#my brother likes the darker floor better but i might be leaning toward the lighter floor... we'll see

[mossymanor]

Current status of the foyer! Which floor do you like better?

Sorry for the super slow progress - I was pretty busy in September! But now I've finally found a new floor, made the wallpaper pattern seamless, and applied both to the perspective of the room. I didn't really like the look of it with the wainscoting from the stairs extended to the rest of the walls, so I just erased them from the stairs and added regular baseboards instead.

Next up is adding furniture, then I'll have to do some kind of shading on the walls and floors to make it look more realistic. Using seamless patterns is nice and easy, but it does make everything look a bit flat...

[woodelf68]

Teething Time

Based on a post by @lokijiro

-----------

"Mama, Loki is chewing on my blocks!" complained Thor, trying to wrest the wooden block out of Loki's mouth.

"He's cutting a new tooth, Thor, and chewing on something helps. Surely you can spare one?" Frigga was sitting near the nursery window, working on a blanket for Loki, all soft greens, the darker shades that she’d started with blending into lighter ones the further up she went. 

Thor looked from his half-built castle to the pile of blocks on the nursery floor still waiting to be used. "I guess. But sometimes Loki puts things into his mouth that he shouldn't, so I didn't know if it was okay," he said virtuously.

"The block is fine. But you're right; he shouldn't have anything sharp or rough, or small enough to swallow and choke on. I wouldn't want him to have a stick from the garden, for instance. He could scratch himself or poke it in his eye or choke on a bit of bark or twig if it broke off. Or it could be dirty or moldy or have a caterpillar crawling on it. We wouldn't want Loki to swallow any poor caterpillars, would we? So I'm glad you asked; thank you for looking out for your brother."

Thor knew that really, he just hadn't wanted Loki chewing on his toys, but he beamed and pushed his shoulders back proudly. "All right, you can have the block," he told Loki. There were more than enough. "After all, brothers share, right Mama?"

Frigga beamed back at him. "Yes, they do. It might seem a little one-sided at first -- Loki doesn't have much yet that he can share with you -- but I promise it will even out as you get older."

The sound of footsteps made them both look up.

"Papa!" Thor jumped to his feet. "Come see what I'm building!"

Odin smiled and laid Gungnir down on the sofa, feeling the concerns of a king melt from his shoulders as the nursery door closed behind him. He had had a productive day, and felt he had more than earned some time alone with his family before dinner. He surveyed the towering piles of blocks, the tallest as high as Thor's head.

"Very impressive.” He looked down at his smallest son, sitting on the nearby rug and assiduously gumming on a wooden block.  Ever since Loki had started crawling, he was rarely far from Thor’s side. “Is Loki helping you?"

"No, he's just watching. And chewing on the construction materials." Thor said the phrase carefully, having heard it used in a conversation between his father and one of his advisors the other day.  He was pleased to have an opportunity to use it himself already; it sounded much more grown-up than "blocks".

"I see that. How's the tooth coming, young man?" Odin leaned down and picked Loki up, nudging the block Loki held clutched in his fist away from his mouth. "May I see?" He ran a finger over the sharp white nub breaking through Loki's gums and winced when Loki clamped down on his finger for his trouble. "Sore, is it?" he asked sympathetically. "Do you think you could -- ah, that's better." Odin extracted his finger as Loki relaxed his bite with an unhappy little sound, tucking his head under Odin's chin. "Another day or two and the worst should be over," he promised, kissing the top of Loki's head. At least until the next one, he thought, but chose not to burden his son with the knowledge that he was going to have to go through this seventeen more times after this tooth was through.

"You can pass me blocks if you want," Thor said, and Odin put Loki back down on the rug.

“Let me go greet your mother first, and then I am at your service.” Frigga turned up her face towards him with a smile as he approached, and he gave her a quick kiss. “Have you had a good day, my love?”

“I have, and I needn’t even ask; I can tell you’ve had a good day too.” 

“I have; for once the meeting with the Council didn’t run overlong and we dealt with all the points on the agenda. If you have no objection, I thought I could spend the next few hours with you and the boys.” 

“This is nothing we would enjoy more,” Frigga assured him, and watched fondly as he returned to Thor and began to pass blocks as directed, listening to their eldest chatter about his day. After a few minutes she took advantage of his presence to concentrate on her weaving for several rows, before glancing back up and noticing that Loki was no longer sitting where she had last seen him, gnawing on his wood block. She quickly looked around, her heart skipping a beat when she found him.

"Odin," she said, keeping her voice calm. "Please take Gungnir away from Loki."

Odin spun around, then relaxed when he saw that Loki had been able to reach the butt end of Gungnir where it hung off the edge of the sofa, and was now chewing on it with apparent contentment. "Bor’s beard," he swore with relief, all too able to picture a bleeding, screaming Loki if Loki had grabbed at the other end of the spear. "Sorry. Not used to him being able to crawl yet. It won't happen again." He went over to Loki and tried to pull the spear away, but Loki tightened his chubby fingers around it in a surprisingly strong grip.  “Come now, aren’t you a bit young to challenge me for my own weapon? After you snuck away and tried to steal it behind my back?” Odin gently pried Loki’s fingers away from the shaft and pulled it free from him. “My fault, though, for leaving it where you could reach it.” He was about to place it somewhere safely out of reach when he saw Loki’s lower lip jut out and his expression change to one that meant that a vocal outburst was imminent. He quickly let Gungnir fall back to the sofa and scooped up Loki instead. “Oh no,” he said hastily, jiggling Loki in an attempt to distract him. “No no no, shh, no crying. Warriors don’t cry. Frigga? Do you -- “

Frigga was already rising, with Loki’s coral teething ring in her hand. “He’s not a warrior, Odin, he’s a baby, and he’s in pain. Here, sweetheart, do you want this?” She held out the ring to Loki. 

“Yes, I know,” said Odin testily. “But do you want him to cry? It’s not going to make him feel any better; it’s just going to make his face feel hot and congested on top of the discomfort that he already is in.” He gentled his voice, addressing Loki as he smoothed down the wavy black hair sticking up on Loki’s crown. “I’m sorry you can’t have my spear to chew on. But you can have your ring, eh? Or a licorice root? Or a cold wet cloth? What do you say, hm?”

Loki looked at the ring that Frigga was waving in front of him temptingly, but then simply held out both arms to her in a silent request. 

“Oh, that’s it, come to Mama. I’ve got you.” Frigga took Loki from Odin, and rubbed his back gently “That’s my good boy, my sweet baby boy. Your papa is probably right that crying wouldn’t make you feel any better today,” she admitted. “But you can if you need to, even when you’ve become a man full-grown. There’s no shame in tears if a hurt grows too much to bear.” She kept her voice soft, conversational, and her eyes on Loki, but the latter words were for Thor, nearby and listening. “Isn’t that right, Odin?” She looked at her husband pointedly, her expression daring him to disagree with her, and cut her eyes to Thor and back, meaningfully.

“Ah, of course. What I meant to say was that warriors don’t cry in battle, because they’re too busy fighting,” Odin ad-libbed, hoping that this would be enough to satisfy Frigga. “And getting distracted and blurry-eyed is just asking to get your throat slit,” he added matter-of-factly, and Frigga rolled her eyes. “But if they had a good reason to, they could cry afterwards. However, not getting to use a dangerous weapon as a chew toy is not a good enough reason,” he chided, tapping Loki on the nose. Loki let go of Frigga’s gown with one hand and grabbed at his finger. It was a good, strong grip, Odin thought approvingly.

“Loki’s going to be a warrior, like me,” Thor informed them, leaving his blocks and walking over to join them. “Of course he wants a weapon.”  

“He may have one when he’s old enough to wield it properly,” Odin said firmly. 

“It’s odd, though,” Frigga said, finally getting Loki to take the teething ring by wriggling it enticingly in front of him. “He doesn’t usually like the feel of metal in his mouth. Was he really trying to hold onto it?” Although Loki had taken the ring, he didn’t seem that interested in it, and twisted around to look back at the sofa even as Frigga spoke, his preference obvious.

“He was,” confirmed Odin. He pulled out a handkerchief and picked up Gungnir, feeling the familiar thrum of magic running through the spear. Was that it? he wondered thoughtfully. Could Loki feel it too? He wiped the drool off the end of the spear and held it out towards Loki. Loki’s eyes lit up and he immediately grabbed the shaft. 

“Odin?” Frigga queried, unsure of what he was doing. 

“I think he can feel Gungnir’s magic,” Odin explained. “If he can, I’m not sure if it just feels interesting to him or if it could actually feel soothing on his gums.” He squashed the sudden urge to put the damn thing into his own mouth, out of curiousity. “But let me try something.” He stepped back and pulled the spear out of Loki’s grip again, grounding it. “Give me his teething ring for a moment.” 

Frigga pressed her lips together. She had just gotten Loki to take the ring. If he started crying... But he was only holding onto it halfheartedly, and let her take it back without protest. “Here.” She held it out. “What -- “

Odin leveled Gungnir and sent a stream of warm golden magic into the teething ring, briefly illuminating it before the glow faded. “Now let’s see how he likes it.” 

Loki’s enthusiasm was obvious the moment Frigga offered him the ring again. He seized it with a happy noise and began gnawing on it at once. Extending her senses out, she could feel the hum of magic now inhabiting the ring. Not enough to be used for anything, but enough to make the formerly dead object now feel warm and alive. “Well,” she said, unable to think of anything more coherent to say but pleased that Loki looked happier again. 

“What did you do?” asked Thor, puzzled. 

“I fed a little of Gungnir’s magic into the teething ring,” explained Odin. 

“Could you do that to something of mine?” asked Thor, with interest. Maybe the magic could bring one of his toy soldiers to life? 

“Tell me, can you feel anything when you place your hand upon Gungnir?” Odin asked, holding it out so Thor could wrap his fingers around the shaft below his own. 

Thor hesitated, tempted to lie, but if asked, he did not know what it was that he was supposed to feel. He shook his head. “No. Nothing special.” 

“Then there would be no point in enchanting any of your possessions. I would not expect you to be able to feel anything,” he hastened to assure Thor when he saw Thor’s face fall in disappointment. “You are yet young, and no seidr user; you did not fail any test. But Loki obviously did, and for someone of his age to be so sensitive to the feel of magic -- “

Perhaps it shouldn’t have been a surprise, with his inborn ability to shapeshift. But that was a gift of his birth race, while the magic flowing through Gungnir was the power of Asgard itself. Truly Loki was a child of two worlds, except again he felt that Loki had very specifically chosen him, had chosen Asgard. Were the Norns trying to tell him something? Was Frigga right in claiming that Loki had been meant for them, not just for raising but for always? Would Asgard be served best by a king who had a loyal brother standing by his side? He glanced down at Thor, looking up at him expectantly, and impulsively set Gungnir safely down on top of the wardrobe out of the reach of curious children’s hands before lifting Thor up into his arms, enjoying the feel of the boy’s solid, sturdy weight and Thor automatically winding his arms around him, glad that the war had ended, glad that he was missing no more of his son’s childhood. 

“Papa?” Thor prompted, wanting to know what his father was going to say about Loki.  He looked across at his brother from his new vantage point and made the silliest faces he could, feeling triumphant when a tiny giggle escaped Loki. 

Odin looked down at Thor, and then he looked at his wife, crooning endearments to Loki while cradling him in her arms and swaying gently, her eyes full of love and adoration. And then he looked at Loki, with a small baby smile on his face thanks to his brother’s antics and content now with his head resting against his mother’s chest with a full confidence that it belonged there, while he gummed a princely teething ring infused with Asgard’s magic, with the king’s magic, and he shook his head in wonderment. What had never been more than vague plans for a far-off future seemed to vapourise into thin air. Deliberately setting his boys on different paths that would lead them away from each other no longer seemed like the right thing to do. Asgard was Loki’s home now, for as long as he wished it. 

“Well,” he said, finally finishing his thought, “I think we are going to have a sorcerer in the family.” 

[acequeenking]

Hadestober #6

6) Livin' it Up on Top - Hermes takes his sister back up, but her behavior worries him. (T; mention of Seph’s canon alcoholism.)

Of all his sisters, Persephone has always been his favorite. Always thick of thieves, the two of them, which seems only appropriate, given that thieves fall under Hermes' jurisdiction. Always had been, even as kids; if he dared her to do something, she would do it. If he challenged her to a race, she would run it. Thumb her nose at dad? 'Course she would. The other kids in their generation made excuses -- Persephone just set to beating whatever challenge was put in front of her. Made them quick friends, once upon a time.

