#lords knows I need to finish that sculpture for my father

[maranull]

Books I read this year and quick thoughts about them cause last year when I did this I had fun remembering them.

Under the cut cause there are a bit too many.

~

Ratings are 100% subjective. Going by order I've read them, not rank or whatever. I'd generally rec everything above 3 stars.

~

Crier's War by Nina Varela

What if you were a human, the slave race under the ruling androids and you wanted to kill the "daughter" of the lord of your city, but she was actually nice. Gay and technically enemies to lovers..? Though only the human wants to kill the other. Just a pretty nice, enjoyable fantasy. 3/5

Iron Heart by Nina Varela

Sequel to Crier's War. Here it becomes less conflict between the main characters and more world-wide troubles. Consisted quality with the first book and it also has a scene where the main characters decide to pretend to be wives to trick their way into a mansion. Hilarity ensues, which was a great break from the world-wide conflict. 3/5

A Room of One's Own by Virginia Woolf

No notes needed, I think. As of writing this, this is the best essay I've ever read. Even though you can see its age at some points, I feel it's still very relevant. 4/5

Carmilla by J. Sheridan Le Fanu

In a remote mansion, a father and a daughter take on a sickly woman. At points it felt like I was reading a lesbian romance. Which is wild considering this is written by a man in the 19th century. Absolutely horrid ending. 2.75/5

Carmilla and Laura by SD Simper

What Carmilla could and should had been. Same premise, much, much better ending. 3.75/5

Late to the Party by Kelly Quindlen

Quindlen has this uncanny skill that makes me feel and almost miss teen years I never had or would I have (cause all her works are set in the US). This particular book was a very... I think good portrayal of not fitting in, and what you might be willing to do and sacrifice to do so. And then the growth that (hopefully) comes through such experiences. 4/5

Whipping Girl by Julia Serano

Not much to say. The description, twice, promised arguments that included her knowledge of biology. That wasn't the case. A fine book to read, but the rating I gave it reflects my annoyance with that description and its setting of wrong expectations. Pay more attention to the title in this one. 3/5

Legends & Lattes by Travis Baldree

Top tier vibes. An orc adventurer settles down and makes a coffee shop in a town that doesn't know what coffee is. Did not vibe with the climax or the romance (that felt shoehorned in) but overall a very enjoyable read. 3.5/5

An Absolutely Remarkable Thing by Hank Green

Giant alien sculptures appear all around the globe, and the world tries to understand what they are. The main character is one of the first that finds them. One of the most interesting premises I've read. And a very interesting book right up until the ending, which I really, really didn't like. Maybe book two fixes my problems with it, but it was too sudden and I was not in a good place to give it a try then. The rating might be too harsh, but it is what I felt right after finishing it. 2.75/5

A Spindle Splintered by Alix E. Harrow

A pretty cool retelling of the Sleeping Beauty. A very hopeful book, even if the main character starts it by celebrating their last birthday. 3/5

The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas by Ursula K. Le Guin

I still think about this story sometimes. Absolutely insane how Le Quin managed to write something this short and this good. I found out more about myself from this story. I know me better through thinking about this story. It's just amazing, read it and think on it. 4/5

Short Stuff by Kate Fierro, Alysia Constantine, Jude Sierra, Julia Ember, Jen Sternick, Tom Wilinsky

A short LGBTQ+ stories collection. I was in a really bad place at the time of reading it, I barely remember anything. Though I do remember that some were really good though, while others were... pretty meh to even just... bad. Overall 3/5.

Elysium Girls by Kate Pentecost

Praise be the dystopia that got me out of my reading slump! Really cool concept, I loved it. The magic and technology is also very well made. 3.25/5

The Druid's Call by E. K. Johnston

A book made to accompany the movie D&D: Honor Among Thieves and to expand on Doric's character. It's basically her whole backstory leading up to the movie events. I think there's nothing to say here, right? There is? Okay. I've watched, listened, read and played through maybe too many stories. Seen thousands upon thousands of characters. No one ever came close to how much I relate to Doric and her story. This book is the most accurate description of abandonment and trust issues I've ever read. It was also aware how something like that might heal, and how blind you might seem (or be) when carrying such baggage. Again, my thoughts are very subjective and biased, but this is one of the best books I've ever read. 5/5

The Fellowship of the Ring by J. R. R. Tolkien

I'm not writing a description for this. You know what it is. Dense writing and worldbuilding, but it so happens that I'm into that. :P 3.5/5

Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch by Terry Pratchett & Neil Gaiman

Not writing a description for this either. You're reading this on Tumblr, therefore you know the show. :P Some parts are better than the show, some are not. The kids' characters are much more well developed here, I think. Same with the Witch. Worth reading if you've seen the show, worth if you haven't. 3.5/5

A Different Kind of Us by Kelly Quindlen

At her first job, the main character finds out that her ex-best friend and first love works there as well. A fun, sad and more adult take on the type or stories Quindlen tends to write. A nice change to see adults struggle and work towards coming to terms with themselves and their relationships. 4/5 (Quindlen is one of my fav authors, I'm biased, shut up)

Six of Crows by Leigh Bardugo

A deadly heist, attempted by a skilled band of thieves and thugs that you will end up loving (the vast majority of them anyways). It had been a while since I've read YA fantasy before reading this, and it was a bit surreal feeling like a 15yo again. The book itself is really interesting, but the characters are not 16yo, I'm sorry. Still, they are really, really cool in their own unique ways. The magic system is a really good one as well. 3.5/5

Crooked Kingdom by Leigh Bardugo

Sequel to Six of Crows. Great book and a damn good ending. I would kill for Inej and Jesper. 3.75/5

Say the Name: A Survivor's Tale in Prose and Poetry by Judith H. Sherman

This is a book that I believe everyone should read. It's not a fun or light read, but I think it should be in everyone's library. It describes the experiences of a 14yo Jewish girl (the author at the time) who was imprisoned in the Ravensbruck Concentration Camp during World War II. No other book, movie or documentary about that part of history has hit me more than this book. I think that when we're just seeing numbers, it's so easy for our mind to numb out the horror each individual experienced. The way Say the Name focuses on a single experience gets you away from numbers and statistics, and the focus on one person was, to me, so much more impactful. Read it. 4/5

One Last Stop by Casey McQuiston

You meet a hot girl in your commute, but it turns out she's lost in time, stuck in the subway for eternity. What do you do? An absolute joy of a book. Main and side characters were all fantastic. It's a great story and top tier romance. One of the few books I loved so much that I went out of my way to grab a physical copy. It's better read while on the train by the way. It truly enhances the experience. 4.5/5

Radio Silence by Alice Oseman

Big themes of following expectations (your own and others) and depression. Not an easy read, and I think it would touch some people more than others. 3.5/5

Girl, Woman, Other by Bernardine Evaristo

A big cast, and many different stories that are all interconnected through various means. I think this is another book that should be read by everyone. 4/5

Love Beyond Body, Space & Time by Hope Nicholson with David A. Robertson, Cherie Dimaline, Gwen Benaway, Richard Van Camp, Mari Kurisato, Nathan Adler, Daniel Heath Justice, Darcie Little Badger, Cleo Keahna, Grace L. Dillon, Niigaanwewidam James Sinclair

Another short stories collection. Some are amazing, some are meh and some I would had loved if they were more lengthy. A lovely collection overall. 3.25/5

The Two Towers by J. R. R. Tolkien

Started great, then kinda slowed down to a point that even though I thought I like his writing style, it became quite tiring to get through. Still a really good book. 3.25/5

Bitterthorn by Kat Dunn

A Witch haunts a city, taking a young man every generation or so. Our protagonist is the daughter of the current duke, and in deep depression. So when the Witch comes for her toll once more, she volunteers instead. Very atmospheric. But I think what won me over, is the characters and their interactions. There's this thing in fiction, where you make two characters have a fight, but they reconcile because they each can see the error of their ways and are willing to swallow their pride cause they care for each other. That is a "trope" that I will eat up every single time, and it is done greatly here. 4.25/5

~

And now I haven't touched a book for over a month... Here's hoping that I'll start reading again by January. :P

~

[mizulekitten]

Getting motivation to write is so hard

[persephone-andromeda]

Love That Will Last

Requested? Yes | No

Will you please write a Bucky x Ivar x Reader fic that takes place during Victorian times? Lots of romance please

Pairing: Victorian times!Winterboneless x reader

Summary: You are the duchess to be of Duke James Barnes and the lover of Lord Ivar Ragnarsson in secret. On the night of a ball, you and Ivar have an argument and you wonder if this love is meant to last.

Song inspo: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y8GxG7IuI0Y

Warning(s): Angst, reader and Ivar get into an argument, loving James, ends in fluff

Word count: 2.8k (oops)

A/N: This is my first request in a long time! Hope you like it!

Tags: @unbetaedimagines​

The ballroom was blazing with light. Chandeliers cast mini rainbows as the crystals gleamed. A fountain could be heard faintly bubbling outside against the chatter and music of the room and the footsteps of eager ladies and less eager gentleman. Cream and gold decorated the walls with expensive frames of art and sculptures pushed to the corners of the room but placed in a way that looked deliberate. Opulence was the name and it showed.

You were standing by one of the open balcony doors to get the faintest trace of a spring evening breeze. The dress you wore was too tight and the heat of the room made everything too claustrophobic. Maybe it was the champagne too…

A glass of water appeared in your vision and you cast your eyes to your fiancé before downing the liquid quickly. You sighed in relief.

“Thank you. This room is absolutely stifling.”

“Here I thought it was just my presence.”

You snort and hand him the empty glass.

“I could never be bored in your presence, James, no matter what you think,” you tell him before taking him in.

James Barnes, your town’s most eligible bachelor, and a holder of a very large estate, was the most eligible bachelor, is dressed in a smart suit with black tails behind him and a bowtie to match. His blue eyes are slightly shadowed in the light and they make him look even more alluring with the slight smirk on his face.

“I am a lucky man.”

“You better not forget it, or I might just leave you,” you tease.

He fakes a gasp as he holds the glass close to his chest.

“My love you wound me.” He casts his eyes around the room. “Which one of these insufferable fools would you leave me for?”

You also cast your eyes around the room for a few moments and you spot the lord of the house, Ivar, sulking away in a corner with a half empty glass of whiskey. You grin a bit as you turn back to James.

“Well, there’s a lot of qualities and responsibilities that I’d need to replace you,” you start and rock on the balls of your feet, as much as the shoes allow. “First, he’d have to be able to support me and whatever endeavors I hope to achieve. Secondly, he has to be attractive and fun. He can’t sulk away the day. Finally, he has to have an open mind. I have ambitions and dreams and maybe I want to cause some trouble too. He has to help.”

James nods as he twirls the stem of the glass between his fingers.

“Hmm, well, I do believe you’re out of luck here sweetheart. None of these men here have all three qualities that you desire. I guess you’re stuck with me.”

He grins at you and you flush at his gaze as you know what that look means.

“Behave, James. We’re in public,” you whisper as he draws you close to his side.

“Maybe I just want to have a little bit of fun.”

The band concludes with the song and you applaud politely with everyone else as they take a break. You kiss James’s cheek, as the sound of scraping chairs and hurried footsteps around you gives you an opportunity to lean away from his promising touch.

“Will you get me more water? I’m parched.”

James nods and then goes off into the crowd. You take a moment to look for Lord Ivar again, but he is gone from his spot in the corner. You frown for a moment and then hear the signs of squeaky wheels halt at your side.

“Miss (Y/L/N),” he says, and you turn to see him beside you. You start into a curtsey. “You don’t need to do that, you know.”

You smile coyly as you dip back down anyways, just to torture him with the neckline of your dress.

“It is your family home, my lord. It would be impolite to not pay my respects,” you say and complete the curtsey before standing back up.

“And because it is my home, I can command you to do certain…acts,” he teases back.

You fight the flush that tries to crawl its way under your skin.

“Of course, my lord,” you drawl. “But I always make you pay for it later.”

You wink at him and then casts your eyes around the room to make it seem like you and the lord are having a simple conversation, perhaps about the artwork lining the walls. No one needs to know that you’ve been here may times before and you’ve memorized the lines of wallpaper meeting together and the places of frames, even when they are taken down for cleaning.

“Has there been any news about my father’s statues? I thought that you would have told me something by now…” you enquire.

Your father conserved ancient marble statutes and once he had died, since he had no male heir, they were sold at the house auction, breaking your heart. Before you had met James, you spent quite some time looking for them, but you hadn’t been able to find them. Upon James introducing you to Ivar, and learning about his connects, he put out enquiries into them. He had found them two months ago but no new information had been provided since then, leaving you antsy.

The squeak of leather alerts you to the fact that he’s shifting in his seat, either from discomfort from the topic or from the pain in his legs. If this was any other situation, you would help him, but you cannot. No one can know.

“You know I cannot talk about that. Only James is privy-”

“To that information, I know. You always say that,” you finish and sigh before looking at him again. “You know my background. My father didn’t educate me in conservation for years just for you and James to disregard my experience, even in our….relationship. It isn’t fair.”

“Can you believe that we are trying to protect you?”

“No. If you wanted to protect me, you never would have asked me to risk my reputation every time you ask me to come see you. James and I will be married, Ivar, and I don’t know where that leaves you.”

You look away again at the many pairs of feet that are lingering by the drink table or swaying to an unheard song on the floor.

“I understand that you are angry at me for not indulging you, but there are certain things a lady of your disposition-”

You can’t help but laugh at that and then you stare at him again, making him stop.

“Don’t pull that with me. I’m not your mother. You cannot command me to do anything.”

“Watch your tone, woman, or I’ll-”

“What? Hmm?” You stare him down. “What will you do to me? Punish me? Arguing with you is punishing enough and I will not do it anymore, even if you want my forgiveness.”

He snorts.

“Forgiveness? Why would I want that? Have I slighted you, my darling?” He asks with a slight rage burning behind his eyes, begging you to keep going, but arguing with Ivar always ends in someone’s feelings getting hurt and you are not in the mood.

Enraged, you look away from him, just as James returns.

“I’m gone for two minutes and you two are already at it,” he comments and hands you the refilled glass of water.

You down it quickly again, feeling the water cool your anger, but not entirely.

“I want to leave. I’m tired and annoyed,” you address James, ignoring Ivar completely. Two can play at that game.

“You will come back tomorrow and we can-” Ivar starts, and you whip your head around so fast it makes you a bit dizzy.

“I am not cattle to be herded. You will do your best to remember that my lord. I am going to be a duchess and you will show me the respect I have earned.”

He opens his mouth to counter back, but he is stopped by James.

“That’s enough, both of you. If I knew that you two were going to be at each other again, I never would have suggested that we come. My love, let us go and, maybe, we will return tomorrow with cool heads. Agreed?”

“Ever the logical one,” Ivar sneers.

“Ivar,” James says sternly, and shuts his mouth again.

James turns to you.

“Agreed?”

You nod curtly and hand him the empty glass again. You know that Ivar will not say that he agrees but he might if he decides to behave.

“Alright. Let us go before the storm kicks in.”

James leads you away from the crowd of bustling dancers as the music starts up again and you don’t bother to turn around to see if Ivar is watching you go. You doubt he even cares.

On the carriage ride back, you’re abnormally silent as you look out the window. Your annoyance has calmed but it still lingers, even in the cool night breeze.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you tell James as you know he wants you to, at least, say something.

“I’m sure he’ll be sorry in the morning.”

You snort again.

“When Hell decides to freeze over, then maybe then there will be a chance of him apologizing, and actually meaning it.”

“(Y/N)…” James sighs and from the corner of your eye, you see that he has turned to look out the window on his side. “I don’t understand why you two fight so much. There’s nothing be gained from it.”

You swallow and blink back the tears.

“I know.”

You argue because most of the time you don’t believe that Ivar truly loves you as he says he does and when you argue, at least you can see some emotion laced in his words and in his eyes.

“Will you sleep on it? I can come get you in the morning and we can have breakfast at that café you like and discuss it then,” he suggests gently.

You nod.

“Alright,” he concludes.

Fifteen minutes later, the carriage rolls to a stop in front of your home but before you can get out, he stops you. James kisses your hands.

“My love, please think on it. You and I both know he loves you, and don’t look at me like that. You know it’s true.” He kisses your forehead and opens the door to help you back down onto the gravel road. “I love you and no matter what happens, that will never change.”

You nod again and give his hand a squeeze before parting.

“I love you, James Barnes. Always have, always will,” you proclaim softly.

You’re rewarded by one of his dazzling smiles and as you lay in bed that night, you wonder about the future and how uncertain it all seems.

********

At that same moment, Ivar sits at his desk in his study tapping his pen against a piece of paper that has many scribbled and struck out lines on it. He cannot seem to find the right words to apologize or tell you how he feels, even when he knows you’re only trying to help.

He balls up the piece of paper and throws it into the fire before he sighs. He looks at the picture of you on his desk and gently strokes the image of your cheeks.

“What am I to do with you, my love?” He asks himself softly.

He looks at the clock on his desk just before he hears the small bells chime for midnight. Maybe he’ll have a better idea in the morning. He swallows at that and downs the rest of his whiskey before he stares back at the picture.

Right then, he knows what he has to do, and he can only pray that his hands can keep up with the words flowing from his mind.

********

You debated going with James in the late morning, but the argument could not be left unresolved or else bitter feelings would grow between you and Ivar. You are both very stubborn but driven people and you two were bound to clash every once in a while. James always has to play Switzerland, the neutral ground, to make sure that you two didn’t reach the point of no return. That only happened once, and you and Ivar didn’t speak for two weeks. You can’t even remember what that argument was about. That’s how silly it seems.

You sigh a bit as you look out the window as his manor comes into view.

“Remember-” James starts as he’s adjusting his cuffs.

“I know. Be nice, smile. Be a duchess to be.”

James sighs a bit, but you don’t have the energy to respond to that. What you do have is curiosity as you see the servants bringing in a wooden box, and by the sounds of their grunting, a very heavy wooden box. You frown as the carriage rolls to a stop in front of the manor.

The footman helps you down as James rounds the carriage to come to your side.

“What is this? Did Ivar mention anything to you?”

James shakes his head and once the box is securely inside, you enter the manor. The manservant is inspecting the states of the boxes and is making notes in his book as he spots you. He bows to you both.

“Your grace, my lady. Lord Ivar is in his study,” he says and you both nod as you make your way to his study.

“This is very odd,” you whisper to James as he just smiles a bit. You frown again. “What is it?”

“Oh, nothing,” he chuckles. “He’s smarter than I thought is all.”

Now you’re even more confused, but Ivar’s study door is open and the conversation halts. Ivar looks up from the paper he’s studying and looks back down before gesturing for you two to come in.

As you enter, you see papers littering the floor around him and you can only imagine the state under his desk. He isn’t looking up, but you take in as much as you can.

“Have you slept?” You ask gently, your argument almost forgotten.

“No,” he speaks, and you want to protest but stop as he speaks again. “But you will see why. Come with me.”

He sets the pen down and wheels out from his desk and in front of you and James. He stops at the door and looks back at both of you.

“Well, come on. Hurry up so I can sleep this day away.”

You roll your eyes and takes James’s hand as you follow Ivar back out to the main hall where the boxes have been arranged along the sides of the walls deliberately. You can then read the words that are stamped onto the fronts of the boxes that read fragile in Italian. Your heart leaps in your chest.

“Ivar-”

“Shh, let James open them first before you get too excited.”

Ivar gestures to the crowbar that is resting on top of one of the shorter boxes and James takes off his jacket and hands it to you. You take a step back and your heart flutters with nerves and excitement.

It takes James a moment to creak open the front of the box and the protective stuffing comes pouring out, revealing the smoothed marble of one of the statues, completely unharmed.

“Oh,” you exclaim, and James moves aside so you can investigate.

You almost start to cry as you move away some more of the stuffing to see the face of the statue looking out over your head. You gently stroke the marbled cheek and let out a sound between a choke and a sound of exclamation.

You turn to Ivar.

“How did you get them here so fast? I thought that they had been lost or something.”

He shifts in his seat again, this time from discomfort as pink decorates his cheeks.

“You were right last night. I know they were your father’s greatest possessions, besides you of course, and…..I had lost them for a while there during transport and I didn’t want to tell you in case something had happened.” He meets your eyes. “I didn’t want to disappoint you and…..I’m sorry for being so snippy lately. I’ve been worried about them. I managed to send a letter to the dock master late last night when he was on shift and he said he was going to write me because they had arrived around ten. I had them delivered here as fast as he could manage it.”

You rush over and hug him tightly, despite his chair. You press kisses all over his face.

“Oh, Ivar. Thank you, thank you, thank you! I cannot tell you how much this means to me.”

He smiles, a real one, and he strokes your cheek.

“You’re welcome and I am sorry.”

You look at each other for a few moments before James speaks.

“I guess it won’t be a cold day in Hell after all,” he teases.

You know then that this love will last after all, no matter the situation or the fall. Loving forever and forever all time.

[reinerispretty]

rotations. (zuko x f!reader) pt 25

hellO!! thank you so much for reading :) sadly we’re nearing the end, but it is okay!!

pt1

pt24

pt26

He put two scrolls into her hands. When she unraveled the first one, it was a painting of the two of them as children. They couldn’t have been older than twelve and eleven. Zuko’s arms were wrapped around her shoulders, their faces squished together as they smiled. She remembered when this photo was painted. It had been at one of their summers at Ember Island. Zuko had never been a fan of family photos, but (Y/N) had been able to convince him to get one painted with her. She had forgotten all about it. 

The messenger hawk arrived late in the day, after (Y/N) and Zuko had finished dinner. They lay on the chaise in Zuko’s room that overlooked the balcony. His head rested in her lap as she ran her fingers through his black hair. It had been a long day, just like every other day for the two of them, and (Y/N) felt her eyes becoming heavy. She tried her best to stifle a yawn. 

“You should sleep here tonight,” Zuko said quietly, turning over to make himself more comfortable. (Y/N) chuckled. 

“In your dreams.” 

“You’re right, almost every night.” He gave her a big smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. (Y/N) punched him gently. 

“I’ve seen you sleep in a sleeping bag. You kick all over the place.” Zuko sat up, propping himself up on his elbows. 

“I was sleeping on the hard ground! And I had to be prepared to fight in case someone wanted to attack me in my sleep.” A knock came to the door before she could defend herself. “Come in!” Zuko called out, sitting up fully. A servant entered his bedroom, carrying a scroll on a platter. He offered it to Zuko before hurrying out of the room. (Y/N) scrutinized the scroll. 

“Is that a Water Tribe insignia?” Zuko nodded as he unrolled it. She looked over his shoulder as he read. 

“Hakoda is asking me to come to the Southern Water Tribe to discuss reconstruction.” 

(Y/N) couldn’t help but sigh. Throughout his time as Fire Lord, Zuko had left to go on many different trips, whether that be for personal reasons or political. She always missed him when he left, but now that they were together, the pit that formed in her stomach at the thought of him leaving became much bigger. It was exhausting, not only being apart from him but running the country in his stead. 

“When will you leave?” She asked, her voice quiet. She fiddled with the sleeves of her robes. 

“Tomorrow.” She cleared her throat and stood. 

“I’ll have the servants start making preparations.” Zuko grabbed her hand before she could walk out. 

“Come with me.” 

“Zuko...” 

“Please? All of our friends will be there!” 

“Who’s going to watch the Fire Nation?” 

“Any other advisor I trust.” He stroked her hand with his thumb. “You’ve stayed home every other time I’ve left. You haven’t given yourself a break.” 

“I take breaks!” 

“Sitting by the turtle duck pond isn’t a break.” She pursed her lips. “I want you to come with me.” 

While it made her nervous to leave the Fire Nation unattended by her, she knew that Zuko was right. She hadn’t gone anywhere in over two years and her visits with her friends were few and far in between. It would be a nice break from the monotony of everyday life. 

“Okay,” She conceded. The smile on Zuko’s face lit up the whole room. He pulled her close to him and kissed every inch of her face. 

“Thank you!” Zuko cheered, planting a final kiss on her lips. (Y/N) smiled brightly. 

“That means that we have to get rest.” She slipped her hand out of his as he gave a pout.

“Stay here tonight?” He looked into her eyes, and how could she say no? Zuko was her one weakness and sometimes she thought that he knew that. She let out an exaggerated sigh before nodding. “I promise I won’t kick.” 

---

(Y/N) was falling asleep as she sat next to Zuko on the air balloon. They had to leave early in the day, before the sun had even risen, and neither of them had gotten much sleep the night before. They had both enjoyed each other’s company perhaps a bit too much, and had only fallen asleep a few hours before they were supposed to be up. So as hard as she tried not to, she was still finding herself resting her head on Zuko’s shoulder. 

“You can go lay down for a bit,” He said quietly as he kissed the crown of her head. “We won’t be there for a while.” She shook her head, wrapping her arms around his. 

“I’ve never been to the Southern Water Tribe,” (Y/N) said. “It was the one place we never went back to when I was traveling with my friends.” 

“It’s not much,” Zuko said. “A few igloos and huts here and there.” 

“I’m excited to see it regardless. It’s where Sokka and Katara grew up.” She smiled up at Zuko. She realized that she had been doing that a lot more lately: smiling. 

“It’ll be nice to see them again.” 

The trip was long, but they made it to the Southern Water Tribe around lunch time. (Y/N) made sure to put on a big, fluffy coat, as the last time she had been in the Northern Water Tribe, she had been ill-prepared for just how cold it was. She offered a coat to Zuko, but he shook his head. 

“My firebending will keep me warm,” He said. 

“It didn’t keep you warm when you got stuck in that blizzard,” She mumbled. Zuko gave her a playful glare before taking her hand and walking off the the air balloon. 

Almost as soon as (Y/N) set foot in the snow, she was knocked over backwards. She let out a warbled scream as her back hit the ground. When she opened her eyes, they were met with Katara’s bright blue ones. She let out a squeal and tried her best to hug her friend through their thick coats. Katara laughed and helped (Y/N) back up to her feet. 

“We had no idea you were coming!” Katara exclaimed. Soon Sokka and Aang joined them and squeezed (Y/N) in their arms. 

“We only received your father’s invitation yesterday, and me joining was a last minute decision.” 

“We’ve missed you,” Aang said. (Y/N) smiled at him. 

“I’ve missed you guys too, like crazy. We have a lot to catch up on!” 

“GranGran is making lunch if you and Zuko want to join us.” (Y/N) nodded eagerly, but exchanged a look of disgust with Aang. She walked over to Zuko and invited him to lunch, but he shook his head. 

“I have some things to discuss with the Earth King and Chief Hakoda.” 

“Oh, do you want me to come with you?” Zuko shook his head. 

“You go to lunch, I’ll see you in a bit.” They exchanged a kiss before (Y/N) rejoined her friends. 

“What was that?” Sokka asked, absolutely shocked. (Y/N) felt her face get hot. 

“Like I said, a lot to catch up on.” 

Over lunch, (Y/N) told her friends what had happened in her and Zuko’s lives since he returned from finding his mother. They were shocked at the ups and downs, but overall were very happy when she confirmed that she and Zuko were finally together. 

“I’m not one to say I told you so,” Sokka started, and the entire group groaned. 

“Finally, one thing Sokka was right about,” Katara joked. 

“Where’s Toph?” (Y/N) asked. 

“She didn’t want to come,” Aang said. “It’s all snow and ice, so she wouldn’t be able to see.” 

