fighting in a Death Match,” he informs as one of the Hunters dip into his tent, coming back out with a spare bedroll, pillow and blanket, placing them on the ground.

Stalker pads gently towards the items, lowering herself slowly to the ground, Ryker helping Viggo off of her armoured back and to the bedroll, Viggo wincing slightly at the movement, getting comfortable. Catcher lands on his chest, curling up as Ryker helps Stalker out of her armour, placing the armour with the rest of the pieces.

“Ok, everyone back to your tents to sleep and we’ll all be rested for tomorrow’s tales no doubt, and I’m going to design a saddle,” Hiccup says, everyone voicing their agreement, heading into their tents.

He’s about to head into his own when he’s stopped by Ryker, “He’s changed, are you satisfied?” he asks with harsh words, slight venom dripping off each one.

Hiccup looks guilty, “Look I know saying ‘sorry’ will never change that I started this war, but for what it’s worth, I’m receding our bargain, you can keep the Dragon Eye,” he says, rubbing his temples.

That caught Ryker by surprise, “I’m sorry, what?”

“Ryker, he and his dragons took out more than a hundred men, I do not really want to piss this Viggo off, ok?!” he whispers harshly, looking at the deep green eyes of Stalker, pupils slightly narrowed as she stands watch over Viggo’s sleeping body.

Ryker thinks back to the carnage at the island as well as the bloodied tail bludgeon he removed from Stalker’s tail that didn’t inhibit her ability to fly, “Alright, you have a point there. I’m going to sleep, we’ll deal with this in the morning as you said,” he says, shaking his head, beginning to head over to his tent, Stalker watching him carefully.

Hiccup enters his tent, no doubt to design a saddle and sleep.

Viggo cracks open his eyes and looks to Stalker, both sharing an amused glance, “Soo,” he whispers to her, “I don’t think they were aware I heard that entire conversation.”

She and Catcher let out small huffed chuckles before curling up to sleep fully for once.