#it's a story about a lord. and his castle overlooking the sea

[naivesilver]

18 or 36 + lampwick?

Time to pull the BIG self indulgent guns out!

Spotify Wrapped Game

36. Il Signore Di Baux, Angelo Branduardi

[aemonds-wifey]

The Dragon and the Wolf

Childhood Part 3

Summary: Three Years have passed since you first met Prince Aemond. You travel to Driftmark for the funeral of Laena Velaryon with your father- You are reunited with Aemond but both your lives change forever.

Your long fingers hold onto the delicate raven scroll even tighter as you re-read the words Aemond has written to you from last week. Your heart strings are aching at the passages he has wrote:

“They gave me a pig…me! They continue to mock me by laughing at me, Aegon too seems to be the ring leader in their jests. Luke is the one that gives me no rest…he sniggers and teases me. Foolish strong boy will not always be laughing.

Did you read the books I sent you? I hope you enjoy them as I did…I also have a High Valyrian book ready to gift to you when I see you next.

Yours

Aemond.”              

You held the scroll up to your lips, only to remove it once you heard foot seps approach the door-a gentle knock occurred and you turned around

“Enter?” you said

You father appeared, looking at you with a waited look “are you ready? We have to leave very soon.” You sighed as you placed the scroll back in the box where you kept the rest of the scrolls you an Aemond had exchanged. Prince Daemon had lost his wife in childbirth, which only meant you would dwell on your poor mother for a few days. Yet reading Aemond's letters once again brought you a comfort ,There were so many letters you enjoyed re-reading them from time to time. Even when Aemond had little to say, they were precious to you. You produced a key from your person, Locking the trinket box and hiding the key, you knew your brother would only tease you if he read the letters and since he was not accompanying you to the funeral, you best thought to leave them protected.

🪸

The funeral itself was an interesting ceremony, Leana was given back to the sea in the tradition of her house. As you watched the ceremony take place, you occasionally looked over to see Aemond observing it all, he too occasionally glanced at you with a small smile. You spotted Rhaenyra and her husband, also her children-who to your eyes looked as much of a Velaryon as you did. Otto Hightower was the hand of the king again, you heard that Lyonel and his son, Harwin had perished in a mysterious fire at Harrenhal, a place you would not want to visit as you heard so many unpleasant stories about the castle-it was said to be cursed.

After the ceremony was concluded everybody was attending the wake outside atop one of the castles many balconies. Before you could go and speak to Aemond, you followed your father and approached the rouge prince himself.

Daemon was leaning against the stone balcony, overlooking the peaceful view of the ocean. You father bowed his head “My prince. My most sincere condolences.”                                                 Daemon nodded his head “Thank you…Good of you to come all this way Lord Stark…” he noticed you “Lady Stark.”                                                                                                                                                           “Prince Daemon…I am so sorry for you loss.” You said softly

“Thank you Lady Stark…your kind words are indeed moving.” He responded. He seemed genuine, until his eyes caught his niece wondering through the guests searching for someone to talk to. As you father opened his mouth to speak Daemon excused himself and shifted his way to lean on the balcony, keeping a close eye near his brother. As you stood with him you noticed out of the corner of your eye Aegon was smirking at you, nudging his brother

“That’s your bride to be? Brother well done…” Aegon said

Aemond went quiet “Indeed…you have your own betrothed to watch over brother.” Aemond said

“That idiot? Pfft.” He scoffed finishing his wine “We do have one thing in common though…” Aegon said

Aemond looked at him “Hmm?”

Aegon looked to you and then looked at his brother “We both fancy creatures with very long legs…” he giggled and left his brother “Wench!? Another!” he said.

“Aegon.” Aemond said with a sigh.

You noticed Aemond was alone, you left your fathers side-carefully moving in between brother to not catch Aegon’s wondering attention. You bowed before Aemond “My prince.”

He smiled at your approach “Lady Stark.”

You both smiled, you hated the formalities but kept it up for the sake of your current situation.

You both moved and looked over the ocean at the stone wall balcony.

You cleared your throat “ia gevie…view…” you said

Aemond frowned “Was that high Valyrian?”

“A poor attempt…” you admitted with a small smile

“Very poor…” he said

Your smiled ceased at his harsh words, but he smiled at you “But…a good effort…I apologise I did not bring that book for you…I was not aware you would be here.”

“Oh…Do not worry.” You said with disappointment in your tones

Aemond noticed and spoke “But I am glad you are here..”

You both smiled. You looked off into the distance and saw a large shadow glide through the clouds “Was that…?” you asked

“Vhagar…Lady Laena’s dragon.” Aemond said as he followed your gaze. The large shadow moved again, you caught glimpse of Vhagar moving to the sand dunes.

“What will happen to her?” you asked

“I know not.” Aemond answered, standing closer to you.

“She has no rider…will Rheana claim her?” you asked lowering your voice.                                                                Aemond scoffed “Perhaps…”                                                                                   “I cannot imagine her frustration….if someone else claimed her…” you said leaning your head back slightly and looking at Aemond directly. Aemond met your gaze, in that instant he read your mind and smiled again. He knew what you were implying. You both spoke for a while about your letters to each other, and how much you enjoyed the books he had gifted to you over the last few years. The sun began to dip behind the clouds and it started to get dark,

Your father approached you both “Prince Aemond…” he said bowing “Y/N we must retire for the evening, you and the Prince may go for a walk along the beach in the morrow how does that sound?”

“Are we not leaving in the morrow father?” you piped up

He smiled “We were due to, but I thought you could spend more time with your intended. Lord Corlys has allowed us an extra night.” He said.

This news pleased you both as you bowed your head to Aemond “Good night my prince…”

He nodded “My lady…”   Your eyes did not break with Aemonds as you curtseyed him before leaving, once you were out of sight he looked over to the sand dunes-as the sun began to set he took a deep breath and moved down the stairs…to the sand dunes.

🌚

The clasping thud brought you out of yourself, you had never heard such a noise before. You lifted yourself up from your bed and hurried to the window to see a large dragon wing swoop past your window. Vhagar. You snuck out to get your cloak to keep you warm as you intended to greet Aemond, only when you got down the corridor you saw Jace, Luke , Baela and Rheana -when they saw you they all froze

“What are doing wolf girl?” Rhaena spat

“I heard a noise…what are you doing?” you asked

“Someone stole Vhagar! We are going to see who!” Luke said excitedly

Aemond, You knew it was him. You also knew they would not be kind to him “I’ll come with you.” You said walking towards them

“You will never ride a dragon! Mind your wolves and leave!” Rheana said bitterly

You stood over her “I will do as I please.” You said

Jace and Luke started to walk down the path ways to the caves, you followed suit. As you all found your way to a old cave that lead out onto the balconies you all stood still, as Aemond came from the other side-removing his cloak and tossing it to the side so carefree.

“Its him!” Rhaena said

“Its me.” Aemond said. He walked differently, he spoke differently

“Vhagar is my mothers dragon!”

“Your mothers dead…Vhagar has a new rider now.” He said

“She was mine to claim-“

“Then you should have claimed her! Maybe your cousins can find you a pig to ride” he briefly caught your eye, cocked his head with a smirk before looking back at the angry sisters “It would suit you”

You couldn’t help but smirk at him, he exuded so much confidence it was difficult to ignore, before you could do anything further Rheana came at Aemond with her arms up, Aemond easily shoved her down to the hard dusty floor. As soon as he turned back around he was met with Baela’s fist to his face, he wasted no effort in returning to his feet to throw a punch to her which knocked her straight to the ground by your feet. You watched wordlessly as Aemond stood over her “Come at me again and I’ll feed you to my dragon!”

Jace was the next to come at Aemond, both throwing punches-missing each other by inches, until Aemond used his leg to kick Jace down to the floor. You moved to assist as Luke screamed and grabbed Aemond, Baela’s wrist held your ankle and all you could do was watch as Aemond grabbed Luke by the throat and punched him to the floor with one throw.  Jace scrambled to his feet and pushed Aemond back to the ground, Baela and Rheana joined in kicking and punching him, you rushed towards them , grabbing Baela and angrily throwing her against the cave wall-Aemond took the moment to kick Jace in the chest which sent him hurtling backwards and aggressively he shoved Rheana to the side where she fell backwards. Luke came once again screamed at Aemond, “Aemond!” you warned him.

Luke was met with Aemond gripping him by the throat, this time it was tighter-as Luke waved his arms around.  You tried to move towards him but Immediately you felt Jace hit you across the back of the head with such force you fell forward-hitting your face on the ground, which Aemond saw and proceeded to pick up a rock that lay next to his arm as he raised himself to his feet. He held the

“You will die screaming in flames just as your father did” He looked at Jace “Bastards!”

Jace stared at Aemond as he insulted them, Luke couldn’t break free from Aemonds grip

“My father is still alive!” Luke whimpered, blood pouring from his nose down to his chin.

Aemond’s grip softened, he let go of Luke’s and he let his hand holding the rock down slightly “He doesn’t know does he…? Lord Strong.” He snarled.

Your head snapped to the side when you heard the unsheathing of a knife, Jace held it fiercely and your heart leap with worry “Jace!” Rheana yelled, her sister holding her back.

You got to your feet to try and hold Jace back , but to no avail as he already leapt forward, Aemond hurdled Luke at him to distract him-only for Jace to swiftly shift his brother to the side and he went at him with the knife, swinging at him.

“Aemond!” you cried out getting to your feet, you felt Luke push you back down with his foot firmly on your back, the pain was horrible and all you could do was watch what followed. Aemond, without mercy punched Jace to the floor , dropping the knife as he did-Aemond towering over him he lifted his hand holding the rock again-he looked at you briefly for reassurance-he did not notice Luke crawl to the side. As Aemond stepped closer Jace threw some dirt in his face, which made Aemond step back in shock covering his left eye with his hand, once he removed it he saw Luke standing to his side-the knife Jace had dropped now sat in Lukes hand and he thrust it up at Aemonds face.  

The scream that left Aemond’s lips were piercing to your ears, “No Aemond!” you said scrambling to your feet-Jace tried to hold you back “Get off me Bastard!” you yelled.

All you could do was watch as Aemond writhed on his front, the blood oozing from the gaps between his fingers as his hand covered his eye. Suddenly you were all focused on the arrival of the kings guard, Harald Westerling broke through you all “Cease this at once! Get away!”

He gently approached Aemond “My prince….My prince…let me see.”

Reluctantly Aemond turned over, you could not see the damage but all you heard from Westerling’s mouth made you sigh in despair “Gods be good….”

*

“How could you let this happen?” Viserys said

As the King belittled his guards you were frozen, stood not too far from Alicent and watching the Maester tend to Aemond. You felt numb, worried and angry at what had transpired. You were so much in a trance that your ears shut off the conversations bellowing around you, You father was finally in the room and he came to you “Y/N…Y/N?” he shook you gently

You snapped out of your trance and looked up at him, he noticed a few cuts to your cheek and jaw line “Gods what who did this?” he asked looking around.

“Father stop…” you said nodding at Aemond, once your father saw the state of Aemond he quickly looked around “Poor boy….what happened? Why weren’t the children abed?” he almost bellowed

Viserys looked “Aemond claimed Vhagar…and got into a scrap with the boys and his cous-”

“It was no scrap!” you yelled

To your surprise everyone went quiet, Your father looked at you -Aemond even looked at you closely. Otto Hightower even looked your way, curious at your outburst

“It was an ambush, they brought a knife!”

Alicent watched you defend Aemond, Viserys approached you “Tell me girl…why would my own grandchildren attack their uncle?”

“He claimed Vhagar and the Lady Rheana was angry…Rheana attacked him first.” You said

“LIAR!” Rheana shouted at you

“Stop it!” Viserys yelled. “Lord Stark I advise you to take your daughter to her chambers…shes seen enough tonight.”

Your father nodded “Of course my king.” He gently placed his hand on your shoulders and steered you out towards the door, only to stop momentarily  as Rhaenyra entered the room, followed by Daemon, she went to her boys-you looked at Daemon as he leaned against the door frame. He nodded, you felt angry and full of rage.

Your father got you into your chambers and closed the doors , he sighed “What were you doing? Hmm? Out of bed…fighting with the royal children?”

You inhaled “Father…they attacked him. “

“Did he insult them? Hmm? They would have been provoked my girl.”

“He took the initiative and claimed a dragon, he did nothing wrong. Dragons are not an inherited pet Father”

He swallowed “You are a true Stark. Fiery tempered…still you had no business going to him. What if Luke had cut your face?”  

You exhaled slowly “He’s my intended…are you saying you would not have defended mother had she been attacked ?” you asked

Your father knelt  in front of you “Gods you are right daughter, anybody dare look at your mother wrong and I would go mad” he laughed a little, you smiled lightly.

“…Your loyalty to Aemond is …very sweet and promising. That boy’s life has changed forever…you still want to be his intended?”

You were almost insulted by this remark “More than anything Father.”          

🌞

As predicted, Aemond did not want to walk with you in the morrow. It was for the best interest that everybody leave, the events of the previous night weighed heavily in the morning on everybody’s mind. That being said, you were adamant you could not leave without saying goodbye  to him, you pleaded with Alicent to see him-she surprisingly relented and allowed it-maybe because you spoke in Aemond’s defence is what allowed it.

Before you went into his rooms, Alicent looked at you carefully “Be gentle…he is rather delicate as you can imagine.”

You nodded and before you opened the door she spoke to you again “I won’t forget your words or actions Lady Stark…Truly.” She said and smiled very lightly.

You bowed your head “My Queen”

You went in and closed the door behind you. Looking around you spotted Aemond sat by the window, looking out the open window. The fresh salty air bellowing into the room, he had heard you come in but refused to turn his head.

As you stepped towards him carefully he still did not move, “Aemond…” you whispered

He wouldn’t face you, he kept his head away from yours.

“Aemond please…” you said , your voice barely audible

He did not answer immediately , he only said after a moment “Please do not pity me.”

You could cry, to see him go from having the confidence to now reverting back to a self conscious teenager brought you a sense of guilt and discomfort-you suggested claiming Vhagar, you felt responsible.

“Aemond I wish I could…” you started

He shook his head “No…please do not say anything…”

You inhaled, holding back the tears

“I knew claiming a dragon would be no easy feat…loosing two precious entities to me to gain one….” He said

You frowned “Two…I do not follow?”

He exhaled “I can make peace with loosing my eye….but loosing you is something-”

“Aemond no.” you gasped “You have not lost me”

He finally looked at you, the scar along his eye was sore and red with anger, his remaining eye locked with yours “Surely…our betrothal is no longer valid due to this?” he asked

You shook your head, a tear escaped your eye “You think me shallow? Aemond you could loose both your eyes I still want to be your bride…”

He did not know how to register this, he looked fearful that he said the wrong thing-but you knew this was a vulnerable moment for you both, you needed to be careful. You simply took a moment and took a deep breath, leaning forward you planted the lightest kiss at the base of the scar. He did not wince or back away, he took your hand and held it in his,he simply looked at you with a relief in his eye.                                                                                                       

TAGS

@schniiipsel @moonchildrenandflowercrowns @chainsawsangel @nolongereviliwantlove @motley-baby @arcielee @babyblue711 @namoreno @talesofoldandnew @lauraneedstochill @bbyaemond @tssf-imagines @polkadotsocks1993 @yentroucnagol @happilyhertale @actualhawkesworld @pearlstiare @sscreamingbanshee @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @emberlei @mischiefmanaged71 @heavenly1927

[tanoraqui]

☔for the fic ask game!

☔Is there a fic concept you have that you'd like to just explain and share because you're not sure you'll ever write it? If so, what is it?

There is in my heart a canon divergence fic, maybe proper narrative maybe just bullet points, which I have functionally written out as much as I ever will below this cut, in which:

Shortly before the Fall of Númenor and more importantly the Changing of the World, Finrod has a Prophecy of what's coming

He tells Celechwes, who says, "Oh, I...am not okay with it. I didn't plan to go back, but if I can't? If the road truly, utterly only goes one way? That's- that's not okay. I can't, I won't live like that."

So Celechwes goes and talks to some people (quietly, unofficially), who talk to some other people (quietly, unofficially)...