Hermes used to joke that she and him  were the only ones who got a drop of daddy's wanderer blood; truthfully, they were just the two who had the most to prove, being the only two living in the mortal realm. Either way, they looked out for one another: Persephone never saw a bit of Hermes' tricks, least so far as any parental unit who might punish him for such was concerned; Hermes certainly never saw her off to the underworld for a midnight rendezvous with the biggest conquest. They've both settled down now, but Persephone, well, let's just say he still escorts her to and fro. 

Her little dalliance Hades may have been what turned her mamma's hair grey, but if she had known even half of what Persephone and her half-brother had gotten into in their travels together -- well, let's just say Miss Demeter's hair would be white if she had any left at all.

Which is, in short, to say: Hermes knows Persephone well. Knows just about everything a brother can know. So it's obvious, to him, when she ain't feeling too good. Not, he thinks, when she's mainlining three rum and cokes before the train even finishes it's first chugga up to the surface.  Barely said a word to her dearest brother before she's deep into the bar: another sign she isn't feeling too good.

"Slow down, green thang," he says, watching her slam back drinks. "Got a whole summer to drink your fill."

"Doubt it. He was early last time," she says. "And the time before that."

Hermes frowns; that much is true enough. Been a few days earlier and earlier every year. But Persephone had greeted him with a smile each time, and he'd let them go down with the last few days of summers still hidden in her bag, because he'd thought his sister would be a bit happier with her man. Hermes hasn't been married, himself; that life was never for him, but his sister, well, wasn't a secret she loved her man, and that her man loved her.

"He'll be early again, too." She smiles sadly, adds a little ice to her drink. Probably because Hadestown has been hotter than hell lately, because he certainly can't imagine she wants to slow down her drinking. "Be early a bit more every time. Give'em a few more years and he'll be picking me up in June." 

"He ain't gonna press it that far," Hermes says; Hades is unlikely to do anything that might ruptures the world order quite so badly. Always a balance between them, even if he tips the scale a bit. Hermes, being the god of rogues, cannot quite blame the man for trying to tip the scales a bit. Lots of times you can tip the scales without it quite being considered cheating.

"He will." She doesn't say anything more, and when he tries to offer her a bit of comfort in his words, she holds her hand up.

"Don't want to argue," she says, and there's an edge to sister-girl's voice, one he hasn't heard before. "Just pour another."

And so he does.

---

By the time they get up top, Persephone's had more than a few. Which...isn't so unusual; his sister has always been prone to her drink. She was never one for moderation, not in her drink and certainly not in her love life. He's sure that it must be hard for her,  coming home, as she does, every year, to a world that relies on her more and more and more, as the human population grows and grows, and leaving a man who resents her absence more and more. An inevitable position, the one his sister has found herself in.

"HEY!" She shouts as they step off his train. She's stumbling a bit, and Hermes puts his arm protectively around her shoulders. "Let's find a party, Hermes, bound to be one somewhere!"  Her volume is far too loud - alcohol working its charms, for sure.

"Why don't we go see see your mama?" He suggests  instead. Demeter has never been one to turn down a visit, regardless of her daughter's sobriety, though it's been quite some time since she's been so soused. Probably have words to say, but odds are Demeter will say them to him, and not to Persephone, and he's willing to take that lecture. 

"Do I look like I wanna be with my momma?" Persephone spits back. "I have been in hell for six months, brother, six months!" She grabs his hand with both her hands, the look in her eyes pleading. "I have been six months at his beck and call, and I ain't going straight to six months of being at hers. C'mon." She bumps his hips with hers. "I know you know how to dance, Hermes."

And Hermes is, indeed, a fabulous dancer. Doesn't mind tooting his own horn when it comes to the smoothness of his footwork. It wouldn't be the first time they'd gone dancing together, and Hermes knows damn well he's one of the few people who could dance with Persephone without her husband showing up in a jealous huff. He and Hades have worked together long enough that the man surely knows that for all he and Persephone have gotten along, they've never quite been tempted to turn their dancing horizontal. Neither of them has ever quite leaned in such a way.

"Please," she says, soft, and that sets all his alarm bells ringing, for Persephone has never been one to beg for anything. "I just gotta let off some steam." 

"Alright, alright," he says, giving in.  She laughs too loud, claps her hands in a childlike burst of drunken joy. "Alright," he says, alarm bells ringing in his head in seventy different percussive beats, all at once. But that said: it is unusual, but not entirely unexpected that she might want to blow off steam. Maybe it's been a rougher six months than it had looked. He'd talk to her about it, once she got some of that energy out.

He tilted his ear, listened for the best environment - ah. Found it. "Come on, sister girl," he said, strolling down to a bar where the booze seemed to be sweet on tap, and the jazz was, as was always his sisters penchant, lighter than air and darker than sin in its sound. "Good cabaret down the corner."

"Yes!" She pumps her arm in victory, and it reminds him of her younger self so much that his heart aches. He realizes, in that smile, just how rarely he's seen it, dropping off letters for the underworld's mister and missus, for the last couple of years. He swallows. Maybe this conversation is a bit overdue. But she's seemed to manage every other year so much better. Always got at least a smile out of her on the train, and a couple mimosas weren't anywhere near this six-whiskey-shots-and-still-going binge.

But he doesn't say anything. Just leads her to the club, where she disappears onto the dance floor. He joins her there for a time, but his bones - ah, they're old things now. Doesn't take long for him to slow down. The same can't be said of green young thang, however; she's still got energy for days in those legs. Makes sense, given how little she's been up top. Maybe Mr. Hades hasn't taken her dancing enough down there. Certainly seemed like he's been more than a little busy with his factories. Hermes tries to think of the last time he came in to them spending time together, and finds he cannot remember when it was.

"Save me a seat at the bar, handsome," his sister purrs, reading the furrow on his brow all too clearly.

"Let's talk when you tire out, sister." He gives her a look, and for a brief moment her composure breaks: the chin wobbles, the eyes look soft and wet for -- just a moment. And if he were not so good a friend, he doubts he would have seen such. He taps his eyes, and points toward her, turning the moment into a joke. The mood breaks, and she laughs and hits his hand in a friendly fashion, and he smile as he goes back to the bar.

He chooses his seat according to what Persephone tends to favor, and waits and waits for the little shoot to make her way over.  Seem simple enough. He'll let her tire herself out, and speak about her troubles in a space too modern for her mother to frequent and too loud for her husband to snoop on them.  But it takes Persephone a long time.

For a moment, his heart beats in hope as she comes closer; she comes to the bar, orders a vodka and cranberry spritz. Drops it down her gullet in one smooth move and winks at him, hoping back into the crowd without a word. His eyes follow her.

He watches her move on the dance floor - never really interacting with another else, but dancing so hard that she's sweating, like she can exorcise demons even her husband can't get out by moving herself on the floor.

"Your friend?" The barman asks, watching Hermes watch Persephone. He sees the concern in his eyes; Hermes looks a lot older than green thang, even if she's not any less ancient.

"My baby sister," he says; when the barman looks skeptical, he turns up the charm. Always has been a charmer. "Same father. Different mothers, obviously."

Bar man whistles. "Your daddy sure was punching above his weight, to get a girl like that at such an age."

True enough, and Hermes honestly laughs. "You don't know the half of it, brother. Not the half. My daddy could charm the wimple off a nun."

The barman laughs with him, and Hermes shifts his attention to flirting with the bar man, still keeping one eye out for his sister. Persephone keeps dancing, only runs to the bar to get another drink, and then another.

He keeps waiting for the talk, but before he knows it, the bar is closing, and the bar man's number is in his pocket, and Persephone is still dancing, still drinking and dancing, and he is very, very worried about her.

"Closing time!" She shouts into his ear; he winces.

"Sure is, baby." He squeezes her hand.

"Let's find another cabaret!" That's the thing about the big cities; never do sleep. He could certainly find her one.

"What about our talk?" He asks. "Besides, got to get you to your second home." She scoffs, and he ignores the scoff. "Orpheus has to be wondering where I am. You don't want to make him worry." Persephone has always had a soft spot for his boy.

But today she wraps her arms around his neck and gives him her biggest, widest smile. "Just one more, please?"

He frowns. He doesn't like the idea of not talking about whatever bug has crawled under her skin, and he doubts more dancing is gonna shake it out for her. Still, they are gods, and they have six months to have conversations, and there are plenty of less-charged times to have them. If there is one thing Hermes has learned, it's that they have time.

So instead of insisting on talking to her about her old man, about her new pains, well, he smiles, and says, "I suppose one more won't hurt," and he holds her hand, and they go dancing.

[amarauder]

000. the legend of thelma the llama

thelma the llama 

chapter zero

percy jackson x mortal! reader

SUBSCRIPTS

1. Pythia is another word for the Oracle of Delphi

2. The Peloponnesian War was a controversy between the Spartans and the Athenians. The Polis of Athens wanted the other Greek City-States to help pay the taxes for the damage done in the War against the Persians. The other City-States refused to do so and they instead decided to team up with Sparta and take over Athens. They won.

3. A Hoplite is just a Greek Soldier

4. a greek person

5. The Anthesteria is a festival honoring the wine god; Dionysus. The festival is held for three days at the beginning of spring. The Ancient Greeks celebrated the maturation of the previous year's vintage and the beginning of spring

6. An Amphitheater is basically a theater. But it's seating goes increasingly upward with each row, so their voices can carry up to the highest rows and that way everyone can also see.

-

Paulina was shaking as she entered the inner temple. The sacred temple, that looked more like a crumbling cave than anything special was darker than she had expected. Moss crawled up its walls and the place stunk like a drying dryads breath. Paulina was starting to regret her decisions on coming here. It had taken months to get from Sparta to the City of Delphi and now that she was finally here, Paulina didn't want to go inside and meet the woman that would decide her future.

The girl who looked around her younger brother's age, ushered her forward, deeper into the cave. Paulina sighed and looked outside one more time before following the girl, "Why don't you ever talk?" She asked.

The girl ignored Paulina's question making her wonder if the girl was mute. Maybe the Oracle had used her weird voodoo and cut her tongue off. The thought scared Paulina but she walked on.

As they walked deeper into the cave, Paulina picked up some sort of herb-like scent. It smelled good and she found herself taking in bigger whiffs.

"Have you bathed enough?" The girl finally spoke.

"I spent a whole two hours in that place. I hope I have."

The girl nodded and said nothing else the rest of the trip. Paulina sighed again and kicked a rock in front of her. The girl slowed down her pace so she could kick the rock more. After a few more calculating the rock, the 12-year-old girl grabbed Paulina's arm. "Stay here." She said and walked further into the cave.

Once the girl was out of sight, Paulina groaned into her hands. What was she thinking of listening to the Kook of Sparta? Bastian was an old man who had greying hair and obsidian-like eyes. He had a habit of yelling at walls and sniffing people before greeting them. He was the most bizarre person she had ever met in her life, but he was also the wisest and the kindest person. For some reason, life always seemed to work like that.

"The Pythia(1) will see you now." She said moving her hand to place a strand of her muddy hair behind her ear.

"The what?"

The girl said nothing again and only pushed Paulina towards a tiny entrance to what looked like a little Coven. "Watch out for cracks."

Paulina nodded and walked into the Coven, she turned around to see the girl still smiling and staring at her. The goggling only gave Paulina more motivation to move faster. The corridor started to get lighter and lighter with each step she took. Soon, she could even see what was in front of her.

The room was filled with what looked like mist but instead of sitting on the floor it floated at the top of the cave. It gave Paulina a weird feeling but she still stepped forward. A woman who looked around Paulina's age sat on an old wooden chair. She was rather pretty. Her hair was long and the color of mud. She was pale like the moon but had the same glow the planet did. Paulina couldn't see her eyes as they were closed. As Paulina let her eyes roam over her figure she kneeled on a mat in front of the chair. Directly in between the legs of the chair was a fissure in the stone, the smoke like air floated out of the crevice and ensnared her senses.

After a few seconds of calming silence, Paulina remembered the piece of parchment she had been given by the girl. The paper read about how to awake the Oracle. "Oh, Sacred Oracle. I have traveled many brutal distances to reach your wise mind. I have bathed in the Blessed Waters to cleanse my soul and I have given the life of your Holy animal; the goat. Please, oh, Please, awaken and give me your treasured advice on." The inscription stopped there. Now, after months of planning, Paulina felt her mind go blank. She had completely forgotten about what she was going to say. "Umm, Oracle of Delphi," Paulina felt foolish talking a woman who didn't even have the energy to open her eyes, "I want to be able to fight. Sparta needs soldiers for the current Peloponnesian War(2), I am sure you have heard about. But, er, I have proven I am worthy I am fighting but they refuse to let me become a Hoplite(3)."

