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marigoldbaker · 3 days ago

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you are my flower

sooooooooo what if as an experiment i posted 10k words of fic under the cut. here. just to see how it felt. a few things here and there might not mesh perfectly with all that sapphic old woman mystery fic when it's done, but i loved this so dearly when i wrote it and i want to start setting some of my backlog of writing free, if only here! i have been talking for so long about things without any context so maybe it is time to provide a BIT more :) as such: the story behind how thea acquired marigold. (warnings for blood + implied violence + a bit of murder. unsurprisingly, probably.)

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Of course it started to fucking storm at midnight. Thea woke up with the rain hitting her face and let out a long, frustrated sigh, rolling onto her back. She was seriously considering just stopping the adventuring outright.

It wasn’t half the worry it had been once, leaving the girls at home alone, but traipsing aimlessly through the woodlands wasn’t half the joy she remembered it being. She missed her little ones. Norie, fierce little spider, hated thunderstorms but refused to admit it; she would despise this weather and cuddle close under some complicated pretense that Thea would have happily indulged. Rosie loved any sort of big weather; she said that it was like the sky was trying to give them a bath, or share all the water in the world with them, or some other such nonsense that Thea would remember better with her here and dancing dangerously through the thunder and lightning.

Lianne had woken up too. She was shaking Chester awake; he grunted unhappily and put a hand over his face to cover it, then said, “Turn off the fucking water, Annie.”

“It’s not water,” said Lianne, in a put-upon sort of voice that Thea had to try not to laugh at. Didn’t work too well. “It’s storming. We need to find better shelter.”

Thea pulled out the parchment. Fucking thing was waterproof, of course. No new messages from Jaheira, outside of the old one: if you are in the area, there is a secluded grove some distance west of the rumored treasure. Mention my name there in case of emergency.

Meddling old hen. Thea wrote, WE’RE FINE. FUCK OFF, mostly because Jaheira had better things to do than check up on her every ten seconds whenever she went out of town. She pocketed the parchment again.

“Writing the wife?” said Fawn, sweetly.

“Oh, fuck off,” said Thea. Fawn laughed. “Annie’s right; we need to find a better camp. Think there was a bit of a path through the woods, yeah?”

“We don’t know what sort of people live in these woods,” said Lianne uncomfortably.

Gods, these fucking kids. Thea sent a look to Fawn, who made a bit of a sorry-about-them face, which, all right, yeah, she’d take it. Were their positions reversed, she’d have wanted her girls given a little leeway. “Pack your kits up,” she instructed, “we’re moving. Annie, if the people in the woods aren’t the nice sort, I’ll bash their faces in. That help?”

“…Um!” said Lianne, wincing.

“Teachable moment, kiddos!” said Fawn brightly. “You’ll have to get used to all sorts of violence if you’re interested in becoming an adventurer. Some party members, like Thea here,” she gestured with a little flair towards Thea, who would have really liked for them to get fucking going, actually, “may be much more comfortable with physical solutions to disputes, rather than tactical ones, which I know you two often prefer.”

Not for the first time during this journey, Thea debated just telling them all outright that the kids were not fucking suited for the adventurers’ life. But Fawn was an old friend, and she’d called in a favor, and it was the sort of favor that adventurer-Thea would have made a face at, which meant that mum-Thea had to actually fucking consider it. Course, the whole notion of serving as adventuring guide to a few green kids was horrible. When she’d explained it to Jaheira, Jaheira had looked at her for a few very astonished minutes before saying, “Is this some sort of situation where the mother is dying? Or do all of your friends simply call in life-debts solely to aid and abet phenomenally absurd situations?”

(Gods, she loved that woman.)

“I just think that there are ways to resolve situations without blood!” Chester suggested, in one of those voices that could really only come from a kid who was old enough to come up with thoughts but too young to realize people had already had those thoughts before them. “So unless it’s really necessary—”

“Teachable moment, kiddos,” said Thea tightly, “it is fucking thunder and lightning out here. Move your arses.”

The kids set to packing up their soaked-through bedrolls. Thea reached over and tucked some of Fawn’s hair behind her ears. “You’re getting too old for this,” she said.

“Which is why I brought you, High Hammer!” said Fawn, and grinned.

“Call me that again and I’ll start killing shit in front of your kids,” Thea threatened. “Scar them for life.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t mind that; they’d get sick of the road and we’d all get to go home,” said Fawn. “I’m giving them the authentic experience.”

“Mum tricks?”

“Mum tricks.”

They smiled at each other. Hysterically, Lianne called, “MUM! There’s a frog drowning in the rain!”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” said Thea. Fawn hurried over to help.

Lianne tucked the frog into her pack, which was the sort of thing that Ros would do, which made Thea miss Ros all over again. Gods, she really wasn’t fucking cut out for this; she’d have to ask Jaheira how she managed when she got home. She had, of course, packed her shit up much quicker than the kids; Chester seemed to be trying to wring out his bedroll in the rain, which was ridiculous. “IT’S ALL GOING TO GET WET,” she shouted over the thunder, shepherding the kids forward. “KEEP MOVING!”

There was a bit of a path through the forest, which Thea had noticed before and hadn’t intended to take. Path looked man-made but ill-used—it had been cut out near a decade ago, if she had to guess, but it was starting to grow over, which usually meant a cabin with a rotting hermit corpse inside, and she wasn’t actually trying to scar Fawn’s kids for life. Still, needs must in a situation like this, so Thea ushered Fawn and the kids forward.

Lightning struck too fucking near them. Thea kept her calm. When she was Norie’s age, she’d been scared half to death of thunderstorms just the same, and Faenor Glorie, who’d done most of the job raising her, had told her what she told Norie at home: the thunder and lightning were the gods saying that today was an important day, somewhere, a day that you needed to pay attention to—electric fingers from the heavens, pointing the way. Thea had always thought it was a bit stupid, mind, but so had Norie, and Norie always liked saying that things were stupid, and thinking about Norie was enough to get anyone through any storm. Her wonderful, dreadful girl.

Lightning struck again. Lianne shrieked and grabbed for her mother. Chester, trying valiantly to look the part of a man rather than a boy with only half a patchy beard, steeled himself dramatically against the storm. Thea squinted forward, trying to see what lay ahead. She thought she could make something out—

There was a coppery taste to the air. That wasn’t right. Thea knew the electricity, knew the rain, but there was something else about this night that felt unsettling. She was a battle cleric; she knew in her blood and bones when something was wrong up ahead. “Fawn, I’m going ahead,” she said, leaning in, shouting anyway because the rain was getting that fucking bad. “You keep the kids back.”

“What?!” said Fawn. “Thea, it’s storming!”

“Fucking really?” said Thea. “I hadn’t noticed!”

She didn’t provide any further details, mostly because she didn’t know them—just pressed ahead, faster now, moving towards the end of the path and a dilapidated little house with the door hanging open. It was dark, but the house was lit, and the light streaming out of the front room—

Oh, fuck, thought Thea, her blood running cold, and she knew now she could not let Fawn and the kids go towards that home. She desperately scanned the area for something, anything she could lead them towards instead, and saw with a dizzy rush of relief that there was a barn just adjacent to the house. Wind in her face, rain streaming down, she sprinted back towards Fawn and the kids.

Fawn had seen it. Thea could tell. Her face had gone white and she wasn’t saying anything about how Thea was being ridiculous anymore. “Barn up ahead,” said Thea. “You take the kids there.”

There was her sensible adventuring girl: Fawn nodded, tightly, just as she had all those years ago, and bundled her kids towards the barn, angling them away from the house.

Thea didn’t wait to see where they went. She charged back up that path and towards the house. The door. The little girl.

The girl had been carved open. It didn’t look like a ritual; Thea knew the signs of a ritual, and the cuts, while sometimes just as violent, were usually accompanied by some sort of sigils or candles or something. Took place indoors, too, usually, and the way she was lying looked like she’d been flung half out of doors. Her hair was soft and red and she was the smallest thing Thea had ever seen—smaller even than Norie, somehow, all stick limbs and ill-fitting clothing.

Had she been living here by herself? No. Someone else had done this to her. She hadn’t fought back—no blood under her fingernails, no bruises, nothing but the carved-open chest.

