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court-of-forever-undone · 3 years ago

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My Sister’s Love | Taryn POV

Chapter Three

Summary: Taryn pieces together her memories of Cardan and Jude’s early interactions as she reflects on how their relationship came to be and the events of the last year. As happy as she is for them, she can’t help but feel jealous of the moments they share.

Tags: Taryn’s POV of Jude x Cardan, Final Part

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After that dinner, we found Jude awake in her old rooms sitting with Tatterfell and Oak. For a moment, it was easy to pretend nothing had happened. She wore one of the black gowns she favored since becoming seneschal and was eating from a tray in front of her. But as she turned to face us, the wince she failed to hide and the paleness of her skin were reminders that she had nearly died just days ago. Her hair had been braided to mimic a crown, which was another reminder that my sister was not the same twin I had known.

Before we had a chance to talk, Cardan appeared. He likely came straight from his rooms, after finding them empty. Every fiber of my being wanted to grab Jude’s arm when Cardan asked her to join him, but I saw the dusting of pink spread across her cheeks as she saw him in the doorway, so I stood there silently. Jude would have probably ignored any word of caution coming from me anyways. We still had yet to fully come to terms with everything that happened between us.

When it had been hours and Jude had yet to return, I went to the royal chambers to see if she had gone straight there, but instead, I found Garrett.

While Jude had at least recovered some from her near-death experience, Garrett looked like the ghost of the beautiful sandy-haired boy I had met before. It might have been a funny observation given his code name, but all humor was lost in the moment. He had lost weight and his face had sunken in. When our eyes met, I saw the plea in them before he opened his mouth.

The next few hours were a blur. When Jude finally arrived at Hollow Hall, I was surprised to see she had allowed Cardan to come along. Cardan had proved he would follow my sister into the heart of an enemy war camp, despite better judgment, but this time Jude had chosen to invite him along with her.

After I commanded Garrett to stop, cursing myself for not thinking to do it earlier, we moved to a parlor room and I explained how we had come to know each other through Locke’s carelessness.

We discussed the events of what Garrett had done at Locke and Madoc’s command. It turned out that Garrett had been the one to shoot Queen Orglah. Even if he had been commanded to do it, Nicasia and the seafolk would see him as a traitor and demand that he be punished, which meant his life was entirely at the mercy of Jude and Cardan. I couldn’t help but see the resemblance to my own situation.

When Cardan made a comment about me lurking around the palace, I revealed that I had no intention of going anywhere until I knew that Jude would be safe. Our relationship may be strained, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t make up for my actions.

Cardan wore an expression that showed he was tired of this conversation. “Jude and I had a misunderstanding. But we’re not enemies. And I am not your enemy, either, Taryn.”

As a faerie, I knew he couldn’t lie, but that didn’t matter. Maybe he didn’t think of us as enemies, he could still think of us as toys.

“But you think everything’s a game. You and Locke.” His name tasted like ash in my mouth.

“Unlike Locke, I never thought love was a game. You may accuse me of much, but not that.” Cardan shared softly.

The air in the room shifted as Cardan's gaze fell upon Jude, who refused to even look in his direction before quickly changing the subject.

For the first time, it was not just me who was drawing a comparison between our loves. While Cardan’s words came out more as a confession to Jude than a taunt at me, the words still stung. Locke had thought love to be a game. But Cardan, the cruel, spoiled prince did not think love was a game.

How had I believed Locke was my future?

In the carriage back to the palace, Cardan broke the silence by asking about some of the things he had seen on his way to Vivi’s apartment. Most of his questions were about the dishwasher which had been running in the apartment, how mortal mailboxes worked, how secure they were in protecting incoming mail, and what slushies tasted like.

By the end of the ride, I couldn’t help but laugh at his questions which seemed so trivial given the circumstances we all found ourselves in. When we were alone I turned to Jude, who was barely awake on her feet.

“Do you trust him?” I asked. It was the question that had been gnawing at me since our return.

Jude thought for a moment before sighing. “Sometimes,” she responded.

It was enough to make me warn her. Did I think Cardan loved her? Yes. But was Cardan trustworthy? It was hard to forget the years of our childhood together that suggested otherwise and if Jude who had gotten to know him closer than any of the rest of us questioned it, then it was probably best not to.

I had been blinded by my love for Locke that I trusted him to take care of me. I didn’t want the same to happen to Jude, even if seeing them care for each other made my heart ache with envy.

____________________________________________________________

In the days leading up to Madoc’s arrival, all of Elfhame seemed to be on alert; waiting for something to happen. Whispers that bordered on treason could be heard on the grounds and it seemed that everyone had begun placing bets on the outcome of the meeting. It seemed that many of the Folk had questions around the legitimacy of a human queen and the chance the High King’s army stood against a Redcap led army.

Madoc would stop at nothing to get what he wanted. Vivi, Jude, and I all knew that. I did not have to attend strategy meetings to know they were facing a serious threat.

Amidst the preparations for possible battle, the whole castle seemed to note the change in the High King and Queen’s dynamic. For one, their marriage was now common knowledge, but more than that there was a closeness between them that had never been there before.

At first, it was not-so-secret handholding and shared looks at mealtimes. Once at dinner, Cardan made a joke about the dangers of in-laws and Jude rolled her eyes before letting a real smile show.

Then, rumors began to spread that a servant had walked into the royal chambers to replace the bedding and apparently caught the two in a compromising position even though they were supposed to be in a war meeting.

I was doubtful when I first heard, but I even overheard some council members complaining about how they missed when the two bickered all meetings instead of ditching meetings to sneak off together.

The new development had only lasted a matter of days, so I hadn’t figured out if it stemmed from a need for distraction given the impending situation or if the two had formed a more intimate relationship since Jude’s return to health.

The look of devastation on Jude’s face after Cardan transformed suggested that whatever their relationship entailed, Jude had begun to share feelings for him that went beyond hate or tolerance.

When Cardan snapped the blood crown, the air turned stale and the ground hardened. I couldn’t tear my eyes off of Cardan, as his body seemed to melt and twist into the monstrous snake.

The ground shook as the snake moved through the room headed straight for the sword maker. By the time Grimsen was swallowed, I was being pushed deeper into the castle by the flow of the crowd desperate to get to safety. I only got a glimpse of the horror on Jude’s face before she was completely out of sight.

By the time I finally saw her later, I saw the tear stains on her cheeks and the exhaustion behind her eyes. I wondered if she was mourning Cardan or perhaps she was coming to terms with her own future. If Cardan could not be saved, Jude would likely not last long on the throne. The lower courts might seize the chance or the undersea would. That is if our father didn’t dethrone her first.

For the first time in months, I thought I might be able to understand her again. Like me, her husband gave her a level of security that was uncommon for a human in Faerie. While Jude may try to say her motivations for marrying Cardan were different from me marrying Locke, I don’t think they were. They were both motivated by power and protection.

I married Locke for protection in Elfhame. My position as his wife also gave me a degree of power I never had before. Jude married Cardan to become High Queen. She could have become the most powerful knight alive and still not have been afforded the same level of protection she has as Cardan’s queen. While we may have had different expectations for our marriages, both were strategic.

Madoc taught us that it is harder to hold onto power than it is to gain it. It is even harder to hold on when it is just you. Together, she and Cardan had a chance at maintaining the throne, but alone the chances were slim.

I may have lost almost every privilege I had as Locke’s wife, but Jude had a lot more to lose without Cardan; including her life.

In his absence, the happiness that Jude showed disappeared entirely. When she wasn’t in meetings, she could be found in the destroyed throne room and truly seemed to mourn him.

I recognized some of her pain, though her situation was different of course. I knew what it was like to feel the suffocating sense of loneliness. After all, I had gone months without hearing from my sisters or my parents, all while stuck in a relationship that was on tilted ground from the start.

I knew the pain of losing a partner. Locke died by my hand, but it did not stop the mixed emotions that came after. In the instant I decided to act, I lost any promise of a safe future in Elfhame.

We both knew what it was like to be humans in Faerieland; powerless to watch as the monsters closed in from all sides. In a land where the food, wine, a dance, and a simple conversation could be disastrous, only she and I could truly understand the deep fear that every day brought.

When the day came to bridle the snake, my sister looked magnificent, powerful even. She looked every bit the part of High Queen. But behind her cold, fierce look, I noted the inner turmoil that plagued her.

No one had any ideas on how to save the High King. Therefore, her future came down to if she would decide to wield the snake as a weapon or not. With the serpent, Jude would have had a chance to hold her position on the throne. Without Cardan, she would likely lose everything.

If power was the only thing she wanted, it would have been a simple choice. Jude would have found the snake and ruled as the murderous queen that some fae refer to her as, for as long as she could. She hesitated though. After she dressed in Mab’s armor, she paced back and forth while she chewed her bottom lip, as she does when she is nervous or thinking. She didn’t know what she was going to do.

It was that morning that it became obvious that my sister had loved Cardan back. It was more than lust or a political arrangement. They both could claim their marriage had been strategic, and it might have started that way, but there was love between them. A love that kept her from using Cardan as a weapon.

They played their games and hurt one another, but when the other was in danger they shared the same look of desperate determination to save them. The look on Jude’s face was the same as Cardan’s when he came to Vivi’s apartment; desperate, sad, and determined.

____________________________________________________________

When Jude returned with a naked, bloody, Cardan I could not believe it. The impossible had happened.

Within a matter of hours, the palace managed to throw a feast in honor of the High King returning. I dressed quickly and made my way to join in the celebration with my siblings and Heather. Tatterfell told us that Jude would join us shortly.

At the height of the party, I spotted a familiar face trying to keep out of sight near the edge of the room. I left my spot near the musicians table and made my way towards him.

“Hello Garrett,” I said as I stopped next to him, taking in the room from his angle. Vivi, Heather, and Oak were still eating at one of the long tables. The crowd parted suddenly, so it was easy to spot Jude and Cardan as they made their way to the dancefloor.

“Taryn,” he replied with a smile.

Neither of us spoke for a moment as the kitchen servants brought out more desserts with a level of fanfare that matched the king that was being celebrated.

“Are you on king and queen duty this evening?” I asked with a nod to the direction of the dance floor.

Garrett shook his head and laughed, “Technically, I am always responsible for their safety, but I sense that the king and queen don’t wish to be followed.”

I looked back only to notice Cardan leading Jude behind the dais and out of sight.

“Then, perhaps you would like to dance?” The words slipped out before I could reason why it was a silly idea. Before I could regret my words, he offered a soft smile before extending his hand.

I let him sweep me onto the dance floor, trusting him to stop me before my feet wear out. I don’t know if it was the way his face lit up when he laughed, or because he is a member of my sister’s court of spies, or because I could command him at any time (not that I ever intend on using his name), but as we twirled and laughed together, I felt safe.

The feeling was a bit ridiculous. My future was still entirely unknown. I had a baby growing inside me, still needed to stand trial, and had no way to support myself.

Technically, both Garrett and I had committed crimes punishable by death, but at least for the evening, I was happy to share the space with him.

We stayed on the dance floor together until the sun streaked in through the windows.

____________________________________________________________

On the day of the tribunal, I could not help but tremble slightly. Cardan’s promise floated in my head, but I would never fully believe it until I was officially declared innocent. I could not believe that Jude would punish me too harshly. After all, she hated Locke for what he did, so I couldn’t imagine she was upset by my actions. At the same time, she also hated me for what I did, so it was hard to guess her thoughts.

I took my time getting ready until it was finally time to make my way to the throne room. I quietly entered and found my spot in the crowd before glancing up at the dais.

Together they sat. Two enemies who had somehow fallen in love. They had risen together through everything that had happened.

Jude made Cardan into a respectable king and Cardan made Jude queen so no one could overlook her power again.

Cardan invited me forward and in a clear voice, he granted me everything he promised. I was innocent and my child and I would inherit Locke’s titles.

I walked back to my seat and felt the weight of the last few months fall off of my shoulders.

With the ruling, I let myself imagine my future; something I had not done since the night I drove the letter opener plunge into Locke’s neck.

I had made regrettable choices in the past, but I had been given a fresh start.

I had hated the way my sisters had loving relationships, but now it was what I hope to find for myself.

I want a love that is more than security or protection or fun. I want to be with someone who encourages me to be more.

I am not in a rush to find love again. I have my child to raise, my relationships to repair, but if my sister’s love taught me anything, it is that love can happen in the most unlikely of places with the most unlikely of people.

#taryn pov #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #jurdan #jude x cardan #cardan x jude #the folk of the air #tfota fanfic #jurdan fanfic #taryn duarte #the queen of nothing #the wicked king #the cruel prince #taryn and jude duarte #the duarte sisters #the cruel prince fanfiction #taryn x ghost

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biot08 · 3 years ago

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Preaching to the choir

*long, long before the events of the ARR, before her adventuring career:*

Rayford Portier was reaching the end of recounting the things that he wished to bring to Ser Vauban’s attention regarding the current state of everything he had felt affected the little fort in Coerthas. There was much; despite the lack of importance of the family’s name, the fort was still a critical outpost in the Dragonsong war, and the patrol routes that left it regularly covered a large area. He had mentioned the need for certain supplies, had brought in letters that would need to be distributed, and the skywatcher’s early reports for the upcoming season. But at last, he found he could finally no longer avoid the news he was not looking forward to relaying. “…and, ah, your father sends word of one last bit of business.”

He did not continue talking. Zoissette had spent much of the meeting busying herself with the watch schedule, her pen scribbling names into slots. She was paying attention, and the break in the flow of Rayford’s speech did not go unnoticed. Her writing slowed as she finished writing one last name for now, and she gently stuck the feathers of her quill into her mouth before slowly looking up with a head tilt. Rayford simply fixed her with a steady gaze. She reached over, and placed the pen back into its ink pot, and she sat up.

“The Inquisition intends to make an appearance at the closing of the next moon.”

The two looked at each other. Zoissette drew a long breath in and then let it out slow. She leaned forward, and clasped her hands tightly together on the desk. She had been at the fort for a bit over five seasons. During that time, she had seen and participated in several skirmishes. She had taken care of her people as best as she was able with the meager budget a lesser house could spare. The fort was important enough to be manned, but not at all glamourous. It was sticks duty. There would be no chance for young up and comings to make their name out here, mostly rebuffing scouting parties. It was a duty that was tolerated as necessary, but not celebrated, and gaining the trust of the soldiers and support staff had required simply showing up and doing the work. No speeches. No lectures. No preaching. Just showing up, and showing that she was simply there to do the job. And certainly no delusions of power (she didn’t have), delusions of holiness (she didn’t feel), nor displays of extravagance (she wouldn’t waste precious resources on).

She could feel it all fraying and coming apart under the heavy hand of the Holy See.

When she spoke, she drew out her words, enunciating fully, as though care of word indicated holiness of intent. “Have they said what cause of heresy they suspect?”

“None, ser. They claim this to be a routine visit. It has been some time since they have come out this way. Apparently, to hear your father retell it, they merely think now to be an opportune time. The astrologians believe this to be a point of a longer lull than usual in the fighting. The Holy See wishes to make an appearance. Do a few interviews. Make sure all is well, and when they find that it is, take the opportunity to… remind the soldiers who they fight for, and what they fight against.”

Rayford’s tone was politely neutral. It always was. A skill he practiced as he lived. Zoissette was pretty sure his idea of raising his voice was inflecting his syllables differently.

“I… see. Well, I doubt they will find anything here,” Zoissette said. There was an unspoken ‘I hope’ there. She was new yet, but not stupid. Heretics, if they were present, would certainly go to pains to keep themselves hidden.

“May I be free with my words, ser?”

“Always, Rayford. Always and particularly now.”

“The men and women will need to be told, but you should be careful with how you handle them in the coming weeks. This will be a delicate time. Many of them have had run ins with the Inquisition over their lives. All of them will have seen the Inquistion’s work at a distance. The work may be necessary, but it is often brutal, and even the most innocent and pious sort of man may see a hollow shadow behind him in the mirror when he hears that the inquisitors will be calling.”

Zoissette buried her face in her hands. “I know.”

~~~

The Sergeant at Arms stood over the practice pit, watching lancers and archers coordinate their attacks on the training dummies at the far end of the area. He was an old hyur, with gray grizzled hair and a scar on half his face. He had lost an ear and his good looks to a dragon early in his career, and like as not would be at the fort supervising others rather than being out on patrol. He did not care for that, but his experience was valuable, and he had the rare enough knack of teaching.

Zoissette liked him. He tolerated her. She knew that, and appreciated it for what it was.

He was now frowning at the news. Zoissette often would just stop in long enough to do turnover with him and then be on her way without getting in his, but this time, she lingered, watching him mull over the news, and wanting to be present should he have something to say about it.

He looked over at her, expression dark, and lowered his voice.

“Do they suspect heresy here, madam?”

She hated being called madam, but she let him get away with it. Again. Good teacher. Rare knack. And he didn’t let the others do it, so a minor loss for a better gain.

“No. Routine visit, they say. Just want to conduct interviews and remind us of our duties.”

The man’s scowl deepened, and he pointed at a pair of trainees that had slowed their advance. Once they were startled back into action, he turned to Zoissette.

“Ill news. Almost be easier if they had announced they had found heretics and were performing their investigation. Then my soldiers would have focus. They would not trust each other for a bit, sure, but I can work with that. As it is, they will be jumping at every shadow, jumping over each other to ‘prove’ their piousness. Discipline’ll improve, sure. Moral, though? It’s going to plummet. The next month is going to be hell.”

Zoissette sighed, and nodded. “I know.”

The two continued to discuss the realities of the situation and how to try to work through it, and then both returned their attention to their respective duties.

~~~

Zoissette was in the fort’s library. The fort was small, but it did have its library, and a reasonable selection of books. She was hoping to find a treatise on pole arm tactics.

Instead, as she turned away from the shelves empty-handed, she found one of the maids standing there, eyes downcast and hands folded in front of her. The woman was obviously in distress.

Odd. Usually the house staff would go to Rayford if they needed something.

“Esmerelda?”

“Y-yes madam. Knight! Knight ser. Ser. Yes, yes ser,” the woman stammered.

“Hey hey hey. Deep breath in, let it out slow, you’re okay, we’re okay.”

“Yes. Of course, ser. Yes ser. Begging your pardon, ser…”

The woman’s voice trailed off, becoming small. Zoissette clasped her hands behind her, and gave the woman her full attention. She suspected.

She was right.

“Ser, do we… do we have heretics, here, ser?”

Zoissette shook her head. “Not that I know. Look, it’s… it’s just a routine visit. Nothing to worry about. They say they just-“

The woman swallowed, hard, and stared at the floor. Zoissette fell silent, to let the woman have space to speak.

“My… my apologies, ser. This is hard for me. I … I am a good and pious woman, ser. I know I have nothing to fear from the Inquisition, ser. I know it. I … I KNOW it, ser. But… I want you to know it too, ser.”

Zoissette inwardly had to admit, that usually Rayford was the bridge between her and the staff, much as the Sergeant at Arms was the bridge between her and the non-noble soldiers. But this woman was clearly in distress, and it fell to her to be present. Zoissette nodded, and put a hand on the maid’s shoulder.

“Of course. I have never had cause to suspect.”

“I… I apologize, ser.. I just… it’s just… I came to House Vauban because I could no longer stand to stay at my previous house, ser. They found… they found heretics among the staff, ser. They… they chose to make an example of them, ser.”

The woman took several deep breaths, steadying her nerves, and then all of a sudden, her expression went dead, and her body seemed to fold in on itself.

“They put them to the sword in the courtyard, ser. I thought several of them my friends, ser. They ended it quickly, thank the Fury for small mercies, but… I am no soldier, ser. I am just house staff. I had seen death before of course. We all have. But this was different. I did not handle it gracefully. In the days and moons afterward, I could not see the courtyard without seeing … them. So I left, ser. Your family was kind enough to take me on, ser. It can be hard for a commoner to find good work if they leave their priors like I did, but yours took me on, and I am grateful, but…”

The woman’s voice trailed off. Zoissette tried a smile she hoped was reassuring and squeezed the maid’s shoulder. The maid looked up at Zoissette’s hand, and reached her own up, to touch it.