“She’s back in the Earth Kingdom, training others on how to metalbend,” Katara said. (Y/N) smiled. 

“Good for her! I wish I could’ve seen her, but I know she would’ve hated it here.” She ate a small bit of her sea prunes and tried to hide the gag that formed. “Are we too old to go penguin sledding?” 

“You’re never too old to go penguin sledding!” Aang cheered. He grabbed (Y/N) by the hand and dragged her out of the hut, Sokka and Katara following closely behind. They ran to where the penguins were, and spent the rest of the day penguin sledding and playing in the snow. When she had visited the North Pole, they hadn’t had time to enjoy themselves. Life had always been very serious for the four of them. Sokka and Katara had to grow up quickly after the death of their mother. Aang was forced out of childhood and into his Avatar training as soon as he was freed from the iceberg. And (Y/N) had grown up with a life full of expectations and standards that she had to strictly adhere to. So it was fun to be kids, just for a little while. 

When (Y/N) returned to Zuko, her cheeks were rosy from the chilled wind of the South Pole. A big smile was plastered on her face as she walked back to him with her friends at her side. 

“Did you guys have fun?” Zuko asked, wrapping his arm around her as soon as she was at his side. (Y/N) nodded eagerly. 

“We went penguin sledding and built huge ice sculptures! Sokka’s was the worst.” 

“I resent that!” Sokka grumbled. 

(Y/N) and Zuko only spent a few more days in the Southern Water Tribe before they had to return to the Fire Nation. As she hugged her friends goodbye, she felt the tears welling behind her eyes, but wouldn’t let them escape. Part of her wanted to remain strong, but she also feared that they would freeze on her face.

They boarded the air balloon and traveled back home. (Y/N) stared out the window sadly as her friends grew smaller and smaller. Zuko came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder. 

“We’ll see them again soon,” He said. (Y/N) nodded. 

“Maybe sooner rather than later.” 

“Do you get lonely, being in the palace?” She turned to look at him. His face looked sad. She kissed his cheek and shook her head. 

“As long as I have you, I’m never lonely. I just miss our friends.” 

Zuko knew she was lying, but he didn’t say anything. (Y/N) spent every day showing Zuko how much she cared about him. She took on extra work that he didn’t have time for, ensured that he ate all of his meals, and even scheduled breaks for him when he became to enthralled in his work. She was a selfless person, so he decided that he needed to show her just how much she meant to him as well. 

When they returned, unbeknownst to (Y/N), Zuko began the preparations for her eighteenth birthday celebration. The past two years he had let her birthday fall under the rug, but he wouldn’t do that again. He wrote letters to their closest friends from across the globe, instructing them to come to the Fire Nation for her. Her birthday was only in a few days, so their travels would have to be swift, but he hoped that at least some of their friends could make it. 

---

On the day of her eighteenth birthday, (Y/N) woke up to find Zuko standing at the foot of her bed. She jumped, holding a hand to her chest. “Were you watching me sleep?” 

“Only for a few minutes!” Zuko defended himself. He held his hands behind his back, an eager smile etched across his features. She sat up in her bed and rubbed at her eyes. Zuko sat at the side of her bed and held out a small box in his palm. “Happy birthday!” 

She smiled and took the box. Inside was a fresh fruit tart. (Y/N) laughed, immediately taking a bite from the sweet treat. She laughed. “Thank you,” She gave him a kiss. 

“That’s not the only gift I got you,” He said. (Y/N) raised an eyebrow as she ate her fruit tart. “It’s waiting outside.” She jumped out of bed and threw on a pair of flowy maroon pants and her long-sleeved maroon crop top. It wasn’t often that she was able to dress so casually at the palace, but it was her birthday and she was dating the Fire Lord, so she figured she could do whatever she wanted. 

She and Zuko walked to the front of the palace hand-in-hand. Right before they stepped outside, he covered her eyes with a blindfold and let her carefully into the courtyard. “Are you ready?” He asked. (Y/N) nodded eagerly. He pulled the blindfold off, revealing Aang, Toph, Katara, Sokka, Suki, and Ty Lee.

(Y/N) gasped, running into the throng of her friends. She wrapped as many as she could into a hug and squeezed them as tightly as she could. “What are you guys doing here?” 

“Zuko invited us!” Suki said. (Y/N) turned around to smile at Zuko. 

The day was everything that she could have ever wanted. She spent it laughing with her friends and enjoying herself. This was the first time that they had all been together in years and she was enjoying catching up with them. She was especially happy to see Toph, as it had been the longest since she had seen her. The small girl was as feisty as ever, but still hugged (Y/N) every chance she got. 

She was happy to find that her friends would be staying the next few days in the Fire Nation. Once they had all been shown to their rooms, Zuko pulled (Y/N) in the opposite direction of yours. “I have one more surprise for you,” He said as he tugged her to his room. 

He put two scrolls into her hands. When she unraveled the first one, it was a painting of the two of them as children. They couldn’t have been older than twelve and eleven. Zuko’s arms were wrapped around her shoulders, their faces squished together as they smiled. She remembered when this photo was painted. It had been at one of their summers at Ember Island. Zuko had never been a fan of family photos, but (Y/N) had been able to convince him to get one painted with her. She had forgotten all about it. 

The second scroll was a more serious painting, of the two of them as teenagers. Zuko wore his traditional Fire Lord outfit and (Y/N) stood at his side. Both wore bright smiles on their faces. This had been painted a while ago, right when they had begun rebuilding the Fire Nation. 

She looked up at Zuko, the smile on her face as sunny as the ones in the paintings. “Thank you,” She said before kissing him. “Thank you for today. And everything, always. I love you.” 

Zuko hugged her tightly. “I love you too.” They remained like that for a few moments, before he spoke again. “Remember when we were kids and our parents had arranged for us to get married when we got older?” 

(Y/N) nodded as her head rested against his chest. 

“Would you still want to do that?” She pulled away, furrowing her brows. 

“What?” 

“Will you marry me?” 

---

Tag List! 

@afxndommess , @xapham , @thanosismybitxh , @outerxorbit , @thenerdiverse , @himawarichild , @welovediaaxx , @justahockeylover , @loganrwebb , @awesomelupe , @cirtruss , @eridanuswave , @aroyaldarknessblr , @theinfernalmemes , @akariblue , @julietvsanchez05 , @harryisthesunshine , @prospekt-42 , @kindxrjcy , @lunariasilver , @lovepsychicbitch , @mcallmestiles, @simply-stanning , @helbreajs , @shephard17895 , @astroninaaa , @leiaofthestars , @miskwaadesiwag , @art-flirt , @musicalkeys , @aangsty-sokkasm , @we-lucky-few , @vgirl-10123 , @ella-solei , @davnwillcome , @valiantprincessthea , @errrrca , @hahaimstoopid, @kamahriii , @michelletc , @unseasoned-emo-bitch , @maybe-a-fangurl , @niramoon , @hyluas , @youneedmemanidonotneedyou , @luleck , @toasted-crispy-emo27 , @lolaywrites , @swagdaddycam , @itsivyberry , @royahllty , @ramen-hair-denki , @bucky-blogs , @damianwaynerocks , @beew , @lozzybowe , @anonymousbambi , @duh-dobrik , @beifongsss , @lammello

[sorrelink]

The first ever Tale from the Peninsula is here! Without further ado, I present to you the worst day of King Ivan’s life…So far.

Word count: 3898

The Lonely King

The rays of the morning sun were breaking through the blue stained glass windows, covering the sleeping man’s face with a vivid blue sheet. He stirred in the mess of bed sheets, trying to hide his eyes from the light. He didn’t want to wake up. He had hardly gotten any sleep during the night, tossing and turning while an inexplicable sense of dread engulfed his very being. But the sun didn’t care about his troubles. It never had. Neither did the early birds, woken up by the first sign of morning. They had resumed their conversations, leaving no place for the peaceful silence of a summer’s night.

There was a knock on the door, and barely three seconds passed before it opened with a high-pitched creak, followed by the padding of bare feet against stone. A few moments later the man felt the other side of his bed sink as someone climbed in next to him. And then there was the poking of his nose that he had already come to expect.

“Papa,” said the voice of his youngest daughter, “Wake up, Papa!”

“Lyuba, the sun has barely risen,” he answered, not opening his eyes, which only made his daughter poke at his face more.

“Papa, I need to talk to you!” She insisted, and Ivan could see the pout that without a doubt was on her face at that moment.

“You can talk to me while my eyes are closed.”

“No, then you’ll fall asleep as soon as I go away, and you won’t remember anything! It wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened,” she said. For a moment the poking stopped, which made Ivan tense up. She was about to do something.

And there it was – her fingers were now on the back of his neck, tickling him in his weakest spot, making the grown man yelp in surprise as he rolled over, almost falling out of bed. There was no sleeping when Lyuba came to wake him up, that was for sure.

“Alright, alright, I’m awake,” he said, sitting up in the bed and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes before he looked at his youngest daughter. She had just turned 14 and was an overwhelming bundle of energy, and Ivan found that he just couldn’t keep up anymore. Then again, he wasn’t aware of anyone who could keep up with Lyuba, except for her two older sisters.

“What is it, my child?” 

“I couldn’t sleep,” she started, and Ivan frowned. This was becoming a serious issue for both of them.

“Again? What was it? Nightmares?”

“No, I just… Couldn’t calm down for long enough to sleep,” she said, sitting down next to her father, eyes as blue as window panes looking up at him, ”So I was wondering if you could excuse me from having to attend the ambassador reception? I would rather go for a walk by the seaside, Sigurd can take me–”

“I’m sorry, Lyuba, but that won’t be possible,” Ivan answered with a sigh, and Lyuba immediately crossed her arms on her chest, pale cheeks growing red with frustration, “As the king’s daughter, you must attend these events, for you, too, will have to host such things when you’re older.”

“Vera is the eldest! She’ll be the Queen anyways! She should be the one attending, not me or Nadya!”

“You aren’t wrong, but you don’t know what the future holds. You could become a Queen of a different country.”

“But what if I don’t want to be a Queen? It’s boring, all these meetings and diplomacy…”

Once again all Ivan could do was sigh. Lyuba wasn’t wrong. Once upon a time he had been proud to take up the crown after his father’s passing, but that had been years ago. With every passing season Ivan found himself longing for a simpler life, somewhere away from the bustling capital city of Rurov, away from the white alabaster sculptures of predecessors silently gazing upon him with their empty eyes. Days spent in quiet contemplation in a tiny church by the sea would suit him so much better now…

His thoughts were interrupted by a sharp pain below his arm – Lyuba had jammed her elbow right into his ribs, looking rather upset with him. “Papa, did you even hear a thing of what I said?”

“I’m sorry, Lyuba, I didn’t sleep well either, so your Papa is a bit slow this morning. Forgive me?”

“Only if you let me–”

“I can’t let you skip out on the reception. Not this time, you’re not so little anymore.”

“Papa!” She whined in return, pouting even more and turning her head away in defiance. Ivan lifted up his arm to pet her short, snow white hair, pulling his daughter closer to him, ignoring the tension of her body as she resisted his embrace.

“I have an idea though,” he said after a few moments, “How about I cancel your lessons for today? The reception won’t last forever, once the clock hits 3, you’ll be free to go off with Sigurd.”

“Really?” Lyuba asked, immediately turning back to face him, a wide smile on her face, “Thanks, Papa!”

“I’ll let Maria know over breakfast. Now, off you go, get dressed before she catches you running around in your nightgown, otherwise I won’t hear the end of it.”

Lyuba pressed a kiss on Ivan’s cheek and ran off. Ivan closed his eyes and listened to the sound of her bare feet becoming more distant with every second. He had to get up and get dressed, too. 

***

“…and that is why we should increase taxes on grain export through the southern ports,” the young man walking next to Ivan finished, once again fixing the pile of scrolls he was trying to hold under his arm, “The order has already been written, we only need your signature, my lord.”

“Already been written?” Ivan stopped, looking at his advisor, “You seem very eager… Too eager, Askold. Your sudden involvement in such economic ventures worries me.”

“My lord, I mean no harm, you know this!” Askold said, raising up his arms in an outraged manner. Then his face turned red as the scrolls spilled all over the wooden floor, causing Ivan to sigh. The youngest of his entourage of advisors, Askold, just 25, was a very energetic young man. It was uncommon to have an advisor so young, but he had shown great promise when it came to diplomatic relations and judicial matters. But now he was poking his nose around the economy, which unsettled Ivan. It wasn’t like him.

“Askold, tell me, really, why are you so concerned about this?” He asked again, fixing the sleeves of his sky blue kaftan. The garment was made of silk and reached right down to his ankles, the buttons and decorations on it white as the clouds. 

Though he and Askold were the same height, and the young man had much broader shoulders, Ivan’s gaze still made the advisor look like a child that had been told off for causing trouble.

“My lord, I… It… In truth it doesn’t have to do anything with the grain economy. There is a group of werewolves down south who just want to earn their pay honestly, just enough to be able to board a ship to the Continent, and by diverting the grain to the south for the next few months, people I know could employ them. They don’t want charity, they want to do honest work, but you know not many would hire them, so I thought–”

“Enough.” Ivan interrupted him, “I know you mean well, Askold, but the economy isn’t something that can be manipulated without heavy consequences. And the werewolf problem… We shall talk about this after the reception. What else do you have for me?”

After a few moments of fumbling Askold was, once again, reading a report to Ivan as they walked through the halls of the castle, heading down to the first floor. As they crossed into the older part of the castle, the dark wood floors changed into gray slabs of stone, valleys and hills worn out by all of those that came before. The corridor leading from the entrance to the main hall was guarded on both sides by alabaster and marble statues of Ivan’s predecessors, all of them standing in the same pose. Most of their faces were cold, distant, uncaring, except for the older statues, which had suffered the hand of time, muddling the lustre of their eyes – there was fog in the once transparent material, as if someone had spilled milk into a tray of water. It made Ivan think of his own eyes – a pale blue, nothing like the vivid tone that his daughters had. Did it make him look just as old and sad as these statues? 

As he glanced at the face of the statue of his own father, Ivan felt an overwhelming need to sit down and be alone. It, too, had the same austere visage as all the rest of them, lacking any kind of individuality. This man had been gone for a mere 25 years, there were people that remembered him; Ivan remembered him, and he knew that such a detached expression had never crossed the man’s face. It wasn’t a depiction of truth. Would he one day be depicted in this way, too? As if he was somehow above the concept of emotion, warmth, humanity? Would he become another dry name in the annals of history after everyone else would forget how he truly was?  And why, why did they all look the same?

“My lord.” Askold’s voice tore him out of his thoughts. “Are you alright? You seem very distant today.”

“I’m fine, thank you. You’re free now.” He answered, waving his hand to send the advisor away. The royal guards by his wooden throne stood up straight and Ivan nodded, acknowledging their presence before sinking into the chair, clean shaven chin resting in his hand, ignoring all the hustle and bustle going around as last preparations for the reception were being handled by dozens of servants. He felt as if he wasn’t even there, his mind trying to find its way to that small seaside church he dreamed about so often.

***

Ivan tried his best to act welcoming and invested during the reception, but as the clocktower of the castle rang out for the third time since the ceremony began, the king was finding it hard to follow along with the countless trade deals and petty issues that these diplomats had brought him from near and far. With the corner of his eye he could see Lyuba fidgeting restlessly on her throne, leaning to whisper to her sister Nadya, the two of them trying to conceal their laughter. The council of his kingdom, some two dozen men and women sitting behind long tables were losing their patience, too. Some of them didn’t even bother to disguise their yawning, one of them had already fallen asleep, and the only interesting detail were the two empty seats at one of the tables.

The only one who still seemed to be invested and actively listening was his daughter Vera, sitting by his right hand side. Then again, she had always been the most disciplined one, so she, too, could be dying of boredom and nobody would even know it.

Ivan waved his hand to invite the last of the ambassadors to approach him. It was a tall, thin man with dark brown hair that had been slicked backwards, with a short, unkempt beard and steel blue eyes that pierced right through Ivan. His greeting was short and unceremonious, bordering on rude by all royal etiquette, but the king couldn’t be bothered by such details. There was something eerily familiar about this man, like they’d met before…

“King Ivan Karev,” the man began, reciting his lines from a scroll with several seals hanging from it, “For the last two years former inhabitants of your kingdom, now the citizens of our Principality, have been rioting by our western border, demanding that their lands be returned to your kingdom. These people fail to realise that, according to the Treaty of Oless, these lands became part of our Principality until the end of time. Since they clamor for you and refuse to listen to us, we ask that you remind these people of the treaty King Viktor signed. ”

The room came alive, councilmen and women whispering between each other, casting angered glances at the ambassador. The events that led to the signing of the Treaty of Oless had happened nearly 30 years ago, and yet every mention of them could set any room in the entire kingdom ablaze with anger just as easily as a single ember in a field of dry grass.

“That’s our land! You know full well that the Treaty is bogus!”

“You’re a Principality, not an Empire! Act like it!”

“Greedy bastards!”

Ivan’s councilors were yelling all at once, some even reaching for their weapons, having forgotten that they had to leave them at the door. The lone ambassador stood in the middle of the room, smirking. He’d known this would happen. In fact…

“Silence!” Ivan yelled, making his daughters jump, their heads snapping in his direction, and the council stopped their yapping mid-sentence.

They had never heard their king raise his voice. 

“Is there anything else the Principality shall ask of us?”

“Indeed, there is,” the ambassador continued, “If you do not get these people to calm down by the winter solstice, we will have no choice but to use force against them. We would not want it to reach this point, there is no need for yet another slaughter. That would be all.”

“Guards,” Ivan said after a moment, “Escort the ambassador to the city gate. Make sure our guest isn’t harmed.”

The room rumbled with discontent, but nobody dared to open their mouth to protest until the black-clad man had left the room. And then all hell broke loose. 

***

“Papa, may I have a moment of your time?”

Ivan was standing on the balcony of his bedchamber when the door opened with its sorrowful creak. A wave of relief washed over him when he realized it wasn’t yet another one of his council members demanding an audience so they could spill out their anger right into the king’s ear. He had heard it all ten times over by now, and it wasn’t even dinner time yet.

“Yes, Vera. Lock the door behind you, please.”

He stood there, hands clutching the wooden railing of the balcony, eyes closed, listening to the sound of the rusty old key turning. Some days his own back cracked with the same tone as the lock. A dreadful sound to hear your body make.

After a few moments he felt the weight of his daughter’s hand pressing down on his spine, open palm sliding across before resting on his shoulder. He didn’t open his eyes as he reached out and wrapped his own arm around her waist, pulling her a bit closer. Her head rested against his other shoulder and the two of them stood there, silent. Somewhere in the distance thunder announced its presence, and the wind carried faint yells from the town down below.

Ivan didn’t know how long they stood there without uttering a single word. He didn’t want the silence to break, he didn’t want Vera to return him to the real world, but all good things come to an end.

“Papa, you scared us today…” She began, her voice quiet and soft as bird feathers, “I’ve never heard you yell.”

“I’m sorry, Vera.”

“You’ve nothing to apologize for. You had to do something, and fast. It was the last thing anyone would have expected, so–”

“I shouldn’t have done that. It’s not like me, just like you said.”

A moment of silence. Ivan opened his eyes and the first thing he saw were the dark clouds on the horizon, nearing at a steady pace, accompanied by the beat of the sky drums. A storm was approaching.

“There is one thing I don’t understand about today,” Ivan said, his voice barely above a whisper, “Why didn’t they send a regular ambassador?”

“What do you mean?” Vera inquired, her voice just as quiet.

“That wasn’t an ambassador at all, Vera. That… First, promise me you won’t tell a single soul.”

“Papa, you can trust me. You know you can.” She reassured him both with her words and a squeeze of his shoulder. “Who was it?”

“Tomasz Zygmunt II Dąbrowski.”

“The Disgraced Prince himself? Without so much as a single guard?”

“The same.”

His daughter didn’t answer, her eyes focused on the rain clouds that came closer with every passing moment. The wind was picking up, making a mess of the few strands of hair that Vera hadn’t put in her braid. 

“The lords closest to the border weren’t here today,” she said after a moment of contemplation. For a brief moment Ivan could feel his chest flare up with pride. She had noticed, too. “When is the last time you’ve had a report from them?”

“Not for quite a while.”

“Shall I send messengers? And a scout over the border, to assess the situation independently.”

“That would be wise.”

She let go of him, turning around to head to the door, the warmth of her embrace replaced with a haunting cold.

“Vera?” 

“Yes, Papa?”

“You’ll make a great Queen.” He said, his voice no more a whisper. Some part of him wished that the wind would take his words and deliver them to the citizens down below, though nobody else could hear even his screams over the incoming thunder. But the moment of pride about his daughter was brief – his shoulders slumped once more as a bitter afterthought found its way to the surface. “Sooner than you think.”

He didn’t turn around to face his daughter, but he could see the expression she must have on her face – eyes ever-so-slightly wide, eyebrows a little furrowed, lips aching to form a tight line. She didn’t say a thing.

***

 It was just the four of them – Ivan and his daughters – sitting at the small table in Ivan’s bedroom. Usually they would have had supper with the rest of the court, down in the Great Hall, but the day had been long and exhausting and Ivan longed for nothing more than a peaceful moment with the people he loved most. 

The mood around the table was sombre, everything dulled down by the storm raging right behind the stained glass windows. There was a silver candelabra placed in the middle of the massive, old table which was made of an oak older than the castle they were in. The only sounds coming from the room itself – the scraping of cutlery against dishes. The day had worn out even Lyuba, who, for once in her life, was starting to look tired before the clocktower had hit 10.

Ivan could tell that Vera was sneaking concerned glances at him from time to time, no doubt awaiting him to tell his daughters something concerning the remark she had heard him utter earlier. He regretted saying it now. The fact that Nadya wasn’t demanding him to explain himself told Ivan that Vera had kept it to herself. Exactly what he had expected of her. 

“Papa,” asked Nadya, “May I arrange another herbalist expedition? Last time we found a few great samples for my garden, and there are few more I would like to get before the seasons change.”

“To where?”

“Not far,” she began, but her words were interrupted by a knock on the door. It opened and a guard peeked his head in.

“King, my sincere apologies for interrupting, but you’ve an urgent message.”

“Give it here,” Ivan said, extending his hand. The guard gave him a folded page of parchment. It was sealed together by wax, but there was no identifying seal on it. Ivan broke it open and unfolded it, holding it in one hand, while the other reached for the golden goblet of red wine.

Ivan wasn’t a violent man. He didn’t wish to step over the corpses of his enemies laying in maroon fields, he did not wish to hear people whisper his name with fear, but at that moment, as the goblet slipped out of his fingers, falling down on the stone floor and spilling all over; at that moment, when hot tears sprang up in his eyes, clouding his gaze; at that moment he wished that the messenger had died in the storm before their feet could ever reach the front gate of the city.

Someone snatched the letter out of his hand, frantically reading the words out loud, their voice growing more and more agitated with every word, and then there was an ear splitting scream, a flare, and the unmistakable stench of wool burning. It made Ivan snap out of his state for just a moment, too see what was happening in the room.

The sheepskin that covered his pillows was on fire, flames consuming his bed without any hesitation. But there was no source for the flames – the candelabra was still on the table, it hadn’t moved an inch. Lyuba was staring at the fire, eyes wide and glazed over while Vera had wrapped her arm around her waist, pulling her little sister away from the ever-growing pyre.

“Out, out!” Ivan yelled, scrambling to his feet and pushing his daughters out of the room. The guard was already running down the hall, calling out for help, and Nadya had run after him, letter in hand, demanding to know who had brought it.

“Papa, Papa,” Vera begged for his attention, pulling the man away from the doorway. Ivan couldn’t get himself to stop staring at the grey smoke pouring out of the room, even as it stung his eyes and made the pain he was feeling even worse.

“Papa, listen to me. Something is off with Lyuba, she, she saw the letter, and then she screamed and it just– It just caught on fire! God, do either of you even hear what I’m saying? Snap out of it! Papa! Lyuba!”

“It’s her fault!” Lyuba screamed after a few seconds, as if Vera’s voice had taken a detour before reaching her mind, “It’s all her fault!”

“I know, Lyuba, I know,” Vera said, dropping to her knees and giving Lyuba a hug, not letting her begin to tear up the hallway furniture as she was accustomed to doing in her occasional outbreaks of rage. “She did this to us, I know, but… What just happened, Lyuba? Do you know what just happened?”

“No, but I’ll do the same to her!”

Ivan didn’t doubt that Lyuba would set her own mother on fire if she even caught a glimpse of the woman who’d sent the letter. Ivan wanted to be angry, too, but it brought him no satisfaction. He walked to the end of the hallway, away from the smoke and the bustle of guards and servants running around with buckets of water, he walked away from his daughters to the lone window at the end of the hall. He opened it and leaned out, letting the stinging cold rain mix together with the tears that didn’t seem to stop falling.

[amixiifish]

Heat- Chapter 58: Training

Zuko blasts at Aang with firebending.

Aang jumps over the sand replica of Ba Sing Se and Zuko destroys the carefully built sand city.

Aang hides behind his Appa sand sculpture.

Aang peeks out from behind the sculpture. “What are you doing?”

Zuko rolls his eyes. “Teaching you a lesson! We didn’t finish training, genius.”

Zuko destroys Aang's Appa sculpture with a fire blast.

Aang jumps back up to the house.

Zuko goes after him, continually firing blasts at him. “Aang, I’m not gonna kill you!”

“No! I’m not training!” Aang calls back petulantly.

Katara comes up from under the water once she stopped laughing and assesses the damage.

“What happened?” Katara question.

Sokka attempts to rebuild his structure. “Zuko's trying to make Aang train. I made a sand sculpture of Zuko and he destroyed it!”

Katara, Toph, Jet, and Suki run after them, the latter dragging Sokka.

Zuko chases Aang onto a tree and sends another fire blast at him, forcing him to jump onto the roof of the beach house.

Zuko subsequently climbs onto the roof with him.

Aang pouts. “Get a grip before I blast you off this roof!”

Zuko facepalms. “Aang, it's just training and I’d like to see you try.”

Zuko blasts fire at him when Aang sticks his tongue out.

Aang slides down the roof and into the house.

He hides behind a dresser.

Zuko breaks the roof with firebending and drops into the room.

He takes a fighting stance and looks around for Aang.

Aang kicks the dresser at him, but Zuko destroys it with ease.

Aang runs into the hall.

Zuko augments fire into the hallway.

Aang clears his part of the hallway from the fire using airbending.

“Enough!” Aang declares.

Aang airbends Zuko out of the house.

Everyone approaches Zuko.

Katara worriedly picks up Zuko, while chiding Aang. “What's wrong with you? You could have hurt Zuko, Aang!”

Aang balks. “What's wrong with me? Nothing!”

Zuko huffs. “Seriously? How can you sit around having beach parties when Sozin's Comet is only three days away? Why are you all looking at me like I'm crazy?”

Aang shifts uncomfortably. “About Sozin's Comet….I was actually gonna wait to fight the Fire Lord until after it came.”

Zuko turns around to look at everyone.

No one would meet his gaze.

“After?” Zuko questions.

Aang nods. “I'm not ready. I need more time to master firebending.”

“And frankly, your earthbending could still use some work too,” Toph agrees.

Aang grimaces.

Zuko folds his arms over his chest. “So, you all knew Aang was going to wait?”