The silence was deafening to Paulina as she waited for something, anything to happen. The longer the silence went on the sicker she felt. She had gone such a long way for nothing to happen. "Hmmm."

Paulina looked up to realize she was nose to nose to the girl from earlier. Paulina almost jumped out of her skin but instead stared into bright green eyes. They were as bright as the moss on the walls from earlier but looked to be unseeing. They stared into Paulina's blankly.

"The girl from Sparta desires to fight but is not destined to do so."

Paulina scoffed, "What?"

"The girl from Sparta desires to fight but is not destined to do so. Thelma the Llama will lead her to her desires and her fates."

The girl closed her eyes again and sat back against the chair in the same position she had been in before. Paulina furrowed her eyebrows while staring at the Oracle. Hoping she would move, do something again. This couldn't be it. Some animal was not going to lead her to fight. A real Hoplite fought on the ground with others by his side.

Paulina shut her eyes tightly and leaned her jaw against the palm of her hands.

She hated the stupid Oracle.

Getting up abruptly, she sped out of the disgusting cave with the weird mute girl and the nutjob of a woman. Once she was far enough from the cave, she screamed. She screamed out of frustration, out of self-doubt, out of exhaustion, out of a sense of hopelessness.

"What is this nonsense you are screaming about?" Someone snapped from behind Paulina. She turned around to see an old man who looked very annoyed at Paulina's presence, 'Well?"

"Sorry to bother you, Hellene(4). I am just frustrated is all."

The older man nodded and started to head inside his shack, "Wait." Paulina said out of desperation and twenty-million other things she couldn't name, "What do you think of the Oracle?"

"The Oracle of Delphi?" The man said in surprise, "Are you messing with me, child?"

"No, Hellene. I am not."

"She is very wise."

"Do you think she's right?"

The man nodded, "Have you just gone to see her?"

"I have."

"Well, what did she say?" The man hadn't moved. He stayed facing his house letting his voice bounce off the walls of the mountain behind his home.

"She told me that a Llama named Thelma would lead me to my desires."

"A Llama named Thelma, you say?"

"Yes, Hellene."

"I have a Llama, but we haven't named her yet."

"Oh, Hellene. Thank you for your kindness but I don't believe the Oracle."

The man turned around suddenly, "Foolish girl. Don't ever say that again. Now, follow me. The Oracle is talking about my Llama."

"Are you sure, Hellene?"

The man didn't answer but instead walked into his house in a diligent manner. Paulina decided to follow him. She might as well follow him, he looked harmless and it wasn't like she had anything better to do. The shack was bigger than she had thought. It was a homey little place filled to the brim with what looked like burnt corn.

"It guards my home." than man answered as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. However, there was a little space that wasn't covered in blackened corn. The space had a wooden plank nailed to the wall with four blocks of wood under it. "My wife died many years ago."

"Oh, umm," Paulina said in confusion from the randomness of the situation, "I'm sorry, a Hellene."

"I don't like pity. My wife's name was Thelma. She loved that Llama figurine with all her heart. It was her most prized possession."

Paulina looked surprised, "That's your Llama?"

"yes, it is and I want you to take it."

"Why?"

"Because it's ugly and takes up space on my sacred place."

"Oh, I thought your wife loved it."

"She did, but she also loved me."

"Okay then." Paulina said and took the figurine off the shelf, "Thank you, Hellene."

The man nodded and walked away from her silently. Paulina stared at the Llama. It was wooden and old and looked ugly just like the old man had said. She clenched her jaw silently and walked out of the house.

The figurine was gone. It had disappeared in her hands, the vanishing act had confused Paulina more than anything. The thing had to be connected to that bizarre magic voodoo that scared Paulina more than she would like it to admit it.  Unfortunately, there was no other logical explanation, not that magic was logical But still, the more Paulina walked on, the sicker she felt thinking about it. Her mind had finally started to come back to reality. The Pythia, the old man, and the Llama had all been very bad ideas. She was stupid, very very stupid. Delphi had changed Paulina, she used to be very street smart. But now, she talking to Oracles, going into stranger's houses, and taking an unpleasant omen that seemed to be connected to magic and bad luck.

Despite the fact that weird things have been happening to her the past few days. A lady had come up to her and begged for her forgiveness. She had gotten on her knees and started to bawl at her feet. People had stopped and stared but none walked over to help. At first, Paulina had hoped it just had been a coincidence but it was too weird to be one.

The next day, a blind man had told her he could see her. Paulina had helped the man onto the stone steps of a temple for Zeus. The boy looked to be in his early twenties or late teens and had bright, electric blue almost grey eyes that stared deep into Paulina's soul. His blank stare was unnerving to look at, but she stayed anyway.

"What do I look like then?" The Spartan asked the boy quietly. She saw his hands reach out to touch any part of her, so Paulina grabbed his hands and entangled their fingers together.

"You have short brown hair, hazel eyes, freckles over the bridge of your nose, and you desperately want to fight to prove your worth to your family."

Paulina scooted away from the man in shock. Her heart was beating rather fast and she felt dizzy. She knew that dizziness and a faster heart rate meant some sort of sickness. Maybe she was allergic to the man in front of her.

"No, please don't go." he pleaded quietly, "You are the only one who has stayed this long."

"How do you know I am still here?"

"I can sense you. You have a brighter aura than others."

"What's an aura?" Paulina asked, her fingers were playing with her toga nervously. He gave her a weird feeling and Paulina didn't like it.

"I, umm, it's like a. No, I don't know. I can't explain it. I'm guessing it's something that surrounds someone because I always see it when someone gets close to me."

Paulina went silent for a few minutes. Her life was becoming a joke too quickly for it to be normal. [this is my life right now, everyone. just thought you all should know :) ]

"Are you still there?" the boy asked nervously.

"Umm, yes, I am. Sorry for being so quiet, this is just a lot to take in."

The boy nodded, "I'm sure. By the way, I am Aegidius." Aegidius stuck his hands out towards Y/N's chin.

Giggling quietly, she took his hand in hers and shook it, "My name is Paulina Gaspard."

"Nice to meet you, Paulina. You have a very pretty name."

"Thank you, Aegidius. I like yours too."

"Thank you," he said, "I hope you don't mind, but I have to ask you something."

"Sure, go ahead," Paulina said, wondering if she was going to regret this later on.

"Why are you here in, Delphi?"

Paulina went silent. How did he know everything about her? It was rather creepy, "I came to see the Oracle. How do you know everything about me?"

Aegidius shrugged, "I see you in my dreams."

"That's," Paulina paused, struggling to find the word she was feeling, "interesting."

Suddenly, Aegidius started to laugh. He had laughed so hard he snorted which made Paulina start to laugh. Soon enough, they looked like two lunatics giggling over nothing. "What are you laughing at?" Paulina said after a few deep breaths to calm herself.

"You." Paulina took in a sharp breath and tried very hard to school her features into anything but hurt. She failed. Thank Zeus he couldn't see her. "Sorry, that's not what I meant. It's just our situation we are in. You, Paulina, from Sparta, have been taught all your life that magic and Oracles and Seers are weird and should be gone from the world. But here you are befriending a blind seer."

Paulina shrugged, "I have a tendency of not doing what I am taught."

"I'm glad you do."

"Me too." Paulina said, "Wait, so if you are a seer. Do you know where the llama went?"

Aegidius raised his eyebrows, "You have lost it already."

Paulina scoffed, "Oh, please, like you haven't lost anything in your life."

"You do realize you are talking to a blind person, right?" he asked, "It's kind of impossible for me to not lose everything."

"Sorry. But do you have any idea where it might be?"

"Nope," Aegidius shrugged, "Sorry, Paulina. But the Anthesteria (5) is going on right now. There is always talk about current fights going on there. Correct me, if I am wrong. But your greatest desire is to have the freedom of fighting, right?"

Paulina shrugged, "I suppose. It doesn't really matter what I want to do. It's not like it will happen anyway."

They both went silent for a while. It was sort of awkward as neither knew what to say at the moment. After all, how do you reassure someone that everything is possible when you feel the same as them?

"Do you want to help me look for the llama?" Paulina asked, "I mean, I know you can't exactly look for it. But maybe you could sense it's erm, what was it called? The thing that surrounds a person?"

Aegidius hid a chuckle with a smile and biting his bottom lip, "An Aura?"

"Yes, an aura." Paulina smiled and stood up a little straighter.

"Sure, I'd love to come to look for your missing magical llama statue. You know, that sentence just gets weirder as it goes on."

"Hurry up, Aegidius," The Spartan said rolling her eyes.

"I can't exactly see," Aegidius said and made grabby hands at her, hoping she would help him get up.

"Oh, right."

Festivals in Sparta were slightly scary. Someone was always getting their privates or heads chopped off. Occasionally, it was an unloyal soldier or maybe a very unlucky person that a Hoplite had captured. But usually, it was a random slave or commoner that hadn't paid their taxes.

Sometimes, there would be some sort of play in the amphitheater (6). But personally, Paulina thought those were boring-not that seeing someone's privates getting chopped off was any better.

However, as Aegidius and Paulina stepped into the heart of the festival, Paulina couldn't help but notice how different Sparta's and Delphi's festivals were. How happy and calm everyone looked and how pretty the decorations were compared to her the ones she had grown up with at home.

The polis of Delphi's festival was the most extravagant thing Paulina had ever seen in her life.

"Hey," Paulina said and nudged Aegidius next to her, "You are so incredibly lucky you live here."

"Mmm, I guess."

Paulina scoffed, "And you don't even appreciate it. Everything is so gorgeous and the atmosphere is positive and light. No one is worried their insides are going to get cut out."

"Now that is why I am a little grateful for being blind."

Paulina laughed and rolled her eyes, searching the area she found an occupied seating area where maybe men and women were shouting and laughing. They had glasses in their hands with what looked like wine. "Hey," Paulina whispered and tugged him over to the area, "Let's go there."

Aegidius followed her orders with ease but it was rather hard not to stumble over anything when you couldn't see due to the fact that the person leading you was distracted by yelling people.

Paulina pushed back the glossy curtain letting them enter the dining-like area. A small smile made it's a way onto her face as she looked around in wonder. There were women giggling and talking to a man in the corner, there were old women discussing or gossiping about something that sounded unimportant but it intrigued Paulina anyway. However, in Paulina's opinion, the most captivating thing in the room was an old man crowded around the majority of the people in the room. He was shouting something that Paulina couldn't understand. For some reason, it sparked her curiosity.

However, Aegidius felt the opposite. He was dizzy from all the auras surrounding him. They were all much too strong and it was exhausting to try and block out each one. He had never liked people that much and the fact that he couldn't see them made it much worse.

"Paulina," Aegidius said trying to pull away from Paulina's tugging towards a group of people, "I feel sick." She turned around suddenly in alarm. Paulina had been in a trance-like state as her excitement to discover buried secrets about the mystery man leaned closer. But now she turned towards her friend in a worried state. He could wait, Aegidius, however, could not.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know, I feel dizzy." He whispered and clung to his partner, "Why is the world spinning? I'm going to fall over."

Paulina's eyes widened tremendously. "What have you done to upset Apollo?" she said and shifted Aegidius ever-weakening body, "Oh, I have heard that if you feel sick when you first meet someone that you could be allergic to that particular person. Maybe you are allergic to me?"

"What?" he slurred, "and people call me nuts. Just set me down on a surface that I can sit down upon." Paulina quickly found a seat and let him rest against it. He looked sick. His skin tone was unusual, it was flushed but also pale at the same time. She hadn't even known that was possible until now. His grey eyes were flickering around wildly as if they were looking around for something to focus on but any logical person knew they would find nothing.

She started to panic when the color on his cheeks disappeared and his hand gripped her shoulder harder. She started to notice that he had a habit of always holding onto her. He never seemed to want to let go of her since she had met him. It was rather unusual but maybe it was a logical explanation for a blind person. She was placing a hand against the side of his neck to check for warmth. (apparently in the ancient times they would check their necks for warmth to check if they were sick or not. if they were cold they were sick and if they were warm he was okay. it's rather weird. but I'll roll with it.)He was warm. Paulina felt herself breathe out a sigh of relief.

"Thank goodness, you are warm," she whispered as she leaned back against him.

"What the hell does that mean?" Aegidius cried out, "How is that supposed to help me in any way, shape, or form?"

"I don't know! That's what my Mother used to do when I was sick! She told me that when you are sick check the temperature of your neck. If you are warm then you will survive, if you are cold then you won't. Simple."

"So I am going to survive."

"Apparently."