“I know I am out of line, ser. And I know the Inquisition is necessary ser. But I cannot forget that day, ser. I am a good and pious woman, I promise ser. I just… I just need you to know that.”

“I know,” said Zoissette.

~~~

“We’ve got a problem,” said Ser Jervoix.

Vauban was a minor house, and the fort was not an important one, but sometimes the other minor houses would pass around their knights, both as a show of mutual support and a way to expand the experience of their officer corps. The fort was not a prestigious outpost, and the work was not exactly easy, but it still had to be done. And that was how Zoissette had come to have another visiting noble who helped her. She had only been there for a season, and would only stay for another. She had been surly at first, but had steadily grown used to the situation, and while she was not a friend, she was at least reasonable to work with. So while Zoissette handled matters closer to the fort, being the face of the family, Gilda Jervoix had been leading patrols and managing the remote camp.

That she had come back early said much. That her first sentence was that said more. Zoissette nodded and gestured to the table nearby. The two sat, and Zoissette poured them both a cup of the customary mulled wine.

“One of our men spooked at the news of the Inquisition coming,” said Gilda. “When he went, several others abandoned their posts also.”

Zoissette groaned. “Heretics after all?”

“I am sure the Inquisition will suspect so, but no. I don’t think so. I spoke with the men. It took some asking around, and a bribe or two, but I learned much. The man who first ran was in a village that had unknowingly harbored heretics. They were apparently sneaking into an abandoned house using a tunnel system of some sort.”

“I think I recall hearing this news from my father. It’s one of those inspiring stories they like to tell. The heretics were found out because they were stealing from the villagers under cover of night. When the villagers investigated, they stumbled upon the heretics’ stash, finding both their stolen items and some draconic artifacts. Rather than handle the situation themselves, they pretended to ignore it. Notified the Inquisition.”

“I heard the same story, right. The Inquisition swept in, burned the heretics, and held the people of the town up as model citizens.”

“I feel like that story must be at least ten years old. What’s that have to do with our missing man?”

“That story is a just a little older than your guess. Older than I remembered, to be honest. Sixteen years ago, it made quite an impression on a certain eight year old who watched the house next to his get burned to the ground… with the people still inside.”

Zoissette sat back in her chair and stared at the ceiling, and groaned.

“As for the others, I think they were already skittish. If a man who was declared such a holy example from his youth feared the inquisition…”

“…what hope could they have. Yeah.”

Gilda looked at her drink.

“I know the work the Inquisition does is necessary. There are those who would tear down Ishgard, and do the same to us, if not worse. But should we not be better than them? Should we not be so… brutal?”

“I know,” said Zoissette.

“More may flee in the coming weeks. Maybe not permanently - I got news from one of the other holdings, in fact, that our man had been spotted on the road -to- Ishgard. I think he was merely hoping to not be here while the Inquisition is. Hard to say. But with him and the others gone… our patrols are thinner now. It’s going to be hard to fill out schedules. Like I said… we’ve got a problem.”

“I know,” Zoissette repeated, feeling a sinking weight in her chest.

~~~

Zoissette greeted the Inquistor at the door with a salute.

“Greetings, with all due respect from House Vauban. It is our privilege to host you at our holdings. Please, come in.”

The inquisitor walked into the fort, looking around, taking stock of his surroundings. He wore a coat, lined thick with sumptuous fabrics. Gold chains littered the outside of it, and various rosaries and other symbols of his holy office. His presence was unmistakeable, and he seemed fit to try to fill the space with himself.

He smiled warmly at Zoissette.

“Ah, Madam Vauban, Ser Knight. Thank you for receiving me.”

“Of course. We have prepared a meal for you, of course, that you may have at your leisure. If you are tired after your journey, our house servant, Rayford Portier, has already prepared a room for you. He is at your disposal for the duration of your stay, as, of course, am I.”

The inquisitor nodded, a faint smile on his face. “Of course, of course. Thank you, Madam Vauban. I trust that you, of course, understand the importance of our work out here. I will need to see your books, of course, so that I can schedule interviews with the people. I do not think I will find anything, but often you can find hidden truths that point, if not at a person, at least elsewhere. Diligence is the price we pay, and we will pay it in full.”

“I know,” said Vauban.

“And it is the hope of the Holy See that the men will find the site of one of us visiting even such a distant outpost will be inspiring. We care for them, after all, one and all. They will surely look upon this as a momentous occasion, as their purity is seen for the truth of itself, and be bolstered by knowing their own holiness demonstrated. Our purpose is for the glory of Ishgard, you know.”

“I know,” said Vauban.

“Good, good. Of course you do. All is well for now, then. I think I shall retire for the evening. I have been traveling all day, and we can start our work early, and fresh, tomorrow morning. This is good work that we will do, Madam Vauban,” the inquisitor said, offering Vauban a smile.

Zoissette returned the smile, but her eyes were cold, and her smile was brittle.

“I know,” she said.

#202109-12 #ffxivwrite2021 #preaching to the choir #zoissette vauban #content warning: fire #content warning: violence

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jasonndeans · 4 years ago

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young gods - shane “dio” morrissey x reader

word count: 1,990

warnings: brief scene involving harassment and brief use of the f slur at the end.

chapter: 1/?

summary: You weren't looking for anything when you met Dio, but you also couldn't take your eyes off of him. You were drawn to him, shrouded in black mystery and his softer side he kept well hidden under that duster. A part of you knew when you first saw him, he was destined to fly too close to the sun. At first, it wasn't really anything he said or anything he did. It was the feeling that came along with him. You'd never felt this way before, and the crazy thing is, you didn't know if you should. You knew his world moved too fast and burned too bright, but...how can the Devil be pulling you towards someone who looks so much like an angel when he smiles at you? Maybe he knew that when he met you, too.

Dio didn’t have much to bring with him on the day he took you up on your offer to live with you in your small New York City apartment; small, albeit big enough for two. He carried almost all of his earthly possessions with him in his pockets — the keys to his father’s ancient, barely running Honda, a pack of cigarettes, loose cash and change, and his trusty switch. The rest would have to be crammed into his car and hauled over, mostly consisting of clothes and shoes, thrifted or stolen.

“I was wonderin’ when you’d rescue me from the Smack Shack,” he’d quipped, lips curling.

“The Smack Shack” is what he’d dubbed the worn-down, abandoned place he and his buddies — all of them pursuers of a list of drugs, some of them sellers like Dio — often crashed in when a softer, more secure sofa couldn’t be reserved for the night. Thus, The Smack Shack. You’d visited a handful of times despite the fact that it gave you the creeps. Dio had your trust, as did…some of his friends. The neighborhood just wasn’t the safest in Manhattan, needless to say, and there was no guessing what shady characters were looming about in these hollowed out homes. You’re just glad he’s out of there. And with you.

“Ohh, I rescued you, huh?” You’d teased back, your voice lilting in a sing-song tone. “I must be your knight in shining armor.”

He hummed in the back of his throat with a mock grimace, leaning forward to kiss you. “Don’t make me sick, birdie.” His lips were chapped and tasted of smoke, and as much as you detested the habit, it was something so purely Dio. A smirk played on his lips upon pulling back with decorated fingers idly tapping out a rhythm onto a tabletop of a squat little sandwich shop you worked at. “I seem to remember things differently.” Expectant, he cocked his head, casting a shadow of his star-shaped earring onto his neck -- one of many, many things that endeared you to the boy in black.

As if on cue, you turned sheepish with a duck of your head and a bashful smile cast downwards. He was referring to the day you two first met. Officially, that is. Along with the thrill of waitressing and constructing sandwiches, you worked behind a cash register at a record shop -- Empire Records. Music’s always been a constant comfort for you, in your ears when you needed a voice to scream your sorrows, your rampages or your little victories. You’d amassed quite the collection of records as you grew and your music taste with you for a player you’d fixed up and obtained from a seller when on the hunt for more important things like furniture and necessities to fill your then new apartment. You didn’t consider yourself to be one of those douchey vinyl connoisseurs, but you liked the place well enough. It was only a matter of time before you noticed the tall, dark, handsome boy who’d frequent the place without buying anything. He’d stick to the Industrial Rock or Post-Punk ailes and he definitely looked the type, decked head to toe in grungey black attire, adorned with silver jewelry and chains. Every so often the two of you would lock eyes, make slightly painful small talk about whatever was playing through the speakers. You even inquired once if he’d learned your shift schedule with how often he’d appear when you were working, and, leaning suavely on his elbows before you, he’d replied:

“Maybe I have. Maybe I haven’t. That all depends...would you think I was a creep if I said yes?”

Perhaps a normal individual would confirm this, but you had to admit the guy was cute. Okay, he was hot with his dark eyes lined in black, brow piercing and air of confidence. So you smiled and shook your head. Dio smiled back.

You recall during one of your early morning shifts, Dio asked for your coffee order, motioning to the cup in your hands. You gave it to him and he advised against grabbing your morning coffee the next time it was scheduled on your calendar. With curiosity, you obliged and on that day and each day after, in he strolled with your cup in one hand, his in the other. So you carried on like that for a while, chatting over coffee, much to the dismay of your manager.

“Your boyfriend’s a distraction,” she’d remarked one day. “And a loiterer. I don’t care how dreamy he is, he can’t keep hanging around here if he’s not gonna buy anything.”

Admittedly, that caused your heart to sink a little. Yeah, you understood her frustration from a business perspective, but despite not even knowing this guy’s name, his gloomy presence brightened your otherwise dull work days.

When you transferred your manager’s message, Dio issued a breath of...disappointment?

“I don’t believe in money,” came his confession, almost hardly classifying as one what with how casually it was delivered. He chuckled at your raised brow. “Everyone’s a slave to these meaningless pieces of paper and metal, even you. ” A nail painted black pointed at you. “If I want something, nine times outta ten, I’ll find my own way to get it. Seems a little fucked up to work for the essentials for survival, don’t you think?”

For a moment, you sat with this new information. Yeah, it was a little fucked up to fork over hard-earned cash for things like basic needs, but how else was someone expected to live? Mulling it over, you sipped your coffee, once again brought by him. You shot Mr. No-Name-Kid a knowing look. “Am I drinking stolen coffee?” Your smirk couldn’t hide from him.

Dio only laughed.

One night as you closed up shop, you were disheartened at the absence of a certain trench coat clad “customer” in the store that day. You couldn’t place where this was coming from. After all, the two of you were only..what? Acquaintances at most? Names hadn’t even been exchanged, and yet you found yourself scanning the streets outside for any sight of him at the door; reminded of his face when bands like The Cure filled the shop.

Your sigh deflated you as you dug for your keys in your bag -- both to lock up and for your car. It was whatever. This guy had a life too and was under no obligation to visit you as you worked. You turned the key to Empire Records, locking it shut and gave the doors a pull to be sure, Yup. All good. Nodding to yourself, you turned to locate your car in the lot next door. The night was brisk, pushing past the fabric of your cardigan as you walked an empty sidewalk. Under the glow of buzzing streetlights and neon business signs, you tugged it closer to you. The work day was dwindling, at least on this street, cars every so often rolling past. You’re about halfway to the car park when your ears catch a second pair of footsteps behind you. Your lips and spirits lift with the hope that they might belong to the heavy boots of Dio after all and you turn to greet him.

“Nice night, huh?”

This guy’s not Dio. His hoodie covers shaggy chestnut hair, hands in his front pocket as he trudges along. This dude reeks of weed and booze. You ignore him and continue on your path.

“Not a talker. Got it. Listen, honey, you don’t gotta clam up around me, I’m a swell guy. I’ll walk ya’ to your car, that’s where you’re goin’, right?”

Jaw clenched, you ball your cool hands into fists at your sides, keeping your car key poking out from between your fingers should this douche not get the hint. “I don’t need an escort, thanks.” Your reply is sharp, eyes remaining en route. Other than that, you try your damndest to ease calm through your body. Tempting as it is to dash to the safety of your vehicle, you’re not about to put any fear on display for him. You’re okay. Breathe. The lot’s less than a block away now.

Then a hand snakes its way around your waist.

“C’mon, baby, ‘m just tryn’a be a gentleman. Isn’t that what broads want?” His breath is rancid in your nose.

You jerk away, shooting daggers. “Offer declined, now leave me alone.” Now you pick up the pace with your destination in sight. You don’t make it far before you’re jerked back by fingers at your forearm that tug forcefully. The bastard opens his mouth to spew more drovel, but you don’t give him the chance to speak. Screwing up your face, you reel your arm back and jab him with your key in the ribs.

Pain sputters through his lips. No skin was broken (unfortunately), but he’s stumbled back a few paces and grabs where you’d struck him. “You bitch!” He spits, his glare glassy. “Fuck’s your problem?!”

You’re halted by a chilling mixture of fear and shock at your own actions, snapping out of it when the drunk stranger lunges forward. No time is wasted in absolutely fucking booking it now. He may be hammered, but you’re taking no chances. You pay no attention to the string of swears and slurs from behind you and finally reach your car. The vibrations in your hands make unlocking the door difficult, and glancing up you can see your pursuer drunkenly heading toward you.

“Fuck!” You cry. “Stupid fucking--!”

“If I were you I’d stop right there, you piece of shit.”

The familiar voice that hadn’t been there prior snaps your head up, scanning the darkness to catch Dio crossing the street looking more menacing than you’ve ever seen him. You could get in your car and peel out of there right now, but you’re frozen in place watching the scene unfold.

Your attacker finds his way to his feet again, looking dumbfounded at the character who’s walked onto the scene. “Who -- who the fuck’re you?!”

You catch a smirk on Dio’s lips under flickering streetlights. “That all depends on what your next move is, jagoff.” He looks pissed as all hell, though there’s a layer of calm to his words that stirs your stomach. Dio now stands in front of the other with his hands in leather pockets, like he’s provoking him. He’s always exuded this...intimidating aura, clad in all black and chains but you’ve never seen this side of him in action. Maybe now is a bad time to come to this realization, but you have to admit: it’s sexy.

“Oh that’s, ‘s cute,” Mumbles the brunette guy, snickering. “‘S this your boyfriend comin’ to the rescue? Looks like a fuckin’ faggot if I’ve ever seen--”

Dio’s boot to this guy’s crotch cuts him off in the middle of his “insult” and he crumples to the concrete with a groan; if that isn’t enough, Dio lands a second kick to his temple.

You can only stand there lamely with your jaw agape and watch him swagger over after he just knocked a dude in the nuts.

“Sorry I was late,” he says smoothly. “I was in a meeting. You alright?”

Stupidly, you blink at him in the low light. “I--um...I’m…” Real nice. You shake your head to jumpstart your brain. “Yeah, I-I’m okay. I’m good. Thanks. Really.” So he’d come to see you after all.

Dio nods, appearing grateful to hear you’re unharmed.

You two begin to speak at the same time and chuckle in unison. He falls silent, ushering you to continue. You look your rescuer in the face, unable to swallow a smile. You’d missed those eyes, seeming so warm in the cool of the night. “So, do I get to know the name of my savior?” You prod.

He laughs once, low in his throat. “Dio.”

#shane dio morrissey #shane dio morrissey x reader #pedro pascal #dio x reader

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agreementtale · 3 years ago

Text

Chapter 27: The Great

Taking advantage of the fact that both human and skeleton were distracted with greasy breakfast, Flowey disappeared on the ground.

The last thing he wanted was to leave them alone with him, but after a week of nothing but jokes and not lethal pranks, he had to make a choice.

And there wouldn’t be much more time, if the determined hue of their eyes this morning was any indication.

~*~

Since he woke up on the true lab, Flowey had to make a lot of hard choices.

Abandoning his name or being guilty of all the events his previous life triggered.

Not meeting his father or being held expectant to what he used to be.

Never seeing his mother or being swallowed by her madness.

Give up on trying to help people or being merciless murdered.

Kill and live or hide and survive.

And after many and many failed resets, he had learned his lesson.

For a long time he had chosen to sneak around the cities, to help just enough so he wasn’t caught. To live just near enough to meet people and preach a more pacific way of life, but distant enough to flee at the first threat.

~*~

“Are You Ok?” the concerned voice had cut through his fear like the sharpened bone sword would cut his vines at any moment now.

It hadn’t yet, that had been last timeline, before he was captured and sent to the labs, this time he dodged the attacks in time. This time the guard looked at him with an expression he hadn’t seen in years.

“You Aren’t Dusting Are You?” The monster looked frantic, abandoning the fight instance, concern and guilt making him lower his guard “I Didn’t Lower Your HP That Much” not that Flowey could do anything to harm him, his pellets were too weak to harm a guard’s HP.

But if he lowered his guard, maybe a surprise attack now would dust him and allow Flowey to escape. He couldn’t go back to the labs, he would do anything to not go back at the labs! He thought about taking the easy betrayal kill, but he knew sooner or later he would regret the idea, and go back to his last save file.

“Your Soul” Flowey stopped, his body going colder than the snow below him “What Happened?” he looked at the new guard, really looked for the first time.

He was a skeleton, instead of eyes he had two holes on his hollow head, dim white lights trembling inside his skull. It was nothing he had seen before, it wasn’t nostalgic, it wasn’t relatable, it wasn’t recognizable in any way… But looking at those fearful eyes, something inside coiled at the genuine show of feeling, even if Flowey couldn’t feel it, he was compelled to say something to the monster in front of him “I’m fine”

“NO! YOU–/” He stopped himself and looked back to where he came from “YOU ARE NOT FINE, I CAN’T SENSE YOUR SOUL” Flowey never thought that shouting and whispering could go together, but the skeleton just proved him wrong.

“I don’t have one” There was no sense in lying, not when he could experience a reaction so genuine from a new monster, he was tired of the same faces.

“You Don’t…”

There it was, the moment of realization where every monster sported an horrified face, and gave him either pity or disgust, he wondered which one of the two his reaction would be.

“FEAR NOT” but the skeleton got on one knee, getting near his height, chest puffed with pride, like a real knight “THE GREAT PAPYRUS WILL FIND A WAY TO FIX THIS” and extending his hands he started to heal him.

A guard that was ordered to find him, dead or alive, actually healed him.

And on his magic he could feel, all the kindness and sincerity of his words, not a speck of malice, nor the lingering residue of disinterest of the paid healers, no, this monster wanted to heal him, not because he agreed on a price, but just because he wanted Flowey to be better!

Flowey was capable of healing, he had learned it from his parents. But being healed was so much better…

The feeling… that someone cared… that someone was there for him…

The new monster’s magic spoke more than he could ever describe with a straight face. He would cry, if he still had the ability.

“THE DOCTOR SHOULD KNOW WHAT TO DO” the sentence drowned all the warmth of his chest, or lack of it.

“No, please!” he tried to retreat, startling the monster before him “Not her, anyone but her!” but he was caught on his grip and couldn’t stop trashing “She will cut me open, please!” but he was trapped again, that’s what he got for dropping his guard “Please, don’t let her experiment on me again”

“AGAIN?”

“It’s her fault! I’m like this because of her!”

The lights in his head went out, he was terrifying like that “She… Took Your Soul?”

He wanted to say yes, but he was scared the skeleton could see through his lies, skeletons were powerful monsters, he remembered the stories his mother would tell before he slept.

“She… didn’t build me one”

The silence was palpable.

Neither of them moved.

He wanted to escape of the other’s grip, but it was useless.

His lights were still out.

He didn’t know what to think, and the environment was too charged for him try to say anything without being prompted.

“Cadet!” Came the strong yell, the monster went stiff, getting up abruptly, and Flowey saw himself free, but more trapped than before “What are you doing standing there?!?”

She approached, and he knew that at this distance, if he so much as tried to move she would see him, if he kept completely still the skeleton’s boot gave him the cover he needed.

“FORGIVE ME CAPTAIN!” yelled, body completely stiff “I WAS LOOKING FOR THE FUGITIVE”

“And did you find him?”

“I” that was the moment they sent him to the doctor “COULDN’T FIND A SOUL, CAPTAIN” was… was he covering for him?

She shouted aggressively, hitting the trees behind with spears “What are you waiting here for?! Move!”