Jet puts a hand on Zuko’s shoulder. “Honestly, if Aang tries to fight the Fire Lord now, he's going to lose. No offense.”

Katara sighs. “The whole point of fighting the Fire Lord before the Comet was to stop the Fire Nation from winning the war, but they pretty much won the war when they took Ba Sing Se. Things can't get any worse.”

Zuko shakes his head. “You're wrong. It's about to get worse than you can even imagine.”

Night Zuko got burned Ozai sits in front of Zuko. “Zuko, what do you know about Fire Lord Sozin?”

Zuko didn’t respond, his eye hurting far too much to form coherent thoughts.

Ozai continued. “When the comet last came, my grandfather, Fire Lord Sozin, used it to wipe out the Air Nomads. In a few years, I will use its power to end the Earth Kingdom permanently. We will build a device from which we will rain fire over their lands, a fire that will destroy everything; and out of the ashes, a new world will be born, a world in which all the lands are Fire Nation and I am the supreme ruler of everything!”

Current day Zuko hung his head. “I wanted to speak out against this horrifying plan, but I'm ashamed to say I passed out. Guess the pain became too much.”

Katara sinks to her knees. “I can't believe this.”

Sokka rubbed his temples. “I always knew the Fire Lord was a dick, but his plan is just pure evil.”

Aang looks at Zuko despairingly. “What am I gonna do?”

Jet rubs comforting circles into Aang’s back.

Zuko sighs. “I know you're scared, and I know you're not ready to save the world, but if you don't defeat the Fire Lord before the comet comes, there won't be a world to save anymore.”

“Why didn't you tell me about your dad's crazy plan sooner?” Aang snaps.

Zuko glares at him. “To be honest, I had forgotten about it till now. Besides, I didn't think I had to. I assumed you were still going to fight him before the comet. No one told me you decided to wait.”

Everyone winces at the blatant accusation.

Aang sinks to his knees, his head in his hand. “This is bad. This is really, really bad.”

Katara kneels next to him. “Aang, you don't have to do this alone.”

Toph, Zuko, Sokka, Jet and Suki stand next to Katara.

Toph nods. “Yeah, if we all fight the Fire Lord together, we got a shot at taking him down.” Sokka pumps his fists in the air. “All right! Team Avatar is back! Air. Water. Earth. Fire. Fan. Hooks and sword!”

Aang looks up and assesses everyone. “Fighting the Fire Lord is going to be the hardest thing we've ever done together, but I wouldn't want to do it any other way.”

Everyone hugs each other till they’re in a really big group hug.

“Let’s do this,” Suki cheers.

***

The Beach House Courtyard was hosting another lesson between Aang and Zuko.

Under the pavilion, Katara watches with Momo at her side.

Zuko looks Aang dead in the eye. “There's one technique you need to know before facing my father - how to redirect lightning. If you let the energy in your body flow, the lightning will follow it. You turn your opponents' energy against them.”

Zuko demonstrates the movement.

Aang watches before joining. “That's like waterbending.”

Zuko nods, clearly satisfied with Aang’s response. “Exactly. My uncle invented this technique himself by studying waterbenders.”

Aang watches Zuko’s movement and follows, albeit clumsily. “Is this what you did to your dad?”

Zuko gives him a look. “Yeah.”

Aang watches, awestruck. “What did it feel like?”

Zuko stops practicing and thinks. “Exhilarating….but terrifying. You feel so powerful holding that much energy in your body, but you know if you make the wrong move, it's over.”

Aang chuckles nervously. “Well, not over over. I mean there's always Katara and a little Spirit Water action, am I right?”

Katara clears her throat awkwardly. “Actually, I used it all up after Azula shot you.”

Aang lets out a disappointed, “Oh.”

Zuko winces, feeling and for the young Avatar. “You'll have to take the Fire Lord's life before he takes yours.”

“Yeah, I'll just do that,” Aang mutters.

[jhl1031973]

Unpublished Work - Doctor Who: Advent Of Terror

This is my fourth entry in Big Finish Productions' Paul Spragg Memorial Short Trip Opportunity. None of my work has been chosen, but there will be other chances. This one features the Seventh Doctor and Ace. Enjoy andSubmitted For Your Approval.

- James Heath Lantz November 2, 2020

Advent Of Terror

A Short Trip Starring The Seventh Doctor And Ace

By

James Heath Lantz

The Snow came down slowly. The multitude of colours from the numerous Christmas lights and decorations reflected upon the white landscape. The village of Ortonshire looked picturesque, like a greeting card a friend or relative would send. The small hamlet was known worldwide for its Christmas celebration from late November until early January. The local candy factory made Advent Calendars that were shipped everywhere from London, England and Paris, France to Alberta, Canada and Tuscany, Italy. People of all walks of life came from everywhere to experience what newspapers and magazines over the years named “The Most Magical Christmas Village In The Entire World”. Celebrities, especially writers, would visit on their vacations. Rumours had circulated about  Amelia Earhart, Winston Churchill, Shirley Jackson, J.R.R. Tolkien, Ernest Hemingway, Anne Rice, Stephen King and Clive Barker walking the streets to take in the magnificence of Ortonshire. One innkeeper's grandmother even claims that Mary Shelley wrote the final chapter of Frankenstein in the room that belonged to her Great Aunt Sadie on Boxing Day.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary in Ortonshire when the TARDIS had materialized in front of the largest Christmas tree to be placed in the town square in perhaps half a decade. The doors creaked open. The Doctor, in his seventh incarnation, placed his hat upon his head as he walked out of the time machine. He took a deep breath to take in the crisp winter air. There was a twinkle in his eye when he saw the lavishly decorated village.

“Come along, Ace,” The Doctor called to his companion with hint of impish glee in his Scottish burr. “The Most Magical Christmas Village In The Entire World awaits us.”

Ace buttoned up her coat before the Doctor closed the TARDIS doors. The Doctor looked at the Christmas tree. “Perhaps we should move the TARDIS a bit. It could ruin the view of the tree,” The Doctor pondered out loud.

The Doctor and Ace returned to the TARDIS. The ship disappeared some seconds later. After five or six attempts, it reformed just outside of the village's city limits. The Doctor and Ace were greeted by the words “Happy Christmas from” written in red and green Christmas lights over the Ortonshire sign. The Doctor silently noted that the population number was covered by snow. However, he thought nothing of it after seeing Ace smile. With everything she and the Doctor had been through, they both deserved a little holiday cheer.

“I must say,” The Doctor said as he and Ace walked through the snow covered thoroughfare and looked at the beautiful ornaments and lights of various brilliant hues, “The human capacity for celebration and decoration surpasses that of destruction at this time of year.”

Ace and the Doctor continued their stroll. The Doctor was particularly enchanted by a group of snowmen dressed like Father Christmas. He and Ace had a long, hearty laugh at the sight of them. They then resumed walking until they saw three rows of ice sculptures. The Doctor took time to admire the beauty and craftsmanship. The attention to detail on an angel astounded him. Something also look frighteningly familiar about it. Yet, he could not put his finger on what that was.

"Professor," Ace said inquiringly, interrupting the Doctor's reverie, "Where are all the people?”

"I'm sorry, Ace. What?"

“The people. There should be at least one crowd of people if this is The Most Magical Christmas Village In The Entire World like you said. Even the shops we passed along the way were empty, and it's barely seven o'clock.”

“My goodness, Ace. You're right,” The Doctor observed. “I was so taken by the splendour and wonder of Ortonshire, I failed to notice the most important thing you had just pointed out. What happened to all the people?”

Before the Doctor could even think to investigate his inquiry, a pair of hands belonging to someone behind him had grabbed his arms. Another had done the same to Ace. They had not heard the sound of footfalls running toward them. A tall woman in a yellow hazmat suit moved in front of the Doctor and Ace. Her facial features were obscured by her protective mask. She pointed her gloved left index finger at them as she spoke sternly in a Northern English accent.

“What the devil are you two doing here?” She asked.

*

The Doctor and Ace were brought to the Leverton Military Base just a few miles east of Ortonshire, which had recently been used as a headquarters for pandemic responses in the past decade or so. Blood samples were taken from the Doctor and Ace before they were led to a decontamination room. The Doctor told Ace that they must go through the procedure for everyone's protection. They were cleansed with chemicals, soap and water before putting on grey jumpsuits to while their clothing was being sterilized. They were dressed normally some hours later.

A guard brought the Doctor and Ace to an interrogation room. On the way there, the Doctor noted that the TARDIS was being rather unsuccessfully examined an adjacent laboratory. He began to chuckle upon seeing a scientist in a hazmat suit fall when the ship gave him an electrical shock. The Time Lord then thought it best to move on. He and Ace entered the medium sized, sparsely furnished room. They were ordered to wait for a Doctor Henderson to question them.

The Doctor, umbrella under his arm, paced. Ace sat in a folding chair. She followed the Time Lord's movements with her eyes. “Do they think we did something wrong, Professor?” She asked with hint of preoccupation in her voice.

“I'm not sure, Ace,” The Doctor replied. “I wonder if our being here is connected to the missing people of Ortonshire.”

The Doctor continued pacing the room. This time he did so while playing the spoons. This went on for roughly fifteen minutes. Ace wanted to protest this action, but The Doctor's expression told her that he was concentrating on the situation. He checked his fob watch when a tall, pale woman with long, dark, curly hair and horn rimmed glasses entered. On the left breast of her long white coat was a badge identifying as Doctor Carol Henderson, Head of Project PANVAC.

Project PANVAC is a team of scientists and military personnel created to study viruses and pandemics to prevent their spread and create vaccines should they be needed. They banded together with funds from various governments worldwide after so many lives were lost in the past couple years to new strains of illnesses that had mutated considerably.

The Doctor closed his fob watch and lamented, “You took your own sweet time getting here.”

“Sorry if my needing to decontaminate myself and my security officers is an inconvenience,” Doctor Henderson responded sarcastically. “Now, would you mind telling me who you are and what you two were doing in a quarantined area?”

“Quarantined area?” The Doctor asked in surprise. “We knew nothing of a quarantine. We'd only just arrived. We're not even from around here.”

“By your accent, I'd guess you're from Scotland,” Henderson responded.

“You'd be quite surprised, I'm sure. Anyhow, I am the Doctor, and she is my friend and associate Ace.”

“Doctor is a title, not a name. For example, I'm Doctor Carol Henderson.”

“For you, dear Doctor Henderson, it's a title. For me, it's a name.”

"Very well, Doctor," Henderson said with a hint of irritation. "Now, tell me what you were doing in a quarantined area.”

“We didn't know about any quarantine,” Ace said impatiently.

“Stay calm, Ace,” The Doctor said, raising his right hand slightly. He turned to Doctor Henderson. “She is quite correct. We came to Ortonshire because of its reputation for Christmas celebration. We had no idea any quarantine had been put into place.”

Before Doctor Henderson could respond, someone had knocked on the interrogation room door. She opened it and stuck her head out the other side. Someone had told her the secretary-general of the United Nations wanted to speak with her. She left and returned some twenty minutes later. The Doctor looked at Henderson in an attempt to anticipate what she will do and say next.

Henderson took a deep breath. “Apparently,” She said to the Doctor, “I'm supposed to trust you. After I mentioned 'The Doctor' to the secretary-general of the United Nations, he ordered me to allow you assist Project PANVAC if you wish to do so.”

“Yes. Of course, I'd be happy to help if I can.”

“The U.N. has quite a detailed file on you.”

“Yes,” The Doctor said, “You can thank those busy bodies at U.N.I.T. for that.” He walked toward Doctor Henderson. “Now, what exactly are we dealing with here, Doctor Henderson?”

“It started three days ago with some children who were building a snowman near the forest at Ortonshire's southern border. A boy named Charlie Wright was the first to exhibit symptoms. He complained of a headache after returning home. The local doctor found he had a very high fever before the lad lost consciousness. His three friends – another boy and two girls had similar symptoms as the evening had progressed.”

“Let's see,” The Doctor pondered, “Three days ago was December 1st. Go on, Doctor.”

“My team and were called when infection spread to the adults and other children. The local physician told us  that all the patients exhibited something odd on the skin about an hour before we arrived in Ortonshire.”

“Odd in what way, Doctor?”

Doctor Henderson paused for a moment. She seemed to searching for an appropriate description. Swallowing her pride and perhaps realizing the Doctor was no threat, she spoke.

“Perhaps it's better to show you, Doctor.”

*

Doctor Henderson's gloved hand punched a numeric code on a security keypad to the right of a metallic door. The Doctor put on a surgical mask and latex gloves while following her. The door slid open. They briskly walked down an empty, bright white corridor. The doctors were greeted by a burly security guard upon Henderson's explanation of the Doctor's presence. She had told him the Time Lord was there on orders from the United Nations. The Doctor tipped his hat before entering the patient's quarters.

Charlie Wright was a sandy haired, frail boy who looked to be no more than ten years of age. He lay dormant in the hospital bed. The Doctor looked at a copy of Charlie's file. With Doctor Henderson to his right, the Doctor examined the boy closely. His skin was chalk white with blue, green and grey vine-like tendrils all over his body. His pupils, irises and the whites of his eyes were clouded over in the same green/blue/grey hue.

“The vines are attached well,” Doctor Henderson said. “Scissors and knives were unable to cut them. Fire only activates the sprinkler system.”

The Doctor took a closer look at the vines. The Doctor said, “We may not need to do that if we can get a blood sample.”

“I'd like to get a sample of them as well to study this more thoroughly.”

“Understandable. A low level laser might be able burn off a piece without harming young Charlie here. Now, tell me. Is Ortonshire the only area infected, Doctor Henderson?”

“According to our facilities in other parts of the world, the illness is contained within the vicinity of Ortonshire. No other village, city, country or continent has had any reports of symptoms like these for now,” Henderson replied while indicating the tendrils.

“Then it's not too late,” The Doctor said hopefully, “We may be able find a cure before this spreads worldwide. Now, somebody get me that laser.”

*

Ace was in the laboratory where the TARDIS was being examined. She had been ordered to where a hazmat suit for her protection. The scientists who were studying the ship were amazed. They had no idea what they were dealing with. One man even approached the TARDIS doors with a large drill in hand. Ace laughed.

“You'll never open the TARDIS with that,” Ace observed.

“What?” The scientist with the drill asked.

“I'm afraid she is quite correct, sir. Your drill won't open my TARDIS,” The Doctor said. “Now, put that thing away. The TARDIS is perfectly safe. Stop wasting time, and point us in the direction of Doctor Henderson's office.”

The scientist indicated a corridor to his left. “You can't miss it. Her name's on the door,” He said sheepishly.

The Doctor turned his head in the direction of the TARDIS. He was clearly irritated. He muttered something under his breath. Ace couldn't quite make out what he said, but she giggled. There was something amusing and sweet about the Doctor when his dander was up. Ace told the Doctor that they arrived at Doctor Henderson's office, Now all they had to do was wait for her to arrive with the laser needed to take the sample of the virus vine. Hours had passed. The Doctor used this time to read Doctor Henderson's extensive research on viruses, pandemics and cures. He had finished reading her most recent paper when the head of project PANVAC entered the room with the surgical laser in hand.

Doctor Henderson and the Doctor went to Charlie's bedside. The Time Lord prepared the laser. He double checked its parameters to make certain it was set at minimum intensity. He didn't want to unnecessarily injure the boy in his efforts to save him. The narrow red beam hit a vine on the boy's wrist. A small chunk of about the size of a newborn kitten's toenail fell on to the white bed sheet. The Doctor placed it in a vial with a pair of tweezers. The Doctor and Doctor Henderson took the sample in thee latter's office. The head of Project PANVAC looked at it through a microscope. She was stymied and shocked by her findings.

“Doctor,” Henderson said, “Have a look at this.”

The Doctor looked into the microscope. “Very interesting indeed,” He commented.

“You don't seem as surprised as I am,” Henderson observed. “It has characteristics of a virus. However, I've never seen anything like it.”

“There is nothing like it,” The Doctor said, “At least on Earth.”

“Are you saying this virus is alien?”

“Doctor Henderson,” The Doctor began, “You're a brilliant virologist. I finished reading your papers while waiting for the laser.”

“Those are roughly thirty years of work consisting of thousands of pages,” Henderson said in a surprised tone. “It would take me at least three years to read them again.”

“I'm a fast reader,” The Doctor commented, “As I was saying, you're a brilliant virologist, doctor. Yet, you have a habit of doing what most scientists tend to do. You limit the scope of your search for answers.”

Ace had been sitting in a chair across from Doctor Henderson's desk. She was positively amused by the exchange between the doctors. She did nothing to repress her smile and laughter.

“So you are saying it's alien,” Henderson said, ignoring Ace.

“Not all alien life forms are little green men, doctor,” The Doctor responded.

“Some are Daleks or Cybermen,” Ace interjected.

“Not now, Ace,” The Doctor said gently.

“How do you know it's alien, Doctor?” Henderson asked.

“That isn't the important question, Doctor Henderson. How did the virus get to Ortonshire, and how do we cure it? Those are the inquiries you must ask if we are help the infected and prevent the spread to the rest of the world.”

The Doctor snapped his fingers and ran toward the nearest exit. Doctor Henderson followed him.

“Where are you going, Doctor?” She asked, pursuing him.

“I need to get to the TARDIS!” He called as he ran further away. “There's no time to lose!”

*

Ace, still in the hazmat suit, entered the TARDIS. The Doctor ran to the controls, pressed buttons and flipped switches. The doors closed.

“You won't be needing that, Ace,” The Doctor said, indicating her hazmat suit. “We're perfectly safe in the TARDIS.”

Removing the protective head piece and mask, Ace asked, “Shouldn't we be saving the people in Ortonshire, Professor?

The Doctor hadn't taken his eyes and hands away from the TARDIS controls. “That's exactly why we've returned to the TARDIS, Ace. If I'm right, the illness is not of Earthly origin.”

“So we're going find who created it?”

“Not exactly,” The Doctor answered. “We are, however, going to see how it began.”

“Couldn't we prevent the infection from coming to Ortonshire?”

“As much as it pains me, Ace, I'm afraid not. We're merely going back in time to see how the virus got to Ortonshire.”

Ace looked disappointed. “Don't look so glum, Ace,” The Doctor said. “We'll find a way to cure every sick person in Ortonshire. I just need to confirm a theory first.”

Ace was reassured by this by the time the TARDIS returned to Ortonshire's city limits near the village sign some days before their initial arrival. Christmas lights shined their rainbow of hues upon the box, perhaps as a signal of hope for things to come. The Doctor and Ace heard the town square's clock tower's bells toll. It was midnight. The Doctor checked his fob watch to be sure. He clicked it shut and sat down on the ground in front of the TARDIS doors. Ace sat next to him, her arms wrapped around her knees.

“What are we doing now, Doctor?” Ace asked.

“Waiting, Ace. We're waiting.”

Twenty minutes later, the Doctor looked at his watch again. He then turned his gaze to the sky.

“It should be arriving,” He said, “Now.”

The Doctor and Ace looked up. A shooting star streaked across the night sky, its fiery tail blazing through the starry backdrop. A meteor was clearly burning upon entering Earth's atmosphere. Small, flaming bits of the space rock crash landed. One had come close to striking the Doctor had Ace not pushed him out of the the way.

Ace helped the Doctor to his feet. He thanked her and dusted himself off. He returned to the TARDIS to get a long pair of tongs and a cylindrical lead container. The Doctor placed the meteorite inside the canister before walking into Ortonshire. Ace followed closely.

“Where are we going, Doctor?” Ace asked.

“We need to make sure no other meteorites in the area, Ace.”

“Shouldn't we get more of those lead cylinders from the TARDIS?”

“There's no need,” The Doctor answered with a twinkle of pride in his eye. “Much like the TARDIS, this receptacle is bigger on the inside. Now, come along, Ace. We have lives to save.”

*

Doctor Henderson made her rounds to check the infected somewhere around midnight. She entered Charlie Wright's room. She looked briefly at his file. As she looked up from the folder, the pale boy covered in vines did something that startled her. He sat up. She called his name, but there was no response. His face was cold and without expression. This brought a shiver of terror to Doctor Henderson.

Charlie got out of bed. Doctor Henderson overcame her apprehension and called the young man's name. The only responses were a chillingly vacant look in her direction accompanied by an eerie silence. Charlie marched out of the room. Doctor Henderson, her curiosity outweighing her fear, followed the boy. He didn't seem to notice her behind him. Perhaps in his current state, he didn't even perceive her presence as a threat.

Charlie had joined another group of the infected. Others followed suit. The crowd became overwhelming. Doctor Henderson had lost her balance. She placed her hands in front of her person to break her fall. Her moving forward did nothing to distract the patients from getting to their destination. Henderson saw that the rest of the Project PANVAC team was following the entranced people with tendrils all over their bodies.

The marching had stopped outdoors. Henderson noted they were in the Ortonshire village square. The colours of the Christmas tree's lights, especially the red and green, made the infected look more menacing and frightening. Doctor Henderson gulped saliva to moisten her previously dry throat. She looked around  The faces of Project PANVAC's personnel mirrored the question that was on mind.

What do these people want?

*

The Doctor and Ace had been collecting meteorites for the better part of two hours when they returned to the TARDIS. They had a dozen of the space rocks inside the container. The Doctor worked the ship's controls allowing it to materialize in front of an elaborately decorated wooden cottage. He checked the date. It was December 1st.

The house was surrounded by a white picket fence. Gold garland and small red and green lights trimmed the structure. Brightly lit statues of a snowman and Father Christmas were placed on the left and right sides of the gate behind the TARDIS. The snowman's left hand touched a red postal box with an address written on the side. The Doctor read it aloud.

“17 Miller Road,” He said, “If I recall correctly, young Charlie Wright lives here. We should investigate here for clues to how he became ill.”

The front door was unlocked, and the light within were still turned on, meaning the family left in a hurry. The Doctor and Ace moved quietly. They entered the front room to find an Advent Calender on the coffee table adjacent to the Christmas tree and television. It had an image of two children, a dark haired boy and a blonde girl, in Christmas pyjamas looking in amazement at the numerous presents under the tree. The square for December  1st had been opened.

“Doctor,” Ace said holding the Advent Calender. She indicated the empty square. “Look.”

“Yes, Ace, it's an Advent Calender. They're quite common at Christmas time.”

“No, look closer,” Ace insisted.

“Goodness, Ace, you're right,” The Doctor said upon further examination of the empty square. He saw bits of green dust inside. He put on latex gloves to take a sample of it. He and Ace returned to the TARDIS to study the weird powder. The Doctor looked worried after about fifteen minutes.

“I think, Ace,” He said, “We may have missed a meteorite somewhere.”

*

The Ortonshire Candy Factory was on the east end of the village. The TARDIS had arrived not long before the meteor shower had begun. The Doctor started a countdown. A meteorite crashed through one of the factory's windows the moment after the Doctor had finished. It had landed in a vat of chocolate unbeknownst to anyone working there. The mixing process had turned the rock to dust. The chocolate was then used in the sweets for the Advent Calenders.

The Doctor snapped his fingers and looked at Ace. “There's a slim chance,” He said, “But we going to have go with your plan, Ace.”

“My plan?”

“I'll explain later. We need to return to the TARDIS.”

The time machine vanished. It reappeared inside the factory this time. It hovered over the vat of chocolate. The Doctor stood in the ships opened doorway with a long mechanical arm device in his hands, He used a joystick to move it left and right, up and down until its two prongs grabbed the meteorite in the moment before it landed in the chocolate. The Time Lord returned inside to calculate his next move. He configured the TARDIS controls.

“Now,” He said to Ace, “If this is timed correctly, we can place this rock we caught somewhere our previous rock hunting selves will find it, thereby preventing it from contaminating the candy factory's chocolate and any infection in Ortonshire.”

“There's one thing I don't get, Professor,” Ace said. “How was this my plan?”

“It was you, dear Ace, who asked if we could prevent the infection from coming to Ortonshire. Now, put that hazmat suit back on, and prepare your throwing arm. We're almost where we need to be.”

The TARDIS whirled and twirled in the air. The Doctor opened door after checking the ship's location.

“When I say go, Ace,” The Doctor said as he opened the door, “ Throw the meteorite.”

“I hope this works, Professor.”

“I've seen you launch explosives at Daleks, Ace. You'll do brilliantly.”

He looked down at the street a few steps in front of the candy factory. “Now, Ace! Now!”

Ace's gloved hand hurled the meteorite with the might and determination of David against Goliath. IT landed near a tree less than an inch away from Ace's previous self. The Doctor closed the door, scanned Ace for infection and radiation and smiled.

“Excellent throwing, Ace. If all went well, Our next trip to Ortonshire will be a happier one.”

The TARDIS was now on the moon, time was catching up with itself as The Doctor and Ace's previous selves disappeared with all of Ortonshire's meteorites. The Doctor looked inside the container. There were thirteen plus five they had missed before.

“Ah yes,” The Doctor said, “We did another survey of Ortonshire after taking the rock you threw.”

The Doctor and Ace returned to Ortonshire's sign. The Time Lord opened the TARDIS doors. He exited to admire how beautifully lit the words Happy Christmas were. The Doctor took a deep breath with a smile and a twinkle in his eyes.

“Come along, Ace,” The Doctor called. “The Most Magical Christmas Village In The Entire World awaits us once more.”

Ace came out of the TARDIS just as a portly man with a white beard dressed as Father Christmas approached the Doctor. He grinned broadly as he spoke to them.

“Happy Christmas, folks. Welcome to Ortonshire,” The man said jovially.

“Happy Christmas to you as well, my good man,” The Doctor responded with a tip of his hat. This is Ace, and I'm the Doctor.

“Pleased to meet both of you,” The man replied, shaking hands with Ace and the Doctor. “I'm Chris. You here for the Christmas Festival?”

“Yes,” The Doctor replied, “I also wonder if you could tell where I may find an Advent Calendar.”

The End

[dcbbw]

#SofterSideofNeville--Sunday Brunch

This is my submission for the Softer Side of Neville Writing Game. It is the brainchild of the very funny, very talented @sirbeepsalot. Let her know if you would like to participate in the writing game! I may attempt another entry (smutty), but wanted to see if I could make the man at least relatable first. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please excuse any typos and/or grammatical errors.

All characters belong to Pixelberry.

Song Inspiration: I Feel Like I’m Drowning, Two Feet: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WkVvG4QTO9M

Word Count: 1169

Writer tags: @sirbeepsalot @katedrakeohd @jovialyouthmusic @choicesarehard @ritachacha @tornbetween2loves @bobasheebaby

Tagging: @gennesaret @aworldoffandoms @hopefulmoonobject @simsvetements @cora-nova @carabeth @custaroonie @liamxs-world @lauradowning29 @speedyoperarascalparty @thequeenofcronuts @wickedgypsymoon @timmagicktoad @brightpinkpeppercorn

Liam X Neville, King Liam, Lord Neville

Neville sat in the formal dining room of the Cordonia Society for Fine Gentlemen, sipping his tea with milk and honey as he looked out at the gardens. His eyes skimmed over the beautifully planted rows of flowers, and the perfectly sculptured hedges without seeing them. His phoned pinged, breaking his contemplation. He looked down at the text message:

Where are you? We need to fix this and make things right. I love you. –Shad

Neville put the phone back on the table, face down. His heart was now a jigsaw puzzle comprised of a million pieces, and Rashad thought it could be fixed. You can’t find healing from the one who hurt you. He picked up his teacup again when he saw him striding through the doors; even without his guards, Liam was an imposing sight. Tall, broad shouldered, and more handsome than any man had a right to be. Ahhh, here he comes.