“Oh, Lady of the Fray, show us mercy,” Thea whispered, her heart hammering, hurting. It had been easy, once, seeing kids like this, when she didn’t have kids of her own. She’d said a prayer, she’d moved on, end of story, but now—gods, who had done this? They were in the middle of the fucking woods, what was the purpose to brutalizing a girl like this?

And it was so fucking stupid, but she did it anyway, never mind the blood and the pulpy mess: she checked the girl’s pulse.

It was nothing. Next to nothing. A single jump under her fingertips, followed by the awful and familiar stillness. The girl’s eyes were glazed and open, lips parted. She had died that very second. And that meant—

Thea acted without thinking. Gathered the girl up into her arms, never mind the blood all over her armor; it had seen worse, anyway. Cradled the fragile little bones close and sent that call forward like a pulse: you come back, now. You come home.

She felt the girl stir, felt—oh, gods, the hunger, the immediate trust in response to a single tender touch! The girl’s face turned towards her without hesitation, curling into her arms, barely alive but alive enough to cling, never mind that surely the last thing she remembered was being stabbed to death.

She was still bleeding. Near dying. Thea fumbled in her satchel for a healing potion, forcing it past the girl’s lips. The girl blinked—golden eyes, bright and sweet as the summer sun—and sipped obediently.

She didn’t seem half aware of where she was, who Thea was, and her eyes were already slipping shut again, but the color was returning to her cheeks, so Thea wouldn’t begrudge her a bit of a nap. Scooping the little one into her arms, she stood, making her way carefully over to Fawn in the barn.

The children exclaimed when they saw Thea. There was an odd ringing in Thea’s ears, though, so she couldn’t half make out what Fawn was saying, only knew that she would not let anyone else touch this girl. Fawn was a fighter, not a healer, and the kids didn’t know shit, and the girl was on the very fucking brink of death, and here they were in the middle of fucking nowhere—

“—Jaheira,” Fawn was saying. “She said something about a, a grove—”

Thea let out a sobbing gasp and sat down hard on the ground.

“Oh, lovey,” said Fawn, all shaky, “it’s okay! She’s stable, isn’t she? We can move her. Here, we—I won’t touch her, just—just put her down, all right? See how those potions are helping. Doesn’t look like she’s bleeding as much.”

The girl’s flesh was knitting back together—badly scarred, Thea realized, because she’d gone for a fucking healing potion instead of her divine fucking magic, gods take her, she was fucking useless in a crisis. Her eyes were closed, her breathing raspy, but she was breathing, which was the best fucking news Thea’d gotten all day.

She reached out and touched the girl’s face. The girl mumbled something incoherent and almost smiled, rubbing her cheek against Thea’s gauntleted hand. Didn’t even make half the fuss Norie and Rosie did about the cold, prickly metal—it was enough for her to just be touched.

“Thea,” Fawn was saying. “Thea, Jaheira’s sent a—”

Thea reached for the parchment and realized Fawn must have taken it. She would have felt angry if the world was working the right way. With bloodstained hands, she gripped the parchment, staring down at Jaheira’s anxious script, clearly in response to whatever Fawn had told her: That does not at all sound like Althea. Is she all right? Give her over to me.

Thea wrote, Grive directins, distantly aware that things were being misspelled.

Althea, what has happened?

Thea couldn’t tell her; it was too awful. Help, she wrote instead, which she knew would worry Jaheira, but fuck if she didn’t need it right now. The girl was going to fucking die in front of them.

Jaheira didn’t respond. Fawn said, “We do have the grove directions already. We’ll wait out the storm—”

“No,” said Thea.

“Thea, you need to think critically,” Fawn pressed. “We can stabilize her here to the best of our abilities—”

“I have to do it,” said Thea, “or someone else who knows how, and I’m already fucking it up; I can’t cast like this. I c-can’t focus like this.” She touched the girl’s face again, heart steadying when the girl repeated that sweet little motion—reached up, this time, to brush her fingers sleepily against Thea’s own in return. Oh, the sweet little thing! “She needs to be at that grove now, Fawn.��

“You can’t just—”

Thea wasn’t listening. She picked the girl up again and moved past Fawn and the kids, which wasn’t too hard; they weren’t expecting her to really leave, because she was their guide, she was sensible, she kept a cool head in a crisis. Well, this went far past crisis and well into cataclysmic. Suppose Faenor Glorie had been right about thunder and lightning, all along.

The girl was mumbling in her sleep—something about animals, or angels. Thea smoothed wet hair away from her face. Her horrible little dress was muddied and bloodied; Thea resolved to get the girl a hundred new dresses as soon as they reached Baldur’s Gate. As soon as she was well again. She knew it in her bones, knew like she’d known Norie, Rosie, Jaheira: this girl was one of hers.

“…sorry,” the girl shivered. “Sorry s-sorry sorry.”

If Thea wasn’t wearing the stupid fucking armor, she’d be able to hold the girl close, keep her warmer. She tried not to think about that. She pressed forward.

The path went sideways into the forest, so Thea followed. Hard to navigate when the world spun with rage and grief, but she was doing her best. She knew which way was westward, anyway, and as soon as she got the girl settled she’d have it in her to go back for Fawn and the kids, so that was a plan. She was planning. It was fine.

Her foot caught on something. With a warrior’s training, she steadied herself and the girl, squinting in the rain and the low light to see what she’d almost tripped over.

Another fucking body. What a fucking day. No, that wasn’t right, Thea had tripped over a root—and it looked like whoever had fallen had done the same thing, tumbling down at exactly the right angle to half crack her head open on a tree. She was forcing herself to her elbows, the rain on her face, the blood coming down with it. So white she looked like a ghost, with long, limp black hair that could have been pretty, once.

Her eyes were unfocused. She didn’t look right. Instinctively, Thea drew the girl closer.

The movement caught the woman’s attention. Her eyes landed on the girl, bloodied, and she looked back up at Thea like Thea was judge, jury, and executioner. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. There was blood under her fingernails, on her beautiful dress, blood that even the rain hadn’t washed out.

For the first time in a very long time, Thea wanted to kill someone. She was a battle cleric, yeah, but that had never meant she was the sort to savor death, to go out of her way looking for an excuse to bring her hammer down. She did it for the good of whatever battle she was trying to win, not—not because this woman had blood on her dress, and was staring at Thea with horror—and, crucially, without guilt. She was unhappy to be caught.

Thea said, voice shaking, “Who’s this girl to you?”

The woman didn’t answer. She said, “Mari? Marigold. Marigold, you’re being a tad dramatic, don’t you think?” and at this point, Thea realized that the woman was dying. “Marigold,” said the woman, “you look at me when I’m talking to you. You look at me. You’re burdening our guest. I have—” She coughed up blood of her own. It trickled down her mouth. “I have set the table with the silver tea set,” said the woman. “I have the ribbons in my hair, the ribbons from my youth, I—I am a lady, I am Lady Olympia Northaven, I have waited so long for a fair stranger to come and—and rescue me—from my drudgery—”

“This your daughter?” said Thea.

The woman’s eyes flashed and she said, “She is a mistake.”

Only the thing was—Thea was realizing this—if she stood here any longer, her little girl would die. She could put Mari down, smash the woman’s brains in against the tree, feel the fucking wonder and the righteousness of it, but Marigold would die. And, gods, she’d never wanted to kill someone more, never, but standing here in the rain was wasting seconds she did not fucking have. She bundled Marigold into her arms and kept moving.

“Mari?” the woman called. “Mari! No, you’re not here for her, you’re here for me! You’re here for me!” She was screaming it, loud enough to near drown out the rain, hysterical, dying. “I’ve waited! I’ve waited!”

Thea walked past Lady Olympia Northaven and brought to mind all the best things in the world, the calming things: Norie’s rare, wicked smile, and Ros scrambling over like an eager puppy to hug her whenever she came home, and Jaheira, who would hear this story, weeks from now, and somehow know the rightest, wisest thing to say about it.