"That's great. I can't have you dying in my place. It's bad service and gives out a bad reputation." Someone said from behind them. Paulina turned around to see the guy from earlier. He was short, stubby, and sort of reminded her of a tater tot. (i know they didn't have them in ancient greece and i pity them for not having them. so now they will have them because i am a kind person. also, i know the face claim you saw earlier does not match this description but just imagine Clint Eastwood as a short, stubbier person, who apparently looks like a tater tot.)

"This is your house?" Paulina asked as she heard Aegidius groan from behind her and quickly turned to reassure him when the short man beat her to it. He held a lobster in his hand and snapped it in half with his two hands. He brought it up over Aegidius head and let the juice from the lobster drip out and over his head. Paulina quickly stood up, so the lobster stuff wouldn't get on her own toga. She felt bad though, when he almost fell over. "Now what can I do for you folks. I haven't seen you around here before."

Paulina stared at Aegidius for a while, wondering what he was feeling. She guessed it would be an odd feeling to have someone pour the insides of a Lobster on you and not being able to know what it was or who had poured it on him. The good thing was he was starting to look a lot better. His coloring was coming and lidded eyes were slowly becoming brighter again. However, it was bizarre how he acted like he didn't even know there was liquid pouring down his temples and wettening his toga.

"How did you do that?" Paulina asked and walked over to Aegidius. She moved his sopping hair off his forehead and sat down on the table top above his forearm.

"I asked you first, birdy."

"Birdy?" The Spartan asked turning her attention from her friend to the strange man she was still curious about.

He shrugged, "I like the name."

Paulina furrowed her eyebrows. He hadn't been what he had expected leaving Paulina a little disappointed. He was a little weird, but he held a mysterious exterior that Paulina was fond of. "Okay, I am Paulina Gaspard and this," Paulina said and pointed to her benchmate, "Aegidius."

"I am Paralian," He said and stuck a hand out for her to shake.

Getting her hand out with Aegidius leaning against her frame was rather hard, so she instead decided to just say something along the lines of nice to meet you. The man left and went behind the counter when someone shouted at him for something.

"Paulina," Aegidius groaned.

"Yes?"

"What the hell is this clumpy stuff on me?"

Paulina started to laugh, "The insides of a Lobster." She heard Aegidius groan again from under her causing her to laugh harder, "You know, I have never been this close to someone after only knowing them for a few hours."

"That's because you have never met a blind person. We're pretty cool people."

"I'm sure." She said and pat his shoulder. Her eyes scanned over the seating area once more when she met eye contact with Paralian. He gestured for her to come over. She nodded at him and kept her eyes on the man. "Do you think you can get up?"

"I think so."

"Good, we are going to go talk to Paralian."

Aegidius made a sound of protest, "No, I don't like him."

Paulina scoffed, "What are you talking about? You don't even know him."

"You don't either."

"Exactly, but I'm not the one judging him."

"Touche. But I am going to have to lean on you again."

"What even happened to you?" Paulina asked as she helped him up and off the bench.

"I don't know." Silence swept between them until they met up with Paralian. Personally, Paulina thought it was kind of nice.

"Sit, sit," Paralian ushered them into a seat, before standing up on the makeshift table, "Everyone, this is Pauline and Aegidius."

Paulina felt her heart sink, "No, it's Paulina-" Everyone greeted them a hello but it didn't make her feel any better. Of course, he got her name wrong. That had always been her worst pet peeve.

"So, are you children going to the Amphitheater later on?" Paralian asked and made a drink for someone next to them.

"yes, we are planning too," Paulina said.

"Good, I will go with you."

"What?" Aegidius exclaimed, he looked rather annoyed, "Why are coming with us?"

"You two intrigue me. Now, when did you get your names?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Did you get your name on the seventh to the tenth day of your birth?" (most children in ancient Greece didn't get their name until a week or more later because so many of them would die so early. the later you get your name the weaker you are as a baby.)

"The seventh," Paulina grinned.

"The ninth," Aegidius said and drummed his fingers against the counter.

"Hmm, interesting-"

Paulina almost fell out of her chair in shock. There on the counter was the llama. It was just sitting there just as ugly as it had been before. But it was there, she felt so relieved and happy. Excitement ignited inside of her. "What?" Aegidius asked nervously. She had gasped and now more than ever Aegidius wished he could see what was going on. She wasn't hurt was she?

"The Llama. How do you have the Llama?" Paulina asked Paralian.

"What Llama? Oh, you mean Thelma. A customer of mine had brought it in earlier and asked me to keep it safe for him."

"But it's mine," Paulina said quickly, "I had gotten it from an old man. He gave it to me! I swear he did!"

"Hey, hey, relax, kid." he said and put his hands down in a shushing manner, "I'll go talk to the guy. We're old friends. I'm sure he'll understand. Why don't you go outside? We have a beautiful view from the back. Go check it out. I'll bring your ugly Llama thing to you."

"Thank you, Paralian," Paulina said ignoring the comment on how ugly it was, "Thank you so much."

"Sure thing," he said and grabbed it off the counter before disappearing.

"Come on, Aegidius," Paulina said helping him out of his chair, "Let's go."

"I'm coming, I'm coming," he said and held out his arm for her.

"You seem better," she whispered as they walked towards the bench. She could see the view now and he was right. It was beautiful. The trees swayed gently in the wind as Apollo slowly started to meet his Sister in the horizon.

"I feel better. I still can't believe he put lobster on me though."

"Oh, please," the girl giggled nudging him playfully, "You loved it."

"I don't love anything." the man blurted out. Paulina was shocked, he looked so serious saying it. He almost seemed like he was serious.

"Well, you like things, don't you?"

"Sure, I do." he said quietly, "I just don't love things anymore."

Paulina went silent for a while. She hadn't realized how interesting of a person he was until now, "Eventually you are going to have to turn whatever you like into what you love. it's how you start to really live your life, Aegidius."

Aegidius went silent for a while. He just stared, but it was a different kind of stare. He glanced around in front of him as if he could see things. The look on his face was glorious. His brows furrowed down slightly and his eyes were more grey than ever. The golden light spilled over his features and turned his hair to ichor. She felt strangely airless, her breath had left long ago, and the wind had disappeared but she was fine. It was like she was dead but she had never felt more alive. "I used to love sunsets."

"I'm sorry, what?" Paulina said. She was thankful he was blind at the moment.

"When I was young, I used to love sunsets. I had been able to see then and I would just sit on top of this hill behind our house and I would admire the cool blue spill into purple. My Mother used to yell at me when she would call five times for me to come for dinner. But I had always had a problem with authority."

Paulina searched his face a little more and found a tiny smile. She hadn't seen him smile before. It took her a while to speak, "You can still love sunsets."

Aegidius laughed. It wasn't a small little giggle, it was full-blown, sad, throwing your head back, bitter kind of laughter. It made Paulina feel sick to her stomach, the feeling stayed the rest of the night when he didn't say a word after.

a/n; and there you have it folks, the first chapter of 'thelma the llama'. don't worry next chapter you will be starring in the book. but first i had to get this written out. my gods, i hadn't realized how hard it was to write in the ancient greece time period. this is my first time writing something like this, so let me know how i did.

i'm kind of getting attached to paulina and aegidius. it's not good, but get ready to see more of them and you'll get to know paralian more as the story goes on. i think i may do something where every other chapter are these characters and then the other is percy jackson, it would only be for act one though. but i don't know yet, so let me know what you would prefer.

also, i am sorry if there are different tenses throughout the chapter. for some reason, it was hard for me to write in one tense the entire time. i think it is because i am experimenting with both at the moment.

another thing, [sorry] i would like to announce that i may be taking a tiny hiatus. i have been noticing that lately writing has become more like a chore than a fun hobby i enjoy doing. so it will only be two days. so don't worry about it.

but basically, what i am doing is the first day i am going to take the entire day off. just no writing at all, no checking notifications, no nothing. i am going to see if i had more fun that day without the responsibilities. the second day, i am only going to write for myself. i will not show any of you the writing piece and see how it turns out. basically, what i am experimenting is to see if i am starting to write for you guys instead of myself. recently, i have been noticing that i am trying to please you all instead of myself which is not okay in my book because my plan all along is to please myself. i am truly sorry about this but i think it will be a really good way for myself to figure out what is going on. plus, this way i can get myself more motivated and in the end it will also help you guys. but thank you for reading this. i am very excited for this book. i just ahh, i cannot wait to create this world and show you guys what happens!

[beaflower77]

Can’t We Build A Better Fort?

“When did it first begin?,” Avorndis inquired. After several seconds. “Hmm. Last week, I believe,” Enaria replied, while combing out the little elliths’ hair over and over. “Had you used the light ointment, or the darker?” Enaria looked at Avorndis with confused clarity, “Which one is darker?,” she asked. “The lighter one or the other lighter one?” 

Beatrice and the elder of the two elflings within the fort listened in on the conversation Avorndis and Enaria were sharing, and snickered. Looking at each other in jest, Beatrice made circling finger signs round her head. “Cuckoo,” she whispered to the elfling, causing the little one to smile and giggle more. “Enaria? But can’t you tell?,” inquired Avorndis, a little sarcasm showing. 

“Ouch!,” Beatrice yelped. They all turned toward her. “Sorry. Paper cut,” explained Beatrice and she shook her finger, all the while continuing to read with the youngest elfling.

The trio, Avorndis, Enaria and Beatrice, had taken shelter inside the blanket fort, and fortified themselves with food and Avorndis’ young elflings. Their husbands, Lhosben and Edwendaer, extremely proud over the blanket fort they collaborated on, decided to remain in a sunny, spacious alcove just a ways from them purely for guarding against possible invading dragons. Galearon, Beatrice’s own young charge, had also agreed to keep the females company. However the only contribution he made was his continual complaints. And today apparently, there were not many unwanted, unsolicited dragons within the city of Imladris. Faelor, Galearon’s older brother, was somewhere off and about with Lindir at the moment just looking for them. The troublesome dragons. The sunny alcove for the time being was devoid of disasters. For the moment. 

Continuing with the story, Beatrice read, “The long road increased in size.” The mistake in sentence structure stopped both Enaria and Avorndis’s conversation. “Beatrice stop,” Enaria posed. “No. Increased in size is not correct. What are you trying to say? Let me look at that.” And Enaria took the book away. “Here. See here? The road turned sharply round a bend. Not increased.” Enaria looked at the elfling explaining, “Lady Beatrice is a little cuckoo I think.” Enaria tossed her light hair, began her conversation with Avorndis again. “Alright,” Beatrice smiled, slightly embarrassed again, “The road turned sharply round a bend. And disappeared into a golden, bright forest. It was filled with all sorts of animals.”  

Outside the fort, their guards whispered softly among themselves.

The middle elfling appeared before the three women. He stuck his leg rudely in front of their faces. “My leggings came out of my boots for the fourth time,” Galearon declared, desperately trying to tuck them back in, starting to fret. Beatrice plunked her book down. Avorndis’ youngest elfling collapsed on her back in the middle of the fort in exasperation. “Ugh. Not again.” His misery continued. “My leggings,” were complained further. “Stop interrupting Galearon. It’s rude,” the little elfling begged of him in annoyance.

Beatrice closed the book, tossing it aside. While trying not to show annoyance, “Give me your leg. Take your boots off again. I’ll sew up your leggings. Again. For the fourth time,” and she pulled and tugged his tight boot toward herself as Galearon held tightly to the center pole. However, the pull of the boot gave Galearon such momentum, he hurdled backward, his body stumbling, tumbling out of the fort. And while tumbling, his hold on the pole slipped, causing the sole support of the fort to shift ever so slightly to the left. 

No one noticed.

The guards outside the fort were bored. Apparently, there were no dragons to save the damsels and elflings from at the moment. So being bored, not having much to trouble themselves over, they decided to nit-pick. Lhosben, one of Haldir’s soldiers, spent half his year with his wife and children in Imladris, the other half of the year in Lothlorien amongst the trees. That way everyone was satisfied, and their elflings grew up in two cultures. 

And as Galearon tumbled outside the fort without his boots again, Lhosben heard and stuck his head within Galearon’s sight, “Whatever will you do?,”Lhosben carped sarcastically of the elfling, a cascade of light, luxurious hair falling, dangling forth. “Leave him alone Lhosben,” Enaria scolded. “Go and tinker somewhere else.” And she flipped her hand away. Lhosben in disbelief, then turned upon his wife, Avorndis, and back to Enaria. “And where might that be, your Ladyship? I am meant to be here. Protection of my lady wife and children. Remember? I am meant to be a ‘tent guard’ while twiddling away my thumbs. But excuse me,” and turning, speaking to Beatrice, “while you three twiddle and garble under this silly nonsense of a massive blanket fort.” “Lhosben. Please. Find something out there to do.” Avorndis tried not to scold her husband. Enaria did that well enough. 