Liam strode to Neville’s table “Lord Vancouer.” His tone was clipped as he took his seat.

“Liam.” Neville signaled for the waiter. “How kind of you to join me for Sunday brunch, although I doubt you will have much of an appetite by the time our talk is finished.”

The waiter approached. “Your Majesty, Your Lordship.”

“We will have a bottle of your finest scotch, please and a bucket of ice.” Liam raised an eyebrow at Neville. It was unlike Neville to drink.

Liam gave a forced smile. “So, Earl Vancouer, how go things on Cormery Isle?”

“The same as always. Almost time to harvest the grapes and olives. We’re expecting another great harvest this season.” Neville looked at Liam, a small smile playing on his lips. “Remember when you would visit with your Father as a child? We would climb the trees and hide while we ate so many of the grapes, we would be miserably full?”

Liam allowed himself a grin at the memory. “And neither of us knew an olive from a grape. We thought we would surprise our Fathers with a fruit salad. They had no idea what to do with a bowl full of bananas, apples, and olives.”

Neville let out a loud laugh, but then his face fell. “I was really sad when you stopped coming over in the summers.”

Liam looked at Neville. “A lot happened. The attempted assassination attack, Leo’s social season, Leo abdicating….” He trailed off as he looked out at the gardens. He faced Neville again.

“What happened to you, Neville? You have been so bitter. You’re looking down on the citizens of our country, you called my wife, the Queen, a commoner wench in full view of everyone, and you challenged Drake to a duel. A duel! He could have been seriously injured.” Liam’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Neville.

“Ha! He could have been injured? So could I!” Neville was silent for a moment. “I did you a favor by challenging him, but you don’t know that yet. As for the rest of your statement, you know I do not look down on people not of noble birth. You’ve been to Cormery….aside from my father and myself, there are no nobles. Yet, our Duchy is open to everyone. As children, we played with the commoners! I courted men and women of not noble birth. Don’t try to paint me with the prejudice brush!”

“Fine. Then what grudge do you have against Drake and your Queen?”

The waiter arrived with the scotch, ice, and two glasses. He began preparations to open and pour, but Liam held up his hand. With a slight smile to the waiter, he told him they would serve themselves. The waiter bowed, and walked away.

Neville’s phone pinged again. He flipped it over to read the text message. Please talk to me. He put the phone back down, and looked at Liam.

“Liam, I know you are in love in Drake. I know about the arrangement you have with your wife: she allows you and Drake to continue your relationship while she continues hers with Lord Beaumont.”

Liam began to protest, but stopped when Neville gently shook his head at him.

“I know, Liam. I promise to be the soul of discretion with this information. But I do have a question. I know you are in love with Drake, but what are your feelings towards the woman you married?”

“I do not see how this in any way answers my question.” Liam’s voice was tense.

Neville poured himself a tumbler full of scotch, offering to pour one for Liam, who declined. “You will.”

Liam mulled his answer over before speaking. “I love Drake with every fiber of my being, and I have since I was 17. I don’t know what I would do without him. My wife is my best friend. I trust them both with my life.”

“Have you noticed any difference in their interactions with each other? Has Lord Beaumont noticed that the Queen is suddenly too busy to make her weekly trips to Ramsford? Have you noticed that Drake seems preoccupied and too busy for you?”

Liam felt his stomach begin to sink but his eyes were blank.

“You really don’t know, do you?” Neville’s eyes were sympathetic.

“Neville, what are you talking about? You’re scaring me.” Liam tried to sound irritated, but Neville heard the trace of nervousness in the King’s voice.

“I’m not scaring you Liam.  You know I’m about to hurt you. You just don’t know how.” Neville calmly poured Liam a tumbler full of scotch. “Take a drink now; it will numb you for a moment.”

Liam looked at Neville uncertainly, then took a healthy swallow.

“Drake Walker, the man you love, has been having an affair with Rashad, the man I love, for the past six months, and carrying on with your wife since the engagement tour.” Neville’s voice was steady, but his hand shook as he picked up his own glass to take a sip of the brown liquid.

Liam’s eyes widened with fear, sadness, doubt. “You must be mistaken! Drake has been working hard with the Royal Council…long hours. He comes home late, that is why he is always tired. My wife knows our arrangement. She wouldn’t break it!  She knows how I feel about Drake. She wouldn’t do that to me!  Whoever told you this lying! Lying!” Tears streaked his face.

With a sympathetic look on his face, Neville raised his glass of scotch to Liam in a mock toast. “Welcome to my hell, friend.”

[no6secretsanta]

The Breathings of Your Heart

For @oatmealaddiction from @glittercracker. Happy holidays, and thanks for the fun request!

“Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.”

William Wordsworth

Nezumi didn’t look up from his keyboard as the door to his small office opened, concentrating as he typed rapidly.

“Sir, your 4:30 client is waiting.”

“Sure, almost done,” Nezumi said, glancing quickly over the text on his computer screen and then pushing “print.” It had been a bitch of a letter to write, a father trying to convince his wayward son, yet again, to come home and join the No. 2 council and lead the life of a fat sycophant. Nezumi didn’t blame the kid for the constant refusals. He resented writing the letters, but then again, writing them, and others like them, was what kept him fed and housed in between acting gigs. Fed and housed rather nicely, truth be told, so he really couldn’t complain.

“Let him in,” he said absently to the secretary, re-reading the last sentence of the letter one more time. Even as the printer whirred, he wasn’t convinced that it was quite right. Too flowery? Certainly too much influenced by the book he’d just finished reading – something southern, with language that was both overwrought and beautiful, and far too full of symbolism.

“Of course,” the secretary said. “Sir?”

Thinking that the secretary was speaking to him, Nezumi looked up expectantly from the printer basket from which he was retrieving the letter; and then he froze. The man had not been speaking to him. He had been speaking to the client he was showing in, a young man in a long, dark trench coat, with a shock of silvery hair. As he shucked the coat into the waiting arms of the secretary his face became visible, though still, he did not look at Nezumi. It didn’t matter. Nezumi would have known him anywhere, if only for the crimson stain that ran from his left cheek to his neck and under the collar of his immaculate, white, button-up shirt.

The resemblance to his old friend ended there. Both face and form were longer, leaner; he wasn’t certain that he would best the other man in height, anymore. There was also a long, fine scar slicing through the one the parasite had left; and there were others. Smaller, but numerous. Nezumi felt them like a punch to the gut.

Shion’s violet eyes met Nezumi’s in a long, hard stare. Nezumi shuddered despite himself. This was not the boy he’d left behind two years previous. This was a man, one he no longer knew, and one who had every right to demand payback. Nezumi wanted to say his name; he couldn’t make his lips move to form the word.

The secretary, of course, was ready to absolve them both of the overdue greeting. “Mr. Shion asked specifically for your services in writing a letter,” the man said, a warmth in his tone that told Nezumi that Shion had not lost his old charm, for all his new aloofness. He could not bring himself to consider that the aloofness was purely a function of meeting Nezumi again.

“Of – of course,” Nezumi said, opening a new file on the computer. “Sh – Sir,” he corrected quickly at the hard flash of Shion’s eyes on his own, “would you care for refreshments before we – ”

“No,” Shion said, the once-warm timbre of his voice chilled and hardened, like tree sap in winter. “Let’s get right to it.”

“Okay,” Nezumi said, flicking a glance at Shion’s cold face and then nodding to the secretary that it was all right to leave them. He turned back to his computer screen, opening a new file. “Would you care to sit?”

Shion considered the chair in front of the desk for a moment, and then sat, though nothing about his posture relaxed.

“To whom would you like to address your letter?” Nezumi asked, trying to force his voice to even politeness, though it was straining to leap and tatter like a flag held against a gale.

“Mao Fumei,” Shion said evenly.

Nezumi faltered at that, turned shocked eyes upward. Shion’s own eyes were like damsons frosted in an early cold snap. “Shion – how did you know my – ”

“I’ve engaged you to write a letter,” Shion answered calmly. “If you can’t do it, I’ll find someone else.”

Nezumi bent his head, unable to hold those eyes. Though it might lie beneath a layer of frost, there was emotion swarming in them, too much for him to face. “Okay. So, you’d like to address it to…to…”

“Mao Fumei,” Shion repeated, his voice soft in that it was not abrasive, but it was still, somehow, sharp. As if he knew what that name meant to Nezumi. Because, of course, he did. How couldn’t he? But how on this blasted earth had he ever uncovered it?

Nezumi began to type, relying on muscle memory alone, because that name had paralyzed his mind. “Dear Mr. Mao,” he said as he typed, and then waited, expectantly, staring at the blinking cursor. There was a long silence. Too long. At last he looked up: those wide, purple eyes were fixed on him, unblinking. The skin of the other man’s face was snowy, aside from the brilliant scar. He could have been a wax replica of the boy Nezumi had known through that brief and endless winter; the boy whom he’d –

“Over the two years of our separation,” Shion said, cutting Nezumi’s thoughts brutally short, “I’ve had a good deal of opportunity to consider what I would like to say to you, should we ever meet again.”

A long moment passed before Nezumi realized that Shion was dictating. The screen and keyboard swam in front of his eyes as he comprehended what was happening – or did he? Was Shion really capable of something so calculating? Not the Shion he’d left; but this was not the Shion he’d left, and because he had no one but himself to blame for that, he began to type, though the words sickened him.

“It was a beautiful day when you walked away from me. Far, far too beautiful for the grief that leaving caused. You had your reasons, Mr. Mao. I do understand that. Your life had been a misery, and the city we had leveled together was the architect of that. No sane person would choose to stay there.”

Shion paused; his eyes focused on the window and the springtime trees budding beyond in audacious, acid green. Nezumi stole the moment to look at him: still beautiful. No, that was wrong. He was now far, far more beautiful than the soft boy of two years previous. More beautiful than the maddened one who had killed a man to save Nezumi and then turned the gun on himself. He might have lost his softness, but the sinew and bone he was made of now were like the taut stone of sculpture. There was an unforgiving cast to the set of his jaw that told Nezumi, even beyond the scars, that he had faced hardship they had never anticipated in the wake of the city’s fall, and he had overcome it by force of will. But his lips were full and his eyes were deep and dear lord, how had Nezumi ever walked away from –

“But,” Shion continued, his eyes snapping back to Nezumi’s face. It took him a moment to resume typing. “But I don’t think that those months we spent together were miserable. They weren’t miserable for me, even though I’d lost so much. And I don’t think they were miserable for you, either. How long had it been, Mr. Mao, since you’d had someone to talk to, to argue with – to dance with?”

For the first time, there was a chink in Shion’s armored voice; tiny, such a little thing, but Nezumi’s fine ear caught it. His fingers halted over the keys.

“How long had it been since you were warm?” Shion’s voice was lower now. “Since someone held you at night? Since someone cared whether or not you were breathing? Since someone fit their own breaths to yours, so that you were like one person in two bodies? How long…”

There was a pause; Nezumi realized that he hadn’t typed any of what Shion had just said, and he rushed to catch up, although his fingers shook as the words formed beneath them. As they flowed forth, there was a slow wrench of something inside of him shifting; tearing.

“How long did you mean to let that mean nothing to you? To let all of it mean nothing?”

The words were a brush above a whisper, and when Nezumi finally looked up, Shion’s head was bent and tears were falling into his lap. They glinted gold in the shattered late-afternoon light that filtered through the tree branches.

“Shion,” he said softly. The other man only bent his head farther, wept harder. “Shion, come here. Please?”

There was a long moment when Nezumi didn’t know whether he would do it; whether he had even heard him. And then the white-haired man swept a hand across his face, looked Nezumi in the eye with his own, wet, bruised ones, and said, “Why should I?”

Nezumi sighed, shook his head. “You shouldn’t. There is absolutely no reason why you should.” And then he stood up, and rounded the desk until he stood in front of Shion. He offered him shaking hands. “But please. Please…”

Shion looked at the extended hands for a long moment, and then, reluctantly, he took them in his own. A sob rose in Nezumi’s throat at their warmth; at their hardness. They were covered now with callouses to go with the scars he’d noticed; what had Shion been through in the years he’d been gone? Far worse that he had, that was certain. He tugged gently on Shion’s hands, urging him to his feet. Shion looked up at him, his eyes swarming, questioning.

“Please,” Nezumi said again.

Shion stood, still holding his hands. They were eye-level now; no height difference separated them; no material distance, and yet such a wide, black sea of pain.

“Why did you come here?” Nezumi asked, his eyes hard on Shion’s.

Shion didn’t flinch, though the old Shion would have. “Because I needed to know.”

“Know what?”

“Whether you ever really meant to come back.”

Nezumi looked into the other man’s eyes, saw the wells of doubt. Knew that he had dug them. He sighed. “Yes. I did.”

“When?” Shion asked.

“When I thought you would have forgiven me.”

Shion laughed bitterly. “And you would know that, how? For that matter, how did you know that I hadn’t already? That I didn’t forgive you the moment you walked away?”

Nezumi shook his head, and laughed a little. “I meant to send you a letter.”

Shion narrowed his eyes. “But where would you send it? You didn’t know that anything in No. 6 would stay the same, not even my mum’s bakery.”

“Well, exactly.”

“So?”

Nezumi sighed, let go of Shion’s hands and then rounded again to the computer. He opened a file he’d kept on his desktop for the better part of a year, and pushed “print.” He waited until the pages had filled the basket, and then he withdrew them, handing them to the waiting Shion, who began to read.

He didn’t even turn the first page before he asked, “When did you write this?”

Nezumi turned his eyes away. “Every day. Every single day that I was away from you, beginning with the first, I added to it.”

At that, Shion crushed the pages in his hands and leaned into Nezumi. “Why? Why didn’t you just come back? Or if you couldn’t do that, why not come get me and take me with you?”

There was wetness on Nezumi’s cheeks, shocking as a blow. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried. “Because I didn’t think you’d want me, anymore.” The words were so low, he didn’t know whether he’d actually spoken them. But when Shion’s arms came around him, tight and certain, he knew that he had.

It let loose then: everything he’d kept inside himself for so long. The black skeleton of a house engulfed in flames, accompanied by a baby’s screams and a woman’s calling, “Run, Fumei! Run!” Bitter days in a cold place with an old woman’s colder admonitions never to love, never to strive, never to speak his own name. Crime to survive, capture, flight, pain, blood – and then, the kind of warmth he’d almost forgotten existed. Shion’s body next to his in a child’s bed, a whisper of that which had once been his for the taking. And Shion again: out of nowhere, a living body beside his, someone who didn’t want him to die. The soft and steely heart of someone who loved him. Who loved him, when he’d come to believe himself unlovable.

“I’ll want you forever, Nezumi,” Shion said. And then, carefully, “Fumei. I’ll always want you. And that’s what I came to tell you, because I thought that if you wrote it, if you saw the words, if you could touch them, you might believe them.”

Nezumi could only bend his head and weep into Shion’s shoulder, while Shion stroked his back. When his tears finally subsided into shuddering breaths, Shion pushed him to arms’ length. “The question,” he said, a little of the hardness returning, “is whether you want me.”

Nezumi looked at the pale, beautiful face in front of his: earnest eyes, parted lips, tremulous with the need for the right answer, no matter how strong he’d grown in their time apart. He brushed the silver hair back from Shion’s face, ran a thumb along the scar on his cheek, smiling to himself at the hitch in Shion’s breathing. It was still just as sensitive as it had been years ago.

But now, well; now those two years’ worth of words needed to be spoken. “Shion,” Nezumi said, unable to resist brushing the scar again, or the shudder that ran through his old friend at the touch, “don’t you realize that I’ve always wanted you? I wanted you so much, I didn’t know what to do with it.” He lowered his eyes as Shion’s widened. “I thought that I would destroy you with wanting you. That’s why I left you, because I never learned the right way to love…but still, I’ve loved you since you stood on the balcony of a posh house, screaming into a hurricane.”

Shion uttered a choke of laughter. “I was an idiot. But you were an idiot, too: taking me in, when you had nothing, and I could only be dead weight.”

Nezumi dropped his head again to Shion’s shoulder, his cheek pressed to Shion’s neck. Dear gods, the skin was so soft, the pulse beating so fast. He couldn’t resist pressing his lips to that flutter; Shion let out a sigh, and then leaned into it.

“So, we’re both idiots,” Nezumi breathed against his skin. “But I’m not enough of an idiot that I’d leave you again. If,” he pulled away, looked into Shion’s shining eyes, “only if that’s what you want.”

“Fumei,” Shion said, his voice low and soft.

“Yes?” Nezumi answered, struggling to keep his voice even. If Shion rejected him now, he didn’t think he would ever recover.

“Can you cancel the rest of your clients for the day? We have a letter to finish.”

Nezumi raised his eyebrows. “Really? You want to sit here and write a letter?”

One side of Shion’s mouth quirked up; his eyes glinted. “I never said we had to do it here.”

Nezumi smiled, maybe as widely as he had in his entire life, and tightened his arms around Shion. “Consider it done, Your Majesty.”

[hermitknut]

A:TLA watch, part 17 - SERIES FINALE

All of my posts on this are here.  I’ll be putting up a masterlist sometime soon.

*deep breaths*

Okay, it’s time. Time to finish this series. I’m both desperate to find out how it ends and also desperate to stay in the middle of it. It’s been a hell of a ride… here we go!

Sozin’s Comet, Part 1: The Phoenix King

Zuko teaching aang is so great, even when he’s getting touchy about it.

BEACH PARTY lol sokka, never change

Appa sand sculpture!!

Nooooooooo zuko I know you have to teach but NOT THE SAND SCULPTURES

Oooo aang wants to wait??

Ohhhh call back to that one war meeting!

Oh shiiiiiiit wiping out the earth nation. Big task. LOVE the shot of him walking over the map and casting his shadow before him.

Omg dragging zuko into the group hug XD

HOW TO REDIRECT LIGHTNING ZUKOOOOOOOO uncle tea would be SO PROUD

“yeah, I’ll just do that” :( aaaaaang.

I am really curious as to how they’re going to handle this (aang potentially killing the firelord)

Omg look at the precious children training I love them so much

God aang :( I love how much weight they’re giving this.

The music as he walks into the night!

Wait. Where did the island aang was heading towards go????

“what? Everyone else went on a life-changing field trip with zuko, now it’s my turn” Toph, I sincerely love you

“get out of the bison’s mouth, sokka” XD

“if anyone’s got experience hunting the avatar, it’s you” GOOD POINT

Fire Lord is leaving? Where is he going?

Damn the dynamic between Azula and her father…

“mole? Her skin is flawless” jesus this show XD. Also, yet AGAIN, a logical, perfect call back to an earlier character. The way this show winds this stuff back in really makes the world feel real and solid.

“where are we?” AANG

Sozin’s Comet, Part 2: The Old Masters

My dvd player is skipping a bit :/ hope this doesn’t keep happening. Maybe it’s because I keep pausing so much to type stuff. Hmm. I’m gonna try overlapping windows and see if that helps. [edit: it did, though I had to stop the whole thing and give it a rest between episodes. It’s old and cranky.]

“he doesn’t exist” hell of a disappearing act there, aang

ZUKO WANTS TO FIND UNCLE TEA HELL YES

I have been WAITING for the return of Iroh!!!

Oo maybe talking to zuko will help

THE ORDER OF THE WHITE LOTUS RIGHT??? And aang’s friend is one of them!!!!

“new grandfather” XD XD XD holy shit sokka’s so enthusiastic

“all old people know each other” LOL

I genuinely love aang working through previous avatars, trying to get an answer.

“did you do anything interesting on the day of the eclipse” “no, not really” LOL

SURFING AVATAR

Ohhh how nervous zuko is!

Ooo an air nomad avatar…

“I have to kill the firelord” is it me or is that the first time aang’s used the word “kill”

ZUKO’S CRYING. IROH’S CRYING. I’M CRYING. OH GOD.

“it wasn’t that hard uncle. You have a pretty strong scent.” God XD

THE ISLAND IS A SEA CREATURE I AM UNNERVED BUT DELIGHTED

“the fatherlord” XD

“it has to be you” oh BLESS

“my destiny is to take it BACK” ohhhhhhhhhh

Omg katara and zuko vs azula? I am VERY EXCITED

Here we go, splitting up the forces and starting the plan

Also sokka looks so little in that helmet, I can’t deal with this

Duuuuude the island beast thing!!

Oh boy here comes the comet oh godddddddd that closing shot of aang…

  Sozin’s Comet, Part 3: Into the Inferno

God everyone’s worried about aang… so am I…

Azula jesus

Nice SHOT Toph

God this show is so STUNNING the way it pans from the ship they’re on to the lead ship with Ozai on it…

Azula… jesus no one needs to take down azula, she’s going to do it herself XD

TOPH KNOCKING ON THE DOOR AND THEN USING IT AS A METAL SUIT MY MOUTH IS JUST OPEN IN DELIGHT

“I can’t believe the captain remembered my birthday” BAHAHA AMAZING

God azula is just dissolving isn’t she?

Ohhhhh you know it occurred to me that Zuko could use the comet’s power but I hadn’t thought about Iroh, holy SHIT

MOTHER IN THE MIRROR fuck this show is intense

AANG

No glider no momo no appa oh AANG PLEASE BE CAREFUL I LOVE YOU

Airship slice!! Oh gosh folks oh gosh

I’m actually genuinely frightened for everybody

“you’re not going to become firelord today – I am” COME ON ZUKO HELL YES

Ooooo full on formal duel I am HERE FOR THIS

Aang :( I SAID BE CAREFUL

HE CHANNELLED LIGHTNING BUT ONLY JUST

NO AANG AANG AANG YOU’RE FALLING NOOOO

Oh GOD I love the way he caught himself with the waterbending!

I am very concerned by the sad music playing through the zuko and azula fight..

NO SHE’S GOING TO AIM AT KATARA NO  NO NO NO NO NO NO ZUKO NO

AANG HIDING IN THE EGG

QUICK I NEED THE NEXT EPISODE QUICK QUICK QUICK

  Sozin’s Comet, Part 4: Avatar Aang

YES YES EVERYTHING CHANGED WHEN THE FIRE NATION ATTACKED WE KNOW WE KNOW HURRY UP I NEED ANSWERS

“PREVIOUSLY ON AVATAR” I KNOW I KNOW GET GOING

“you could stand to mention it more” TOPH

JESUS SOKKA YOU’RE SUCH A BADASS

NO NO DON’T DROP TOPH NO

ANOTHER SHIP HIT THEM OKAY

Aang hiding in the egg still, oh boy

Oh god the way it melts away around him

And it HIT THE SCAR

“little boy” oh you are SO FUCKED

AVATAR STAAAAAAAAAAAAATE

HE’S USING ALL OF THE ELEMENTS AT ONCE HOLY SHIT AANG

PLEASE BE OKAY AFTER THIS

Irohhhhhh setting fire to the fire nation flag!! This is great :D

Jesus this entire series has been building to Aang having full control and HOLY SHIT is it worth it!!

Uh oh we’re back to azula and katara and zuko

COME ON KATARA COME ON ZUKO

Katara has an idea!!

WAIT DID SHE FREEZE BOTH OF THEM HOLY

Oh KATARA you GENIUS

I’m worried about zuko but also able to appreciate the symbolism of him having a scar that matches aang’s

Oh god azula shooting lightning with her mouth and losing it entirely :(

Holy shit the BENDING that aang’s doing is BLOWING MY MIND

Was that a gasp of fear from ozai??

“the ultimate price” AANG STOPPED THOUGH

God the slow motion bit where he captures ozai holy SHIT

Is he gonna take the bending away from ozai???

THE LIGHT COMING FROM THEIR FACES FRIGHTENS ME

To bend another’s energy??? I CAN’T HEAR THE TURTLE THING CLEARLY ENOUGH DID HE JUST TAKE OZAI’S BENDING AWAY???

“I took away your firebending” phew I was right

God aang just. summoning the avatar state briefly with a breath and raising the water

i n c r e d i b l e

SOKKA you’re hilarious

“who taught you that” “a giant lion-turtle”

I love that they’re all just taking the piss of ozai like. Valid. You are all incredibly valid.

ZUKO’S GIRLFRIEND IS BACK blesssssss

“but don’t Ever Break Up With Me Again” HA

Oh god it’s ahappily ever after I can’t handle this I CAN’T AHHHHHHH

I am CRYING

Acrobat girl joined the warriors!! Hahahahaha

AANG IN THE YELLOW ROBES

AANG AND ZUKO HUGGING

I CAN’T BREATHE

LOOK AT THE LINES OF PEOPLE AND EVERYONE CHEERING

LOOK AT LITTLE AANG

They better let aang chill for a bit now, jesus, the kid is still twelve XD he needs a HOLIDAY

*screams through fingers* that little beckoning to aang

Zuko talking to his father – OH SHIT HIS MOTHER

LOL AT SOKKA’S DRAWING

Katara – KATARA AND AANG HUGGING awwwwwww

KISS THEY KISSED AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

HOLY SHIT

(sidenote: we get different end music randomly on the last episode that’s REALLY PRETTY but also kind of strange lol. I love it)

~

SO WE DON’T HAVE TIME TO UNPACK ALL THAT

BUT I LOVE IT

I LOVE ALL OF IT

HOLY SHIT YOU GUYS

*steadying breaths*

This series is absolutely INCREDIBLE and I am SO GLAD I watched it. I can’t wait to rewatch it in the summer (I’m planning it with a friend) – and next month I’m going to get hold of Legend of Korra to keep me going in the meantime.

Thank you so much to everyone who’s been following along, it’s been really lovely to share this with you!! I am one hundred percent here for anyone who wants to talk (read: let me yell with them) about the whole series now, provided there are no Korra spoilers.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to ramble to myself about how amazing this was until it’s fully sunk in XD

H

[forge-born-blog]

Forge-Born chapters 1-5

Chapter 6 Geneva island of amazons.

