#medieval tents for sale

[sangeetainternational]

Humans have been constantly experimenting with movable house like structures which are often defined with various terms such as tents, canopy, ceiling, and awning. Some of the types of tent material failed to satisfy the demand mostly because they were not sturdy and they required a large number of men to erect them.

[sgiandubh]

Logo wars: the unicorn vs. the griffin

Ever since August, the battle between the Warchief and the Sassenach has been lurking somewhere, on the outskirts of my radar. While some still deny there is anything going wrong between S and McTavish, I have strong reservations it's all about sunshine, lollipops and roses in that department. And I couldn't help but wonder if the key to the problem was not to be found in the very disingenuous way Graham chose to build the marketing strategy of his products and to update his own personal brand, in the process.

So I took a deep dive into socials and this is something that is going to take some more time to complete. If this kind of content is not your jam or you disagree with my premises, it's totally fine with me, but maybe you should skip these posts. And since we have to start somewhere, let's start with their companies' logos: they have a lot of things to tell us.

Soon after the Remarkable Week-end, S finally unveiled a business project he'd been alluding to for quite a while (if anything is wrong in here, kindly correct me in comments). This was the logo and the slogan they are still using until today:

The Sassenach Unique Spirits. Spirit of Home.

As compared with what McTavish released this summer:

McTavish Spirits. A Scotsman's Dream of America.

First logo: clean, sober lines. A Unicorn, whose contours seem more aptly designed for a sports car or a new, innovative line of home equipment (think rather audio systems, not refrigerators). Or even an elegant, country life oriented clothing line, with all the paraphernalia (gloves, scarves, etc - but we already knew about the First Love tartan, then, so it's still a possibility).

Unique spirits, with all my deep affection and due respect for a real effort, is not the best they could have come up with. You see, that's hardly a sales argument or an efficient pitch. Just like any dog owner on this planet would tell you that Bebe or Fido or Snoopy are 'the best dogs ever', a new entrepreneur would confidently tell you his booze is 'unique'. The effort S put into patiently educating his passion for whisky and creating something personal out of it deserved better. Not the completely expected and almost meaningless 'unique' - this is very lazy copywriting, I think (not a copywriter, just an exacting client, here). It spells low budget where we needed something irresistible.

Onwards to the Unicorn. Of course, it's all about Scotland - it's whisky, for Christ's sake. But, it's also about this:

This is the sixth panel of one of the most moving, exquisite things that ever graced this planet: The Lady and the Unicorn cycle of Flemish tapestries, now making the pride and joy of the Cluny National Museum of the Middle Ages, in Paris. A place I know well and was a very frequent visitor of, when I was living just about three blocks away from it. Its story has to do with the Five Senses and this is the last panel, featuring a mysterious message on that lavish tent's roof:

A mon seul Désir. It's French for: "To my sole desire". Unique, indeed.

Let's let things flow a bit in free association mode (I know Puffy did it on her blog with the Barbour project, but she didn't invent it and she certainly has no copyright - so yeah, waiting for a couple more idiots to block right after posting this):

Unicorn... Scotland... legend... purity...even Mary Queen of Scots asked for a unicorn horn to make sure the water was not poisoned, while in prison... untamed...chivalry.... woman...only a woman can tame and lure a unicorn... Medieval...Cluny... desire... sole desire... soul desire (heh)...unique...passion.... statement... labor of love... personal testimony...first love and we wrap it up nicely with a smile ('she is the original Sassenach', ahem).

That was the first set of (genuine) talking points he went with. Now, we deal with a contorted & painful explanation: Scotland is an inclusive nation and land, I am the Sassenach, etc. What do our unsuspecting American friends know, after all? But to a #silly European, it makes no sense: yes, Scotland is a very inclusive, open and even avantgarde society for many things, but this is whisky and should spell tradition, not innovation. It should spell mystery and something that comes (at great costs) from a faraway, fabled land of mists and druids and lochs. Not from a blaring EDI crossroads, where people are gathered to protest against global warming. Then how about that unnecessary 'I am the Sassenach' - no, Sir, you aren't, plus I hope you know how we, shippers immediately interpret it ('blood of my blood and bone of my bone' - 😁).

But your main problem with the name and the brand that goes along with is not even this. The problem is that a unicorn is always female. You have a feminine brand for a masculine product.

So instead of a haphazard explanation which smells of improv, why not just take the second, abstract, meaning of unicorn and just say cheekily something along those loose lines, for example:

'Well, we are a new, innovative enterprise which aspires to be a smaller unicorn in the world of spirits. Maybe we'll never make it to 1 billion dollars, but it's the bravery and the innovative spirit that we bring with us from Scotland, our home (cue in waxing lyrical and fill in the blanks with all the tropes you can think of). So we're the new kid on the block, the outsider, the underdog set to conquer new lands and new opportunities, exactly like Jamie Fraser, the character I play in OL does (cue in credible retconning of your initial strategy: you need a new client base to generate sales volume & secure or even multiply returning sales and those people DGAF about OL).'

Granted, you'll totally throw under the bus the whole initial plan, but hey - it's an elegant way out of a conundrum.

Second logo, quite a different situation. It's busy, busy, busy with the kind of motifs that make one immediately think of an engraved Colt grip. Something like this, perhaps, only stylized:

Instead of the Unicorn, we have a double beast: a Lion and an Eagle. In Ancient Greece, this mythical combo was called a  γρύψ (gryps), which later gave 'griffin' in English. It is a hybrid, but then so is bourbon. The Lion is a symbol for the European roots of the brand and the Eagle, well - easy, America, pointing West and meaning new perspectives, freedom, etc. But the brand is McTavish Spirits, in a very personal approach: this is my bourbon (isn't it ironic, for a white label project?) and this is my story and these are my (a Scotsman's) dreams of America. Transparent. Legible. I mean business - this is not a labor of love.

Free association again:

The Lion self... the Older, Wiser Guy... the Leader... the Statesman... Dougal MacKenzie...the (hello) Warchief...but this is America... so I am also the Lonely Gunman... I am exploring a New Frontier... bringing my past with me (all the classy, gentleman-like persona)... telling my personal story, too, in the process... from my Scottish roots to making it in Hollywood... so I am also The Storyteller (unlike that young nincompoop, who just goes zorbing and chases barmaids) ... so, maybe, just maybe if you listen to my stories, you will forget I put zero effort into trying samples and touring the whole land looking for perfect balance, and just went for the easy solution and a quick buck... buy my booze and I'll tell you more... I am reliable and tried and tested and still young enough and strong enough and determined enough (the Eagle) to have a new wife and new plans.

Plus: a masculine brand for a masculine product. I won't keep scores for a while, but pfff... point taken.

This is not only logo conception copycat and shameless, reactive competition, on very thin ice and on a (at this point in time, at least) very slim portion of the market. This is, mark me, war between two people who still have some gigs together.

We'll see next time who shows up at their parallel events and buys their booze and also how they choose to engage (or not) with these people. I think I begin to understand what McTavish's brand strategy is, but I need to have a second, closer look. More on this, tomorrow.

[fastwiemagie]

One-day-trip to the middle ages aka "let's go to ren faire"

Red Riding hood with a basket full of goods for grandma or more like "follow me behind this tent, I've got mead if you got coins"?

On July 8th I've went to ren faire - though that's not what we call it locally obviously. It's called "Mittelalterfest" in German, which translates to "medieval party". This event took place at the "Heeresgeschichtliches Museum" (museum of the history of warfare, Heer = army) and I really liked their slogan "Kriege gehören ins Museum" (=war belongs into museums). Wars should be a thing of the past!!

I've had a wonderful day with a couple of friends!! (Only sharing one selfie with my dear friend Duplica who's very comfortable with her likeness being shared!) I was pleasantly surprised at gaining free entry for dressing up for the event! Hurray for my thrifted dirndl-esque dress!! I've pinned the sides up with safety pins to give me more air flow and wore my pretty green hip bag for valuables & a string backpack for additional stuff! The dress is a linen & cotton blend, so it's very comfy to wear! Plus it has pockets and I thrifted it (with a broken zipper) for a super mark-down of 1€ during a special sales event. And I didn't even know until I went to pay and was flabbergasted at being only asked for one buck! Yay!

I've forgot to take better pictures of it, but I made a beautiful hair-crown with two overlapping braids and wore a felt leaf pinned to the back. (Felt leaf by my dear friend @wuselwesen .) That hair-do read semi-medieval enough for me, plus it's way cooler to wear my hair up in summer of course!

We've had great food & beverages (both alcoholic and non-alcoholic - stay hydrated in the heat folks!!). It was about 30°C on that day, so we kept it very cozy, lots of breaks and sitting around and chatting with our friends. But we also checked out all the vendours of course and chatted with them and admired their pretty wares! I was SOOOO tempted by all the gorgeous clothes in natural fibers. Alas, my coin purse (=budget) said no buuuuut I bought myself a beautiful basket bag, as an early birthday present to myself. It's so lovely, with a long woven fabric strap to carry the basket. I've also bought cherry mead at one vendour stall and my friend joked that "I'm almost like Red Riding Hood now, I only would need some cake for grandma!". But alas, I even had some pyramid cake with me (is Baumkuchen really called pyramid cake? Dictionary says so... it's dough wrapped around a piece of wood (hence "Baum" = tree (cake)) and rotated over a fire. I like it classic with sugar and cinnamon.

I've also found 5€ on the ground and invested it into an arrow head necklace immediately. What comes around, goes around!!

The day was SO beautiful, I was so emotional & happy leaving at night, I had to ask my friend if I could hug her because my happiness had to go somewhere and she said yes of course. Ahhh happy memories!!

Tagging @worth-beyond-a-number-scale because she's asked me to be tagged in posts where I'm wearing traditional/dirndl dress. This is a very casual outfit, it would be traditional to wear it with a blouse underneath & an apron. But it was way too hot for any of that last weekend!!

[id] Pic 1 & Pic 2:

both close-up pictures taken on public transport. Pic 1 is going to the renfaire, Pic 2 is the travel back home. Pic 1 shows the face & upper body of a young fat white woman with glasses and brown hair in a braided up-do. She's wearing a pentagram necklace and black earbuds. As well as a linen/cotton blend dress with a black bodice with floral machine embroidery on it.

Pic 2 has cut off the face of the young fat white woman, but you see the gorgeous woven basket she bought at renfaire next to her on a seat. More of the floral machine embroidery on the dresses bodice is also visible, as well as the green lacing on the front and the green skirt part. She's also wearing a green hip bag and has another black-and-floral bag with her (it's a backpack). Another necklace has appeared also: a golden arrow head on a black string! Ren faire purchase spotted??

Pic 3 shows some naturally-dyed yarn draped aesthetically on a construct of wooden sticks with a medieval-esque banner in the middle. The colours are very pleasing to look at and surprisingly colourful for natural dyeing!

Pic 4: The young white fat woman with glasses and brown hair (worn in a braided hair-crown on this day) is standing in front of some vendour stalls, with some faire goers in the background. She's smiling at the onlooker. You can see that the skirt part of her dress has been pinned up, for the aesthetic and extra air flow. Keen-eyed watchers spot a black bracelet on her left arm and she's also wearing black leather sandals.

Pic 5: This one is almost identical with pic 4, the young white fat woman with glasses and brown hair in her renfaire outfit, but she's smiling even more in this picture (and the people in the background have also changed).

Pic 6 & 7 are close-ups again.

Pic 6 shows the top part of the woven basket that has been purchased at the ren faire, with a pentagram necklace, an arrowhead necklace and a braided black bracelet lying on top of it. The close-ups shows all the accessories in detail!

Pic 7 is a selfie of the young white fat woman with glasses and brown hair together with another young white thin woman with brown hair, both looking into the camera, smiling and showing off the bottles of mead they just bought from a vendour.

Pic 8 is a full body shot again, with the young white fat woman with glasses and brown hair standing in front (or rather: behind) a yellow-and-turquoise striped tent (aka vendour stall). You can also see a more muted yellow-and red ochre coloured tent in the background as well as a dirty white tent. The woman is excitingly showing off her newly purchased basket bag, which she's stored her bottle of mead in. Hurray! She's looking very happy with her day at ren faire and her purchases.[/id]

[reitziluz]

tragically i couldn't get a picture of it (and couldn't buy it) but i ran into the most ridiculous skelly friend today.

we were hitting the arts and crafts market on the other side of a river from the medieval fair we were attending. a miscellaneous collector's items tent was there, one that always has a lot of funky vintage or even antique prints for sale for reasonable prices. i have bought multiple cool medical illustrations of injuries from there before.

at first, it seems to be a bust. just a lot of maps and illustrations of funky microscopic buddies, which while interesting, were a bit plain.

then, a bin full of really funky and colorful prints of animals and their environments. i actually ended up purchasing one of them, a really striking undersea one. my friend bought a hand-painted illustration from 1838 of the skrunkliest capybara in existence, fully looking like it had been rudely awakened from a nap and beyond disgruntled.

then. the last promising bin. the print on top is a spread out asshole. under it, more genitals interspersed with burn injuries. i pull up a print, the price tag on its plastic envelope catching my eye because it's twice as much as everything else in the bin.

it's a profile view of a skull, cut off on top and in the back, showing a good amount of the spine. there's soft tissue depicted too, but the skull is in plain view

and it has a nose.

the title in french (that i first misread as "lol factory", which set us off again) clarifies that it's depicting the olfactory system. it's actually really neat, constructed with layers that you can remove and add back in. of course the nose cartilage is included.

but *holy shit*

[thejoyofseax]

A brief account of Pennsic 50

TLDR: Fantastic event, pity about the climate zone it's in.