She ends up leading a small fleet that sets out from a southern port just a few days before the Númenoreans are expected to land in the north (fully aiming to avoid the Men). it's about half veterans of Beleriand who have never felt like they fit in on Aman (45% Fëanorians but many close followers of Fingon and more non-Noldor), a quarter elves from other places who don't want to be cut off forever from what was once home, and a quarter Aman-born elves who've grown up on stories of mortal lands and who feel a little restless in the Land of Bliss.

(Finrod joins at the last moment. Amarië found him sitting on a balcony overlooking Valmar and sadly playing the song he once played as the Beorlings woke to see their first shining elf-lord, and she said, "Findaráto Ingoldo, Finrod Felagund Adanil, I will not willingly part from you again - but nor do I want to arrive in the lands across the sea only for war a second time, too late to see all their storied beauty. Also, you know Mingoneth* convinced Veryawendë* to join the fleet, right? Can you imagine how much trouble they'll get into with only Celechwes for supervision?" And he looked up, and saw that she'd packed both their long-distance travel bags.) *OCs, see: "Of the Golden Horde"

(By then, Rawen Ectheliel, once Lieutenant Right Hand of Himring, had already apologized to her wife - who thought they were done with this sort of thing - and followed her lady aboard. She IS done with this sort of thing (ie, rebellion; the House of Fëanor...as it became). But she lost Himring; she couldn't abide herself if she let ill fate befall Celechwes as well.)

The thing about being on at sea when the world abruptly turns from flat into a globe, sailing from a continent that is no longer on said globe, is that you get EXTREMELY turned around and lost. And, frankly, split up as a fleet.

[Cue: several-decades-long montage of several hundred elves - about half hardened (relaxed, but still hardened) war veterans, a quarter friendly nature people just trying to get home, and a quarter kids (in the eyes of all the rest) who have never met a real mortal before - scattered throughout the new southern hemisphere in ones and twos and a few coherent shiploads, trying to find each other and - for most - make their way north toward the lands and people that they know best.]

(If they happen to arrive in time to help beat the ever-loving shit out of Sauron, that's not, like, a drawback for anyone.)

Adventures are had! Hardened war veterans process trauma and old grudges (and sometimes get new ones). People re-find old homes and settle down once more, or realize that either home or they have changed and continue onward with their new companions. Kids grow up.

After a number of sidequests and other delays - flooding rivers, saving an innocent forest from an encroaching swarm of giant spiders, saving a small country from a neighboring evil king influenced by fell whispers from the depths below his castle... It occurs to some of them that all these delays might not be coincidence. They haven't received any official penalties from the Valar for their, er, polite but overt defiance of if not the letter than certainly the spirit of several laws, but...

"I think we are being made Agents of Good," Amarië said thoughtfully. "I think the price of being here is that we must lend a hand where it is needed, where the Great Ones fear to tread for their touch is not...'delicate'...at the best of times."

Celechwes did not like being used without her permission. But, fallen Beleriand never forgotten, she couldn't fault Amarië's analysis.

"I think we should try leaning into it," Finrod suggested. "They'll see that we're here in good faith, and no doubt speed our journey to where our hearts most yearn to go."

(The nearby stream blooped encouragingly, because Ulmo had been explicitly forbidden from giving explicit messages again.)

A few nights later, a local Mannish hunter approached their camp. Emphasis, perhaps, on Man-ish. Her eyes were the blue of a northern wolf-dog. She asked for help scouring the nearby mountains of a dark cult.

[cue: several more decades of montaged adventures. the local folk legends will be rich for generations]

They do arrive in the north just in time to help kick Sauron's fucking ass. Though not early enough to avert the tragedy of the Battle of Dagorlad, they learn later. But before the final, would-be pyrrhic victory; when the soldiers of the Last Alliance are marching into Mordor proper.

Galadriel is the first to know - she's aiding in a healing tent on the foul northern border, ready to ride in a second wave or to hold firm any retreat, when a mind touches her which she hadn't expected to feel again ere either the remaking of the world or her own death and rebirth (for she still had no intention of Sailing.)

Alatariel! her eldest brother calls. How goes the day? I've missed you, of course! Also, do you have a recommendation for where best to land 500 assorted elves, men and cavalry mounts coming up from the south, that we may swiftly come to whatever aid you all need?

A day later, a small host stood at the crest of the path past retaken Minas Ithil, looking out over the shadowed plains of Mordor. All before them was bloodied and embattled: Men fought Men, Elves fought Orcs, eagles and other goodly birds clashed in midair with giant bats and scrawny but deadly petty firedrakes. The very earth groaned in pain beneath the enemy's chains. And far in the distance, near the foot of a fire-spitting mountain, two star-studded banners - one white on black above a white tree, one silver stars on a blue field - approached a red eye on black.

At the head of the bannerless Host of the Returned, Rawen - generally elected battle-leader - raised her blade. Celechwes put a hand on her arm. "Do not call 'Súlaearil.' It's embarrassing. Don't do it." "My lady," Rawen protested, with her particular intonation that made it clear she was saying 'your majesty.' "No," Celechwes said firmly. "'Finwë and the North'?" suggested the elf on Rawen's other side, once third in command of Fingon's Dragon-frighters. "Can't go wrong with that," agreed Finrod, a little further down the line. Rawen sighed. Her blade, which had sagged a little, she raised straight again, then pointed forward with that battle-cry that had long united the great Siege-line of the Noldor: "Finwë and the North!"

"FINWË AND THE NORTH!" roared the Host of the Returned - all hardened veterans by now, though less brittle in it than some had begun. The fiery-faithful of Himring and the valorous of Barad Eithel, the quick of Ossiriand and the cunning of Nargothrond and the devoted of Doriath, the bold and restless of Aman and those who loved Middle Earth so dearly that they could do naught but defend it; slayers of orcs and spiders and feller beasts, saviors of lands besieged and heroes of legend, swept down from the heights to descend upon Sauron's unsuspecting eastern flank.

Ahead of them all streaked a single swift rider, blond hair streaming in the wind of her passage. Her mount was a prong-horned antelope from the plains far to the south, faster than any cavalry horse (and not usually suited to riding, but blue-eyed Alatar had whispered it some encouragement before they'd parted).

They leapt the first line of the enemy, hastily reassembling itself to meet this unexpected new foe. They jerked and dodged and ducked through the others, as behind them the battle lines slammed together. Jagged orcish blades came at her, and the sharp iron of men enraptured or enslaved to the dark, but mostly in passing - they didn't have time for a single rider driving through with no weapons of her own, her only goal the bright silver-on-blue star in the distance.

Eventually a pair of clever firedrakes managed to herd them up one of the low, ragged cliffs that spurted up here and there on the barren land. Celechwes rolled off her antelope to avoid a stream of fire and ran the other way without hesitation - the quick, clever creature would get to safety far more ably with no heavy elf on its back. Without, slowing, she sprinted off the edge of the cliff.

She'd planned to tuck and roll to the bottom, then pick herself up and keep running. The land ahead was clear for a few miles, save for the pits. Instead, great, sharp talons grasped her gently, and (non-specifically) familiar wings beat around her, with a screech that echoed in her bones.

She laughed as one Great Eagle dropped her carefully toward another. With a sailor's grace she landed with both feet on its broad, shifting back, and returned a joyous screech of challenge into the racing wind.

Below and ahead (though less far with every wingbeat), Ereinion Gil-galad looked up. Eagles had been screaming for battle all day, all month, but for a moment he could've sworn -

Celechwes's eagle dove to avoid a vampire. She dropped her knees and gripped its feathers tightly, and thanked the stars that she wasn't trying to do this while keeping someone from bleeding out from the wrist.

As they dove toward the volcano and the forces advancing against one another there, she eagle-shrieked again, in greeting this time, and shouted, "Erein, hold your position! Re-enforcements are coming!"

Even - nay, especially the High King of the Noldor in Middle Earth knew better than to question the finest royal courier in Beleriand, much less his mother the queen. "Hold!" Gil-galad bellowed over the clash of blades.

Celechwes circled back up, looking back across the field. But Sauron, too, had heard her message, and knew a victory when it was about to slip from his grasp. Mighty and fell, he strode forward toward the banners of Gil-galad and Elendil, and the kings of Elves and Men.

In swift, vicious, terrible combat they were soon joined, Sauron with his dark, burning blade and Gil-galad with bright Aeglos and Elendil with shining Narsil. Likely, at best, all would have been slain -

But Celechwes hadn't been the only one of her host riding hard across the dark plains, dallying with no enemy save the greatest foe. She was only (as ever) the fastest.

"HEY, GORTHAUR!" yelled Finrod Felagund, with a particular intonation that made it clear he was saying, Hey, motherfucker! "I CALL REMATCH!"

And this time, as he raised his voice in a Song of trust unbroken and faith fulfilled, of Sea and sand and second chances, Amarië of the Vanyar Sang with him, their souls entwined, she who had learned to Sing from Maiar on the slope of Ezollohar where stood the Trees; and with them also Sang their daughter Veryawendë Tinúviel, named by prophecy from both parents, fated to be a bright melody in darkness and a great change in the world, and this was not her time but still the Great Music swirled thick around her; and you bet your ass Galadriel had also ridden down from the north to join as fast as she was able -

The last time Galadriel and Amarië joined their voices in powerful harmony had been the final duel between Morgoth and Finarfin, Anairë, and the last of the Host of the Noldor. With Sauron's power reflected and redoubled unto himself through his terrible Ring, this duel was no less hard-won, but it was very definitively won. They even prevented him from erupting the volcano as a final spiteful blow.

"We should destroy the Ring," Gil-galad said at the end, exhausted, bloody, and leaning on Elrond for support. Isildur eyed it - shining golden on Sauron's cut-off black hand - with battle-fire lingering in his grey eyes. "I would rather claim it as weregild, for Anarion - " "For the love of - " said Celechwes, dismounted now that the worst of the battle was over (though there was a great deal of mopping-up to do, of orcs, corrupted men and etc.) "Is this still the Noldorin influence?" she demanded, of nobody in particular. "Or is it a new Edainic thing? No, I suppose Thingol fell to it in the end, too - is it being inland? Do you not spend enough time near the sea, and that's why you're constantly obsessed with cursed jewelry? Here, I'll do it - don't go anywhere, Erein; I'll be right back."

She shucked off her leather hauberk to use as a glove, picked up Sauron's still coal-hot black hand, and sprinted up the volcano slope before anyone else could say a word.

"...I'm really sorry," Elendil said into the relative quiet that followed, "I think I know who you are, my lord - " he bowed toward Finrod, as best he could while leaning bloody and exhausted on Isildur - "and Lady Galadriel, I'm so glad you caught up with us. But I'm not sure about any of these other ladies who have come to our rescue? Including that one?" He jerked his head toward the bright-haired figure already halfway up Oroduin's rocky slope, with the air of a man wondering if he should call for soldiers to chase after her.

"That's my mother," said Gil-galad.

"Ah," said Elendil and Isildur, with perfect understanding. They, too, had mothers.

The Forge of Sauron rumbled ominously, shuddered and spat out first sparks, then sprays of lava. Celechwes, briefly out of sight in the cavern near the top, sprinted back down ahead of the molten rock, empty handed.

"Everyone move!" she shouted. "Should've evacuated first! Go, go, go!"

And then everyone lived happily after - though a lot of them probably did Sail not long thereafter, including most of the Host of the Returned - including the Finrod, Amarië, and Veryawendë, though not bold-hearted Mingoneth, and Celechwes, and Gil-galad. Because they'd accomplished a Great Task and Aman is, actually, objectively more pleasant for Elves than most mortal lands (and Beleriand was still gone). The spiritual weather is just so much better. Everyone stuck around to see Elrond and Celebrian get married, though, and to meet their kids and see Gondor and the Greenwood both regain their feet.

With no Gil-galad to come and sort out several conflicting emotions about his parents, Fingon does stay in Mandos, keeping Maedhros company for longer...but not too much longer. There weren't many casualties among the Host of the Returned, but Rawen Ectheliel was among them (her last thought is that her wife is going to be really, truly, perhaps irrevocably disappointed). She manages to find them before she leaves, the memory of Thangorodrim which Maedhros has made to hang from in his self-pity, self-loathing and twisted self-aggrandizement, where Fingon sits by his feet out of loyalty, devotion, stubbornness, pride and fear; and she gives their behavior such a scathing review that Fingon actually pulls his shit together a few years later and tentatively leaves, and Maedhros pulls one of his hands out of the chains.

[dsandrvk]

Sunday, July 30 - Walmer and Deal

Henry VIII spent a good portion of his rule being concerned about invasion from either France or the Holy Roman Empire, since both were at various times at war with each other or allied and at war with England. As a result, he was quite concerned about the southeast coast just north of Dover, where the cliffs stop and the land meets the sea. Along this area he built an almost 3 mile long set of defenses, including three castles, several smaller forts and a coastal berm. Of the three castles, two remain (the third was built a little too close to the sea, was always wet, and eventually half fell into the sea, and the other half was demolished). The two remaining castles are under English Heritage ownership, and have been well taken care of.

Since we got a joint membership to English Heritage at Battle, we were able to visit both for free. Walmer Castle is a round keep with four half-round bastions like lobes on the four sides, surrounded by a dry moat. It also contains extensive gardens, a woodland path, a sunken "glen" (former chalk quarry), and a residence for the Lord Warden of the Cinque Ports, who was supposed to keep the guns (cannons) ready for battle. Once that became not really necessary, the post became mostly honorary, and Lord Wardens have included the Duke of Wellington, Pitt the younger (a Prime Minister), as well as Winston Churchill.

The gardens are spectacular, with one of the best designed formal borders leading back to the house. The colors shift from cool to warm to hot and back again, with lots blooming, and a great mix of foliage types and sizes. The signature garden was designed for the Queen Mother, and has a reflecting pool and a small pavilion. There is also a large kitchen garden, overlooked by the small cafe and tea room. In the woody parts there are lots of play areas for children, as well as educational programs similar to our junior rangers. The most has been beautifully planted in what they call here a "jungle garden".

We were blessed with beautiful weather for the good part of the day, and enjoyed it! By around 2 or so it started to cloud over, but it was still pleasant to walk the seaside path from Walmer to Deal castle, less than 2 miles away. It made for an easy loop, since we were able to catch the train in Folkestone, go three stops, get off in Walmer and walk about a mile to the castle and then walk back from Deal Castle to the Deal station and back to Folkestone.

Unlike Walmer, which is surrounded by acres of land, Deal Castle is stuck in the middle of Deal, with buildings all around. Rather than four lobes, it has six, and the focus here was on the actual Castle and its workings. We were able to explore the entire place, from the basement with a loop around the outside to overlook the moat and repel invaders, to the middle story, with rooms for soldiers, to the top, which had been built into an apartment for the "Captain of Deal". Like the Lord Warden, this was a real job until it became ceremonial and became an excuse for those awarded the title (or who bought it) to visit this lovely coast.

By this time, it was raining pretty steadily, and we were glad to be inside. Deal Castle (and the others) were built in only 16 months, and the construction included bricks, local cobbles and chalk, and lots of stonework from recently dismantled abbeys and churches, since this was around 1539. Interestingly, a separate Captain's house next door was blown to bits in one of the wars, but the castle suffered no damage - it was that well built. We learned a lot about the construction from a docent working there, as well as some of the political intrigue in Henry's day. He was about to marry number 4 wife, Anne of Cleves, and wasn't terribly popular at the time. But he wanted to make a statement about protecting the coast, and this was part of it, along with other castles further to the west.

We had a little time to wander around Folkestone after we got back, as the rain had stopped for a while, and saw this yarn shop. There are a lot of pride flags in the town (including at the police station), and the shop had a lot of these socks in their window.

We are moving to Dover tomorrow, and have just tomorrow and Tuesday morning before we set sail, and are hoping to do both Dover Castle and walk the White Cliffs, maybe out to a famous lighthouse. When we do either will depend on the weather, which isn't looking all that good for cliff walking. The forecasts have been much gloomier than the reality, although today's was right on target for when our rain started. But it is England, and the plants are lush, so that's something.

[feferika]

No one asked this, but here is an analysis of one of my favorite One Piece arcs strictly from a literature and film fanatic standpoint...