                                                     Forge-Born                                                  A New Odyssey                     Bang! .... Bang!!..... Bang!!.... The sound of mighty thunder as metal meets metal. Bang!!... Bang!!... Bang!!!... With each clap a flash of light illuminates the dark room. Between each strike we gain a glimpse of a humanoid like figure, only this is no man. The creature is truly a nightmare of an image. No even creature does not explain this being, a more apt description would be god. Hephaestus God of the forge. As Hephaestus strike his hammer against a large mound of steel he begins to speak loudly to himself, as though he were addressing someone else. " It was long ago in a time before man, before beast, before gods, before the entities Gaia and Uranus. When all that existed was Chaos and Darkness. A single spark was all it took and in moments the course of history would change. From this spark formed order, formed Gaia and Uranus. For millennia that spark was not to be seen, until one day the spark flashed once more and mankind had came into existence. Today I hope to be given a chance to see that spark. He places his hands on some object and they begin to glow a bright red & white. The object begins to glow and now we can see it. It appears to be a sculpture of a boy made of steel. Today is the day a new legend is born. With blood of iron and body of steel. The legend of the Forge-Born." Chapter 1 "Father!!" A young voice screams. "father look!" The boy points to the sea. As he does Hephaestus steps onto a beach staring at the boy. Now in the sun we can truly see Hephaestus. He is large taller then any man butt a far cry from a giant. His skin is thick like an elephant with discoloration all over grey white black his skin tone varies in blotches like ink blots. His eyes are sunken and unresponsive as though the intense sunlight doesn't bother him. His mouth is more like a beast with jowls and fangs. His body is strong, or at least it seems that way until you see him resting one palm on cane. As he slowly limps across the beach cane in hand he ask the boy." My boy how many times must we have this conversation." "Oh right heehee" the boy attempts to contain his laughter. Hephaestus somehow seems delighted with the boys laughter rather then angry. "Well what is it, tell me what do you see?" "Out in the water it's some big object with a tarp flowing into the wind." "Oh I see now" Hephaestus grins. "what is it father another sea monster?" "No boy it's a ship." "A ship... wait father does that mean there are humans." "I would most likely assume so." "Wow really?..” The boy gazes at the ship with wanderlust  "Father one day I'd like to be on a boat like that." Hephaestus's face sinks as he mutters "someday I hope you will get the chance."      7 years later         The forest is silent when suddenly a loud boom goes off. As the smoke clears we here a man coughing."Damn seems I was bit off on the ratios." As the man begins to stamp out small embers we notice the face is familiar to that of the young boy. Only now as a man he is something more akin to a warrior. His face is Fairly well, no Adonis but easy on the eyes. What stands out most though are his ember eyes. As the man is finished stamping out the fire a loud voice is heard throughout the forest. "Vulcan where are you what manner of messes have you made today?" Shit. the man responds. "Nothing to worry about father I've got it all under control." Hephaestus retorts "funny you said the same thing last time and now Pygmas has no eyebrow." The man's reaction is one of embarrassment. “Well whatever it is it can wait. I need your help on the forge.” After walking an acre Vulcan nears a mountain with a house along the side down below is a large cave that Vulcan enters. In it we see Hephaestus hard at work hammering down some item on an anvil. Surrounding him are 5 giants with one eye who all seem to be busy with their smithing. Finally Vulcan nears Hephaestus "Good now take this and hold it steady around the horn." Vulcan follows the gods instructions and grabs a circular object and presses it firmly against the edge of the Anvil horn. As he does this Hephaestus grasps a large hammer and starts beating against it "another shield huh." Vulcan remarks."Maybe , if you hold it still enough." As the two work together on the shield they begin to banter back and forth until Hephaestus ask a question. " So Vulcan what was it this time another one of your science inventions." Vulcan responds quickly speaking as soon as Hephaestus finishes his last syllable" yes I'm onto something amazing I just need to run some more test." "Could you use any help." Vulcan ponders his answer for a few seconds." Honestly I could, but I really want to try this one on my own father" “Oh can't wait to get out of your old man's shadow ehh boy." Hephaestus grins as he says it. "That's not it I just want to prove this to myself; to prove that I can become a builder like you." For a moment Hephaestus pauses then continues to beat on the shield " I'm very proud of you don't worry someday you will become an even greater craftsman then me." Vulcan almost cries at those words. All his life he's never admired anyone more than Hephaestus, he knew of the other gods yet the one he was always amazed by was Hephaestus. His father was strong willed and wise. Even while being a god he was humble and never thought himself above any creature and to top it all off he was an amazing craftsman. He could build anything : jewelry,trinkets, mechanisms, coliseums, and yes even weapons and armor of unimaginable quality. Suddenly they hear a loud bell. "They're here" Hephaestus says. "Who" ask Vulcan." The ones picking up this shield. As Hephaestus finishes putting on the last of the grips on the shield he tells Vulcan to greet his guest upstairs. Now inside the upper floor he sees a man draped in black and a younger one draped in purple and black he recognizes the first man but has no clue as to the second. While standing there pondering the mans identity Hephaestus walks in from behind him ah hades it's been some time uncle. Glad to see you the man shrouded in jet black cloak and corporeal darkness speaks and as he does so it fills the room with dread. "yes same for you Hephaestus  and you as well Vulcan." Vulcan pushes his curiosities aside and realizes his rudeness" Apologies lord hades" hades smiles although even though it is innocent to him on the outside it looks sinister" No need for apologies Vulcan you are family after all." Hades points to the smaller individual beside him donning similar attributes only in a purple shade" Excuse me allow me to introduce my son regon. It's his shield we've come to collect today." "Ah good to finally meet you Regon I've heard a great many things of you." Says Hephaestus, Regon then responds "As well I you smith. However I must admit I've heard nothing of you having a son Vulcan was it. Vulcan clenches his fist as though he's just been threatened and prepared to fight for his life. Hades speaks up "Regon do not pry. The smith is a powerful ally and respectful man leave it alone." Regon nods silently. " come with us the shields downstairs the cyclops are testing it." Hades is then reminded of something." Speaking of cyclops Hephaestus are you waxing them now?We ran into Pygmas on lookout and he seems to be missing the hair on his brow." Ha!Vulcan immediately covers his mouth trying to contain his laughter, you can see his body quiver as he chuckles with his right hand over his mouth and left hand to his side. The party just ignores him and heads towards the shield. When finding himself alone he uses the opportunity to break away and head towards his own lab deep in the forest. He has work to do otherwise he would have stayed. He rather enjoys hades as he seems to be the only God that respects his father and regularly pays him visits, he's also the only God his father allows him to speak to or come into contact with. In fact as a young boy when hades and Hephaestus were deep in conversation he would allow him to play with Cerberus. He doesn't know why the other gods hate his father or why they can't know of his own existence, but he came to realize long ago through his father and the cyclops stories, that the gods weren't the merciful or flawless beings they're portrayed as. While Vulcan fires up a forge in his workshop Hephaestus is back home speaking with hades. "Thank you again smith for the work you've done." " No need hades you practically keep me employed and I rather enjoy our talks. Not to mention you've kept the identity of Vulcan to yourself and for that I owe you greatly. I'd rather he not get wrapped up in the world of the Divine and immortals. "Speaking of that Hephaestus did you know where Zeus was headed today?" " No I'm afraid I have not contacted Olympus in years. I'm sure you're aware of my strained relations with our family." " Quitewell smith, then it pains me to say but I felt I should give you warning today Zeus visit's the Moirai.” The air turns hostile as a terrified Hephaestus exclaims "The sisters of fate! When hades?" " I do not know nephew I just felt the need to tell you so you might prepare yourself. I will be taking my leave I cannot interfere with my brothers affairs, however I felt I should warn you. Sorry that is all I could do." As he says this hades and Regon fall into a dark abyss. "Thank you hades for warning me, you've done enough." As hades disappears. Hephaestus shouts VUUULLCANNN!!! The words sound loud and carry deep into the Forest. Moments before this Vulcan was leaving his workshop and heading back home. "Finally!" he says to himself "A sword that isn't worthless." Vulcan raises an clothed item into the air, his face covered in ash and carbon with a grin as wide as the crescent moon. Vulcan thinks maybe with this he can go out to the world of man. Sword at his side he can become an adventurer and see the world. With this he wouldn't even have to fear the gods. Suddenly he hears his father cry out for him more panicked then ever before something is wrong just as he turns and pushes off the ground to run a flash of light comes down cutting through the air colliding with the earth, with a tremendous crackle and boom knocking him to the ground. This is thunder and what follows thunder is destruction. As he looks up at the ravaged earth in front of him he sees him. The King of gods, Power incarnate, Clade in lightning ZEUS and his eyes scream bloodlust. Chapter 2 abomination Gobsmacked and in awe. Vulcan lays they're paralyzed unable to run with frozen feet, not even able to find his voice to scream or speak. So shocked he even forgets how to breath Vulcan lies helpless. For years he's heard of the gods of there amazing power and heavy auras but he never expected anything like this. The pressure emanating from this god is like an ocean filling the air dragging him to the bottom helpless against it. He now truly understands what places gods above men. Lying there deprived of oxygen he begins to lose the strength in his body, but just as his eyes begin to close he catches sight of a familiar figure walking towards them with a cane." Vulcan did I not warn you of the presence of gods. It appears you'll have to learn now, focus your mind and will. Remember to not give in to a greater force, push back on the aura with your own and most importantly hide your fear.” With those words Vulcan begins to fall in and out of consciousness. As he begins to practice his father's teachings the weight on his chest gets lighter. Zeus and Hephaestus stand there watching the young man. To the world outside this sight is unexplainable and would go without understanding, but to those intertwined in the Divine this is nothing new. Thousands have died from sheer presence of the Divine alone. Gods can intensify or diminish the aura they place forward. Although many wouldn't know it from the current sight Hephaestus knows all to well Vulcan is gifted in this form of combat via godly presence. Against any average Devine being he would have already returned to strength but this is Zeus. Hephaestus stands there torn over his sons predicament, alas there's nothing he can do. He could fight Zeus in an attempt to stop the overwhelming pressure he exudes, but not only would he lose that fight in order to do so he would have to unleash his aura as well and with his and Zeus's combined pressures Vulcan would not survive. All he can do is stand and watch his son cling to life. Finally there's a breakthrough both men sense it a will of iron refusing to be crushed by the weight. Vulcans eyes open as his body rises like an undead corpse, gasping for air. Hephaestus is pleased Zeus however has not lost his angry demeanor. As Vulcan slowly makes his way to his feet with his arm pressed against the ground for support shaking, he can't believe it Zeus didn't lift a finger and he nearly died just from being in his presence. Hephaestus steps in front of Vulcan shielding him from Zeus's gaze before asking "what is it you are doing here Zeus?" Zeus responds with furry in his voice." Watch your tongue Hephaestus It is your king you are speaking too." Hephaestus bites his tongue and waits for a response. Zeus caring not for the concerns of Hephaestus waits some time before responding "I am here regarding a prophecy given to me by the Moirai." Hephaestus hesitates and thinks of his question before speaking. " May I ask what this prophecy is exactly." " The sisters have informed you have done the unthinkable. You have broken the greatest rule. You created new life where there was none. I am king of all none but me shall be allowed to create life. Hephaestus was I not lenient when the sisters gave me the prophecy years ago of your betrayal" Hephaestus interjects "Zeus, father I told you there was no betrayal I would never forge a weapon to kill you." Mid sentence he is cut off by Zeus" How dare you call me that you are no son of mine I casted you out of Olympus I showed leniency and even now you mock me with that abomination behind you." Vulcan is perplexed could he be referring to him. What's this on about Hephaestus creating life he understood all to well of the rule of life how none is supposed to create it not even gods for such life would go against nature itself. He knows such an act could never be forgiven and that the creature could not be allowed to continue living. Still why does he speak of him that way Vulcan is no creation. He was told he was the son of Hephaestus and a lower God. He knows nothing of his true origin. Many might be confused with this statement believing Gods to have created life many times however there are rules firstly life cannot be made where it did not previously exist you may turn a tree into a mortal however you may not turn stone to man. Two if it is made from nothing it may not have will nor mind of its own hence golems and lastly it may not be given the ability to pass on to a new generation. In creating Vulcan Hephaestus broke this covenant incurring the wrath of Zeus. "Your creation neither man nor God this creature does not belong in this world. Step aside and allow me to destroy it and I may be merciful to you afterwards. " Vulcan's heart clenches itself. To think the one who stands above would desire his death what could he do he couldn't possibly fight and hope to win. Run how can he outrun lighting. As Vulcan's heart races a comforting voice reassures him.  "Calm down my son no harm shall come to you. You have as much a right to life as any living creature and I will defend that right with my own life if I must." As he says those endearing and heartfelt words he stares at Zeus and says "I challenge you for the right to rule Olympus on the grounds of my blood as one of the twelve seats." Zeus grits his teeth seething with anger the surrounding environment begins to shutter. Hephaestus has invoked the right to challenge only a shameful God and weak ruler would refuse. Very well I will kill you first, then the abomination. I shall return with an audience at sundown to oversee. After Zeus leaves Vulcan drops to the floor exhausted. After a few hours the sun begins to set Vulcan wakes up at home. Suddenly it all comes back to him he leaps out of bed screaming no. Hephaestus comes and hugs him telling him to calm himself. Vulcan looks up at him tears in his eyes and ask why he challenged Zeus he cannot hope to win. Hephaestus looks down at him and says " Because you are my son." "But I'm not I heard him I'm not your son I'm not human not God I'm..I shouldn't exist." "Vulcan weather or not you should have existed isn't important the fact remains you do exist you feel you bleed you cry and laugh. I can no longer lie to you so I will tell you the truth Vulcan. Many years ago I lived with the Olympians at first I wanted to be one to be accepted by them but I never was for that I grew to despise them I became angry and vain and did many things I'm no longer proud of. Eventually in time I began to forgive them and place my heart at ease after that I was able to see the evil of the gods and there indifference to the plights of man. I pleaded with them and begged them to help the humans to show mercy, but alas my words fell on deaf ears. The gods were a conceited lot but still they were my family and I loved them and I had no intention to take my family to war. So instead I took up an oath of pacifism I vowed to never participate in there wars or the wars of man and that I would never forge another weapon. When Zeus demanded weapons I refused this deeply angered him he felt as though it was a challenge against his authority which had him grow paranoid of my betrayal. So he sought out the sisters of fate for guidance on the matter. That was when they informed him of a vision they had that I would forge a new weapon one that would kill him. Opun hearing these words he attempted to end my existence, but perhaps some small ounce of fatherly affection remained because he did not deliver the finishing blow; instead he banished me from Olympus and barred me from ever forging another weapon. In time I found this island of cyclops other creatures resented by their father for there imperfect figures. I became like a mentor to them taught them to forge and communicate. Still though life was lonely I missed my family even though they were cruel and unkind. I became so lonely I came up with an idea. What I was about to do was blasphemy to the highest degree. I was about to break the supreme rule of the Divine. Life shall never be created from nothing only Zeus himself may ever create new life. This law stands above all others the punishment for breaking it is death. In my lost state I began to work on my finest craft ever I would forge his bones of steel his blood of hot iron and his flesh of copper & bronze. Still such a task is no mere small feat. Although the law exist even without it none could perform this feat. Creating new life is tricky when Zeus Aphrodite and I created woman we nearly abandoned the efforts but some force greater than our understanding aided us. For you it was the same try as I might you remained a statue of metal. I don't know how or why but somehow something breathed life into you my son and on that day you came to be a creature born of the forge.” "But that means I am an abomination."  "Look at me son it is true you are neither God nor man. However you are no monster you deserve life just as any man. Here I found this beside you" he hands him the clothed item from before “I found it beside I had hoped you would not mind I had a look at it." Vulcan removes the cloth reveal a jade tinted blade. It's beautiful almost like an ornament. He's almost too afraid to ask but somehow finds the courage. “What did you think?” "Interesting indeed your work with a blade is truly remarkable however it is undeniably yours the work of a young man."  " What's that mean." Ask Vulcan "It's truly exceptional and Finely forged, incredibly sharp and well made. Only it's not suitable for combat. It's to be expected your young and inexperienced in war. Your blade is impractical it's appearance is a beauty and like that of a proper heroes blade but it would never be used In combat. You see a smith must not only make the strongest weapon he must also take into account the warrior wielding it and its purpose. Sometimes you have a smaller warrior so a large or long blade is impractical sometimes they have armor or shields so a sharp edge is useless other times it simply does not feel right from the grip or isn't designed to swing according to the Warriors method." With the more he describes the more Vulcan sulks which Hephaestus takes notice of. "Don't be disappointed Vulcan you are a fine craftsman and the blade is incredibly durable and sharp it shows how well your technique and skill at the forge is. This lack of foresight was on me I taught you all the secrets to the forge save  weapons. I wish I had more time to teach you but I'm afraid our time is up the sun is setting. Take this he throws a bag at Vulcans feet. What is this for are we going to run. No boy you will I will stay here and fight. But why we can bo-- I gave my word I challenged him now I can not go back on that. A man is nothing without his word. Humans taught me that and hopefully they can teach you the same. Go there's a ship waiting for you at the north beach. Inside that bag is a map you will head to Geneva a small island not far from here where you will meet your guide. You already know how to read the stars, but take this it's something I've been working on It will help keep you going in the right direction. Hephaestus shows him what appears to be a primitive compass. But father I can help you or maybe I can offer myself to Zeus you shouldn't have to die for nothing. No. Please! dammit boy I...fine you want to help. Hephaestus drops the compass. pick that up we will have use for it later. As Vulcan reaches down Hephaestus strikes him over the back of his head breaking his cane over it. He looks down at the unconscious Vulcan then back at his broken cane and mutters "You've got a hard head boy." He proceeds to pick him up and throw him outside into the arms of a brow less cyclops. "Pygma take care of the boy." Pygma nods and vanishes with Vulcan into the forest. As Hephaestus makes his way down the stairway he hears Zeus land and call for him Hephaestus show yourself I've come for your challenge with witnesses Apollo Hera and Athena. As he reaches the end of the staircase he heads to a corner of his workshop towards a locked trunk. Hephaestus! Zeus shouts I hope you have not suddenly realized you're fear and become to cowardly to face me. A golden draped man by Zeus speaks up "Father I must admit picking on a crippled and feeble old man does not sit well with me must this continue." Now one of the women by Zeus interjects "Careful Apollo the smith may be weak in body and his mind may also have confliction, but he is a seat on Olympus  for a reason even after being cast out. Father I beg you reconsider the smith would pose a great loss to us" "Silence Athena the smith has laid his bed... but if it will put you all at ease, I will make it quick.. " quick huh..." The sound of Heavy metal rattling follows the voice. "Perhaps you have forgotten just what a battle is like Zeus" the voice comes from the cave as a grinning Hephaestus steps out clad in armor from head to toe an arsenal of weapons on his person. He stands with one hand holding a large spear pressed into the ground almost as if replacing his cane the other hand holding a flail attached to a long chain. It's as though he were a gladiator of great legend. Chapter 3 Even Gods Bleed The other gods stand in shock of the sight before them. Zeus is enraged at the sight of Hephaestus in armor. "What is the meaning of this smith? I thought this was duel among gods." Unfazed he responds " It is"  “then why do you sully it with trinkets.” “Father you seem to misunderstand nowhere does it say armor or weapons are forbidden.” “I would think your pride wouldn't allow such a poor display.” “ Yes pride would stop most men however men are foolish a warrior knows the battlefield is not to be treated as a playground things like pride matter not in battlegrounds. You do what you must to win to survive to protect the ones you care for. Today you threatened my son and I would swallow my pride before I ever let you bring him harm. Come father today one of us shall die here on this battlefield.” After recognizing the danger Athena voices her concern. “Zeus be wise this is the smith and those are his hand crafted weapons I recognize them this fight will be dangerous nothing requires you to face him like this.” “ Silence Athena very well smith I shall teach you you're toys mean nothing before true power” as he says this Zeus hurls a thunderbolt. The smith slams down the spear into the ground in its path after nearing the spear the lightning draws to the staff discharging into the ground. Hephaestus spins his flail before throwing it at Zeus smashing against his face it flings Zeus clear across the field. “Father your power is what gives you strength but me my gifts of the forge lend me strengths I could never attain on my own I may be old & broken but do not believe me  helpless by any means." Zeus snarls at Hephaestus the smith grips his spear and with his good leg pushes off the ground leaving a crater at the point of liftoff. Zeus takes hold of the spear catching it as it pierces him. Only allowing it to penetrate a mere inch of flesh, then creating a burst of lighting that sends Hephaestus flying into the mountain behind them. After coming to his feet Zeus takes the spear and breaks it over his knee Hephaestus stairs at him with a fierce eyes “as I said Hephaestus toys” he says as he drops the broken spear. Then in almost an instant Zeus stands in front of Hephaestus still processing what just occurred Hephaestus is unable to react as Zeus buries his fist into his face following that blow is a flurry of strikes each more powerful than the last. Even fully clad in armor seems to mean nothing as Zeus's power does not appear to be diminished in any way. Hephaestus knows the strength of this armor well he once tested it against against the might of a tsunami and yet not even a scratch, but here it may as well be simple cloth. Finally after growing tired Zeus ends his onslaught he stands menacingly over the bruised and bloody Hephaestus. In that moment it what appeared to be a a man clinging to his last bits of life Hephaestus pulled his hammer from his side gripping the handle firmly he raised it to the air his arm shaking barely able to hold it. In this moment tears came to his eyes as he thought of his son, he knew it had not been enough time he could not die yet. So with every ounce of his being he whispered one word" Forge" he followed those words by striking his hammer down on the mountain behind. In a mere moment after contact a mammoth sized steel gauntlet erupted from the wall punching Zeus. Forcing him out of the mountain falling to the ground below with a large thud. Zeus and the other gods look up to the mountain to see Hephaestus axe in hand looking down upon them. He jumps down to Zeus as he sees this he respond by hurling lighting at him but Hephaestus pushes down with his axe splitting the bolt in two the landing all his weight on Zeus then grabbing at his shoulders he opens his large jowls and begins spewing fire and magma. Through the magma reaches Zeus's hand wrapping around Hephaestus throat stopping the red bile. With the fire gone we now see Zeus's face angry covered with burns and scorch marks. With his free hand he strikes Hephaestus but Hephaestus returns with a blow of his own forcing Zeus to relinquish his grip back and forth the gods trade blows however this is no equivalent exchange as Hephaestus strikes get weaker and far more infrequent, sometimes taking two or three blows before delivering his own. Hephaestus then grips the blade at his side and slices at Zeus's leg. Zeus responds but not quickly enough to avoid injury just to avoid a more serious strike. He then takes a few paces back as Hephaestus raise his sword at him. “Aiming for my legs eh truly a warriors cunning.” Zeus mentions. “Well I have to do something to slow you down after all my leg isn't quite as spry as yours.” Hephaestus points to his weak leg trembling at the strain. Zeus stairs at both legs then comments