Let me get that negative bit out of the way: I don't handle heat well, and Pennsic has absolutely punishing heat and humidity. I was basically unable to do anything useful between 13:00 and 17:30 on any given day (and right through the evening in the lower-lying lake-adjacent parts of the site). I tried to tough it out, but that didn't work, and I ended up sitting in the air-conditioned internet café for many of those hours through much of War Week. I didn't as much as see the battlefield, let alone the opening ceremonies, field battle, etc, because I would have just passed out on the field. As it was, I pretty much passed out on the day we were packing down because I was lifting and moving stuff in the heat, and couldn't go sit in the aircon. It was quite frustrating, and there was absolutely nothing that could be done about it.

So what I did do was go to classes in the mornings, do shopping at hours when I was able, and either hang out at our own camp, or go to various parties in the evenings.

The array of classes was downright incredible. There was no topic, as far as I could see, that was not touched upon at least. I went to about eight or ten in total, plus the sizable Arts & Sciences display. All of the classes I went to were food-related, and one of them, given by Magister Galefridus Peregrinus, jumped one of my longer-term projects forward by, I estimate, about two and a half years (it was about non-baking use of Fertile Crescent grains in Medieval Europe, and is relevant to my pre-Norman Irish Cooking stuff). I have good notes from many of the rest, too, and a raft of things to look up.

The shopping was also unbelievable. 200 stalls or so, and while some of them were more LARP or gamer-oriented, most were relevant. for myself, I got a basket-backpack of a kind I've been looking for for years, a pair of turnshoes, two small cast-iron pans, a new tooled leather belt, about six different kinds of smoked salt, various bits of Pelican bling, many metres of Drachenwald trim, and (appropriately) a very nice seax as a kitchen knife. Probably a lot of other stuff, too - I haven't unpacked yet - but those are the things that come to mind. I also bought a veritable pile of stuff for other people, and have taken note of a host of merchants for online buying later. There were some interesting gaps in the market, too - I would have thought that pre-strapped or bossed shields would be commonly available, and saw essentially none, and that there would be more period-ish cookware and camp equipment for sale (there was some, but not very much).

Speaking of cookware, it was notable how few camps had any period cooking arrangements. I saw some very impressive modern camp kitchen setups (the East Kingdom State Kitchen was essentially equivalent to the best indoor kitchens I've cooked in), but I saw precisely two period-ish kitchens, out of hundreds of camps (although I didn't see them all; that was just not possible). Given there were more than 11,000 people there, it was essentially not a thing that was done.

Some of the camps and buildings were terrifyingly fine, though. The Pleasure Pavilions were a set of absolutely beautiful tents, and Casa Bardicci is an actual miracle of construction. There were a varierty of other buildings, as well as gatehouses, ships, and so forth.

The social side of things is a slower burn. Putting faces to names, and meeting many of Nessa's fighting family was excellent, and there've been a number of conversations started that I think will go on for years (and a plot to try out various porridges on people with Baron Cormacc Mac Gilla Brigde). I also caught up with a number of people I haven't seen in years, and decades in some cases. I was particularly pleased to get to spend time properly with Duchess Qamar al-Nisa and Lady Alina Rose, who are two of my favourite people.

I expect I'll have some more thinking on various aspects of the event in time, and how some of the things there can be transferred to events here. I'd like to particularly note that climate aside, the site is fantastic, in terms of both geography and facilities. It also had fireflies and crickets, which made up for a lot.

[elisedonut]

18 and 35 for the ask game please!

How i would combine a Circus AU + Bathtub Fic

thank you for participating with me!!

OK!

So!

First thought was Weasley family circus au where the family itself is a travelling cirrus i have no idea if that's a thing i know most media I've seen is very found family vibes with characters coming into a new family. (or you know abusive situations but I'm electing to ignore those so yes

Weasley Family Circus

maybe it's still a magical world maybe its not

if it is magic somehow then i imagine it be a situation where they had to run during the first war instead of hunkering down and hiding

eventually figuring out they could make money by putting on shows and it spiraling a bit

but that depends a lot on how you think the statue of secrecy works

i think you could hand wave it by making it something that only matters when using wands which I've seen a few times

so like if they enchant say a balance bar to not have to worry so much about not falling off it since they didn't do that in front of the audience it doesn't count

or

the "if the audience doesn't realize its like legit magic then it doesn't trigger whatever they use to tell its been broken because its just a non issue" method which is also very fun imo though cant say I've seen it very often

so pretty much this is all set up for someone who also has magic

i don't know who because i would want it to be someone who doesn't know Percy but it needs to be some bad at keep their mouth shut i think

but someone visiting said circus and getting absolutely drenched but like not water

(what is it? Fred says you don't want the answer)

because of something the twins invented because i just think they would love being in the circus especially because i could see them getting more like support? from Molly specifically since its directly helpful to their act and such

but whatever it is. its obviously not muggle so the person outright asks about it and loudly which obviously they are brushed off but Percy still brings them to the family tent with the intention to get them a towel and maybe a change of clothes

now side note

the family tent has all sorts of muggle charms on it to make it look like well normal so it just looks like a few fairly large tents (it originally looked like a single one but as the kids got older Molly

(and by Molly i really mean Bill, she thinks it was her idea though)

started to notice people talking about them squishing the kids in such a small place and chose to adjust to wards to look like multiple

point is obviously that only effects Muggles so to magic people it looks like one large tent on the outside and obviously looks expansive on the inside pretty much the burrow but its a tent

also because the other prompt is bathtub fic I'm choosing to believe in this au their tub is actually pretty large and kinda nice because the tent was originally a fancy camping tent with a large one meant for relaxing that Arthur found on sale for cheap when Percy was 13

ok back on topic

Percy notices immediately that the person is also magic sense they look far too interested in what should be nothing and ends up letting them use the bath and then you get that fun scene where they get out and are really cute

and Percy gets a crush and penpal for awhile before he leaves the family behind after a few years because he wants to actually settle down somewhere and stuff still leads to a fight and a strained relationship because of the closer nature of the siblings (and because unlike og in this world Percy's the first to leave)

but uh yeah

a smaller secondary concept that crossed my mind was stealing the water transportation from kyo kara maoh but instead of the alternate word being a typical medieval-ish fantasy world its instead still a fantasy world but like Percy taking a bath in the prefects bathroom and wakes up in a circus that is also a kingdom

and now he has alternate vers of a bunch of people he knows wanting his attention due to some vague prophecy nonsense about the one who marries the visitor will prosper but like make it silly

on top of also having to solve different problems and always having a chance of being sent back to his world every time he takes a bath

in other words Percy Weasley gets to play an Otome game but in real life

[providencepeakrp]

Join us at the Artisans’ Market and explore the fabulous vendors on offer!

The Round Table Tavern

Need a break between quests? Say no more! Whether you’re in want of a hearty lunch or a large flagon of mead, The Round Table has you covered. The taven will be set up at the heart of the faire, where you can take part in a selection of drinks tastings and contests to test your constitution as a knight. They also offer a variety of nonalcoholic treats for those who prefer to remember their visit, such as pumpkin juice, hot apple cider, cocoa and tea.

Fantastical Fineries

Whether you want to get dressed up but you didn’t have anything at home or you’re simply looking to add to your neverending wardrobe, Fantastical Fineries is the stall for you! Throughout the faire they will be offering a wide range of clothing, costumes and accessories, available to rent or buy. 

Tinker’s Anvil

A good knight is nothing without their gear. At Tinker’s Anvil you can find a stunning collection of chainmail, armour, and hand-forged weapons for sale, along with demonstrations by local blacksmiths as they craft their work right before your very eyes! (Please bear in mind that weapons sold are intended purely for decorative use. Use of these swords for LARPing or re-enactments may end poorly). 

The Apothecary

Makers of fine potions, mystical brews, and enchanting charms to sooth the soul! The Apothecary boasts a wide range of locally crafted perfumes, handmade soaps, fragrant candles, and bath products. 

Silver Lining

Looking for that perfect glittering accessory to go with your costume? Silver Lining’s got you covered! Stepping back in time with a limited line of pewter jewelery produced for the faire and their usual array of sparkling jewels, there’s no better place to hunt down a hoard of treasure.

The Glass Gargoyle

Offering demonstrations every hour, The Glass Gargoyle is the finest glass blower in the west. Here you can learn about the age old art of glassmaking and discover an extraordinary collection of handblown figurines, vases, and ornaments. 

Faire Fortunes

Searching for your destiny? Swing by the fortune teller’s tent to get a glimpse of what fate has in store for you. Offering readings through palmistry, crystal ball gazing, and tarot cards, your path ahead will never be clearer. 

Sustenance!

Food truck vendors will be on standby all week for attendees to enjoy. Alongside the usual festival suspects, there will be a host of vegetarian and vegan options, as well as medieval themed delicacies to try such as giant turkey legs, scotch eggs, and steaks on a stick.

[sticksstonesbonespoems]

Spring in Paris. The day began at 4:14 a.m. I am jazzed, pumped, but my body is reminding me that it has just crossed several time zones. There is a marche today - Le Marche aux Puces de Vanves. It is only today. In France it is a flea market (puces means fleas). In England it is a boot sale. There are several city blocks delineated by white lines where individuals can set up tables and tents. They back vans right up in the parking space in front to unload their wares. It is a holiday in France today so not all of the stalls are occupied.

The drive/desire to poke around in old things to find treasures is not limited to any one culture or country. It is also not inherited by everyone, but, boy do I have it in spades.

The marche was so much happiness! There were elderly French men with cheeky grins and jokes. No, monsieur, my abominable French is not “very good.” But by gum, I’m going to buy that salt glazed pottery from you, you bet! I found a delightful sewn doll with a beautiful little face who looked like a medieval troubadour. My children stared at me in dismay as if to say, “why did you buy that?” I don’t know, my child , sometimes the spirit of the junker moves in mysterious ways. I have so, so many things that bring me joy. Eat your heart out Marie Kondo.

Ken and I learned many things today: dawn is especially beautiful in Paris, taxis do not have to take you anywhere if they do not want to, a meter is much longer than you think when you are walking, Uber is a life-saver, two ladies running a Boulangerie will look at you like you are crazy when you try to buy the whole damn store and French people are so totally lovely.

The Red Wheelbarrow

So much depends

Upon

A red wheel

Barrow

Glazed with rain

Water

Beside the white

Chickens

William Carlos Williams

[thergdeventlist]

(2024-07-13 to 2024-07-14) Tewkesbury Medieval Festival Tewkesbury Medieval Festival has been the high spot of Tewkesbury’s summer since 1983. It is now widely regarded as the largest free medieval gathering of its kind in Europe, attracting re-enactors, traders, entertainers, and visitors from all over the world. Its central feature is a spectacular re-enactment of the Battle of Tewkesbury on part of the site of the original battle of 1471. Many of the participants including wives and children live as a medieval army in authentic encampments for the whole weekend. It also features a wide range of period entertainment, including music, dance and drama as well as collection of fascinating characters from the past. These may include surgeons, preachers and even the odd dragon keeper. There is a children’s activity area, with period based arts and craft sessions, and an exhibition tent with displays from organisations specialising in various aspects of history. Our busy and colourful medieval market has everything from a suit of armour or a fabulous gown, to pot of herbs or bag of sweets on sale. There are also associated events in the town, which is decorated with authentic medieval banners for the festival period. Food and drink (including ale specially brewed for the occasion,) are widely available and best of all, despite its size and popularity, entry to Tewkesbury Medieval Festival is free, and it hard working volunteer directors are determined to keep it that way.

[seb-owns-these-tatas]

Witcher Of The Night (Chapter 6)

THIS IS MODERN ERA READER WHO WOKE UP IN THE DIMENSION OF THE WITCHER.

CHAPTER 5

WITCHER OF THE NIGHT MASTERLIST

Characters: Geralt of Rivia x small!Naive!Reader

Summary: It seems as if a witcher came home after having his midnight pleasures from the brothels; leaving you in having a sleepless night. The witcher seemed to be distant after his argument with his child of surprise which left you completely confused because you’ve did nothing and have been anything but mean to him. Some questions were answered by a fortune teller as to why you came from another dimension; but the witcher was stubborn enough not to believe him and his intuitions. Leading to another event which would get everyone's life on edge, especially yours.

Warnings: Cuss words. Old times where men treat women like shit. Irked, frustrated, confused Geralt. Emotionally hurting reader. Naive reader about the whole medieval era. Jaskier finally being comfortable around the reader. (I don't know why this is a warning? 😂)

Words: 5,800+

A/N: AAAAAAAAHHHHH! I need me some actionnnnn! LMAO. XD This chapter was supposed to be posted on April 18 but I couldn't help it and I wanted to post it right now, So y'all can have something to read about. Heehee! THANK YOU FOR THE SUPPORT, TATERS! Btw, this is one of my favorite chapters and chapter 7 too which will be next to this. Ahonhonhon! Dang, I can feel we’ll reach 25 chapters before this ends. 😂😅 jkjk. I’M SO THIRSTY FOR GERALT, IS THIS NORMAL?

TAGLIST IS STILL OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS CHAPTER! IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE!

Disclaimer: PNG's used in edits are not mine even the GIF's too. However, the edits and oneshots are definitely from moi. Characters, places and said monsters aren't from moi as well.

MY WORKS ARE NOT NOT NOT NOT NOOOOOOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have for writing aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

You haven't seen the outside world; like you've been a cast in the 'Big Brother reality show'  that you were watching back at your apartment. It was a lot more different in their city; much more barbaric; lively but actually mirthful.

When you've arrived at the marketplace there where tons of people, absolutely crowded with all forms of life walking around. There were white tents where merchants have been selling their goods and a lot of buyers hollering for their attention.