PART ONE: TRILLER BARK

Thriller Bark is the first favorite! Because it shows some of the unknown literary prowess of Oda sensei that many people probably would overlook (simply from it being so obscure with the references).

Now, the first obvious reference that this arc brings up is Frankenstein by Mary Shelley.

We know just from a glance that all of these monsters are not quite what they seem from their stitched up appearances. Unlike the stereotypical take on Frankenstein’s monster of the bolts and thunder, we have the truly gruesome amalgamations and chimera-esc creatures truly rising up to greet us.

While these creatures are very comical in appearance, there are also extremely horrific looking moments with them.

Much like Victor Frankenstein, Hogback and Moria do not truly comprehend how their monsters can affect other people. Entire lives are being uprooted for the sake of these monsters that are mutilated for the sake of science and their own personal goals.

We see some of this through the unhinged use of Cindry’s creation which very much mimics the Bride of Frankenstein’s story in many ways.

While she is not solely created for the same purposes as the Bride of Frankenstein, she is still created for the sole desire of another person.

Her disjointed personality shines through in her actions that are very disparate from the original person. Simply put, they are not the same person at all despite having the same appearance. The entire essence of the original Cindry is lost in this creation and becomes a purely physical satisfaction.

These are also highly comparable to the 1932 film White Zombie for the smitten notions and the morally unacceptable actions of the lead character who sought to empower the women for his own. Which is also where we possible gain Cindry’s overall design from.

While many of the overall aesthetic of the arc is reflective of stories like Dracula by Bram Stoker and its many iterations in media, it is also fair to say it is overall taken from inspiration of all of the classic monster films and their aesthetics.

The Post-Thriller Bark moments with Dracule Mihawk, Perona, and Zoro merely expand upon this notion and further solidifies these references

For heaven’s sake, his name is basically Dracula! Anyways, I digress...

Now, let’s take a step back for a moment and analyze Hogback’s name for a moment. Hogback is a geographical term to signify an odd strata formation generally in mountains.

The name was probably chosen for the rough and jagged appearance, much like the person and his creations. Since these formations look much like the stitching of the creations, I find it a very fulfilling name for our doctor.

So, what about Gecko Moria’s name? What makes his name so unique?

Well, many of us who have seen the Lord of the Rings may remember a place called the “Mines of Moria.” However, many of us may not be aware of the origin of the name Moria itself.

So, J.R.R. Tolkien was a fan of many older forms of literature and is known for his work in transcribing many words for the Oxford English Dictionary (OED) from older forms of English that we would not be privy to today without his and others’ efforts.

One of the literary works that Tolkien took inspiration from was a Norwegian story called Soria Moria Castle (or Soria Moria slott). Now, I have read this story before and I absolutely adore it, but many of us may have never read it. So, I will briefly explain it. 

The main character, Halvor, is a good for nothing son who longed for something else in life. He was led astray by a man to set out at sea and is LOST. He gets off his boat and finds a castle.

Hmm. Strange. I think I remember Luffy and the Strawhat crew getting lost at sea and stumbling upon a mysterious castle through the ghost and fog.

Anyways, many things happen as Halvor is in this mysterious castle.

First, Halvor is warned about a three headed troll living on this land.

Second, Halvor is asked to wield a sword.

Third, a marriage deal is offered to Halvor with multiple women involved.

Fourth, there is a time where the parents of Halvor find their own son unrecognizable until a series of events later.

The story continues with more series of events with weddings and travel using magic, but what is important is that many other elements of the story shine through in this One Piece arc.

So, while many can chalk this arc up as being purely classic monster aesthetic, there is clearly more going on here than we first realized.

So, now we know why the name Moria is relevant. But what about Gecko?

In Japanese, Gecko means “Moonlight.” Which that alone feels fitting for a man that revels in the shadows for his malicious intentions.

Now, it would be folly of me to chalk all of these references up to solely one Norwegian folktale since many of these comparisons can be shared with the story The Island of Doctor Moreau by H. G. Wells.

This is a story of a shipwrecked man who details the actions of the doctor on the island who creates human hybrid amalgamations using animals.

Many of the animal amalgamations mentioned in the story are also featured in this comic itself. For instance, the character recounts how he looked upon creatures that resembled “swine” much like our beloved Lola’s monster form. There is also mention of an ape-man, rabbits, sloth-creatures, hyena-man, etc...

BUT MORE IMPORTANTLY! He mentions a leopard-man! Even a puma-man!

HE ALSO MENTIONS... DARE I SAY IT... DOG-MAN!

Anyways, it’s mostly about the animal-human hybrids. That’s what you need to gather from that story.

So, what about some of the other characters? Ones like our precious Ghost Princess Perona?

Well, there is no REAL evidence to what she is in reference to other than the idea of ghosts, poltergeists, and spirits often being entities that mock and toy with others. For instance, most western depictions of ghosts like the three bullies in Casper or some of the small-fry ghosts in GhostBusters.

I like to think of Perona’s ghosts as more of an Inkwell Era reference.

Which is also what I pertain to most of Brook’s enchanting humor. So, think cartoons like Betty Boop and you have the general idea of what I’m talking about.

Perona is also very characteristic of the idea of women who reside over the horror media and truly reign on it. We’re talking Elvira, Vampira, Morticia Addams, etc... Horror Queens to put it simply.

But this neglects some of the later iterations known as Scream Queens which over the years have gathered a more gothic punk aesthetic such as in The Return of the Living-Dead, Underworld, or even in REPO! The Genetic Opera...

So, yes. Plenty of horror aesthetic. Which is why we are hounded by zombies and can laugh throughout the entire arc. Since, that’s what classic horrors and cheesy modern horrors are all about.

Of course, Perona’s style itself is more reminiscent of Gothic Lolita culture, but I doubt any of you need little ole ME to point that out.

Why, we have grown up with that representation in many other forms over the years in anime anyways.

It would be odder if Oda sensei DIDN’T touch upon such a cultural iconic look.

So, yes. Perona is great and I adore her. But there are more characters to talk about! Like Brook! Who I have mentioned at least twice now!

Why the name? Why the violin? Why the gentleman look? Why anything?

First, I would like to point out that a brook is a small stream. Streams are known for a multitude of meaning, such as a stream of music flowing or a stream of silly words... Brook is a skeleton man with the power of BOTH and he has a flowing way of working with his soul.

So, then there is the gentleman look. He is specifically supposed to be a man of the past and look contrarian to the people of the present. Giving him a classic gentleman look carries this effect out perfectly and further exemplifies the classic horror setting of this arc.

So, what about the violin? Violins are one of the most performed classic instruments for horror stories but also for uplifting songs because of the varied range it has for musical prowess. Plus it’s an instrument that is easy to carry around and has a long lineage of usage. Perfect for a gentleman who has been around for a long time.

Brook’s introduction brought about plenty of classic tips of the hat to how to ward off evil spirits in a multitude of cultures.

Salt is often used for repelling a variety of supernatural beings, as well as being an ill-omen when spilled.

Crosses are generally used to ward off spirits of “unholy origins” like vampires and demons. Creatures that are created against God.

Garlic is used to ward of vampires.

Omamori (amulets) are used to ward off bad omens and offer protection.

Juzu (prayer beads) and others are used to prayer for resolution to suffering.

We also see glimpses of Ofuda (slips of paper) from Usopp like this one...

The Nobori (vertical flag) that Usopp carries says “悪霊退散/akuryou taisan” which essentially means “evil spirit/demon dispersal”

Usopp and Chopper in general have a very Van Helsing appearance to hunt/ward off the monsters. Van Helsing being the Dutch monster hunter from Dracula... Anyways!

This story arc would not be complete without discussing our dear Kuma. The man with many a shrouded mystery around him and even some analysis on him that I have which may delve even further than Thriller Bark. So, at this point if you are not caught up beyond Thriller Bark, then I would stop reading from this point on...

So, yes, Kuma. The bear symbolism is all there, I do not need to cover that part. What I do what to cover though is the other part of his name. Bartholomew is a name with a multitude of meaning in this story.

We all know that Oda sensei is very clever in his usage of historical pirate names throughout the comic in a variety of means. Bartholomew is no exception in this regard. Bartholomew "Black Bart" Roberts is the pirate figure that Kuma borrows a name from and that is where the similarities between the two ends.

Instead of taking on a particular personage after the pirate, instead his imagery is more similar to one of the Apostles of God.

We know this from Kuma’s very upstanding way of talking and acting, as well as his manner of carrying around a Bible (which has multiple variants throughout the series and is an arguable discussion).

However, I would like to propose that many of the actions that occur with, around, by Kuma, etc... Are all also very synonymous with legends about the Apostle of God himself.

For instance, his physical appearance is reflective of the common depictions of Bartholomew the Apostle as a man with dark skin and curly hair. He is also a person known for being skinned alive and beheaded for his death sentence.

I believe it is also no coincidence that the cross-esc symbol is a reference to this comparison. Even the way his ability works appears like one who is warding off evil.

One could say he’s... hands on...

Anyways! I love this arc and I really hope that other people like my analysis of it and have their own thoughts to share. I do acknowledge that much of my analysis could be my own opinions and not the truth, since most of this is not confirmed by Oda sensei himself. But! I still think it is worth sharing and worth talking about because that’s what literature is all about! Talking and discussing and making your own takeaways from it!

So, try not to be horrified by my... lengthy amount of words and pictures here...

Stay tuned for PART TWO!!!!!!!!!!!!

[miminorenai]

Surprised by the sudden question, I reach back into my memory, but I don’t recognize him... He hands over me something like that — “—··· I hope to see you again.”

CHAPTER 02

The man with crimson eyes “...Have we ever met somewhere?”

Surprised by the sudden question, I reach back into my memory, but...

MC “...I don’t think we ever met, probably...”

MC “Because I just came to this place a month ago...”

(...At any rate, it just doesn’t seem that I’ve forgotten. I think I’ll never forget such a beautiful person if I ever meet one.)

The man with crimson eyes “Really...?”

MC “...? Yes...Ah!”

When I *get a hold of myself, I notice that there’s a wagon with flowers is placed beside the person.

(*領き返し - 領 means territory, reign, possession, something you acquired, get hold and owned, while 返し means return, put back and restore. It’s still in hesitation, but I put my own mixture and analyzation that the sentence means ‘something that you possessed being returned and restored’, hence getting hold of herself. But if other readers have better explanation, or perhaps better translation, drop in the comments or DM, alright?

The flowers are unprotected and exposed to the snow, dyeing the petals white.

(That’s not good...!)

MC “If we let them get hit by snow as it is, the flowers might be ruined, you know? Let’s carry it over there!”

I put my hands on the wagon and run towards the eaves of the confectionery in the snow.

(...They won’t get hit by the snow here, right?)

MC “...I’m glad they are all right. It would be sad if such beautiful flowers wither.”

The man with crimson eyes “...”

The moment I feel relieved, I realized the person is staring intently at me, as if to probe into my heart.

MC “...I’m sorry. Did I do something unnecessary...”

Then, the person in front of me gently shakes his head.

The man with crimson eyes “No...thank you.”

After saying that, he suddenly turns his crimson eyes towards the flowers in the wagon, and touches the flowers with beautiful gesture.

And then, the person makes a bouquet of colorful flowers in a blink of time, as if he’s using magic.

The man with crimson eyes “Hmm, this is fine. If it’s this big, it should fit in your arms.”

The man with crimson eyes “Here, as thanks for your help.”

A big bouquet gently jumps into my chest.

MC “...I can’t afford to receive such a big bouquet. I didn’t do much...”

The man with crimson eyes “Just accept it.”

The person untied his pursed lips and smiles sweet enough to captivate me instantly.

The man with crimson eyes “Since I was so happy.”

The man with crimson eyes “Well then, I’ll go with this.”

With a delightful smile, the person puts his hand on an empty wagon and starts walking through the snow.

MC “Excuse me...”

When the person stops walking, he looks up at the sky again...and draws an arc on his thin lips.

The man with crimson eyes “Oh...the snow will stop soon.”

(Huh...?)

Staring at the similar scenery as reflected by the crimson eyes, the snow gradually becomes sparse...

Then, the snow stops.

(...It was a sudden snowfall.)

As I look up at the sky, leaving behind only the signs of snow, a clear voice flows into my ears.

The man with crimson eyes “—··· I hope to see you again.”

When I look back in a sudden, there is no one there anymore, 

I feel like I’m dreaming while it was snowing...

(He was a beautiful person...)

(Somehow it seems that he’s a human, but sort of like not human too...he was such a person. Even so —)

I wonder why did he look at me as if we had met before?

(...Have we ever met somewhere after all?)

While I’m thinking about it, I heard footsteps right next to me.

Leonardo “I’m sorry to have kept you keep waiting, Mimi. Huh...? What’s with that big bouquet?”

Leonardo “Leonardo-san! To tell you the truth, just now —”

***

Leonardo-san grunts and stifles his laughter as I tell him the whole story of what happened while it was snowing.

Leonardo “I think he was happy with your kindness. ...Hmm?”

Leonardo's fingertips touch the light blue petals that bloom quietly among various kinds of flowers.

Leonardo “Forget-me-not flowers shouldn't bloom in such a cold winter. Is he growing them in a greenhouse? Or.”

Leonardo “—*Off-season flowering, huh.”

(*狂い咲き - 狂い means insanity, madness and crazy while 咲き means to bloom. Literally it means a crazy flower that’s blooming out of order

Shakespeare sets foot into an old castle and finds the lord of the castle in a beautiful garden.

Vlad “···— 𝅘𝅥𝅮 ···”

Wearing a coat that’s darker than the night, the figure that’s gazing on the flowers illuminated by the moon is so beautiful that you leave it as it is. 

Slowly approaching, Shakespeare stands next to Vlad and opens his lips.

Shakespeare “My lord, is there anything good happened to you?”

Vlad “Yeah, something really nice.”

Nevertheless...as he mutters, the pair of eyes with different colors directed his gaze towards the flowers that are blooming in the flower bed.

Shakespeare “Forget-me-nots shouldn’t bloom in this season, and this flower too. ...Ah, this flower too.”

Shakespeare “How on earth are you growing them...?”

Vlad “Rather than that sort of thing, it’s rare for you to come here, Will. Don’t you have something to talk about?”

Shakespeare “...”

Shakespeare’s expression becomes stiff when a straight gaze is directed towards him.

After a seemingly eternal silence, a faint shaking voice echoes through the night.

Shakespeare “In search for tragic real experiences for my creation, on that day I left the mansion...I joined hands with you.”

Shakespeare “I’m in pursuit of tragedy, while you’re trying to revive the great men for your ambition. Our interests were aligned.”

Shakespeare “My heart was certainly moved by the person you revived for your experiment.”

Vlad “...”

Shakespeare “But things like disregarding lives and treating them with disdain, I just can’t accept it no matter what.”

Shakespeare “...I understand that it’s a selfish excuse, but I don’t want to get my hands dirty anymore —“

Vlad “Hey, Will.”

Shakespeare “...?”

Vlad “Do you know why forget-me-nots came to be called by this name?”

Although confused by the sudden question, Shakespeare easily/leisurely repeats the words.

Shakespeare “Knight Rudolph tried to pick flowers that bloom on the river quay for his lover, but...he accidentally fell into the river.”

Shakespeare “I know it got its name from the anecdote that was left behind saying [Don't forget me] at that time.”

Vlad “Yes, that’s correct. As one would expect, a rare playwright has an extensive knowledge.”

Vlad “I think, the great men in the Count’s mansion look a lot like this flower.”

Vlad “Although their lives have ended once, they were afraid that their existences would disappear from this world.”

Vlad “That straightforward obsession so far as cruel and abnormal has brought them back to life again. Hey, Will.”

Shakespeare “...Yes.”

Vlad “They will surely be the cornerstone to grant this heartful ambition. That’s why I have to choose.”

Vlad “—··· A strong person to help me, right? I thought you understand what I wanted to do.”

His voice is calm like a calm sea, but the air Vlad’s cladded in is too sharp and ferocious...,

But Shakespeare raises his voice to encourage himself.

Shakespeare “I can’t dance in your palm anymore, but I’m the first one who took your hand.”

Shakespeare “If you want to kill me, do it then. Since for you...I’m an unnecessary flower.”

Vlad’s hands extend towards Shakespeare’s neck.

Shakespeare “— !”