“It's quite incredible how you've been able to fight while balancing on one leg.” “I've had practice. Tell me father would you reconsider allowing my son to live if I surrendered now and agreed to forge for you once again.” “I've already told you smith you're no son of mine and that abomination is no son of yours I cannot allow such a being to exist that challenges the very nature of the universe itself.” “ You mean you could not allow anything to exist that cannot owe it's very existence to you. This has nothing to do with gods the boy could never hope to challenge your place in the universe his power is not Devine. He's closer to man then God. Why should his life be invalid simply because he is neither, because his very existence is a blight on your dominance over this world.” “ Hephaestus  before I kill You I will rip out you're heathenish tongue.” “I see then” he stares at Hera and the other gods “mother brother sister please know that I tried to seek a peaceful solution I did not simply seek bloodshed.” As the blood began to drip from his palms they begin to glow and the blood begins to boil and burn. As Hephaestus breathes embers fill the the very air he exhales. He grabs his hammer then places one hand to the floor and again he utters the words " forge" instantly multiple large blades protrude from the ground aiming for Zeus. In retaliation he unleashes a wave of thunder atomizing the blades. From his side appears Hephaestus his open hand reaches for Zeus's face igniting the very air it passes through. Zeus however manages to avoid it Hephaestus quickly changes tactics shifting his position using his hammer he delivers a backhanded strike smashing Zeus's nose. After catching sight of this Hephaestus remarks "it has been a long time since I have seen you bleed father." Chapter 4  Hephaestus God of the forge Out far off the coast of the island floats a small ship in which Vulcan still lays unconscious. As the battle between gods rages on in the distant island, the sounds of the clash awaken him. He awakens unaware of where he is he looks around surprised to see himself surrounded by water. After getting his bearings he realizes he must have been knocked out and placed on this ship. The sounds of the battle shift his focus to the island. His chest Tightens as even out here he can feel the gods crushing auras. He thinks of the struggle his father must be facing, without hesitation he turns the ship around and heads for the island only by some act of universe or perhaps a god, a gust of wind catches his sails pulling him further out to sea. All he  can do is watch the island get smaller and smaller in the distance for he is now at the mercy of the winds and the sea. Back on the island the tide of battle has once again shifted as Zeus fueled by rage at his own blood ferociously beat down Hephaestus. However Hephaestus seems to be pleased. The smile over Hephaestus faces further infuriates Zeus prompting more brutality. Zeus doesn't understand so he ask " Why do you smile Hephaestus once I've ended your existence I will chase your abomination. None can escape me for I see all.” “ Hah you fool father you've become so arrogant in the time since I've seen you I'm fully aware of your sight and that of mothers which is why I gifted him a device imbued with magic capable of hiding him from you.” “ What. You lie smith.” “You know me well Zeus you know me to be capable of such feats.” Arghhh! Zeus lets out a howl as he summons thunder to strike Hephaestus. Leaving a giant scare in Hephaestus chest. Hephaestus however has accepted death and does not fear it. He thinks of his long life of his ups and downs his younger years. Hephaestus was not like other gods he wasn't born perfect. Angry at Zeus for having Athena with another women Hera set out to make a child of her own with no help from any man. She would give birth to what the world would see as a monster. At his birth Hephaestus was already horribly disfigured and ugly he resembled more the creatures of Tartarus then the Adonis's of Olympus. Still his mother loved him then. She named him Hephaestus after one of her other lovers. Zeus however could not stand him, while he gazed at the hideousness and imperfection of Hephaestus it drove him mad not only was he monstrous in form but his body was frail and weak smaller then most babies and barely clinging to life. He could never call such a pathetic creature one of his pantheon his existence was a smear on all the gods and his name. Still he chose to accept the child as his own for the sake of Hera but made sure to keep him out of view of the world. Every Night however the sounds of his cries would drive him mad as it only reminded him of his failure. This continued for some time until one night Zeus awoke in a fit of rage, Hera hearing the babies cries awoke to find Zeus standing at the cliff side of Olympus holding the infant. She pleaded and begged him not too but he ignored her cries as he threw the child with all his might down into the sea and rocks below. Zeus now believing himself to be rid of the blight returned to sleep. Only fate would still not be so kind for Hephaestus. The frail boy miraculously survived the fall. Only his body was mangled his leg broken beyond repair the infant was in pure agony. He cried but his howls were swallowed by the ocean as he began to drown. For sure he would have died had this sight had naught of caught the attention of a nearby water nymph.  The nymph dragged the child to an underground cave under mount Olympus here he nursed the child back to health. After a few years the child had been lucky enough to to survive and grow healthier and more hardy a complete contrast to his frail form as a child sadly however the leg could not be saved. A pity thought the nymph if not for that the child would have grown to be an unrivaled gladiator his physical prowess far surpassed any being before him. Sadly however he will never be able to walk without support. How cruel the gods are thought the nymph. More years had passed and Hephaestus grew interested in the forge after years of isolation for fear of Zeus actions should he found out the boy was alive and the nymph saved him the nymph pleaded for Hephaestus to remain in the cave. Owing everything to him Hephaestus agreed to stay they're till he reached maturity. Finally after a decade more he set out into the world it was not long after he made a name for himself as a smith. Eventually one of his pieces of jewelry made its way to the gods they demanded the name of the maker Hephaestus they replied. The gods were shocked although not relieved they still did not care for Hephaestus even in time hera began to regret ever having conceived him. Still they admired his craft. And order him forge items of equal beauty for them. Hermes was sent however upon hearing this Hephaestus refused still angered over the gods treatment of him and the loss of his leg. Request after request was sent and refused until the gods began to threaten him. Angry Hephaestus came up with a plan he sent Hera a beautifully crafted chair all the gods gathered around to see. Hera loved this chair it's only flaw once seated she could not unseet herself for sometime the gods laughed at Hephaestus joke only after hours had passed and Hera could not move they realized the severity Hephaestus had trapped Hera. None could release her not even Zeus so they sent gods down to ask Hephaestus free her they asked kindly he refused so in response they sent Aires God of war to threaten him but Hephaestus was different from the others he held no fear. In fact it was Aires who was shaken upon return to Olympus. Still the gods the pleaded until eventually he was offered a seat on Olympus and the hand of Aphrodite. Pleased Hephaestus released Hera. In the coming years Hephaestus would grow to have many more stories most erased or forgotten to history. In time his anger at the world grew until one day he would realize his faulty and the corruption of the gods. In time because of this he began to pity his family. He begged and pleaded for them to see there errors, but still no god respected him. Only his uncle hades also scorned and cheated by the gods would see the true worth and nobility of Hephaestus in time the gods grew more cruel to mankind and he grew more compassionate to them. This was the tragic and beautiful trajectory of his life. Even now as his father stands beating him to death Hephaestus cries for him for his family for humanity for his son. He forgave the gods long ago for they're mistreatment of him for the hundred unspoken stories of the wrongs they've done him the stories he was too ashamed  to tell his son. Hephaestus lead a sad life however he would do it again for all the brief glimpses of happiness he experienced. He regrets not being around to see his son grow and enter the world but he knows the wisdom he imparted on him would make him into a fine man. He knows one day he will find love and happiness and for that dying here right now would be a faire price to pay. With one last breath Hephaestus speaks once more to Zeus “father I forgive all the gods cruelties to me I forgive Aphrodite and I forgive Aires I forgive you mother and even now as you take my last breath from me I forgive you father. I know in your heart you do not hate you simply feel this is the only way to maintain order I know it brings you no pleasure or relief to kill me which is why you sent the nymph Zeus looks shocked. I know you feel responsible for maintaining order and that you've refused to shed tears for me not out of lack of compassion. I can see in your eyes this pains you far more than me.” He pauses needing to take a breath due to his condition. “But even though I love you all I cannot condone your actions you have been abusive to the humans cruel even. You have ruined lives and dictated them you may be gods but you have no right to rule over them. You toy with their emotions and force them to submit. Which is why I could not stand idly by any longer. The sisters were right I did forge a new weapon but not to slay you to defeat you to free humanity from the plague of the gods. For it is no mere weapon, he will break their chains. Cast the gods from their thrones. He is blood of iron and body of steel he is forge born he is my son and the last hope of not just humanity but of the gods as well, because he won't just save humanity from the gods he will save you from yourselves. He will open your hearts to love. Father he is my last gift to you.” And with those last words the brimming glow emanating from Hephaestus fades as he lies unresponsive broken bloody not the death deserved of a man of piece. Off in the distance still fighting against the winds Vulcan senses one of the auras weakening growing more frantic he struggles greater even cursing the sea and winds until finally the aura disappears completely. Even without eyes he knows all too well what has occurred. He drops to his knees in tears giving up his struggle as he howls at the loss of his most precious person. Today he is all alone in the world. A freak a monster an outcast with no place to call home. He kneels there weeping allowing the winds to drag him further out to sea. Chapter 5 a new odyssey Out in the oceans alone sits a young Vulcan his eyes red and sunken. He lies there motionless and and unresponsive to the world he is dried out and his stomach growls. A near few feet from him stand his supplies within its content are food and water for a week but still it remains untouched. For days he wrestled with his grief he was angry at Zeus at the gods for allowing it and mostly at himself for being helpless. It has been five days now since his father's death had it not been for his inhuman attributes he would have succumbed to dehydration already. However the effects of it have begun to take hold his mind is hazy and he sees ghost which are not there. The Sun's light has reddened his skin and dried his lips so much they're cracked and bleeding. A little bird flies onto the edge of his ship. It stares at him for sometime analyzing him almost as though he held intelligence. Finally after some time while lost in thought he heard a voice “Vulcan.”  Vulcan looks around but sees nothing . “Vulcan” again he hears it he begins to believe it is perhaps the sea playing tricks on him. The bird now flutters to him landing on his knee. He stares at it and it opens its beak and and the words “Vulcan have you gone deaf.” He cant believe his ears or eyes he believes the effects of the ocean and dehydration are now at play. What bird can talk he thought. So he ignored it believing it to be in his head the bird continues to call him. The bird even begins to peck at him unfortunately for the bird however although Vulcan looks human his skin is actually like copper and bronze  in fact as a child he often wrestled with snakes and beast thinking them to be playing all the while they were attempting to eat him but their teeth could not pierce his flesh nor could they crush him. In time the bird gives up flying away Vulcan believes it to truly have been a vision until ploop a birds droppings fall on his head he immediately sticks his head in the water to clean the feces off him. When he returns to the ship he spots the bird on his deck. He bears his teeth as he scowls “why you little shit I'm gonna roast you and have bird for dinner.” “Serves you right for ignoring someone.” Okay now he knows he's not crazy this bird is really talking to him “so you're real.” “ As real as the shit in your head now listen close if you don’t want me to shit on your head again” Vulcan nods his head. “What are you doing boy?” “Why I'm doing Nothing.” “ Exactly. You lost your father not your life” “ You know about my father.” “I know a great many things boy.” “ Who are you.” “ That does not concern you, you're actions however do concern me. It has been five days since your father's passing and yet you sit here throwing away the life he sacrificed his for.” Vulcan hears those words as they echo into his heart. Tears once again well up. “No boy no more tears the time for tears are over now is the time for hope.” “What's there to be hopeful for I've lost everything. And I'm currently being hunted by the most powerful being in the universe at any moment he so chose he could summon lightning upon me to drown me in this ocean" “ If he can boy then why does he not do so. To play with you, perhaps the gods are very cruel. Or perhaps you're father was far smarter then you gave him credit for. On that device he gave you to guide you” Vulcan stares at the compass he's been clutching on one hand. “On that contraption is not only a guide but a ward one powerful enough to hide you from the gods. They can't kill you because they cannot find you.” “Very well bird you have erased one concern but what about my first what have I to live for now.” “ You have you to live for boy you can now see the world as you've always wanted you can gain justice for you're father.” “ Justice hah” Vulcan laughs hysterically “you mean me to kill Zeus God of Thunder. I truly despise Zeus as well as the other Olympians but I was never taught to seek vengeance doing so would only tarnish my father's legacy. And even if I desired the death of the gods what could I do against them for centuries man has been at they're mercy why because they are loyal and subservient no it is because they are weak and incapable of fighting the gods.” “ True they are but still many have tried..” “ and many have failed” he cut off the bird “failure is the first stop on the path to success.” At those words Vulcan resend so to his mind to a time he was a young boy at the forge he sat there with a crudely made helmet weeping. When along came Hephaestus he stood over him and asked why he cried Vulcan responded because he had failed it was nothing compared to Hephaestus work he wasn't gifted at the forge. Hephaestus stayed silent for a moment then walked away. After a few minutes he returned to the weeping boy and dropped something at his feet that made a clang sound as it hit the floor Vulcan stared at the object unsure of white it was it was a piece of metal with a strange shape and varying thickness Vulcan finally gave up and asked what is it. Hephaestus chuckled and said “it was meant to be a chalice for wine.” Vulcan is puzzled now that he was told he can make out a rough shape of a chalice the, but it is so badly deformed and tempered he can hardly accept it. “That Vulcan was my first ever forged item. Like you I wept only it was for three whole days I began to think about my failure about how much that cup and I shared in common how my parents believed me to be a failure and casted me out. When I thought of that I stopped my tears because I realized I wasn't a failure I didn't deserve to be tossed aside and I would prove that I would forge the greatest chalice ever. Time after time I tried again and again to make a chalice one after another they failed some worse than others, some ashamedly worst then the one that had come before it but with each I learned I grew and one day I had accomplished my task it came out perfect. Vulcan failure is merely the first step in the path to success.” With those words Vulcans tears fade and a smile crept across his face. Then almost mirroring the child Vulcan In the presents eyes were given new life the somber expression was replaced with a confident smile as he took to his feet and ran towards his supplies terrifying the bird nearly crushing it as it screamed hey watch it. He took large gulps of water and food nearly choking himself he lowered the sail and steered the Ritter towards the direction of north on the compass. He turned one time to face the direction of his island even though he could not see it and shouted he turned back and thanked the bird only it had disappeared. He laughed Unsure if hid had been real or not but it did not matter because it had given him what he needed now with life in his eyes he scans his map and compass and set sail for Geneva. And thus began a new odyssey.

Preview-  chapter 6  Geneva island of amazons

[jane-ways]

The Love of Small Things, Chapter One

My first work is up for @feanorianfunbingo! This is the first chapter of a followup work to Scion of Kings. See my bingo card and read the story below! You can also read The Love of Small Things on SWG and AO3. Many thanks to @ecthvlion for beta reading.

“I have a what.”

Nerdanel turned, eyebrows furrowed, leaning in towards Maedhros. Her hammer and chisel were still clutched in her chalky hands, and Maedhros belatedly realized it was probably a good thing he’d said what he’d said when he did, while the chisel was still raised and poised to strike. Half a second later could have resulted in an, ah, interesting shape for the sculpture’s nose.

He steadied himself, and repeated:

“You have a new grandson.”

Nerdanel’s eyes squinted in confusion. Quickly, before a deluge of questions could erupt from his mother’s mouth, he continued, “That is, I’ve adopted another son. Like Elrond and Elros. So, you have a new grandson.”

Maedhros paused there hopefully. Nerdanel’s expression had not changed—in fact, she somehow looked even more befuddled, her mouth having inadvertently opened as she puzzled it out. Ever one for crisis control, Maedhros thought it best to answer as many questions as he could before she asked them. His mother had a way cutting straight to the heart of matters he sometimes wished were left a little more unexplored. “His name is—well, you’ve probably heard of him, actually—his name is Gil-galad—”

“The High King in Middle-Earth?” Nerdanel cut him off.

“Yes,” Maedhros answered, a little put out by being interrupted and having the story ruined, but used to his mother’s quick and inquisitive nature. “It’s a name I gave him, actually. He doesn’t have any parents, and hasn’t since he was small. He wrote to me, once he heard I was…out, to ask if, well, if I was his father—his sire, you understand,” Maedhros clarified. “And of course, I’m not, but he has silver hair, you see, and he never knew his parents. And as a boy, he was given an ëpessë, Ereinion, and so he thought…‘Scion of Kings,’ and all,” Maedhros finished, a little lamely, he thought.

“So he thought you were his father, because where else could he have gotten silver hair from a king of the Noldor?” Nerdanal prompted.

“Yes, exactly,” Maedhros replied, with somewhat more enthusiasm. “And it did seem so unfair for the lad—”

“Why?” Nerdanel interrupted, her eyes keen.

“Because…” Maedhros paused and sighed, looking away; girding up his courage, he continued, “Because he’s the son of…someone who died at Doriath, and I’m the one who found him and sent him to safety. I am, ultimately, responsible for his being orphaned.” Meeting his mother’s eyes at last, he said, “It seems only right I should be responsible for his parentage now.”

Nerdanel gave a small nod of understanding, her eyebrows still furrowed. Maedhros knew his mother well enough to know she guessed, probably rightly, at the boy’s true lineage and thus his own reticence to speak of it, but she respected him enough to let him have out with it in his own time. But then she asked something quite unexpected.

“I’m happy for you, of course, but Maedhros—how do you intend to be a father to a grown man, a world away?”

*

‘Damn,’ Maedhros thought. ‘Damn it all to the Void.’ How in Arda was he supposed to play father to an adult—not just an adult, but a capable king, a seasoned warrior, a respected leader, by all rights someone who should themselves be a father figure? That thought gave Maedhros pause. Was Gil-galad already a father? He hadn’t heard anything about children, or even a spouse, but then again, he hadn’t been out of Mandos all that long.

He barely even knew this man, and here he was trying to be—

Two thoughts struck Maedhros in such rapid succession they were almost simultaneous:

Elrond will know about him, and

How will I ever tell Elrond?

*

Sitting down at his too-small childhood desk, Maedhros shuffled some sheaves of parchment in an attempt to organize his thoughts. The more direct, the better—that had always been his philosophy. ‘Easier said than done,’ he thought. Be clear and understanding, but firm—that had been his method with the boys, and they’d turned out alright, hadn’t they?

Dipping his quill in ink, he sent out a silent prayer to—well, to whoever was listening, at this point—that in gaining one son, he would not lose another.

My son,

I am pleased to have received your last note in good time. It appears the late spring storms did not delay the ships from the Havens as you had feared they might. Tell Erestor to stop fussing about the crest—

“Lot of good that’ll do you,” Maedhros muttered to himself. “I spent centuries telling Erestor to stop fussing, and look where it got me.”

—and for the love of all that is holy, do not let my brother write another new song for the Gates of Summer. The one he sings now is long enough already. Tell him I said it may be hard to believe, but no one wants to hear his voice for five hours.

I have some news to share with you, which I hope will be happy. Your king, Gil-galad, recently wrote to me inquiring of his heritage, and while I am not his sire, I took it upon myself to be his father, if he will have me. He would be well within his rights to refuse me, of course. But, speaking plainly, he seems to want a family, and for whatever reasons, he seems to want especially to be part of this family. I thought it right to at least offer him that—however difficult the distance and strange the circumstances.

I know this may come as something of a shock to you, but I assure you, this decision was not made lightly on my part, nor was it made for mere political convenience. It was made, like the decision to bring you and Elros into my care, to right a wrong. Of the specifics it is not my place to say any more.

I remember as a small boy feeling quite put out with Maglor’s birth; after enjoying the undivided attention of my parents and grandparents, suddenly I seemed invisible next to this small bundle that could only, so far as I could surmise, cry and eat. But of course my parents cared equally for us both, and so in the rush of all this, I do not wish for you to feel ignored or insufficient. My son, know that I love you, and nothing will ever change that. Words mean little, and I was never one much for embraces, as I am sure you recall, but were I by your side, I would hold you now. I suppose Maglor will have to suffice, although he may then encourage you to speak of your feelings—be forewarned.

I know little of your lord, and any information you feel comfortable passing on, I would welcome. Indeed, if it pleases him, I should very much wish to strike up a correspondence not unlike this one. I did not speak lightly when I said I would be his father if he would have me! If he takes me on, he shall have to endure all the things young men must expect from their fathers: innumerable birthday cards (all signed by Fingon), unsolicited advice on topics ranging from white-smithing to romance, recollections of my own youth and its inevitable superiority to the present state of things, etc. etc.

I hope I have made you laugh at least a little, my son. I suppose poor jokes are one more thing to add to the list of things young men must endure from their fathers. You are my brightest jewel.

Love always,

Father

PS—Tell Maglor for me. I know he shall be upset not to have gotten his own letter, but the messenger for Tol Eressëa leaves in an hour. And besides, I know there are no secrets in this family for long.

*

The air hung heavy and thick in the gloaming. Leaves lay still in the trees; curtains, flat against windows and pillars. A storm was waiting to break, Gil-galad thought. He was perched on a chair on his verandah, itself situated several stories up, with a commanding view of the city and surrounding countryside—and any messengers who were due to return that night with letters born secretly across the Sundering Seas to the Gray Havens. Sensing his thoughts, Elrond remarked, “I wish it would rain and get it over with.”

“All this dampness without any of the pleasure of a splash in the warm rain,” laughed Gil-galad in reply. Erestor’s eyes widened in horror. Their robes.

A sly grin blossoming across his face, Elrond turned to Gil. Before he could utter whatever comment he had conjured up to further horrify Erestor, though, Gil-galad gave a shout, springing up from his chair. “I see them!”

“Let’s go meet them at the city gate, shall we?” suggested Elrond.

“Fine,” muttered Erestor, as the three of them began to gather themselves up and make their way inside. “But I’m bringing umbrellas.”

*

Several hours later, the storm had indeed broken, leaving that damp smell particular to late spring rains lingering in the night air. It smelled like wet grass, Gil-galad had always thought, wet grass and earth. For some reason, in the deepest part of him, he recognized it as the smell of home.

And home he was, he reminded himself. He felt lightheaded, euphoric and nauseous all at once, like he might be swept up on a breeze and carried outside himself. The smell of the rain, the dampness that still hung in the air and on the glistening world around him—he needed it to ground himself to this life.

Suddenly, Gil-galad was startled out of his reverie by the sight of another figure, sitting on the edge of one of the fountains a little ways off behind some trees. It was Elrond, he realized, himself lost in contemplation of a letter like the one Gil carried. Even for the elves, it was a late hour, and the stars being obscured by the still-lingering clouds, Gil-galad was surprised. Coming a little closer, he saw the letter bore Maedhros’s seal.

“Elrond?” he called hesitantly. He had no wish to startle his friend, or awaken anyone sleeping nearby, so he kept his voice low, reaching out with his mind as much as his words. Elrond’s head shot up, his face betraying all in a rare moment of vulnerability. In the instant their eyes met, they both knew.

Tentatively, Gil approached the fountain and sat beside Elrond, each staring into the garden beyond. Neither spoke for some time. Words seemed superfluous, somehow. When the moment felt right to him, Gil shifted a little in his seat, turning to face Elrond. Softly, so as not to break the stillness of the night, he murmured:

“Didn’t I always say you were like the little brother I never had?”

[bubblesthemonsterartist]

Noble Lines, Chapter 15

*Secret Santa swings across the Atlantic and drops a present down your chimney* IT’S CHRISTMAS WHERE YOU LIVE. GOOD ENOUGH FOR ME!

Merry Christmas @septhi-draw​!

Chapters 1-14

It’s a fortnight’s travel from Wistal to Seiran, provided there are no complications. And fortunately, there is not. Oak gives way to pines, frost to thickening snow. At every village and inn they take shelter at, the manners shift. The polite deference in the South shifts to overly friendly welcomes the further north they go. The food becomes thicker. The beds, harder.

It feels – almost – like he’s heading home.

When the tree line ends, giving way to a flat blanket of rolling white, they stop, breathing in a great inhale of icy air.

“Finally,” Zen sighs, rolling his neck. “I don’t think I want to see a horse for at least a week.”

“Is that Seiran Castle?” Mitsuhide inquires with a tilt of the head. Surely, it was a greater house than he would ever have, but it seemed… not enough. “I would have thought such an old name would be housed in a more—”

“Ostentatious setting?” Zen supplies, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. “Seiran didn’t become the oldest name in the kingdom by showing off.”

Mitsuhide blinks at him.

Zen smiles sadly, tapping the side of his horse to urge them both towards the conclusion of this journey. “I heard the household went under great hardship for the sake of my family after my father’s death. If it weren’t for this… humble presentation, I doubt it would still be standing.”

Mitsuhide looks up at the towering gray stone and spires. “Is that why Lady Kiki is the only Clariness noble still listed as a potential future wife?”

Zen hums. “Perhaps,” he admits after a time. “But thankfully, Kiki wants nothing of it. We’re just a way to keep marriage meetings to a minimum anymore.”

Mitsuhide glances at the Prince, concerned.

“Can you have the horses stabled when we arrive?” Zen asks with a smile that does not meet his eyes. “I would like to speak with Lord Seiran in private for a moment.”

Mitsuhide’s concern only intensifies. “Of course.”

~ ~ ~

The stables are heated here, burners bright at every corner and his face flushes at the sudden rush of warmth from the second he passes through their doors.

“Ahhhh,” he sighs, kicking the ice off of his boots as he looks around for a groom.

A blonde head pops out from one of the stables, a deep frown worrying their brow, and Mitsuhide smiles.

“Squire!” he calls in greeting, dusting the snow off of his hair. “Can you take our horses?”

Large eyes round in surprise and Mitsuhide laughs when the boys mouth doesn’t seem to know how to answer the question. He leans in, looking around them conspiratorially. “Don’t tell anyone else,” he whispers dramatically. “But the lipizzan is the Second Prince’s favorite mount. I’m trusting you with a very important mission in taking care of him.”

“Um.”

“The thoroughbred is mine,” he continues brightly, sitting up straight and patting the flank of his own horse. “She starts easy, but she’s a good horse. They’ve come a long way. Just make sure they don’t drink too much cold water and get them dry. And if you could give them some extra grain that would be nice, too.”

The boy pinks at the cheek when he hands him their reigns. “Um. Sure?”

Mitsuhide brings his hand down on his head, ruffling his hair, and is charmed at the way he ducks his head, pinking more. He remembers how it was at that age. Every new knight that came across his path was a joy.

“We’ll be here for a while,” he informs him cheerily. “Maybe you and I can spare some time in the training yard, providing the Lord can spare you. It’s important business that you do here, after all. Must keep you busy. But I’ll be sure to pass your good deeds on to the Lord of the House.”

“…Great.”

~ ~ ~

In some respect, the out of doors is reflective of the inside of the Seiran manor. In others, it most certainly does not.

The butler leads him through the great doors into the main hall, a cavernous thing which echoes every footstep that clicks against its marbled floors. It has all the refinement of Wistal with its towering paintings documenting Seiran’s heritage and fine sculptures that were certainly more difficult to safely carry over the mountains, but it is as if the forest itself has been brought in from the cold. Bright banners of holly red line the paneled walls and wreaths of evergreens fill the space in between. Trees laden with baubles and fresh candles fill every corner and, ah- even the ceiling has not been spared foliage and décor.

“Lord Seiran,” Zen announces and Mitsuhide’s jaw snaps shut, eyes quickly dragging from the glass dangling from the ceiling like icicles. “This is my retainer, Mitsuhide Roeun.”

Seiran appraises him with a cool once over. “Very good,” he nods. “You’ll have to forgive my daughter for not being here to greet you. She went out riding this morning, but she should be back in time for dinner.”

“I look forward to meeting her, Lord Seiran.”

Zen smiles, appeased. “And Obi?”

Seiran’s face tenses around the eyes. “Unfortunately, he is still taking his meals abed. It will be a while still before he can join us at the main table.”

“Can I see him?” Zen asks gently.

“Of course, Your Highness. Please,” he gestures, “follow me.”

~ ~ ~

They’ve just reached the fourth door on the third floor when Lord Seiran pauses, hand held over the doorknob.

“I must tell you,” he says grimly, his head bowed. “That while my description of Obi’s injuries were brief, they were not understated. He is still very weak.”

Zen takes a deep breath. “I understand.

The door opens from the inside, swinging open to reveal a tiny, but round, woman with fly away gray curls.

“Oh, Your Lordship!” she frets, shifting a bowl filled with bloody cloth to the side. “All of my apologies. I just finished changing his bandages.”

Seiran grimaces. “It’s quite alright.”

His eyes fixate on the bowl as she bobs. It must have been a deep wound to still be seeping enough to leave traces like that.

“Pardon,” she says, slipping past them.

Zen’s eyes follow her, and he looks as pale as his hair. “Is that the infamous Cookie Kiki and Obi speak so highly of?” he asks weakly.

Lord Seiran’s smile is faint but present. “It is. She’s seen three generations of Seirans well fed.” He gives Zen a meaningful look. “With any luck, she’ll see a fourth.”

The blood rushes back to Zen’s face in a flush and he muses his already unruly hair. “Ah…” His eye flash, panicked to Mitsuhide before forcing a grin. “I shouldn’t keep Obi waiting. Come on, Mitsuhide. Let me introduce you to my future messenger.”

“O- oh!” Mitsuhide stutters, dragged through the half opened door. “Of course!”

Mitsuhide thinks he catches a sparkle of humor in Seiran’s eyes as they sweep past him.

~ ~ ~

The first impression of the boy Zen had not stopped talking about since the first day they met is that he is lucky to be alive.

The boy laid out beneath the blankets is all lank, sweaty and sickly pale beneath a skin tone not native to Clariness soil. From the look of him, by all rights he should be unconscious, but he is panting, floundering under the weight of his covers, hands braced against the mattress as he struggles to push himself up to sitting.

“Your-”

“Obi,” Zen crosses the room quickly, placing a staying hand on his shoulder. “Don’t get up.”

Strange, cat like eyes stare up at Zen and he reluctantly lowers himself back down to the pillow. “Your Highness,” he greets, his eyes folding shut in embarrassment.

“None of that,” Zen says, pulling up a chair. “And how many times have I told you to use my name?”

Obi smiles faintly, his lips so pale he can see the blue of his blood. “At least once more, Your Highness.”

Zen laughs, patting a lump at the edge of the bed where the boys hand must be. “You scared me, you know? Getting yourself hurt like that. I had to run clear across the country because I thought ‘If Obi of all people can’t make it to Wistal, he has to be on his deathbed.’”

Obi huffs a laugh. “Not quite.”

Zen’s voice gentles. “I am glad of that.”

Obi ducks his head, eyes peeking back open and a smile bordering on shy tugging at his lips.

“What are you doing, getting yourself involved with the business end of the sword like that?” Zen admonishes. “Don’t you know I need you above ground?”

“I’m fine,” Obi replies. “Just a little scrape, is all.”

“I heard you took the blade to your chest,” Mitsuhide says, drawing both of their attention. “That’s not a small thing.”

Obi opens his eyes wider, wary. “It really is nothing.”

Zen smiles at Obi, and reaches with his free hand to grab Mitsuhide’s forearm. “Obi, this is my man, Mitsuhide. You and Kiki will be working together when you are better and can make it to Wistal.”

“Ah,” Obi nods, clearing his throat. “Hi.”

Mitsuhide grins, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Can we see?”

Obi blinks. “See?”

“Well, I guess you can’t take off your bandages yet,” he concedes. “But it’s tradition to show off your scars!”

The first sign the boy still has blood in him rises to his cheeks. “Um.”

“Here,” Mitsuhide says, tugging his shirt over his head. “I’ll show you mine.”

When clothes clears his vision, Obi is staring at him with wide eyes; Zen at his side, slack jawed.

“This one,” Mitsuhide begins, pointing to an ugly gash along his side, “I took at a tourney. It was a dirty trick, but I still won the bought.”

The light behind the boy’s eye shines. “It looks nasty. What happened to the other guy?”

Mitsuhide grins. “Disqualified after the fact.”

“And that one?”

Mitsuhide scrunches his neck, looking down at his chest. “Ah! This one,” he says, pointing at the rough line that crosses his collarbone, “was in pursuit of a thief. They threw a dagger at me and got a lucky shot in.”

“I am good with throwing daggers,” Obi offers, before backpedaling. “I- I mean-”

“Really? That’s a great skill! I never could get the hang of it myself.” He pulls back on his shirt. “You’ll have to show me when you’re feeling better. Maybe you could teach me something that they couldn’t in Sereg.”

Obi positively glows, and he manages to wink at him. “Only if you can keep up.”

Mitsuhide chokes back a laugh. Zen wasn’t exaggerating about this part of his personality at all.

“Now yours,” he asks with a tilt of the chin. “Where did the sword leave its mark?”

The good humor melts from the boy’s face and Obi grimaces. “You’ll have to help me with the bedding,” he says.

Mitsuhide nods, rolling the covers down just enough to reveal the bands of fresh cloth wound across his torso. Even so recently changed, there are still light pink marks against the white. Mitsuhide’s lips draw into a thin line.

“It goes from here,” Obi reaches up, touching where his clavicle must be and draws a straight line across his front to his ribcage on the opposite side. “To here.”

So it was as he thought. Whatever happened was no mere accident.

But now was not the time to be asking these sorts of questions.

“Wow!” he leans back, impressed. “You’re like a warrior for living through that! Mine aren’t nearly as impressive as yours.”

“Ah,” Obi turns his head, looking out the window. “There’s no way to tell. Might not even leave a mark by the time it heals.”