“YES CAPTAIN!” he made a symbol with his finger… ‘up’, Flowey climbed his boot. Hiding inside.

~*~

The first person to try to help without knowing him… The first person to still treat him as a monster once he found out he didn’t have a soul.

This memory had been lost in time, many, many resets ago…

Papyrus didn’t need to remember that. No one need to know that. He escaped the lab before the scientist could know of his existence, made a point to avoid Undyne this timeline, and was sure that this timeline neither Papyrus or Sans had the chance of using the blue magic directly on him, and finding out his secret…

This timeline he did everything right… he tried, he really tried to make a difference… but it always got to the same point…

~*~

“But... Papyrus... You are my only friend...”

The lieutenant sighed, not looking at him “YOU ARE MY FRIEND TOO, FLOWEY, Just Not In Public, Ok?”

“But…” no matter what he did, it always came to this.

“NOT IN PUBLIC! I CAN’T BE SEEN HANGING OUT WITH A FREE-EXP!”

He took a brief moment to think, was there anything he hadn’t tried to say? “... No one is going to hurt you for it” he was sure he hadn’t said that one yet, but it seemed to be the wrong choice either way.

“ARE YOU SUGGESTING I AM SCARED?” He was scared of be seen as weak, of becoming a target, everyone in the underground was, and everyone would kill before admitting that.

“I can protect us!” but Flowey had to try.

“HA! YOU SHOULD GIVE MY BROTHER SOME LESSONS ON HUMOR!”

“It’s true!” He didn’t want to lose his best friend.

“YOU CAN’T.”

“I can! I can tell what is going to happen and–/”

“AND I WILL HAVE TO DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT. OR WILL YOU RETHINK YOUR FOOLISH IDEA OF MERCY?” He didn’t understand, Papyrus didn’t understand what he was asking.

“But no one has to die! If monsters can just–/”

“WOULD YOU KILL FOR ME FLOWEY?” He just didn’t understand… He had killed, and then he hadn’t.

“...” He always reseted after killing, it was just wrong, even Papyrus agreed that if something like this could be avoided, it should be.

“WOULD YOU KILL SOMEONE IF I ASKED YOU TO? IF I NEED YOU TO?” But he was insistent.

“I... could avoid us having to kill them...”

He gave an empty laugh, and Flowey knew he had lost him again.

Like all those other timelines.

“It’s Funny, Because Until Now I Would Kill Almost Anyone For You” Papyrus got up from the rock and walked slowly before turning to him “SEE WHO IS A TRUE FRIEND, AND WHO IS A FILTHY LIAR!”

“Wait, Papyrus!” He tried to follow when the skeleton started to walk, but a bone attack materialized in front of him

“IN THIS WORLD IS KILL OR BE KILLED, FLOWEY! I DON’T WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN UNTIL YOU’VE LEARNED THAT, AND IF YOU STILL HAVEN’T, I WILL MAKE SURE YOU UNDERSTAND!” he threw a wave of bones in front of him, uncomfortably close, and disappeared on the snowy path.

So this time instead of resetting a few days and trying again, like he did so many times he could swear an entire year had passed. This time Flowey left his only friend at his own luck, and went to the Ruins, to talk with the flowers.

He knew no one was listening, but it had become a habit.

He was glad he did, because a human fell the next morning.

~*~

“WHAT IS THIS OBSESSION WITH THE HUMAN?” Papyrus always paced when he was conflicted “FIRST THE DAMNED DOGS CLAIM THEY ARE ONE OF THEM” It was a sign that there was still a chance “THEN MY USELESS BROTHER TAKES THEM TO THAT GREASY TRAP EVERY MORNING” The harsh movements and the agitation were scary, but gave him hope at the same time “THEN YOU COME BEFORE ME ASKING ME TO SPARE THEIR LIFE? HAVE YOU LEARN NOTHING ABOUT THIS WORLD FLOWEY?”

Apparently not, since he was standing in front of the Lieutenant of the Royal Guard, trying to convince him to commit treason and let a human reach Waterfalls.

“I WILL TELL THIS ONLY ONCE, DO YOU WANT THEM TO LIVE?”

He nodded profusely, his leaves were trembling, Papyrus last threat still hanging in the air, only now he couldn’t come back to life if he died.

“THEN DON’T LET THEM FACE ME” His right eye light flared red as he stared directly into Flowey “BECAUSE I WILL KILL THEM AND BRING THEIR SOUL TO THE KING”

“Papyrus...” he was so tall standing in front of him.

“OR BE KILLED TRYING, IN NAME OF ALL MONSTERKIND”

“Please...” standing still…

“I ALREADY WARNED YOU, SO CONVINCE THEM TO STAY IN SNOWDIN OR DECIDE WHICH ONE OF US YOU WANT TO SEE DYING”

“There is another way” Floyey pleaded, but he had seen this end too many times to hope.

“MAKE YOUR CHOICE FLOWEY” and with this the skeleton left.

~*~

Flowey couldn’t make a choice…

It was not his choice to make, not anymore…

And somehow he was glad.

One of the two would die… many, many times… until they gave up.

He just hoped they gave up from the fight, and came back to Snowdin.

He just hoped that they weren’t like him…

That when they got stuck in a challenge too big to surpass, that they didn’t got angry… and striked the enemy down.

They were human, and humans could deliver so much damage when they were angry…

He didn’t want to see it…

He didn’t want to see his sibling’s blood… over and over again staining the snow.

He didn’t want to see his – former, he forced himself to think – best friend’s dust… blowing on the wind, just like any other monster… not even a proper burial…

But even if they did kill him in the end, they would certainly be guilty and try again, right?

They wouldn’t go ahead if they killed, right?

They wouldn’t save over a monster’s death…

They couldn’t…

He…

His leaves were still trembling, even without the eminent danger, if he still had emotions he would think he was scared.

But he wasn’t.

He didn’t have emotions.

He didn’t have a soul.

And if he, who didn’t have a soul, still had the hearth to do the right thing, and not save after killing someone. Then they could do the same.

And if they didn’t?

Well…

He just had to make sure to remind them.

The easy or the hard way.

Luckily for him, he learned a thing or two with past resets.

______________________

First

Last

#AgreementTale #undertale #AGF!Flowey #AGF!Papyrus #fanfiction #archieve of our own #long fic

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blog-for-merlin · 3 years ago

Text

I Can Count His Goosebumps

Author's Note: You will quickly come to realise that I can't write endings for shit but apparently a writer is his own worst critic so, idk.

Lots of of fluff and if touch is your love language, you'll get it. That said, enjoy!!

♡♡♡

"This is a cave, Arthur!"

"Oh Merlin, so dramatic! Cave... inn... they're virtually the same thing," Arthur grins with that glint in his eye which manages to simultaneously worry and please Merlin at the same time. The king doesn't tend to grin like that very often these days. There isn't much to take pleasure in. Even Gwaine's mindless idiocies failed them to the point that the knight rarely did much else than his duties.

The satisfaction of having prompted a smile from the king quickly dissipates as Merlin remembers the issue at hand. He crosses his arms, "I'm not sleeping here," he scoffs.

"Stop being a whinge, Merlin. Look," Arthur waves in the general direction of the floor, "Firm ground to rest on," he gestures to the roof of the hollow, "And a shelter from the rain. What more could you want?"

As if coordinated, a fat droplet plummets from the ceiling onto the king's face. Merlin stifles his giggle—he's not going to let Arthur think he's been convinced. A shiver runs down the his spine and he huddles tighter into himself. The winters seem to be getting more and more unbearable as the years go by, "It's cold."

Arthur groans, too tired to tease his manservant any further. Patience seems to be rationed as of late. Not just for the king, but for everyone. The gloom of Morgana's death seems to sweep over the entire kingdom. The ugliness of who she transformed into doesn't easily erase who she once was, the darling of Camelot. Swiftly, Arthur whips off his cloak and throws it at Merlin, "There. Now will you please stop complaining and just get some rest? If we're to reach Ealdor by the evening, we have to leave at first light."

He unties his scabbard belt, setting it down and attempts to seek out a dry spot to sleep on the damp ground, finding only a small space against the back wall, hardly enough to fit two men. It's not like we haven't slept in worse, Arthur thinks, remembering an uncomfortable night involving a dead rabbit, a tight hanging net, limbs intertwined so closely it felt like they were extensions of each other. A secretly fond memory from times long past. What would he have done if there wasn't a rabbit wasn't trapped between them? If there was less distance, if their faces were mere millimetres apart, if they'd felt each other's breath on their faces. What would he have done then?

Merlin's voice startles him from the rather inappropriate wanderings of his mind, "You know Arthur, you still haven't given me back that cloak I gave you,"

The king pivots to face Merlin who is wrapped adorably in his cloak, only some unkempt tufts of hair and twiggy feet poking out from the scarlet fabric, "What cloak?"

"My cloak. The blue one. The only blue cloak you have?" The king feigns confusion.

Merlin huffs and rolls his eyes, Arthur can be so childish at times, in an irritatingly endearing way that makes you forget that he's the head of an entire kingdom, "The one that you keep wearing to your hunts and getting dirty and then never returning because it needs to be washed?"

"Oh right, that one," Arthur smirks sheepishly, tugging at the back of his hair, "It's dirty,"

"Yes, I bet it is."

"Wait a minute, you know I'm the king here, right?" Arthur grabs his scabbard and throws it on the dry space in the back as Merlin follows him.

"That's what they tell me,"

"You can't talk back to me like that, Merlin. That's treason."

"If you were going to arrest me every time I committed 'treason', Arthur, I'd be long gone by now." Which was true enough, Arthur figures, as he takes Merlin's satchel from him and throws it next to his own while Merlin tries not to trip on the cloak or the slippery rock.

"Perhaps I should have, then," Arthur mutters, settling himself down next to the cave wall. Merlin pauses a moment as he realises that the tiny space next to Arthur is the only remaining hint of dryness left on the cavern floor, "Arthur!" he exclaims in dismay, "How on Earth am I going to fit here?"

"Oh shut up Merlin, you're scrawny,"

"I'm not that scrawny!"

"You're just going to have to make it work, then, aren't you?" Merlin's eyes are blazing now, and he's not amused.

"Arthur I didn't ask you to come to Ealdor with me, I could have come on my own; I've come to Ealdor a hundred times on my own already. If I were on my own, perhaps I wouldn't have to sleep in a cave in the middle of who-knows-where on the soaking ground," Arthur should be furious at his manservant's words by now, but Merlin's cheeks are turning pink to match the cocoon of cloak around them in a way that Arthur can't help being charmed by, and it doesn't sound like Merlin is slowing down at all to give him a chance to butt in, " In fact, I'd probably be there already, in dry clothes and with a full belly. So if you don't move your giant bum over right now, you prat, and give me the side of the wall, I'm leaving."

If the cold wasn't making Merlin breathless enough yet, that mouthful of a rant definitely did. Not managing to muster up any more than a tired chuckle and an "Okay, okay... calm down Merlin," Arthur shuffles himself away from the wall and lets Merlin pull himself over into his place.

Merlin gets grumpy when he's tired, and it had been a long day. This is enough to convince Arthur to let his manservant off, just this once. In reality, Arthur knows that 'just this once' has happened at least six times in the the past two months alone. Clearly, Merlin isn't as feeling as nonchalant about his sister's passing as he tries to let on. Sighing, Arthur removes his jacket, folding it into a pillow and wriggles down onto his side. He pushes himself as far away from the slimy moss as he can, digging his back into Merlin's. The unexpected contact, which is not unpleasant in the slightest, draws out a gasp from the king, which he hopes was drowned out by the sound of the pouring rain outside.

"Arthur, you're squishing me,"

"Oh would you stop complaining?" Arthur grunts. He spins himself around so that he's facing Merlin's back, draped in his own cloak. His breath hitches as he imagines Merlin huddled under the hills and valleys of red made by the fabric.

The sheerness of his shirt under it, so sheer and wet that it might as well not be there at all. He tries not to think about the paleness of his skin, and the goosebumps that must be all over it in this freezing cold. He lets out a breath he didn't realise he was holding and with it, a shiver.

Merlin feels, no, senses, Arthur's head near him. He goes as still as a stone. They're so close. But not close enough. The distance is excruciating. He feels the king's shudder and realises his privilege––not so much a privilege, but a barrier. Darn cloak. "You're cold," he says, as bluntly as he can muster.

"What? No I'm–" Arthur is cut off by another shudder.

Arthur watches as his servant struggles to unwrap himself from the cloak. Should he refuse? He is the king, after all, perhaps he does want the cloak. But these thoughts are not what appear at the forefront of Arthur's brain. Skin. All he can see is skin. Skin everywhere. So close. So damn close. "Here, take it."

It does have goosebumps, his skin. A hell of a lot of them. And he's shuddering like a flag in the wind, "It's fine, Merlin. You need it more than me."

"You're the king. Gods forbid, I get arrested. Isn't that right, Your Highness?" Merlin throws the cloak to Arthur, who seems to be fixated on his back. His now almost bare back. He shifts himself, moving himself back, ever so slightly, closer to Arthur. Not close enough.

Gods, Arthur. Pull yourself together. It's Merlin we're talking about. The king clears his throat, "We'll share," he announces, as nonchalantly as possible and throws the cloak over the two of them, shifting closer still, his arm arching over Merlin's shuddering body, touching ever so slightly. He can count the goosebumps now. One, two, three four, five... if he moves his head just a tiny bit more...

Arthur's hair feels soft and inviting on Merlin's back, as if enticing him, and his breath––hot and cold at the same time. Not close enough. One small movement and it'll be his lips. Without thought, Merlin seizes the king's wrist where he's holding the cloak over them, bringing it into himself in an embrace. Or into a trap? He pushes himself back into Arthur, feeling both bodies yield to the touch. Merlin keeps Arthur's hand, strangely warm, clasped tightly in his own, pressed against his chest.

Skin. SO much skin. Arthur lets Merlin push his body into him. He lets his back press into his lips. At least that's what he tells himself. He's only avoiding resistance, not participating. You can't be participating if you don't have control. And Arthur has no control, none at all. Only his body does. Only his lips. Only his hands, his chest. And so he lets his arms wrap around Merlin's stomach pulling him in tighter, closer. He lets his lips wander all over his back, searching for the skin, skin, more skin under his shirt.

Merlin feels Arthur's lips running all over his back, as if they're searching for something lost, desperate to find it. And they do, as Arthur's mouth finds itself immersed in Merlin's shoulder. Merlin forced his lips to stay closed as to not make a noise, and a deep breath is all that he allows to escape. He dares not turn back, he can't face Arthur, not like this. He lets himself bask in the darkness of the night and the secrecy of the pounding rain outside the cave. He wonders what this means, all of it. This fire is his heart, what will it amount to?

Arthur lets his lips, and hands and body and the flame in his heart take control. He lets himself forget everything. Camelot, Morgana, everyone. For Him. For His skin. For His touch, he'll let himself forget the whole world.

And under warmth of that flimsy red cloak, in that small cave, on that rainy night, the two flames finally collided. And no one could have guessed how much damage it would cause.

♡♡♡

#merthur #touch #bbc merlin #fanfic #merlin emrys #arthur pendragon #love language #merlin #merlin bbc #writing #fic #shorts

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ktheist · 4 years ago

Text

twenty-eight

chapters: 27 / 28 / 29

knight!jungkook x princess!reader

“Your majesty,” Yoongi’s monotonous voice bounces off the walls - you can never truly tell whether he abhors you, pity you or didn’t care enough to harbor any sort of emotion for you, “the king is threatening to slay through the Northern Kingdom’s knights to see you.”

The sound of droplets splashing into the water in the tub is your only response as you run your hand down your arm, “he won’t kill anyone,” you say before halting mid-action, eyes trained on the man with the blankest canvas on his face, “unless he’s had a change of heart.”

“War changes people - if he did have a change of heart, then it is for her majesty to guide it back to the right place,” Jungkook offers you a towel, leaning on the edge of the tub with a somber smile on his face.

It’s been two nights since Yerin brought the news of Taehyung’s return - in a normal setting, it would take three days to get to the Glass Palace, where you’ve retreated to, fleeing away from your enemies that seem to litter the main palace’s ground like vermins.

“Does her majesty not speak for herself?” The sharp tone from the man across the room forces you to take your eyes off your knight and to him.

For the first time since you know him, Yoongi’s eyes are clouded with a sort of distaste as he stares at his comrade. If your sword was anywhere closer to your grasp, you could have sliced through the tension with it. Jungkook is the leader, the middle man between you and your ghosts - though you didn’t expect them to get along, it was a given that they should trust the shots his calls.

“Of course her majesty does,” the younger man tears his gaze to meet yours, a faint smile tugging on his lips as he caresses your cheekbone, “your majesty, should you help spare the lives of your former brothers in arms?”

The knights Seokjin had sent were those who’d fought with you against Taehyung and survived the war. When you heard it was your own division that he sent, you almost told him to take back the order. Because it was cruel to send him to a nation that murdered their brothers. To protect their princess against the man whose army they’d fought to the death for, thinking they wouldn’t have to face such a monster again, but ended up having their nightmares come true.

They are strong willed, that much, you admit.

But didn’t mean they do not feel fear.

And if there was any ounce of sympathy left in your hollowed vessel, it was better directed for the ones who’d die for you - a severely lacking concept in the Northern Kingdom.

“Very well,” you agree, pushing yourself up and hearing the sound of water splatters echo off the walls.

Yoongi keeps his head lowered as Jungkook drape a robe over your shoulders before you tied the sash around your waist. With droplets still trickling down your hair and footprints dot your steps, you walk past the elder man and down the corridor where Yerin stands at the end, staring at something beyond the balcony with a troubled frown.

“Your majesty,” she greets as soon as she sees you.

With a dismissive wave, you order her to stay back while you step onto the moonlight poured balcony, hands placed on the railing. There are at least a hundred men standing guard, with their spears pointed at a familiar tall frame and the black horse next to him.

“___,” his sharp gaze softens when he spots your figure looking over him, voice gentle, “tell these men to stand down.”

“Frustrating to talk to someone who won’t listen, no?” Not waiting for his response, you curtly lay out your terms, “execute her.”

Your name falls off his tongue like a heartbreaking hymn, “it’s not that easy- there must be a trial first.”

“Was that what Lord Park ‘advised’ you?” The word drips off your tongue like venom, the man’s scheming smile burning at the back of your mind.

Ever since you’d been poisoned, he’d been leading the other ministers in opposing you and taking over your job. They probably had complete control in the palace for the two weeks you’d fled, leaving your post and duties without someone to stand in - then again, there was no one you could trust to fill in the job of both the Queen and King that you’d been carrying on your shoulders since Taehyung left.

“You’ve just lost a child,” you know where this is going, “you’re not thinking st-”

“I know what I heard, Taehyung,” your heart palpitates a little faster, the chilly air doing nothing to ease the fire burning deep within the pit of your stomach, “she said if only i had kept my head low, I would have at least been able to keep my child.”

“I know my mother, ___.” He counters, voice straining with tension, “she may dislike the way you do things but she would never-”

“I’m sure Claude would have thought the world of me too,” it’s a surprise how your voice hasn’t cracked at the mention of your son, your baby, “if she didn’t take him away from me.”

Just as you thought the man you gave half of your heart to is lost forever, you watch his heart break through the windows of his souls as he whispers to himself “...it was a boy?”

“He died in the womb because of the poison she fed me,” you force out, “did Lord Park not include that in his reports?”

“You...” his throat goes dry before he can even finish his words.

But you already know what he was about to say - it only consists of a repetition of your words with a more surprised undertone to them. As though it was news to his ears. A sad one, it seems, but still news.

It had been over two weeks and your heart had been broken far too many times. That was possibly why you didn’t wait for him to process anything when you put your foot down, shoulders squared like a woman scorned, “I may have left with a luggage, a lady-in-waiting, a maid and a cook,” you pause, watching as the realization sinks in his eyes, “but I made sure I brought the divorce papers with me in the event that you made a poor choice.”