But, the beautiful hands on his small neck move away on a whim.

Shakespeare “...Why...”

Vlad “’Cause it seems like a severe punishment for Will is to continue living and suffering. See you then, Will.”

When Shakespeare’s figure disappears, the footsteps of Charles and Faust echo in replace.

Faust “Is it fine to overlook the playwright easily, Your Excellency? It seems to me that the treatment is very sweet...”

Charles “Lord Vlad has Lord Vlad’s own *consideration. Isn’t that right, Ōsama?”

(*考え - thought, idea, intention, expectation

Responds with only a smile, Vlad turns his beautiful crimson eyes towards the night sky.

Vlad “The world is still beautiful today. That’s why I can’t give up this ambition in my heart.”

Vlad “We still have a long way to go, but...I’m sure it will be done.”

Charles & Faust “...”

Without minding both of them who are becoming speechless at the profile with appalling madness in his beauty, 

Vlad straightly crouches down on the spot and watches forget-me-not flowers intently.

Vlad “Don’t forget me, huh. Did that girl forget about me?”

Vlad “We met on a distant snowy day...”

Charles & Faust “...?”

Vlad “I hope we can meet again. Fuaa~...”

Charles “Eh, Ōsama?”

Charles “...He falls asleep.”

Faust “Sleeping in a place this, after muttering an incomprehensible monologue.”

Faust “Truly a selfish old man. Shall, I’m going back.”

Charles “Eh, let’s carry him, Doc.”

Faust “If you leave him alone, it seems that he’ll wake up soon.”

Charles “Eh? People would usually die if we leave them behind in this cold winter.”

Faust “Your Excellency is unusual, so there’s no problem.”

Charles “But, he’ll catch a cold, right?”

Faust “Haa~ He’s really such a troublesome old man.”

The profile of Shakespeare who’s leaving the castle is as lifeless as a doll.

As he looks up at the night sky with dark eyes, the moon, which is about to transform into a full moon, comes into view and brings back a certain memory.

A month ago, a woman who appeared in front of him in what sort of fate, was an ordinary human without any talents. 

Vlad doesn’t need that kind of person...he thought so, and didn’t give any information about Mimi.

— That’s to say, he put up a façade.

Somehow she felt like a factor that could change this chaotic situation, for better or worse.

He felt that even God didn't know if Mimi’s fate and that beautiful person would cross.

Shakespeare “What can I do right now is keeping an eye on what’s about to occur after this, and if anything happens, I’ll *firsthand —”

(*身を以て - with one's own body/action/experience

Every time I went to the city from that snowy day, my eyes came to search for that person who looked like a snow spirit.

However —

(...Isn’t it hard to find him in this big city?)

(If only I asked for his name at least, I could get a clue to search for him.)

I want to convey a proper gratitude for giving me an armful of flowers.

Also...I can’t put it well into words, but I wish to meet that person again, truly from my heart.

MC “I don't know when, but...I want to see you again."

As I mutter alone, I could smell something like floating spring mixed in the winter air.

When I follow the scent that gives color to the cold winter —

The man with crimson eyes “...”

The person is beside the wagon with plenty of flowers, as if he’s bringing along the spring.

(...At last, I met him.)

As I approach him, his crimson eyes slowly catch me —

The man with crimson eyes “I found you ‘again’, after all.”

[goldcranes]

👀

BOWERBIRD original fiction, fantasy romance, rating: explicit i still hope to write this whole thing one day. it's very self-indulgent and essentially an exploration of all my favourite fantasy romance clichés. the main character, alhana, is forced to marry the cruel old king – but she falls in love with his illegitimate half-brother instead. when their affair is discovered they go on the run and end up raising a rebellion and toppling those in power. i'd ultimately like to self-publish this, but i'm considering posting it as an ofic on ao3 first. not sure yet whether it'd be worth it/get enough readership.

send me a 👀 for a snippet from a fic i didn't finish this year

.

.

The dawn sky was placid, paling by increments. Its light washed slowly across the turrets and gables of the castle, and caught the glint of golden hair in the shadows by the stables.

Alhana Fayne, the only daughter among the current Lord and Lady Fayne's brood of six children, had no time for the ghosts and memories that haunted the fair stone towers as she led her horse quietly into the courtyard. His hooves were carefully wrapped in the cloth she'd stashed below his manger months before for this very purpose, so the only sound as they hurried across the open space was the muted jingle of his tack.

He huffed, and Alhana raised a hand and laid it across his nose. He quieted immediately, nudging at her, and she suppressed a smile as they picked their way down the marble steps – steps she had been told so many times not to take her horse down – and made it onto the tidy lawn that stretched from the colonnade to the hedge that marked the edge of the castle's bounds.

“Hush, Rafa.” She pulled lightly at his reins as he snorted. He'd always been so curious, Rafa, and now he could scent something on the light summer breeze – some of her father's guards, perhaps. Alhana picked up the pace, her skirts swishing around her ankles.

Through the hedges, the familiar tang of the sea grew stronger. The grass turned to hardy scrub, dusty beneath Alhana's shoes. She smiled again, wider this time, as she sucked in the scent of sea and earth and the island she loved so very much.

An old, half-rotted log lay just metres away. She led Rafa up to it and used the height to mount at last, safe out of sight of the castle. There would be guards about still – Lord Fayne took his home and his subjects' safety seriously – but she knew the pathways to the beach like the back of her hand, and there was one mostly overgrown one that would get her to the shore with no soul the wiser.

Rafa danced beneath her, eager to be going. She let him pick up to a fast trot and he tossed his head, pulling at the reins. Alhana had been riding since before she could walk; a light tug and a stern word brought him under control.

The sun broke over the horizon as Alhana and Rafa picked their way onto the stony track that wound down the slope to the sea. Even that early light brought heat with it. Alhana let her eyes fall shut, her long hair shifting unbound down her back as the rising sun bathed her fine features in gold.

Rafa's gait changed beneath her and she moved with him, pure instinct, as his hooves sank into the sand. Her eyes flashed open, and just for a moment the light made them almost shine, a pure and brilliant blue the colour of the summer sky.

The beach stretched out before them. It was one of the biggest on the whole of Annar, and perhaps the most beautiful too. Endless golden sand lay on a gentle curve of the coastline, ringed by tall white cliffs and overlooked by the elegant towers of The Bower, storied seat of House Fayne.

Alhana paused and turned to enjoy the view of her family's castle from down here, the mullioned windows sparkling in the early sun. She sighed in contentment. She might have been biased, but she was quite sure there was no castle this beautiful anywhere else in Ravena – or perhaps even in the known world.

Rafa jogged beneath her, impatient.

“Alright,” she said around a laugh, “let's fly.”

In dug her heels and the horse sprang forward, at a gallop in seconds, the speed of his flight enough to bring tears to her eyes. She let out a whoop of delight and wound her hands into his black mane, bent over his neck, moving effortlessly with his stride.

Down the shore they raced, Rafa's hooves throwing spray up into her face, speckling her skirts with seafoam and turning them from pale rose to deep pink. Her mother would be furious at her for crusting yet another dress with salt, but Alhana just couldn't bring herself to care.

Like this, with the wind in her face, galloping between the sea and Annar, she was untouchable. All her problems and fears fell away and left her as nothing more than a bird in flight, fierce and free as a summer storm.

It was always over too soon. The sun climbed higher as they ran, Rafa snorting joyously, and they came up on the sea stacks by the southern end of the beach. Round the headland lay The Bower's deep harbour, full of ships – and therefore full of people.

Reluctantly, Alhana reined Rafa in, brought him down to a canter and then a more sedate walk. He was blowing, but not hard, and she ran a hand up and down his neck as they came to the bottom of the cliff that separated the castle's beach from the bustling harbour.

The faint sounds of industry floated on the calm morning: chains clanking, men shouting, the familiar churn of waves against wooden hulls.

Alhana listened for a moment or two, then turned and headed back towards the castle.

They took it slower on their return, with plenty of time to enjoy the clear shallows and the brilliant contrast of turquoise water against white rocks and tough green trees. Still, it was too soon that the ground beneath them turned from sand back to dust and then to vibrant grass.

The castle had woken up while she'd been gone. Alhana slipped from the saddle and tried her best to slink up the lawn and round to the western gate, where she reckoned she had a better chance of slipping in unseen.

She was not to be so lucky.

“Is that our darling sister I see?”

Her shoulders slumped in defeat. The familiar voice rang out loud in the quiet morning, and was soon joined by another.

“Why, Adric, I do believe it is. Our much beloved sister, who was told – explicitly – to desist from sneaking out unchaperoned for morning romps along the beach.”

Scowling, she turned to find the two brothers next oldest to her in age leaning over the stone balustrade one level above her, grinning wickedly. Like all the Fayne children, they boasted golden curls, clear blue eyes, and skin well browned from the summer sun. Unlike the others, however, there was a specific kind of mischief to Ansen and Adric that made the cheek in their smiles unmissable.

“Aren't you supposed to be taking your betrothed for a morning tour of the town?” she demanded of Ansen instead of rising to their teasing.

He threw his head back, laughing, and then swung over the balustrade and let himself down to her height, using cracks in the stone as handholds.

“She won't be up until much later. House Sunder, I have learned, enjoy late nights and later mornings.”

“Well, how else are they supposed to spend all that gold, if they don't throw plenty of parties?” Adric had followed Ansen over the balustrade, though with less grace – he was more powerful than his younger brother, but lacked his balance.

“She'll settle in,” insisted Ansen with a certainty that made him seem older than his nineteen years, “just give her time. She's only been here two weeks. It's a year until the wedding, she's got time to learn Fayne ways before she takes our name.”

Alhana raised an eyebrow. “You think she wants to learn our ways? I get the feeling she thinks we're backwards country bumpkins.”

“We are, compared to her.” Ansen narrowed his eyes at her, still smiling that wide, summer-sun smile. “Compared to most of the country, really. What do we have, after all? Horses and vineyards.”

“Uh, the best horses and vineyards in Ravena,” pointed out Adric, elbowing Ansen in the ribs. “Thank you very much, traitor.”

“Yes, but we hardly do glittering balls and high society like they do on the mainland.”

“Thank goodness,” said Alhana, with deep feeling. “I think I'd die if I had to go to balls every night and always worry about who I was talking to and whether they could help me climb the social ladder. Give me horses, wine and country bumpkins any day.”

“Here, here,” agreed Adric, and threw a brotherly arm around her shoulders. “Shall we go and put this horse away, then? Boring and backwards as that might be.” He threw a pretend glare at Ansen, who stepped back, arms spread in surrender. He was laughing, his teeth very white against his tanned face.

“Get away with the both of you. I'm off for fiance duties.”

“Good luck,” called Alhana after him. She and Adric shared a grin and then turned to head for the stables. With his help, she bluffed her way back in and handed Rafa over to a hovering groom, no questions asked and no suspicious glances to suggest somebody might tell her parents she'd been out before sunrise yet again.

“Mother's going to murder me,” she said dolefully as they stepped back out into the sunshine, twitching her salt-crusted skirts. “She'll know for sure I was down on the beach.”

“I'll say I was with you.” Adric was wandering alongside her, white shirt catching the breeze. He yawned mightily, and only just stifled it with his hand in time. “I haven't seen anyone but Ansen this morning so the lie'll stick. You really should stop going out, though.”

“Psh.” She slapped playfully at his elbow. “What's going to happen to me on Annar?”

“Probably nothing. But there's always a risk, Alhana, especially for you.”

“Especially for me? What's that supposed to mean?”

“Don't be naïve. Some sailors come up from the town in their cups, or a wanderer sees you out there alone – they'll seize the chance. Don't think for a second they won't.”

“I can defend my––“

“With what training?” He cut her off, turning to her and taking her by the arms. “I'm sorry, I'm not saying this to be cruel. But you're my only sister, and it's my job to protect you. I can't do that if you're running all over the island, putting yourself in danger.”

She screwed up her nose, the freckles there bunching. “Gods above. Can't you get betrothed and start worrying about a wife instead of me?”

He didn't laugh like she expected. He just sighed and shook his head, releasing her and striding out once more. Alhana watched him for a moment, then hurried to catch up.

“You were serious when you told Father you wouldn't marry?”

He refused to meet her eyes. “It's not for me.”

“Well, it's not for any of us, really, is it? Jonnet hardly chose to marry Celta. But House Farwer control most of the eastern trade routes, so he took her for a wife without complaint. And he hardly seems unhappy.”

Jonnet, their elder brother and the heir to House Fayne and Annar, couldn't have been further from unhappy, in Alhana's erstwhile opinion. He'd married Celta when he'd been twenty-two and she'd been eighteen, and in the three years since she'd given him two gorgeous daughters and a sturdy son, an achievement that had astonished even her own parents. Alhana often spotted them laughing quietly together or sitting in companionable silence. They had an easy intimacy that she envied deeply. She could only hope, when it came time for her parents to find a match for her, that they'd choose a man who would care for her and respect her the way Jonnet did Celta.

“I don't want to talk about it, Alhana.” Adric's voice jolted her from her thoughts. “Let's leave it, alright?”

She grimaced, but let it slide. Ultimately, it wasn't up to either of them. Their futures – and future happiness – lay entirely in their parents' hands.

And speaking of their parents, their father's familiar bellow rose over a mounting hubbub. Alhana and Adric exchanged a look. There was nothing special planned for today, no reason for a crowd to be gathering.

Alhana saw her own concern reflected in her brother's face. Without another word, she tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, and together they quickened their pace to find out what was going on.

[mystical-flute]

Sunrise (one-shot)

When the Whitebeard Pirates split, Izo finds himself running a dance school on a peaceful little island, but still, he yearns for his homeland of Wano.

Still, something makes him uneasy when Nekomamushi shows up unannounced.

Also on AO3 or FFN

Izo glanced at the clock on the wall before clapping his hands to get the attention of his students. “It’s four-thirty. Our lesson has ended.”

 There was the familiar chorus of groans from the children, who slowly shuffled over to their cubbies to put their fans away and grab their belongings.

 “Goodbye Izo-sensei!” the children chorused again as they rushed out the door and into the small village square.

 Dancola Island wasn’t anything special, just a small collection of villages and farms. Their royal family lived on an island nearby, oblivious to the going-on here, which, given Izo’s past, suited him just fine.

 It was a meager existence, but it was better than constantly being on the run from Pop’s  supposed son. He’d heard the stories of his fellow comrades being attacked by that monster and his mother.

 First Blackbeard, then Weevil. One by one, they were being picked off like flower petals.

 Part of him almost  wanted to be found by Weevil, tired of hiding in the shadows and on little islands like this, but there was something nagging in the back of his head, telling him to hold on.

 He just wasn’t sure what it was.

 Looking carefully around the school, he nudged a fan back into its cubby before moving into his adjoining apartment and setting up his tea kettle. While he loved that he was able to bring the cultural Wano dances to the rest of the world, teaching children was… a unique experience, and sometimes, tea was just what he needed to unwind after a long, stressful session.

 His school was in the perfect spot, overlooking the sea and right in the middle of town. It almost made him feel like he was back on Wano, decades ago before his father was thrown in Udon.

 Izo let out a heavy sigh and slumped into his outdoor chair when the tea was ready. How long had it been since he’d attempted to climb that damned waterfall? What had happened to Wano under Kaido’s control?

 Ace had mentioned meeting Lord Oden once, but there was still discomfort in Izo’s gut whenever he thought about it. Oden was a prideful man - unless something terrible had happened, Izo couldn’t see any reason for him to accept being a part of Kaido’s territory.

 “Mama, Papa! Watch!” he heard one of his students shout as her parents returned from the fields with baskets of crops. “Izo-sensei taught me a new move today!”

 “Izo- sensei, huh? It’s good to see you’re still dancing after so many years.”

 Izo’s reflex kicked in immediately, free hand reaching for one of the pistols he kept stashed in his kimono.

 “Goronyanya! You’ve still got that reflex of yours too. Good, good. We’ll need that in the war.”

 That laugh.

 It couldn’t be.

 Izo lifted his head in the direction of the voice, and the pistol very nearly dropped from his hand.

 “Nekomamushi!”

 The tea cup dropped to the ground, shattering, but Izo paid no mind to it as he launched himself out of the chair and over to the mink who’d placed himself behind his school. In the distance, Izo noticed a ship.

