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fandom-puff · 3 years ago

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Family, Duty, Honour (p2)

Pairing: Tyrion Lannister x reader

Warnings: pregnancy/pregnancy symptoms including vomiting, prejudice towards dwarfism (discussion as to whether Tyrion and YN’s child will inherit his dwarfism; not a widely accepted condition in Westeros), childbirth, details of the death of Joanna Lannister (dying in childbirth/traumatic birth), reference to miscarriage

(Part 1)

Gif creds to owner

“Pardon me, Milord,”

Both Tywin and Tyrion turned around to see a young girl, one of your handmaidens, hurrying towards them, remembering a clumsy curtsey in her haste.

“Speak,” Lord Tywin said sternly, and the girl paled briefly before turning instead to his son.

“It’s Lady YN,” she said, and Tyrion instantly stood up straighter, even more on edge. “She’s… sick, my Lord. Can’t keep anything in her stomach, and just now she fainted,”

“Where is she?” Tyrion asked urgently.

“Her bedchamber, Milord. We got a squire to help her back into bed,”

As Tyrion made to hurry after the girl, Tywin’s hand rested firmly on his shoulder. “I will send the maester. He will prove whether or not you have done your duty to this family,”

***

“YN, my dear, can you hear me?”

Slowly, your heavy eyelids slid open, and you turned your head to the source of the noise. Smiling weakly, you squeezed your husband of two month’s hand.

“Are you alright, my lady wife,” he asked you gently, brushing his lips over your knuckles.

“I’m fine. I just got a little dizzy. Must have stood up too quickly,” you said gently, but you did not soothe Tyrion’s worry.

“Your handmaiden said you’ve been ill?” He prompted, and your cheeks heated slightly.

“It’s probably just… my women’s troubles,” you said quietly, still unused to talking about such delicate matters with anyone other than an old septa.

“Or lack thereof, lady Lannister?” The maester spoke up from the end of your bed and you frowned, about to say there really was no need for all this fuss. “The maids say your linen has been clean since your wedding night,”

Clean linen.

Those two words instantly reminded you of when Cousin Cat came to stay at Riverrun with her brooding husband. She had stayed for over a month, and halfway through her stay, you heard gossip of clean linen as you wandered the corridors of your home. Later on that year, she had birthed another child for Ned Stark.

“Does that mean…” you began.

The wisened maester smiled at your bewilderment. “Potentially. If my Lord and Lady are agreeable, I would like to examine lady Lannister to be certain,”

Tyrion smiled gently and kissed your hand once more. “I will give you some privacy, my dear,” he said, and once you nodded, he left the room to bang on the door to his father’s office.

***

“Have you put a babe in her belly?”

Tyrion rolled his eyes at his father’s callousness. “She is being examined as we speak,”

“Good,” Tywin said, hardly looking up from his paperwork. “You’d best hope she is with child and not ill. There aren’t many noble families willing to pawn off a daughter to us,” Tywin sighed and gestured to the chair opposite his desk. “Sit,” he said. “You clearly have something more to say,”

Tyrion was silent for a moment. “I do not want to lose her. She is young. Too young for… this,”

“She is only a few years younger than you. And besides, that didn’t stop you consummating the marriage, did it?”

If anything went on in Casterly rock, Tywin Lannister certainly knew about it within a day.

“No, it didn’t,” Tyrion said. You were nineteen after all, and you had consummated your marriage out of duty to your families.

The night-time visits, on the other hand…

“I’m scared that a baby will… that it will kill her,” Tyrion blurted out, and he could have sworn he saw some semblance of sympathy flash through his father’s eyes. “I am scared that my child will be too much like me. That it will rip her in two and kill her. That it won’t even live in her womb. That it will suffer. That… that she will suffer,”

Tywin stared long and hard at his youngest son, his bastard in all but name as far as he was concerned and sighed. “So am I,” was all he said, before gesturing to the door. And as he left the office, Tyrion knew that Tywin did not care for your suffering, for his suffering, or even for the child’s suffering. He cared only that his legacy remained.

***

Casterly Rock was alive with gossip.

No matter which corridor you walked down, people would stare, both openly and discretely at your belly, which barely showed thanks to the layers you wore (Tyrion insisted you wrapped up warm whenever you walked through the gardens, lest you catch a chill). You could not go a day without the maester inquiring about your general health, and when your swollen ankles were brought to your husband’s attention, he had the cobblers fashion you a pair of comfortable, yet fashionable flat shoes.