Marigold’s fingers curled against the metal of Thea’s armor. Against her heart.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

The grove was fucking five minutes away. Felt ridiculous to have worried so much about it. Thea forced Jaheira’s name out of her lips—not that she’d much needed to throw it round; the druids saw the girl and didn’t even bother asking any questions. One of them tried to scoop Marigold away and Thea held on tight, and another one said, “We only wish to help your daughter, saer, I promise,” at which point Thea realized in full what she’d gotten herself into and her legs gave way. So then the druids were fussing over them both, for some reason.

Marigold was in the same room as her. The druids were willing to compromise on that. Thea watched her like a hawk, shaking, terrified that at any moment the potion and the spell would prove themselves too weak a tether to keep the little one alive, and then she’d be gone, and Thea wouldn’t have even fucking killed the monster who did this to her. Her own armor was removed; she was looked over, and healed, though she didn’t need it. It didn’t help. She watched Marigold.

One of the druids asked, “Was there anyone else in your party?”

“Fawn,” said Thea. “Lianne. Chester.”

“And what happened to them?”

“Barn,” said Thea. “They’re—sheltering, I—they weren’t hurt.” It was an immense effort to string together a sentence. She was halfway to another one when her eyes landed on—a druid. A druid with silver hair, feline grace, and a drawn, terrified expression, hurtling up to her and—

“Althea, you imbecile!” said Jaheira, and pulled her into a shockingly tight hug. She was soaked to the bone, just like Thea, which probably meant she’d been out in the rain too.

Thea let her cheek fall exhaustedly against Jaheira’s shoulder. “Got here fast,” she said weakly. Usually she would have argued with Jaheira about her being there when she’d a thousand more important things to do, and gods only knew how she’d gotten to the grove as fast as she had, but just having her there was—she didn’t have the words for it.

“You wrote help!” said Jaheira. “You never do that!” She pulled back to get a better look at Thea’s face. Thea realized that she’d stopped looking at Marigold and looked past Jaheira, who followed her gaze. “What…?” Jaheira breathed.

“Her mum killed her,” said Thea, and then again, hysterically, “her mum killed her.”

Jaheira raised a nervous hand halfway to Thea’s face, let it sort of hang in midair, and said, shakily, “And have you not seen worse in your time on the road? What has happened? Really?”

“No, I’m done,” said Thea fiercely. “I’m fucking done. I fucking hate it out here; I want to go back and see my girls. She’s so little, she’s—” Gods, was she crying? Who fucking gave one? It was the night for it. That little girl had died under her hands. “You’d never,” she said, grabbing Jaheira’s hands in her own. “You would never.”

“Of course I would never,” Jaheira whispered. “No mother would.”

“How do you do it?” forced out Thea. “How did it not—you love your kids, I know you do, and they love you. How can you keep doing this without going fucking mad?”

Jaheira’s mouth trembled and her fingers laced with Thea’s. She said, “I am sustained by the love and the grief of my friends. They hold what I cannot. And you—you hold so much in your heart that you are spilling over.” She tugged a hand free, swiping a tear away from Thea’s cheek with her thumb. “I must insist that you stop adventuring,” she said. “You will see worse if you continue. This is…” She looked truly worried. “I have never seen you like this.”

“I’d half stopped already,” said Thea raggedly, “I just—thought, I don’t know, showing Fawn and her kids the ropes could be—and she asked, and I do owe her, and—”

“This sort of thing is hardly a usual occurrence,” Jaheira pointed out. She removed her hand from Thea’s face, pulling out a soaking wet handkerchief, and dabbed very awkwardly at Thea’s cheeks.

“What,” said Thea, “trying to make it worse?”

Jaheira let out a startled bark of laughter that knocked a laugh out of Thea as well. The smile on Jaheira’s face—oh, it did settle her. Brought the world back into focus, at least a bit.

“The route you chose was sensible, uneventful, and you assumed reasonably that it would be relatively unpopulated,” Jaheira observed, in the tone she used for Harper briefings, continuing to stubbornly dab at Thea’s face with the wet handkerchief. Thea tried to wriggle away and found herself held fast. “There was no possible way you could have predicted stumbling upon whatever the hells this was.”

Thea swallowed. She said, “Ran into her mum.”

“Oh?” said Jaheira, dangerously. The handkerchief paused.

“Probably dead now,” said Thea. She added belatedly, “I didn’t kill her.”

Jaheira’s eyes flicked over towards Marigold and back again. She said, “I think that I would have.”

Thea felt a rush of feeling too big to be contained. “I’m glad you’re here,” she said, breathlessly. “I did need you, Jaheira, I’m—I’m so glad you came.”

Jaheira’s face trembled like she’d been waiting to hear something like that for a lot longer than just her showing up at the grove that night. “Hethtalos, I will always come when you ask,” she said. “You are my constant.”

“Gods,” said Thea, smiling miserably, “I’m too fucking tired to figure out how to make you regret saying that.”

Jaheira let out a wet laugh and squeezed Thea’s shoulder. “I will talk to the rest of the druids. You keep an eye on your daughter.”

Bless her girl. She always knew the shape these things took.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Marigold ached. She wasn’t where she last remembered being; it was softer and warmer than anywhere she could remember, at least recently, and someone was singing to her. Something about flowers.

There was a hand in her hair. Couldn’t be mum, then. There was something about mum that she needed to remember, but she didn’t need to now, so she let it go. She felt scrubbed clean, and the fabric against her skin was soft, and there was a hand in her hair. The voice was low and a bit croaky and it shook sometimes, in places.

Someone said, “I will—I will have to leave, you know, I was in the middle of—”

The singing stopped. The low voice said, “Even half a second of you’s enough to put the world to rights. You go where you’re needed next, Commander; I have this well in hand.”

A soft noise. A rustle. The hand in Marigold’s hair left, for a moment, before returning. The song resumed. Marigold tried to listen to the lyrics, but they felt as though they were coming from underwater.

Thank you, she wanted to say, but she was ever so tired, so she reached for the hand in her hair and held it and hoped that that would be good enough. It didn’t feel like mum’s soft hand; it was rough and broad and the fingers shook when they closed round hers, like they’d never been touched nicely before now. Marigold hung on tighter.

“Marigold,” breathed the voice. She’d never heard her name said like that before. She wanted to hear it again, forever.

It was so, so hard to speak. She tried anyway. Whisper-soft, she murmured, “Can you—sing? More?”

The voice started up again. Shook a bit more, this time. Marigold held onto the hand until she’d fallen asleep again.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Marigold woke up slowly. It hurt. The world around her felt lit with a soft glow, warmer than the cold barn and the rain, and she had the distinct sense that she was forgetting something important. She felt a hand stroke her face, which she wasn't used to; it felt like a hungry gash of teeth was opening up in her at just the touch. She pressed her face into the hand.

“There's a good girl,” said a voice she didn't know, or half-knew; it sounded like a voice she might have dreamt, maybe. It couldn't be familiar when she only knew Elodie and Reverie and mum—her thoughts did a funny stutter-stop, refusing to dwell on their names. She tried to open her eyes all the way.

“No, you get your rest, don't start pushing yourself,” said the voice, but Marigold knew that no one really meant that when they said it; it was a snare trap meant to get you to close your eyes so they'd tell you later how lazy and useless you were. She forced her eyes open.

The hand on her face belonged to a woman—smaller and stockier than mum, and a lot older, with a lined, scarred face that looked like it should have been angrier than it was. Her eyes were as soft as the little animals Marigold saw in the forest sometimes. She was looking at Marigold like Marigold was someone she knew. She said, again, “Get sleep, why don't you? It's been a day and change. You need your rest.”

Marigold wanted to say something, but the words stuck in her throat. Words could warrant a knife to the chest. (She didn't know why she'd thought that.) She stared at the woman, unmoving, because if she didn't move, the woman wouldn't take her hand away, probably, and they could stay like this forever.

The woman's hand moved from Marigold's cheek to her shoulder. She said, “You going to lie down, then, or just stare?”

Marigold squeezed her eyes tightly shut, just in case staring was wrong and she hadn't realized.

“Oh, Mari, it's all right, you can look,” coaxed the woman.

Marigold's eyes flew open. How do you know my name? she wanted to ask, but that meant speaking, and she wasn't sure she could do that. She always seemed to say much too much when people gave her room to speak, and she didn't want to ruin whatever this was with her mile-a-minute mouth.