You've remembered the night before when Cirilla has hugged the life out of you all night. She'd cried herself to sleep but eventually let the wrath fade away early in the morning; acting like nothing happened as she'd asked Geralt for her weekly training in swordplay before the morning comes.

Up all night and you couldn't sleep. Cirilla has offered her bed to keep you comfy rather than the table out in the kitchen. You've said your disagreement to the offer because of her status. She was a princess, so you've thought that sleeping beside her would not be possible. Though, she was persistent and asked you if it was okay to hug you while she sleeps even just for the night.

You've eventually said yes; but had to keep your eyes all open especially at the bothered feeling of your heart from the facts you've heard from Cirilla. Even adding more effect to your sleepless night was from a witcher who happened to went home before the morning twilight rises. His reasons were unsaid but the booming voice of Jaskier in the small living room was enough for you to know that he'd gone somewhere...fun, exciting and pleasurable.

Thus, that kept you up all night even more.

Your heart seemed to be a lot more bothered after he arrived maybe with a pang of a peculiar sting inside your chest that made you pout all through the night.

Nevertheless, you've ignored that feeling because maybe it was just a stomach bug that you've had since then. The morning after, you wore your winning smile as you've shown yourself to the men of the household with a beam you hoped that seemed to be convincing that you had a good night sleep.

But, Jaskier being Jaskier; he'd pointed out those horrid eyebags you've appeared to be nastily wearing. The Witcher had said nothing other than a wavering look which felt so different. So distant and withdrawn like he wasn't capable of smiling. Well, he had reasons not to after what has happened in his life and probably realizing how much of a baggage you are for even living in their home like you popped out of a chicken's bottom and gave them eggs to bear.

The connection lasted for two seconds as Geralt studied your face before breaking whatever overwhelming feeling that the butterflies in your stomach has been trying to say. He'd then avoided being in your presence and went out to feed his horse as he got ready for the morning activities.

Jaskier gave you both a look of wonder before you'd given him a reassuring smile like there was no uncomfortable feeling running in the veins of your heart. You were the best at it; faking a smile that is.

The way towards the marketplace was much farther than the way to Cuthbert's house. Obviously, because it was almost like a city or the center of the kingdom for the walk of life. You've walked alongside with Jaskier as Geralt had Cirilla on his horse.

It was the first time you've appreciated Jaskier's talkativeness because if he wasn't then the whole journey would've been serene and awkward by how the witcher was giving one word answers to anyone's questions or statements.

Well, he certainly slept on the wrong side of the bed this morning. Literally, because he'd slept on a different kind bed with a woman.

You've tried sparking up a conversation; tried saying your sweetest good mornings when he was outside and talking to his horse, but when he'd felt you were there. It was like the wind changed and he didn't want you to hear him talking to his horse nor even breathing.

A simple good morning and how he was were asked; but a simple, lackadaisical answer of the word 'fine' was given to you; not giving you those enchanting golden eyes and just the wide statuesque of his back were shown.

So much for going outside to try and talk to how he was because he seemed to be in need of more people who cared for him.

You've ignored the way your heart fell at how he was putting up; acting like he wasn't trying to comfort you the other day when you were having one of those panic attacks you have. Here you thought, he was actually starting to treat you as a friend even just for the time being but it was like the world shifted and he was treating you like a stranger.

Maybe, you were right. Your presence was beginning to become a burden of his surprise obligation for even paying for your clothes and letting you stay in their home. As much as you've remembered that night, you would only stay for a day and leave to find the airport. But, the airport was nowhere to be found as you've finally realized how you actually magically appeared on a different kind of earth and in a timeline you weren't accustomed to.

You didn't know what to do. No matter how much you wanted to go home and leave the family you were currently living with; it was like you were left with no choice but to stay because you didn't know how to come home.

There was no coming back, as of now.

"Why, who's this small lass?" The feebly, doddering woman croaked as she accepted coins from a Kaedwenian child before she'd finally turned to look at you from head to foot, her expressions unreadable when she'd noticed how you've looked more of a hobo then their peasants who lived anywhere and had no place to live. Though, you were cleaner than the rest.

It was like there was a garage sale in the marketplace; tons of stuff laid on the tables as you didn't knew what the uses of it were. Your eyes were scanning the things that laid on the table; one by one until your attention caught a silver necklace that had a leaf as a symbol and coral green stones wrapped around the linings of silver. You've picked it up and examined the jewelry; being charmed by the mere necklace and lately realizing that the stones were twinkling like no other; having no explanation at how it was twinkling or glittering against the sun like magic was consuming it.

"It's a fae," Babeth cut you off your reverie. You've snapped out from being enchanted by a simple necklace. It was a pretty one, definitely can be used everyday and the way it twinkled was strangely beautiful. You didn't expect for them to have these kind of necklaces, "---Serves as an amulet for bad luck that is bound to come. A sorceress has said her incantations to that necklace; keeping you away from ill-fate,"

Babeth gave a weak smile, the wrinkles on her face thoroughly evident as she continues to mindlessly fix her goods in front of you. You blinked back at her, a beam raising your lips as you tried to get a good look at her, "A fae, ma'am--??"

The woman has completed your sentence for you, raising her gaze to meet your eyes and noticed it was a beautiful, light forest green, "You can call me Babeth, Elfin!" she sweetly yelled over the loud chatters of the crowd.

She suddenly gestured behind you, nodding her head as her smile widened, eyes also twinkling like how bright her smile have been; like she was happy with her life and family, with no worries. "What's your connection in being a travel companion with a witcher, elfin?"

You blinked out of surprise, betwixt and between turning half your body around when you've felt Geralt's presence looming behind you. You've resisted the urge to face him and just stared at Babeth instead, ignoring the fact that he was already staring at your head; longer than he ever did since this morning. However, you didn't know he was even looking.

"Ughm," you hesitatingly started, thinking of another statement other than saying that you were figuratively an alien in their world. The witcher wanted to save you from saying anything weird that can get them speculating that you weren't from their world and tried to butt in,  "She's---"

Jaskier came to your aid; despite of not asking any help because you certainly didn't need saving in anything. He'd slid beside you with a more added effect and subtly wrapped an arm around you, in between you and the witcher who was sky scraping from behind.

"Geralt's destiny," the bard confidently finished for you both with a dramatic gesture of his free hand; giving Babeth a smolder when he did open his mouth to utter lies at the sweet, old woman.

Geralt's attention went straight to Jaskier's arm wrapped around you; lately becoming aware of what he managed to tell the merchant. It made him growl beneath his chest, giving the bard a scowl from behind. But, it seems as if Jaskier's persistence didn't falter as he continued to smile at the seller before them.

"Bard," Geralt roughly scolded with his jaw tensing.

Babeth's facial expressions seemed to even be happier, if that was even possible. Finding the news thrilling and exciting for her to hear; her eyes lit up like fireworks in the sky, "Oh! A lover!" she gave a clap full of mirth, "---I didn't know when you'll become serious with yer' life and thought you just do yer' whores!"

Your smile wavered at the last mention of that word. So, he was also infamous for that. Probably always in brothels since Jaskier has always been saying. To make things straight to the point, Geralt was one of the fuck boys in earth. Typical men.

Well, he isn't a prince from the start so technically that explains it. Withal, there was no prince' and only in fairy tales despite that you were living in a fairy tale surprisingly.

You've felt Jaskier's hold on you grow tighter when you continued your explanation for the poor, old merchant who was smiling like she'd seen her favorite OTP finally be together, "Oh--Babeth--I'm not--" a loud cough erupted out of your throat as the bard scooted closer, his arm now around your neck as he added pressure like he was choking you, "Ja-Jaskier!" your eyes bulged out of your eye sockets, grabbing onto his arm and violently clawing them away.

The merchant went on with that adorable smile of hers, never guessing if you were both playing nor trying to kill each other already. Jaskier was smart enough to distract your loud huffs of breath through his fake laugh; topping those loud complaints of yours, "Oh! Hahaha! Aha! you know how tender...love...and care can change a person! Perhaps, got the witcher soft somehow!" he gestured with his thumb towards the Witcher who was throwing daggers behind his back.

"Is this your compensation because we've brought a Hirikka at home?!" you hoarsely whispered, struggling to get away from his hold.

The bard laughed louder before lowering his voice down and muttering in between his cackle, "I'm making it easier for everyone! Shh!"

You were close to biting his arm until it bleeds. But, you didn't want to ruin his very elegant and flamboyant clothing that you only see in the medieval period, "Well, you're not!"

Jaskier slanted his head to take a peek of your reddened face. Due to his arm choking and also probably the fact that he'd been trying to tell the merchant that you were Geralt's other half, "Then, why do I see a blush?"

The merchant waved her hand from the banters, giggling at the way you both looked like you were playing before giving her attention to a new customer who'd rudely demanded for her attention. Thus, it was the perfect time for Geralt to wrench Jaskier's arm around your shoulders, strongly pulling him from his back as the witcher sighed in frustration.

Jaskier tried to battle with his strength, though it was no use because apparently; the witcher was stronger. "Ge-Geralt! What?! I'm making everything easier by controlling your foolishness while you're being an utter boor!"

Their voices died down, constantly being covered by the lively noise of the marketplace. The boys were probably going to the Tavern they needed to visit as you were now left with Cirilla who was picking new dresses for her and for you.

She'd pick up a cute princess like strapless dress that will certainly reach above your ankles. Cirilla held onto the beautiful dress and showed it to you, her grin painted on her pretty face, "Say you didn't like dresses, Y/N?" you've blinked back at the dress like you couldn't believe it was real and actually cute. A satisfied nod was given to the child, "Well..That is certainly an exemption," you pointed out and excitedly grabbed onto the dress, placing the clothing in front of you to see if it would fit perfectly. It does and you couldn't help but think how it was normal to wear these kind of dresses without people looking at you weirdly like back in earth.

Cirilla continued her ransack through a hill full of different types of clothing and grabbed onto a red, sheepskin cloak that had the right length for you; adding it to the items that should be bought. She went on in finding more clothes that will fit you, "---Also, they have leather pants, boots of your size and half sleeved shirts you may want?"

You saw how concentrated she was with picking clothes for you to wear; like she was more excited to dress you up. However, no matter how much you wanted to buy those clothing, you understood and accepted the fact that you haven't brought your wallet with you and they probably had a different money currency as well.

"But, I don't have any coins for these..." your train of thought ceased; index finger pointing at the pile of clothes she was carrying on her child-like arms.

She gave all the clothes to an awaiting, smiling Babeth. The Ashen haired child patted herself as she was searching for something, "Cease the worry, Y/N!" the latter fished out a medium sized black bag full of coins, "---Geralt has it covered!"

You've had your face in a twist; screaming its negations over the fact that it was the witcher's money that was going to be used. Though, there was no use of a protest when she was determined and was a one word woman.

All the clothes that has been bought was inserted in Cirilla's beige ransack that was strapped on her back. You've offered to carry it for her as she'd seen Ethelia who hollered for her attention. She was also the same age as her; even as beautiful as the princess but she had brunette hair, hazel eyes with freckles all over her nose. Ethelia was as pretty as a picture; same goes for Cirilla.

One fact that you learned about their world was that it was full of lovely people and you were thinking that you were seeming to be out of place for it.

Cirilla informed you that she would be playing with her and the kids not far away from the tavern. You've given her a thumbs up but you were actually worried for leaving her in a place you didn't know and felt sketchy because of how it wasn't your ordinary; leaving you feeling anxious for her well-being.

Hence, the tavern didn't looked better as well. You were used to strobe lights, the smell of cigarette or sweat and the moribund heat that backs you away from stepping in a nightclub; never dreaming to come close to one ever again.

But, here you are; standing in the middle of an hostelry looking like the small elephant in the room as people who wore old-fashioned clothes and armor were staring at you like an alien. So far, they didn't know that you were actually one because you didn't belong to their world.

You were trying to find anyone you knew; even trying to look for a certain white haired man who seemed to be not in good terms with you for unknown reasons. There, you did saw him seated on the farthest end of the pub looking mighty with his sword laid beside him as he drank Ale,  listening to a man who appeared to be reaching his elderliness.

Geralt's whole being has ever been so ostentatious like you were watching a scene unfold from a television series. You didn't notice you were already observing him from afar until he'd blinked and slowly turned his head to you, eventually catching you gawking. But, being lucky at the most awkward scene of gaping at him over the other end of the roadhouse has saved you from your embarrassment when a well built villager wearing tons of heavy armor accidentally bumped into you; making you break away from watching the witcher. As the man bumped into you, his mouth was as nasty as he looked and tried to tell how peasants like you who had no crowns deserve to be sold to a brothel keeper because of how poorly you were dressed; also, probably because it was only your worth.

So, women were treated rather poorly in their era. Your consciousness talked back and gave you the reality of it all.

You were also lucky enough to catch Jaskier's attention and saved you from being sold anywhere.

As you sat down with Jaskier and his pixie friends that had elf ears; it was stunning to see a live fantasy gnomes sitting in front of you and drinking till their heart's content. You'd realize how survival was a difficult task in their world as the poor were treated like they were the lowest of the low and people with crowns were treated rather fairly.

Hence, living in their world can officially be a nightmare for you. A daydream of showing how much of a nightmare was to live back in the old times.

"So, this is what a bar looks like in the medieval period," you murmured to yourself as your eyes scanned the whole buzzing place. They were heathen people and there were loud chatters and laughter like there were tons of stories to tell; even the bard himself does as he was sat beside you; chattering with a man who weren't hobgoblins; but was sat around your table. "You sure Ciri is fine with the kids?"