 “It’s good to see you, old friend,” Nekomamushi said with a wide grin. “We have much to discuss.”

 “Yes, I suppose we do. How is Lord Oden?”

 Nekomamushi’s face lost all trace of joy at the mention. “Lord Oden is dead, Izo. As is Lady Toki.”

 He felt color drain from his face. “W - what? When?”

 “Twenty years ago.”

 Izo’s legs buckled, and he barely managed to catch himself against the wall of the school. “T-tw - is Kiku okay?!” he cried.

 “Kiku is safe, according to Raizo.”

 “You, Kiku, Raizo… Nekomamushi, if Lord Oden and Lady Toki are dead, how are the three of you alive?”

 “All of us  live, Izo,” Nekomamushi explained. “Lord Oden and Lady Toki sacrificed their lives for ours, and for Lord Momonoskue and Lady Hiyori.”

 Izo sucked in a heavy breath. “Come inside then. I have something stronger than tea.”

 Izo hadn’t taken into account being visited by a seventeen-foot-tall mink when building the school, so Nekomamushi didn’t fit inside. Instead, they sat at the edge of the cliff behind it, looking in the direction of Nekomamushi’s ship.

 “Start from the beginning,” Izo said warily.

 So Nekomamushi did, and with each word Izo grew more and more nauseous. He should have been there. He should have gone with Lord Oden to Roger’s ship, then back to Wano. He should have fought to keep Lady Toki, Lord Momonoskue and Lady Hiyori safe while Lord Oden was with Roger’s crew. He should have - 

 “Lord Oden wouldn’t want you looking like that, Izo,” Nekomamushi suddenly said. “He would have wanted you to follow yougara heart.”

 “I don’t care. I signed up to be his retainer. To protect his family. If I’d been there - ”

 “You would have been separated from us anyway. Who knows if you would’ve ended up back at Oden Castle? The dog and I didn’t. We barely got out of Wano with our lives.”

 Izo pressed his head against his knees, trembling. “I should have known something was wrong when I heard Kaido had taken Wano as one of his territories. I never would have guessed that Orochi would be such scum. But… there’s something I don’t understand.”

 “Nya?”

 Lifting his head, Izo frowned deeply in concern. “When Ace joined up with us, I mentioned being from Wano. Ace said he’d been there and met Kozuki Oden, so I thought Oden was at least safe…”

 “Once we take down Orochi and Kaido, we’ll figure out why that is,” Nekomamushi said. “So what do you say? Are you ready to go home?”

  Home.

 It had been two long, agonizing years since Izo had felt any semblance of that.

 Something inside of him sparked excitedly.

 Home.

 This was it. This was what he’d been holding on for. Wano’s liberation.

 Izo rose to his feet. “There’s no time to waste then. The Fire Festival is in a few short days, isn’t it?”

 Nekomamushi laughed. “There’s that fire I knew you had.”

 Izo retreated back inside, grabbing his spare bullets and guns and pinned a short note of apology to the door of the school.

 It was time to bring forth Wano’s new dawn.

[ddagent]

Follow up for lost in time jaime!!! I need to know what happens!!

Here we are! Prompt #100! I hope you enjoy.

“So, do you believe me?”

Jaime turned to Tyrion Lannister, his great-however-many-grandfather, and watched him adopt a polite expression. He laid a hand atop Jaime’s wrist. “I believe you’ve suffered a great deal, Brother. Your time in captivity—”

“—really? I’m suffering from PTSD? And, what, made up this story that I’m from six-hundred years in the future to offer myself a little peace of mind?” 

Something which Jaime Lannister, of the year 907 AC, had little of at that very moment. After all, it’s not every day you fell asleep beside your amazing wife and then woke up in the Red Keep during one of the most bloody eras in Westerosi history. Once he’d pinched himself and tried and failed to find phone signal, Jaime had just accepted that he was one of those historians who had gone back in time. And that if he was going to get back to his girls, he’d need some help. 

Hence Tyrion Lannister, his great-however-many-grandfather, who was being a right pain in the arse about this whole ‘from the future’ thing. The easiest way to prove himself would be his phone; technological advancements that wouldn’t even be a daydream for another five hundred years. But Jaime couldn’t risk it breaking; the photos of Brienne and Catelyn were more precious than all the gold a Lannister could ever hoard. 

“Is there any way I can prove what I’m telling you is true? I’ve read all your journals, you know; I know everything about your life before and after this point. Things that not even your brother would know.” 

Tyrion raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Very well. Tell me something that you, from the future, would know about my life that my brother couldn’t possibly know.”

Fine. Let’s do this. “You haven’t, nor will you ever, consummate your marriage to Que—” He coughed, clearing his throat, and trying not to disturb all of history with his presence. “—to Sansa Stark.” 

He shrugged. “She’s a child; it’s a fair assumption to make.”

“Her handmaiden is a sex worker you’ve fallen for.”

“Again, a fair assumption to make.” 

Jaime racked his brains, trying to recall Tyrion’s journal. Honestly, he’d always been more fascinated by his great-however-many-uncle, and had studied the passages relating to him more closely than any other. Including the downright creepy relationship he’d had with his sister, which had been part of a four-week lecture series Cat had given on sex, power, and gender during the War of the Five Kings. 

“Your sister’s been banging your cousin.” He wrinkled his nose, just as Tyrion’s mouth dropped open. “You want to tell him, but you’re unsure whether he’ll believe you, and don’t want to make him choose between you and her as you’re not sure who he’ll choose.” 

Tyrion’s face fell. “Yes.” 

“My name is Jaime Lannister. I’m a history lecturer at King’s Landing University, an off-shoot of the Citadel. I’m married, with one daughter, and I don’t know what I am doing here but I know I have to get home.” 

Tyrion nodded. “I–I believe you. Please allow me a moment, Jaime. This is rather a lot to process.” 

Jaime gave him a moment. Gave him two, even. He ducked out of Tyrion’s chambers and headed for the balcony, drawing in a deep breath of sea air. The Red Keep would stand for another four years, but would fall in the Second Sack of Kings’s Landing. There would be rebuilding, redevelopment, and in five hundred and ninety-five years, Jaime’s father would set out his plans to build exclusive apartment buildings. 

Brienne would really get a kick out of the fact that their apartment really was where the White Sword Tower had stood. Brienne. Jaime reached inside the tan jacket he’d taken from his counterpart’s room and found his phone. The screen sprung to life, loaded, and displayed his wife holding their daughter on the beaches of Tarth. An ache settled in Jaime’s bones. She should be here with him. Their love of history had brought them together; she would adore every second of this. 

The door to Tyrion’s chambers opened; Ser Podrick Payne, the future Lord Commander of Queen Sansa’s guard, talked to Tyrion. Jaime took the opportunity to power down his phone and step back inside. 

“My Lord.” 

Jaime grinned. My Lord. People only called him that during re-enactments, or when he and Brienne roleplayed in the bedroom. “Podrick, isn’t it?” he said, as if he hadn’t been read Payne’s own accounts by his wife many, many times. 

“It is.” 

“Podrick here has been dismissed for the day whilst we take a walk around the gardens. Get my brother some colour. Enjoy yourself, Podrick.” Tyrion pressed three gold dragons into his hand, and the boy quickly scurried off. “Come on.”

It was different walking with the Tyrion of this time compared to his own brother. In 907 AC, they were two incredibly attractive, incredibly wealthy men. But in this time, eyes quickly darted away. The legacy of the Kingslayer, and no doubt his amputation, made many wary to meet his eye. As they settled themselves on a veranda overlooking the Godswood, Tyrion tugged at his right sleeve. 

“You lost your hand, too.”

“Car accident. About ten years ago."

“A...car?”

“Fuck.” Jaime exhaled. “It’s a long story. But I nearly died and afterwards I decided to change my life around.” 

Tyrion paused, then said, “And how do we die? Jaime and I? All of us?” 

He was remiss to share too much. How could he explain that his nephews and niece would all perish over the next three years; that Tywin Lannister would die at Tyrion’s own hands? That Cers*i would die in this very castle; Winter finally coming South? And how much would Jaime’s presence change all that? Sighing, he answered his first question as best he could. 

“In Casterly Rock, with your wife beside you.” Tyrion’s face grew impossibly soft, and Jaime was reminded of his brother and that ache grew again. “Jaime dies in Winterfell, fighting the dead. He dies in the arms of Brienne of Tarth. With his last breath, he tells her everything he’s ever felt for her. Before the Stranger takes him, she does the same.” 

A flash of blue steals Jaime’s attention, and he looks back out into the gardens to see what could only be the future Ser Brienne of Tarth walking the grounds with a shorter brunette. It felt like someone had punched him in the gut. She looked so much like his Brienne. Hair was shorter; her build perhaps a little more muscular. But that was his wife standing right there. 

“We always joke that we’re a second chance from the Gods. That they wanted us together so much that they brought us back six hundred years later and pushed us together.” Jaime swallowed. “It always pained me, knowing he was so close to happiness but never got to love her for more than a few minutes.” 

“Jaime—”

“—she does find happiness with her husband; some Stormlands knight. And that’s enough and it brought me my wife, but if they could be even half as happy as Brienne and I are...maybe that’s why I’m here. I’m here to bring them together.”

There was more he could do, of course. But he feared the ripple effect it would have on his future. But this he could do. He would always be Tyrion’s great-however-many-grandson. But instead of a Stormlands knight, Brienne’s great-however-many-grandfather would be Ser Jaime Lannister, Goldenhand the Just, himself. Who, if they had swapped places, was hopefully playing nice with his wife. 

[luthienebonyx]

I’ve been meaning to do some more Jaime x Brienne recs for a while, and since I’m trying to decide what to write next, it seemed like a good time to talk about other people’s fic.

Alright, outta sight - by Samirant

Author's summary: Ain’t no party like a Lannister party (whether you meant to invite a Lannister or not).

This is a medical AU where Brienne the doctor and Jaime the cardiologist have been working together at the same hospital for a number of years. When the story starts, Brienne thinks their relationship is one of professionalism but personal dislike. However, when Jaime learns, firstly, that Brienne is planning a small house-warming party, and secondly, that she and Hyle broke up some time ago, he takes over the planning for the party and… well. See the author's summary.

The story is mostly the story of the party, but that description does not in any way do this story justice. It has some wonderful characterisation, some laugh-out-loud humour, and great little shout-outs to canon - like Ironborn vodka - but at its core it's a lovely, warm true-feeling story about two people finding each other. But yes, it's also the story of a legendary party.

(This is the only WIP on this list. The main part of the story is complete, with only the epilogue still to be posted.)

Evenfall - by @aviss​

Author's summary: Jaime had never intended to get back to active duty, he was happily retired. Now he has no choice, someone has to pay for taking her from him.

This is part of Aviss's Spies Like Us series. Brienne is a female James Bond, Jaime is a former spy who is now the Quartermaster (ie. Q), and the plot of this one is influenced fairly heavily by Skyfall. Jaime and Brienne are in a relationship - they even have cats, so it's pretty serious ;) - but haven't formalised anything. Fairly early on, Brienne is injured and presumed dead, and Jaime resigns and decides to go and seek vengeance.

If you are in the mood to wallow in angst, this is the fic for you! This story hit all my angst buttons and wouldn't let up. There is some nicely done comfort at the end to balance out the hurt, too.

I will always hold you close, but I will learn to let you go  - by angel_deux aka @angel-deux-writes​ 

Author's summary: Jaime is gravely wounded in the battle against the dead. When he thinks he's dying, he kisses Brienne.

After, he heals, kept asleep with milk of the poppy. Brienne worries about what will happen when he wakes up.

This is a very internal sort of story, with a terrific Brienne POV. Brienne’s thoughts and emotions go round and round, always so painfully, brutally honest with herself that sometimes she ends up getting things completely wrong. As usual for angel_deux’s fic, there are some great turns of phrase in this, with complex emotions being conveyed concisely but with deadly accuracy.

Little talks - by robotsdance 

Author's summary: Brienne isn’t at Winterfell when Jaime arrives. She isn’t there to vouch for him and he’s sentenced to die by dragonfire. Brienne returns just in time to make sure that doesn’t happen, but she doesn’t want to talk about it.

She doesn’t want to talk to Jaime at all.

Finding a story that is deeply romantic without being sappy is one of those things that makes my day, and this story perfectly fits that description. It's an AU take on the beginning of Season 8, after Jaime arrives at Winterfell. What happens after Brienne returns just in the nick of time to save Jaime is… well, deeply romantic, perfectly in-character for both of them, and not at all sappy. The visual image of the scene right after Brienne returns is one that's going to stay in my head for a long time.

Living Proof - by @hardlyfatal​  

Author's summary: In the middle of a war, with brutality and bloodshed overwhelming what little kindness and safety can be found, she meets a man who is everything she admires and respects. And it’s not the man she thinks it will be.

This is a MASH style AU, set during the Korean War. Brienne is a nurse and Jaime is a helicopter pilot. This is just beautifully characterised, with painfully honest emotions, a slow burn romance, and a storyline that does not flinch from the brutal reality for medical personnel in the midst of a war. There were parts of this that I went back to re-read immediately after finishing a chapter because they really did just sort of take me captive as a reader.

The Lord and the Selkie - by Roccolinde aka @firesign23​ 

Author's summary: On the west coast of Westeros, there stood a castle, known far and wide as Casterly Rock, overlooking the Sunset Sea. The lord of this castle, Lord Tywin, had three children: The Golden Lion, Ser Jaime, was brave; his twin The Beautiful Maid, Lady Cersei, was cunning; and The Unwanted One, Lord Tyrion, was learned. Together, they might have come to rule Westeros as their Lord Father intended, a final wish made from his deathbed. But then Ser Jaime met the selkie, and their paths were forever altered.

This is told in the style of a fairytale. Brienne is a selkie searching for her lost brother. Eventually, her search brings her to Casterly Rock, where she meets Jaime, and their romance plays out in the style of a fairytale, too. 

I love everything about this; the characters meld perfectly into the fairytale setting and it all just works. There are some great little shout-outs to canon in this, including this one when Jaime and Brienne first meet:

but though Ser Jaime was wise in chivalry, he was foolish in the ways of sense, and so exclaimed with some surprise, “The ghost of Casterly is a woman?” 

Measure in Love - by @dancinginthecenteroftheworld​ 

Author's summary: Brienne Tarth isn't wild about the new building that's been built across her office, blocking her view of Blackwater Bay. But what she really doesn't expect the gorgeous nudist who moves in or the chaos he brings into her life.

Yeah, one guess who the nudist is. ;)

This is a slow burn modern AU. Brienne and Jaime first see each other through their respective windows, and then meet properly at the gym run by Sandor Clegane. I really enjoyed the pacing of this story, and the way initial hostility slowly changes over time. The ways in which the various canon characters pop up in different roles in Brienne's life is also really well done.

Once it ends, so it begins - by nubbins_for_all 

Author's summary: Brienne doesn’t care why it’s cold. She just knows it’s really fucking cold.

A quiet evening between the Lady of Winterfell and her sworn shield, with ruminations on sex, love, and dealing with everything being awful.

This is part of a series (Winter isn't goin' nowhere) where winter doesn't end after the Long Night, and so Dany and the northern army are stuck at Winterfell, while Cersei is stuck in the south.

The main part of this story takes the form of a long conversation between Brienne and Sansa one night, interspersed with mostly-dialogue flashbacks of scenes between Brienne and Jaime. 

I love how this story explores these two relationships side by side, with Brienne as the linchpin. All the characterisations are very on point. I can believe very much in this version of Sansa, after everything she's been through, and I love Brienne's awkwardness at what is basically a slumber party for two. Brienne is thoughtful and considering as Sansa’s sworn sword, and self-doubting when Sansa needs her half-forgotten girly side, but also gets better and better at giving Jaime as good as she gets. Also, Jaime's dialogue is so very Jaime, and he makes the dialogue-only flashbacks really shine. 

Ser Goldenpaws and the Wench - by Libkat   

Author's summary: It's the Lady and the Tramp AU that nobody wanted.

This is Jaime and Brienne in a Lady and the Tramp fusion, where they're golden retrievers. In this case, Jaime is the prize-winning, much-loved golden retriever, Ser Goldenpaws, and Brienne is the lost golden retriever living on the streets who won't divulge her name, so Jaime calls her the Wench.