The woman tilted her head at Marigold, smiled, and said, “Well, your name couldn't be anything but Marigold, could it? That hair of yours…”

Marigold hated her hair. It was red and curly and ugly and it wasn't anything like her family's. It wasn't Northaven hair, it was elf hair. Rotten hair. Wrong.

The woman seemed to see the shadow crossing Marigold's face. “What's wrong?” she asked, gently, in the same tone of voice mum used when Reverie or Elodie was hurt.

Tears sprung immediately to Marigold's eyes. She tucked her head forward. The ache in her chest was spreading and it felt enough to bleed and kill.

The woman caught Marigold's face in her hands again and pressed their foreheads together, briefly, which wasn't the sort of thing anyone had done to Marigold before. The ache worsened. “Budge up,” said the woman, and shifted onto the soft bed next to Marigold, tucking her into her side. She was a bit smaller than Marigold, but she felt bigger, somehow. “Now, what sort of stories do you like?”

Marigold didn't like that question. It made her think about sitting on the barn roof and staring in at mum in between Reverie and Elodie in bed, telling them stories with the window half-open like she knew Marigold was listening, only she'd caught Marigold up there once and threatened to push her off herself if she caught Marigold up there again. She had only heard some of the stories, and they'd all been sweet enough to make her chest hurt, lords and ladies and princesses. She would have loved those stories if she'd been allowed in the room for them.

She didn't want to be here. She didn't know why she was here. She didn't want to be anywhere.

“Easy, bunny,” breathed the woman, and Marigold realized she was shaking, which was hardly respectful of how nice this woman was being to her for no apparent reason. “Nothing too scary, then? All right. Why don't I tell you...ah, fuck,” she muttered, and Marigold looked up at her, delightedly scandalized. “I've not got a single story without blood in it.”

Marigold wanted to say something, now, so badly, and if the words would stick together long enough to make a sentence she would do it. She wanted to say, please, please, please tell me a bloody story, because that wasn't one mum would have ever told to Evie and Ella, proper ladies in the making. She stared eagerly at this suddenly very interesting woman who said rude words in front of children and couldn't think of good bedtime stories for little girls.

The woman took in Marigold's expression with surprise, at first, and then it gave way to a somehow even warmer look. She moved forward and pinched Marigold's cheek. “Little ghoul,” she said, but words that would have stung from mum didn't sting, here, at all. “You're the sort who likes a good battle, then?”

Marigold nodded and nodded, curls bouncing.

The woman's eyes went all soft and she said, “Brave little warrior girl.” She pulled Marigold in close and settled them both against the pillows. “When I was a girl—much older than you, I suppose, but forty to dwarves is still barely grown—there was a woman who they called the Whisper-Dagger, on account of the way she could kill with just her words. Not a wizard, mind, she just knew the way the world worked, and who made it work, and how, and those paying enough attention to do that can wrap the world round their little finger if they like.”

That sounded interesting. Marigold hoped that the Whisper-Dagger was the hero of this story.

“She was…” The woman turned a funny color, and said delicately, “a friend of mine, at the time. She was second in line to inherit her family's title, but she didn't mind all that; her sister could be the face of the family and she could do what she wanted on the side. Only one day, her sister turned up dead in the middle of family dinner, and because she and I were, were friends, she asked me to look into it, investigate.

“Well, I did, and what I found was fucking awful. The sister had been a good sort, but she'd had a lover before her husband, and the lover hadn't taken kindly to her marrying someone else. He had ties to the worst parts of the under-city, so there wasn't a court in the world that would touch him—no chance he'd end up jailed for what he'd done, no matter what it was. And that was a good girl he'd killed, all because he couldn't have her.”

Marigold shivered. The woman tucked her hair behind her ear and asked, “Too much for you, bunny?”

She shook her head. She didn't care what was being said if it was being said to her, for her to listen to.

“Well,” said the woman, “I was angry as the hells and twice as ready to burn the bastard down. The Whisper-Dagger couldn't do what she'd used to without putting the whole family at risk, now that she was the head of it and people were paying attention to her, so it fell on me to handle the thing, and handle it I did. Marched right into that fucker's office and challenged him to a fight at dawn—and I was young, and small, and didn't have half the muscles and scars I did now.” With her free arm, she flexed, surprising a whispering laugh out of Marigold. Her eyes shone with delight.

“So of course he said yes. Bastard thought it'd be an easy fight. But I brought my hammer when he was ready for a sword. I remember,” the woman smiled fondly, “he started laughing when he saw me, said gods, of course the dwarf would bring a hammer to a duel! But that's the thing, bunny,” she tapped Marigold's nose, “I said fight, he heard duel. Duels mean you have rules. Fights mean you don't. I ran in, broke his knees, pummeled him half to death, and that—” She stopped, searching Marigold's face. “You're sure you're all right hearing this?”

Marigold nodded with infuriated eagerness. They could hardly stop now!

“That,” continued the woman, “was when he started begging for his life. Started saying oh, please, please, Thea, it was a crime of passion, I was just so angry, I'll never do it again—” She smiled grimly. “And I didn't say anything back, because that was the Whisper-Dagger's sister. She was a good girl who'd done nothing but love, and love truly. Made the mistake of loving wrong once, but she hadn't done it again. She'd deserved life. He'd taken it away. Laughed in my face when I told him he should see justice for what he'd done. Second chances are for people who know they've done wrong.”

Marigold imagined mum under Thea’s hammer for half a moment, then flinched away. She didn't want to think about that.

Thea’s expression twisted nervously. She pulled back a little and said, “Sorry. That's—” and then Marigold realized that maybe Thea thought she'd said something wrong, which wasn't right at all, so she moved forward and wrapped her arms tightly round Thea’s neck. Thea made a muffled noise of surprise, then reached up to hold her, and said, “Bunny,” in that tone of voice you used when you were going to keep something forever, come hell or high water.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

The High Harper was soaking wet in their kitchen. The only unusual bit about this sentence was the soaking wet bit, not really the High Harper bit or the kitchen bit; Jaheira in their kitchen was really just every other week, usually. Norie took this in, then went to go get the towels from upstairs, which meant it was Ros's job to sort out the hows and the whys of this whole situation.

“Everyone all right?” she asked carefully. She knew Thea wasn't dead, because if Thea was dead, Jaheira would have looked twelve times worse. But something had happened, because it wasn't even misting outside. “Fall in a canal?”

Jaheira sat down heavily at the kitchen table. She massaged her temples. “Your mother will be a few days late returning,” she said. “She asked me to let you know as soon as possible.”

“O…kay,” said Ros slowly. “Still doesn't explain why you're drenched.”

“It was raining,” said Jaheira.

Ros turned slowly to look at the bright, sunny sky out the window.

“Not here,” said Jaheira. “There. Where your mother is.”

“Sorry,” said Ros, eyes widening, “you were with her?”

“Now is not the time,” said Jaheira shortly. She raised her head to look at Ros, with those steely eyes that meant she was about to say something really fucking important. “She is bringing back a little girl,” she said. “Fifteen. A year older than Lenora, but much smaller. Delicate. You and Lenora need to be prepared.”

Norie, who had been coming back in with the towels, stopped with a very pensive look on her face, which Ros understood completely. Thea didn't just go around picking up kids willy-nilly, and Jaheira didn't just drop everything she was doing to go check up on Thea—well, all right, Jaheira did do that, but usually not long-distance, and definitely not unless Thea asked her to do it, which in and of itself was a pretty fucking rare occurrence.

“What's this girl like, then?” Ros asked lightly, testing the waters.

Jaheira said, “Her mother stabbed her to death.”

Ros flinched back. So did Norie. Jaheira looked at them as if to say see? “She is an incredibly fragile sort,” she continued, “and she is not likely to respond well to…exuberance.”

Well, that one was clearly for Ros.

“Or antipathy.”

That one was clearly for Norie.

“Be gentle,” concluded Jaheira. “Both of you. As much as you can. With her, and…” She wavered. “And with your mother. She was badly shaken when I arrived.”

Ah, hells. “Is she okay?” Ros asked anxiously. “Should we—I don't know, go and visit her too?"”