Jaskier waved a hand to wash away your worries; giving you a once over as he smiled a big one, "Ow, shush. Yes she is. Stop being a mother hen and enjoy my singing out here with the lads," the bard grabbed onto his lute that was strapped behind him, swinging the instrument and actually hitting you on the shoulder before he apologized and started to strum a melody in which you've heard when he was trying to annoy the witcher who lived in the house you were in.

So, that's what its called. Toss a coin to your witcher. The bard already forcefully let you hear the song and you were pondering if people really toss coins to a witcher who slays beasts, like literally.

You playfully rolled your eyes at his attempt on entertaining people in the tavern, "Your singing sucks ass, Jaskier." But, it was actually just a playful banter because his voice was amazing, believe it or not. However, you weren't there to give him compliments and shower his ego after calling you rat for so many times.

The bard gave you a look of curiosity, his blue eyes sparkling like how the sun cascades through the oceans, "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

You tried the Ale that Jaskier has given you. You've smacked your lips a lot of times to taste it better and subtly noticed the bitter taste that it had more than a typical beer. It definitely had more alcohol content than a Heineken, "Bad as how Geralt calls your singing like a pie with no filling,"

Jaskier faked a surprise, stopping from warming up before he starts singing epics, giving you his war face and a coltish glare as he humorously spat, "You are certainly the living nightmare in my life for saying that!"

Jaskier's singing grabbed all of your attention. Thus, you were oblivious of a particular individual who was lurking behind you as he seated and talked to Durriken who continued to ran his mouth on the heed-detached witcher.

Durriken's ginger hair was shiny against the light of the sun that reflects from the windows, the elderly man shakily continued his story as he studied who the witcher was gazing at that even got him giving a damn when he ever does not, "---The villagers had seen the beast on the swamps in the south! Had my lads killed as they've stabbed it with their swords! It was a poisonous monster and wounded my people with a burn that could let ye' see their bones!"

The witcher gave a disgruntled hum, his jaw clenching like he'd seen something awful.

Durriken ceased his stories; sipping on his ale as he bluntly asked and ripped his eyes away from him with a knowing smile, "The trouble and strife, witcher?"

Geralt couldn't help but want to roll his eyes at the incessant accusations they had between the two of you; giving abrupt malice to your presence as you tagged along with them, "Why do people always tell me this," he gruffly mumbled to himself, finishing his shot of Ale in one gulp as he dropped the cup with a thud.

"Have ye' seen the way you look at er'?" Durriken's smile was unwavering as he could remember you from his dreams; like the whole scene was dejavu.

The witcher gave him a tight-lipped frown, sitting completely composed; but with his blood boiling for whatever reasons he doesn't understand, "She's been dragging me in to more horseshit than I can ever get involved,"

Durriken heedlessly caressed his goatee; seeming to be in deep thought to what his next words would sound like and if it will be better to be said rather than keep it to himself and watch the future unfold without alarming the other, "Ye' wouldn't be complaining if you realize that she's actually your destiny, Witcher."

Jaskier stopped strumming his lute after finishing one song; planting his ass on his seat as he laughed out loud with the villagers of Kaedwen. The adorable hobgoblins lending their elfin ears at the bard who had memorable tales to tell, "I've been the witcher's travel companion decades ago!"

You were unaware of somebody patting your hand like he was consoling you because of your consciousness was solely on the bard who kept on getting everybody's attention. That being so, you jumped on your seat as Jaskier hurriedly slapped the man's hands that rested on top of yours as it was laid on the table, "And---Hands off, Belerick! You don't want to vex off a witcher and have your adorable little body thrown in the swamps,"

The dark eyed gnome raised his voice to groan out his frustrations, caressing the hand that Jaskier has attacked; eyes exclusively on yours alone, "She's just so cute and my type!" Belerick mirthfully announced with his eyes giving you the hearts. You kindly smiled back at little guy, "Say, munchkin; wanna spend the night with I?"

A soft giggle was sent to the latter and it was enough for him to sigh like a man in love, "You're a cute one, Belerick." your smile softened as you saw him grin like a cutie pie and tried to reject his offer in a very nice way, "---But, I'm good for the night. There are other women out there who would want to,"

Everybody who sat on the table in a circle cooed. The spot light suddenly on you, "Aww! She's a kind one!"

The little guy irritatingly huffed, growling at his companions who kept on teasing him that he was rejected, "Nobody does, Y/N!" Belerick snapped with a bitter tone as Merek hopped off his chair and leaned his short elbows on the table; giving you a kissy face, "Aye! Maybe Y/N would want to spend the night with me a lots more than ye', Belerick!" Merek teased the other little guy who kept making a fuss, "---Cause ya' got a small dick!"

Both gnomes had their hands choking each other as they fought for your unavailable hand. You couldn't help but chortle from their sudden fight; entirely unaware of their intoxicated self controlling their minds.

Jaskier emitted a loud sigh beside you; dramatically rolling his eyes at the scene, "Oh gods, you are all signing your death wishes,"

Another giggle was sent to the people surrounding you, trying to infect them with your naivety, positivity and kindness; "You guys are cuties! Thank you for finding me...nice-looking, though I don't actually," you started again, looking at the set of barbaric men seated around you and Jaskier, "I look like a potato, boys. You need to get your eyes checked by an ophthalmologist,"

"A what?" Now was the time for Jaskier's brows to tighten.

"Ye', don't look like a potato!" Belerick and Merek uttered all together in chorus, giving you the heart eyes.

"Yet, you look a little different!" another leprechaun crowed named Carac. He had his medium length hair tied on the back in a makeshift ponytail. Carac paused for more added mysterious effect. Both you and Jaskier blinked back at him; unnerved because of how the lad was scrutinizing back at you like there was something wrong.

Until such time, he'd open his mouth and vaingloriously claimed that made everybody groan out in exasperation and utter cheesiness, "Ye' look like my future missus, Elfin!"

You and Jaskier blew out a breath you were holding; the thought of finding out you weren't from their dimension now disregarded. You've apprehensively giggled and pointed a finger at the little man giving you a smolder, "Oh, that was smooth." Carac pouted his lips more, wiggling his eyebrows in a frisky way, "Do I deserve a kiss?"

A nod of fascination was given to the latter. You've given him a grin and shook your head at his sudden twentieth century kind of flirting, "Very smooth,"

"You know, he can hear you right? He's a witcher, you oaf!" Jaskier gave the dwarf a look of disbelief before you'd suddenly stood up out of nowhere and drank the last of your ale. "I'll check Ciri outside," you declared and put down the empty cup after burping in a low tone and it was enough for Carac, Belerick and Merek to sigh like a boy in love as their eyes were trying to melt you down. Jaskier scoffed at how they looked and nodded with a smile as he waved you off, "Alright, try to keep out of trouble, rat. I'll follow you soon,"

Moments have passed and stories were told, Geralt has understood Durriken's offer as he tossed a bag of coins to the witcher in which he caught it with his bare hand, his expressions twisted in a way that can tell people he wasn't in a good mood. The real question here is; when did he ever looked like he was?

The bard was already off his seat, Geralt saw you went out minutes ago and Jaskier began to tail like a cat to the rat; even began to feel a little comfortable with you since this morning and it was slightly bothering him to no reason.

Thus, Durriken even had the chance to tell him things about destiny that even rattled him more.

"I don't believe in utter bullshit," the witcher spat to his utmost discontent, sighing as he does so. He was tired of hearing it over and over again. It even lead to having Cirilla in his life; he wouldn't want to include you as well. Especially that everybody who gets involved with him; enters demise without him knowing. It was like a link to death when one person even tries to want to know him better.

He was already having a difficult time protecting Cirilla and Jaskier from harm; it would kill him more if you had the plausibility to meet death without even coming home to your homeland.

"Destiny will always come to you, Witcher," Durriken cheerfully muttered in spite of Geralt's gloomy state; his smile never faltering, "---As much as the princess did,"

The witcher languidly closed his eyes; asking himself what he has done to receive all kind of destiny thay gives him a rough time. "Once...is enough," he seethed through gritted teeth. Annoyance ticking his features, "Twice is destiny playing fucking tricks on me,"

"It's been two years, Witcher. The elvens; they will never cease." Durriken announced as a matter of fact, trying to remember his dreams that he wanted to forget because it never fails to happen. "---Say, that elfin of yours isn't from our world, aye?" the latter added with a cunning smirk, "---She has created more chaos to our dimension. Opening a door to the continent which has never been seen before,"

Geralt's forehead creased a lot more to what he was saying, looking completely at loss. Never trying to look guilty that you actually really didn't come from their world. He didn't know if Durriken was just guessing or not and he didn't want to be cocksure.

Durriken continued, his voice lowering a pitch as he whispered; "---It is like a whole new era to the conjunction of spheres. Revealing unaccustomed beasts you haven't seen nor fought with, but has all been taught back in Kaer Morhen," he leaned his elbows on the table, pursing his lips as he eyed the witcher who gave him his unconcerned attention.

"---Her existence has created more beasts that cannot be slayed nor controlled. Warning mages, elders and sorceresses from other peculiar changes," pause. "---She shouldn't be here. But, your future has made everything possible, Witcher."

On the spur of the moment, the grandsire looked around as he was trying to find someone. Also, getting a gist of an uncomfortable feeling and a blurry image of his future. His ability already has certain limitations he couldn't control rather than years ago when he was younger.

"---Only one wish shall be required for it to be permanent," he suddenly blurted out of nowhere, eyes falling at the scowling, confused, ivory haired witcher.

"Durriken, you are talking shit," Geralt grumbled beneath his armored chest, a brow raising for the incredulity slipping through the man's words.

"I am a fortune teller, am I not?" Durriken boastfully affirmed with a shaky chuckle, "---When do I fail at reading the future?"

"Today, you are." the witcher mumbled beneath his deep breath, shaking his head at the fortune teller's intuitions.

Durriken was tapping on the table with his index finger as he looked away; like he was lost in his own world. The old man breathed a deep one as he closed his eyes and felt his temples twitching; trying to remember his dreams despite of how blurry in ended, leaving answers to himself that he couldn't quite understand, "Keep her away from a cunning queen and a greedy sorceress," he admitted with a whisper, "They'll know her existence and it'll bring you a much more unfortunate fate, Geralt of Rivia,"

The witcher studied him, waiting for him to laugh out loud for all the lies he had said. However, he received none and only a smile that tells him that Durriken was never lying from the start. His statements were processing inside his head; thinking so hard on how it was possible. You, a mere human who suddenly popped out of nowhere now had a destiny linked to his.

Impossible.

"Witchers are known to have no emotions," the ginger head, old bloke shared with no shame, "---Yet, I never believed that. You have been capable of achieving more, Geralt." he'd snapped his head to look out the door as a barbaric combatant or considering a root of the kingdom's military forces sauntered in; they were some of the people doing the dirty work and Durriken knew what was happening like he had seen this already, "---She is about to be taken as a strumpet right now by the Kaedwenias," he continued to fixate his eyes on the gallant who loudly demanded for Ale towards his older daughter at the bar.

Fate moves in mysterious ways. He'd believed that when he'd seen the witcher's future turn exactly the way he saw it; seeing how it molded and bended his beliefs like no other was a miracle. Durriken subtly pointed at the door with his thumb as he saw Geralt's face mask with aggravation, shock and disbelief. "---With your Cirilla outside. Yet, she has been saved by the purity and selflessness of your woman's heart. You owe her your life because your Cirilla was close to being captured,"

The witcher hurriedly stood up in a trice at the aforementioned warning; heedless of Durriken's smile that was filled with felicity and mischief; a mix of both when he noticed how Geralt grew tense; letting the fortune naturally go like he eventually does.

"---You will love her like no other," the fortune teller promptly delievered with sincerity. Geralt halted from drifting away, his wide-width shoulders on display as he never saw how the witcher's face was now filled with bother and perplexity.

"---Nevertheless, your beautiful destiny is always masked with an unbearable truth and thus waiting for a price to pay, Witcher."

PLEASE DON’T BE SHY AND SCREAM YOUR FEEDBACKS TO ME, TATER TOTS! HEEHEE! THANK YOU! I JUST WANNA BE Y/N SO BAD. 😂😥😣

Taglist: @alyxkbrl @himarisolace @barkingbullfrog​ @ayamenimthiriel @hellodevilslittlesister @vania-marie @spookypeachx @grungelovebug @fangirl-inthe-us @nympeth @amirahiddleston @gabethelobster @dreaming-about-starfleet @uncoolcloudyhead @melaninstylezz @psychosupernatural @missjenniferb @dance-dreamer​ @marvelousell​​ @kingniazx​

[sangeetainternational]

Contact Reputed Tents Manufacturers in Delhi

The most desirable trait of a tent is to be stable even if strong wind is blowing and it should be easy to erect and dismantle because there are opportunities when arranging men can become a problem. Another very important trait of a good quality tent is it's shape as well as its size. There is no point in purchasing a humongous tent that cannot be easily transported from one location to the other and this is why the use of such a big tent gets restricted because of their size. Overtime, humans understood all these important traits of a good quality tent material and they developed mediaeval tents. Medieval Tents for Sale are compact in size when packed and This is why they occupy lesser amount of space making them easy to transport. This particular type of tent was developed by the Arabian countries because of their mobile nature work.

[blouisparadise]

Upon request, here is a rec list of bottom Louis fics that are more plot-heavy in nature. We tried to choose fics that had a plot beyond Louis and Harry’s relationship. Happy reading!

1) Once Upon A Dream | Explicit | 33319 words | Sequel

Louis is psychic and gets caught in the middle of a murder investigation led by FBI Special Agent Harry Styles.