Brienne and Jaime are somehow still recognisably in-character AND very canine in the way they think. I'm not quite sure how the author has achieved that balance (major kudos!), but it works really well. This is not as light and fluffy as you might expect, and goes to some relatively dark places at times, before everything works out the way a story like this should.

The Tides - by @slipsthrufingers​   

Author's summary: Jaime Lannister, recently missing a hand, a white cloak and his purpose in life, is sent to Tarth to decide whether the Lannisters will loan them the gold they so desperately need to thwart a disaster. He expects to negotiate with the Evenstar, but is stuck with the dour daughter instead.

This is the type of story where a lot happens, in terms of characters and relationship development, while not a lot is actually happening, in terms of plot points. It's intensely character-focused, and the author's style is beautifully descriptive, which fits the quiet atmosphere of a lot of the story.

You will never think of a medieval marble mine in the same way again after reading this story. ;)

Banner by @ao3commentoftheday​

[canadian-buckbeaver]

To Claim a Kiss

LOL. A short story that ran away from me. @saiyurimai here is Sai x Lucio for a kiss of jealousy!

Hopefully you, and everyone else, enjoys!

~*~

The palace was alive with the sights and sounds of the party. No expense had been overlooked, no outrageous thought overlooked and abandoned.  Having missed the last few masquerades (It was a long story.  He was a ghost in the form of a ghost when it last occurred and the time before then he was suffering from the plague), he wanted to make up for it.

The finest chefs of all of Vesuvia had been hired for the night, the aroma of their delicate craft wafting through the entirety of the castle. Lucio had made sure that they only used the finest of ingredients, opening his own pantry and spices for their use and the results, even he had to admit, were beyond what he had expected.  It was a spread like no other.  Delicacies as far as the eye could see, flakey pastries, fresh breads and buns, savoury meats, steamed but flavourful vegetables, the list went on and on. They had even made some food that originated from across the ocean.  A voyage of flavour for the tastebuds they had said.  There was something for everyone at the table, he had made sure of that.  Voltra had already made second and third trips through their lines, desperately savouring every crumb that she could get her greedy hands on.  But it wasn’t just food.  Drinks of every kind were served.  Teas of every variety that one could fathom, coffee, mixed drinks of every desire. The wine flowed like water, much to the joy of Valerious.

The smell of food echoed perfectly with the music.  The sounds of the band swelled and carried through his entire estate, letting all who were unlucky enough not to attend just what they were missing out on.  He had employed the most popular band of travelling musicians for the night and they did not disappoint.  Everyone’s toes and fingers were tapping to their beat and the dancefloor was alive and frolicking with couples bringing the music to life.  Lucio had even bribed them to play their new music, music that they hadn’t released to other cities yet.  Some sort of new age they called it.  It held a faster beat, was more energetic than the common tango but still allowed people to dance together, laughing and holding each other.  He might have even seen Muriel from the shadows nodding along to the beat.

The decorations?  Top notch. The servants by now knew that he would not accept anything less than perfection and they too had gone above and beyond tonight. Balloons and streamers glimmered in the low light, the floating magical lanterns adding to the charm of the environment.  Silky and glimmering fabrics, chains of precious metals and jewels caught their light and tossed in around the room. Every room looked wonderful and amazing, like a castle out of a storybook.

Lucio frowned slightly and tapped his fingers against his arm, his eyes scanning the crowd.  If this were a storybook he would have his princess beside him, clinging to his arm and looking up at him adoringly as the common folk simmered in their envy.  Lucio. Mercenary from another land.  Lord and Count of Vesuvia, richest man in the land. Built himself up from the ground up, going from a nobody, to a somebody…

But his woman was not by his side. His eyes scanned the area.

Nadia, his co-ruler of his land, was talking to a few diplomats from across the borders.  She looked at ease, standing alone, nodding and smiling and assured of her beauty.  His ex-wife was something else.  A jewel without the need for a crown.  But he was not looking for his ex-wife.

There she was.  He felt the remains of his heart skip a beat when he saw her.  Her purple and red hair was done up in an elaborate updo, brades and hair pins, all that accentuated her cheekbones and jawline. Her dress clung to her curves, wrapping around her in a way that he was excited to unwrap in the privacy of his bedroom. Her smile, her laugh, even from across the way he could see how her eyes sparkled in the light.

But it was not at his jokes that she was laughing at, nor was she on his arm.

Asra…

His white hair tousled like he had just rolled out of bed, he probably had knowing the magician, and his outfit brought out the tan of his skin.  So Sai or Nadia must have helped him dress first at least before he came down to the party.  

As Lucio glowered on, he saw him bend to whisper in her ear, something that caused her cheeks to flush pink.  Probably something dirty and uncouth knowing him.  

He grit his teeth together. It wasn’t fair.  He went out and threw this giant party, inviting everyone that was everyone and then some, hoping that Sai would be by his side. And she wished to by Asra’s?

The betrayal hurt.  It hurt worse than losing his arm.

“Well.  Someone seems to be in a foul mood.  What’s the matter?  Did someone steal your cookie?” Valerious was beside him, sipping at his wine and that irritating eyebrow raised just so.

“No. It’s none of your concern.” He may have hired the courtier years ago, but, after his own deals with the Devil, there was just something about the lot of them that rubbed Lucio the wrong way.

Valerious shrugged and sipped at his wine, pointedly ignoring Lucio’s cues to go away.  Sure. He could summon wine-goat to his side but not Sai.  Perfect. Who’s heart did he need to give away to get that power?  “If I didn’t know any better I would say that you’re sulking.”

Pursing his lips, Lucio glared at the man.  Perhaps a more direct line would do.  “I am not.” He could feel the vein on his forehead twitching.

“No? Well then I must be mistaken. I am sorry.” He finished his goblet of wine before turning to walk away, finally leaving Lucio to brood. “But… I know that Sai has always enjoyed public displays of affection.  Perhaps make a show out of it.”

“What do you mean by that?” Lucio demanded him/

Valerious shrugged.  “You’re a smart man, Count.  Figure it out yourself.  But, I daresay that you are in  the right mood to… to show everyone just who you want.  And you are in a position to take it.  Especially from the Royal Magician.”

Lucio glared at the man as he disappeared.  The drunk always had a bad habit of not being clear with his suggestions.  It was one of many things that annoyed Lucio about him.

He glared as Sai and Asra continued to talk and flirt, touching each other and whispering.  Standing close to be heard over the music.  The music that he himself had specifically picked out for Sai.

Jerks.

The lot of them.  Probably making fun of him again.

Glowering, Lucio began to move towards them, the crowd parting like the Red Sea for him.  No one wanting to remain in the way of the angry Count.  They all knew better than to stand in the way of something, or someone, that he wanted.  The bowed and snippered, but he paid them no mind or heed.  He was concentrating on the so-called “happy couple” in front of him. They were the ones that should have been paying attention to him.  Especially Sai.  He had done all of this for her.  But they paid him no heed, like he wasn’t there.  It was giving him flashbacks of his time as a ghost all over again. Hell, even as he approached Sai gave another peel of laughter.  That noise should be his alone! How dare she share it so easily with the rest of the party. With Asra….

He had had enough, his mind made up. He would kiss her silent. Swallow up the sounds that should have been his. Show everyone just who she belonged to.

Grabbing her shoulder, he forcibly spun her around to face him.  He got to take in a flurry of emotions on her face.  Confusion, surprise, joy, shock, all of them mingling into one adorable expression.  Lucio really couldn’t help himself.  He couldn’t hold himself back any further.

His hand tightened on her shoulder before pulling her closer to him. His metal hand wrapped around her waist, locking her against his body. His hand of flesh trailed up her body, gently nudging her arm around his neck. For a quick moment yellow eyes met hazel and then nothing else going on mattered. None of the people around them mattered in this moment. Asra, Nadia, Muriel, and even Valerious simply no longer existed in his mind.  Not the music, not the food, none of the other worldly issues mattered.  The rest of the world slowly quieted around him, the rest of the surroundings retreating to darkness.  The spotlight was on them alone.  His eyes slipped shut, shutting out the rest of the world.    All that mattered was Sai.

Sai was in his arms, right where she belonged.

She was his.

And it was time to prove it to everyone around them.

Tightening his metal arm around her waist, he crushed her tighter against him.  Hearing her delighted gasp, Lucio leaned down to her, tipping her chin up with his fingers, their lips touching….

And he swallowed the rest of her sounds as he crushed her lips to his. Her soft lips, softer than any pillow, any silk.  Smooth as satin and as sweet as honey.  He kissed her slowly, deeply, sweetly dominating her as only he could. How he knew that she liked to be. Lips moved together, sweetly, slowly, encouraging her to participate.  His flesh hand traveled up her neck, tangling with the few loose strands of hair there, tipping her further back into his arms and hold.

Their tongues touched, sparks flying between them, and he almost whimpered at her taste. There was something so uniquely different about Sai, something that he had never felt with any other partner, any other lover. Something uniquely Sai.  Losing himself to the moment, his teeth gently nipped at her lips and was rewarded with a muted gasp.

Her hand touched his chest and he felt her lean into him, surrendering to his hold and kiss. His… she was his…

When they broke apart for air, Lucio gave her a knowing smirk, taking in her flushed cheeks, her hazy eyes.  He knew that she was feeling just as he felt now.  Needy.  Wanting. Perhaps she was just as full of lust as he was?

Ignoring Asra who was glowering at him from beside her and the rest of the audience who had gathered around them in stunned silence, Lucio gave her a cheeky grin and wink.  “I’ll expect you in my bedroom after the party.” He gave a stage whisper to her ear, enjoying seeing her eyes widen, that pretty little mouth drop open. There was the smallest of nods.

Perfect.

Helping her stand up, he straightened his suit and returned to his alcove, feeling much better about himself.

[firesign23]

1, 3 and 11 for the selkie fic

What inspired you to write the fic this way? What do you like best about this fic?                   

These are pretty connected, so I’ll answer both at the same time.

I’ve loved fairy/folk tales since I was a kid, not just the stories but the particular rhythms and motifs and narration style that is a step removed from digging deep into the psychology of the characters (which I also love to do). Most of my previous canons don’t really lend themselves well to that sort of AU–though I did write a Phrack fairytale AU a few years back–so of course my brain was like “Okay, but…” when I tried telling myself I was only writing yonder. (This was already bullshit because I had written a good chunk of the lighthouse AU, but I am very good at bullshitting myself) So I actually knew the narration style before I knew the story, which never happens. 

And once I was on the fairy/folk/fable line of thought, selkies were an obvious option–Brienne and Jaime both growing up by the sea, Brienne losing her brother to the water, etc all made me look that direction, and I’ve always loved selkies more than mermaids. Plus the coerced marriage side of these stories is a particular favourite to flip off and blended well with a universe full of political marriages. (I didn’t set out to do that, in particular, and the whole thing was entirely accidental, it was just what made me make a mental connection that yes, it was a selkie story.) The story went through a lot of variations, but I was really happy with how the eventual option adapted a lot of canon details that might not even be obvious on the surface but work behind the scenes to build something that rings true, in that slightly heightened sort of truth that defines the genre.

What’s your favorite line of narration?                

ALL OF IT. It’s honestly the fic I reread without a lot of internal criticism. But... I really, really like the opening lines that establish the world and the vibe really succinctly.

On the west coast of Westeros, there stood a castle, known far and wide as Casterly Rock, overlooking the Sunset Sea. The lord of this castle, Lord Tywin, had three children: The Golden Lion, Ser Jaime, was brave; his twin The Beautiful Maid, Lady Cersei, was cunning; and The Unwanted One, Lord Tyrion, was learned. Together, they might have come to rule Westeros as their Lord Father intended, a final wish made from his deathbed. But then Ser Jaime met the selkie, and their paths were forever altered.  

 *

On the east coast of Westeros, there was a seal lord whose waters were small and unimportant, save in beauty. Lord Selwyn had two children: his elder child, Galladon, was beautiful and strong and true, a warrior and a leader both; his younger child, Brienne, was all those things as well--beautiful in the eyes of her father, strong of body and mind and virtue, and the truest in the ways of love--but far less beloved by her subjects. Now, it came to pass that Galladon loved a woman from the land, and followed her onto the shore, never to return. His sister sought him in waters dark and deep, in waters shallow and warm, north and south and east, until all that was left was the west. And so she went, true of heart even as her spirit despaired, and found herself upon the beaches near Casterly Rock.

  Bonus for the line that didn’t make it out of the first draft that called Jaime “wise in chivalry but dumb in ass.” I laughed then and I laugh now. 

Reblog if you are a fanfiction author and would like your readers to put one of your fic titles in your ask + questions about it

[paperanddice]

Ragnar’s Keep Review

Recently I was approached by Ian Brockbank (who runs the blog Melestrua’s Musings) with a request to take a look at his published setting location Ragnar’s Keep, available on DriveThruRPG. Despite never having done a review like this before, we learn by doing and so I accepted the free copy he offered and I’m determined to give it as fair of a look as I can offer.

Ragnar’s keep is a 36 page document that details a fully realized and established location for low level adventurers to visit or interact with. It’s not designed as an adventure itself; while plot hooks are provided it doesn’t come with a specifically intended storyline or goal for players to approach. It is a setting location, written to be usable in a wide variety of ways, and to provide a map and location for GMs who are looking for some hard details to build off of. Ian specifically contrasts it to the more generic d100 plot hooks style design, offering up something that requires less improvisation and gives the GM a cast of characters with fully established character motivations, flaws, and relationships with one another and the location. This may limit the use of it in some ways if the specific dynamics don’t fit within the setting already planned, but aspects of it can be picked up or dropped as fits within a specific goal the GM has in mind. The material works for any “standard” fantasy setting based off of medieval Europe with magic, but the given mechanical rules are designed for 5th edition Dungeons and Dragons.

The titular keep is a three and a half level fort with a basement, ground level, second story, and a half third story, along with some extra details in a path leading down to the nearby waterfront. Two different maps are provided for each castle level, one with grid and annotations and the other a detailed illustration created by Heroic Maps. The illustrations are simply gorgeous, and provide a wonderful and deeply immersive location on their own, and are available for purchase as a separate product on DriveThruRPG from the artists directly (link here). Every room is given a detailed description, and a cast of over 20 NPCs fill in all the major roles needed to keep the castle running (along with the castle’s own personal haunting ghost).

The keep and the country around it are given a 1 page backstory detailing how the lands came to be and the political situation it exists within. This information is very specific, creating and naming specific people, locations, gods and a loosely detailed empire that all come together and define many of the keep’s inhabitants and their relationships with one another, and while renaming these details is possible it does keep this from being able to be inserted into any setting without rewriting. The established setting relies heavily on colonial activity to set up tensions between different people, and this could be an aspect of the writing that creates the largest obstacle in using the keep as written. The empire of Thraesya and their goddess Tenesia invaded a formerly independent land by sea, conquering settlements and laying claim to the countryside for its rumored silver deposits and bountiful natural abundance. The native groups were subjugated and made vassals of the empire, but of course it was an unsustainable position as the expected riches were never found. Nearly 80 years after the invasion the empire handed the territory over to a young nobleman who titled himself Grand Duke, named the territory Melkantor and set about ruling it himself. The present day situation is the Grand Duke attempting to forge Melkantor into a unified country, and Ragnar’s Keep itself, overlooking the town Ragnarston and its important position in the only passable trading rout back from Melkantor to Thraesya.

 The full description of the castle grounds and rooms takes up 12 pages, and goes into great detail. Every room gets at least a paragraph of description, listing any important details in the design and layout of the room along with its use. Specific inhabitants are described in how and when they may be found in this room. As the castle is meant to be usable for more than just an invasion based adventure, there is more detail on the daily schedule of non-combatants than I’ve typically seen for castles in premade adventure modules, which is useful for games where the characters may integrate themselves deeply into the castle’s life. While few groups will encounter many of these details, those that do will have plenty of fun little secrets and interesting bits of environmental storytelling to reward them. The options here allow a much greater depth of verisimilitude in a wide range of story opportunities, from infiltrating the keep as a member of the serving staff to entering as a guest of the lord or lady to fighting through the halls… either for or against the lord.