“My leggings.” again pleaded Galearon, still on his back and bootless leg raised.

Lhosben dragged his head out, rejoined his counter guard Edwendaer, and dutifully stood before the sonorous, quaint fort once again and gave a sigh. A slice of apple was handed him. “Dragon meat?,” Edwendaer asked, surrendering a large chunk over. “Tastes like apple though.” Taking the proffered dragon meat, Lhosben chewed a few edges and asked, “Do you not think dragons might invade us? Should we not have some sort of contraption to place them in? If they should suddenly charge our fort? This fort is rather flimsy,” Lhosben affirmed.

“Aye,” agreed Edwendaer. “I wonder how long it will remain standing. Dragons, you say? We will rope them in the corner there,” and Edwendaer tossed his head forward. “Pelt them with apples I think. You know, come to think of it, you’re a long way from Lothlorien these days. You miss the forest Lhosben?,” he asked. Lhosben thought, nodded, “Aye,” he conceded. “Though I hear Haldir will be coming this way sometime this week. I look forward to seeing him again. It has been too long. I am not too quaint on the term Beatrice uses for Avorndis and myself. Snow birds she says. What does that nonsense even mean?” 

And the two guards stood obediently and chewed, feasting on dragon meat. “I’m not one to usually eat dragon meat, you know,” Lhosben commented, which brought a smile to Edwendaer’s otherwise stoic features. Edwendaer smiled, chewed, “Dragon meat is good this time of year.” 

Inside the tent, Galearon crawled over the piles of pillows, blankets embracing the flooring, snuck up behind the littlest ellith and whispered in his most talented voice, “A silver-scaled dragon with jaws flaming red, sits at my elbow and toasts my bread. I hand him fat slices, and then, one by one, he hands them back when he sees they are done.” Waiting to see if Galearon would pounce upon her or not, the ellith then burst into fits of giggles and laughter, falling back onto the blankets and pillows. Beatrice watched in amusement. She did think Galearon had a talent with amusing others. 

Galearon, gladdened to see his poem amused the ellith, continued with another. This time not so amusing. “Greasy trolls out on a stroll, filthy goblin in the air, bully baffoons at my door, nasty orcies I don’t care, icky ghoulies always watching, little elflings best beware! Boo!” And he stretched out his fingers, pouncing upon her. “Eek!,” the little one cried, starting to pout and worry. Not knowing if it was the shock of the Boo, or the poem itself, all three females themselves jumped from being startled out of their own complacency. “Galearon!,” the females shrieked and scolded. “Stop that!” “That’s quite enough!” “That’s not like you!” Galearon for the moment settled upon being half amused and half embarrassed from being caught. In the end, he settled on giggling instead. It was beginning to be just too much minute by minute.

In the midst of calming one elfing down, scolding another, Edwendaer decided  to pop his own head in. “Tonight is the night when leaves make a sound, like a gnome in his home, under the ground. When ghouls and goblins creep out of holes mossy and green.” Galearon stopped his own teasing, looked up at Edwendaer, as his voice sank lower and lower. Galearon sat still and listened. The elfling looked toward Beatrice. She recognized Edwendaer’s own teasing, and gave him the smirkiest of looks. Continuing to enlist Galearon’s rapturous attention, “Tonight is the night when dead leaves fly like witches on switches across the sky. Whooo. When elf and sprite flit through the night and dance round their queen to her delight. When pumpkins come alive, they stare and spit. And ghouls and goblins roast meat of beasts on a spit. When there’s no more dragon on which to feast, the legs of elflings they will eat. Boo!” And shooing Galearon with his own surprise attack, Edwendaer shot out his arms, hands and fingers, trying to catch Galearon off guard. That Boo was just enough.

Galearon being startled, frightened, jerked his body back from Edwendaer’s face coming too close to the middle of their fort. Stumbling on a blanket edge, he grabbed for the center pole once again, missed, caught the heel of his boot on Beatrice’s knee, snagging everything. She stretched out her hands, but, too late. Galearon let slip his hands from the pole, his body continued tumbling and viola, perfect disaster befell.

And as the pole was pushed, leaning more left, pulled more right and forward, maneuvered, wrangled and such, the ceiling’s blankets came tumbling down. And just as the blankets fell upon the heads of the adults and three little ones nestling, muddling about underneath, Galearon’s favorite brother Faelor, a mischief maker in his own right, raced into their lone, sunny alcove, trailing behind a happily, silly, befuddled Lindir. Someone, somewhere, was yelling to the high valor. “Charge! Roar! I am fire! I breath fire! Beware elves of the alcove! And party forts! You’re fort is not safe from me!! You will never roast my dragon meat!!”

“Dragons! Dragons!,” Lindir yelled, while Faelor tried to stab Lindir in the backside, running him down. “Guards! Guards!,” Lindir shrieked, yelled, causing a ruckus. “To your posts! To your posts! I am being besotted and cooked! Dragons are upon us all! They mean to roast and eat us! To your posts!” 

Faelor and Lindir ran, raced and stumbled into the cozy, bright alcove. The supposedly talented guards on duty, Edwendaer and Lhosben, startled and confused with the sudden shrieking and cries from the females, children, on one end, Lindir and Faelor from the other end, were easily taken off guard. Turning abruptly, the guards tripped over blankets, upsetting the dragon meat, (their apples and pears), cheeses fell off their plates. Falling to the floor, the fruit rolled round beneath the guards boots. The cheese was squashed and damage. The noise, loud cacophony was heard all the way down the hall. Joyous yelling, stumbling and untold mayhem burst forth from the little alcove the group had hunkered down in. Shrieking erupted from two elflings, Avorndis, Enaria and Beatrice, Lindir and the guards of the blankets, and now two dragons, as Galearon decided to join his brother in the hilarity. Until..

A set of different boots marched themselves down the hall, entering the disaster pit of elves. Looking round the disheveled mess of an alcove, apples, pears, cheeses stuck to flooring, boot bottoms, nine elves and one woman, were a complete mess. Fort blankets had been pulled, dragged over and onto the occupant’s heads. 

And that was where Elrond looked upon the mayhem, his face a mess. Astonishment, bewilderment arose from his profile. “Silence!,” Elrond clamored and cried. “What is this mess!?” Elrond examined the disaster with annoyance. “Captain Haldir will be here any minute. Do you wish for him to see such going ons? What is going on here?!,” he demanded. Turning to Lindir, “Why are you not within your study, making ready for Haldir’s arrival?!” 

Three females lifted heavy blankets off their heads. Lifted themselves from the floor, while two trusted guards dusted their tunics fitter for appearances. Lindir simply looked upon Elrond, softly explaining, “Dragons, My Lord. We have been invaded. By dragons.” A light and awkward smile came over his face. Edwendaer picked an apple slice from inside one of the blankets, tossing it over his shoulder. “Dragon meat,” he simply explained. “Tastes like apple.” They thought Elrond’s abrupt, unamused intrusion would just go away. 

“Did you not hear me?,” Elrond continued, again explained, this time keeping himself under control, although not having time for nonsense and play. “Haldir will be here any minute.” Faelor, Galearon, attempted to crawled under the crumpled fort, behind the females. All was at a standstill, while the many sets of eyes turned their attention from Elrond to...

“Haldir is here now,” came a clear voice from behind all. As Elrond, visibly unamused swung round to see. Haldir strode in, stood and observed apparent mayhem. Spotting Faelor attempting to crawl to safety, Haldir swiftly reached out and grabbed Faelor’s boot, pulling him out like an squirming eel. An excited squaack issued from his mouth. Haldir tucked Faelor under his arm like a loaded wine barrel. A struggle began, as Faelor resisted being held that way. “Be still,” commanded Haldir, who stepped in further, grabbing Galearon from round his collar, pulling him up. “What have I found?,” he asked himself, looking from one elfling to the other. Galearon said not a word in response. he knew better. He would rather not be that wine barrel as his brother now was. A caught, vertical dragon was better he believed than a horizontal one. 

“And what is this? A blanket fort?” Quickly surveying the toppled, rumpled, ruined fort. Haldir tsked. “This is not the way in which to build a proper fort.” Edwendaer and Lhosben, their feelings hurt, as they had originally designed and built it, took a personal affront to the addressing of their fort, especially from Lhosben’s semi-annual captain. “And you have a better design in mind Haldir?,” Lhosben inquired. Quickly surveying the mess,“The center pole is much too unstable,” Haldir casually mentioned. “You will need two, possibly three poles to keep the walls from crumbling.” Edwendear folding his arms in diffidence, made a face, “Show us then.” 

Elrond interjected, “Captain Haldir does not have the time for this nonsense. He is here merely on business. We must keep to a schedule.” Haldir was not in the position, nor was he in the proper place to cross the line with Elrond, but something about the placement of the fort beckoned his keen eye. And annoyance. Turning to Elrond, still holding fast the two little brothers, “Perhaps only a moment of example, or assistance, Lord Elrond,” Haldir persisted, putting Faelor down, letting Galearon loose. They went to stand behind the guards. Haldir noticed. 

Considering all the time spent putting the fort together, the elflings feelings, and the enjoyment all were having, Elrond relented. Sighing, Elrond consented, “A moment then. Only a moment of example,” he allowed. 

“Remove the pole. And the occupants,” Haldir began. “Bring me two, no three more poles, a little longer than this original one.” Haldir supervised the new arrangements of the blanket fort, continuing with his moment of assistance for longer than a moment. Beatrice and the two elfings went to replenish their dragon snacks. Faelor stayed mostly out of the way. Galearon went to put on a new pair of leggings, throwing his old pair onto Beatrice’s bed without her knowledge. It fell off the bed, to be batted at by the cat.

Haldir and Elrond managed to have some coffee later. Much later, after dinner. Business was left for the next day. Lindir had to discontinue playing the dragon. And more loot was added to the newly designed fort. 

[littleoldrachel]

Next chapter is up! Read it here on ao3, or here on ff.net, or under the cut. 

100 Ways to Say I Love You Summary: In which actions speak louder than words, Sirius and Remus sort of fall in to a relationship, and even though neither of them have said those three all-important words, they both know it anyway.Or: 100 Ways to Say I Love You by Sirius Black and Remus Lupin. Previous |  chapter 12/100 - “Take my jacket. It’s cold outside”  Based on this post by p0ck3tf0x  Tw for mentions of negative body image, depression, anxiety, self-harm, fat-shaming, and discussions around classism. 

The thing is, when Remus said you can go, it wasn’t meant to be a permanent thing. He didn’t mean take your stuff and get out of my home, he didn’t mean you’re not welcome here anymore. But he should have realised, that with Sirius’ history, he wouldn’t have taken it any other way. Within an hour of their row (? - Remus doesn’t want to call it a row, or a conflict, or anything that suggests that things aren’t fine between them, because in doing so, it acknowledges the mishmash of hurt, anger, and embarrassment that has tangled itself in his chest), every trace of Sirius’ semi-residential status has quietly removed itself from Remus’ flat.

And Remus hates it. He hates not hearing Sirius impersonating Freddie Mercury, he hates that there are no longer toothpaste smears on the bathroom sink from where Sirius spits too enthusiastically, he hates the way that Winky mopes around the patch of sofa Sirius had made his own, pawing at the indent his perfect arse left there.

For the longest while, all Remus can do is sit on the floor in front of his sofa, Winky against his chest, too numb to even cry. His head is a tornado of emotions, and he flips between self-doubting guilt and self-righteousness anger dizzyingly fast. On the one hand, he knows he’s justified in his frustration - and the part of him that has therapy stitched in to his very core reminds him that his feelings are valid and important. Impact matters more than intent - and whilst he doesn’t doubt that Sirius’ intentions were good (because Sirius is good - reckless and thoughtless and impatient, but fundamentally, unshakably good), it doesn’t detract from the fact that his words hurt. It hurts because Sirius should know better than to call him proud and force his ‘help’ upon him. It hurts because the implication that money and a new place to live would make all his problems disappear is fucking offensive.

It hurts because having Sirius living with him for the last couple of weeks has been so fucking domestic and lovely, and this was a just a harsh reminder of what cannot be.

(Remus has to suck in a shaky breath at this point, because, numb as he is, this wound has struck him at his centre, and it hurts).

And then there’s the other part of him - the part that is so steeped in self-loathing and depression that it will never truly be cleansed. It whispers that this was an overreaction, that it was deserved, that he’s ruined the best thing in his life - that Sirius will never come back. It murmurs that it wouldn’t be so bad to take the money and offer, that Remus has doomed himself to struggling forevermore. (It lies, Remus tells himself, though even in his head, he’s not as firm as he would like to be).