2) Boiling Blood Will Circulate | Explicit | 42420 words

The wait isn’t long before something starts rustling in the bushes. Harry takes aim, squeezes the trigger, body moving unconsciously. They’re motions he’s done a thousand times before, and his body knows how to do it without the input of his brain now. It’s what makes him such a good shot.

He misses. The shot misses.

Something howls in the woods, a pretty clear indication that Harry hit it, but there’s no telltale sounds of a big body dropping, no animal charging out at him to take him out before he can finish the job.

Something does turn and run, though. “Fuck,” Harry spits out, scrambling to his feet and slinging the rifle back over his shoulder, giving chase. He’s not going to lose this hunt.

The trail of blood goes on longer than Harry thought it would. He doesn’t know how long he runs for, but his muscles are burning, chest heaving with exertion, until the trail just - goes dead. No more blood, just like that.

“Fuck,” Harry says.

3) The Fairy Ring | Explicit | 46170 words

A medieval fantasy AU in which Harry is a prince in disguise and Louis is the king of the faeries.

4) Tied Down | Explicit | 48551 words

The most interesting case in Liam and Niall's careers falls directly into their laps, courtesy of an epic fuck-up of one Harry Styles, partner to the almost-infamous drug dealer Louis Tomlinson.   The investigation yields an unexpected yet satisfactory outcome for Liam and Niall.  For Harry and Louis, however, things are far more complicated.

5) Now That This Old World Is Ending | Explicit | 49184 words

Needing a good distraction from his broken heart, Louis Tomlinson goes on a camping trip with his friends to Northern England. However, a different kind of distraction arises when his friends disappear from their camp. Hellbent on finding them, Louis soon discovers that the area has been taken over by a cult and teams up with a resentful archer with fire in his eyes and blood on his hands.

Far Cry inspired AU.

6) It's A Long Way Down | Explicit | 52658 words

It’s June 2013, and the legalization of gay marriage is the most discussed political issue in the country. As a member of parliament Louis Tomlinson has decided to do everything under his power to keep marriage between a man and a woman. Little does he know a boy with green eyes and pink lips from his past is on a mission to change his mind.

7) We’ve Got the World in Our Hands | Explicit | 54964 words

Note: This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

A mutants/superpowers AU. Louis and his friends attend the Cowell Institute for General Education and Mutant Training in London; when Louis meets Harry, the newest student at the Cowell Institute, he immediately recruits Harry to help play matchmaker for his friend Zayn. Harry and Louis are so caught up in meddling in Zayn's love life, though, that they don't notice that their own friendship is progressing into something more. Meanwhile, an ominous threat up north grows slowly until suddenly, no mutant - or human - is safe.

8) Somethin’ Bout You | Explicit | 59855 words

Of all the government agents in the world, Louis had to go and land the most charming one.

9) Like Real People Do | Explicit | 64175 words

Louis didn’t ask for a lot of things. He didn’t ask for his entire family to die in a car crash that may or may not have been his fault. He didn’t ask to get powers out of that accident, either, powers that eventually led him into a two-year relationship with a man who was far more than met the eye. But one night, he chose to ask for a replacement to a broken camera from someone he hadn’t spoken to in a year and a half. He did ask for that. And that kind of led to everything else.

10) We’ll Cast Some Light (You’ll Be Alright) | Not Rated | 74409 words

There’s a standard procedure for this. Scan, track, kill. But with a solar eclipse and a Greater Demon with unfinished business looming, the path to keeping England safe from harm becomes complicated and shadowed by mystery and secrets. For Harry and his team, times have never been harder, especially when a few old friends turned foes show up. Harry is left with just over forty days to overcome the hurdle of tension between them and reconcile their past, and figure out just what Louis is hiding from him before it’s too late.

11) Waiting On You | Explicit | 76584 words

“Vampires,” Louis says with disgust, glaring over at the vampire who is noisily slurping from the woman’s neck nearby.

 Zayn gives the neat fang marks on Louis’ neck a meaningful look.

“Can’t live with them, can’t live without them,” Louis finishes, ignoring Zayn when he rolls his eyes.

Louis takes a long sip of his milkshake, presses his fingers against the marks on his neck, and definitely doesn’t think about the vampire who left them there.

12) Through Struggles, To The Stars | Explicit | 80582 words

Louis is a Starfleet captain trying to find his place in the universe. Harry is a prince just trying to do what's right.

13) Cameras Flashing | Explicit | 81773 words

With his breakout single platinum three times over and his second album still selling out in stores around the world, Louis Tomlinson has made it to the top. However, his position as Pop Heartthrob of the Decade is threatened by the edgier, more artistic Zayn, who happens to be releasing an album a week after Louis’ upcoming third. Louis needs something groundbreaking- scandalous, even- to push past him in the charts. Much to Louis’ dismay, his PR team calls in The Sexpert.

Consulting with PR firm Shady, Lane and Associates pays the bills so that Harry Styles can spend his down time doing what he really loves: poring over data. On weekends and late into the evenings, he researches gender, presentation, and sexual orientation, analysing the longitudinal study that is his father’s life’s work. That is, until his newest client, the popstar with the fascinating secret, drags him off his couch and frighteningly close to the spotlight.

As the album’s release date approaches, will Tomlinson and Styles be able to pull off the most risky PR scheme of the millennium and beat Zayn in sales or will the heat of their feelings for each other compromise everything?

14) And Down the Long and Silent Street | Mature | 86090 words

Wherein Louis and Harry are on the opposite ends of the social ladder, but their paths still cross on the filthy streets Louis calls his home. The odds are staked against them from the beginning, and even more when Louis' past finally catches up with him.

15) A Taste Of Desire | Explicit | 104414 words

A Victorian ABO where Harry is the owner of the most successful cotton mill in Manchester, and Louis is an opinionated social activist about to disrupt Harry’s world.

16) Saving Symphony Hall | Mature | 124766 words

Note: This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users. This fic is also a sequel to this fic, so you probably want to read that fic first.

“I think I have an idea,” Louis said. Slowly, and reluctantly, but with a growing sense of the inevitable. “God damnit, I think I have a really good idea.”

“Oh christ, that's the problem-solving face,” Babs said. “Last time we saw that face, he sold a company.”

“Wait, what?” Zayn asked.

“Right place, right time,” Louis said. “Also, fuck my life,”

“What?” Zayn repeated. Niall patted his hand.

“I usually just roll with whatever Louis is about to do,” he said. “It’s better for us all.”

“That’s the attitude,” said Louis, “I’ll tell you tomorrow. Tonight, I need to do some research. Zayn, give me your number. I’m gonna save our symphony.”

17) Tainted Saints And Velvet Vices | Mature | 126057 words

A self-fulfilling Hogwarts AU in which Louis is new to seventh year and Harry is the resident devil-may-care Slytherin set to make his entire experience a living misery. Due to less than favourable circumstances they're forced to forge an unwilling, tentative relationship for their own survival. Repressed emotions, decidedly unromantic ballroom dancing, Triwizard Tournament tasks, creative jinxes and twilight flying above the Forbidden Forest ensue.

18) Run Like the Devil | Explicit | 138095 words

Note: This fic has BH mentions.

Supernatural AU. Louis hunts demons; Harry's the strangest demon he's ever met, and he keeps fucking meeting him.

19) You Are The Blood | Explicit | 175151 words

Note: This fic has BH mentions.

A seventh-year Hogwarts AU in which Niall gets all the girls, Liam goes on a journey of self-discovery, Zayn falls in love, Harry wants something more, and Louis tries to figure out once and for all why he, a Muggleborn, was sorted into Slytherin.

20) Collision | Not Rated | 209473 words

Mythology/Fairytale!AU in which Louis is a dainty fairy with a temper who wants to be intimidating and Harry hurts people. Naturally, they hate each other.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

[spotlightauthors]

Jess Cippian

Jess Cippian, author of the medieval fantasy series Song of Glædlond, was born and home based in West Virginia. She traveled often to Mexico as a child of eclectic gypsy-type parents. As a result Jess developed a passion for all things Old World and ethnic.

You can find Jess deep into her notebooks in the wee hours of most mornings. She spends the rest of the day with her family in their homeschool, in the garden or pouring up herbal concoctions in the kitchen. She loves to end the day sitting by the fire in her favorite reading chair.

Author Name: Jess Cippian

How long have you been writing? I've been writing on walls and notebooks ever since I learned to read. When I was six, I wrote my first book: a romance between a grasshopper and a cow. I've always kept some type of journal/writing pages, mostly as writing therapy. It's how I sort out life problems as writing helps me put things in perspective. Needless to say, I have filled quite a few notebooks. I had a homesteading/family blog for a while and loved it. I also wrote a few articles for a homesteader's magazine.

Did you ever imagine that you would be published one day? I always wanted to be an author and illustrate my books but with a large family, I just couldn't see how that could happen. Then when I discovered regular people do write and publish, I gave myself permission to give it a try.

What made you want to become an author? I have always been a writer and just thought of being an author as a daydream. To be an author meant I had to have my book in print.

How long have you been published? I fulfilled that publishing dream in November 2020.

How does it feel to be published? It is a surreal feeling to hold my book in my hand, and to be honest, very overwhelming.

Are you self-published or did you go through a publishing company? *Why? Probably because I self-published and the selling of my books is in my lap. It's all mine, and that is why I self-published, I wanted total control of my book. But there's a price to owning your content: it's up to you to distribute it! I am happy with my choice.

The other reason to self-publish is that I knew it could take two years, at best, to go the traditional route and I wanted my book in my hands before that.

How many books have you written? I have written two books, and am working on book 3 at the moment of my series the Song of Glædlond, a medieval, noblebright fantasy.

What is/are the name of your book(s)? Bloom of Beorg: A Song of Glædlond 1 and Arrow of Ebbadane: Song of Glædlond ll

What genre is it/are they in? Fantasy

What do you feel will inspire others to never forget when they read your story(ies)? I want my books to touch the heart in a meaningful way—the way old literature provoked the mind, not just for entertainment, but still a pleasurable read. Even though my current writing is fantasy I write about real things, sowing and reaping and other simple human principles; hence the term “noblebright” in my book description.

What's the hardest part about writing a book? The hardest factor in writing for me is the balance in conveying emotion. In my effort to keep my characters relatable they sometimes become too whiny or over stoic. This is where beta readers give awesome help!

What's the easiest part about writing a book? The part of writing easiest for me is world building. I am writing a story because I want to be there, and when I am there I want to have a five sense experience!

Where can interested readers purchase their copy of your book(s)? I am currently published on Amazon; I also have sales and offer signed copies on my website.

Do you have any future projects in the works? *Is there a tentative release date? The rest of my series—three more books—will be out by the end of 2022. I have many other ideas across the genres that I want to write after this fantasy series.

Do you have any social media sites that you would like to share with my readers? You can find me mostly on Instagram. I also have an author page on Facebook and I host a Facebook group as well.

[rufousnmacska]

Um hi, hello, I’m just wondering if you cold maybe write a manorian au dance or a ren faire would be fab. Thanks

I lost track of how long this request has been in my drafts, so I’m really sorry it’s taken so long to write. I have a bad habit of starting a fic only to get bogged down about how detailed the plot should be, leaving me not wanting to finish it. I’m not good at just banging out a short story and posting it. But for this one, I tried doing that. I hope you like it anon, if you’re still around!

Full disclosure - I’ve never been to a renaissance faire, though I have friends who sell their pottery at an annual, medieval re-enactment type festival. So, I took what I’ve heard from them and added in a little Medieval Times and Disney World. What I’m saying is, please excuse any egregious mistakes about how these things work :)

Fanfic master list

*****

A Bard’s Tale

The Morath Renaissance Faire was part historical re-enactment, part craft market, part food extravaganza, and all spectacle. It drew visitors from around the continent each summer for the three months it was open. People even came for days at a time, staying at nearby inns so they could enjoy all the faire had to offer.

Owned by Maeve and Erawan Perrington, the faire was known for its summer-long war, pitting bands of warriors against each other in mock campaigns until only one survived, as well as its jousting tournament, where knights did true battle for the honor of being named the Queen’s Knight Commander. The enormous market square sold everything from hand woven clothing, jewelry and adornments, to metalwork, and pottery. The food court had stalls serving street foods of all varieties, and a hall that seated hundreds, where visitors could treat themselves to an authentic seven course medieval dinner. Jesters roamed the streets entertaining children, actors staged scenes of roving bandits stealing from nobility, artists demonstrated their craft, and bards sang songs for spare coins.

While most employees were from the region, some, including most of the artists, came from other towns and countries. To house them, the faire had a sprawling campground filled with brightly colored tents. At night, after the faire grounds were closed, the camp came alive with employees sharing modest dinners and abundant wine, while music played and many danced.

Manon Blackbeak had been selling here for four years. Her shop, The Clay Witch, was situated near the entrance to the market, ensuring she had a good crowd and a view of the jousting arena. With her cousins’ help, Manon did a brisk business. She made pottery the rest of the year, selling most of it here, and her cousins were responsible for the rest: healing teas, fragrant candles, love potions, amulets, and other trinkets of a witchy nature. She wasn’t a people person, so she had a sales assistant named Elide who handled that side of the business. Together with her cousins, they took part in the war, calling their band the Blackbeak Coven. In years past, they’d made it into the final week or two of the campaign, but they’d never won.

Despite her competitiveness, Manon had always been fine with that outcome. While Maeve oversaw the jousting as Queen, Erawan was the King who lead the war. He had a habit of looking at her a little too long, his gaze roaming over her body in a way that made her want to shower it off with scalding hot water. She made sure never to be alone with him, usually finding someplace else she needed to be in order to avoid him.