“It is a bit of a ways away,” said Jaheira, smiling wryly, “and my means of transportation was very much emergencies-only. Your mother asked that I assure you both she is doing better now, which I can corroborate.”

“How are you?” Norie asked. It was the first thing she'd said since coming back with the towels.

Jaheira's face softened and she said something in Elven that Ros didn't know, but that made Norie blush a little and smile awkwardly. In Common, she said, “I am fine, spider. Thank you.”

Norie leaned down to drape the towel round Jaheira's shoulders, tucking it in place. Ros said, “Look, stay a bit, why don't you? We'll make you something nice.”

“I…” Jaheira wavered.

“You're dead on your feet, Commander,” Ros pressed. “Stay.”

She didn't bring out Commander often. It was part of the reason she tossed round stepmummy like she did, because when she did call Jaheira Commander, Jaheira looked startled, then touched, then gave in without very much arguing, which was what happened now. “…I could do with some of Lenora's hot chocolate,” she conceded, “if it is not too much trouble. The rain was quite cold.”

“Spiked?” Norie offered.

"You are fourteen; you are not supposed to know how to do that," said Jaheira severely.

“Spiked?” Norie repeated, as if Jaheira hadn't spoken.

“Hmph!” said Jaheira.

“We both know that's not a no. I'm putting alcohol in,” said Norie, and headed towards the cupboards. Jaheira smiled with annoyed appreciation and drew the towel a bit closer round her.

Ros followed Norie. As quietly as she could manage, she whispered, “Hey, Norie, what'd she say to you?”

“The translation is a bit ambiguous,” said Lenora. “The word can mean either busy-body or meddling daughter.” She smiled sweetly. “I like to think it's busy-body.”

“It isn't,” said Jaheira.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Marigold was a lovely name, of course, but Thea had landed on bunny and it was hard to stop after she'd started. The girl was twitchy, soft, wide-eyed, and she had a way of tilting her head that was a bit rabbitish in nature. She trembled when touched, but she didn't move away, just stared and stared with golden eyes that held the warmth and brightness of twin stars. She would smile on occasion, a barely-there little twitch of the mouth, and Thea always felt like she'd won a thousand medals of valor, bringing that smile forward.

She ate sparingly. It was hard to convince her to eat at all, and harder still to find out why, but Thea thought it might have to do with that stick-thin woman in the woods who looked like she hadn't eaten a day herself.

“I own a bakery in the city, you know,” she said. “Baldur's Gate. Bit of a distance from here, but the things we make! Breads, pastries, hot chocolate, fruit juice when the fruit's in season. You like fruit juice, bunny?”

This earned her only a blankly curious expression.

“You ever had fruit juice?”

The red curls shook no.

“Oh, now, that can't be abided by,” Thea gently teased. “When we get home, we'll see what we can do.”

Marigold froze. She looked more frightened than Thea had ever seen her. The red curls shook no, again and again, no, no, no, no, no.

“Bunny,” Thea breathed, catching her gently by the shoulders. Marigold tried to squirm away. “Bunny, bunny, look at me. Look at me. What's wrong?”

Marigold shook her head.

“You don't want to come home with me?”

Marigold's hands moved to her chest. The scar. The—

“Oh, fuck no, I'm not taking you back to her,” said Thea furiously, which stilled Marigold immediately into shaky relief. “I'd rather fucking kill myself. I say home and I mean my home, Mari, not your home. I want to take you to Baldur's Gate.” She hesitated. “It is a bit of a distance,” she said slowly, “so if you—want—to stay here, in the grove—”

Marigold let out a hiccupping sob. Her hands moved up and over Thea's hands on her shoulders like she couldn't half believe they were there. Held Thea fast, where she was.

“Do you want to stay?” Thea asked.

Marigold shook her head, not half so urgently this time.

Heart pounding, Thea asked, “Do you want to come back to the bakery with me?”

Nodding, emphatically, so hard the little girl was shaking in place all over again.

Thea cupped Marigold's face in her hands. She said, a wet laugh in her voice, “We'll make a baker of you yet,” and Marigold smiled brightly enough to rival the sun.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Heading homeward.

Jaheira traced the lines with her finger before responding. How is Marigold?

I'll give the quill over.

A long pause, followed by a few curious, swirling scribbles—then, charmingly, meticulously, Thea's own words mimicked in a wobbly hand, letter by letter. I'll give the quill over.

Clever girl! Jaheira wrote, enchanted. Should I assume she has not written before?

Clever girl! echoed the quill, still in that unsteady handwriting. Should I assume she has not written before?

Then, in Thea's print, Never, I think, but she's fucking obsessed with the parchment. You mind writing some things she can copy?

Jaheira considered. She wrote Marigold, and watched the quill repeat it, then write it four more times with increasing excitement; clearly Thea had explained what the word was. She wrote Thea, and after a long pause, this one was picked up and written all over the parchment, everywhere, every corner, scribbled frantically and delightedly and with too much love for one piece of parchment to contain.

When the writing had faded away, Jaheira considered, then, testing out a suspicion, drew a perfect heart.

Another pause—not as long—and then:

Marigold ♥ Thea

Thea ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ Thea Thea Thea

This seemed as though it might be going on for quite a while. Jaheira set the parchment aside. When she picked it up again, Thea had written, Fuck you; I nearly started fucking crying in front of her and that's your fucking fault. Go fuck yourself.

Jaheira ♥ Thea, Jaheira wrote back. Satisfyingly, Thea did not seem to have a response to this.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Roslin, Marigold wrote. Lenora. Thea. Marigold. Marigold. Jaheira. Marigold. Roslin. Thea. Thea. Thea. Lenora. Roslin. Thea. Marigold. Jaheira. Some of the names meant things to her and others were only abstract ideas. She wanted to ask Thea how to write bunny, but she'd need more words for that, and she still didn't have them yet.

It was nice, too, that Thea didn't ask her to talk, or—well, do anything, really. Mum usually had something to say about what Marigold was or wasn't doing, but all Thea seemed to want to do was spend time with her, which was usually warm and cozy and involved Marigold listening to lots of different stories about all the things Thea had done. She was old—older than mum, even, who was the oldest of the people Marigold had known—and she'd done a lot of traveling, gone everywhere, but she said her favorite part was her girls at home, which did make Marigold a bit nervous. She'd been part of a family, a mum and two girls, and that hadn't gone well, so maybe this wouldn't either. What if she got there and the girls didn't like her? What if the girls not liking her made Thea stop liking her too?

Roslin, she wrote. Lenora. She tried to imagine them. Reverie and Elodie had names that sounded almost the same, but they couldn't have been more different. Lenora, Thea had said, was a human, but Roslin was a tiefling, and growing up in the woods with mum and her sisters meant that Marigold hadn't ever met a tiefling before. Or a dwarf, before Thea. She'd decided that she loved dwarves, based largely on the fact that one of them was Thea.

Tieflings had horns. Thea tried to draw one on the parchment, and then the parchment drew a better tiefling than Thea, and Thea wrote fuck off on the parchment, which Marigold had started to recognize by sight by now. She didn't exactly remember Jaheira, but apparently Jaheira had been there when Marigold had been healing. There were still parts of this that didn't make sense, but she didn't quite know how to ask about them. She almost didn't want to. She was afraid that asking would make it all fall apart.

The ride back to the city was long, and Marigold spent most of the road-time writing on the parchment to Jaheira, who would give her words to copy. Balance. Sunlight. Tree. Grass. Sky. Flower. Marigold was a kind of flower, so she wrote Marigold and flower next to each other, and Jaheira drew a little heart, which Thea had said meant love, so Marigold decided that she loved Jaheira too. Marigold ♥ Jaheira, she wrote, and Jaheira didn't write any more words for a few minutes, which made Thea laugh and laugh and laugh. “It's not on you, bunny,” she managed. “She's not used to people saying they love her. Doesn't always know how to say it back.”

Well, Marigold would make her used to it. She wrote Marigold ♥ Jaheira until it covered the paper, at which point Thea said that it'd probably take more than just one day to get the message across, and didn't Marigold want to learn a few more new words? Then she wrote something on the paper that Marigold didn't yet know how to read, but that got Jaheira to start writing long sentences back.