He’s itching to talk to his friends and have them validate his feelings, because if he keeps them inside his head, he is going to have a breakdown. He can already feel the ragged edges of his heart aching with every shuddering breath, and his eyes are burning with unshed tears.

But he can’t. Because Sirius will be home by now - with James and Lily, not with him, because home will never mean Remus ever again now - and Sirius will need them both. And… if he’s being really honest with himself, he’s afraid of what calling them might mean;

James doesn’t do sides, but if he did, Remus knows he would always choose Sirius in a heartbeat. The two of them are closer than brothers, and matter more to each other than almost anything else, and whilst Lily is more likely to be neutral, Remus cannot pit her against her best friend and fiance - not for his sake, it’s not worth it.

(He’s not worth it).

Remus jolts and realises his nails are embedded in his palms - the stinging pain in his hands is real, and he stares at the way blood oozes from the marks. It scares him how much Sirius means to him - it terrifies him that he’s so quickly reverted to old coping mechanisms, and it’s this unbridled panic that makes him finally move.

He needs to get out - and not in the sense those words would have meant a couple of months ago, he just needs some time out. Running away from his problems hasn’t always helped in the past, but the thought of staying here, and having to deal with the fallout of his and Sirius’ relationship, of having to explain himself to every one of his friends, of having to explore with his therapist why this hurts so much - he can’t.

And so, he won’t.

Winky blinks dopily at him, then tucks herself back into his stomach, and he makes a rare, spur-of-the-moment decision.

He’s going home.

(If you can call a place that made you despise everything about yourself, that tore you down with every millimetre you grew, that taught you that you were wrong and worthless and - if you can call a place like that home).

The following morning finds him at the train station, an over-priced ticket in his pocket and a dreadful heaviness in his heart. He’s thrown things together in a rucksack without really thinking - which is how he later ends up with twelve pairs of socks but no underwear - and he rang his mother on the way to the train. She had done her best to hide her surprise beneath a layer of genuine pleasure, but Remus knows there’ll be prying questions when he arrives.

(He’s weirdly okay with that - perhaps by then, his heart will have finished gouging scars in his chest).

And so, he avoids the calls from his friends, cancels on his therapist, pointedly doesn’t look at Sirius’ Snapchat story, and clambers aboard the train that will take him to the place he once thought he’d never escape. The journey is appalling - as all trains outside of London are - and it’s early evening before he finally arrives.

His father stands on the platform, a tall, thin man leaning on a stick and squinting at every passenger who exits the train. When he claps his eyes on Remus, he hobbles towards him as fast as his knees will allow.

“Ahuv, Remus!”

“Shalom, papa,” Remus returns, allowing himself to be clasped tightly in a warm embrace. Despite the rockiness of their relationship, the comfort this contact gives him almost brings tears to his eyes, and he has to swallow hard against his father’s shoulder to hide it.

“You look tired,” Lyall says, almost accusatory, and Remus waves a hand.

“Work. Delays. London stuff,” he says, “is mama at home?”

Lyall frowns at the change of subject, but allows it, attempting to take Remus’ backpack as they make their way to the car park. “No, we are collecting her from work on the way home. She is very happy you are here.”

“I’m happy to be here,” Remus says, internally wincing at how bad of a liar he is.

“Nobody is happy to be here, Remus. This is the place people come to die.”

“Papa.”

“Hush now.” His parents’ car is almost as battered as his own, and it takes three attempts before it sputters into life, but his father pats the dashboard affectionately anyway. “Tell me about your work.”

Remus shifts uncomfortably. “There’s not a whole lot to tell,” he says, and at his father’s noise of displeasure, he begins a halting update on the publishing company and its struggle in the digital age. By the time they’ve reached his mother’s place of work - a hotel on the outskirts of town - Remus is cringing from the weight of his father’s disappointment at his lack of anything - no success, no promotion, no clue what he’s doing with his life.

(Perhaps this was a mistake).

(But then his mother arrives and hugs him so warmly and tightly that he can’t stop the tears from leaking out this time).

Her chatter fills the journey back to his parent’s tiny house, and continues on into dinner. Remus is grateful for it, because exhaustion is starting to cloud his brain, and any more interrogation about his employment failures will lead to an actual breakdown. Instead, he soaks up the unchanged-ness of his childhood home and tries to pay attention to all of the gossip about people he used to know like his own family.

(He hopes that his father’s mention of the girl he’d briefly dated in secondary school was out of humour and not hopefulness, but the glint in Lyall’s eyes makes his heart sink).

The nostalgia here is suffocating - as he lies in a bed too small for his frame, and stares up at a ceiling that’s still covered with posters of animals, he struggles with the memories of the depression that had almost taken control of him as a teenager. He remembers avoiding looking at his body and the way it bulged when stepping from the shower, and how unhappy it made him to catch sight of his reflection. He remembers spending hour after hour either crippled with a darkness so all-encompassing, it pinned him in bed, or a panic so overwhelming, it was all he could do to lie as still as possible. He remembers picking apart razors and playing with lighters and sharpening shards of glass with the sole intention of destroying himself.

They aren’t good thoughts.

(But it’s not Sirius and how everything is ruined between them. It’s something altogether different and darker, but it sucks him into a restless sleep far more effectively than recent events could).

He deliberately hadn’t bought a return ticket - partially because he hadn’t felt able to make that sort of decision, and partially because his bank account wouldn’t stretch that far - and so, he doesn’t even think about going back. He spends his days wandering streets he used to know like the back of his hand, helping around the house with cleaning, and exploring the tracks into fields and forests at the edge of the town. Most of the time, he’s alone, but as long as he keeps himself busy, he’s fine - he can handle this.

He knows his parents are worried about him - they discuss him in hushed voices when they think he’s not listening, and he pretends not to notice the concerned looks they give him. His friends are worried too, and it’s this that reassures the tiny part of him that feared their rejection.

Look, he knows he can’t stay here forever - he can’t even stay here long at all, given the fact he’s supposed to be at work - but right now, it’s where he needs to be.

Alice: Is this you having a breakdown?

Remus: Nah, just needed some time out.

Alice: From ???

Alice: From Sirius?

Alice: Bc I swear, if /he’s/ the reason you’ve run off back to the place that nearly killed you, imma kill him.

Remus: It’s not like that Al

Remus: I swear, no killing necessary

Alice: Are you okay?

Alice: Like honestly?

Remus: Yeah

Remus: At least, I will be. I needed this.

Remus: It’s complicated. But I’ll explain when I’m back.

Alice: You are coming back, then?

Remus: ???

Remus: Of course??

Alice: Just checking

Alice: Love you [purple heart emojis]

Remus: [purple heart emojis]

James: i don’t like thinking of you being back there but i will accept that you’re doing what’s right for you

James: just know that i’m here when you’re ready to talk, k?

James: love you so much [sparkly heart emojis]

Remus: Thanks Prongs [sparkly heart emojis]

Lily: i miss u, when r u comin home?

Remus: Idk yet, but I miss you too [red heart emojis]

Lily: [sad face emoji, broken heart emoji, red heart emoji]

Sirius: can we talk pls?

“Don’t forget your drugs, hamud.”

“Aren’t I a little old to be your hamud, mama?” Remus looks up from his bowl of porridge with a wry smile, the endearment warming his heart.

Hope looks affronted, clasping a dramatic hand to her bosom. “Nonsense,” she says briskly, “you are always my hamud, Remus. In fact, here.” She whips his bowl away, deftly tips the bottle of golden syrup upside down and liberally sweeps it across the surface. When she returns it, she’s grinning mischievously, and Remus can’t help the chuckle that bursts out of him at the smiley face dribbled over the oats. “When you were little, you wouldn’t eat your breakfast without this,” Hope says fondly, and Remus smiles too as he’s tugged into the memory.

“And when you were in hospital, papa went out of his mind trying to get me to eat,” he says, spooning up a mouthful of pure syrup. “Because he didn’t know that I had your sweet tooth.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, ahuv,” Hope chides him, but she’s still smiling. In the weak morning sunlight, the rays catch the strands of her hair that are turning silver, and dance over the crinkles about her eyes. Remus deliberately doesn’t think about the way her eyes strain to read the papers, or how stiff she rises from prayers, because thinking about her ageing sends him on a downwards spiral into thinking about death and the anxiety that gives him is not something he ever wants her to witness.

Remus swallows and takes another bite. Hope sips at her tea, and the morning is quiet and still for a while as they sit with their thoughts.

Eventually, Hope clears her throat. “It’s not that I don’t love having you here,” she begins, and Remus’ heart sinks at what must be coming next, “but I am worried about you being here.”

“You don’t need to worry, I’m fine,” Remus says automatically, and Hope tsks loudly.

“It is an insult to me as your mother that you expect me to believe that.” Remus lowers his spoon, ready to apologise, but Hope continues. “It’s my job to worry about you, ahuv. And it doesn’t take much to work out that something’s upsetting you.”

Remus hesitates, because whilst he and his mother are both trying this openness and honesty thing, there’s a large part of him that still feels he has to shield the ugly parts of himself from her, that doesn’t want to burden her with his messy problems. In that pause, Hope reaches a hand out towards him, and links their fingers together.

“Talk to your mama, Remus.”

Remus sighs. “It’s - it’s complicated. I - sort of argued with Sirius. And I’m really pissed at him, but I still l - he’s still my friend, and I… I guess I’m just disappointed.”

“What did you argue about?” Hope’s tone is neutral, but when Remus raises his eyes to hers, the care in them is so much that a lump rises in his throat.

“He… well, I told you about his Uncle Alphard.”

“Yes, yes, the reason you didn’t come to Hanukkah.”

“When he died,” Remus says slowly, “he left Sirius his money. A lot of money. And Sirius - he said he’d give me half of it.”

There’s a pause. Hope’s eyebrows have climbed to her hairline, and then she repeats incredulously, “he’d give you half?”

Remus pushes himself from the table and begins to pace, unable to control the irritation that is thrumming through his limbs.

“It’s like he thinks he can just throw money at a situation and magically make it better? Like I don’t know that my flat is terrible. And he comes along with his millions and says he’ll move us somewhere better and I’m just supposed to click my heels and snap to it? Like I’m some fu- some charity case.”

Hope stares down into her mug. When she speaks, she sounds tired - more tired than Remus has ever heard, “when someone is born with that level of privilege, it takes a long time for them to unlearn it. I’m not -” she raises her hands placatingly when Remus makes to protest. “I’m not trying to excuse him. He should know better. And that he doesn’t is exhausting for us working-class folks.”

“I’m just tired of it. I’m tired of having to save everything I can and watch them spend the equivalent of my rent on a shopping spree. And I know they don’t even mean to be dicks about it, but that sort of makes it worse, because they’re so used to their entitlement that they don’t have to think about it.”

Hope lets him rant - perhaps it’s because she can tell he needs to let this out to someone who understands, perhaps it’s because she uses his frustration to fuel her own anger, perhaps it’s because she loves him and she’s his mother. Either way, she makes an encouraging noise to continue, and suddenly, it’s like every ache of growing up in poverty is exploding out of him:

“They’ve never understood it - not really. James and Sirius both come from private school, six-car, four-house families. At uni, I had to teach them how to do their laundry, because they have people to do that for them. They didn’t understand why I had to have two jobs to cover uni. They don’t understand how privileged they are that their parents paid for their accommodation and tuition fees and everything they asked for. They don’t understand what it’s like to have to learn to drive illegally in your cousin’s stolen car because their daddies bought them their own when they turned seventeen.”

Remus leans against the table, hands clenching its surface so tightly he can feel the splinters embedding themselves in his palms. “And even the others are too middle class to get it - Lily went abroad every year for holidays, and Frank and Pete sort of get it but they’ve never struggled for money for meals or had to watch their parents go to bed hungry so that they could eat.” He meets his mother’s eyes and the understanding in them draws him back to his seat with a sigh. “And I'm glad they've not had those experiences… I’m just tired.”

“I’m sorry, ahava shelli,” Hope says after a while, once it becomes clear that Remus has run out of steam. There’s little else that can be said, and Remus continues to stew in his hurt frustration, the pleasant feeling from before entirely dissipated. He glares at the smiley face in his bowl - though its smile has turned into a grim slash by now.

The silence stretches for a long while, and Remus can tell Hope’s building up to something, because the anticipation makes his stomach squirm unpleasantly.

“You know that Sirius didn’t mean this maliciously,” Hope says carefully, and Remus opens his mouth to protest - because sure, but? Not the point? But Hope quickly continues, “I’m not saying to forgive him immediately. Because he needs to learn to be better. Not just for your sake. But… if this boy is as good as you’ve made him sound over the years, I know he’s going to do the work. He cares too much to let this come between you. And so do you.”