The castle is actually incredibly well stocked with magic items, giving a huge reward to groups who have motive to assault or rob it. From the lord’s +2 longsword to the cleric’s staff of healing, new magic items such as the scales of identification and the ring of clairvoyance, plus a large number of uncommon magic items and magic potions scattered among the important NPCs, magic equipment is quite prevalent. It’s enough to well stock a full adventuring party if they clear the place out thoroughly. It’s not necessarily a game breaker, since characters are only likely to gain these items if the GM sets up a reason for them to fight the entire castle, but if a low level group does have reason they’ll come out potentially quite far ahead of the curve, item wise. I do enjoy that one of the junior clerics has a cursed rapier though. He’s a thoroughly unlikable person, and the perfect target for such a thing.

The largest section of the PDF is actually the character roster. Twenty-three NPCs over 13 pages, it details every character who has a hand in running the castle, and those most likely to be relevant in a wide range of stories. The Lord and his family, the heads of the serving staff, captain of the guard, the assigned cleric and his students, the local bard, the castles ghost, and a number of other roles within the castle are detailed. Not every inhabitant is detailed, the regular guards, cooks, cleaning staff and such going unnamed and not even clearly counted. The GM has some leeway in deciding the numbers and composition of these groups, depending on the way they’re making use of the material (though the easiest way would be to just assume that every bed mentioned is filled). The characters that are detailed though cover a wide range of different archetypes and personalities, allowing plenty of opportunities for interesting role playing. Characters could make friends or enemies out of many of the different characters, and several have very forward present story hooks to take advantage of, from the local bard who wants to attract the Lady’s attention, to the wererat butler with a history of theft, to the maid who was aged thirty years by the castle ghost. Most NPCs get unique stat blocks, many built using PC classes, though a number are functionally similar enough that they may have simply pulled from the same one. There’s three level 4 fighters whose stats mostly only differ in a few small ways that don’t necessarily benefit greatly from the space spent on different stat blocks. In this case, the method used in a lot of adventures of taking a more generic stat block and indicating the differences in the text may have been more useful, especially if the text and the generic stat block are kept on the same page. 

The plot hooks provided are all solid enough to work off of, mostly positioning the keep as a neutral or friendly force to the players to function around. It could be a home base for the group, a location to collect missions to defend the pass or surrounding countryside, or simply a place that exists nearby and rarely directly influences the characters. Of course, the keep could pose a threat to the group, either if they stand against the colonizing force of the region or other reasons. Breaking in or laying siege to it could be a climactic set piece to a lower level adventure. There’s a few character based plotlines that can function well if the group establishes a notable enough presence within the keep as well.

Two new magic items round out the document, and look fine to me. I will admit, magic item power levels are one part of 5th edition where I have nearly given up attempting to understand the balance of it, but the provided ones are fun, flavorful and interesting to work with. Neither is particularly powerful for a rare item, instead providing information in some capacity. The ring of clairvoyance, well, allows the user to cast clairvoyance at will, though each use after the first in a given day forces a saving throw against exhaustion, and the scales of identification are a weaker 3/day identify spell. A group without access to the spell would definitely appreciate having the scales, even with the weaknesses it has built in.

Overall, I think the castle itself is fantastic. The design is good and the rooms and areas within it have plenty of potential to explore in a wide range of stories and situations. The characters are detailed and many are interesting, with plot hooks easy to build off of the major ones. Where I personally have trouble is with the backstory, and the way that plays onto the NPCs. To put it simply, I have a lot of trouble with using colonial stories within my games, and I do not feel that the material provided gives a strong enough weight to the implications it sets up with that narrative. This is, by my estimate, more meant to be an example of Roman colonization of Britain than Europe to America, but similar implications are still built into it. The colonizing force’s culture and religion are given far more relevance to the setting than the natives’, who exist mostly as scared and nameless servants. The prejudice of the lord and many of the keep’s inhabitants are the driving force of much of their characterization, and the few native characters who are given real merit and weight in the castle are those who have assimilated into the dominant culture or literally died to it. I don’t know if this was intentional as well, but all named native characters are women. Just a weird fact that caught my attention.

Having these narratives in a game is not bad entirely in and of itself. Many people want to examine these stories, whether to overcome that aspect of history or as part of building a world that mirrors our own. But it requires a lot of careful consideration to use them without being harmful towards people who still live under the results of colonization. I am not the best person to make the decision of what is and isn’t good use of these narratives. And so, I personally choose to largely avoid them, along with other examples of real world oppression, unless actually directed there by a member of such a group who wants to explore it in a game I’m running. This means that a large portion of the implied background of this environment and a big part of the character motivations and relationships do not fit within a situation I would use. I feel the specific background set in place by the keep would exclude it from my game, but I would absolutely use the map with a different background. 

I don’t have a number out of 10 to give this product, as I feel there are some very strong elements within it that keep me from being able to define it so clearly. There is a lot to enjoy with it, from the artwork to the well realized characters to the excellent design of the castle itself. If you are just looking for a good castle map with detailed interior descriptions and at the minimum a good starting point for the inhabitants, it fills that perfectly. I think beyond that it’s up to you to decide whether the backstory elements that bothered me are a breaking point for you as well. If you are interested in checking out Ian’s work, you can purchase it here, which will get you $2 off of the standard price. This link is valid until the end of 2019, so you have two and a half months to act on this deal.

[asterinjapan]

Another day, another castle

I mean, I could apologize for the implications of that title, but I wouldn’t mean it, so…

Anyway, good afternoon after a short but no less fun day! Since tomorrow will be very busy and I’ll be making the long trip to Tokyo the day after, I didn’t want to cram too much on my Friday. There was one thing pretty high up on my wishlist, but I’d heard a lot of walking was involved… then again, I’d say my feet have had enough practice now to put up with a shorter day of walking, haha.

And so, I had reserved a ticket last night on the Shiokaze train down for Marugame! And yeah, this is another long report. Sorry, me and castles…

Marugame is one of the first cities on Shikoku if you come onto the island via Okayama and the Seto Ohashi bridge. I had actually passed the station when I went to Matsuyama earlier this week, but since that was such a long trip, I couldn’t combine the two. Since Marugame is a good 40 minutes removed from Okayama, I could sleep a little longer in the morning. Or I could have, if I didn’t wake up at 4 AM, and then again at 6… I kept hearing tinny music, so loud I thought my phone or alarm was malfunctioning, but I think it must have been a neighbor in the hotel anyway. Either way, I was determined to at least rest until 8 AM, so I did just that, haha.

After a good breakfast, I made my way to the station to find the Shiokaze already waiting for me. I noticed all Shikoku bound trains have theme naming: Shiokaze means salty/sea winds, then you have the Marine Liner, and then there’s also the Nanpu (southerly winds) and Uzushio (whirling tides). Train names are very poetic in Japan, haha.

Anyway, the sea wind train brought me to Marugame, where the skies were also grey. I hurried from the station immediately to find the castle. It was super easy, basically one straight road ahead, and then – wham, the castle comes into view. The main keep is rather tiny, but it sits on top of Kameyama (turtle mountain) at 66 meters high, and the mountain has been covered in stone walls. So much so that you can be forgiven for comparing it to a pyramid, actually. These walls are imposing, wow. They’re one of the reasons this castle stands out. Another is that it is one of the twelve original main keeps still remaining, with both Matsuyama castles from this trip being other examples. The main keep is the smallest of the twelve, but these walls might actually be the highest in the country.

Anyway! Just as I made my way through the Otemon gate, it started to drizzle. I was taking out my umbrella already when I noticed the nearby information center also offering something fun, so I figured I’d go in first, if I was going to walk through the rain anyway.

You see, Marugame is famous for the uchiwa fans, and apparently produces about 90% of all uchiwa fans going around. They’re the type of round fans made from bamboo and flat paper, so not the fans you can fold back. And here in the information center, they were making them, still by hand – and for thousand yen, you too can make your own uchiwa fan! Obviously, that sounded like way too fun an opportunity to pass up on (and if you buy a fan, they’re usually around that price class anyway if you want one with a nice print). And so, I applied – and could get started right away!

The bamboo crosspiece was already prepared, so I got to pick the paper I wanted and get gluing. They asked if Japanese instructions were okay, so I said they were if they could speak a little slowly, and they were very accommodating and helpful. I suspect small children want to do this too, so they have some practice with uhm, my current levels of Japanese, haha, but I knew what I was doing now in Japanese! Once the paper was glued on and had to set, I was guided to the area where the crosspieces were created. I received a bamboo handle, and got to cut it into a crosspiece myself! This was kind of tricky, because the instruments are very right-hand oriented while I’m a lefty, but I got hands-on guidance, so I didn’t injure myself as I cut up the bamboo into tiny, tiny strips. After a lot of bending back and forth, the crosspiece was more or less done, and I got to pose for a picture with it after writing my name on it, haha.

My glued fan had dried by then, so I was given a hammer and a sickle to cut it into shape. That’s a good way to get any aggression out, by the way. You trim both the paper and the bamboo parts with the sickle, so you have to beat down that hammer hard. Almost done now! I got to choose a paper hemming and pasted it along the edge of the fan to smooth it and decorate it further, and topped it off with two small pieces at either end to keep them in place.

Now, since these fans aren’t the kind you just stick in your handbag, I got to leave it behind for now while I went on my way to the mountain top. I was given a map, a lot of generous instructions (they really are super kind patient here) and went out the door – to find the last drops of rain had just fallen, and it was dry now. Nice!

I had read warnings about the steep climb, but honestly, after Bitchu-Matsuyama castle and Onomichi these past few days, I was barely fazed, haha. Okay, in all fairness, these are some steep roads, but they’re not that long if you take the quickest route up, and there’s plenty of space in between as you go through the third and second bailey on the way up. There’s even a slope called Mikaeri zaka, which means ‘slope on which you look back’, which you definitely want to, because the view on the walls is great. And the views on the look-out points, oh wow! Of course, the castle was built in a strategic spot, overlooking the Seto Inland Sea. Supposedly Marugame is at the coast of the narrowest part of the sea, which means that no-one could sail here without being seen from the castle top. In the distance, I could spot the Seto Ohashi bridge, as well as the interestingly shaped mountain Iinoyama and tons of tiny islands dotting the sea. In fact, the weather was getting clearer and clearer as I moved up, giving me better views.

Once I’d made my way past the defenses, I had finally reached the main area with the keep – and the sun had come out! I couldn’t believe my luck as I got to take pictures of that sweet, white little castle against a blue sky, the sea in the background. Wow. I don’t know which deity here I have pleased what with the amazing weather I’ve had so far, but I have to find out to give them my offers, haha.

You can enter the keep for 200 yen, which, to be fair, is reasonable considering how small it is on the inside. There’s a small exhibition, with tiles featuring fans on display, and the second floor had pictures up of all twelve original keeps, of which I have seen seven now, haha. Actually, the first version of this castle only existed for a couple of years. It was dismantled in 1615, as a new rule stating only one castle per area was allowed, so nearby Takamatsu castle got to stay while Marugame had to go. After a small fief was granted, there was allowed to be a castle once more, and so, the castle was rebuilt in 1641. Most buildings burnt down over the centuries, but the main keep remains standing.

There’s also a stamp rally going on inside the castle, but you needed to have bought the 200 yen sheet for it back at the information center, which I missed. I’m still a bit sad, because if you collect the stamps in order, you basically created an ukiyo-e painting: layer of color over layer of color to produce a full color stamp of the castle. Lesson learnt for next time!

Since the weather was still nice enough despite the forecasted rain, I took the long way down to take in the sights, as the walk was lovely and quiet. It’s not a super touristic castle, at least not today, although I’m sure the weather and it being a weekday had something to do with that. Anyway, I came across a well at the second bailey, which is apparently 65 meters deep! And since it’s almost Halloween, there’s a creepy story attached to this well.

My pamphlet nicely narrates the story of Juzaburo Hasaka, the stonewall designer who worked very hard and had earned the nickname of ‘Juza the naked’, since he, eh, worked wearing only a loincloth. Thanks for that detail, pamphlet. Anyway, the lord was very impressed with his work, going “ha, now nobody can get over these walls unless they’re a bird!” To which our naked buddy replied: “oh, actually, you can totally climb them. Just give me some iron bars and I’ll demonstrate it, easy peasy.” And so he did, and the lord’s eyes probably all but popped out. (I mean, I know mine would – these walls are high.) Since he was so impressed, the lord then said to Juza: “dear upstanding and oh so naked gentleman, would you please go down this well to do research down there? For, you know, Reasons?” And Juza, ever the hard worker, went down into that 65 meter deep well. For, you know, research reasons.

And then our nice lord promptly threw rocks on him until he died so he couldn’t spill the secret of climbing the walls to the enemy. What a cute little intermezzo! Honestly, I peered down into the well, and that’s – deep and dark, wow. I’m so sorry, Juza the Naked Man. You did an amazing job on those walls, if that’s any consolation.

I’m surprised there isn’t a ghost story about him, but there is another one that my pamphlet also lists. My pamphlet is a little macabre, actually. Anyway, since we’re already at it to keep up the Halloween mood: apparently the construction workers were having a tough time on the castle, as it kept raining, so they were all but about to call it quits when a tofu peddler came by to sell his tofu. “Tofu, tofu!” He kept shouting. I mean, makes sense, construction is hard work, surely they’d want a bite. These workers seemed to hear something completely different than ‘tofu’, or maybe just really hated tofu, I don’t know. Either way, they heard ‘sacrifice me so that the rains will stop!’, which is a lot longer than tofu, but that’s – exactly what they did. They buried him alive as a human sacrifice to the castle, and it is said that on rainy days, you can still hear a muffled ‘tofu, tofu’ coming from what sounds like underneath. That poor guy, cursed to sell his tofu until the afterlife…

Well, it wasn’t rainy and I think the well was located in the area that was closed off for reconstructions (… or was it for reconstructions, hmmmmmm), so I didn’t hear him selling tofu, but I was getting hungry, so I made my way down, through some lovely forested areas filled with tiny butterflies, and crows, and HUGE spiders, and EVEN HUGER hornets, which I quickly ran far, far away from. They had warning signs up, and they were not exaggerating, help. I think I prefer the huge spiders, provided they eat the huge hornets.

Inside the gate I had come through was a small exhibition, so I sped through it (hey, it was free), and then I also came across the front gate of the lord’s residence and the guard house, the kabuto (helmet) rock, before I hit a dead end and finally returned to the information center.

Apparently they had gotten a bit worried I had forgotten about my fan, haha. Nope! Just me losing track of time when exploring castles! I watched as one of the ladies here expertly tied a string through my previously cut crosspiece, and then I got to keep that one too, so I can either stick my own paper on it back home or use it for decorations: they showed me an example of one put up against the wall with flowers pinned through, which does indeed look lovely, so I might just do that. They then realized I’d have to take them back home with me, so they rushed to get some cardboard and cut it to size, giving me some bands to keep it in place. They absolutely didn’t have to go through all that effort, but they absolutely went above and beyond here, wow.

 So that was a really fun day, as you can tell by the length of this report despite it only being 2 PM now, haha. Still, that means I spent around 3 hours at the castle if you don’t count the time I spent on the fan, oops… Needless to say, I absolutely recommend this castle. Sure, the walk up is steep, but the short path really is just that, and there’s plenty of space to catch your breath in between. Dang, I really love the castles I’ve visited so far, plus their surroundings. Thank you castles of Japan for introducing me to lovely cities with lovely people! I got to speak a lot of Japanese today, since I stood out a little as a foreigner making a fan, so a group at the main keep asked me if I was indeed that girl, haha, and we chatted for a bit about my trip.

 Anyway, I still hadn’t eaten, so I picked up lunch at the convenience store at the station and hopped on the Nanpu train with it. This one is just as fast and brought me back to Okayama, where skies were getting grey. I think I felt the first rain drops as I made my way to the hotel, so I am really lucky, whoa.

I’m gonna get an early night so that I’ll hopefully be well-rested tomorrow (I’ll wear ear plugs if I have to, stupid tinny music), since that will be a busy, busy day, but also very fun. And then it’s off to Tokyo already! Time really flies. I always look forward to Tokyo, although I’m not sure how many of my daytrips from there can actually go through. But you know what? I’ve already been so, so lucky, I honestly don’t dare to complain. And if all else fails, I definitely know how to entertain myself in Tokyo for a week, haha.