The times they weren't on the road, they were in cities, with Thea getting food for her and for Marigold and having long conversations with people about how much money was too much money for food. Marigold tried honey and liked it so much that Thea bought her seven jars, and said that they couldn't eat it while they traveled but they could bring it home and she could have more there. “On bread,” she said. “Can't just eat sugar.”

Which mum had said to Reverie and Elodie before, but not the way Thea said it to Marigold—a loving reminder, not an indictment. Marigold ate four slices of bread with honey and no one said she was stuffing her face. Thea said she was so glad to see Marigold eating.

Thea wrote bread, honey, city, Baldur's Gate. Thea wrote fruit, apples, berries. She got them a sunmelon when they were three days from the city and chopped it with an axe, which Marigold hadn't even known women were allowed to do; mum had always said the knives and the axes weren't for girls. But Thea was strong and wore armor and chopped sunmelons, and the chopping was the best, because it meant Marigold could sink her teeth into the red, watery insides and let the juice run down her mouth.

Jaheira wrote green, red, brown, silver. Jaheira wrote blue, purple, pink, green. She wrote green a few times, like she was trying to make sure Marigold remembered it. Thea said, “Jaheira's a druid who lives in the city and it's hard on her sometimes,” which made Marigold wonder what kind of city Baldur's Gate was. They'd been to a few cities now and Marigold liked them so much more than nature, where there was no one around. Cities, everyone was there, and everyone had things to say. They'd say get out of the way, they'd say five silver pieces for a butter roll, they'd say a dress for the little one, saer? And Marigold got to watch Thea say YOU get out of the fucking way, fucker, or five silver for some moldy bread? You're fucking kidding me, or make it seven dresses, which was probably the best thing she could have ever said. Marigold got to change out of the clothes the druids had made her and into a dress that was yellow and green.

Thea said, “Norie might steal that when you get home, you know,” and off of Marigold's nervous expression, hastened to say, “Oh, you'll still keep it! Norie likes to embroider. She'll add some pretty flowers to the dress, give it back to you, it's just she doesn't usually ask before she adds things.”

Marigold didn't really see the point in asking to add flowers to someone's dress. Dresses were unilaterally better with flowers. Lenora sounded like she was just being smart about it.

Jaheira wrote, Scornubel, Triel, Elturel, Candlekeep. Rivington. Baldur's Gate.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Thea came back on a big old cart with fruits and breads piled high in the back. She jumped down and ran over and hugged Roslin and Lenora like she hadn't seen them in years, then pulled back to look at them, smiling all wobbly. “I'm not leaving,” she said. “I'm done.”

“Wow,” said Roslin, “this latest trip must have been really fucking terrible if you're all done making trips out of the city—”

“Missed you girls too much,” said Thea, which shut Roslin up. Lenora's heart swelled. “How's it been, spider?”

“Oh, you know,” said Lenora. “There was a wet Jaheira in the kitchen a few days ago.”

“So basically, yeah, you really do need to be home more,” said Roslin, which made Thea go crimson.

Lenora shoved Roslin sideways. She fell over laughing.

There was a rustle of movement from the cart, like someone was trying to hide behind some of the fruits. Thea turned, her face softening. “Going to have to coax her down,” she said. “Give us a minute.”

Roslin and Lenora watched as Thea moved back up towards the cart. The girl really was little, Lenora thought; she looked closer to eight or nine than fifteen, which seemed a lot like Jaheira's daughter Rion, who had grown up slower on account of the half-elf thing. She was indeed a bit thinner than what seemed healthy. She stumbled a bit getting out of the cart, and gripped Thea's shoulder.

“Oh my gods,” said Roslin. “Oh my gods. Norie, I know Jaheira said no exuberance, but she's literally the cutest thing I've ever seen. I thought we were getting, like, another you or something?! But she's a baby?!”

No antipathy would not be half as hard a directive to follow. Lenora knew exactly what Roslin was talking about. The girl was barely taller than Thea and clung to her side as though the rest of the world was all shadow-monsters.

“Mari,” Thea coaxed, “this is Ros, and that's Norie. Ros, Norie, you want to introduce—?”

“I'M ROS!” said Roslin very loudly, then clapped her hands over her mouth. “Fuck!” she said, mouth covered. “Sorry! You're just so tiny! Anyone ever told you how tiny you are? You're the littlest thing I've ever seen! You're—”

“Stop that,” said Lenora. “You're embarrassing yourself.”

Marigold's nervous expression was giving way to one of fascinated curiosity. Her eyes lingered on Roslin's horns. Jealously, Lenora wished she had horns, if it meant the little one would pay attention to her.

“Norie?” Thea prompted.

Lenora tried for a smile. It came out more of a nervous grimace. “I'm…Lenora," she supplied. “I like your dress.”

Marigold waved at them both, frantically and still a bit apprehensively. Her free hand tightened on Thea's shoulder.

“You'll warm up to each other,” said Thea, mostly to Marigold. “They're good girls. Ros's just a bit overexcited; she's the older-sisterly type, and she always likes taking care of girls younger than her. And Norie…” She smiled, and said, “Norie's scary, isn't she?”

Marigold took this in. A small, sweet grin illuminated her face as her eyes flicked towards Lenora. She shook her head.

Lenora was now certain that she would burn down a thousand cities for that little girl.

“No?” said Thea, mock-surprised. “Well, should have known that someone as brave as you wouldn't be felled by our Norie.”

Marigold fidgeted. She rummaged in her satchel. Thea said, “Oh, she's been working on something for you! Wouldn't show it to me, even, so it'll be a surprise for all of us,” and then she stopped, mouth trembling, as Marigold held the drawing up.

Carefully and shakily rendered in black ink: a tiefling, a human-ish figure, a slightly small and curly-haired girl, and a dwarf of about her size, all holding hands. The drawing had been captioned Hello! I'm Marigold! every letter formed inexpertly but with clear effort.

Roslin burst into tears. Lenora didn't even make fun of her for it. She knelt down in front of Marigold and said, “You got my hair just right,” softly, running her finger along the black ink of the drawing.

Marigold smiled very shyly.

Lenora tried to imagine anyone stabbing this girl to death, and couldn't. It was Ilmater, wasn't it, who watched over those that suffered the most? Who eased their suffering, one way or another, and ensured that it ended? Ilmater, then, must have saved this girl, because imagining a world where Thea had never reached her in the single minute that could be used to revive her was a sickening fucking thought. She would leave an offering. She would become a cleric, maybe. Absolutely. She would be a cleric of Ilmater.

Tongue between her teeth, Marigold reached out to absently touch Lenora's hair, then jerked her hand back as if expecting a reprimand. Lenora said, “It's fine, Mari, Ros does worse to my hair all the time. Don't you, Ros?”

“I style it,” said Roslin, who was fighting to maintain composure.

“She turned it into a birds' nest last year,” said Lenora. “A literal birds' nest. Put fake birds in it. She never does this to her hair, just to mine—”

“Um, if I do it to my hair, you'll make fun of me,” Roslin countered. “If it's done to your hair, you get to complain to everyone about how annoying I am, which I know you like.”

“Shut up, I'm bonding with Marigold.”

“I'm bonding with Marigold! Marigold likes me better!” Roslin scrambled forward. “Mari, who do you like better, me or Norie?”

“Don't crowd her!!” said an outraged Lenora, elbowing Roslin away.

Marigold was watching them both with that adorable little half-smile. She turned the parchment over and was immediately handed a quill by Thea. She turned away from them all, scribbling on the back of her drawing, and held up the paper again.

Marigold ♥ Thea !!

“Oh, that's not even fair,” said Roslin. “She has an edge! She literally just spent the last three days buying you dresses and fruit and things. Well, I have money, Marigold, I can buy you even better dresses and fruit and things—”

“Thea's all our favorites,” said Lenora to Marigold, deciding to ignore Roslin. “We have that in common; that's nice, isn't it?”