Before he has a chance to say anything more which only serves to fuel your resentment - to whom you’re not quite sure anymore - you give out one last order for the night, “his majesty shall stay at the storage room,” though it doesn’t look like he’ll willfully follow any attendant you sent to guide him there, “or on the ground in front of the door, I don’t care - but nobody comes in or out without my permission.”

You don’t hear as much as a protest from the king as you walk back inside, Yerin and Jungkook who were standing behind the door frame, following you to your room with the exception that the first halts at your bedroom door, head lowered as she echoes back your ‘good night, Yerin.”

Yoongi isn’t anywhere to be found especially after challenging Jungkook’s position.

You wonder if he’ll be disciplined.Considering this is the first time a ghost has ever voiced protest against Jungkook, there wasn’t any need for such harsh treatments - but then again, no one ever admitted his leadership. Just his role to communicate what the ghosts want to you and you them.

The thought disappears as soon as the door closes with an echoing click - and yet the demand tugs on your conscience, “___, why didn’t you tell me that you brought the divorce papers?”

“I’m not going to go through it,” is all you say.

But instead of leaving it as it is, Jungkook presses on - or at least, his tone doesn’t seem like the comforting one that you remember it to be, “I’m disappointed you’d hide such plans from me.”

For the briefest moment, Yoongi’s emotionless face crosses the back of your mind.

“Am I to consult everything with you?” Whirling around, you see nothing but a silhouette within the shadow but you have an inkling that his eyes aren’t as soft and gentle as you wish they would be.

And perhaps, that’s what keeps you going, “you’re nothing but a ghost. Who are you to demand things from me - the Queen!”

You can’t hear anything but the sound of your own blood rushing in your ears. Feel nothing but the throb of your heart through your entire body. The seconds seem to stretch on for hours but there is no trace of the earliest ray of the sun. Not even the sound of birds chirping.

“You’re right, your majesty,” Jungkook finally says, but for some reason, your heart doesn’t stop thrashing in your chest, “forgive my impudence.”

“That’s fine,” you clear your throat, wishing to assert dominance but all you are is a palpitating mess because it would have been better if Jungkook just shouted back. If he’d throw just as painful words to you as you did him.

But he doesn’t.

And you can’t help but compare him to the man you sent to the storage room to spend the night at. Whilst Taehyung anger is hot, burning flames that bursts without so much as a warning, Jungkook’s is molten lava that turns everything he touches to ashes.

And for the first time since you’ve known your knight, you’re afraid of burning yourself.

“Let’s go to sleep - I’m tired,” you announce, climbing into the bed on your side before feeling his arm snake around your waist like it would for the amount of time you’ve spent at the Glass Palace together.

As much as you feel the remaining pieces of your heart being crushed into dusts by the very man you hold dear to, you’re also painfully aware that he’s the only thing you’ve got here in this foreign land.

taglist: @fanfuckingfic @apurpledheart @koochiekoo

#bts smut #jungkook smut #taehyung smut #bts fic #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic #taehyung fanfic #taehyung fic #jungkook fic #jungkook scenarios #bts scenarios #bts imagines

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mrslittletall · 4 years ago

Note

If you accept vague asks for the whump thing, because I don't want to limit you to a character you might find boring, either 6 or 17 for Hollow Knight?

Title: Reflection Fandom: Hollow Knight Characters: Quirrel, Little Ghost Word Count: 1.431 AO3-Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30279333

Summary: Quirrel reflects on his life during his last moments.

(Author's note:

6: Fever 17: Drowning/Hypothermia

Anon! How can you give me Drowning for Hollow Knight and expect me to NOT make it about Quirrel?! Or were you betting on it?

I chose one of the two this time, because the two prompts didn't feel like they could be mashed together very well. Warnings: Suicide and Major Character Death. And drowning, obviously.)

Quirrel had sat and looked at the lake for some time when the little white wanderer appeared. He had encountered them various time in Hallownest, even aided them in their quest which led to him recovering part of his lost memories, and never had they said a single word to him and their face had stayed a stiff mask.

Still, Quirrel couldn't help but feel comfortable in their presence. He assumed for them to maybe stop shortly and listen to him, before moving on, but they did something different.

They approached him, stopped, looked up at him and then sat down next to him, their gaze facing the same direction as his, towards the Blue Lake.

Quirrel didn't look at them and instead, started to speak.

“Again we meet my short friend. Here at last, I feel at peace.”

He made a short pause, thinking about his next words before continuing. After all that had happened, his words didn't seem to come too easily to him anymore. Even his voice felt strained... aged even. All the years that got lost might have caught up to him.

“Twice I've seen this world and though my service may have stripped the first experience from me, I'm thankful I could witness its beauty again.”

It must have been beautiful the first time, and even though large parts of the kingdom laid in ruins during his second time, it was still beautiful. Though, there was one thing that was even more interesting than Hallownest.

“Hallownest is a vast and wondrous thing, but in as many wonders as it holds, I've seen none quite so intriguing as you.”

As usual, the little white wanderer didn't say a word. A little chuckle escaped Quirrel and he spoke further.

“Ha. My flattery returns only silent stoicism. I like that. I like that very much.”

The both of them stayed there, staring at the lake a while longer. Eventually, the little wanderer stood up and continued walking, not looking back at him or saying a single word. It had always been like that with them. It was just they way they acted. Them sitting with him showed him more than enough that they cared. If they hadn't cared, they would have just ignored him. They would have run past him every single time he encountered them, but they always, always had stopped and listened to him.

Quirrel waited until they were out of sight and he couldn't hear their footsteps anymore. Once their footsteps ceased, he rose and picked up his nail.

“I can barely remember having trained in the art of the nail, but I never forgot how to fight.”, he murmured to himself, rolling the nail around in his hands. It had aided him during his journey through Hallownest as well as helped to reach the teacher, Monomon, who he had always called Madam.

For some reason, she seemed to have been always displeased with it, but Quirrel couldn't recall anymore why. His memory was still hazy. The results of the fog of the wastelands, that wiped his memory clean. He could consider himself lucky that he remembered his connection to Monomon.

“I won't need to fight anymore...”, Quirrel murmured further and stuck his nail into the ground, the way the hilt faced, it looked a little like a cross. Then, he looked back at the direction the little wanderer had run off too.

“My friend, please don't cry for me.”, he said, a sad smile ghosting his face. “For I have lived twice the amount of time any bug should have ever lived and I am ready to move on.”

Quirrel stayed on the edge of the lake for a few seconds longer before turning around and walking into the water. It was shallow at first, but soon it would engulf him fully. He was fully aware that his species didn't possess the art of swimming.

Quirrel continued walking until his feet lost the ground under him and he could feel how his body started to sink. While he was content about his own death, with his mind at peace, his body still possessed some instinct. He could feel his arms and legs trash as the water filled his lungs and his strong desire to take a gulp of air, which never happened, because he knew that only water would await him.

His trashing was only from a short duration however, as he felt himself get dizzy and slowly sinking down to the ground, waiting for his awareness to end.

It was then when he saw something flash in front of his inner eye.

Himself, as a little grub, lost, alone, hungry, cold, his parents were nowhere to be seen, only a blanket in his little arms, crying in his desperation, for his parents, for anyone, to find him...

And the form of Monomon in front of him, floating through the fog, a tentacle touching her mask in shock when she saw him, picking him up, talking to him, bringing him to the archives, where she gave him food and warmth and comfort.

That has been how they had first met. How cruel of his memory to make him remember right when he was in the process of ending his own life. Still, Quirrel couldn't help but feel a deep fondness at this memory.

He still hadn't reached the ground and the more he sank down, the more memories surfaced.

Monomon teaching him how to write and read.

Monomon comforting him after he had a nightmare.

Him asking if he could work as her assistant, at the mere age of six. Monomon had agreed and gave him simple tasks, to make him feel special.

Him checking on Monomon after she had pulled an all-nighter. The both of them sharing breakfast together.

Monomon finding the cheesy romance novels he had bought from his salary and teasing him to no end about them. Still, sometimes he found the newest book of his favourite author gently laid upon his pillow.

A time in which he had been obsessed with the tale of the Grimm troupe and styled his mask and even the scarf he wore around his head in their image. Monomon loved to tell this story to complete strangers. How often had he stood there and begged her to stop. Not that it ever worked...

Him waking up with a blanket draped over him when he had fallen asleep over his work.

Monomon always having a pot of coffee ready for both of them when both of them had worked the whole night.

Her giving him the additional seal of protection, her mask, and sending him away once she would lay down to sleep for eternity. Quirrel had accepted, of course, without hesitation, he would do everything for the one who had saved him from starvation when he had been a grub.

“I will fulfil your order as long as I breathe, Ma'am.”, he had said, and Monomon had looked at him and said: “I know you will.”, but at the same time, she had looked so sad.

Finally having reached the ground, Quirrel barely had any awareness left in him anymore, but one last thing went to his mind.

She has always treated me like her son.

For her, he had been more than her assistant, for her, Quirrel had been her precious and beloved son. It didn't matter for her that they didn't share any blood connection, he had become her son once she had picked him up in the canyon.

I never once have called her mom...

How ironic it felt, this thought, right when he was about to snuff out the last flames of his life, after Monomon had already died, after he didn't have a chance to talk to her anymore.

This thought was his one and only regret as his awareness faded and his body stopped moving, laying still on the ground of the Blue Lake.

He entered the archives, passing all the acid tablets and ignoring the Uoma's that Monomon would let hang around there. He had gone this way so many times and he didn't even have to think where to go. He entered Monomon's workshop and there she was, interrupting what she was doing, turning around, a tentacle going to her mask and her body shaking as she chuckled.

“Welcome home, Quirrel.”, she said.

Quirrel came closer until he stood in front of Monomon. “I am back Ma...”, he interrupted himself and then corrected his sentence: “I'm back, mom.” (Author's note: Absolutely love the headcanon that Monomon adopted Quirrel. Also I am a big fan of characters meeting in the afterlife after death and just... vibing with what they always wanted, maybe moving on together. It's pretty obvious, but I am absolutely convinced that Quirrel died at the Blue Lake. I am super fine with everyone lives AUs, but in canon I think Quirrel drowned himself in the lake, because he had grown old and weary and was ready to end his own life, because he felt there wasn't any reason for him to be around anymore. That is why he is so content with his own death here. Obviously, I would have loved for Quirrel to stay alive and find so much more wonders in the world, but he felt like he hadn't any regrets. The one I added, well, that was my headcanon. I know this is a heavy topic and please don't feel bad if you have trouble handling it or couldn't handle it and please, when you yourself think that you might be better off dead, get some help. I promise, there is so much in this world that it's worth to live for. As always, comments are greatly appreciated.)

#fanfiction #hollow knight #quirrel #little ghost #suicide cw #major character death cw #drowning cw #ask answered #thx for the ask #march of the whumps #request fill #Anonymous #littlewritesstuff

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badger-writes · 3 years ago

Text

Star Wars OC Ship Week 2021 - “for light and love”

3 - Angst/Drama

When Jedi found themselves troubled, they visited the Room of a Thousand Fountains.

Throughout its history, this chamber of the Jedi Temple ziggurat had always been set aside as a meditative refuge, a sanctuary of verdant greenery and trickling waters. Assembled herein one could find a collection of flora both native and foreign, from blartree blossoms and chrysanthis shrubs to a bahnsgresk bush grove to trebala and assari trees, shading the walkways with their trunks and branches - a garden of a thousand worlds.

Though the caretakers of this special corner of the Temple had always strived to enforce a kind of olamic traditionalism to its furnishings, the spirit of the times sometimes encroached upon this timeless space; and so the High Republic crept into the Room of a Thousand Fountains by way of its masonry, which now favored heavy geometric influences, stylized decorative reliefs, and smooth, streamlined lines which swept their way around the room in a sheen of gold and marble. These elements existed alongside their landscaped counterpoints in a carefully cultivated balance; a chamber with one foot in the ageless past, and the next in the bold, brilliant future that the Republic promised to all.

Here, one could pause for a moment, immersed in the energy of the Living Force, and reflect upon themselves and their place in the universe.

It was not a place Sskeer visited often.

Though the paths were lined with benches to encourage thoughtful rest, he preferred to keep moving, pacing through the gardens at a stride just above his typical walking speed; his feet seemed to slap the stone walkways no matter how he tried to control himself, trying to beat out his frustrations through their soles. Not for the first time, he considered that the best place for him to ruminate on his disquiet was not the Room of a Thousand Fountains. In the sparring chambers, at least, he would be less… disruptive.

He rounded a corner, emerging from a grove of hedges, and stopped. At the end of the short path rolling out before him lay a plaza surrounding one of the chamber’s great sculpted fountain fixtures; a great bowl-shaped basin spread out from its center, and rising into the air within its circumference were several other, smaller basins, overflowing with hanging moss and vines and pakiphanto ear plants, each of them carrying a tiny stream of clear water which trickled from their highest point to their lowest and back again. A tiny column-shaped islet rose out of the center of the basin, only large enough to hold the holoprojector installed in its capital; out of the projector’s eye shimmered an image of one of the era’s eventual Great Works, the Starlight Beacon. The huge space station, when it was finished, would be an outpost of progress and charity to all the worlds of the Outer Rim, a promise of the prosperity of the Republic and the justice of the Jedi. It hovered above the surface of the waters, framed by the hanging gardens, spinning slowly on its axis. Even on this much, much smaller scale, Sskeer couldn’t help but be impressed.

Someone else was standing at the edge of the basin - a Rodian with pale skin and a rather distinctive topknot. Sskeer crossed the way over to his side.

“Healer Lem,” he rumbled, crossing his arms. “It’s good to see you.”

“Oh,” Kelto mumbled, glancing. “Hello, Sskeer.”

“You appear troubled.”

“Am I so obvious?”

“It is no sin. I find myself frustrated tonight as well.”

Kelto hummed. The sound of it was hollow - less inquisitive, more melancholy. “I don’t know if I can help with that, but, you know… let me know.”

Sskeer cocked his head. “Why would you think that?”

“I just - I’m not a Consular, that’s all. Cuts and bruises, I can handle. The talking thing, it’s… I don’t do that so well.”

“Perhaps. But even so, as long as you’re here... I would appreciate your company. And I sense you would benefit from mine.”

“I… maybe. I guess.”

The Trandosham crossed his arms and raised an brow. “Perhaps you would like to discuss what’s been troubling you?”, he suggested.

Kelto opened his mouth… and closed it. “No, no. That’s okay. Thank you, but... I’ll manage.”

“Are you sure?”

“I mean, it’s pretty late already. The last thing you must want is to stand here and listen to my problems.”

“Try me.”

A shrug.

Sskeer exhaled slowly through his nose. His gaze flicked back to the pool before them, where waterlilies floated tranquilly upon the rippling face of the waters.

“I think I should insist,” he said quietly. “As a friend.”

“... I don’t want to burden you.”

“It wouldn’t be a burden.” A pause. “Not from you.”

Sighing, Kelto fell silent. He, too, kept his eyes fixed on the pond’s mirrorlike surface. Then, slowly, his gaze turned upwards, towards the hologram suspended above them.

“That’s really something,” he said wonderingly. “Isn’t it? The Beacon, I mean. It’s just... incredible. That the Republic and the Jedi can build something like that? Imagine what it can do for people living on the frontier.”

Nodding, Sskeer studied the diagram as well. “A space station on the galactic fringe can do little by itself,” he commented. “It needs people, too. Diplomats, explorers…”

“Guardians,” Kelto said wryly.

“Yes. And healers.” Sskeer gave him a sympathetic glance. “It would be an honor to be stationed there, would it not?”

The Rodian pursed his lips. They flattened into a noncommittal line as he shrugged. “Not really my thing,” he mumbled.

“I find it hard to believe you’d refuse an assignment where you could do so much good so easily.”

“Yeah, well.” And then Kelto went silent, leaning against the rim of the fountain.

Sskeer let his arms fall to his sides, brow furrowing. “You’re serious.”

A sad little shrug.

“You’d really waste your talents hiding in the Temple, rather than using them for the good of others? Without even an explanation? Are you so callous?”

In truth, he almost regretted saying it. But it did, at least, provoke a reaction from Kelto, who turned away from the fountain at last. “I’m not callous.”

“Selfish, then. Hoarding your knowledge and abilities for one one’s benefit but your own. Or perhaps just cowardly?”

“W-what is this, Sskeer? An inquisition? I thought you were trying to help me!”

“I am,” he said firmly. “But I don’t know what’s wrong. Blast it, Lem, it’s as if you’ve just… given up!”

Irritation launched his voice an octave higher than he meant, transforming a sentence into a bark. The lilies bobbed on the water. For a moment, Starlight Beacon flickered.

For a moment, Kelto stared at him agape, and Sskeer noticed his eyes (the first thing he’d noticed about him had been his eyes, long months ago, and the shiny white spots lying just under their aqueous outer membrane, that peculiar Rodian quality of seeming to hold a sky’s worth of stars in their surface) seemed brittle, now, and dull. Where there had once been light there was now not dark, but … an absence. An open pit in the soul.

Sskeer’s heart panged with sorrow. What frustration still lingered on his face passed like a fleeting shadow. Silently, he waited.

At last, Kelto sighed, clasping his hands back behind his waist; his fingers continued to fidget and twiddle as he turned back to the pond. For a moment, Sskeer feared he had broken their friendship, perhaps irrepairably.

Then Kelto said, “So the thing is… I’m kind of a bad Jedi.”

“No,” the Trandoshan insisted in a whisper.

“I am, Sskeer. What you said is true. And what’s more, you’re right to call me out. I’m cowardly, and selfish, and I hide myself in the healing wards instead of really doing anything with the talent and opportunities that I’ve been given. I…” He snorted, shaking his head. “I’m at the point where I fear being in public more than I fear the dark side. How stupid is that?”

Sskeer swallowed, mouth dry. He wondered what he could possibly say.

“I just… I don’t know how it happened. I was fine in the creche, I think. I- I had friends, I got along with people. I could… Star’s End, I could hold one conversation with somebody else without falling all to pieces, like I do with you.”

“That’s not your fault,” Sskeer said quickly. “I - that is, we - there’s... extenuating circumstances. Passion is just - ”

“Yeah, HoloNet news flash: feelings are hard,” Kelto murmured darkly. “Believe me, big guy, I know.”

“I only wanted to--” Sskeer grunted, biting his tongue. If only Jora Malli were here to help him talk some sense into Kelto.

“But then I grew up,” Kelto continued. “And I was still, you know, okay! I could… work with my Master, and with others, and I helped people… and then I was knighted, and I just… there was all this shyness and anxiety inside of me, and it just kept growing and growing and growing until… until I just couldn’t take other people anymore, except when I had the energy for it.

“I think that’s the real reason I transferred back to the Temple. I just… couldn’t take it anymore, putting myself out there. At least in the medical bay, it’s just a job. You can find a niche and serve and go back to your quarters. You don’t have to… to be seen all the time.

“But who did I serve, huh? Younglings with scraped knees and bloody noses. Nobody who really needed it. Nobody who would’ve died if I hadn’t been there. Meanwhile, how many people on the frontier do you think need a healer right now? How many won’t last the night? Because right now, Sskeer, I’m letting down all of them. And believe me, I know it.”

Kelto paused, taking a gulp of air, and looked up at the brilliant blue hologram again. “And then I heard about Starlight Beacon. And I felt… I felt something, deep down. Like the Force was trying to give me a second chance. Like I could - like I could make up for all of it, if I could only just get over myself.

“And I tried to,” he said thickly, snout quivering. “Please, Sskeer - believe whatever you want about me, but please, please believe I tried to fix whatever’s wrong with me. But-- b-but I just--”

Sskeer took him by the elbow and turned him back towards himself, grasping his much smaller arms in his clawed fingers. “Don’t talk this way,” he murmured. “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not true.”

“W-well, maybe it is,” Kelto hiccupped, eyes wet. His face crumpled more and more the longer he spoke. “After everything with me, and then you, and the Code -- maybe I just can’t hack it as a Jedi. Maybe I was never supposed to, a-and I just got lucky, and now - and now I - ”

“What, Kelto?”

“And now I’m dragging you down with me.”