“I know,” Remus says softly - this isn’t anything he hasn’t spent the last week circling back to in his head, but somehow, hearing it out loud makes something click.

(I care too much to let this come between us).

“You know why this hurts so much,” Hope murmurs, squeezing his hand gently.

Remus takes a deep breath, and it aches like pulling glass from a wound when he admits, “I’m just - I can’t help but think we’re too different sometimes. Like, even if he felt the way I do, we’re from such different lives - I have nothing to offer him that he-”

“Remus John Lupin. I did not raise you like that.” His mother’s voice is sharper than it’s been this whole conversation, and Remus starts. “Money or no money. That man would be lucky to have you. Do I make myself clear?” she says fiercely, and Remus nods meekly.

(One day, he’ll be able to believe her. One day, he’ll know his worth - he has to trust in that. For now, he’ll have to trust in the people he trusts the most).

“So, what now?” Hope says eventually, quieter and calmer than before.

“I just need him to apologise,” Remus says at last. Because if he doesn’t - then he’s not the man Remus is convinced he is, and he’s not worth the years of pining Remus has subjected himself to.

(But he will apologise, and he is worth it. Remus is certain of it).

“Have you let him?”

“I - what?”

“Have you given him the chance to apologise?” Hope says.

Remus looks at her, then down at the porridge, and bites his lip.

“I think you know what you need to do, hamud,” Hope presses the palm of a warm, weathered hand against his cheek, and leaves the room.

Travelling back to London feels bizarre - although he was free to leave his parents’ this time around, there’s a sense of lightness and freedom that accompanies him all the way down south. It’s warmer in the city, and it’s warmer in his soul - though sadly not in his flat as he re-enters, and shivers as the temperature drops a few degrees.

He can’t afford to turn the heating on, so he pulls on another woolly jumper and pretends its as good, and makes a cuppa. Once he’s settled on the sofa with a blanket about his shoulders, he pulls out his phone, and begins to respond to the piles of messages he’s left answered over the last few days.

Eventually, he comes to Sirius’, and tries to summon the same resolve he felt yesterday, in that tiny kitchen.

(It shouldn’t be so difficult to tap out such a brief response).

Remus: Yes, when?

His heart speeds up painfully when he hits send, and he clutches his phone to his chest like a teenage girl, because he likes Sirius so fucking much, no matter how problematic he is, and he’s desperate for this to work out.

His phone buzzes, and Remus jumps, immediately checking his notifications. To his… disappointment? Relief? He’s not sure how to feel - either way, it’s not Sirius.

Instead, it’s a message to the group from Kingsley, informing them all that the following evening is a Compulsory Gang Meet, to be missed under pain of death. His friends are so fucking dramatic.

Speaking of dramatics - Winky slinks into the apartment through the tiny broken windowpane, catches sight of him, and flings herself at his feet, meowing loudly. Alice has been coming and feeding her, but Remus still feels guilty that she’s been alone all week.

He snaps a selfie of her curled against his stomach, and goes to send it to Sirius - even goes as far as to tap out a how cute is your daughter??? before remembering.

(Soon, things will be normal again, and Remus can go back to pining in peace - still torturing himself with dreams that can never be, but at least he’ll be torturing himself with Sirius instead of this awful distance).

To say that things are Awkward at the pub, would be the understatement of the century - possibly even the millenia. Sirius nodded and smiled when Remus arrived - late, obviously - but they haven’t talked yet, and the only available seat was directly opposite Sirius, not exactly ideal for a deep, meaningful chat.

“Gonna go for a smoke,” Kingsley stands, waving his lighter. “Anyone coming?”

“Yep,” Frank says solemnly, pulling out his inhaler, and making to stand. Alice rolls her eyes, too used to his jokes to even muster a smile, and yanks him back down unceremoniously.

“I’ll come,” Remus says, surprising himself, because cigarette smoke makes his head hurt and stings his eyes, but he also can’t stand the unhappy tension every time his and Sirius’ eyes meet.

Kingsley’s eyes flicker knowingly towards Sirius, then back at Remus, and his smile twists into something too sympathetic for Remus to bear. “Let’s go,” Remus says hurriedly, seizing his threadbare coat from the back of his seat, and looping an arm around Kingsley’s.

Sirius suddenly stands, and the chatter of the group dies immediately, as their friends look between them. The attention makes Remus’ anxiety flare.

“Take my jacket - it’s cold outside,” Sirius says, his eyes imploring Remus to meet his gaze. Remus steadfastly looks at the floor, but takes the proffered leather jacket, sliding it around his shoulders.

He’s loathe to admit it, but it helps. It’s baggy around the shoulders and tight around his middle, effortlessly cool in a way that Remus has never been and could never be, but it takes the bite out of the wind. (And, a tiny treacherous corner of his mind whispers, it smells like Sirius - his fancy aftershave and outdoors and paints - which is possibly more comforting than any physical benefit).

Kingsley lights up a cigarette, taking a long inhale, and releasing his breath slowly, so that smoke combines with the mist it creates. He’s all long limbs and dark, glowing skin, casually sprawled against the pub wall, like something straight out of a catalogue. Remus leans beside him, and for a while, neither of them say a word.

Then -

“So. You and loverboy are in a tiff?” Kingsley’s tone is light, but he links their arms together in solidarity, which takes the sting out of loverboy.

“He’s not my loverboy.”

“Sure, and I’m a straight white boy.”

Remus rolls his eyes. “Fine. I like him-” (it’s strange how much easier that is to say out loud these days? Remus-half-a-year-ago would have a panic attack sooner than admit that) “-but it’s not like that.”

Kingsley blows a circle of smoke, and Remus is half-admiring (because Gandalf, duh?) and half-disgusted (because smoking, duh?). “What’d y’all fight about?”

Remus sighs. “Me being poor and him being rich.”

Kingsley frowns. “What, is he tryna Pretty Woman you?”

Remus laughs in spite of himself. “Something like that.”

Kingsley sighs. “Rich people, eh?”

“I know.”

“Are you gonna forgive him?”

Remus stares at him, because as if Remus has any choice in this, as if he’d let this stand between almost a decade of friendship and an unrequited crush. “Of course.”

“Does Sirius know that?”

“What do you mean?”

“I heard through the grapevine that he’s convinced he’s ruined everything.”

“If by grapevine, you mean you eavesdropped on him-”

“Fuck you, I have my sources,” Kingsley elbows him playfully in the ribs.

Remus laughs. “I’m waiting for an apology. But when he does, of course he’s forgiven.”

Kingsley stares at him. “If you were any more in love with him, you’d be vomiting rainbows, I hope you know how gross you’re being.”

“Wow that’s homophobic.”

“Your mum’s homophobic.”

“Not anymore.”

Kingsley cackles, stubs out his cigarette, and slings an arm around Remus. “I’ve missed you, don’t just disappear again, kay?”

“I won’t.”

Kingsley shifts from one foot to another. “Fuck, it’s cold. You coming back in?”

“In a minute. Go on without me.”

“You sure?” Kingsley frowns, but he’s only wearing a shirt, and just the sight of him is making Remus shiver.

“Go,” he urges, and Kingsley slips back inside, the door swinging shut behind him.

Remus leans back against the wall, wrapping the jacket around himself, and exhaling slowly. He can’t say that he’s altogether surprised when the door opens again, and a familiar voice says, “Moony?”

Sirius stands there, wringing his hands together, looking more nervous than Remus can bear. “Can we talk?”

“Yes,” Remus says immediately, and Sirius’ shoulders visibly relax.

“Thank you,” he says, the relief palpable, “can we…?” He gestures down the road, and Remus shrugs.

“Sure.”

Sirius smiles - hesitant and still nervous, but just as fucking cute as ever. Remus’ heart - his stupid, fucking traitorous heart - pounds a little harder at the sight of it (and wow, he’s never getting over this man).

“Let’s go.”

[blahblahblippyblah]

The Adventures of Blitz and Hearth (before TSOS)