Marigold nodded so emphatically that her curls shook. Lenora decided to visit the temple of Ilmater in two days' time and ask about what it would look like to be a cleric.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Jaheira came to visit the next day with a bouquet of wildflowers: mostly marigolds, but there were quite a few daisies and violets in as well, and some sweet-smelling herbs. It was a visual cacophony. Thea was entirely unsurprised when Marigold lit up, hugged the bouquet, set the bouquet down, hugged Jaheira, hugged the bouquet again, gave the bouquet to Thea, and hugged Jaheira one more time.

“What was it you are calling her?” said Jaheira. “Bunny?” Her hand rested atop Marigold's head. “Seems apt.”

Marigold butted her forehead against Jaheira's hand. She let go and ran off into the kitchen.

Jaheira lowered her voice. “Althea, how—how are you? When we last spoke—”

“I can't half think about that night,” said Thea. She swallowed. “She is the sweetest little girl I've ever known. Loves easy as breathing. Trusts me with her life, and I can't say I'd do the same in her position—”

“You can't say you'd do the same?” Jaheira echoed skeptically. “Not even after you—?”

“We're not talking about it,” said Thea shortly, “I don't know how much she remembers, and I'm not dragging it up unless she mentions it first.”

Her eyes were still halfway following Marigold, who was running round the kitchen between Roslin and Lenora, standing on tiptoe to try and see what they were doing. Roslin caught her on one of her sprints and lifted her up to the counter, which made Marigold squeak and laugh in a way that at first seemed halfway frightened, then quickly became all the way joyful. Roslin called, “MUMMA COME IN HERE, WE'RE MAKING SCONES!”

Thea smiled wryly at Jaheira. “Duty calls.”

“The Lady of the Fray's strongest soldier,” said Jaheira. She squeezed Thea's shoulder. “You grow good things here.”

#my writing #i mean in the loosest possible sense it qualifies as fic but i really don't think it merits that tag lol #anywayyyyyy #marigold baker #althea march #plus sisters and The Obvious Woman :)#part of me's been wanting to keep this a secret in perpetuity #but i've been chattering away for almost a year! enough to probably piece together a lot of what's contained in this fic lol #so like why NOT post 10k words of fic to tumblr only. who's stopping me from doing that

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kabuki-writes · 2 months ago

Text

A Reflection Of Venus

chapter: 1 chapter 2 | 3 | 4

pairing: emperor geta/emperor caracalla x acacius' daughter!reader

summary: For years Acacius was able to keep his precious and only daughter away from the Emperor's eyes. But after his latest victory, he couldn't evade the already inevitable.

Note: Reader is the daughter of General Acacius and his wife, which is not Lucilla in this fanfiction.

word count: 3.1k

General Acacius was a hero for the Roman Empire, a sun that was burning brighter with every new victory he won in a new war campaign ordered by Emperor Geta and his twin brother Emperor Caracalla. The reign of the twins was nothing compared to one of their deceased father Emperor Septimius Severus, who was once one of the closest friends and brother-in-arms of Acatius. While Severus fought wars mainly to protect the borders of the already massive Empire, his sons' hunger for expansion became clear from the very first day they inherited the title "Emperor". And general Acacius became their tool in this project. Nothing was too expensive, they backed him with legions, war-ships, the best equipment and supply, and the capable general became an unstoppable force, a soldier of the God Mars himself. But at what cost?

As the years went on, he'd rarely been home, always travelling with his marching soldiers and being on the front line of every battle he fought. And when he came back, he felt sick from all the pomp and gold the Emperor's threw at him, the victory processions through Rome, while the smell of blood still lingered in his nose and the cries of the women and children echoed in his mind. It was one of those days. The sun stood high over the wide street that lead to the Palatin, the sides filled with the cheering crowd - common people, soldiers, slaves, senators, merchants, they all celebrated his victory in a triumphant procession. His marching soldiers were led by Acacius chariot, clothed in the white armor of a victor. His face could've been one to be carved in marble, stoic and upright, facing the great Palatin, where the Emperors would await him.

Geta and Caracalla - the twin-sons of Septimius Severus, Emperors of Rome. They stoof there in golden Armor like sun gods with their golden crowns on top of their short gingerblonde hair. Their unusual pale skin was a testament to their wealth as they could afford to stay out of the sun, which burns especially hot on summer days like this one, and of course on the battlefields in Africa, where Acatius' men had to fight against the rebellious Nubians. They awaited their victor with proud smiles on their lips, while Acacius' procession ended at the footsteps of the Emperor's palace. He walked the marble steps towards them, his long cloak moved in tact with his walk. He didn't look forward to see the faces of Rome's tyrants again, but they hadno idea.

Instead, he greeted them as he was used to. His hand on his chest, speaking the words.

"I greet you, my Emperors. Nubia is no more. I present a new victory to you, to the realm and to the Roman people."

With a proud look on their faces and a wide smile, the twins stepped forward. Emperor Geta hold the laurel wreath of victory in his hands and places it on top of Acacius' greying hair.

"And Rome rewards it's heroes with gratitude and admiration. We bow to your victories, General Acacius."

With those words, he offered him to turn around and face the celebrating crowd. Geta and Caracalla took their places at his side, giving him a moment of spotlight, applauded by the people, while they did benefit from it as well. Acatius was their general, their armored knight. Every victory he presented was another triumph for their own reign and power. After the earned celebration in front of the common folk, the Emperors and Acacius retreated inside, where servants quickly served them wine for a toast.

"Another great victory, you never disappoint us, dear Acatius," Geta expressed and hold his glass up for a toast, his brother Caracalla following the gesture. "To the glory of the Roman Empire".

"To the glory of your reign", Acacius lied and took a sip from his glass, trying to numb himself a bit with the taste of the alcohol. How he hated conversations with both of them.

" But don't get too comfy here, my brother and i were already discussing another campaign soon. You'll get everything you need, just tell us how many soldiers and ships and it will be granted," Geta explained, which left a bitter taste in Acacius mouth. His jaw clenched for a moment, while he tried everything not to show his distaste about another war campaign.

"Please forgive me, my Emperor, but isn't the realm big enough already? Rome has already difficulties to feed the people. Further expansion would-"

"They can eat war", Emperor Caracalla threw in with an almost diabotical grin, while Acacius got a warning eye from Geta. It was clear that his words weren't the ones both wanted to hear right now.

"Don't worry about things like that, Acacius. You're a military general, your job is to win battles - nothing more. Do you understand?"

"I understand," he answered, even though he hated to hear that he was reduced to this. He'd experienced war and peace alike and therefore he knew about the dangers of continuing this madness. Moments like this really let him question if those maniacs were of the same blood as Septimius Severus.

"But you're right, you've earned yourself at least a bit of rest - one or two weeks. Don't worry, we've taken care about the wellbeing of your family. They got everything they needed and more in our attempt to show our gratitude for your service to the throne. Speaking of which.... we expect you to join us for a great feast tonight - here in the palace. A party to celebrate your victory, it is accompanied by a couple of fights in the arena tomorrow," Geta explained joyfully, while Acatius tried to keep his mask up.

"I am incredibly honored, but would prefer to spend time with family after being away for such a long time."

"The Emperors show you their gratitude and you're insulting us. We expect you to come and you will come", Caracalla hissed with a sudden shift of tone, his eyes staring at Acacius in clear anger, while his brother placed his hand on his shoulder in an attempt to calm him down. But his staring eyes were warning Acatius once again.

"Of course, we don't just invite you, but your whole family. Bring your wife and... you have a daughter, if i'm not mistaken? We haven't had the pleasure of getting to know her yet, since you never brought her to any festivities. I am sure she will be delighted, if you don't plan on hiding her again."

Acacius stood there in silence, a reaction that made Caracalla burst out into laughter as if he'd just heard the funniest joke from his brother. The respected general didn't even look at him, why should he. Standing here in front of them should've been an honor, yet it felt like a disgrace. They were nothing but spoiled kids with the power of an empire in their hands. And now they even forced him to reveal his dear daughter to them. Something he tried to avoid for too long, knowing fully well about the debauchery and excessiveness of Geta and Caracalla.

"We're waiting for an answer, Acacius?", Caracalla purred with a wide grin on his pale face, revealing his gold tooth.

"It will be an honor to be your guest... together with my daughter."