“Well,” Zen interrupts, looking positively ill. “When it’s healed up, you’ll have to share.”

“Do you have scars, Your Highness?” Obi rolls his head across the pillow to give the Prince a weak grin.

Zen sputters. “Of course not!”

“Now, now,” Obi’s smile grows just a bit, but his breath is short. He’s overdoing it. “Don’t be shy. You should share with the rest of the class.”

Zen makes a frustrated noise. “You’re just as outrageous as ever!”

“I just wanted to make sure you knew I didn’t forget you,” Obi laughs, eyes fluttering as he sinks back against the pillows.

A soft knock at the door pulls their attention.

“Pardon me, Your Highness; Good Sir,” the woman from before nods. Her aprons have changed and are now spotless white. “Dinner is served in the main hall.”

Zen nods. “Rest, Obi,” he says, rising from his chair. “I’ll come and visit again tomorrow.”

Obi licks his lips, eyes opening again with some effort. “Have you-” his eyes dart towards him, unsure. “Have you seen Kiki yet?”

Zen pauses, looks at Mitsuhide and then back down to Obi. “No, not yet,” he says slowly. “Is everything alright?”

“I-” Obi’s face darkens. “Yes. Everything is alright. I just- I just wanted to know if she was okay. I haven’t seen her… since.”

Zen frowns. “I’m sure she just doesn’t want to tire you,” he comforts. “She has to be missing you terribly.”

Mitsuhide has never seen one so young look so old. “I wonder…”

~ ~ ~

“You didn’t tell him,” Mitsuhide says quietly when the Cook has rolled her food cart into Obi’s room and closed the door behind her.

Zen grimaces, cape fluttering as he turns on his heel and leads them back to the stairwell. “It’s not a good time,” he says, glancing around to make sure they’re alone. “I want to give him time to heal. It would be too much of a shock to bring it up now.”

Mitsuhide’s face pulls tight. This isn’t fair to any of them. “He needs some time to think it over before giving you an answer.”

“I know.” Zen runs his hand through his hair. “It’s just- This would have been so much simpler if he hadn’t gotten hurt. They would have had time to get to know each other.”

“But he did get hurt,” Mitsuhide reminds him gently. “And she’s running out of time.”

~ ~ ~

His upbringing in Sereg prepared him little for being in the presence of the fairer sex. What women he knew were servants or bride’s to elder knights; women who possessed a core of steel, but little grace. His time in Wistal had rectified that to an extent, but even there he had not met a Lady like the one here.

Lady Kiki is that of a vision, descending the stairs in waves of gossamer indigo that sets off the golden halo of her hair. Every inch of her is fair and lovely and he can see the years of training that kept her steadily as one of the most sought after brides in the kingdom.

Zen and Lord Seiran’s eyes are wide as saucers. It’s amazing that she has this effect on even those who know her well.

Seiran recovers first. “Kiki,” he says. “Darling. You look stunning.”

She places a delicate hand on her father’s outstretched palm. “I thought I would air out one of my dresses. As appropriate to meet our company.”

Lord Seiran’s expression is inordinately pleased and Mitsuhide glances between her and Zen. Kiki greets the Prince with all the deference and poise his station deserves, as much warmth as proper for a Lady of her standing, and Zen-

Well, Zen is watching her with a very odd expression, indeed.

~ ~ ~

If she were not an Earl’s daughter and not on the short list for potential Princess, Mitsuhide would be hard pressed not to court this woman.

“I have always been interested in the Sereg military training, Lord Rouen,” she says, perched delicately over her soup spoon. “Did you train there since childhood?”

“Yes,” he smiles kindly. “I started as a Page there when I was six, and stayed until a year after I received knighthood.”

“That’s impressive,” she commends. “You were made a knight unusually young, were you not?”

Mitsuhide feels his face heat. “Not at all, Lady,” he says with a shake of his head. “There have certainly been ones that were younger.”

“If there have been,” she says, appraising him with a glance as cool as her fathers. “I certainly have not met them.”

Zen clears his throat delicately. “Are you going to join us in the training yard tomorrow? Show ‘Sir Rouen’ how to properly wield a weapon?”

Kiki flinches, silverware nearly tumbling from her fingers. “Oh,” she recovers quickly, face rearranging itself until it is unreadable as Prince Izana’s. “Um. Yes. Of course. That would be… lovely.”

~ ~ ~

Zen sighs dramatically for the third time that morning.

“Did you not sleep well, Zen?” Mitsuhide asks, lifting a halberd from it’s hold amongst the other weapons lining the wall and appraising it’s weight. “I can speak with the butler if there is some issue with your accommodations.”

“No,” Zen says, but his voice malcontent. “No, it’s just- Everyone here seems to be so happy to see you.”

Mitsuhide swallows a smile. “They’re just being polite,” he replies, taking the pole in both hands and giving it one testing swing. “Me being new here and all.”

Zen doesn’t sound convinced. “Do you really think-?”

“Oh!” Mitsuhide perks when a young man enter the training room. “That is the Squire I told you about! Hello!” He waves enthusiastically.

When he glances over at Zen, his face is the perfect picture of horror.

He wonders why.

“I’m so sorry,” Mitsuhide says, turning back to the young man who is staring at him from across the room. “I never did get your name back in the stables.”

“…you’re an idiot.”

The squire lifts his wrist to his mouth to hide a smile.

~ ~ ~

“I thought we would practice archery,” Lady Kiki says much later after much groveling.

Zen makes a disappointed sound, hand already wrapped around a wooden practice sword. “I missed sparring with you, though.”

Her jaw ticks. “I haven’t been too involved with swordplay these days,” she says dryly. “It’s doesn’t hold my interest.”

“Ah, come on Kiki,” Zen presses. “You love swordplay.”

“My temperament is not good for a blade,” she pushes back.

Mitsuhide’s brows furrow.

Zen looks crestfallen. “You’ve been practicing since you were a little kid, though! Beat all the neighboring Lords sons, remember?”

“He didn’t tell you, did he?” she asks the ground.

The final dot makes it’s connection in his brain. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like they’ve done the same in Zen’s. 

“Did who tell me what?” he asks.

Kiki’s face crumbles. “Of course he didn’t,” she whispers.

“You don’t-”

“Excuse me for just a moment,” she bobs her head, walking swiftly towards the door.

Zen takes a step to follow her and Mitsuhide catches his hand on his shoulder, holding the Prince back.

“I think I know what’s going on,” he says quietly. “Let me.”

~ ~ ~

He finds her on the stairwell facing the low lying sun. This time of year, the light only peaks over the horizon and its stark light casts her in harsh shadows.

“Did you mean to cut him down?”

She freezes, every muscle in her body becoming a taut wire. “It doesn’t matter what I meant. It’s what I did.”

Mitsuhide pauses, staring at her hunched back. “He misses you, you know.”

Kiki raises her head from her hands and glares. “You don’t even know us.”

Mitsuhide hesitates for only a moment. There was nothing more intimidating than risking the ire of a noble Lady, but this time he had no choice in the matter.

“This is true,” he nods, staring out across the snow blanketing the Seiran Estate. “But it doesn’t take more than eyes to see your absence is making him sicker.”

“Obi would forgive anyone.” Her voice is so quiet. “Even those that don’t deserve it.”

His lips twitch. “I don’t think it’s your business to say who he can and cannot forgive.”

“I almost split him in two!” she snaps.

Mitsuhide looks down at her and her eyes are filled with liquid fire.

It doesn’t suit her.

“With those little arms?” he replies, rolling his shoulders. “I doubt it.”

Her voice drops low. “Excuse me?”

“Maim, sure,” Mitsuhide comments, nodding to himself. “But split in two? I saw him myself and I assure you, Lady, he is very much only one man. You should go see for yourself.”

“I already saw the damage to him when I made it,” she snaps, shooting up to standing and descending the stair towards the frozen hedges and dry fountains of the gardens.

“Kiki,” he calls, watching her. “Zen tells me you’re an excellent swordsman. I would hate it if I never had the chance to see it myself.”

Kiki stops dead, fists so tight at her side the knuckles are drained of blood. He would swear she was one of the garden statues if he hadn’t witnessed her moving so fluidly just a moment ago.

“One of the best,” he continues, staring at the staggering weight resting on her shoulders. “You could slay dragons if we could find one.”

She finally lets go of a little of it. Looking over her shoulder, she gives him a long considering look. “Did he now?”

~ ~ ~

Obi seems to be getting healthier every day and as the life returns to him, the less he looks like a boy and the more he looks like a man.

Too bad he doesn’t act it.

“What spell did you cast on him?” Zen huffs when Obi preens for him saying so.

“No spell,” Mitsuhide grins. “Everyone here is just so nice. Makes me want to be nice, too.”

Zen glowers, expression broken by Obi laugh and he leans forward with a leer. “Don’t worry, Your Highness. You’ll always be my Princess.”

Zen rolls his eyes towards the heavens. “Are you ever going to live that down? We were, what? Ten?”

“Nine. I was twelve. And you’re still prettier than me,” he replies, eyes sparkling.

“Ughhhh.”

“Lay back down before you pull your stitches, Obi.”

All the blood drains from Obi’s face at once. His head snaps towards the door, expression completely wiped from him.

“Kiki-”

She smiles faintly, hovering at the threshold. “I want to get out of here before my father finds someone to marry me off to. Can’t do that if you’re not taking care of yourself.”

Obi’s mouth struggles to make a shape. “I was wooing my Princess, though,” he jokes weakly.

The air is so thick it is suffocating.

“Well!” Zen claps his hands together and looks pointedly at Mitsuhide. “The day grows late and we still have to go riding with Lord Seiran, do we not?”

Mitsuhide blinks at him. “We do? I mean, it’s still early-”

“Yes,” Zen says through grit teeth. “But we have a lot of things to discuss, do we not?”

“Oh. Oh! Right,” Mitsuhide nods, abruptly coming to stand. “Lots of things.”

“A great many,” Zen agrees, pushing his chair closer to the bed. “We’ll likely be hours.”

Obi and Kiki haven’t even looked away from each other.

“See you tonight,” Mitsuhide offers as he and Zen slide past her.

She tears her eyes away from the man still staring in stock silence. “See you then, Sir Rouen.”

[jjbaconsumedmysoul]

Dio (Phantom Blood) x Reader: "Just a Bit More"

Erina Pendleton had been your best friend during your childhood years. You two had played dollhouse and tea party together when you were toddlers, and branched into other interests as young adolescents. Of course you began to attract interest from, and become interested in the boys around town. However most of them were unusually crass. You would meet them whilst you walked through the fields of the farm country, and you would try to strike up a polite conversation. However, they were more interested in poking frogs, stomping in the mud, trying to impress you by bullying the rest of their crew. You generally ended up avoiding them. Except one: Jonathan Joestar. Originally, Erina had met Jonathan when he stood up for her against the other boys. You could see the romance blossoming between them. Occasionally you would tag along on their various excursions, and Jonathan was always extremely polite, but you gave them leave to get to know each other. You would be lying if you said you weren’t a bit jealous, however you were happy to see your best friend enjoying the company of such a chivalrous young man.

Unfortunately, this was not to last long. Jonathan’s father unexpectedly took it upon himself to care for another young man of approximately the same age as you three: Dio Brando. He came from a poorer family in London, though his politeness and gentility rivalled even that of Jonathan himself. Though underneath this chivalrous exterior lay a cold heart, even crueller than that of the crude young men who seemed to swarm around him as his followers.

Dio would physically abuse Jonathan, verbally abuse Erina, however, almost never seemed to take notice of you. Jonathan would come to meet you, a smear of blood across his forehead, a bruised cheek. Erina would become increasingly worried, wiping his wounds with a dampened handkerchief. However, you would become enraged.

Eventually, you felt it was time to confront Dio. After recent events involving him going as far as to steal Erina’s first kiss, you felt his behaviour was despicable and unforgivable.

You had observed him before exchanging words or fists with Jonathan, but you had never confronted him with your own words… or fists. He was playing in the field, using a branch to destroy a small anthill as the small insects scurried from the chaos.

“Excuse me, Mr. Brando.” You feigned innocence and politeness, as he slowly turned to look you up and down.

He was a handsome boy, undeniably. However you could see that evil glint in his eyes. He slowly stood, rivalling your height by at least ten centimetres.

“I’d like to introduce myself, my name is (l/n), (y/n) (l/n).” You expected him to look down his nose at you with disgust, but his demeanour remained complimentary.

“Good day, Ms. (l/n). I would introduce myself, but you already seem to know who I am. I do believe I have seen you before. However, I cannot recall where.”

You had expected him to at least recognise you, however, he truly did not know who you were. This enraged you even more, and, as a twelve year old child, you could hardly control your emotions.

“One of my good friends is actually quite close to you.” you paused as his eyebrows raised. “He talks about how all the time. I thought I should actually meet you for myself, and,” You took in a breath through gritted teeth. “Repay you for all you’ve done to him. The corners of his mouth lifted upwards, angering you further.

Without hesitation, you lifted your skirts and swung your leg backwards. He had no chance to react as you kneed him, hard, right in between his legs. He cried out in pain, falling backwards in the grass. You tackled him, throwing a punch at his jaw. Crimson droplets fell from his lip as he caught his breath. You knew you shouldn’t beat him too harshly, however, you dearly wanted to avenge Erina and Jonathan. He slowly, turned his head, to look up at you bewildered, and almost… amazed. You gave him a final slap before stomping away. Years passed. Erina moved away. You began to talk less and less with Jonathan after her disappearance. But, strangely, you grew closer with Dio. You weren’t friends per say. Sometimes you found him following you, silently, as you strode through the fields. Sometimes you talked, though you were generally bitter and trite in your comments. However, whenever you were in the presence of both Jonathan and Dio, they seemed to act more civil with each other. Dio would withhold his malicious comments, and over the years, they almost seemed to become friends.

Within two years, you had moved to another country mansion several miles away. You barely ever thought about them again.

Your nineteenth birthday was approaching. Though you had been reared as a polite young lady, you still gained pleasure from being an active member of society, and chose to spend the summer at one of the small peasant towns adjacent to your mansion, as an assistant as an orphanage.

A cry sounded through the night. You awoke to blazing rooftops, screaming villagers.In a panic, you awoke the children, unaware of where the headmistress was. Gently pulling the two sleeping babies from their cribs, you gave them to the eldest of the orphans.

Frantically, you instructed them to escape out the back door, though still, throughout all the commotion, you could not grasp what exactly the emergency was. It could be a fire or an angry mob.

You heard the crash of hard wood sound from the entrance. As you shooed the last of the children away, you turned to face the large figure of a man. For an instant, his face flickered with unending evil and malice. Then, he softened, his dark eyes seemingly lightened. Then splitting sound. Everything went black.

You awoke to a cold dampness on your brow. You laid on a mattress far more comfortable the cot you had been sleeping on for the last several weeks. The silken sheets shone with a pearlescent glow in the dim stone room. The figure loomed over you, pressing a wet cloth to your forehead. You gasped, remembering the chaos of the night before.

Scanning your body for cuts, burns, or bruises, you noticed your grimy work clothes had been discarded for an elegant night slip. Your skin was clean as if you had been bathed recently, and any injuries were treated and wrapped with crisp white bandages.

Groggily, you gazed at the man before you. He was a handsome man, undeniably. However you could see an evil glint in his eyes. You hesitated, slowly recognising the face.

“Dio?” You whispered hoarsely. His face lit up as he realised you were awake.

“(y/n),” He cooed softly. When you had been younger, he had always referred to you as ‘Ms. (l/n)’, almost as if he had. even scared into showing you formality. However, something was different now. He was in the position of power this time. And yet, he had not abused that power thus far.

You gathered what little strength you had to sit up, but the muscular man tending to you gently, but firmly, laid you back down.

“You need to rest. I tried my best to treat your head injury,”

“Dio,” you began forcefully, “What happened?” He was silent. This was very unlike the Dio you had known all those years ago. He was neither vicious, nor conniving, nor smug and sarcastic. His features softened. He almost seemed… guilty.

“I didn’t know you were here. As soon as I saw you,” he trailed off. “I’m sorry.”

“What happened.” He looked down at the cold stone floor, removing himself from his place at your bedside house to sit in an armchair facing the dim fireplace. You took a chance to observe be the room around you. On the walls hung several ornate tapestries, possibly hundreds of years old. The mantelpiece was sculptured marble. It certainly was not the Joestar mansion. It dawned on you that it may have been the old castle up the hill from your quaint little village.You could have sworn it was occupied by some lord or another. Or maybe something had happened to the lord.

Slowly, Dio told you all that had happened since you had parted with Jonathan and he, leaving in each and every detail, no matter how insignificant. He merely recalled the facts, trying his best to leave his true thoughts and feelings. However, occasionally, his voice would raise. He would grip the edges of the armchair, only to return to this calm and collected state, as merely recounting the history was cathartic. The flame of the hearth reflected in his amber eyes, as you remained, shocked, in your prostrate position. As his tale finished, he slowly stood to return at your side. He slid his calloused fingers to intertwine with yours.

“Please forgive me.”

You couldn’t speak.

“I hate Jonathan Joestar. I always have hated him. I wanted to take my frustration out on the world, to conquer it village by village. But then I saw your face, and… I remembered…” His deep eyes were thoughtful.

“I was such an idiot child back then. That first day I saw you, I must admit, I thought you were quite the beautiful young lady. Nothing special at first. But then, you had the nerve to strike me, to take revenge for your little friend Erina. You enraptured me. No one else had dared to defy my will.” He let out a wry chuckle.

“Erina was such a sweet little child. But no one rivalled your beauty, your intellect, your vivacity.”

“Dio,” tears came to your eyes, “I thought you had changed,”

“My dear, I’m not sure if I’ll ever change,” he paused. “Unless, it would make you love me. You could be with me, I could turn you. You would be there to hold me back when I went to far, to help me strategize–”

“But why are you doing this?”

His expression contorted. “Do you think I know? Why your very appearance prompts me to question my motives? Everything I’ve worked for up to now seems meaningless now that I’ve found you.”

“Dio,” you whispered, thoughts reeling.

“Will you take me?” his voice was pleading.

“Kiss me.”

Without any hesitation, he pounced upon your lips, hungry for your touch. As his one hand held your fingers in his firm grasp, his other came up to rest against your cheek. But the kiss was cut short, as he pulled away. He gazed into your eyes, mesmerised, as he continued to rub his fingers over your soft cheek. You leaned into his palm am first, then, used your own hand to guide it down to rest at your waist. Taking this as an invitation, he drew his large thigh up and over your hips. His lips crashed back onto yours as your free hand rested on the nape of his neck, feeling his soft blond locks run between your fingers. He tasted sweet as you ran your tongue across his surprisingly soft lips, quick parted at your touch. You untangles your fingers from his so you could place your hand on his lower back, forcing him closer. Much to your dismay, he left your lips, however he continued to suck at your neck as you moaned with pleasure. You drew your hands away from their positions as you tugged at the fabric of his coat, ripping it off of his massive shoulders. His fingers played with your hair, massaging your scalp, as you began to unbutton his shirt. As he made his way back to your mouth, you ran your palms down his muscular chest.

You didn’t understand what you were feeling. This insatiable hunger for more from the man you had hated, despised. But you knew you could keep your desires under control. You could keep him under control. After just a bit more…

[wipdfic]

Re: Crystal’s Call Ch. 2

Ok, I swear. This is going to happen. If it kills me I’m going to start posting shit again and actually finish my stories! Good lord, my motivation game is so friggin’ WEAK! Anyway...

Central Operations for PendraCor International was located in the heart of downtown Somerset, a ways south of Camelot University where a good many of PendraCor’s employees had been educated. It was a sprawling place, made largely of glass and steel with buildings connected to buildings, labs, offices, recreation areas, fitness facilities, restaurants, and canteens, all for employees to enjoy. It was practically a small town!

Working at the PendraCor main campus was a dream for many. For others, it was so much a part of their life that the novelty of the place had long lost its luster. The sleek, modern design could feel as cold as the steel it was made from; it’s glass walls a prison keeping the outside world just out of reach.

Arthur stifled a yawn as he did his best to sit up straight in the uncomfortable wooden chair outside his father’s office so as not to wrinkle his uniform shirt or trousers. The thing looked more like a sculpture than a chair and clearly had been chosen for aesthetics rather than for practical uses like sitting. Of course, they were perfect for the look of the office, decorated with a minimalist’s eye from the frameless geometric paintings on the walls to the frosted glass door that separated Uther from his waiting area. Even the young man typing away in the corner preparing for another day of assisting Uther however needed looked like he’d been designed for the space. Arthur sighed recognizing how much the bloody chair was a metaphor for so much of what his father did. Appearances had always been important to Uther, not matter what was sacrificed for the sake of those appearances.

At least he wasn’t alone in his suffering. Leon sat beside him on a matching monstrosity, stoically waiting in true military fashion. Leon had always been better at the obnoxious formalities. He looked like he could sit there forever if necessary, no hint of discomfort in his body language. It was only through years of friendship that Arthur could tell that the other man was just as anxious to be done with this as he was.

These early morning meetings with the General were far from being on Arthur’s list of favorite things. He didn’t mind the hour—after growing up in a house with a man who considered it a lay-in if you were allowed to be up by sun-up instead of well before, early mornings were something that Arthur was quite acquainted with. No, it was the part where he had to meet with his father that made Arthur wish he could be anywhere else.

The operation had run relatively well the night before, with Alvarr and his accomplices delivered safely into the hands of Uther’s Intelligence division. To anyone else, it was easily the Dragons’ biggest success since they were assigned the task of locating Morgana. But his sister was still not home safe, yet. That made the mission a failure, and in the eyes of Uther Pendragon, such a failure was unacceptable.

As commanding officer, any fault that could be found in the execution of the operation should fall to Leon. He called the shots and in turn should take the heat. They both were well aware, however, that things worked a bit differently in Uther’s world. Since the general had pulled Arthur and the other Dragons-in-training from University to continue their education independently and their training in the field, he’d laid some very high expectations on Arthur. The only reason that Uther had not put the team in Arthur’s hands as soon as the hunt for Morgana had begun was because he still had sense enough to know that putting an untested Officer Cadet in command of a trained military unit was a recipe for disaster.

However, from what Arthur could tell, in Uther’s mind, Arthur should have been ready to lead in spite of all the logical reasons that he could not. It was a failing whose blame he seemed to place fully on Arthur, and every time they returned from a mission without Morgana, Arthur could practically see his father’s disappointment with him grow deeper. And didn’t it just burn that despite all the disturbing things that Arthur had learned of his father, he still shrank in the face of the general’s disappointment?

He cleared his throat softly, shifting in his chair and causing it to squeal loudly in the quiet of the morning. It was always odd to see the PendraCor campus so still. Most of the technicians and engineers were still in transit at this hour, leaving a calm that felt full of tension to Arthur. Likely because the only times he was on the premises at this hour were when he had to meet with his father. It was hard to believe that after all that Arthur had accomplished in his life, after the achievements and successes that outshone most anyone else his age, the very thought of his father’s disappointment was enough to make him feel like a child again. That, above all else, was what he hated about these meetings. No matter what he did, it seemed as if there would never be anything good enough to earn his father’s praise. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but one he was able to accept more with each passing day as he found his own path. He could just imagine his father’s face if he knew what Arthur was up to whilst he was not looking.

It was ironic really. In the past months, as the speed of magic’s decay had increased in Albion and the world at large, Uther had become one of the most outspoken supporters of sorcerers and finding ways to keep their magic alive. He was adamant about offering aide to sorcerers by getting his enhancers out to the entire magic community. Of course, this was a ploy of some kind. Uther had made it clear on several occasions his opinion of sorcerers and how they couldn’t be trusted with the power they were born to. The question was what Uther was really up to, and whilst his father wore the mask of friendship to achieve his goals, Arthur lie in wait to discover his plans and ruin them as only Arthur could.

“It’ll be fine,” Leon said, startling Arthur from his thoughts. The other man was so still and quiet, Arthur had practically forgotten that he was there. “We achieved our objective last night. There’s not a lot he can say about this one.”

Arthur’s mouth twitched up in a wry smile. “It’s a lovely dream, Captain, but we both know—”

The door to his father’s office swung open, cutting off the comment. Arthur stood, preparing to enter, but halted when a tall, hawkish looking man exited. His white-blonde hair was slicked back with product, his weathered skin covered in so many tattoos it was difficult to tell what his natural skin tone had once been. There was something very off about the man; something that set Arthur’s skin to crawling and sparked a familiar tugging sensation just behind his navel. He tensed as those hawkish eyes fell on him, watching him shrewdly for a long moment. Arthur had no idea what to make of the man or the look, but he knew instinctively that he didn’t like either. Before he could give a proper response, his father’s voice broke the tension of the moment.

“Arthur, Captain Knightly, you may enter,” he called. Arthur looked away and stepped towards the open door, pausing as Leon entered first and taking the opportunity to direct a final look to the man’s back as he retreated down the hall. When the man turned a corner, Arthur pushed all thoughts of him to the side for later examination. He needed to focus his attention on more pressing matters. Like attempting to appease a father who accepted nothing short of the impossible as success.

He strode into the office and took his place at Leon’s side, standing at attention and waiting to be acknowledged. The General proceeded to ignore them both, reading through something on a small tablet he was holding as he reclined behind the large wooden desk that took up a not insignificant portion of the corner office.

He scrolled through the information slowly, tapping here, typing there, going about his business as if his son and one of his senior officers were not standing before him waiting for his attention. Arthur was just beginning to fight off the urge to fidget when Uther finally spoke.

“There was another attack on one of our major distribution centers last night,” he said, eyes never leaving his tablet. “The third this month. Another fifteen hundred of our Arcana line of products damaged or destroyed by these renegades.” At this he set the tablet down, removed his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose. “Such ungrateful creatures, these sorcerers. Even when given a chance at taking their fading power back, they still choose to slap away the hand of friendship I offer and instead turn to this barbaric method of theft, stealing power from mundane and arcane alike.” He pushed the tablet away as if disgusted.

Arthur maintained a neutral face, even while his insides seethed at this father’s hypocrisy.

“This must be stopped,” Uther said, looking up at last, cutting his eyes towards the two men standing before him. “I will not suffer the citizens of this good country to be terrorized by these vermin. I’ve read through your report, Captain. Thorough as usual. Please share my commendations with the rest of your team for a job well done. There are additional matters that I would like to discuss with my son. He will bring you my report when we have finished. For now, you are dismissed.”

“Sir!” Leon offered a smart salute, taking Uther’s departure from standard procedure in stride, as he always did. Usually, any information a team needed was given directly to their captain, and a more thorough debrief would take place after such a major operation. They both knew why Leon was being dismissed, and Arthur could do nothing but mentally brace himself as best he could as he was left alone to take on the full brunt of his father’s displeasure. Nothing unusual there.

“Now,” Uther began, after a few beats of silence once the door was closed. “I’d like to hear what happened from you, Arthur.”

Arthur recognized that particular note of disapproval in his father’s voice well, but could only guess at its source. All he could do was report as ordered, so he did. He gave a concise but detailed explanation of the operation that had taken place the night before and his role in it, leaving out certain specifics that Uther didn’t need to know about. His father’s hatred of magic and those who were born with it had made itself more apparent in recent months as matters in the magic world drew closer and closer to crisis. With the added personal knowledge that Uther had taken sorcerers in the past against their will and stripped them of their magic, and was likely still doing so, Arthur knew that he had to keep Merlin’s involvement in the weapons they used the strictest of secrets, and Uther could never know that Arthur had helped two sorcerers escape.