Chapter 6: Welcome to Alfheim Summary: Hearth and Blitz make it to Alfheim to retrieve Hearth's rune stones so he can learn magic before beginning jobs for Mimir. Inge helps them. http://archiveofourown.org/works/11389974/chapters/26374206 ******** Hearth felt his feet gently touch down on a soft surface. His body instantly felt lighter. His eyes burnt as he looked up into the blindingly bright sky. They were in Alfheim now, no mistaking that. It smelled like fresh cut grass and warm air. It took Hearth a second to figure out where they were. Being away from Alfheim for so long it took his eyes awhiel to adjust. It probably didn't help he spent all that time in the dark world of the dwarves. He blinked and the world came into focus. They were standing on the sidewalk of a large neighbourhood. Large white alfheim mansions stood gleaming behind well manicured lawns. In one yard behind a large gated fence a marble fountain sprayed water. This neighbour hood was very fimilar. Hearth looked down and across the roads and began to tremble in stress. Large wrought iron gates inscribed with a giant ornate 'A'. He looked down to see Blitzen pulling on sunglasses under his pith helmet. The sun must be too much for a creature that spent it's whole life underground. Worried about his friend in the sun Hearth pulled off his jacket again and threw it over Blitz's head. He made sure it wasn't over his face so that Blitz could still see. "Are you Ok?" He signed. His hands were trembling as he signed the words. "In fine. It's so bright here. I don't think my pith helmet will work long. I'm starting to feel like eyes are pieces of concrete" Blitz signed back with gloved hands that were hard to read. Hearth bent down sliglhy to look at Blitzen through the netting better. His dark caramel skin appeared to be turning more grey in colour as Blitz stood in the sun. Hearth pursed his lips . He needed to get Blitz out of the sun. Which was easier said than done. There was no such thing as shade in Alfheim. Even the houses where all made with large window to keep the sun shining through. The only place he knew of nearby with no sunlight or windows was not a place he planned on going back to. Yet Hearth was beginning to panic. Was wasn't about to watch his only friend turn to stone beucase he ran away without preparation. He saw Blitz smile at him from under his protective netting. Hearth thought this odd as he felt Blitz should be just as freaked out as him about beginning to petrify. "What?" Hearth signed. Blitz pulled down is balaclava down so he could speak. "Nothing just your eyes look different in the alfheim light. Kinda like crystals. But reflective like mirrors. It's kinda beautiful" Blitz said as Hearth read his lips through the netting. Hoping he wasn't blushing he stood back and signed. "Your are turning to stone. Need to get you somewhere dark. Follow me" Hearth started walking down the sidewalk. His knees were shaking and he was pretty sure it wasnt from the recent exhaustion of using rune magic. They approached the giant gates. The security cameras turned to survey them. Hearth stopped in his tracks. He couldn't move. His body started trembling. He felt like his knees would give out as the fear washed over him. What would his father do to him if he came back? He felt a hand touch his arm and turned to see Blitz signing to him. "Are you Ok?" Hearth nodded weakly. He took another deep breath. He mustered all his courage and slowly approached the gate. His body still trembling. He looked up at the security camera right in front of the gate. Making sure whoever was watching could see it was him. After a few seconds the gates slowly creaked open. He looked back at Blitz who began to sign another question. " How did you...?" Hearth raised his hands to cut him off. "Explain later. Need to get you inside. Come on." Honestly Hearth was hoping they would be able to sneak in to his father's forest from behind so that they could retrieve his runes and not face his parents, but now looking around the high walked fortification he might have underestimated how easy that would have been. Plus Blitz couldn't stay in the sun much longer. He was already beginning to worry about his friend as he was now limping odly as his legs stiffened. Hearth put his arm under Blitz's and helped him hobble up the long drive towards the looming mansion. He wondered what Blitz was thinking as the approached the building. Hearth hadn't told Blitz much about his family. He had also spared Blitz the more upsetting and difficult details about his upbringing. Now Blitz was probably going to witness them first hand before Hearth could explain them to his friend. As they approached the entrance way Hearth saw the giant double iron doors open slightly. Hearth stopped in his tracks and began shaking again. He almost made a sigh of relief when he realised it wasn't his father coming outside. Instead slipping out the doors was a short pretty hulder named Inge. She were her maid uniform and her curly golden blonde hair fell down her back in a waterfall. Her rosy cheeks flushed darker as Hearth saw her cry out. "Hearthstone! My gods what are you doing here?!" Her hands moved in perfect signs as she jogged towards them. Hearth was delighted to see Inge. Inge's mother had been the one to teach Hearthstone to sign because his father would hurt him when he struggled to speak. Learning to sign had saved his life. For once he could finally communicate with someone. Soon his brother and Inge had learned so he could talk to them too. Even his parents had picked some signing up out ofspite of being tired of not understanding their son. Although they told him off when he did sign. Seeing Inge made him feel better. She had been the one person who didn't lean away from him for fear of associating with a deaf elf. She learned to sign so she could talk to him. She was the only person who tried to help him when he lived here, even though she was forbidden to help him with his wergild. She was his only friend after his brother died. She had a heart of pure gold. When she reached them she stopped and looked around rapidly. Seeing no one watching she pulled Hearth into a big strong hug. Hearth gently hugged her back. She smelled of fresh laundry. After a few seconds of hugging Inge pulled away. She raised her hands and signed. "What are you doing here?" She signed. "Complicated. Explain later. Where is my father? I need to get my friend inside." Hearth signed gesturing to Blitz under the layers of his jacket, the pith helmet and the balaclava. "Your father and mother aren't home right now. They left for an event yesterday... But , well we've been giving orders to contact him immediately if there's any sign of you returning." Inge signed. "If any of the other servants see you your father will be on his way back home." "Is there any way to get in unseen. We need in now. My friend is a dwarf. He can't last much longer in sun." Hearth signed starting to feel desperate. The fact his father wasn't home was good news. But the thought of him racing home when he found out his most hated person, his son, was back after running away terrified him. Inge looked around frantically again. She seemed unsure and on edge. She wringed her hands uncomfortably. "I can get you to your room. Just follow me closely." She signed. She turned and Hearth helped Blitz follow her. The got up the stairs and Inge held out her hands before she went back inside. "Stay here. I'll make sure the coast is clear".  Inge slipped through the door. Wincing as she pulled it open by the iron handles. After a few minutes Inge's face appeared in the crack door and ushered them in. They entered the brightly lite entrance way. The three of them hurried across the white marble floor towards the stairs. They practically ran up the stairs. Once upstairs Inge led them down the hall to a small simple iron door. She pulled out a large iron key to unlock the door. She winced as the iron burned her palm. Seeing her in pain angered Hearth. He felt himself flushing with hatred towards his father. He reached out and took the key from her. She pulled her hand away at his touch, which Hearth thought was strange but it wasn't unusual for Inge. He unlocked the door and pushed it open. He pushed Blitz into the room first and him and Inge followed. The large white room was painfully lit with blue tinged fluorescence. His matress laid on the floor in the corner covered only with a white bed sheet. The whiteboards still looked in him down displaying the prices of his wergild along with sentiments his parents enjoyed constantly repeating to him. 'Strive for normalcy', 'Never forget your duty to your family', 'Incompetence and disappointment are unacceptable'. The blue expanse of fur lay at their feet. A small island of coins glittered in the middle. Hearth turned and closed the door before Inge did and hurt herself. He turned back to her and signed. "Thank you." He then turned back to Blitz who was now removing his protective gear. Blitz looked around the room. He looked like he was swallowing a frog. His eye were knit in what Hearth thought looked like disgust and anger. Blitz eventually turned and faced Hearth. He raised his hands like he wanted to sign something but his hands failed. Hearth didn't know what to say either. Being in this room made him numb. He had learned early on living here to not show any weakness. Weakness was something that could be used against you. They all stood in silence for awhiel. Well Hearth always sat in silence. After a few minutes Inge broke it. "Hearthstone what are you doing here?" She signed spelling out his whole name. Hearth looked at her dejectedly. He didn't know what to say. He looked at Blitz who was watching the conversation. He also looked lost for words. Hearth breathed in deep. Inge deserved an explanation. But first he should probably introduce Blitzen. "Inge". He spelled out her name for Blitz to see. "This is Blitzen son of Freya. He's a swavtzelf. He's also my friend. He saved my life." Inge looked over at Blitz who waved awkwardly and said 'Hi' outloud. Inge kept her shocked confused expression and signed only one word. " How?" "When I ran away I used rune magic. First time I ever tried it. Tried to go to Midgard to escape. Fell into Nidavellir. I Almost died. Blitz saved me by making me a (he signed out Sun and then Casket since he didn't know what to call Blitz's invention)." Inge's face fell into a frown. She signed "Im so sorry Hearthstone". Hearth looked at her confused. "Why are you sorry? Wasn't your fault." She curled her hands unsure and then signed. "I didn't help. All those years I watched you go through all this." She gestured to everything in the room. "I never did anything to try and stop it or help you." Hearth shook his head and cut her off. "Inge you are the only reason I am still standing. You learned to sign. You took care of me even when my father forbid it. You were my only friend." Hearth paused. His mind wandered as he thought of what to say next. He remembered the first time Inge had risked herself to help him when he was 13. For punishment for embarrassing his mother in front of one of her friends by signing Hearth had been banned from any food for 3 days. By the night of the 2nd day he was already curled up on his bed doing his best at keeping himself from crying from hunger. He barely got any food as it was. Only being able to afford one meal a day. Inge had snuck into his room with a loaf of bread and some apple juice even after all the servants had been forbidden from feeding or even seeing him. She sat with him as he scarfed down the food and told him to hang in there. Always signing for him. An act of defiance against his father to make him feel like he wasn't a damaged child for not being able to speak. He then remembered the day he ran away. He had spent all day outside in the heat doing yard chores. He had personally lifted and lugged a pallet of heavy stones from the gate to the back of the forest. His last take of the day was to lug the large stone sculpture up the property as well. But after a day of lugging the heavy stones his arms and legs ached and wobbled. He was drenched in sweat and was going lightheaded from the heat. He couldn't lift it so he decided to push it on a rickety cart. Unfortunately halfway up the hill it fell off and the cart broke. The sculpture was damaged. When Hearth's father found out he lost it. Apparently it was a expansive piece of art and Hearth had disappointed him enough for a life time. Hearth's father had made him pay. His father had never hit him before. It was improper of an elf to hit his son even if his son was a deaf disgrace. Yet Hearth's father seemed at the end of his rope dealing with his son. Hearth was a man now and his consequences needed to match. That night while he lay on his bed crying, for the first time in close to 7 years, Inge snuck in. She had brought him some water and a pack off ice for the bruises now forming. She told him to hang on and stay brave. She told him she was sorry and that he didn't deserve this life. Her words gave him hope and the nerve to go through with a plan he had been keeping in his thought for the past 3 years. When she left Hearth had snuck out of his room/isolation chamber. He made his way to the forest. He trudged to the carrin where his brother had died. He found the old set of rune stones he had played with as a child. He picked up a few and found the one he was looking for. Perthro. He held it tight and prayed to the gods. He put his fate in their hands. Then he fell into darkness. Hearth stepped back to the present. He looked Inge in the eyes. "You gave me hope. You gave me the courage to leave. Because of you I am free of this life. I have started over again." He reached out his hands and placed them over her trembling ones. Trying to convey his gratitude. "Did you say you did rune magic?" Inge signed after she pulled her hand away after a few seconds. She looked more confused and inquisitive now. Hearth nodded. "After all everything that has happened here I have found a way to fill my life. I have decided to learn magic and become a wizard. Blitz and I seeked out Mimir. He said I will become a powerful wizard. I will be the only mortal rune lord in the 9 worlds. That is why we are here. I need to get to the forest. I need to retrieve my rune stones. Then we will leave." Inge looked upset at the last bit but nodded. "Your father won't be back for a few days. But you should stay here tonight and rest. You both look exhausted. It would be dangerous to you to the forest like this now. I will go and get you both food and blankets" she signed. Her face was frowning with concern. She slipped out of the room. She closed the door carefully behind herself most likely to keep the noise down so no one came to see what was going on. Hearth turned to see Blitz looking up at him. Blitz looked shocked and sad. He appeared to want to say something but he didn't, instead they locked eyes. Hearth felt an unspoken understanding pass between them. Everything Hearth had experienced in this house seemed to pass into understanding to Blitz. Hearth felt his pain from all of it pass through both if them. Maybe it he was accidently sharing these feeling by magic.  Hearth had learned early to never share your feeling and weaknesses. Always be the blank slate. But with Blitz he didn't feel like he had to hide. Sharing with Blitz didn't make him feel vulnerable. It was weird but Blitz was now like an anchor in his sea of darkness. Hearth pointed to the rug that was the blue monster. "When I was 8 my brother was killed. We were playing in the forest. We found a well. Andrion loved the well. He thought it granted wishes. He always wanted to play there. One day that B R U N N M I G I, from another world came out of the well. I was playing with some rune stones we had found in the forest. I couldn't hear him cry for help. When I finally saw I ran for help but my parents couldn't understand me. It was too late and Andrion died... My parents made me pay for killing my brother. I had to pay my wergild." Hearth signed and then gestured to the rug again. The coins in the vadt sea of blue looked so pitiful. _ years of work for that. "Cover the rug. Earn gold by following the rules." Hearth now pointed to the boards around the room. He felt his eyes begin to water. He lowered is head feeling shamed. He tried to hide the tears from Blitz but it didn't work. Blitz stepped forward and pulled him into a bear hug. Hearth collapsed into him falling to his knees. This was all too much. He didn't want to be here. He was terrified. He felt as small and insignificant as an ant. Terrible memories kept coming back. He buried his head into Blitz's shoulder. He gasp for breath and felt his tears stain Blitzs wool coat. Blitz held him tighter. He didn't want Blitz to let go. He felt that if Blitz let go he would fall back in to his old life. Only Blitz's arms kept up from falling back into that fate. His anchor. Blitz patted his back. Hearth felt his chest vibrate as if Blitz was taking but Hearth couldn't hear. After what seemed like hours Hearth pulled away. He wiped the last of his tears on his sleeve and signed. "I'm sorry" "Hey buddy don't be sorry. We'll get you out of here as soon as possible. I promise Ok. I'm here for you." Blitz signed as he put on a weak smile for him. Hearth attempted to return the smile and signed. "Thank you friend." They both walked over to the small mattress on the floor in the corner and sat down. Hearth felt exhausted. And by the way Blitz looked he felt the same. Now they were out of the sun the warm colour began to come back to Blitz's face. His limbs moved less rigidly. Soon Inge carefully slipped back in. She was balancing a pile of blankets and pillows and a plate of sandwiches. Blitz and Hearth both jumped up to help her. When they laid the stuff down Inge turned and signed. "This is alI could manage to take without getting caught. Sorry." "That is more than enough. Thank you Inge" Hearth signed to her. She blushed a small bit. "Yes, thank you Inge. This means so much" Blitz said out loud to her. Inge smiled lightly at Blitz. All three of them sat on the ground. Hearth and Blitz began munching on the sandwiches. "So your really a dwarf?" Hearth saw Inge ask Blitz. "Ya. Well swavtzelf. Alot of dwarves are descendants of Freya. We have some Vanir blood so we are quite a bit taller. Plus a little more good looking." Blitz said putting in a humours grin at the end. "Hearth said you were a son a Freya? Does that mean your a descendant or are you really her son?" Inge asked. Blitz pursed his lips and his face grew dark. "Unfortunately for me, yes. Freya's my mom." "Is that a bad thing?" Inge asked. " I mean here in Alfheim the gods haven't been seen or heard from in centuries. Most people don't even believe they existed. Wouldn't being the son of Freya be a good thing?" Inge asked shyly. Blitz began to smush his sandwich in his fist unknowlingly. "Its not such a big thing in Niddavellir. Plus you've never met my mother." He said with his head bent down. Inge looked somewhat sad and confused, but didn't keep on the subject. Once they had finished the sandwhiches Inge got up to leave. She gave Hearth one more last brief hug and and signed. "I assuming this will be the last time I see you. Please be safe. I'll miss you Hearth." Hearth felt his heart ache a little more. He would miss Inge too. He would get out of here and never return. Inge however couldn't. He felt bad that he was abandoning her. He raised his hands and signed. "Dont worry about me. I have a dwarf to watch after me now. Take care of yourself. Please. I wish I could take you with us. I hate that you are still here with him. Please be safe Inge." She nidded and he pulled her into another hug. After they broke the hug she slipped out if the room. Hearth turned and went to collapse in his old bed. His feet hung off the end and a spring stabbed him in the stomache. The sheets were stiff and scratchy. Blitz threw him a pillow and blanket. He then laid a blanket on the floor. Hearth instantly felt terrible. He was so exhausted he hadn't thought about where Blitz would sleep. He sat up and signed at Blitz to take the bed instead of him. Blitz shook his head. "You look way more exhausted than me. Plus I didn't do magic today. You should sleep on the mattress." Hearth knit his eyebrows. It was not acceptable that Blitz sleep on the ground. "Share" he signed to Blitz moving over on the mattress. " You sure?" Blitz asked. Hearth nodded. Blitz got up and laid down beside him. It was a tight fit but the both managed to fall asleep back to back.