The whole situation pissed her off. Her pottery studio was in a town a few hours away and this faire had been a great opportunity to build her business. They made good money here, enjoyed themselves in the battles, and had made lifelong friends in the campground. But, she was seriously considering not coming back next year. All because some creepy asshole wouldn’t leave her alone.

As she watched Elide wait on some customers, she grew angrier. Other people depended on her. She knew they’d understand and support her, but not coming back felt as though she’d be letting them down.

Outside, she heard people speaking in loud, reverent tones and knew what time it was, not needing to look at her watch. She contemplated hiding in the back just to see what would happen. But when she caught the first sounds of his voice, she found herself grinning.

At ten o’clock in the morning, every day, Dorian Havilliard made his way to her shop to serenade her, always with a group of adoring fans trailing behind.

It hadn’t taken long for Manon to recognize some of the faces of the people who came back again and again just to watch Dorian perform. He played his part well, flirting and making up spontaneous songs to please his audience. If ever their adoration crossed the line into inappropriateness, he’d break out the charm and shy away, making his discomfort clear. All while still obtaining a sizable tip.

Manon crossed her arms and leaned against the entrance to her booth, watching him approach. He had a preternatural gift for coming up with lyrics and melodies on the spot. She’d never admit it to him, but she’d come to enjoy his morning visits.

As for his nightly visits to her tent, it was impossible for her to hide her appreciation then, much to her annoyance.

This was his first and only summer working at the faire. He’d been dragged along by a friend who was dating a knight. Rowan Whitethorn was Maeve’s nephew and had been crowned her Knight Commander in the jousting arena for three years running. The rumor mill went crazy at the start of this season when he arrived with a girlfriend who was from Terrasen. Aelin brought an entourage with her, a bunch of friends from college who were looking for one last fun summer to tide them over before heading off into the real world in the fall. Chaol worked as a royal guard and his girlfriend, a pre-med major, worked in the first aid clinic that served visitors and employees alike. Aelin’s cousin Aedion had fallen quickly into a warrior group and rose to become their general, while his girlfriend Lysandra worked as a fortune teller. Manon and her cousins, who had known Rowan for years, had met them on the first day and they’d become fast friends.

And then there was Dorian. Who, within the first week of opening, had become the most popular bard at the faire. The center of attention wherever he roamed.

Manon smirked as he stopped a few feet from her. Today, as usual, he wore a well fitting tunic with Intricate embroidery that took the shape of wyverns. Curls that had not been there at the start of the season hung around his ears.

With a deep bow and flourish of his hand, he said, “Good morning Lady. I pray you had a pleasant evening.”

She managed to keep her expression unchanged, even though the memories of last night threatened to turn her face a brilliant red. Gripping the sword that hung at her hip, she said, “Lady? I see no lady here.”

“Ah, but you are a lady. Lady artisan,” he said gesturing to her pottery. “Lady warrior,” a glance to her sword. “And a lady of pure moonlight,” he said, nodding at the long white braid that fell across her shoulder.

Her hair was a constant source of interest for him. She didn’t think it crossed into the realm of being a fetish, but he very much enjoyed pulling it whenever he had the chance. She did too. And she enjoyed seeing his gem like eyes flash when she lifted the braid and wiggled the end at him.

Elide and a couple of customers audibly sighed at his words. Manon whirled and gave her a deadly look, but the young woman just ignored her, watching Dorian begin to play as she placed a hand on her heart. She’d been pushing Manon all summer to go out with Dorian. Wanting to preserve Elide’s innocence, Manon never revealed what happened in her tent most nights. And finally, with that thought, the blood rushed to her cheeks.

He sang a quick tune that compared her beauty to that of the moon, bowed again, and with a wink, he was off. His followers who returned day after day just to see him never seemed to think anything of his daily routine of singing to her. Either they were simply too enchanted by his voice and handsome looks, or they just didn’t care, thinking it was all part of the act, confident he would acknowledge them when he was out of character.

As he made his way towards the market square, Manon caught sight of someone who did notice, and clearly cared.

Maeve watched from across the wide street. Her black eyes held none of the smile that spread across her face, and Manon felt a chill crawl up her spine. She did not like Dorian’s daily ritual of showering Manon with attention. After a moment filled with tension, Maeve turned away and disappeared into the crowd.

Just as her husband gave Manon unwanted attention, Maeve had been doing the same thing to Dorian. He’d mentioned it once or twice, trying to brush it off. But Manon had heard the discomfort in his voice, could see the way he held himself in Maeve’s presence, trying to escape her notice and almost turning to stone when she inevitably did. The other night at one of the bonfires in the camp, someone had teased him about it. Dorian laughed and said after this weekend, he’d never see her again. The comment had hit Manon hard, as she’d realized the same could be said of her. In a matter of days, this season would end and they’d return to their homes on opposite sides of the country. With no reason to ever see each other again.

*****

Managing to escape his fans, Dorian ducked into an alley that led to the back offices. He’d seen Maeve following him this morning, and for the first time all summer, he’d considered not going to Manon’s shop. This was a summer job for him, a one time thing before he started working for his father. But she was an artist whose livelihood depended on events like this. He didn’t want to risk getting her in trouble because the owner had some kind of sick crush on him. The season was winding down and this weekend would be the last. He only needed to avoid Maeve’s interest for a few more days.

“Ouch! Watch it!”

“You watch it! Big oaf. No one told you to do tricks on your horse while you were jousting.”

Stopping at the door to the first aid clinic, Dorian found Yrene examining Lorcan, one of the knights who competed in the arena. Like the other jousters, the guy was huge, and Dorian couldn’t help but admire Yrene for not taking any shit from him. Lorcan spotted him watching from the entrance and rolled his eyes.

With his elaborate costumes, zealous following, and natural charm, Dorian was not the most popular of people among the warriors at the faire. He got along well with Rowan and Fenrys, but some of the others looked down at him for his portrayal of the flirty bard. He suspected it had more to do with the tips he made, money that he didn’t need due to his family’s wealth. Chaol and Yrene were the only ones who knew he’d be donating all of it to charity at the end of the season.

Yrene lifted Lorcan’s arm, moving his shoulder around in the socket despite his grimace and stifled groans of pain. “You’ve definitely torn something,” she said, pushing into his joint with her small fingers. “You’ll need to get an X-ray.”

“You can’t just put it in a sling? So I can joust on Sunday?” he asked, relieved when she let go of him, only to wince again when his arm landed in his lap.

With a scathing look that made Lorcan recoil slightly, she said, “If you want to damage it further, sure. I could do that. And then you’ll definitely need surgery. As it is, you might get away with some physical therapy. Which will not be fun. But if you continue jousting, you’re looking at hospital time.”

“Shit,” he said, dropping his head into his good hand. “It’s the finals this weekend. Maeve is going to kill me. After she fires me.”

Not wanting to hang around and interrupt her work, Dorian quickly asked, “Any idea where Chaol is right now?”

Yrene shrugged as she pulled a sling out of a supply cabinet. “Maybe near the battlefield? He mentioned they needed extra help setting some things up for this weekend.”

“Thanks,” he said. Then to Lorcan, “Good luck, man.”

“Yeah,” Lorcan replied, sounding utterly defeated and giving Dorian an odd look. “Thanks.” It was the tone, the actual gratitude in the word, that made Dorian realize the look was one of kindness. At least, Lorcan’s version.

Sneaking along the paths he used to stay away from the crowds, Dorian emerged near the stands overlooking the battlefield. This Saturday the two armies that had survived the summer would face each other for one final battle.

Maeve had been smart to set things up this way, making the war and jousting into a months long competition, ensuring a build up of fans and repeat visitors. She had a good mind for business, he just wished she’d stop leering at him.

Even if he wasn’t focused entirely on Manon, there was no way he’d involve himself with Maeve. There was a darkness surrounding her that reminded him of a spider, weaving an intricate web to control everyone around her, and disposing of those who resisted her manipulations.

Though he had never spoken to the man, Dorian had heard her husband was just as creepy. One night at the camp, his name had been mentioned, causing Manon to visibly shudder. She clearly didn’t like the guy, and that was enough for Dorian to dislike him too.

As he sat and watched Chaol and some warriors setting up the dais that would hold the royal thrones for the final battle, Dorian wondered if he was making the right decision for this fall. His father had demanded he come work for the family company. That Dorian had refused to get a business degree meant little to the man. He would see his son replace him as CEO whether Dorian liked it or not.

As it always did when he thought about his future, his mind eventually traveled back to Manon. This summer had been amazing, due in large part to her. She’d captured his heart from the first day. It took a full week of songs before she showed up at his tent one night. After that, he’d waited. Waited for that look she’d give him at the end of the night, when the bonfire was burning down and the camp was growing quiet. The look that said the song he’d written for her that morning had left her wanting him. The look that invited him back to her tent where they’d stay up too late, making love and playing question and answer games, the easiest way to get her to talk about herself.

Gods, how was he supposed to say goodbye to her in just a few days?

They had not spoken of it, neither one wanting to bring up what they both knew was coming. It wasn’t like they’d never be able to see each other again. But there was a weird sense of finality to the end of the faire season. The end of this crazy, fun summer. The end of their late night dalliances. The end of their late night talks, which he would honestly miss the most.

His bench sagged as Chaol sat down heavily beside him, pulling him from his thoughts.

“Ready for lunch?” Dorian asked, trying to sound more cheerful than he felt.

Chaol sighed, tired from helping to build the dais with a half day’s work still to come. “Yeah. Was Yrene busy?”

They stood and began to walk towards the food stalls. “Lorcan got injured. She might be done, but I doubt it.”

“Shit,” Chaol said, stopping in the middle of the street. “Will he be able to joust on Sunday?”

“Doesn’t look like it. At least, Yrene said no. Why? What’s the big deal?”

"He’s supposed to go up against Rowan in the final. Lorcan is the only real competition Rowan has. I overheard Erawan talking about the possibility of this final weeks ago. They’ve been hyping it up to the fans.”

Dorian shrugged. He didn’t pay attention to the jousts or the war standings. Especially once the Blackbeak Coven was defeated last week. Manon had been disappointed, but also oddly relieved.

“You don’t get it,” Chaol continued. “Maeve and Erawan are going to be pissed.”

That made Dorian smile. “Good. Maybe she’ll leave me alone then.”

*****

Sunday came with beautiful weather and a crowd that was electric with anticipation. Yesterday’s final battle, won in an impressive fashion by Aedion’s troops, had drawn record numbers of spectators. Maeve and Erawan had sat on their thrones, overseeing everything with bored faces and an air thick with arrogance. Most of the employees knew how little they were acting, but the viewers ate it up.

Today was the final of the jousting tournament. Being easier to follow from the stands, it was more popular than the war re-enactment. This year’s finalists promised to put on a good show. Until Lorcan injured his shoulder in his semifinal against Fenrys. He’d still managed to win, knocking Fenrys off his horse out of sheer spite, sending him to the final against Rowan.

When it was announced he couldn’t compete, Maeve had gone ballistic. Apparently, she’d destroyed her office, leaving a mess of papers, a cracked laptop screen, and a broken chair. Erawan had kept his cool, though a few twitches of his black eyes spoke volumes about his inner state of mind. Everyone assumed Fenrys would be given Lorcan’s place. But the notice board outside the arena had remained blank after Rowan’s name - The White Hawk vs.___

Last night, the talk around camp was all about who she would name to joust against Rowan, with some joking that she’d make Erawan do it. Rowan had seemed to welcome the chance to knock the bastard onto his back. Maeve was his aunt, but there’d never been any friendship between them. He worked here because he loved it. And now that he loved Aelin, it grew more and more likely that this might end up being his last year.

As people milled about in her shop, Manon felt a strange anxiety wash over her. Muscles tense, goose flesh rising up her arms, she looked out into the street expecting to see Erawan there. But it was just regular visitors making their way through the market, noisy and excited.

Slowly, she realized what felt off. The voices of the crowd had never been louder than Dorian’s voice. She looked at her watch and felt her stomach flip. 10:24.

He was never late. Never.

Just then, she heard commotion from the jousting arena. Over the heads of the crowd, she could just make out Asterin’s blond hair as her cousin waved for her to come over.

Pushing through the people, she found not only Asterin but Chaol and Aelin too, all three standing in front of the notice board, staring up at it in shock.

Just as she never had to check her watch for Dorian’s arrival, Manon didn’t have to read the board to know who Rowan’s opponent was. Instead of flipping, her stomach turned to stone and sank.

The White Hawk vs. The Black Bard

“That fucking bitch,” Aelin whispered.

Manon grit her teeth, her hands shook and she was too angry to even speak.

“Where is he?” Asterin asked.

Chaol shrugged, also unable to speak, too horrified with concern for his best friend.

Fenrys ran up suddenly, almost knocking them all over. “It was Erawan,” he said, breathless. “Some sick game between him and Maeve.”

Manon forced herself to swallow, to breath, to not go scratch that bastard’s hellish eyes from their sockets. “Why didn’t Dorian just tell him no?”

“I don’t know,” Fenrys said. “They must have forced him somehow.”

Asterin turned to Manon and they shared a look. The only way to make Dorian agree to this was if Manon had been threatened in some way.

“Rowan won’t hurt him,” Aelin said confidently.

Finally, Chaol spoke. “Maybe not on purpose! Dorian’s never ridden a horse. Rowan can deliberately miss him and he could still fall off and get trampled.”

“Shit.” Asterin and Fenrys said at the same time.

The sound of trumpets wailed and people began rushing to get into the stadium. As the others debated what to do, Manon took off, ducking beneath the stands to get to the fence that surrounded the jousting yard. It felt like time slowed down, and when she finally reached an opening with a view to the field, the announcer was already calling out the competitors names.