_____________________________________________

You watched the face of your father sunken away in his thoughts, as you made made your way to the palace in a palanquin carried by a couple of slaves and protected by soldiers. The city was painted in darkness which made the palace seem like a temple with all the lights that welcomed you. It was an exciting moment for an upper-class lady to be a guest at the palace, especially for you, a woman that usually stayed away from the most parties. Not because you wanted to, but because it was an order from your father. You obeyed, yet it bothered you, even more when you'd reached the age of a young woman - the age in which it was expected from you to find a proper husband.

"Why are you so worried, father?", you finally managed to get off your lips, pulling Acacius out of the battle he fought in his head. He couldn't just tell you that he despised all of this and especially the Emperors himself as he couldn't be sure if someone outside this palanquin could hear him. So he simply took your hand and placed a soft and caring kiss on the ring that had been a present for your last name day.

"I guess I'm rather tired than worried. The parties in the palace are always quite excessive, music, dances, feasts... i just came back from the desert and now i have to enjoy all those things", he sighed and looked at you. "And i don't want to stay too long, especially not till the orgy starts. The servants will come and bring us home before that." And even you knew he would rather go and murder Dyonisos himself than allowing his daughter to stay and witness this.

All those words and yet you knew it wasn't everything.

"I'm glad that you take me with you this time. I've only known the imperial palace from afar," you confessed, while you straightened the long, blue dress you wore. It was decorated with all sorts of silver embroidery and jewelry, encapturing the stars and moon. Your long hair was styled by your servant Yanna into a high braid and finalized with a silver diadem. For the first time you really got the chance to make yourself so presentable that you almost felt like a princess. In the end, you were about to meet the Emperors which made it important to look like the woman you were - the daughter of a general. And you also presented his household tonight, because your mother felt sick tonight. She often suffered from migraine, which kept her a prisoner for days sometimes.

"You really look beautiful", your father said to you, it was honest, but there was a hint of worry in his eyes, which you still couldn't grasp. But there was no chance to take this conversation further as the palanquin stopped. Acacius got out first to help you out. He knew the way as it wasn't the first time for him to attent an official ceremony or party here. Through a long corridor you reached a large room with with an open access to the garden terrace facing the beautiful gardens. It was packed with people from the Roman upper-class, wealthy merchants, politicians and military officers, who were accompanied by their wives, sons and daughters. While they chatted and feasted on the large selection of delicious looking food, a group of musicians played their melodies to which professional dancers moved their bodies.

All those private parties at the homes of your friends seemed to vanish straight from your mind, nothing could be compared to what you were seeing now. It nearly took your breath away, while two royals were watching you from the other side of the room.

_____________________________________________

Geta and Caracalla were sitting on a higher ground, which was highly decorated with two golden chaise longues, cushions and velvet drapes. They were accompanied by a selected group of slaves, women and men, who were assigned to bring them anything they wanted, to do anything they wanted.

While Geta was in in a conversation with one of the senators, which clearly bored him according to his facial expressions, it was Caracalla, who noticed the new guest first, while he fed his little monkey Dondus a grape.

"Such a shame that he hid his daughter for so long. She is a gorgeous looking bird, don't you think? ", he whispered to his brother with a mischievous grin, patting his arm so that he would turn his attention to Acacius and you. Geta's eyes quickly went to you, admiring the way your dress hugged the shape of your curves.

"The gods must've sent us Venus herself to honor us with her presence," Geta answered, while an unreadable smile played on his lips. „No wonder our dear General is so protective of her. Is she already promised to someone?“

„Why do you ask me!?“ Caracalla snapped back, as if his brother didn’t know that he had a lot of spies around the city, who delivered him the newest gossip from the streets of Rome. With an annoyed eye roll, he leaned forward, adjusting the golden laurel wreath on his head. „No, she is a blank parchment. Probably untouched too.“

Geta still watched you with an intense interest as if you were a rare diamond, he needed to claim. But he was not the only one in this room, because Caracalla stared at his brother, noticing the way he looked at you. There it was again, the old melody. Whenever he wanted something, Geta wanted it too. They already shared the title of Emperors, their wealth, their whores… It was already something that cooked in him for a long time. But now he had an eye on you and wasn't happy about the fact that Geta might try to get you too.

Before he could even bring this thought to an end, his twin brother Geta already stood up from his chaise lounge and made his way through the crowd, the direction was clear. Caracalla's nose twitched in a mixture of nervousness and anger, and he got up quickly as well, not as gracefully as he wanted to, but he didn’t care. He had to tame the inner urge to backstab his brother before he could even reach you.

_____________________________________________

You still stood at the side of your father sipping on your first goblet of fine wine, while your eyes went over all the different guests and the excessive decor. Your father was sunken in a conversation with another general, Marcus Galbanus, an old friend and brother-in-arms of Acacius. But their conversation quickly stopped as soon as the Emperors approached them. Both your father and Marcus Galbanus lowered their heads and greeted them according to the etiquette, while you curtsied deep. This was the very first time you got the chance to meet the Emperor's of Rome Caracalla and Geta. And given the importance of those two figures, you even felt a little nervous.

"We almost feared you wouldn't show up to your own party, Acacius. But we're happy you made your way here... we already heard that your dear wife lays sick. Please, send her our best wishes. Nonetheless we would be delighted if you could introduce us to your company tonight", Geta demanded in a playful tone, knowing how much Acacius had tried to delay this. Caracalla stood at his side, his staring blue eyes drilled themselves into your appearence. Even though he was a man that had tasted a lot of men and women, one even more sensual than the other, your whole appearence, your face, your lips, your smile, everything - you reached a sentience in his mind that could only be gifted by the gods. The mere thought of having you infected his brain like a curse.

You could sense the tension that raised in your father as if everything in him resisted the situation. Yet he placed his hand softly on your shoulder and did as they wished. "This is my daughter, y/n..."

"I'm honoured to meet the Emperors of Rome", you said in a soft voice, earning you an appreciating smile by Geta and an unreadable grin of Caracalla.

"Oh the pleasure is on our side, my dearest. How do you like this Ceremony in honor of your father's victories?", Geta asked. But before you could even answer, his brother added, while he took another sip of his wine "Your father is a Roman hero through and through, isn't it right Acacius?" His tone had something else in it, almost as if it was some kind of mistrust. But you needed to ignore the irritation you felt and simply nodded.

"It is breathtaking. I've never witnessed something like this and it makes me incredible proud to see the gratitute he earned himself through the love he has for Rome and its people," you answered, trying to remind the Emperor's of Acacius loyality, which was undoubtful.

"Then you'll enjoy the ceremony in the arena tomorrow as well, i'm sure. Please, we invite your father and you to be our guests."

"I don't think that such entertainment is suited for a young woman of her status," your father suddenly interfered in a calm yet set tone, only earning the laugh of Caracalla. "Let your daughter decide for herself, General."

The atmosphere shifted to an unspoken intensity. You could sense your father's worries and given all what you've heard from the colosseum, you didn't really think of it as something worth to witness. Seeing people die in such a terrible way only for the pleasures of the masses seemed like a farce. Acacius always called it the most needless form of brutality amongst humans, he despised this himself and therefore avoided going into the arena whenever he could. But you also read the eyes of Geta and his brother, who waited for your answer and would not accept a simple 'No'.

"It would be an honour," you answered, and Geta leaned forward a bit, which made your father's jaw clench in anger. Not because of your answer, he was aware that a choice was not existing, when facing an Emperor, but because the way the twins looked at you as if you were a price they could simply claim. But you were a smart girl and definitely not naive, so he fully relied on that.

"So this is a 'Yes'?", Geta asked again and you looked him straight in the eyes, not backing off. "Yes."

"Excellent!", Caracalla shouted and clapped into his hands. "We'll have a lot of fun tomorrow."

The corners of Geta's mouth twitched to a smile and he nodded in response to his twin. Yet he hid his displeasure of having him as a rival in this little game. It was clear that Caracalla had layed his eyes on you too, but he won't allow him to simply take and fuck you like you were a common whore. Maybe you could've potential for something more and strenghten his position as well as his popularity. Because both Emperors were still unmarried - and it was expected from them that this would change sooner or later.

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