For a long moment, they stood there, staring at each other. Kelto sniffled horribly, scrubbing at his eyes with the heel of one hand. Sskeer’s mouth hung slightly agape, but his mind seemed to be lost somewhere, thrown far away.

“Just let me go,” he whispered, blinking hard. “Please. I- I’ll go, okay? I can just… leave. The Jedi - they’ll all be better off, and - a-and so will you.”

“No,” Sskeer said suddenly. His grip tightened around Kelto’s arms like a vise.

“I-I’m serious, big guy. I think… I think I’m done. I tried, and-- and I failed.”

“You listen to me, little healer. You will not leave, and you will not give up on yourself, do you understand? I won’t allow it. I refuse to.”

“Sskeer - Sskeer, please, come on. I’m not worth it--”

“Yes you are,” the Trandoshan hissed. “Even if you won’t see it.”

“Look here,” he continued, seizing one of the Rodian’s wrists. He pushed the palm of Kelto’s hand into his chest, letting his fingers splay out against his robes, over his heart. “Remember what you did here, for someone you barely knew. Remember how you used your gift for nothing else than to help a creature in need. Does that seem like failure to you?”

Kelto shrugged weakly, trembling.

“And then you confronted that fear and anxiety inside, that same day, and every day after that. All for the sake of me. Would a coward do that, Kelto?”

“I… I don’t know. Maybe?” He swallowed. “I-it was hard, sometimes.”

“I know this now, Kelto. I wish I had before. Perhaps I could have… helped, somehow. Or found some way to help you reach out.”

“It wouldn’t have mattered,” the Rodian muttered, hanging his head. “This - this isn’t something you could have fixed, Sskeer. It was always my problem alone.”

Sskeer growled, deep in his throat. When he turned back to face the pond, he kept his arm around Kelto’s back, still clasping his arm - holding him gently against his side.

“You remind me of myself,” he said finally.

“Now that’s a joke,” Kelto said, sniffing. “I’m - I’m a hot mess, Sskeer. You, you’re just… you’re everything a Jedi Knight should be. You’re magnificent. How could you possibly compare yourself to somebody like me?”

“Did you think you were the only one who doubted his place in the Order?”

Kelto looked up at Sskeer, stunned. The Trandoshan, in turn, stared into the fountain. Starlight Beacon’s reflection glimmered in his eyes; slowly, as he let a sigh out through his nostrils, they fell shut.

“I have… often found myself uncertain about my place in the Jedi,” he said at length. “There are times when our teachings and precepts seem to be... fundamentally incompatible with - who I am. Or, what I am.”

He raised one three-fingered hand out before him, looking down at it, turning it this way and that. He examined the thick scales which lined his skin, the blunt claws that tipped each finger. Shame crept into the lines of his face.

“I am Trandoshan. I know this is no surprise to you - and I, myself, have had many years to acquaint myself with this truth. But for many in the galaxy, when they meet a Jedi Knight for the first time, it is a… surprising thing. For some, it’s even… repulsive. And for that, I cannot judge them.

“The T’doshok may be my race, but I could never call them my people. Not for their instincts for slaughter and cruelty, not for their hunters who trap animals and slaves for their sport, not their ‘Scorekeeper’ who tallies points to the scale of their butchery - the very thought of It is anathema to life itself. A… disgusting perversion of the natural order of the universe. I can be party to none of it.

“And yet-- if not for the Seekers, I might have been. Had the course of my life taken one turn and not another, it would be I hunting the innocent and the weak, soaking my claws in the blood and the filth of that detestable culture. And I’m reminded of that whenever I meet those I’m oathsworn to protect - and the world I’ve left behind is all of myself that they can see.”

“W-well - well, that’s just - that’s just other people, Sskeer, they don’t know any better. And besides, you’ve - you’ve overcome that through your training, right? And your discipline. So.. so it’s not even a problem.”

“Were it so easy to believe,” Sskeer exhaled, clenching his fist.

“What do you mean?”

“There are… moments. When I speak, when I act. When I swing my lightsaber. There’s a - it’s like a beast, Kelto. Like a dragon, inside of me, coiled around my heart. My intensity, ferocity… my frustration… I think this is where they come from. For a long time I believed I was battling the Dark Side, the little bit of it within us all, as a Jedi should. But… perhaps it is deeper than that. Perhaps it is an instinct, a genetic memory. Something in the blood.

Perhaps, as you said, it’s something about myself that can’t be fixed.”

He didn’t know what he’d expected would happen - perhaps a weight would lift from his shoulders. Perhaps the shadow which clung to his heart and his mind would finally pass when he was able to find the words, and speak them. But something would happen, surely, when he finally let this secret shame pass his lips.

Instead, he felt exactly the same. Life was proceeding exactly as it had before. Nothing had changed.

He was still a Jedi. He was still a Trandoshan.

Kelto was still looking at him. He still seemed stricken, but no longer as badly rattled. Sskeer let his hand fall back to his side and turned his face back towards the hologram of Starlight Beacon.

“But perhaps that’s not the point,” he continued. “If we could all banish the flaws within ourselves for all time with only a little effort, we would all be totally perfect creations. Perhaps the point is not whether our feet will always keep to the path of the righteous, but that we walk it as best we can, because the promise of something better lies at its end. Perhaps how far we can walk it does not matter, so long as we remain willing to take another step.

“That is what I think, anyway. And that is why I stay. And as long as I believe that, I can beat back the darkness inside of me a little longer.”

Kelto stared up at him wonderingly. He turned to watch the hologram as well, and for a moment’s pause they watched it slowly turning on the surface of the water, surrounded by verdant, flowering life.

“Every life saved, every battle won, every choice made - every time we turn towards the light, is its own victory. All of it, so that we might bring a light as brilliant as this into the universe,” Sskeer observed. “But we must confront our fears and doubts, and conquer them, before they extinguish our own. How else can we make such things be?”

Kelto tried to swallow, and choked. He brought his fingers up to clasp the Trandoshan’s where they curled around his arm. They didn’t feel monstrous at all. They felt like a friend’s.

“You… you really think I can do it?”

“I know it.”

“I-- gods,” he whispered. “I just-- I’ve tried to go it alone for so long.”

“You shall do so no longer.” Gently, Sskeer turned the Rodian to face him, clasping his hands in his own. “On my oath as a Guardian, Kelto Lem, I vow to do all I can to help you conquer these inner demons. If I must, I will protect you from yourself, as I have tonight. From this moment forward, your pain shall be mine, too - until we banish it forever, no matter how long that takes.

“In turn, I must ask that you swear to join me in this effort with equal vigor and equal determination, until - by virtue of our own will and discipline - you are once more the Jedi that I believe you can be.

“For light and for life.”

“...For light and for life,” Kelto echoed.

Sskeer hummed, nodding. He touched his knuckle against the bottom of Kelto’s chin. “You’re on your oath, now,” he rumbled. “No more talk of leaving.”

“R-right.” The healer took a shaky breath, swallowing, then forced it out slowly through his lips. “I-- thank you, Sskeer. This - this was a dark night for me. The darkest in a while.”

“I shall ward them away,” he replied, a hand to his chest. “That they may torment you no longer. And,” he added, smiling, “you in turn, I think, shall do the same for me.”

Kelto smiled too, brittlely, lips trembling at their corners. Finally, when he could bear it no longer, he threw himself into Sskeer’s arms, burying his face in his chest.

“Thank you,” he mumbled through happy sobs. “Thank you, thank you, thank you…!”

Slowly, Sskeer returned the hug, wrapping his arms as securely around Kelto as he could without crushing him. The Rodian was stood on his toes, swaying, trying to make himself as tall as himself; he shushed into his ear softly, stroking the back of his head with the pads of his fingers.

“I love you so much, Sskeer,” Kelto confessed.

Sskeer shushed him again. The healer was already emotionally compromised enough for one night. There would be time enough to untangle those feelings later - time enough for them both.

Instead, Sskeer held Kelto against his chest and gazed up at the dream of Starlight Beacon, and hoped that one day, both of them would be worthy enough to reach it.

#StarWarsOCShipWeek2021 #star wars #high republic #sskeer #original character #oc x canon #fanfic

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aboveallarescuer · 4 years ago

Text

How Dany assesses the counsel she receives and makes her own choices - The way from the Red Waste to Vaes Tolorro

This will be a series of posts meant to show that Dany is open to receiving advice and criticism, but that she doesn’t act solely based on what other people tell her to do. On the opposite, GRRM makes great effort to write a Dany who most often merges different viewpoints and/or finds her own solutions to the problems she’s facing. I won’t include every single decision she ever made (e.g. her decisions at court are often made without counsel and her execution of the ritual to hatch the dragon eggs was already exhaustively and deftly analyzed by other people), but there will be plenty of instances in this series that will prove my point nonetheless. The metas will always have four items: in which chapters the events mentioned take place; what advice she receives and from whom; what were her actions; the verdict (whether she followed other people’s advice, ignored/rejected them or did both at the same time).

Chapter (s):

ACOK Daenerys I

The advice Dany receives:

Jorah and Rakharo advise Dany to avoid any route that any other khal took.

Jorah says that, while it's uncertain that they will survive by moving forward through the Red Waste, it's certain that they will die if they try to go back.

Jhiqui and Irri advise Dany to not enter the city because of the evil ghosts that inhabit it.

Dany's actions:

As I said in my meta about the relationship between Dany and the prophecies, Dany thinks it's best to follow the comet both because it's her only viable alternative and because there would only be despair left if she didn't believe that it meant something. As she lays out, all the other paths would compromise her small group:

She dare not turn north onto the vast ocean of grass they called the Dothraki sea. The first khalasar they met would swallow up her ragged band, slaying the warriors and slaving the rest. The lands of the Lamb Men south of the river were likewise closed to them. They were too few to defend themselves even against that unwarlike folk, and the Lhazareen had small reason to love them. (ACOK Daenerys I)

By the way, it's noteworthy that Dany was able to assess her situation and think of all these implications on her own. And I do believe she did it on her own, considering that the author explicitly recognizes when the ideas come from other people:

She might have struck downriver for the ports at Meereen and Yunkai and Astapor, but Rakharo warned her that Pono’s khalasar had ridden that way, driving thousands of captives before them to sell in the flesh marts that festered like open sores on the shores of Slaver’s Bay.

“Why should I fear Pono?” Dany objected. “He was Drogo’s ko, and always spoke me gently.”

“Ko Pono spoke you gently,” Ser Jorah Mormont said. “Khal Pono will kill you.[”] (ACOK Daenerys I)

And this leads us to an interesting exchange between Dany and Jorah. As I said before, there are lots of instances to infer that she says things she does not necessarily believe in to obtain his respect, and this is one of them. First, he says that she and her hundred warriors won't stand a chance against Pono's ten thousand warriors. In her mind, Dany is quite conscious of her vulnerabilities, for she knows she doesn't even have a hundred warriors:

No, Dany thought. I have four. The rest are women, old sick men and boys whose hair has never been braided.

But instead of revealing these insecurities, Dany declares:

“I have the dragons,” she pointed out.

Which then leads Jorah to reply that they won't help her that much, since they are still hatchlings; in fact, they may be liabilities at this point since everyone will want to possess them. Dany fiercely says that they are hers and no one will take them from her while she lives. She is putting on a facade here, and admirably so. As the last Targaryen, khaleesi and now Mother of Dragons (as they started to call her), she is their leader and the one who must organize them to work towards a single purpose. To be in that position means being firm and reliable when no one else could be:

“We follow the comet,” Dany told her khalasar. Once it was said, no word was raised against it. They had been Drogo’s people, but they were hers now. The Unburnt, they called her, and Mother of Dragons. Her word was their law.

They are not strong, she told herself, so I must be their strength. I must show no fear, no weakness, no doubt. However frightened my heart, when they look upon my face they must see only Drogo’s queen. She felt older than her fourteen years. If ever she had truly been a girl, that time was done.

Dany kissed him lightly on the cheek. It heartened her to see him smile. I must be strong for him as well, she thought grimly. A knight he may be, but I am the blood of the dragon.

Like I said before, while Viserys used the expression "the blood of the dragon" to be ostentatious and coerce others into doing whatever he wanted, Dany reclaims it to restrain her emotions so she can be the kind of leader who "belongs to her people, not herself". The use of that phrase is also reminiscent of her duty not being only towards the living, but also the dead, whom she doesn't fail to mention:

Her father had been slain before she was born, and her splendid brother Rhaegar as well. Her mother had died bringing her into the world while the storm screamed outside. Gentle Ser Willem Darry, who must have loved her after a fashion, had been taken by a wasting sickness when she was very young. Her brother Viserys, Khal Drogo who was her sun-and-stars, even her unborn son, the gods had claimed them all. They will not have my dragons, Dany vowed. They will not. (ACOK Daenerys II)

Dany is being very protective of her dragons for two reasons:

She loves them as she would love her human children and considers them family.

They are also the means for her to successfully claim her father's throne. Only then she will honor all of these people that the gods claimed. That is also why she won't admit defeat in Qarth when all hope seems lost - she has the dragons and a shot at doing justice for her ancestors and carrying out their legacy, so she will not look back and be lost.

Because Dany's leadership style is rooted in empathy and accountability, she never takes advantage of her position:

Dany hungered and thirsted with the rest of them. The milk in her breasts dried up, her nipples cracked and bled, and the flesh fell away from her day by day until she was lean and hard as a stick[.]

Another leader might have taken most of the food or water for themselves, but that's not what Dany chooses to do. She "must know the sufferings of her people", after all, even more so when she is unable to help them the way she wished she could. The trauma of seeing so many of her people perish will later inform her attempts to bring peace (untenable as it was) as quickly as possible to Meereen in ASOS and ADWD.

Wine gave out first, and soon thereafter the clotted mare’s milk the horselords loved better than mead. Then their stores of flatbread and dried meat were exhausted as well. Their hunters found no game, and only the flesh of their dead horses filled their bellies. Death followed death. Weak children, wrinkled old women, the sick and the stupid and the heedless, the cruel land claimed them all. Doreah grew gaunt and hollow-eyed, and her soft golden hair turned brittle as straw.

[H]er khalasar withered and died. Around them the land turned ever more desolate. Even devilgrass grew scant; horses dropped in their tracks, leaving so few that some of her people must trudge along on foot.

Dany looked at the horizon with despair. They had lost a third of their number, and still the waste stretched before them, bleak and red and endless.

Even here, Dany does the best she can to alleviate their pain. She respects and follows their customs:

Three days into the march, the first man died. A toothless oldster with cloudy blue eyes, he fell exhausted from his saddle and could not rise again. An hour later he was done. [...] Dany bid them kill the weakest of their dying horses, so the dead man might go mounted into the night lands.

Two nights later, it was an infant girl who perished. Her mother’s anguished wailing lasted all day, but there was nothing to be done. The child had been too young to ride, poor thing. Not for her the endless black grasses of the night lands; she must be born again.

She also feels a lot of gratitude for Doreah and strives to make her death a little less agonizing:

Doreah took a fever and grew worse with every league they crossed. Her lips and hands broke with blood blisters, her hair came out in clumps, and one evenfall she lacked the strength to mount her horse. Jhogo said they must leave her or bind her to her saddle, but Dany remembered a night on the Dothraki sea, when the Lysene girl had taught her secrets so that Drogo might love her more. She gave Doreah water from her own skin, cooled her brow with a damp cloth, and held her hand until she died, shivering. Only then would she permit the khalasar to press on.

Later in ADWD, during a feast where people start bringing up the names of the combatants in the upcoming duels at Daznak's Pit, Dany feels complicit in their imminent deaths. She remembers Doreah as an example of someone who died under her protection. More than that: in Dany's mind, Doreah is proof that "[n]o queen has clean hands" because that's how guilty Dany feels about what happened:

Much of the talk about the table was of the matches to be fought upon the morrow. Barsena Blackhair was going to face a boar, his tusks against her dagger. Khrazz was fighting, as was the Spotted Cat. And in the day's final pairing, Goghor the Giant would go against Belaquo Bonebreaker. One would be dead before the sun went down. No queen has clean hands, Dany told herself. She thought of Doreah, of Quaro, of Eroeh … of a little girl she had never met, whose name had been Hazzea. (ADWD Daenerys VIII)

I want to cry.

Also, even if in vain, Dany's proactive (though failed) efforts to find resources in the Red Waste should not be overlooked, for it's still admirable that she took them without anyone even suggesting:

Dany sent outriders ranging ahead of the column, but they found neither wells nor springs, only bitter pools, shallow and stagnant, shrinking in the hot sun.

And neither should Dany's discovery of how to feed the dragons. While Viserys gave her the knowledge, she was the one who retained it in her memory, guessed that it might work and applied it:

Such little things, she thought as she fed them by hand, or rather, tried to feed them, for the dragons would not eat. They would hiss and spit at each bloody morsel of horsemeat, steam rising from their nostrils, yet they would not take the food ... until Dany recalled something Viserys had told her when they were children.

Only dragons and men eat cooked meat, he had said.

When she had her handmaids char the horsemeat black, the dragons ripped at it eagerly, their heads striking like snakes.

Eventually, Dany and her khalasar arrive at the abandoned city that would later be named Vaes Tolorro. She is the one who takes precautions at first:

They made camp before the remnants of a gutted palace, on a windswept plaza where devilgrass grew between the paving stones. Dany sent out men to search the ruins. Some went reluctantly, yet they went ...

But then, after finding out that the place has figs, fruit trees, vines and water, she decides to enter it, stay, rest and be practical rather than leave it because of superstitions:

... and one scarred old man returned a brief time later, hopping and grinning, his hands overflowing with figs. Other searchers returned with tales of other fruit trees, hidden behind closed doors in secret gardens. Aggo showed her a courtyard overgrown with twisting vines and tiny green grapes, and Jhogo discovered a well where the water was pure and cold. Yet they found bones too, the skulls of the unburied dead, bleached and broken. “Ghosts,” Irri muttered. “Terrible ghosts. We must not stay here, Khaleesi, this is their place.”

“I fear no ghosts. Dragons are more powerful than ghosts.” And figs are more important.

She takes note of the resources available to her ("food and water here to sustain them, and enough grass for the horses to regain their strength") and gets her people to work on the different tasks she finds for them:

Dany gave him charge of a dozen of her strongest men, and set them to pulling up the plaza to get to the earth beneath. If devilgrass could grow between the paving stones, other grasses would grow when the stones were gone. They had wells enough, no lack of water. Given seed, they could make the plaza bloom.

Dany thanked him and told him to see to the repair of the gates. If enemies had crossed the waste to destroy these cities in ancient days, they might well come again. “If so, we must be ready,” she declared.

In these two cases, we have explicit cases of Dany concocting ideas to improve Vaes Tolorro's facility, namely by improving its lawn and fortifying it. Not only that, but we also find out that, under Dany's leadership, her whole khalasar is now taking action and making the place better in the ways they can help:

Women harvested fruit from the gardens of the dead. Men groomed their mounts and mended saddles, stirrups, and shoes. Children wandered the twisty alleys and found old bronze coins and bits of purple glass and stone flagons with handles carved like snakes. One woman was stung by a red scorpion, but hers was the only death. The horses began to put on some flesh. Dany tended Ser Jorah’s wound herself, and it began to heal.

This is all great setup for when Dany becomes Queen of Meereen and handles large-scale projects to improve the city's economy and infrastructure.

However, even though Dany thinks it "pleasant" to stay in Vaes Tolorro, she's aware that she must eventually leave, and she doesn't want to do so without being fairly sure of where she's going. With that in mind, she makes the clever decision to send her bloodriders in different directions so that, hopefully, one might find a path that's not as arduous as the one they had to face:

The next morn, she summoned her bloodriders. “Blood of my blood,” she told the three of them, “I have need of you. Each of you is to choose three horses, the hardiest and healthiest that remain to us. Load as much water and food as your mounts can bear, and ride forth for me. Aggo shall strike southwest, Rakharo due south. Jhogo, you are to follow shierak qiya on southeast.”

“What shall we seek, Khaleesi?” asked Jhogo.