There, at the far end, sitting precariously on the back of a black stallion, was Dorian. Clad in black armor, the counterpoint to Rowan’s bright silver, he struggled to hold the lance steady. Dorian was muscled and strong, but this was a skill he had no experience with. Holding a lance properly took practice.

Rowan, atop his white horse, was within shouting distance. Manon called to him, but he didn’t hear her over the crowd’s cheers and the helmet he wore. She kept calling for him, only stopping when she glanced at the royal box. There, Maeve sat, stone faced and angry, glaring straight ahead. Next to her, wearing the tacky fake crown he sported everywhere on the grounds, was Erawan.

Manon wasn’t surprised to feel his eyes on her, his slimy stare making her feel as if she might vomit.

Just as she tried to get Rowan’s attention one last time, the trumpets blared and the horse reared and took off, thundering down the field towards Dorian.

*****

Dorian kicked at his horse, hoping that would get it to move. If it had been up to him, he would have simply sat here, letting Rowan charge and knock him off with his first pass. Hell, if it had been up to him, he’d be in the fucking stands.

But no. Erawan had stopped him early that morning, offering him the chance to joust. When Dorian had laughed in his face, Erawan had made it clear that it really wasn’t an offer.

He’d seen the way his wife looked at Dorian, knew that there was something going on between them, knew that Dorian’s protestations were lies. Erawan had insisted that If Dorian refused, the bard’s paramour would be punished.

Dorian had stopped laughing then. They both knew he had never been with Maeve. And somehow, Erawan had found out about him and Manon.

“I own this town,” Erawan had said. “There is nothing you can do. If you run, I will find her.” He’d clapped Dorian on the back as if they were friends. “What do you say young bard?”

Dorian had nodded numbly, agreeing to put on a show, make it look real, and not throw the match.

So now, here he was. However many tons - did horses weigh tons? - of animal rushing towards him, Rowan’s white tipped lance leading the way.

Fuck it, he thought, giving the horse’s side another kick. The beast reared slightly then hit the ground running.

Dorian just barely managed to hang on to the reins as he wobbled in the saddle. His lance almost slid from his grip, almost landed tip down in the earth, threatening to propel him into the air like an acrobat. At the last second before catastrophe, he got it under control, just as Rowan’s lance grazed his side, going wide of a strike. The crowd cheered, and though his helmet muffled the sound, he knew it was deafening for the people in the arena.

Their horses continued running until they were on opposite ends. Some lackey of Erawan’s came running out, pretending to offer him advice or assistance. Dorian ignored him, trying to focus on holding the lance up to the proper height. By the time he got it wedged under his arm, the horn sounded and his horse took off, unprompted.

He was able to hold the lance up the whole way, but he almost fell off the horse. For the second time, Rowan’s attempt missed. Dorian knew it was on purpose, and he was grateful. But the way the crowd had begun laughing was honestly starting to piss him off. He knew he couldn’t win. He just wanted to survive. But his pride was beginning to surge enough to overtake his fear.

The third run had the same result as the first two. Rowan missed, Dorian clung to the saddle and the lance and didn’t die. The horse guy came out again, seeming to adjust some of the straps. Dorian watched to make sure he didn’t actually loosen anything, and the guy gave him a nod.

Thinking someone was calling his name, Dorian twisted around to find Manon leaning over the fence, wild-eyed and desperate to get his attention. He lifted his visor and winked at her. The gesture appeared to make her angry and she shouted again but the words were lost to the crowd.

Hoisting the lance up and securing it under his arm, the reins tight in his hand, Dorian was ready for the horn this time. The horse pounded down the yard and time seemed to slow to a trickle. He felt every hoof beat, heard every puff of air from the horse’s mouth, saw the silver armor getting closer and closer. At the last second, before squeezing his eyes shut, he angled the lance towards that flash of silver.

The force of the impact threw him back in the saddle. His feet remained in the stirrups though, leaving him arched awkwardly on top of the horse. Pain radiated up his arm like a wave until the entire thing went numb and he had no idea if he was still holding the lance. With a grunt, he forced himself upright into a sitting position. The horse came to a stop and pawed at the ground, as if in celebration.

The applause and cheers hit him almost as hard as the blow he’d administered to Rowan. Looking down to where he still somehow held the lance, then turning in the saddle to see Rowan pushing himself up from the dirty ground, Dorian slowly realized that he had won.

*****

Manon was running the second she saw someone made contact. The dust was thick and she couldn’t see what had happened. At the sight of a riderless white horse trotting towards her, she sped up, almost tripping over Rowan, who laid sprawled on the ground. His helmet had come off and he had a big grin on his face.

When she reached Dorian, he was sliding off the horse, the weight of his armor pulling him down faster than he could handle. She caught him just before he could land on his ass. Propping him against the stallion, she tore the helmet from his head and yelled, “What the fuck were you thinking? You could have been killed!”

Dorian, a little dazed, a little breathless, said nothing. He pulled her close and kissed her.

The crowd erupted, roaring their approval and chanting his name. “Black Bard! Black Bard! Black Bard!”

Yrene came over with a small medical bag, but Dorian waved her off, then went back to kissing Manon. When he let go, she stumbled backwards, still clutching his armor. His horse was strutting around them, loving the attention, while flowers rained down around them from the stands.

It was tradition for the victorious knight to gather the flowers and present them to Maeve; the Knight Commander honoring his queen. But Dorian had not been aware of the tradition. And she knew he wouldn’t have done it anyway.

Manon watched as he bent down, slowly so as not to fall over, and picked up a handful of poppies and daisies and whatever other blooms had been tossed onto the field. Dropping heavily to a knee, he smiled brightly and offered her the prize of wildflowers.

She shook her head, unable to keep the grin from her own face. Taking the flowers, she bent to kiss him, but he pulled her down onto her knees.

“I don’t think I can stand up,” he confessed against her lips.

Manon laughed and went right on kissing him. The cheers turned to a loud buzz in their ears that they ignored along with everything else.

Eventually, Rowan appeared, offering his hand to Dorian, both in acknowledgement of a well fought match, and to help him up. Manon moved to leave but Dorian refused to let go of her hand. She was glad for it, and gripped it tightly when she remembered Maeve and Erawan in their viewing box.

The two “royals” looked anything but. Maeve clapped in a meager attempt to save face at Dorian’s insult with the flowers. And Erawan glared at them both, his hate for them rising off his skin like heat in a desert.

Dorian squeezed her hand and Manon remembered why they were out here, why Dorian had risked his life.

“I know why you did this,” she said. “I wish you would have found me first.”

“What would you have done?”

She smirked. “I would have sliced him up with my sword.”

"My lady warrior,” he said, his face dropping with exhaustion as the adrenaline wore off.

“My bard in shining armor.” She caressed his cheek and he turned to kiss her palm. “Do you really have to go back to Rifthold?”

It was the first either one had spoken of what would happen tomorrow. She knew this wasn’t the time or the place, but something inside her needed it to be. She needed to know that she’d see him again. She needed-

“I’m going wherever you are,” he said simply, as if there had never been any question.

Manon smiled softly in answer, wrapping her arm around his waist to support him off the field.

*****

The next summer, without its star in the jousting arena, the Morath Renassaince Faire saw a marked drop in attendance.

Rowan had joined his new wife in Terrasen, telling his aunt to shove it. He’d taken several of the other jousters with him, leaving them one main attraction. Cairn didn’t last long however, as no horses would allow him in their saddle.

Other parts of the faire suffered too. Without the Clay Witch selling her wares, and no all-female warrior band fighting in the war, interest waned. Artists began to close their shops. Re-enactors and food vendors found other venues.

It was as if Rowan’s departure doomed the faire. And within another year, it did just that. Maeve and Erawan closed the faire and moved away, leaving the structures empty.

The town lost business, but like others who had dealt with the Perringtons in one way or another, they were glad to see the couple gone.

But the locals still spoke of that final good year. The year when a hapless, yet handsome, bard bested the reigning Knight Commander in the jousting tournament. How he knocked the White Hawk from his horse, winning in one pass. And how he spurned the evil queen and won the heart of a witch instead.

*****

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[gardenofkore]

The Sicilians who appear in the 1282-1337 records are consumers rather than traders, individuals seeking or disposing of domestic servants, but not otherwise engaged in the large-scale commerce. Slaves were generally not used for farming. This had long been the norm in Mediterranean practice, but particular reasons existed for Sicily's avoidance of putting slaves in the field. These reasons were largely structural, as outlined earlier. In those few places where bound peasant manorialism was still practiced, slave labor would have been redundant.  And the great bulk of agricultural labor was drawn from the nearby towns and villages, owing to the mingling of the rural and village micro-economies; workers were hired in the towns and given wages in lieu of plots of land. Moreover, the war years before 1302 and after 1317 disrupted agricultural life to a sufficient degree that despite the flight from the land surplus pools of agricultural labor still existed in many areas, which forced a decline in wages for field workers. Putting slaves, whom it required a significant outlay of capital to acquire, to work on the land was thus neither necessary nor financially sensible.  [...]

Thus slavery remained essentially an urban phenomenon, and the slaves, whether Muslim or Greek, female or male, were pressed either into domestic service or shop labor. A general sense of their tasks and relative status emerges from a close reading of the extant documents, since slave records utilized a consistent vocabulary in describing types of slaves. Among females, for example, an ancilla was a general house-servant or lady's maid, whereas a serva commonly worked at menial tasks either in the family shop or in the kitchen. Thus the wealthy Messinese merchant Nicola Cappellano, in his 1296 will, bequeathed the ancilla Giovanna to tend to his widow's personal needs in the house in which, although he bequeathed it to the Greek monks of S. Giorgio, his wife would live out her days. References to ancillae appear most frequently in wills like this, especially in well-to-do merchant and professional families, and reflect a dying husband's last attempt to provide for the wife he is leaving behind; but they are common as well in records of purchases made directly by the wives themselves, either when their husbands were still alive (in order to acquire the necessary help in maintaining the daily household) or after their deaths. Widowhood prompted many women to purchase new domestics, possibly as much for companionship as for services rendered. In these cases, the ancilla was usually purchased with funds specifically bequeathed for that purpose. Other widows, needing ready cash to settle their late husbands' debts, found it necessary to sell their ancillae as soon as their mates had departed. This was the case with Margarita Ricci of Palermo, who had to sell her "ancillam nigram sarracenam nomine Misuda" in June 1308 in order to cover an outstanding debt to the Messinese merchant Filippo Lacerta. Lastly, foreign merchants residing in Sicily, prominent figures who required servants to provide for them on their travels, also owned domestic workers. Resident traders from Majorca, Barcelona, Tarragona, Genoa, and Pisa all purchased or sold ancillae in Palermo, for private domestic use, in a single ninemonth period according to Bartolomeo di Citella's notarial register for 1307-8. The higher price commanded by ancillae, compared to servae, and the fact that no minor age ancillae appear anywhere in the extant records, whereas servae are documented as young as two years of age, further suggests that just such a division of labor existed among female captives. [...] 

The great majority of slaves, whether female or male, were Muslim; prior to the eastern conquests, only 5-10 percent of slaves were Greek. No Jewish slaves were to be found, of course, since Jews remained technically under the protection of the church and were therefore supposedly immune from slavery - but also because, by a longstanding cultural tradition, any captive Jew who might have shown up in port was usually purchased and manumitted by a fellow Jew. Slaves were brought to market from Rhodes, from "Turkia," from "Russia," from "Dalmatia," and from the "partibus Sclavonic," showing the broad compass of the international shipping that passed through Sicily's waters. Females were strongly preferred to males, as shown not only by their more frequent appearance in sales records - they represented 60-65 percent of all slaves sold - but also by the higher price they commanded. The mean price of a young adult female slave was 5.15.00, compared to 4.15.00 for males. The domestic uses to which slaves were put did not generally require the males' superior strength. Female procreative ability, quite apart from whatever specialized skills they might have possessed, clearly was the dominant factor in causing their higher price levels, as the children of female slaves - fathered at will, presumably, by the slave owners themselves - were likewise enslaved, thus giving the slave owner a steady supply of captive labor without the additional expense of new purchases. Moreover, Muslim slaves, unlike Greek or Slavic ones, were always identified as being either white (albus), olive-skinned (olivacius), or black (niger), with the lighter-skinned captives being much preferred. These classifications may delineate ethnic differences between Arabs, Persians, and Turks; but they also help, on occasion, to identify slaves of sub-Saharan origin, when they are accompanied in the document by the slave's name. Thus, for example, the olive-skinned Fatima whom Pachomeo Bernotto sold to Giovanni Malfrida on 26 September 1307 was likely an Arab woman, whereas the black-skinned Busa sold the following day by Nicoloso Mostardo of Genoa to Orazio Cansario of Palermo was, to judge by her name, perhaps Ethiopian.  Other names of darkskinned Muslims that suggest African origins are Massandi, Amiri, Hamutus, Ashera, Musata, and Sadona, although such attributions are tentative, owing to problems of medieval orthography.