Good evening for now, and see you tomorrow! (Or Sunday, if I’m too worn out to type out my report, haha.)

[winterfellslady]

a rose by any other name

Pairing: Jon Snow x Margaery Tyrell Rating: Teen || wc: 2.5k a/n: Written for the following prompt submitted to @asoiafrarepairs: “Jon x Margaery they both have a thing for roses and smelling sweet”

Jon disliked the trappings of the throne–the gilded scones and embroidered fabrics, the simpering and scheming of it all. He would do away with it if he could, but he could not.

His kingship was the price that the Northerners demanded in exchange for accepting Dany’s rule. He had never wanted the throne, not even when the truth about his father had come out, but he had wanted it for Dany. She was the right leader for the dire times ahead, but not all saw that truth with the same clarity that he did. Then again, they had not seen the things Jon had. All they knew was that a Targaryen was not to be trusted.

It had been fruitless to point out that he was a Targaryen, after all. Their response had been pointed ignorance and the repeated insistence that they would not support a dragon queen, not when a man with Stark blood had a chance to take the crown. Dany might not have listened to their demands had not felt guilty about her brother’s transgressions. She had felt guilty, though, and she had acquiesced, and so a dual monarchy was born.

The irony did not escape him: it was his Stark blood that had made him a king, that had forced him to leave the snow and ice and Winterfell behind to live in a castle that overlooked a struggling city on the edge of a tepid sea.

Sometimes, it made him feel like his father–no, uncle–having come to King’s Landing to serve the kingdom in a position of honor.

In the darker moments, he felt more like his other uncle, Brandon, and that his visit to King’s Landing was futile and part of a cycle of violence he could not escape.

He also realized that death had been the outcome of either man’s journey to the capital, and on his darkest days, Jon was not sure he would find a different fate here. Tyrion had not been wrong when he had said that Stark men generally do not fare well in the South.

Even so, he had been crowned in that throne room, in front of all those lords and ladies, and he had never been one to shirk his duty. So he stayed, and he served, and he seethed–sometimes quietly, sometimes not–at all the frivolity and duplicity that surrounded him.

The one indulgence he allowed himself was his baths. After all those years at the wall, and after all the mud and blood and guts he had waded through on battlefield after battlefield, he could never feel clean enough. Having access to an endless supply of scalding water and soaps made the days feel less bothersome. The opportunity to sink down into a bath and forget about the political backstabbing and bribery kept him sane. Jon would spend an hour or two every night soaking in the heat and scrubbing off the grime of royalty until his skin was red and raw.

He did not even mind that the soaps were scented. He had tried to request simpler ones, something more common, but the maids had looked to stricken at the suggestion that he had not asked again.

So he walked around the Red Keep smelling like a rose, and Jon found that he did not mind, as it somehow helped to keep away the stink of all the courtly shit that surrounded him.

They stayed away from her now, and Margaery found she did not mind as much. It was the perfume she wore, the gossips whisper. A terribly overbearing rosy scent, cloying and too sweet and strong enough to keep even the most polite courtier away.

They were full of shite, and she knew it.

The bright and glistening members of the queen’s new court stayed away because she was a reminder to them of days past. She was a remnant of the old regime, a widow to two dead kings and the enemy of a dead queen. Not that it mattered that most of the court had bowed their heads to all three monarchs as well, because only her association with them had been written into the history books, not theirs.

And while she was not the new queen’s enemy, thanks to loyalties forged by her grandmother, she was not considered a friend to their new monarch either. Thus, she was friend to no one else either, and so Margaery remained on the outside, denied entry to the courtly haven she used to rule over.

She found she did not quite mind the exile. It was quiet in her new purgatory–lonely, maybe, but quiet.

Her dreams were not quiet. They were loud, full of screams and explosions and the crackling of flames. She saw in shades of green, with terrible memories twisting into haunting images concocted from her own traumatized imagination. She dreamed of her brother fighting with a lion made of flame, and she woke up screaming when she couldn’t save him.

She always woke up screaming these days, the scent of singed hair and burnt flesh nearly choking her as she gasped for breath. Even after she left her sweat-soaked sheets, even as she dressed, even as she curtised and smiled tightly and walked around the castle like a ghost, she still smelled the death and tragedy from her dreams until it became a waking nightmare.

And so Margaery wore the perfume, because if anything could cover the scent of her decay, it would, of course, be the smell of roses.

The king was not the first to notice her perfume, but he was the first to not stifle his reaction to the scent. She was seated next to him at feast held for a reason she did not care to learn about. Margaery barely kept up with the court news these days. She did not care what lord was being honored or what victory they were celebrating. She had enough trouble keeping her food down and her lips sealed against the screams she constantly wanted to let escape.

Even so, she could not miss the way Jon seemed to hold his breath around her. He would speak in exhales, turning away to talk to the queen on his left when he wanted to inhale. She found it amusing, almost, that the new king was so terrible at hiding his emotions. She could tell he was suffocating from her smell. Perversely, she enjoyed it.

Once, she would have verbalized her amusement. Now, though, she simply sipped at her watered down wine and pushed food around her plate.

The dinner portion of the feast was almost over, and she was looking forward to making her excuses and returning to her rooms for the night. And she would have done, except for the fact that the next time the king turned in her direction, he instinctively put the back of his hand up to his nose, seemingly no longer able to politely stand her stench.

It was brief, dropped almost as soon as it had been raised, but she had noticed. She paused, shocked, and he just stared back at her, realizing she had noticed. Immediately, a faint, embarrassed redness crept up from under his beard and onto his cheeks.

Margaery burst out laughing. It was a long, loud, improper sort of laugh, deep and unpretty. Heads turned, and eyes widened, and out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw her grandmother smile. She just kept laughing until she was almost crying of mirth.

“Jon, whatever did you say?” the queen remarked as she turned their way, her smile polite, but her eyes questioning.

“I–I said…” the king fumbled for words.

Choosing to be kind as a boon for the amusement he had given her, Margaery interrupted. “Oh, Your Grace, I’m not sure he could recapture the moment. Some droll comment on a story of mine, but I assume you already know how clever the king is.”

The queen nodded her head, but Margaery did not miss the slight disbelieving raise of her eyebrow that she directed towards the king.

He was looking at her now, curious and lost and guarded all at once.

Wiping tears from her eyes, she said, “Thank you, Your Grace.” Then she dropped her voice and continued, “Thank you for a moment of honesty amongst a thousand lies.”

Margaery rose from her seat, curtsied to the monarchs, and then left the hall. Her stomach hurt from her outburst, but it was a pleasant sort of pain. One day, she would have to return the favor that the king did for her tonight. She had felt joy–pure and unadulterated joy–a sensation which she hadn’t felt, truly, since she was a young girl.

Later, amidst the shadows and the ghosts that haunted her at night, the guilt of having a happy moment when her brother never again would did come, but in that moment, Margaery let that tiny bud of joy take root.

“That’s it, then,” Jon said, trying to hide his relief.

Dany nodded in confirmation “Yes, I believe all of the treaty requests have been covered.”

He scrubbed his face with his hand. The second anniversary of their seven-kingdom treaty had meant renewing and adjusting agreements, a headache that almost had him wishing for a battle instead.

“You are happy with them?” She asked.

Jon sent her a dry glance. He thought they were giving the Iron Islands too much, and Dorne was not giving the crown enough, but it would work. He told her so, and she nodded again, in agreement. As he leaned forward to stand, however, she halted him, a slight smile gracing her face.

“I thought you might ask for something in particular from the ruling house of the Reach.”

Jon felt his pulse jump. “What?”

“You do not have a particular boon to ask of them?”

He stared at Dany, but her expression gave nothing away. Even after three years of working together, two of those on the throne, she could be annoyingly inscrutable when she wanted to be.

“I have no need of anyone from them,” he said hurriedly.

“Anyone?”

“Anything,” he immediately corrected.

She cocked her head slightly, smile widening. “Oh. I see.”

“There’s nothing for you to see.”

“I know that I have seen you and Margaery Tyrell talking in the gardens together more than once. Quite a bit, actually.”

“It is quiet there. I go to think. So does she.”

“And talk.”

“Is it a problem if I am talking with her?”

Dany leaned back in her chair, considering him carefully. Jon stared back, schooling his face to copy her placid expression. It was difficult, thinking of his time with Margaery in the gardens and not reacting. They talked, and they walked together, and sometimes they just sat in each other’s silence. She went there for the same reason he did: to get lost, to feel the solitude and escape from the eyes of the court. Ever since she had caught him being unbearably rude at that dinner, there had been no artifice between them. No polite lies, no cautious half-truths...at least none that they told each other.

If he lied to himself about Margaery and what the time he spent with her meant, that did not count.

“It is not a problem,” Dany finally said. “It is what her grandmother has been after anyways.”

Jon started. It should not have surprised him. Margaery had even hinted at it a few times. Whether it was what she herself was after, he could not say.

As if Dany sensed that, or at least that he would not say, she waved a hand. “We are done. Escape while you can, before Tyrion storms in here with another amendment.”

Jon huffed a wry laugh and stood. Just as he reached the doorway, Dany called his name.

“When I wondered if you had a particular request for House Tyrell, I was talking about their roses, what with your penchant for lovely smelling soap and all. I thought you might want to bargain with them for discounted supplies or shipment, considering that rate at which you go through it.”

Jon scowled, which made Dany break into light but genuine laughter.

“Tyrant,” he muttered under his breath, which only made her smile wider.

He left Dany laughing, thoroughly but not unpleasantly unsettled from their conversation.

It was said that she married him for the crown, and that he married her for her family’s wealth, connections, and loyalty. An old and familiar tale, almost comforting in its predictability to the courtiers who prowled the castle walls.

Jon knew that was the story they whispered when his back was turned, and it grated. Margaery knew too, but she had spent too many years caring about what those vultures thought. She did not care to waste any more time on them.

“They will think what they think,” she murmured as they looked out over the feast celebrating their union. “It only matters that we know the truth of it.”

“Our families know the truth.”

“They do,” Margaery responded, constantly surprised that her grandmother had known. Lady Olenna had no doubt encouraged their courtship for political reasons, but she agreed to it only after knowing why her granddaughter truly sought the match.

Love did not make a good story, apparently, however true a reason it was for their marriage. Jon chased away her nightmares, and she chased away his doubts. She no longer wore that perfume, but he did still bathe with rose-scented soap.

It reminds me of you, he always told her with a smile. And then you are always with me, love.

Roses had become a fond amusement and sentimental token that was shared between them. Unoriginal, some would say, even vain, given her familial connection to the flower. As she no longer gave a damn what others thought, however, she reveled in the simple intimacy that the connection created. It had drawn them together after all, helping their love grow amidst the choking weeds of court.

Fitting, then, that they arrived at their marriage bed and found it covered in a thousand rose petals.

“Your doing?” Jon drawled, smiling.

“No, in truth,” Margaery admitted with a laugh. “Though I wish I had thought of it. A job well done, at that. Every inch is covered.”

“Well, then I suppose adding one more rose to the bed won’t hurt.”

Margaery shrieked in delight as he swiftly picked her up and dropped her onto the mattress. Her laughter at his playfulness caught in her throat as he climbed up and leaned down over her. She could feel his heat, and reached up to run her fingers through his hair.

“Kiss me, husband.”

“Gladly, wife.”

His body pressed down into hers, hard but gentle, and his kiss the same. As he kissed her and she kissed back, and as they stripped of their clothes, she felt an overwhelming wave of love–for this man, for their life ahead, for the woman she had been, and the woman she became–wash over her. And underneath its warm glow, and the feel of Jon’s skin against hers, Margaery bloomed.

[officialleehadan]

The Sea Stacks

 “Rennan!”

Cambre ran through the forest until she came to the sea cliffs, overlooking the stacks far out among the waves. “Rennan, are you here?”

It had been weeks since she first met him, trapped in the net, and at the mercy of cruel men. In that time, she had met him again, and again, eager to learn all about the dragon she had only ever admired from a distance.

Of course, he was vain as a cat, and delighted in her admiration, even going so far as to let her ride him again, high above the highest towers and cloaked in clouds. Farther than her father’s kingdom, and even all the way to the mountains beyond, where no horse could ever manage, and only the bravest hunters ever went.

The flight took three long, icy days there, and another three, but it was worth it to see the world as only a dragon could, from so high above that great castles were so small she could barely make out the banners of their lords.

How her father and sister bellowed when she returned from that trip. Completely unneeded. She left them a note, promising that she was safe and in good company. After all, who would dare bring her harm when she was guarded by a dragon?

The wind howled around her and tugged her ever closer to the edge as she looked about eagerly, hoping for a glimpse of her friend. He had promised that he could hear her calling, even if he was far out to sea, but the last time she came to see him, he was so close she barely even spoke his name.

Of course, it wasn’t his real name. Only a dragon, or maybe someone else who could breathe flame, could speak his real name, but Rennan was close enough.

For now, there was no reply, and Cambre walked along the trail, well-worn by others who came this way for the herbs of the cliffside, or the rich beaches far below.

(Do you trust me?)

Rennan’s voice, deep and fire-flavored, echoed in her mind, and Cambre smiled. So he had come after all. She stopped on a ledge that stuck far out over the water, with deep, crashing waves so far below that the foam looked like white lace on deep grey-blue silk.

“Yes,” she said into the wind, and wondered where he was. She couldn’t see him. “Why?”

(Jump.)

Cambre looked out over the water, and the long drop below, and took a deep breath to steady her suddenly-pounding heart.

And then she backed up a few steps, and took a flying leap into the wind that screamed in her ears.

The world turned into a blur as the cold salt-air brought tears to her eyes, and her cloak fluttered wildly behind her, like a great wing, not quite enough to slow her fall.

For a moment, she feared the rocks that grew from black pinpricks on white lace, to great crags wrapped in ship-killing breakers that crashed like thunder and threw spray high in the air.

And then there was the lightest touch of scales against her outstretched fingertips, and silver-black wings enfolded her.

Rennan.

The dragon slipped through the wind as light as a dancer wrapped in silks, and Cambre wrapped her arms around his neck as he got his bulk under her. As soon as she had a good grip, safely ensconced between two of his spines astride his neck, he flared open his huge wings.

The waves exploded off the rocks  around them as Rennan turned their fall into a blazing strafe, wingtips flicking this way and that as he darted thorough the rocks, and then upward to his favorite perch.

(I was starting to worry,) he told her as he backwinged onto the rocky spire and lowered his neck so she could get off. Over the years, he had carved a comfortable, sheltered hollow in the rock, and enchanted it to radiate heat. (You said it would be some time.)

Cambre waited until he settled himself into his hollow spot, and then tucked herself against his side, warm from the spelled stone, and comfortable with her back against the furnace-rumble of his scales.

Of course, like any cat, and she suspected, like any dragon, he snaked his head around until she could scratch the delicate skin around his eyes, and under his horns. His hollow was filled with sugar-fine sand, and she used handfuls of it to burnish his scales until they shone, black as onyx, with silver undersides that flashed in the sun.

“Father was not pleased that I vanished for ten days,” she told him as he started to purr under her attentions. “But he’s never been any good at holding a grudge. Ana is still angry.”

(Do you have the token I gave you?)

He asked every time, ever since he had her pull a single perfect scale from his hide to wear as a pendant. A token that he swore would call him to her side, no matter how far apart they were. A gift for saving his life.

“Of course,” she replied, and pulled it out from under her shirt so he could see. He flicked it with his tongue and then closed his eyes, satisfied. “I never take it off.”

(Good,) he said, and let out a hot, gusty sigh of contentment when she found a particularly itchy spot. (Now, tell me about your Court. Is that duke, Gavid? Is he still pronouncing his royal blood to anyone who will listen?)

Cambre laughed and settled in to weave tales of her father’s court, content in the knowledge that she would never be safer than she was here.

+++

The Dragonscale Token:

A gift can mean more than it seems at first, and one good turn deserves another.

Sometimes a good turn can turn into more, even between two unlikely friends.

Magic Net, Magic Knife

A Gift of Dragons

The Sea Stacks

+++

More stories!

+++

Subscribe to my Patreon!

My Wordpress