“Whatever there is,” Dany answered. “Seek for other cities, living and dead. Seek for caravans and people. Seek for rivers and lakes and the great salt sea. Find how far this waste extends before us, and what lies on the other side. When I leave this place, I do not mean to strike out blind again. I will know where I am bound, and how best to get there.”

And this decision pays off when Jhogo returns with the three strangers who will guide Dany to Qarth.

Aside from the beginning when Dany ponders which direction to take, neither Ser Jorah nor her bloodriders are ever mentioned as part of Dany's decisionmaking. Instead, GRRM takes pain to make Dany's reasoning and actions her own, while also showcasing her selfless nature. ACOK Daenerys I is a chapter that highlights the authorial intent to portray Daenerys Targaryen as an intelligent, capable and principled leader.

Verdict:

From the Red Waste to Vaes Tolorro, Jorah and Rakharo advise Dany about where not to go (though it must be said that she had already made most of the assessment on her own). Besides that, every single action that Dany takes is of her own volition and without the influence of anyone's help. She:

Exhibits emotional intelligence by acting as a leader who drives her group.

Tries to find resources in the Red Waste.

Attempts to ease the khalasar's pain by taking part in their customs and giving Doreah a less painful death.

Decides to remain in Vaes Tolorro despite superstitions.

Takes note of the resources that she has in her disposal.

Gives her people several different tasks to improve the city; thanks to her guidance, some possibly started to do different activities on their own.

Sends her bloodriders in different directions to find one that isn't as taxing as the previous one.

#daenerys targaryen #asoiaf meta #a clash of kings #valyrianscrolls #dany and her choices

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vivifrage · 4 years ago

Note

11, 22, 31!

Hello!! Thanks for the ask! Let's see...

11. Who or what do you find yourself writing about most?

In general, platonic and familial relationships. Especially ones where some character struggled with their family before - Hollow Knight is pretty obvious, Warframe you have a bunch of biomechanical war suits/beings and their orphaned magic teenager, Aphelion had a bunch of bots who left their civilizations and watched every organic they may have cared about go extinct + a very angry sweary teenager bot whose creator always treated her as a failure, and now Merciful Steel which is everywhere from "I'm not sure I want to give my parents a second chance after how they took my queerness" to "My civilization is horribly fascist/controlling" to "I was a sleeper agent and had to destroy the family who accepted me as their own."

Idk why. I get along with my family, especially my immediate family. But there's a lot of familial stuff.

22. Do you listen to anything while you write?

Yessss. It depends on what I am writing, I usually grab stuff that has the right mood. Or just pick whatever and my brain will make it the right mood.

31. Do you have any OCs? Tell us about them!

Yeah!

For Hollow Knight, there's Gov, Judge, Erlwyn, Lina, and Meilie.

Erlwyn is the center of the group. He's Lina and Meilie's son, and Judge's bio kid. He's a little sweetheart who errs on the side of caution with his peers (since he's much bigger than them) and loves to explore. Can usually be found covered in dirt and tugging your hand to show you something exciting he found. As he gets older, his Soul magic and unknown heritage (nobody around him knows his species) drives him to try and get some answers. For safety's sake with the Soul magic, and to understand why he is the way he is with his species.

Lina and Meilie are doing their best to parent their boy. They've fostered for a long time, but their attempts to adopt always fell through. Until Erlwyn, of course. Meilie's a cook for a mining company and Lina works at a pub; the latter used to bring Erlwyn to work with her when Meilie was out. Lina's stopped talking to her family, but Meilie's adores her and brought her into the fold with tons of love. Meilie's a bit more lighthearted and silly (and also butch? it's hard to make a bug butch) whereas Lina tends to be more of a planner and go-getter.

Judge gave up the runt of her clutch when he was teeny tiny; she knew he wouldn't make it if she didn't, but couldn't bring herself to give him to Gov. In part, that was because she'd agreed that he didn't have to co-raise them, and in part because she's already had one of her sons, her firstborn, kidnapped by a male wyrm and the idea terrifies her. Even though Gov lives in the same town and she knows he's not like that. She's a god of order, and strictly lawful neutral. Most of the time, she terrifies the shit out of everyone (being an apex predator squishing herself down a bit) and she remains without close connections besides her brother, children, and transient girlfriend, a deity of the transition from winter to spring. While she struggles with being anything but deadly serious and unnerving, she's very caring and protective, and rather thoughtful and honest about her emotions. Likes to sketch.

Gov is short for the Governor, but he only uses the full title in formal settings. He's the play to Judge's work; while he takes his job in politics seriously, he's much more of a goofball and far more charismatic than his dour sister. He's easy to trust, which nobility, royalty, other politicians, etc can find spooky when all is said and done. He prides himself on being the fun uncle to Judge's kids, and once she calms down a bit, often babysits them when she's overwhelmed or takes them out to festivals and fairs. He's rather submissive to Judge in general, in exchange for her being okay with his presence; wyrm dames are super territorial and the last thing Gov needs is to genuinely piss her off. If there's a decision both of them have to make, he may argue his point, but Judge's word is final. (God of kinship means he has a nice bit of leeway, though, if need be.) He understands bugs far better than wyrms or other Higher Beings in general, and has gotten himself in trouble that way.

(Also, Judge and Gov are PK's siblings, but they generally don't know he exists and vice versa. Which makes Erlwyn his nephew, and he's Hornet, Hollow, Ghost, etc's cousin! Gov and Judge are both older; not a big gap between Gov and PK, but Judge is old enough that her firstborn is older than PK and possibly Gov, too.)

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veleno-fiore · 4 years ago

Text

To the ex-best friend

I write this more for myself than anything, because I blocked you on everything that I ever had you linked to. My tumblr, facebook, twitter, instagram, even in my phone. But sometimes I wonder if you would ever look at my posts to see if I was doing fine if I didn’t have you blocked. I wonder because sometimes I want to do the same for you. But I know it would only bring pain on myself even more and I don’t want to mourn a single thought of you any longer.

I understand now what it means to pretend someone is dead, rather than moved on to something else. Did you do the same for us? Or do you still shove our names in the mud, to better shine on your own? Portray us as the villains in the story, and you the polished white knight in stainless steel armor when really all that means if everyone else’s reflection on you is your own facade?

I can say honestly that I don’t experience a sense of betrayal often. Not since maybe middle school. I learned after being bullied for so long to keep my friends close and few in numbers. I believed after all the hardship I had been through, how my mind and heart began to learn how to sift through the weeds to find the good ones, that I had become a good judgement of character. I’m happy to say most of my friendships never turned into bitter and hateful break ups.

Most. Not all. You were the one that broke the streak of good ones.

See, most of my friends that I no longer speak to before don’t manipulate the way you did. Most just fade, drift to pursue their own passions and careers in their lives. I can understand that because I have done the same and faded away from some of my own best friends. But it’s never a bitterness that I taste on my tongue when their names cross my minds. It’s nostalgic, fondness, and good memories that come to mind.

Your memories have now been tainted, sour and bitter and only make me recoil in disgust and agony like a poisoned polished knife that I lovingly crafted for you was thrust right into my heart the second I placed it in your hands.

Friendship and trust is very much that. You spend years, forging a blade of the finest steel over the hearth. Your hands become calloused, you spend so much time working out all the little bumps and imperfection until it is smooth and brings a smile to your face because for once YES you have made something that you are truly proud of that you put all your heart into it.

Then, you give it away. You lay that beautiful knife in another’s hands, a gift that you put all your soul into creating. I can say I’ve done this with a few people in my life that I would trust them with my darkest of secrets.

I hold their knives in turn, and I protect them with it and wield them in their defense. There are three, and they know who they are.

I gave you one too. I thought, “surely after 10 years of holding this knife, I can trust them with anything.” I believe you may have given me yours as well. You’ve certainly told me things that seemed personal enough that you would never want them told anywhere else. Lord knows I’ve poured enough of my soul into it, I would think you’d have a similar trust in me.

But I’m not so sure. Because after 10 years, things began to change. You grew tarnished, bitter. But it wasn’t a sudden change in that. You’ve always had a rusted edge to you, quick to lash out at anything and anyone. There were no grey areas to you, it was always they were wrong and you were right. And if they were wrong, they deserved to burn.

But this time, it was towards us. To anything we said. It had begun to feel as if even among you, where once I thought it was as easy as walking through a field of soft grass it had turned sharpened like jagged stones in the bottom of a volcano. Each moment hurt and threatened to carve us open. They had begun to grow weary. I can’t blame them. But I’m stubborn, and did my best to walk through the fire and embers that burned away at me.

But it only grew hotter and burned and scorned me with every step.

Do you know the most foolish thing I have ever done? Each time you would erupt and disappear, I would be the one walking through lava to bring the fire back to us again. I pursued you each time, to try to patch this friendship up, even if we weren’t in the wrong. We would stand in the fire, and the fire would never cool.

There were never apologies. You would continue to burn us and I forced us to stand there and endure like nothing was wrong.

And for that, I’m sorry to my two that I forced that onto you. Maybe this could have ended much sooner than it did if I wasn’t so firmly set in my belief that everything could be solved with communication.

I didn’t realize until it was too late that I was slicing my own hands with the dagger I trusted to you.

In the end, what sparked the final crack was something that feels so minor and petty. But, you left. And for once, I did not follow after you. I decided, “if they want to come back, they’ll come back. Let’s leave them be.” Granted, that was after the initial attempt to tell you as you screamed that they hated you that they didn’t. And you told me you didn’t want to talk about it. Not to me, not to anyone.

So, I did as you requested. I left you alone. And I stayed true to that. We all did.

Three. Weeks.

After three weeks, you began to stab at us. Laying vague messages all over, even going so far as to threaten a false lawsuit at us. I wish I could say I was being poetic there, but no that actually happened. You began to stab at our backs that were turned to give you your requested time of silence.

That’s what made the spark turn into an eruption.

My two were done, instantly. They cut ties immediately with you, screaming into the night out of well-deserved frustration and anger over your actions.

I handled my pain differently. I mourned. I sobbed. I cried so hard through the night I hardly slept and felt so much pain in my chest I felt hollow inside. My dagger that I had spent so much of my time and energy and love into making for you was plunged right into my chest by your hand, and it hurt.

Then, we met others. Others that you had hurt in the past. As much as I didn’t want to believe at that moment that you were a bad person--even with the dagger still piercing my chest--they knew things about you that no one else would besides us.

It was the final straw. And where originally the idea was to absolutely ruin you, we stopped. We cooled down. All three of us began to mourn and only wanted to move on. It was clear there was no salvaging anything, but if there was some way just to get some sort of closure on it all, then that would suffice.

So, I took the plunge to contact you. I didn’t want to discuss with you, only tell you to unblock him so HE could talk to you.

And the first thing you say to me?

“Three weeks. Is it for more insults or cussing out? He can save both. As you can.”

No one “cussed you out”. Your definition of cussing someone out is CALLING them out on what they’ve done.

I ask you why you’re getting pissed at me, when I’ve done nothing to you. I have stayed radio silent on this entire matter on every account I own.

You say, “You’ve all had three weeks to talk to me.” And then you proceed to give me a message to relay to everyone else because, “I expect you to.”

And then, at that moment, I was done. I reached up, gripped the dagger you thrust into my chest, and ripped it out and all my frustration and anger from 10 years of silence poured onto you like a tsunami meets a volcanic fire.

I yelled, screamed, and said everything that was on my mind. How YOU had the chance to change everything. How YOU had the ability to message us first. How YOU were the one that blocked us. How YOU were the one that asked for silence. How it was ME that would always try to pick the pieces up again. How it was ME that would try to put all of us back into the same room and try to patch it all like we weren’t just in WWIII. How YOU were the one who was silent too in this entire endeavor.

And then, I was done. I was bleeding as I took the steps I needed to make to heal myself. I blocked you on everything I could think of. I deleted you from my phone contacts.

But, I forgot to block you there for a moment.

And you texted me. “Okay. Sorry it had to come to this. Love you.”

Did you ever really love me?

So at times like this, when my mind comes to you and wonders, “did they ever mourn the loss of me? Of 10 years of friendship that we shared?”

I remind myself that it doesn’t matter. Because this tie was broken a long time ago, with the first scars you laid on me.

I was the one who held out my hands for you to cut.

Now, I am the one taking it back.

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undertalethingies · 4 years ago

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Self Indulgent Self Insert Fanfic, Part One

I am sitting in my room, not doing much of anything, (as per usual) when I look up and notice that my mirror has apparently transformed into a solid wall of inky darkness as I’ve been spacing out.

And well- it’s not like I can not poke it, right? There’s a high chance I’ll seriously regret it, if my life has become the isekai it appears to be, but there’s a 100% chance I’ll regret it forever if I don’t touch it, you know?

Everyone always assumes I’m risk averse, that I like to play it safe, but the truth of the matter is I’ve just never found something I really want to take a risk with.

So, I push myself out of bed with a hand and go grab my shoes, because there’s no way in hell I’m touching something that might be a portal with no shoes on. Thankfully, I’m actually dressed for once, rather than being in my bathrobe like usual.

Once I’ve got my shoes on, I grab my coat from where it hangs by my dresser and walk straight into what used to be my mirror. I hope my parents aren’t too worried by my disappearance. Maybe I’ll be lucky and this will be the kind of isekai that retroactively erases me from existence? That would be kind of nice, to exist without tethers.

The portal (because that’s what it is, I’m pretty sure) feels cool, but not unpleasantly so. Like when you first put on a fleece sweater and it takes a moment to warm up.

If this were a stereotypical isekai story, things would quickly become very unpleasant in this dark void, and some godlike being would reach out to grant me power beyond my wildest imaginings.

I’ve never been one to cave to expectations, though. Not even my own.

The darkness remains cool and comforting, and I continue walking forward because there’s no chance I’m going to turn back now, with so much possibility awaiting me if I only continue long enough.

Eventually, I feel as if I’ve passed some threshold, and something definably changes within me. Can’t say what, though. I’ve always kinda sucked at interpreting what my body is trying to tell me, so I’ll probably have to figure it out on my own.

At some point the darkness and walking grows boring, and so I do what I often do when bored, and curl up to go to sleep. This place isn’t cold enough for me to need a blanket, and I’ve got my coat with me anyway, so I’m fine. Sleeping on hard surfaces isn’t unpleasant, in my opinion, merely a bit annoying, since if you pick the wrong position you’ll inevitably wake up sore.

As always, consciousness takes a while to fade, so I occupy myself with grand imaginings about all the wonderful (and terrible, I’ve got anxiety okay, I can’t help it) things that might await me.

When I wake, it’s immediately obvious that something is different. There’s light now, for one, and for two I can feel something soft and organic beneath me. Judging by smell alone… Flowers? Waking up on a bed of flowers in a lit room… Well, I’ve always wished I could live in Undertale, if only so I could chew out the characters for bottling up their feelings so damn much. Hey, maybe if I’m lucky, that one headcanon I have about Sans secretly being a teenager will be right and I’ll be able to flirt with him without it being creepy.

Oh come on, like everyone attracted to dudes and not overly hung up about species concerns doesn’t want to kiss that guy, are you kidding me? Plus, I love puns and I’m depressed, surely we’ll get along.

Oh boy, I’m definitely going to die, huh? Thank fuck for my high pain tolerance and ridiculous resistance to trauma, am I right?

Finally, I open my eyes, because I like to wake up slow and I see no reason to alter my existing routine simply because I’ve apparently been yeeted into my favorite video game. Hey, speaking of favorite video games, will I get to visit Hollow Knight next? No, wait, that would probably suck, wouldn’t it. Ah, well.

The cave is just as beautiful as I always imagined it would be. Though it looked lovely in the game art, there’s truly nothing that can compare to seeing the sight in person, those marble pillars in a half circle around me, that single spot of sunlight in the ceiling far (far, far) above. Not to mention the lovely flowers I’m laying on at this very moment and- there’s a dead body under me, isn’t there. Is Chara going to show up, or am I left to be alone in my head?

Though their narration doesn’t actually start until you meet Flowey, in the game, so I suppose I’ll just have to wait and see.

Wait.

Wait wait wait.

Which human soul am I taking the place of right now? Because I read a fic once where the protagonist wasn’t the seventh, even if it was a fakeout, and I very much do not want to be saddled with the fate of those poor bastards.

Though, maybe I’d be able to talk my way out? There’s no one who’d call me diplomatic, for sure, but I’m pretty great at knowing exactly where to aim an insult to utterly break someone’s spirit. (Unusual skill, I’m aware, but in my defense I was bullied growing up)(I say “growing up” like I’m not still doing it, like I’m not fourteen and trapped in a world where it’s an accepted fact that the protagonist will die, and several times over, too)

My first order of business is Flowey, before I can take the time to freak out, to hold myself tight and weather the sheer panic that Toto, I am not in Kansas anymore.

I get up. I give a last fond look to the beautiful cave I’ve “fallen” into, and I walk to the next room, hoping all the while that I’m not signing my own death sentence.

Once I’m a few feet in, there he is, in all his fucking glory.

Flowey the flower, the soulless remnant of prince Asriel Dreemurr, former hope of the underground, possibly still holder of the ability to control time itself.

Yeah, I’m definitely going to mess with him. Self preservation is for losers.

“You’re a flower with a face,” I say before he can start with his usual greeting. I have it memorized anyway, so it’s not like I’m missing out on anything.

He makes his T-T face, so I know this isn’t how he thought this would go.

“Wow, human! What gave you that impression?” Ooh, sassy. Literally his only positive trait.

“Well I have eyes, see,” I was planning to ask him probing questions, but honestly this is just as good. His expression doesn’t change as he says his next sentence, nor does his ever cheery tone, (and holy fuck his voice is just as vaguely creepy as I’d imagined, all that childlike innocence paired with the fact that he’s a mass murderer)

“Well howdy, human with eyes! I’m Flowey, flowey the flower!” He says. I don’t interject.

“You’re clearly new to the underground, and it looks like I’m the only one around to show you how things work around here! Are you ready?”

…

“I’m really not, to be honest. I’ve got no idea what’s going on,” So my plan here, basically, is to stall until Toriel gets here. Mostly because I’m hoping that if he doesn’t get the chance to do his betrayal, he’ll keep pretending to be nice, which will be hilarious since I’ll know he’s faking the whole time.

Admittedly, this significantly increases the likelihood that Toriel won’t come to save me when he inevitably finds a secluded place to murder me, but if I think too hard about the long term right now I’m going to scream, so.

“Well you see, human, you’ve fallen into the underground, a land inhabited by monsters! Don’t worry though, we’re quite nice,” Oh right, conversation. I wonder how much info I can get out of him…

“What’s a monster? Like, I know what it means on the surface, but that definition is pretty vague, and I don’t want to be accidentally racist,”

His face pops back to the usual smile. (Side note: his face looks like it was drawn on with sharpie and it’s totally messing me up)

“A monster is a being made of magic!” Ok, that’s… a bit vague, but not really inaccurate. I guess he doesn’t want to get into the science, which is a damn shame, since he probably knows it backwards and forwards due to all his reset shenanigans.

“Woah, cool. Magic is real? How does it work without breaking thermodynamics?” Finally, the question I’ve always wanted to ask. If energy can’t be created, how the fuck does Toriel shoot fireballs from her hands? What is she drawing on, what is the fire burning, how hot is it, how does it keep being on fire, etc. etc. repeat for every magical display in the game.

“Well, a lot of it isn’t super understood. Scientists have mostly been pinning it on ‘dark energy’ like they do with every other phenomenon they don’t totally understand,” I wonder why he’s so willingly entertaining my time wasting antics. I know, in game, he didn’t realize he’d lost control over the timeline until after his first talk with Frisk, so maybe he’s just waiting it out to see where it goes? And then of course he must be planning other things to do with me before he takes my soul and goes to the surface…

“God, I hate dark energy in science. I know they just call it that because not much is known about it, but I’m thirsty for knowledge, you know?” Actually ‘thirsty for knowledge’ describes my mood like 90% of the time. Huh, actually, I have that in common with Flowey, right? Even if his knowledge thirst is just due to boredom.