“The target was delivered for interrogation at twenty-three thirty last night,” he finished.

“Yes, he was,” Uther agreed. Arthur hated it when his father agreed with him. It always felt like a trap, and usually was. “He was delivered and interrogated last night, along with his colleagues. Would you like to know what we discovered?”

Arthur said nothing, knowing the question required no answer.

“It would seem that Morgana had been there, in that very building, not one day before your team arrived.”

Arthur swallowed back the bile and bitterness that arose with that revelation. So close...

“Less than one day, Arthur,” Uther repeated. “Hours. Perhaps had you been more vigilant, you would have made it there in time to bring her home!”

Arthur took several deep breaths through his nose, eyes carefully focused out the window behind his father’s desk as he fought to control his temper. This was nothing new. It seemed that Uther’s favorite pastime was blaming Morgana’s abduction on Arthur.

“Father,” he began, voice steady but only just. “You know that we have been exhausting every resource for the past six months to find her.”

“Have you? I’m beginning to wonder.”

Arthur bit back his reply to that. How dare his father insinuate that Arthur was not doing everything in his power to find Morgana and get her back? Uther had changed since that day at the school when everything fell apart. While he had never been a particularly fuzzy sort, there had always been faint signs of affection; signs that despite his failings, Uther was a father who loved his children. All vestiges of warmth had seemingly evaporated over the past few months, and the General only seemed to grow colder and harder the longer Morgana’s abduction continued.

“You were the one who exposed her to that boy. Sorcerous filth hiding within your own ranks. Were you not my own son I would wonder if you had been intentionally hiding him from me, but I refuse to believe that you would betray me in such a way.”

Arthur sighed inside and settled in for another one of his father’s rants. This was not the first time that he’d heard these words, and he was sure that it would not be the last. Not until Morgana was found, and Arthur was beginning to wonder if it would be safe to bring her home at all. Much as he hated to think about it, he didn’t know what state Morgana would be in after her captivity, didn’t know how she would be responding to the steady fade of magic in the world, and if something were to happen and Uther were to find out about Morgana’s power...

The knowledge was old, but it still pained Arthur that he didn’t trust his father. He hadn’t for a while. Not since a chance encounter with a twig of a boy who didn’t know how to keep his mouth shut upended his life the year before. Merlin. Despite his father’s harsh words ringing through his ears, a line of warmth traveled from his chest to his groin, settling to pool in that spot low in his belly. There was not a day that went by that Arthur didn’t think of Merlin and wonder where he was, how he was doing. Perhaps most importantly, what he was doing.

Rumors had spread like wildfire through the magical community that the Emrys had been found. The Sorcerers of the world had a leader again after nearly twenty years going without, but their Emrys was proving to have a tendency towards the mysterious. He had yet to announce or show himself formally at all, and that absence was beginning to raise doubts of his ability in some and doubts of his existence in others.

“...reason to believe that the boy is not all he claimed to be.

Arthur tuned in very quickly to his father’s last words, clearly referring to Merlin. He felt his heartrate increase in concern.

“I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors by now,” Uther continued. “The sorcerers seem to believe that they have an Emrys again, one who has been in hiding all these years, but is now making his presence known. I have reason to believe that this Emrys is the one responsible for the attacks on our distribution centers. And there is evidence that suggests the boy could be involved; possibly could himself be the mysterious Emrys who has yet to be seen.”

Arthur had to fight very hard to feign indifference. His thoughts were flooded with the possible outcomes of his father learning Merlin’s secret, none of them good.

“Do you see how insidious the work is of these creatures, Arthur? They are corrupt to the core. The power they possess warping them from within. You thought the boy was a friend, but the whole time you knew him, he was lying to you. I have no doubt that he played a part in your sister’s kidnapping, working through you to get to her. To what end, I won’t even try to imagine, but you will get her back. You will not allow any past feelings of camaraderie to cause you to hesitate, and you will do whatever you must to end him and bring Morgana home. Dismissed.”

The abrupt end to the discussion left Arthur reeling. He gave a smart salute to the General, turned on his heel and exited. As soon as he was out of the office, he took a moment to school his features before turning and continuing down the hall towards the building’s exit, thoughts rushing through his mind as he went. He knew that it was likely that his father would make the connections – he was one of the greatest scientific minds of his time, after all – but that knowledge didn’t prepare him for the fist to the gut of knowing that his father was aware of Merlin’s true identity.

His mind couldn’t help but drift back to that night so many months before; the frantic terror of it and the chaos that followed. His lips tingled at the memory of a warm, wet mouth; a body arching under his touch. Even after all this time, he could still taste Merlin’s pleasure on his tongue. A taste that soured with fear and pain as the memory of the rest of that evening came back to him. So much had happened so quickly, he still had a hard time processing it all. He remembered those few perfect moments in his residence on the couch with Merlin moaning under him, then the pounding of his heart as Merlin cried out in broken-hearted agony, pushing away from him and sprinting madly out the door.

Arthur had called his team together then, knowing somehow that something horrible had happened. He’d been right. They’d faced off with two of the most powerful sorceresses alive and discovered that they were holding Morgana in thrall. She was already lost then, though he hadn’t known it at the time. He’d only known that the women he was facing were dangerous, and that Merlin needed him. That had been the night Arthur learned of Merlin’s status as Emrys, and immediately had colorfully demonstrated why it had been so important for Merlin to have hidden for so long.

The memories always got fuzzy at this point. There were still many holes in his recollection, and he knew he had Merlin and Emrys to thank for that, sending a tiny shiver up his spine. He had only just learned about the legend of Emrys that night as well, but he had first-hand experience with the creature. He clearly remembered staring into the uncaring eyes of that stranger who wore Merlin’s face. He remembered the dispassion with which Emrys assessed a situation and decided upon a course of action; a beautiful and terrifying sight. Terrifying enough to spook Morgause into fleeing and taking Morgana with her.

When it was over, Arthur’s mind had been oddly blank of the past several minutes, leaving him scrambling for figurative footing as he found himself alone in the ruined garden, Gaius and the rest of his Dragons calling for him from the entrance. Uther had come, and Arthur had told him an altered version of the events that had taken place. He’d told his father most of what had happened, but when it came to telling where Merlin had gone, he found that he could only say that the other boy had run away. His magic discovered, Merlin had run. To his knowledge, that was the story that his father believed. So how had he drawn the conclusion that Merlin was the mysterious Emrys they were just starting to hear rumors about?

“You look dimmer than usual there, princess.” A warm body appeared at Arthur’s side, drawing him from his musings. He didn’t need to look to know that it was Gwaine, his usual cavalier smile in place. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“Not here,” Arthur grumbled. “Where are the others?”

“Waiting to hear from their fearless leader in the barracks.”

Arthur snorted, shaking his head. “I’m no more leader of this outfit than you are, and you know it, Gwaine.”

Not that his father saw it that way. The entire team knew that it was only a matter of time before command was taken from Leon and given to Arthur. He was just glad that the team didn’t seem to hold it against him. Probably because they could see that it wasn’t something Arthur was exactly thrilled about himself.

He pushed those thoughts from his mind as he made his way across the PendraCor campus, Gwaine at his side. ‘The Barracks’ was the name that his team had given to the small bungalow they’d been given on campus to store their tools, gather information, and plan attacks when they weren’t at their main base. The fact that Uther was essentially funding and controlling his own small division of the Albion Armed Forces was not exactly legal, but with all that Uther was providing in weapons and consumer technology, it came as no small surprise that no one was making any efforts to stop him. Even when he was brazen enough to host soldiers on his company’s property.

“The conference room has been cleared?”

Gwaine clutched at his chest in his usual melodramatic manner. “I’m crushed. You don’t trust us to follow SOP?”

Arthur knew damn well that Gwaine and the others knew how important it was to sweep any of their meeting locations for bugs. Security sweeps were required anywhere near PendraCor labs, and doubly so for the military units on the campus. But that wasn’t the kind of clearance that Arthur was referring to. The discussion would undoubtedly turn to magic, possibly in ways that his father would not approve of. The last thing that they needed was to be overheard. There was an entirely different kind of sweep that they had access to, again, thanks to the mysterious packages Arthur had been receiving for the past half-year.

Gwaine’s seemingly noncommittal response verified that not only was the room clear of bugs, magical or otherwise, but that there were no hangers-on wandering about. The least pleasant experience for all involved were the times when the Dragons had to share space with other members of the special forces that sometimes visited looking for weapons upgrades of a non-standard variety.

“Good,” Arthur said as he made his way to join the team. “I have news.” He didn’t say much more on the way to the barracks as his mind was occupied with other things. Like how much of this he was going to be sharing with the team as a whole. It was one thing to share information about Merlin with his core group--Gwaine, Lance, Percival, Elyan; the ones that he’d been placed in charge of when they were all still at uni. It was a different story altogether to share that information with the other members of the Dragons.

They were good men, all, but they had been living in a world poisoned by the lies his father had been spreading for years. He wasn’t sure where they stood in terms of magic and those who wielded it. He was sure that they were unaware of what his father was doing with the sorcerers they captured, but he didn’t know how they would react once they found out. Being his father’s son, it was difficult to suss out people’s true feelings about the way things worked at PendraCor because everyone assumed that he shared in his father’s views fully. If only they knew how far from the truth that really was.

“I want to meet with the others.” he told Gwaine as they approached their briefing room. “Our place, after the briefing.”

“On it, your highness.”

“None of that today, Gwaine,” Arthur grumbled, not rising to the bait as he usually would. “I’m in no mood for it.”

“Gods, cheer up Arthur!” the other man laughed as they walked through the door. “Whatever the General told you can’t be all that bad. You look like you’ve just learned one of your bollocks is falling off!”

“That would be a right tragedy,” Owain called out. “He’s only got the one last I checked.”

“Right, and you would know, wouldn’t you?” Percival called back.

“Can’t help I’ve got a proper view in the communals.”

The comment was met with raucous laughter and Arthur felt some of the tension leave his body. He’d spent almost every day of the past six months with these men. They were his brothers in arms, and as close to family as he had ever known. Closer in some cases. There was a lot that Arthur had to worry about, many things that were dangerous and wrong happening around him, and divisive actions that would need to be taken, but for the time being, it was good enough to be amongst friends after the morning he’d just had. He felt a smile pull at his lips as the banter continued around him.

“Clearly not proper enough,” Gwaine returned, happily jumping into the train of conversation, throwing an arm around Arthur’s shoulders. “We all know our Wart has a pair of big, hairy, heavy, dangling--”

“I do plan on starting this briefing some time this century, Gwaine.” Leon drawled, taking his place at the front of the group, thus cutting Gwaine off before he really got going. It was a well-known fact that Gwaine could go on for ages once he hit his stride.

“Just being a good mate, sir,” the other man smiled cheekily, tossing his hair back with a shake of his head.

“Try keeping your sweaty pants off my face towel,” Arthur drawled. “It’d go a sight farther, I’d say.”

Snickers peppered the room as Leon gave a long-suffering sigh before clearing his throat. The room settled as the team shifted their minds to business. Now that Arthur had arrived the briefing could begin.

“Well,” Leon began, “I haven’t much to say since the General only saw fit to have me pass his commendations to the team for an operation well done.” There were a few snorts of laughter in response to this. “Seeing as Arthur was with the General for a while after I left, I can only assume that he’ll be able to give a more thorough overview of our next objective?”

All eyes turned to Arthur, something that was frustratingly growing increasingly more commonplace. It wasn’t that Arthur had a problem with speaking to the team and disseminating information on his father’s behalf, it was the simple fact that it wasn’t really his place. This was information that should have been given to and coming from Leon. But his father would have his way, so Arthur shook off the irritation as usual and offered what information he had.

“The General was not best pleased that we did not come home with Morgana, as usual. But he was in a particularly foul mood because apparently, we were a day short in being there at the same time as she was being held there.” The team remained silent at the news, expressions speaking of the same frustration that Arthur felt. “We’re to redouble our efforts in finding her.” This did spark a few derisive snorts in the room but Arthur ignored them. “The General has a new theory on who has taken Morgana, and it might prove useful in our search.”

This immediately got the team’s full attention, but it was here that Arthur hesitated. He wasn’t entirely sure how he should proceed from this point. Bringing up his father’s theory about the Emrys’ involvement in Morgana’s kidnapping would mean explaining about Merlin, who, to date, had not been mentioned to the rest of the team. Only those who had been there knew of Merlin and his magic and how it had anything to do with Arthur. He examined his thoughts carefully, considering the possible long-term ramifications of this briefing; of anything he might say, anything he might expose. These were intelligent men he was working with. He was certain that once he began, there would be questions and the very real possibility of getting talked into a position where he would be forced to explain more than he was ready to. He couldn’t be sure of the outcome were he to reveal everything to these men, so he did the only thing he could: he stalled.

“What have you heard about these rumors of a new Emrys surfacing within the magical community?” He asked, hoping for inspiration and at least some idea of how the others might respond to Arthur’s connection to and knowledge of the sorcerer’s Emrys.

“Load of bollocks and pixie-dust if you ask me,” Pellinore muttered. The comment was clearly not for the group, but the room was small and everyone was sitting close. It was impossible for the words to go unheard. Arthur smirked on the inside. Inspiration.

“Speak up, soldier,” Arthur barked, without heat. It was an expected method of address and no one in the team even blinked at the sudden change of tone. “You have an opinion, let’s hear it.”

All eyes fell on the team’s technical expert. The position he held made Pellinore one of the most logical thinkers in the group. The moment a problem was presented he was outlining possible solutions, and he was always the first to point out possible flaws in any strategies they devised. A gruff type, he was thin and dark but made of solid muscle. Quiet until you got him going, then all bets were off. It was Pell’s tendency to run off at the mouth that Arthur was counting on now, and he could tell that there was a rant fresh on the other man’s mind, ripe and ready to fall.

“Well it hardly makes sense, does it?” Pellinore started, rolling his shoulders and leaning back in his seat. He had that look about him like what he was saying was obvious and anyone who didn’t get it was clearly too dumb to bother with. “Middle of the biggest magic drought the world has ever seen, and where is he? ‘He’s in hiding,’ they say. ‘He’s protecting himself. Keeping safe from his enemies.’ What bloody fuckin’ enemies!? What’s he got to hide from?”

“You see the shite that lot’s doing to latents and each other and you’re askin’ that?” Owain countered, and Arthur felt himself tense just so. He hadn’t missed the way their sniper had summarily grouped magic users as though all sorcerers were to blame for the acts of a twisted few.

“But that’s just it!” Pellinore was getting into his stride now, sitting forward and looking each of them in the eye as he continued speaking. “The way the sorcerers are talking, this ain’t just any Emrys. This one’s supposed to be more powerful than anything anyone’s seen before. Makes the last Emrys look like a schoolchild and she’d been the strongest sorcerer born in ten generations. If this Emrys is supposed to be so great, then why’s he hiding? If he really had all that power, nothin’d be able to touch him.”

“You’re forgetting,” Arthur was mildly surprised to hear Lance’s steady voice join the discussion. “It’s barely been eighteen years since Emrys Vivianne passed. If there is an Emrys, he’d just be coming into his full potential. The Mark that would seal his power to him would have just barely finished forming. Until that point, he would have been just as vulnerable as any other sorcerer to having his power stolen. Worse, now, it seems as though the thieves are close to finding a way to steal magic from even those whose power is supposed to be Safe.”

“All the more reason that this Emrys should be here for his people. Sorcerers suffering, magic fading, and the best we get is rumors that some all-powerful Emrys is biding his time, waiting for the right moment to make himself known? Bull. Shite.” He accented each word with an emphatic finger jab in Lance’s direction. “All that power, plus an army of Warrior-Priest bodyguards, and he still won’t show his face? If there really were an Emrys, he’d sure as shite be doing a piss poor job of it.”

“No,” he continued, jaw working head shaking as if he were figuring out his thoughts as he spoke. “It’s textbook. A coping mechanism. Magic is fading. The sorcerers‘ bowels are loosening over it. There’s no sign of the Drought ending. People’s friends are vanishing into the night like a bad horror film; days and nights of constant fear. Out of nowhere, someone starts talking about this Emrys. But not just any Emrys. Uh-uh, any old Emrys won’t do. We have to have one who is made of magic.”

Arthur creased his brow hearing this. The rumors were so far sounding uncomfortably close to the truth. He had a sneaking suspicion that Merlin’s Catha bodyguard/agents were responsible for spreading these tales and making the significance of Merlin’s existence known to all.

“Next thing you know he’s actually here to bring magic back; to take us back to the good ole’ days when you couldn’t take a piss without stumblin’ over something mystical. He’s a saviour. Gonna swoop down like some god from a machine and make everyone and everything happy again.”

Heads around the room were nodding as they followed the other man’s logic. Pell was good at this. Even though Arthur knew for a fact that the man was wrong, he couldn’t deny that the argument made a lot of sense.

“This Emrys is the only hope the poor sods have that all of this is ever gonna end, ever gonna get better.” Pellinore made a small gesture with his hands, fingers curled then splayed as though flicking something into the air. “Bollocks and pixie-dust,” he said once more. “I just hope to be somewhere far, far away when the fairytale ends.”

The room fell into silence with those sobering words. Things were already bad. It was almost impossible to imagine what would happen if this last spark of hope were lost for a people already suffering so much.

“But I thought PendraCor’s Arcana line was supposed to be helping with all of this.”

Arthur hid a smile at the timid voice of Owain’s brother Gareth. He wasn’t the youngest among them, but he seemed to be, with his huge brown eyes and quiet disposition. Always hesitant to offer anything to the discussion or speak at all, really. It was hard to believe that he was in any way related to a loudmouth like Owain, or that he had any business working with the Dragons. That is, until you realized that the two brothers shared the record for shot accuracy both long and short range, and that Gareth could hack just about anything that resembled a computer in five minutes or less.

“Wasn’t that the whole point of even developing the magic enhancers?” he asked. “To help sorcerers get their power back? Aren’t they working?”

“Oh they’re working alright,” Gwaine answered, voice lacking any of his usual mirth. “Working a little too well.”

That only caused Gareth’s brow to crease deeply in confusion. Tristan, sitting beside him, offered a wide smile and an explanation:

“The enhancers do work, but they’re like any other piece of technology. They need power to keep going, but the power cells they run on can only last so long. There have been a few instances of sorcerers suffering mild symptoms of withdrawal when the power in the enhancers runs dry.”

“And guess who the only supplier of the power cells happens to be,” Gwaine added, giving Gareth a significant look.

“But the cells are affordable,” Gareth argued. “I’ve heard the General speaking on how he wants to make sure that anyone who needs the enhancers would have access to them.”

“It would still be putting a great deal of trust and dependency in the hands of another,” Tristan pointed out, not unkindly. “There are many sorcerers who don’t trust that PendraCor’s intentions are as altruistic as they seem.”

Tristan didn’t realize how much of an understatement that truly was. Arthur knew that his father was keeping the attacks on their distribution centers quiet, and for good reason. From the reports that Arthur had seen, it was obvious that the attacks were magical in nature, and there would be too much suspicion if the public were to learn that sorcerers were going to such great lengths to keep the devices off the market. Suspicion and concern that Arthur was feeling himself, the more he thought about his father’s behaviours and possible motivations.

Gareth was nodding as he processed what he’d just learned, and Tristan turned his eyes back to Arthur, brows raised. Arthur had to suppress the urge to shift uncomfortably. Friendly as the guy was, Arthur always got the impression that Tristan could see straight through him, an impression that was proven accurate, in this instance, when the man quirked his lips into a ghost of a smile and asked:

“So, what does any of this have to do with your conversation with the General, Arthur?”

Arthur gave a nod of acknowledgement. He’d stalled for time long enough. “The General believes that this rumored Emrys is responsible for Morgana’s disappearance,” he said, ignoring the wave of murmurs that swept the room. Here, he hesitated for just a moment before continuing, but the previous discussion had given him enough information to make a decision. “Furthermore, he has uncovered a possible identity for the Emrys. The information should have been transferred to your tablets by now.”

Arthur reached into his thigh pocket and pulled out the small tablet they’d each been assigned for the collection and distribution of mission data. He typed in his personal security code to unlock the device. As he suspected, there was a “New File” notification waiting for him on the screen. He tapped it to open the file, heart clenching as an achingly familiar face appeared. Big ears, goofy grin, wild dark hair, and eyes that were blue like crystal, piercing even when full of joy and laughter. He looked nothing at all like a dangerous criminal, and Arthur had to wonder who was responsible for selecting that particular image for the file.

“Gentlemen,” he announced, flipping the tablet so that the image was facing the rest of his team. “Allow me to present our target: one Merlin Ambrose.”

[immortalpramheda]

Game of Thrones ‘Dragonstone’

Game of Thrones is finally back! It’s been over a year since Season 6 ended which has been hard. But it gave me time to rewatch the show and finish reading the books. So I was very ready. And I was not disappointed. This was a fantastic start to the season! I’m so happy this show is back!

It’s not very often that there is a scene before the opening credits, but usually something big happens when there is. And this episode definitely started out with a bang! Walder Frey was holding a feast for his house. But it was actually Arya, who was wearing his face. She gave them his finest wine and gives a toast to the Red Wedding. And then she poisons them all. Except for the women, because they played no part in the massacre. Just like that, Arya wiped out all of the Frey’s! Seeing her walk through all the bodies with a smile on her face was on the most satisfying things I’ve ever seen on this show.

“Tell them the North remembers. Tell them Winter came for House Frey. ”

Walder Frey didn’t kill all the Stark’s. He didn’t kill the most dangerous ones. And he finally got what he deserved. Not only did Arya feed him his sons in a pie and slit his throat the same way her mother was killed, but now she’s wiped out his entire house and legacy. Fuck yes Arya!

I’ll admit that watching Arya train to become a Faceless Man for two whole seasons was not my favourite thing, but this definitely made up for it!! She’s become a little assassin and I absolutely love it!

As soon as I heard the singing, I knew that was Ed Sheeran. It was so weird to see him on GoT, but I don’t think it felt too much out of place. I did actually like it! As someone who has read the books, it was cool to see a song is from the books come to life on the show.

It’s not very often that there is a happy feel good moment like this. Arya had come across a group of soldiers who were not savages or out to kill anyone. They were just Lannister soldiers who were doing what they were ordered to do and keep the peace in the Riverlands after the massacre at the Twins. For a moment, Arya got to sit around a fire and have a conversation that that was lighthearted. She felt safe for a moment. And she even told them her plans to kill Cersei but they all thought she was joking. Arya joking about murdering someone? Those soldiers have no idea.

The White Walkers are well and truly coming. The army of the dead is huge and they even have giants! I swear, if Hodor is a wight I’m done. That would be too far. But seriously, the army of the dead are a huge threat. And not many people are actively doing anything about it.

Bran and Meera made it back to the Wall. Dolores Edd is still the Lord Commander. Meera is such an underrated character. She dragged Bran all the way back. What a hero.

Over in Winterfell, there is tension brewing between Jon and Sansa. I know they have different views, but I didn’t think it would be too serious. There obviously is a bit of a power struggle. Sansa thinks the houses that betrayed them and fought for the Bolton’s deserve to be punished. But Jon wants to forgive them. I agree with Jon, they need all the people they can get on their side. No point punishing children for what their parents did at this point. They do have different views, which is fine. Sansa has learnt a lot from Littlefinger, and even from Cersei. And she’s right that Ned and Robb made stupid decisions and lost their heads for it. She doesn’t want that to happen to Jon. I do hope they learnt to work together. They have both had very different experiences and can help each other be better leaders.

He also announces that women and young girls should start training to fight too. He’s right, it’s not right to have only half the population fighting in the war. This sexist world is now becoming more equal and I love it. And Lyanna Mormont is a legend!

"I don't plan on knitting by the fire while men fight for me.”

She showed them all up. What a tough little leader. She knows how to stand her ground. She doesn't let anyone talk over her on undermine her. She is so young but she knows whats up. She’s willing to fight for her house. To fight for whats right.

Cersei sends a letter threatening Jon to bend the knee to her. But he's not phased, they have bigger things to worry about. I get that Sansa knows Cersei, and knows that her threats are real, but the White Walkers are a much bigger priority. When they come, all of Cersei's petty little threats won’t mean anything.

Brienne teaching Podrick how to fight and then Tormund coming over and flirting with her was everything!

Cersei’s map room is beautiful! I want one! Anyway, there is tension between Jaime and Cersei too. I mean, she did blow up the Sept and kill hundreds of people, and also caused their son to commit suicide. So I understand why Jaime is angry. They literally have no allies. Everyone has abandoned them. They have enemies surrounding them. Biggest threat of them all being Daenerys, who has their brother Tyrion as her Hand. And Cersei and Jaime are the last Lannister’s so really who are they fighting for?

Cersei invited Euron Greyjoy for a possible alliance. They are both disgraceful human beings, so they should get along right? But she declines his marriage proposal. She seemed repulsed by him. I mean, he did say in front of Jaime that he has two good hands. Damn.

Then we come to Sam. We get this horrible montage of him cleaning shit, gagging and then serving food. Seriously, why?? I can handle the blood and violence and everything, but this was too much. Why are you trying to make me throw up?

Anyway, Sam is basically a servant I guess. Because he’s knew to Citadel and has to work his way up I suppose. He wants to go into the Restricted Section of the Library. And so he steals Professor Slughorn’s keys so he can enter it. That’s the only way to describe that scene.

Gilly is learning to read, and Little Sam is still adorable! Sam reads through the books he borrowed and learns that there is tons of Dragonglass buried under Dragonstone. This is huge! I knew Sam would be an important part of the story.

Oh, and then he comes across an arm with a horrible amount of greyscale. Jorah! He’s come to the Citadel for help. I hope he can get better, because Dany needs him by her side.

The Hound is still travelling with the Brotherhood. They come across an abandoned house and the Hound is hesitant to go in. You know why? It’s the same house that he came across with Arya a few seasons ago. This father and young daughter lived there. He stole all their money. That’s probably the reason why they died. They starved to death.

After almost dying and trying to become a better person, he feels guilt. The Hound feeling emotions? That’s new. He buries their bodies and apologises to them. I bet he was thinking of Arya in that moment. About all the good times they had on their road trip. I need to see them reunite!

And then Beric somehow convinces him to look into the flames. We all know he’s terrified of fire after what his brother did to his face, but he gets over that fear for a moment. He sees a vision of the Wall and the White Walkers. He’s starting to believe in all of that stuff. That was a huge moment for him.

And finally, Dany arrives home! It’s been 6 seasons coming, and finally she’s made it home to the place she is going to conquer! I LOVED this whole scene. It didn’t need any dialogue. Just seeing Dany arrive on Dragonstone, the place where she was born, for the first time since she was a baby made me very emotional. She touches the sand, her home soil. She’s in the place where her ancestors are from. There are dragon sculptures everywhere and Dany just feels like she belongs there.

She has her dragons and her crew. She walks slowly through the castle and just takes everything in. The throne is beautiful and is perfect for her. The map table is exactly what she needs to take the Iron Throne. She is home. Finally, after all this time she’s made it.

“Shall we begin?”

Great start to the season! We got some incredible scenes. I am so glad this show is back, but it really is coming to the pointy end. Last season was epic beyond words and I’m hoping that this season will be even better. THE NORTH REMEMBERS!!