Two remaining factors determined a slave's value: faith and age. To be a sarracenus in Sicily was a matter of race rather than religion, and consequently the market differentiated between Muslim Saracens and Christian Saracens - that is to say, slaves who had been baptized. The latter comprised two types, those who had voluntarily converted to Christianity, and those fathered by the Christian slave owner, who automatically received baptism, though not freedom, at birth. No clear pattern emerges when one compares the data on baptized Muslims with unbaptized, except for the fact that Jews were not allowed to own Christianized slaves. (They appear frequently as owners of Muslim slaves, however.) Mean prices for converted and unconverted captives are virtually identical, although the figures may be somewhat misleading since the ages of Christianized slaves were, for reasons that are not clear, seldom recorded.19 Age was an important factor, though one not applied systematically. In general, slaves under the age of five were of little value, since health hazards made their survival a matter of some doubt; they often sold for as little as 00.15.00. Similarly, slaves over the age of thirty saw their market value decline sharply unless they possessed a unique skill. The price required, however, for their manumission, if they were in a position to bargain for it, rose steadily beyond that age. This trend possibly hints at the general life expectancy of slaves, and certainly suggests a cynical attempt by slave owners to take advantage of a growing sense of desperation felt by aging slaves - a willingness to pay even grossly inflated prices in order to live free in one's last years. Thus Matteo Synga of Palermo and his wife Giovanna were able to demand 10.00.00 (the price of two average-sized houses in the capital) from their aging Fatima, although in this case they mercifully granted her freedom on credit.

Slave owners came from the professional classes; they comprised a cross-section of the leading merchants, artisans, jurists, and urban magnates. Silk weavers, dyers, cloth merchants, grain merchants, goldsmiths, coopers, shipbuilders, notaries, judges, and tax officials, plus a dozen other professions, made up the caste of slave holders. Merchants and artisans purchased their slaves indiscriminately, apart from market influences: cutlers, for example, evinced no discernible preference for Muslims over Greeks, apart from the greater availability of Muslim slaves prior to 1305. But if surviving records provide a representative picture, municipal officials, notaries, and judges unanimously preferred Greek slaves to Muslim. These slaves, coming from the more literate east, may have been put to use as elementary tutors to children or else employed in minor clerical tasks. It is likely too that the possession of literate Greeks played a role in asserting one's social prominence in the status-conscious juridical classes.

Slaves were brought to Sicily in a variety of ways. Some adventurers, like Guglielmo di Malta, captured individuals from the Muslim and Greek communities on the peninsula during the recurrent struggles with Naples. Guglielmo's will, dated 3 February 1298, directed that compensation be made to those people in Calabria from whom he stole money, horses, and servants during his campaigns there. But most slaves were brought to the island by professional slave traders who traversed the sea lanes in galleys filled with fresh war captives or with slaves purchased in one location and sold in another. Once arrived in port, the slavers presented their inventory to the harbormaster (magister portulanus), who was responsible not only for collecting duties on imported and exported goods but also for authorizing and advertising all slave cargoes to be sold. At Sciacca in June 1310, for example, the royal harbormaster Corrado Lancia di Castromainardo posted the following representative notice:

Nos Gonradus de Castromaynardo miles tenore presentium notumfieri volumus universis, quod comitiva comitis Francisci de Viginti Miliis, cum galea Henrici de Manria, ducit de conscientia nostra in Siciliam de insula Gerbarum, quod habuit in cavea ad certum pretium servos Sarracenos subscriptos - videlicet, servum unum nigrum nomine Adde, annorum undecim; servum alium olivacium nomine Aris, annorum quindecim; servum alium olivacium nomine Yseyt, annorum decem et octo; et servum alium olivacium nomine Ayre, annorum viginti sex. De quo presentem sibi ad sui cautelam fieri fecimus nostro sigillo munitum.

These four slaves, captured during the fight for Djerba, probably were not sold at Sciacca, which was simply the first port that the ship put into upon returning to Sicily. Instead, Francesco Ventimiglia, armed with this royal confirmation of his cargo, probably moved on to the large bazaars at Trapani or Palermo before auctioning off the slaves. Slave traders usually worked as a societas, or ad hoc corporation, in order to share the burdens and risks of the profession. Those risks were considerable. Compounding the general decline in the trade itself were the difficulties of trying to make a profit in a Mediterranean beset with piracy and with closely guarded privileges in every port. In 1304, for example, a Genoese slaver named Ottobono della Volta joined with one Georgios Grecos, a merchant from Crete, "and a certain Simone Gavata of Sicily, plus another [Sicilian] fellow who used to be a Jew but is now a Christian going by the name of Marco Cantareno," in an attempt to unload a large shipment of more than fifty slaves at a Cretan port without paying the heavy Venetian duties. The Venetian duke of Crete caught the traders in the act, and, in addition to collecting the necessary dues and a penalty, confiscated the slaves themselves; the traders lost well over ioo.oo.oo. A successful venture could pay handsomely, however. Pachomeo Bernotto and his socii sold a shipment of seventeen slaves, all Muslims, in auction at Palermo after arriving in port on 26 September 1307; their gross receipts totaled over 50.00.00. Unsold slaves would then be placed back on the ship and taken to the next port, where they would be auctioned yet again.

Frequently a single slave would be bought and sold several times. An unfortunate woman named Aziza, a white-skinned Muslim ancilla from Nocera, was owned by Tommasso Lamatu, a goldsmith who probably captured or purchased her during the war and took her to his home in Messina. At some point she converted to Christianity and took the name Rosa. In May 1308 Tommasso sold Aziza/Rosa to a Catalan merchant from Tarragona with the unlikely name of "Aglinus Pagllarisius," who returned with her to Tarragona. Once there, Aglinus promptly sold her to another merchant, Ramon Peris. In December of that year Ramon, deciding for whatever reason to be rid of her, gave Aziza/Rosa to his procurator (a Valencian, Jaume Tredes) who took her to Palermo, where on 8 December she was at last sold to 'Abdul 'al-Salaam ibn Il-fa'it, a prominent Muslim merchant from her native Nocera.

Clifford R. Backman, The Decline and Fall of Medieval Sicily. Politics, religion, and economy in the reign of Frederick III, 1296-1337,   p. 250 - 258

header picture:  Jean-Léon Gérôme, The Slave Market (1871)

[mesmeret]

Huxloween Day 4: Ghosts Couch and Sword of Chateau Jakku

Rey and Finn were excited to hear there was an estate sale with rumored haunted items. The items inside the decrepit Arkanis Manor were in surprisingly great condition. Finn tried to be discreet with his EMF meter but only got an eye roll from the estate manager. Rey was naturally gifted and instantly went upstairs to the guest bedroom on the left.

"Ah! Fantastic!" Rey exclaimed.

Hux was startled realizing the young woman was looking straight at him. He pointed at himself and she nodded enthusiastically before calling for Finn. Her partner comes in with a slight frown, "What's up?"

Rey beamed, "We've got a true ghost! Now we have to figure out if he's attached to something."

Finn's brows went up, "Really? Awesome!"

Hux watched as Finn walked around the room with the meter. He didn't know if he was attached to something. He couldn't remember much at all to be honest.

Finn frowned as the meter barely registered anything from the decor in the room. Rey huffed in frustration, worried that Hux was attached to the building itself or was linked to something somewhere else. She closed her eyes and then looked at Hux in his eyes, "Where's your home?"

Suddenly he was downstairs on his favorite couch. He looked up at the loud stomping of Rey's feet as she ran around. He felt giddiness for the first time in over a century as she jumped down two stairs at a time. She saw him and cheered. Ignoring the shushing from other buyers, Rey sat down on the couch, "I'm taking you home!"

The Chateau Jakku was a tragic mishmash of Victorian Rococo. Hux lamented every time he saw Morris & Co mashed up with overly ornate gilded furniture amongst the dozen guest rooms. He tried to tell Rey about the inaccuracies but she seemed to not fully hear him. She said it was like he was talking underwater. Exasperated, they reached a middle ground of dream walking. They would move the vase on the dresser of Rey's and Finn's bedroom to signal they needed to commune.

Rey laughed when he revealed that her decor faux pas was all he had issue with. With a little digging, he admitted he was getting a little bored when the guests aren't around.

The next day Finn calls for him. Finn flusters, not quite sure if he had an audience or not, and explains audiobooks to the seemingly empty room. Hux is fascinated as Finn starts the Fellowship of the Ring on what he explained to be a CD player. He showed Hux how to play and pause the story. Finn startled as Hux pressed the button to pause. They both laughed as Hux pressed the button again to play. Hux ached a little that Finn couldn't hear his appreciation. He tentatively pats Finn's shoulder.

Finn yelps but then giggles with excitement, "Wow! I could see you kinda!"

Hux tilts his head and firmly presses his hand on Finn's shoulder. Finn gasps taking in the tall red head wearing a nearly unsettlingly sheer silk dressing gown with an ornate print that complemented the ice blue couch. Finn ducked his head, "Hello, neighbor."

Hux smiled and gave a nod in return.

---

Hux hadn't realized how accustomed he was to his new life until Finn brought home the longsword. The young couple were fretting where to hang the monstrous blade. They settled with the wall beside Hux's couch in the sitting room.

Rey was rambling to Hux about the new spectral resident. A knight in the late medieval era is believed to be haunting the sword. What Rey knew for certain was that the name Ben Solo was attached to the sword.

A hulking, angry man appeared when she said that name. He growled and only Hux was startled. He quickly deduced that he could only see him. A few minutes of blabber, Rey admitted that she can only sense his presence. She has yet to see him.

It may be a blessing. He had a terrifying gash nearly bisecting his skull. His black robes were singed and torn. Hux was deeply unsettled but his strict upbringing of etiquette kicked in.

"Hello, sir. This sword belongs to you?"

Eyes of rage took him in and softened. To Hux's relief and awe, the gash faded away. Before him was still a broad man, but with soft facial features. Nearly boyish. Hux blushed, "You probably don't know what I'm saying."

"Of course I do. Don't listen to her. I'm not from the past. I was killed five years ago!"

Hux startled, "Oh! Oh, dear. Do you want them to solve your murder? We could do that."

"No. I kinda like this. But call me Kylo. You are?" The ghost came closer to Hux with a hand extended.

Hux felt a flutter when their hands didn't pass each other. He replied softly, "I'm Hux. It's pretty decent here. When there are guests, I like to do a little show. A bit of levitation and what not."

Kylo seemed to perk up, "Really? Awesome."

Hux gave him a look, unsure where that rage is lurking. "I believe we have a couple on their honeymoon tomorrow. I tend to brush their hair to tickle their fancy."

Kylo laughed, "Here I thought you'd be boring and uptight!"

---

Hux learned that Kylo was a Renaissance Faire Re-enactor, thus the odd clothing. Kylo deeply enjoyed juggling amongst the guests of the Chateau. Hux found the raucous man charming. However he caught himself cleaning up after Kylo a bit. Hux deduced quickly that mentioning the name Ben was the key to unlocking Kylo's rage. Hux carefully hid the name placard and thought that was that.

"Where's the Ben Solo sword?" An obnoxious tourist stumbled into the sitting room due to their children rushing in.

As the family filled the room, Hux felt the oxygen leave. Kylo howled dropping the comic book of Finn's he was reading. The killing blow tore open his skull. Hux froze in terror but snapped into action when the children screamed. Realizing that Kylo was visible to the living, Hux darted to Finn outside of the Chateau. Rey was in town.

Finn cursed as Hux pushed himself into his body. Thinking as HARD as he could, Finn heard him and sprinted to the sitting room. All the furniture was twisting in a whirl. The family was in the hall terrified. Kylo was crackling in and out of their view with each heaving breath.

Finn clenched his fists and stomped straight up to Kylo, "Dude, chill."

Kylo's glowing eyes stared at him, "I will when they leave."

Finn sighed shaking his head, "Can't do. But you can calm down, right?"

Hux watched with jealousy that Kylo could easily communicate with Finn. But Hux did have importance. "Kylo, tell him that the name is your trigger!"

Finn gasps as Kylo reverts back to his whole self while staring off to the side. Kylo's head tilted as if listening. He then turned to Finn, "I-um- Hux says to get rid of the name of the sword. Say it belonged to Kylo Ren."

"Why?" Finn frowned at the odd name.

"Because I'm Kylo Ren."

"Oh. But Snoke-"

The lights broke as Kylo howled in pain at the name of his murderer. Finn winced at the sounds and yelled, "Kylo! Sorry! We'll change everything!"

Kylo was fading in and out even for Hux. Hux felt a deep ache and found himself floating over to behind Kylo. He let himself wrap his arms around Kylo and mutter soothing nonsense. Kylo stiffened but relaxed as Hux stroked the gash on his side. To Hux's relief, Finn seemed not to notice.

"Please do," Kylo sighs exhaustedly and the furniture floats back down to the floor. Only Hux's couch goes to where it should. Books fall off the bookshelves and the reading lamps are on their sides on the side tables. Hux rests his chin on Kylo's shoulder once Finn ushers the family to the gardens.

They swayed together for a few minutes before Kylo shuddered in silent sobs. Hux sighed and moved to face him, "It's going to be okay. We want you here."

Kylo gave him a shy, guilty look, "You want me here?"

Hux blushed, "Yes, I want you with me."

---

"Remember, we have a company retreat all week starting at four pm today. So please keep it down during their group exercises," Rey muttered while changing the discs of the Adventures of Sherlock Holmes series. She pretended she did not see Kylo laying with his head on Hux's lap while Hux ran a hand through his hair. To her relief, she and the few other supernaturally gifted seemed to see the ghostly couple when they doted over each other. She did deal with the occasional complaint from guests but they were under the impression it was raucous guests, not the ghosts.

"Okay," Kylo speaks for Hux and himself.

Rey gives them a nod and moves on to get ready for the guests. Hux tilts his head, "I think she can see us, not just you."

Kylo hummed, "Yeah. Though seeing me hover partially from the couch with my hair moving would be enough of a hint for her."

Hux gave a little huff, "So I should refrain when she's in the room?"

Kylo turns to nuzzle Hux's abdomen, "Don't ever refrain."

Hux sighs feeling a deep peace. This is where they were meant to be.

END