“Hey, human, me too! Learning new things is great!” There’s a loaded sentence if i’ve ever heard one. When was the last time he learned something new? He’s supposedly read every book in the underground, but how much information from that did he actually retain?

“Isn’t it? It’s why I love Youtube so much. Free information for anyone who cares to make a few clicks!” Wait, he probably doesn’t know what Youtube is, actually.

“What’s Youtube?” He asks, cocking his head.

“It’s a service where you can upload videos or watch videos other people have uploaded,” Not the most nuanced explanation, but it’ll do for now. Before Flowey has a chance to respond, a fireball manifests next to him.

I don’t smile because I’m pretending to be shocked, but I’m laughing my ass off on the inside. The face he makes is even more ridiculous in person.

Enter Toriel, queen of the monsters, mother of no living children.

#undertale #undertale fanfiction #undertale fanfic #self insert #i'm not tagging it reader insert because the insert is very specifically me #flowey #this is purely self indulgent so i'm making no effort for it to sound polished

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missstormcaller · 5 years ago

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CAN’T FEAR YOUR OWN WORLD Vol. II Part 16 Full Translation

This is 4/4 of part 13 on the app (chapter 14 continued)

Rukongai

"What's the big idea with this thing!? We're not about to get dragged into this ridiculous dispute are we!?"

At the words of Candice who has gotten caught up in the aftershocks of Ikomikidomoe's struggle - the Zanpakutō which had taken the appearance of a gargantuan Hollow - Meninas replies in her usual manner.

"We were more or less dragged into it from the very beginning, I think…."

"But still, weren't we told in the beginning to simply knock the lights out of that so-called Fullbringer lot and then snatch them away!? So why in the hell are we now getting dragged into this conflict between a freak who looks like its had all kinds of overgrown Hollow condensed into it, and a bunch of Arrancar!? Come to think of it, didn't the number of Arrancar just double without us noticing!?"

Whilst using her lightning to crush the rocks that were being flung into the air, Candice pointed at the two female Arrancar who had newly emerged.

"Speaking of which, what's the deal with their style!? There's way too much emphasis on their figures don't ya think!?"

"Candice, you can't really speak for others though can you?"

Meninas spoke whilst observing the Holy Knights uniform belonging to the Quincy who had her chest on open display, but pretending that she didn't hear that, Candice initiates a counter-attack.

"Anyway, if this monstrosity isn't stopped first and foremost, then we won't be able to continue with our task."

Although they also had the option of making a brief retreat, it did not appear likely that Kurotsuchi Mayuri would tolerate such a thing.

That being the case, they should probably battle the gargantuan threat by taking advantage of this confusion, and at the same time, watch for an opportunity when the Fullbringers are off their guard. Even if it was impossible to capture the Fullbringers this time around, it was still a chance to analyse how their opponents fight among other things.

Thinking as much, Candice proceeds with the battle whilst paying mind to whether or not Ginjō's group would make an escape.

"Meni! Create an opening!"

"Alright."

Upon nodding in understanding, Meninas made an approach towards the feet of the great Hollow with slow movements, she slipped herself into a position that was located in her opponent's blind spot.

Then, the muscles in her arms that were still in their normal state are instantly made to swell, using her might she lifts upwards.

Just with that alone, the huge physique of 'Ikomikidomoe' is violently thrown off balance, and in a chain reaction, Ikomikidomoe is scooped up from the ground and sent tumbling down with great force.

"Ha! Nice work! Leave the rest to me!"

In a manner that appeared to aim for the spot where the opponent's balance had been weakened, Candice fired a volley of arrows entwined in lightning.

Moreover, as if to indicate that it was the finishing blow, she cast down the same "Electrocution" that was unleashed upon Ginjō and the others a short while ago.

The barrage of assaults, that were hammered out with lightning speed momentum in a very literal sense, blanket the surroundings with a dazzling light.

"That was close…! What the heck are those two doing! Do they not care that I'm also standing here!?"

Having evaded the lightning strike by a hairbreadth, Hirako exclaimed aloud as a cold sweat trickled down his cheek.

"Aren't those the Quincies that became Mayuri's subordinates!? …Yes, that's right. I should've known that Mayuri wouldn't worry about the welfare of myself or other fellow Shinigami."

Coming to accept this realisation by himself, Hirako maintains even more of a distance, he then shifted his gaze in the direction of 'Ikomikidomoe' who had been engulfed in the flash of the lightning strike, however——

"No good. There wasn't much of an effect."

'Ikomikidomoe' who had taken the form of a monster only moments ago, now adopted a spherical shape after folding its limbs, sitting neatly within the Rukongai as an ominous item of art.

In the next instant, a white haze gushed forth from the space around this colossal ball, and no sooner than that did an infinite number of small creatures sporting wings materialise out of said haze.

Though described as 'small', this is only in comparison with the mammoth build of Ikomikidomoe; the creatures who would appear to be Adjuchas level Hollows from outward appearance, begin to take flight into the air as a swarm.

Then, as if it were a protective response, they lunged directly at the aggressors —— at the pair known as Meninas and Candice.

Looking down at the Zanpakutō which continues to generate these small-scale 'terminals' spawned in the dozens, and hundreds, Hirako pulled a frown as he corrected his own perception of the matter.

"…I guess I was mistaken in calling it a huge robot huh."

Whilst maintaining the utmost vigilance towards Hikone who commands that Zanpakutō, and towards the man known as Tsunayashiro Tokinada who bestowed such a Zanpakutō upon the child, he continues speaking.

"This is like an entire 'country' sprouting legs and moving. It's not something we can deal with using orthodox methods."

As Hirako calmly dissects the state of affairs, Candice's group is forced into a disadvantageous position before they could even get a grasp on the situation.

"How can there be a Zanpakutō like this!? Or maybe I should be asking if this thing is really even a Zanpakutō at all!?

"That might be a little problematic huh…."

Using Heilig Pfeil the two continue to shoot through the swarm of beasts that were advancing towards them, however, much to the pair's regret, the enemy's numbers were far too many.

Meninas hit back with superhuman strength, and Candice with the power of her lightning strikes, yet in this current situation the creatures continue to be spawned with momentum that transcends their own, and moreover, there had hardly been any damage incurred on the main unit itself.

With a Galvano Javelin in each hand —— spears created by Reishi imbued lightning bolts —— Candice strikes the creatures down, however their numerical advantage far exceeds the quantity which could be dealt with effectively using only two blades.

"Crap…! If only I could use the power of my Vollständig…."

Originally Candice was able to manage six blades by utilising the wings produced by her Quincy Vollständig, but because of Yhwach's 'Auswählen' she ended up no longer being able to invoke Vollständig, as a result she has now become limited to handling two blades.

What's more troubling is that it was by no means the case that these creatures were charging at them in a wild and tactless fashion, rather they come in for the attack whilst calculatedly catching the girls off guard through controlled movements, almost as though they were a single organism despite being a swarm.

Although they are annihilated in one fell swoop by the lightning strikes firing in rapid succession from the sky, it was but a drop in the ocean.

"tch… did that just stir up a hornet's nest…?"

Though her exhaustion is quite significant after the barrage of assaults from a short moment ago, on the basis of acknowledging that, Candice attempts to unleash her 'Electrocution' once more, and in that very moment ——

"Just drop it. Your Blut Arterie will end up being burnt out before anything."

A voice which struck a familiar chord, rattles her eardrums.

"Whaa…?"

What exactly does it mean that this voice could be heard in such a place?

Before Candice's mind could process that thought, the 'answer' took form and came sweeping in to wolf down the swarm of beasts.

A long and narrow jaw that had made a sudden appearance, swallowed up several hundreds of these grotesque figures in a single breath.

As the abnormal jaw that had preyed upon the white beasts retracted back into a mouth, the owner of the voice gave utterance to her impressions of what she had consumed just now, coupled with a languid sigh.

"It's the same with those skeletal bastards from the other day… just as I thought, mass-produced goods are flavourless."

Floating in midair, is a young girl whose distinctive cold eyes peeked through from under her white Sternritter military cap.

After observing her form, Candice opens her eyes wide and gives a yell.

"Li…Lil!?"

Common sense would dictate that It was an impossible sight.

Having been separated over half a year ago, her companions looked for ways to somehow make contact with her from their position, however she had appeared before them ahead of anything that could actually occur.

In response to a stunned Candice, the girl with the cold eyes —— Liltotto Lamperd —— uttered a complaint in an exasperated tone.

"Jeez, the plan was to try and collect you by taking advantage of all the commotion, but it turns out your sorry asses are right in the middle of that commotion so just what the hell am I supposed to do now? What a drag."

"I-It's you! How are you here? Perhaps, you've come to help us!?"

"Didn't I just say that I've come to collect you? Listen when people talk bitch."

"I mean, you're really alive…. After I heard that you had turned against His Majesty, I… I thought for sure you'd-…"

Having even held onto the suspicion that, in the worst case scenario, Kurotsuchi Mayuri had lied about Liltoto and the others being alive, Candice raises her eyes to Liltoto with an expression that was a mix of relief and astonishment.

"Don't call that bastard 'Majesty'. Either way, it seems he's long gone."

As Lil said so, another voice could be heard coming from behind Candice.

"Wow, you're looking more rough than I expected. Too lame huh, Candice chan?"

With a twitch, a vein throbbed at her temple, before she could even rejoice at their reunion, Candice threw a backhand blow.

"Gigiii!"

Whilst effortlessly evading her fist, the black haired Quincy —— Giselle Gewelle —— raised her voice in protest as she smiled with only the corner of her mouth.

"Eh, don't drag out the end of your words, you make people's names sound like 'old man' you know." (TN: -- When Candice drags out Gigi's name above it sounds exactly like "じじい" which means "old man")

"It's wrong that you made Gigi mad just now."

Without exuding even a trace of an air that could be described as anything akin to a touching reunion, Meninas spoke in her usual manner.

"Wait a minute! Don't you think you're also accepting this way too casually Meni!? It's not like I'm the only one who can't read the situation is it?"

"If you want to complain, why don't we catch a damn bite to eat later while it goes through one ear and out the other. Anyway, right now it looks like we have to find a way to deal with that trouble over there first."

The swarm of beasts continue to gush forth from the white haze as unchanged as before, but perhaps analysing the abilities of Lil's group who were the newcomers on the scene, the swarm's current stance was watching the group carefully whilst encircling them at a distance.

Then, Gigi tilted her head in response to Liltoto's words.

"Huh? Deal with them you say… shouldn't we just make a run for it?"

"…That was the plan. Even if we did run away as is, I suppose it would be pointless if there are also bombs implanted in Candi and Meni's bodies."

"…gah!"

Although Candice had taken this possibility into account, she was once again struck with terror by having it pointed out through Lil who is the brains among this group of friends.

Rather than address Candice herself —— Liltoto proposes a deal towards the person at the other end of the communicator that was fitted to her clothes.

"You can hear me can't you, Kurotsuchi Mayuri. I'll cooperate with your so-called experiment. So in return, I demand the release of Candice and Meninas."

It was at that point, that a very distinctive voice echoed across from Candice's regulation cap.

"Dear me, that you actually made the error of believing that you are in any position to negotiate with me, how very conceited of you."

"Whoa!?"

Disregarding Candice who was taken aback by the voice that had suddenly slipped out from atop her head, travelling across the communicator, the voice speaks with a dispassionate tone.

"I didn't implant the likes of bombs in the first place. Thanks to the Central 46 and the captain commander who can't adapt to the times, I was very recently prohibited from implanting bombs into the bodies of subordinates. So long as you bear the name 'unit', the lot of you too, can only be treated as soldiers rather than tools. Good grief, what an oh-so benevolent gesture."

"Since we're on the topic of bombs, could that not mean that you've tossed in plenty of other crazy stuff?"

"Do you really think so?… Never mind, Quincies are now curio. I have no intention of breaking them so easily."

"Hold on!? What's the deal with that vague wording!?"

Paying no heed to the cries of Candice, Lil calmly continues negotiations with Mayuri.

Without dropping her guard against the surroundings even while they negotiate, the small units of beasts that were charging towards them at random intervals as a diversionary tactic, is 'swallowed whole' each time as she expertly moved the conversation forward.

"What I want is merely the freedom of Candice and Meninas, and the guarantee of their safety. They can be exchanged with a handful of fighting potentials among us Quincy, that doesn't sound half bad right?"

"Once you've attained that level of pretentiousness, it goes beyond comical and one can only feel pity. You may be curios, but as far as I'm concerned, the likes of Quincies are an area of research that has been fully exhausted. Did you actually think that the lot of you had that much worth?"

"If Quincies don't have that much worth, then what does it matter to at the very least part with only two, Candi and Meni? I suppose that would just about cover the cost of doing your chores. Also, this concerns you. You've already implanted something within me and Gigi too either way, haven't you?"

"Huh?"

Gigi raises her voice at this unexpected information, but Mayuri's voice makes a blunt assertion with a nonchalant air.

"Oh, even if they're fools, I can't say I completely detest those who are quick on the uptake. That Quincy named Ishida didn't even have the slightest clue until I told him."

"Why thank you. I pray that you're also the type who's quick on the uptake."

In response to Lil who was holding her ground against Mayuri, the voice streaming through Candice's cap resumes speaking with stifled laughter.

"If I refuse you here, do you perhaps intend to take your negotiations directly to the captain commander? My, my, if Hirako Shinji wasn't present, I could've had you silenced in secret."

"Maybe I decided to go to the trouble of showing my face precisely because another captain rank is present?"

"Quite the clever-clogs aren't you? Good grief."

"The danger that you are has touched our very core after all. That he didn't include you among the Special War Potentials, I can only imagine that Yhwach was off his rocker."

Following Lil's words, the sound of a heavy sigh could be heard coming from the communicator fitted to Candice's cap.

"I make no concessions based on blatant flattery. Well, it's true that your ringleader's eyes were as good as blind however. It appears that even if he could forecast the future, he wasn't able to see the reality."

Then, in a somewhat upbeat tone, Mayuri offered a concrete proposal.

"I want to dig up as much data as possible on that colossal mutant of a Zanpakutō, as well as the mock-up Shinigami trial subject standing on top of it. If the lot of you can do that, then I will upgrade your treatment from test subjects to at least the level of mercenary. And if you also happen to capture the Fullbringers while you're at it, perhaps I can even help you grow taller as a special reward."

"Unnecessary. Even If my physique and whatnot got bigger, it would probably only make me get hungry faster. So to sum it up, it's going to be us knocking the wind out of that huge freak right?"

"I don't expect you to go that far. After all, if a subject could be brought down that easily by you lot, then I wouldn't be interested in it to begin with."

"Tch… you underestimate us."

Perhaps regarding it as a completion of the deal, Lil voiced her complaint, following this she poses a question towards the colossal sphere that towers heavenward.

"I wonder if you think the same? Freak."

In response to a confrontational Lil, Gigi who was listening from ground level speaks up.

"Hey Lil, I can't stand it. Helping that black and white clown and all."

It was at this point that Mayuri's voice shot out from Candice's cap in seeming astonishment.

"Even your brain tissue has finally rotted away has it? Zombie girl. The one I was negotiating with is that girl with the big appetite. I never put the likes of you down as a fighting power from the very onset, so you can just go ahead and rot wherever you like."

"…Does someone who stole another person's zombies have any room to talk though?"

"Save it for later. I don't think this is the kind of opponent you can defeat by mouthing off."

Calming Gigi who mumbled in a voice filled with deeply held resentment, Lil raises her eyes to 'Ikomikidomoe'.

"Whatever you do, first things first, we have to silence that behemoth."

"…If you say so."

Despite the smile playing on her lips, Gigi's eyes revealed that she had actually agreed reluctantly, after heaving a sigh she issues instructions to a shadowy figure standing at her back.

"Go for it, Bambi-chan."

"Uunhh… I, do my best. Because Candi, and Meni, everybody… here…."

Then —— the battlefield which had been engulfed in white lightning only a short while ago, is this time made to be blanketed in the tint of red explosive flames.

"It's that girl with the bombs!? They just had to bring along that bothersome individual huh!"

Watching the zombie girl who came flying out from Gigi's shadow, Hirako involuntarily raises his voice.

As recollections of the moment he was almost blasted to death in the past are vividly resuscitated in his mind, a cold sweat trickled down his forehead.

Reishi bullets, which are fired one after another by the girl with dark red skin, make contact with the creatures spawned from 'Ikomikidomoe' and cause her opponent's body tissue to convert into bombs.

The hot wind from the chain of explosions which subsequently gush forth, vaporised the sweat on Hirako who was standing at a distance.

"…Gah! As reckless as ever I see. What can I say, I guess this means, sooner or later, I'll also have to consider my next course of action…"

Hirako releases a sigh and places a hand on his Zanpakutō, he whispered to himself whilst contemplating whether he should join a side in battle here, or whether he should allow the dust to settle by contacting Mayuri who was stationed further away.

"That Momo should've reported to Kyōraku san, so there may be some action over there too."

"Oh man, this is turning out to be quite a disaster huh."

Not withdrawing, but not actively participating in the battle either, Ginjō's group avoid the ripple effect of the assault whilst observing the situation.

"If we're going to retreat, I think now is our chance right?"

With a shrug of his shoulders, Ginjō addressed Tsukishima's remark.

"That was the plan… but didn't that brat say 'I'll get you to acknowledge me as king' or something?"

"…I see, are you worried about that?"

When Giriko mentions this, Tsukishima also opens his mouth to speak as if to say he understood.

"Ah, it's about 'XCUTION' isn't it?"

The 'XCUTION' he spoke of is not the group of Fullbringers who were once assembled by Ginjō in the Human World, he is referring to the 'XCUTION' they had heard about a few days ago, a new religious organisation which is making its presence felt in the Human World.

Whilst recalling the information he had gathered in the last few days from the 'newcomers in Rukongai', Ginjō begins to reveal his own speculations.

"…Going by those guys fresh from death, apparently this religious cult organisation known as 'XCUTION' already has devotees in the hundreds of thousands… somehow or the other, I can only imagine that some Fullbringer or Shinigami has something to do with this."

According to the account he heard directly from someone who was a believer in their lifetime as luck would have it, details around such things as the Rukongai and the Shinigami Konsō being noted among them in the creed of 'XCUTION', was almost entirely consistent with the state of the afterworld.

It can be said with certainty that this creed which mentions everything from the existence of Shinigami, Rukongai and Seireitei to the existence of Hollows, Hell and Hueco Mundo, is something that could only be written by an individual who knows about the 'afterworld'.

Nevertheless, in its midst, there was one sole part which deviates significantly from reality.

To be precise, it is a part that depicts the future and it is not yet known whether or not it will come to be.

—— {A new king will be born from the shadows of a turmoil spanning a millennium, and reign over the three worlds respectively.}

At first, Ginjō was of the opinion that the religious cult were associates of the Quincies, and that the 'new king' was perhaps referring to Yhwach.

However, he has heard that Yhwach's purpose was not to rule over the three worlds, but to eliminate the boundaries of the three worlds itself and return everything to the original plane of existence.

He believes that this very passage of the mysterious prophecy is the key to grasping the identity of the other party, it was his intention to even bring up the matter with Hisagi, the self-styled 'journalist' who made his acquaintance just the other day, and draw out the opinion on the Shinigami side.

Yet before he could put this plan into action, a direct hint appeared before his eyes.

"Well… in that case, whose influence should we be focusing on?"

Ginjō was not looking at the monster of a Zanpakutō called 'Ikomikidomoe', rather he cast his line of sight towards the child manipulating it who gave its name as 'Hikone'.

At that point, he noticed something.

Noticed that one of the Quincies who appeared later, slipped through the storm of the bombing raid and drew closer to the child Shinigami.

"Hey, kid. You said your name is Ubuginu Hikone right?"

What entered Liltoto's eyes, is the form of Ubuginu Hikone standing atop an 'Ikomikidomoe' who remained unscathed.

Only a few moments ago, they should have been subjected to the lighting strike unleashed by Candice several times over, but putting the creature that is 'Ikomikidomoe' to one side, she is taken aback by the fact that even this Shinigami who is its master was unharmed, at the same time she intentionally opens up a dialogue in order to probe for information on the opponent.

"Oh! You're the Quincy lady who showed up at Hueco Mundo that last time! Long time no see! It's amazing that you'd actually eat up the kin of 'Ikomikidomoe'! It was a pleasure meeting you!"

"I didn't want to encounter you at all if possible. Didn't you say you were going to become king?"

"That's right! Ah, well, to be precise, rather than saying that I am the one who will attain this feat, it is Tokinada sama who is being kind enough to make me king!"

"On top of being some hand-me-down for orders, you'll be just a figurehead king? Isn't there something you want to do through your own damn will?"

Although her manner of speaking was akin to provocation, Hikone doesn't even seem to realise that it is what's known as sarcasm and thus replied with an innocent tone.

"There is! What I want to do are things that are useful to Tokinada sama!"

"…So if this Tokinada guy you speak of told you to 'die a painful death', would you go ahead and die?"

"Yes! I would do my very best to suffer as much as possible!"

"…Oh, I see."

—— Damn. Talking with this brat is going to drive me crazy.

—— The way it fanaticises about things reminds me of that asshole Lille.

—— Nah, I wonder if this is slightly different from that guy, rather than fanaticism… how shall I put it?

—— I get the impression that the damn kid was set up to be that way from the very beginning.

Lil believed that this did not seem like someone she could get through to, but even so, she continues to question the child all the more.

Aside from the goal of extracting information, she genuinely harboured a suspicion.

"There's something I want to ask you."

It was regarding a certain Reiatsu intermingling within Hikone, which Candice and the others also perceived.

"…Have you ever heard the name… Gremmy Thoumeaux?"

Gremmy Thoumeaux.

The name of a boy who is reputed to be the strongest Sternritter, in fact, it was said that in all likelihood, no one could hope to defeat him outside of Yhwach.

That he is described as a boy, is purely because the body he had imagined for himself was that of a young boy, in actuality, both sex and age were unknown.

His true form is only a brain floating within a small container; a Quincy who 'imagined' (created) his very own body by using the power of the Schrift V —— "The Visionary" given to him by Yhwach.

Making one's imagination transform into reality as it stands, is evidently a phenomenon close to the power of a god, in the life or death struggle against Zaraki Kenpachi, he conjured everything from a huge meteorite within Seireitei to the vacuum of outer space.

In the end, he imagined power that could overcome Zaraki Kenpachi and made it his own, but because he couldn't completely imagine a body that was able to withstand that power, it resulted in his self-destruction, he awakened from his dreams, and his brain ceased all function.

Lil caught sight of the moment Gremmy disintegrated with her own eyes, she was also able to confirm that his Reiatsu had come to a complete stop.

She had no idea what happened to the brain container thereafter, nor did she have any particular intention to go searching for its whereabouts.

However, it was a separate matter entirely if one could sense Gremmy's Reiatsu coming from the Shinigami before her.

Perhaps by some chance this Shinigami figure is a mere mimicry, and in truth, something formed after the living Gremmy had 'imagined' it, Lil had surmised as much before posing her question.

"Gremmy… Gremmy san you say…? Aha!"

Suddenly, after a brief moment of consideration, Hikone's face lit up.

"Yes, I know that name! Tokinada sama kindly informed me!"

"……!"

Not expecting the child to return a straight answer, Lil widened her eyes a fraction and waits for Hikone to continue.

However, what is then narrated from Hikone's mouth, was an answer that Lil doesn't really want to hear.

"Gremmy san was apparently… a member among the materials, used at the time of my creation! That's right!"

254 notes · View notes

misterewrites · 5 years ago

Text

Welcome to The Underground (original story)

Hey everyone, E here! Still alive. haha it’s been a while. So I wanted to do this for a long time and I decided just to go for it. You know, get back into the swing of things and work on my own projects so I apologize if it’s a little off or not up to my usual work.

So I’ll let the story do the talking but basically it’s heavily inspired by dnd because screw it I might as well embrace the madness, Crypt of the Nercodancer (My favorite game) and Hollow Knight (great game)

It takes place in a vast underground kingdom in a fantasy style setting.

I hope you all enjoy it, we’ll see if I keep this up because I really did go all out on the world building and had fun and I hope you all have a great week! E out, bye!

We love you Abi. Don’t ever forget it.

“Mom?”

Abigail winced uncomfortably as the muscles in her body painfully ached.

“Why does everything pain? Why so much pain?” Abigail croaked, resisting the urge to move any further than she had to.

Abigail opened her eyes but instead of the blazing sun high above the mossy, wetlands of the Loss Swamp like she was expecting, it was a swirling darkness and towering smooth stony walls on every side.

A single ray of sunshine cut through the dark but small, leafy movement scurried to cover it, swarming the glimmer of light until it was completely engulfed in shadows once more.

“Okay that explains the cold air during summer.” Abigail whispered to herself, closing her gray eyes in preparation “One second then up you go Abi. One.”

No motion.

“I said one Abi” She scolded herself.

She bit her lip, ignoring the dull ache of her arms as she turned to one side on the cold jagged floor.

“Oh god let’s not do that again” she murmured to herself, taking a deep heavy breath to steady herself.

Abigail propped one elbow against the ground, then the other and slowly rose to her feet. The pain faded away and was replaced with an uneasy but manageable soreness she was more accustomed to working on her farm.

She could do this.

Whatever this was.

She stood to her full average height which wasn’t very tall but still better than kissing the floor. She stretched the stiffness out of her body, cracking the bones in her neck and fingers while glancing upwards.

“A cave entrance. The moss probably covered it up. And this is why invasive flora sucks.”

Abigail pursed her lips, wondering how exactly she was going to climb back up to the surface as she untangled her wet long reddish brown hair. As she was crossing a swamp, she hadn’t packed any climbing gear and who knows how deep the cave system really went.

Abigail paused her thoughts as the sound of rustling reached her ears. The scratching of fabric against leather was so oddly familiar...

Her bag!

She whipped around to the source of the noise and regretted at once as her neck muscles ached dully.

“Hey!” Abigail’s voice cracked “Oww, oww, neck. What are you doing!?”

The silhouette of the figure jumped up in surprise, shooting up to their feet, one hand raised in surrender while the other clutched a familiar dark red travel pack.

“You’re alive?” A male’s voice said with hint of confusion “That’s...that’s surprising.”

“Why?” Abigail snarled “Is that why you covered a hole with a rapid growing moss? What kind of sick trap are you running mister?”

“Moss?” The figure shook his head “I have no idea what you’re talking about. And, I checked your pulse. You were as dead as a doorknob.”

“Well obviously you didn’t do it right!”

The man shifted his weight uncomfortably “I mean it has been a while since I had to check a corpse. At least 4 years. I guess I lost my touch. I am really ashamed of myself. Seriously, I….”

Abigail tuned him out as she plucked her trusty dagger from her belt. She gripped it tightly, eyeing the shadowy figure carefully though it was hard to know where he began and the darkness of the cave ended.

“Okay.” He finished rambling “Obviously I was here to shift through a corpse’s bag and...”

“And you lost your chance!” Abigail yelled, lunging forward with murderous intent.

“Oh shit!” The figure cried out, stumbling backwards in surprise.

Abigail huffed angrily as her blade caught empty air.

“Hey!” She cried out as the person disappeared into the dark “COME BACK HERE!”

Abigail chased after him, wildly groping the thick shifting darkness, her blade scratching stone but not much else. It must’ve been seconds but to her it was an eternity when she found the soft light and a silhouette shrinking deeper into the cave.

Abigail gripped her blade tightly as she bumbled her way to the source of light, prepared for an ambush at the end of the tunnel.

She let out a battle cry, jumping around the corner hoping to catch anyone unaware.

“Wow.” She murmured softly as she took in the awe of the sight before her.

The tunnel had open up to a massive cavern: Mushrooms hung from every inch of the ceiling, gleaming with a greenish light that illuminated the cave brightly. The ground was a rolling hill with gravel, loose and uneven much like dirt. Rows of tilted and uneven stone slabs stretched out before her. Tombstones she guessed based on the faded wording and flowers scattered about.

“This is beautiful. I wonder if the mushrooms catch the moisture in the air to...FOCUS ABI!” She shook herself out of her stupor.

She caught sight of the figure retreating further and further away towards a small hut on the far side of the cavern: He wore an elegant jacket and dress pants though the embodied golden lines were faded. Slung around his back was a lute and in one hand, Abigail’s travel bag as the other flailed wildly.

“Revenge!” Abigail cried, brandishing the knife as she resumed the pursuit.

Well, tried to. She nearly lost her footing from the switch from solid stone to loose gravel. Her knife scraped against a weathered tombstone as she caught herself on it.

“Sorry about that.” She read “Lancer Dupoint. What kind of name is...”

The figure stopped just short of the door, leaning on his knees while he tried to catch his breath “Would you please stop!”

“Never!”

“Look!” the figure shouted “I’m sorry! I didn’t know you were still alive. People fall down there and die all the time, it wasn’t anything personal.”

Abigail huffed “If it’s not personal, why do you still have my bag?”

The man looked confused for a moment before he glanced to the bag still in his grip.

“Oh….”

“Oh is right!” Abigail snarled, flinging her knife with all her might.

The man held up the bag to protect himself but the dagger sunk harmlessly an inch away from his face, embedding itself in the wooden door of the hut.

“ARE YOU CRAZY!” he screamed “You could’ve killed me!”

“Did I hit you!?” Abigail replied, scrunching up in fear.

“No! You got the door!”

“Holy shit I got the door?! I never hit anything before! Did it stick?”

“Did it stick? DID IT STICK!? YEAH ABOUT AN INCH FROM MY FACE!”

“Sorry! I never thought I’d make it that far. It’s like what 40 yards?”

“You are crazy lady! Who just throws knives!?”

“I’m sorry I was really mad at you!”

The man let out a crazed chuckle “Mad? don’t throw knives at all! Even when you’re mad!”

“You robbed me!” Abigail raised a finger in accusing manner.

“Not on purpose. I thought you died.”

The shouting stopped as the wooden door creaked loudly on its hinges.

“Oliver, is there a reason you are currently shouting outside my house?” an older man asked, staring curiously back and forth between the two.

Abigail walked slowly over the loose gravel underneath her foot and finally got a good look at the two strangers.

The younger, named Oliver, was maybe about 2 years older than her. He had brown eyes with black hair, a splash of freckles across his cheeks. He was lanky but not much taller with ill fitting performer’s clothes. Old, long since their prime but clearly one of an entertainer given their quality.

The older gentleman had graying hair that was once blonde with a thick beard, his blue eyes kind yet understanding. Abigail couldn’t place his age: Either was 45 or 60 though the way his body hunched and the slowness of his motions hinted at the latter. He wore a simple robe and boots clearly made of a thick material.

“Hello my dear” The older man spoke gently “I am Roland, the groundskeeper of the West End Cemetery and this” he playfully nudged the younger man “Is Oliver.”

“Hello….” Oliver mumbled uneasily.

“He helps me tend the graves for some extra coin. Not as spry as I used to be you know? And you, my dear?”

“Abigail!” she cheerfully beamed “Abigail Greenfield. I fell through a hole in the Loss Swamp and fell down here where I found that one!” Oliver whistled innocently “Was robbing me!”

“Not robbing” Oliver interrupted “Liberating a departed soul of their worldly possessions.”

Abigail expected a scolding or a disappointed scowl from Roland but none came, only a nod of agreement.

“I see. I’m sure Oliver meant no harm.”

“None whatsoever. She’s the one that came at me with a knife!”

“You were a strange man going through her things as she was passed out. You would’ve maintained the element of surprise too.”

Oliver opened his mouth to argue before he nodding in agreement “Okay fair.”

“Anyway, would you like to come in Abigail? I am sure you have many questions.”

“Nah, just one. How do I get back up to the swamp?”

Roland and Oliver shared a look.

--------------------

“I can’t leave?” Abigail repeated after them, the shock of the statement slowly settling over her, the warm tea in her hands remaining untouched.

“Afraid not my dear.” Roland patted her arm sympathetically.

“T-That can’t be right. This is a vast underground cavern system, t-there must be away back to the surface.”

Oliver gave a casual shrug “Look, I’ve lived down here my whole life. If there was a way out, I would’ve heard about it by now. Anyone who could’ve gotten out probably already did. Mages, clerics, magic folk with that kind of power. All zipped off. Wall are too smooth and steep to climb. Everyone else lives here in the Underground. Or the Fifth nations. Or dwarf land.”

“Dwarf land? Dwarves! They must have an entrance to...wait did you just say Fifth Nations? Like….”

“That’s what they named themselves, I’m just repeating it.” Oliver answered.

“Anyway” Abigail continued “The dwarves must have a way up! They do business with a capital and that’s like 100 miles away from my hometown and across from the swamp. Wait, how big is the Underground?”

“Vast.” Roland sipped his tea “I’d say 75 miles give or take but many roads twist and curl in on itself. Travel to the Dwarf kingdom will be slow at best.”

“And nonexistent at realism” Oliver chimed in “The Underground has many roads but the deepest most of them go is the second level and without armed escort, you’re probably not going to survive.”

“Second level? Like floors?”

Roland cleared his throat “Let me explain life here: The Underground is a vast alliance of city states. We’ve been around for hundreds of years, trapped down here but making the best of it. Most of the citizens are are 5th or even 7th generation of descendants of people who fell though once in a while someone from the surface comes tumbling down.”

“Like me! I was crossing the Loss swamp. I was walking over some mossy covered ground when it suddenly gave out. I guess the mossy is an invasive species not native to the swamp.” Roland gave an impressed nod. Oliver was just confused.

“Anyway” Oliver coughed “There’s 4 levels to the Underground. Most cities are built on the first level. It’s closest to any natural sunlight and water, so most creatures avoid it like the plague. There’s a road or two up on this floor but if you wanna get anywhere, you gotta travel through the second layer. It’s further down, closer to the empty void of the cave’s darkness but it was easier to carve paths through. Much more dangerous. Like more creepy crawlers and things that generally want to eat you.”

“Also bandits.” Roland added.

“Right, those fuckers. Armed escort is heavily recommended. There’s a couple of outposts that offer safe haven and patrols with the odd city or two but not much more than that.”

“And the third level?” Abigail asked curiously.

Oliver snorted “hell if I know, that’s like noooo down there. I’ve never met anyone who ever went to the third level and lived. And I am still pretty sure the fourth level is just a myth.”

“Why were you in the swamp Abigail?”

Abigail bit her lips nervously.

“You don’t have to tell us.” Roland smiled softly.

“Thank you. Umm I….I don’t know what to do now.”

“Same” Oliver rolled his eyes “I guess you live here now. West End is a small town, pretty quiet. You’ll find something here to do.”

“I want to go to the dwarf kingdom.”

Oliver rubbed his eyes tiredly “That’s nice, so you do know what you want to do. I hope you get there. It’s allllll the way on the East side of the kingdom, past the Underground and the Fifth Nation and this is a little village at the other end.”

Abigail turned to Roland, ignoring Oliver’s comment “So I take it West End isn’t gonna have a lot of travel out of here?”

The wind picked up for a moment outside and the hut groaned uneasily though Roland paid it no mind.

Roland scratched his beard thoughtfully “Well, you are right. This is a small village. Not much resources for you here. The capital, Haven’s Nest, is the next city over. You’ll have much better luck there though travel would be problematic.”

Oliver chimed in “You gotta go through a second floor path. Means you are going to need somebody who knows how to fight.”

Abigail pursed her lips, wracking her mind at possible solutions “Is there a mercenary group here?”

Oliver scratched his chin for a moment before snapping his finger “Yeah, the Swift Slivers. They’re a small group, loyal though and take fair pay but I doubt you have any….”

“My bag had at least 30 gold.”

“30 gold?” Oliver rose an eyebrow before realization hit “Wait! Surface gold?!”

“Umm.” Abigail’s eyes darted back and forth, unsure where he was going with this “Yeeeees?”

“That’s worth a fortune down here! Actually no, don’t pull that out unless you want to get robbed.”

“Right, sure.” Abigail was not sure what was going on anymore.

“Oliver.” Roland began slowly “Isn’t there a music competition you were saving up for in Haven’s Nest?”

“Yeeeeees.” Oliver narrowed his eyes suspiciously “But I still need to save up for the entry fee and paying the mercs to escort me.”

“I think you earned you pay for the month Oliver. I will cover the mercenary fee.”

“If?” Oliver rolled his eyes.

“You agree to take Abigail to the capital.”

It was harder to tell who was more opposed to the idea: The farm girl or the bard.

“Are you kidding me!? He robbed me!”

“She came at me with a knife! Even after I said I was sorry!”

“How can I trust him, he was looting my ‘corpse’!”

“She’s clearly crazy and I don’t feel safe traveling with her.”

Roland raised a hand, stopping the two arguments without a word.

“Abigail. You are new to this land. You have very little options and I can promise despite….first impressions, Oliver will not put you in danger.”

Roland turned to Oliver with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“You want to go compete. This is the only way you’re going to get to the competition in time. All you have to do is take her to the capital where you were planning on going anyway. Are you really going to pass up a free ride?”

“Fine” The two huffed in unison “We’ll behave.”

“Good” Roland beamed, sliding a pouch of coins into Oliver’s hand.

Oliver glanced curiously at the older gentleman “Are you okay. Sir?”

Roland chuckled playfully “Yes quite. I just feel this is the best path forward for you both. Two people in need. A common destination. Two birds, one pouch.”

Oliver was uneasy about that answer but before he could continue with his questioning, Abigail spoke.

“Can I have my bag back?”

Oliver lost his train of his thought as he handed back the bag he had accidentally taken, glancing distastefully at his companion.

At least she was prepared for travel: Long sleeved red tunic, blue bandana to keep her hair in check and black leggings tucked into hiking boots.

Roland let out a tired yawn, rubbing at his eyes sleepily “Now, if you excuse me, I think I need to sleep.”

“But it’s the afternoon.” Oliver muttered, something about the old man’s behavior not sitting well with him. He had never taken a nap during the day.

“I am quite old Oliver and if you hurry, you may be able to start traveling today.”

He was trying to get rid of them, Oliver was sure of that at least but the why eluded him.

Abigail simply nodded “Thank you Roland, for everything.”

“Goodbye Abigail. Oliver.”

Oliver frowned but shook the hand all the same “Old man.”

--------------------

Roland waved cheerfully at the retreating figures of the unhappy pair. It wasn’t ideal and there was no guarantee that they weren’t going to kill each other but at least they were safe.

Roland took a deep, calming breath as he closed the door.

“You should’ve knocked, old friend.”

Roland turned around to find a cloaked figure sitting lazily in his chair, his golden yellow eyes peering through the shroud of his hood.

“Ello Roland. Long time.”

“Long time” Roland sighed “Tea? Milk?”

“Milk” The figure murmured with a grin “Sounds lovely.”

Roland grimaced, making his way to the kitchen to serve his uninvited guest.

“Nice house.” The figure called out, eyeing the small hut with approval “Cozy. Quiet. Isolated.”

“That’s why I picked it.” Roland answered, pouring the milk into a glass “Nice retirement plan.”

“Agreed.” The figure chuckled “Never thought you’d retire. The most powerful wizard in all the Underground. Toiling graves.”

“Well.” Roland poured a drink for himself “Not all of us want to die pursing endless hobbies.”

Roland made his way back to his guest, handing him his drink and taking a seat across from him.

“You got one ready out there?” The figure gestured to the window.

“Yeah. It’s by the gate. Very nice.”

“Perks of a gravekeeper.”

“Mhm.”

The silence was tense as they finished their drinks slowly. They stared at one another, the moment close at hand.

The figure stood up, drawing a blade hidden beneath his cloak “Would you like to take a read of your book before we start?”

Roland shook his head “I always hoped you would’ve died in this vain pursuit. I suppose I’ll have to kill you myself.”

The figure gave a toothy grin, his eyes gleaming with humor “I am blessed by my lady. You may try but I assure you I won’t be stopped.”

Roland remained silent, his finger tracing symbols in the air. Blue magical runes fill the appear before him as the figure closes the distance.

#my story #original story

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