***

You were laying in your husband’s bed one night on the sixth moon of your pregnancy, a hand resting on your bump. “Leave the books, husband, and come to bed. I need you to tell your child to stop kicking me so we can all go to sleep. He seems to only listen to you,” Tyrion looked up from his books and sighed, shutting them over and coming to bed, his hand resting over yours. “You’ve gained a sudden interest in midwifery, I see,” you teased, but when he did not smile at your jest, you frowned. “What’s bothering you, husband?” You said gently.

“I…” Tyrion fumbled for the words, his eyes firmly on your belly. “I am frightened, YN,” he said quietly. “That the baby will… will have… will be a little too much like me.”

Of course. You cursed yourself for not even thinking that this could be plaguing your husband. You clasped Tyrion’s hand in yours. “Tyrion… even if the baby is born a dwarf, we will not treat him the way your father treated you,” you insisted, drawing small circles on the back of his hands.

“But what if it kills you like I killed my mother,” your heart ached for him, and you tipped his chin up to face you.

“Then you must promise me to love this child regardless,”

Tyrion’s heart ached. Neither of you had wanted this marriage, yet in the few short months you had been wed he had become fond of you, affectionate. He wanted to protect you from the horrors of a kingdom still reeling from the Rebellion that saw the end of the Mad King. He wanted to see you happy and comfortable and healthy. He would spend all of the gold in Casterly Rock to ensure your safety, despite the fact that your marriage was merely one of strategy arranged by his father and your uncle. You were still his wife, the most precious thing in his life.

But over the past nine months, he could do nothing to alleviate your discomfort. He could only hold back your hair and rub your back as you vomited, the only thing you could seemingly keep in your stomach was dried bread. When you could manage dining anywhere but your chambers, he ordered for the things that turned your stomach to be kept well away. When your legs and feet ached, he could only rub them in hopes of soothing the throbbing. When the baby kicked like mad at night, he rubbed your swollen belly so that you could rest, if only for a few moments at a time.

He watched as the veritable mountain that was your bump sapped you of your energy, and he knew there was nothing he could do to restore it.

And when the time came for you to birth the child, he knew his heart would ache even more as you laboured for hours in agony, with him unable to do anything to take the pain away.

***

You went into labour at night, your sharp gasp of pain as you heaved yourself out of bed waking your husband.

“My dear, are you alright?” He asked urgently, not groggy despite the fact he had been snoring like a boar just thirty seconds prior. As he lit a candle, he saw you grasping onto one of the bedposts, lips pressed together, suppressing your groan. “I will be back in a moment, YN, okay? I’m going to get help,”

“Hurry,”

True to his word, Tyrion returned a few moments later with a few sleepy maids and a septa, who laid fresh linen over the bed and began to send for boiling water. The maester was hot on their heels, scrambling to loop his chains over his neck, before shooing Tyrion and the maids out of the room.

Your groans and cries of pain permeated the walls of your bedchamber and down the hallways of Casterly Rock, and by sunrise, coins were being exchanged on the outcome of your labour. The smallfolk crowded near the walls of the castle, eager to call out prayers in hopes that the rich old lions felt generous after the birth.

Tyrion paced just outside of the room you were in, and every time a maid went in with fresh, boiled water and clean linen or came out with bloodstained cloths and empty bowls, he asked urgently how you were doing, but no one gave him an answer.

The septa left the birthing room, walking straight past the father of your child to… the grandfather. They talked in quick, hushed voices, that could not be heard over your pained cries, but Tyrion caught the two of them looking over their shoulder at him several times.

As the septa went back into the birthing room, Tywin walked over to Tyrion. He seemed to be in no apparent rush, his steps stately. Tyrion resisted the urge to scream at his father, to curse him for tormenting him while you laboured.

“When you were brought into the world,” he began, voice level and low, so Tyrion had to strain to hear what he was saying. “You were born, for lack of a better term, arse first. But then your shoulders got stuck inside the womb, and when you finally emerged, you dragged half of your mother’s womb out with you,”

Both men paled. Not only were they weak stomached when it came to the secretive world of a birthing chamber, but Tywin was plagued with memories from twenty or so years before, and Tyrion was plagued with guilt for killing his mother when he was a newborn, and fear that his child would do the same to you.

Tywin continued. “But the Septa has reported that the child is being born head first, as it should,” Tyrion nodded slowly. Tywin was about to continue when the door opened again.

“Pardon, Milords,” a maid carrying an armful of bloodied linen said. “Lady YN has asked for Lord Tyrion to… support her. The maester has permitted it, so long as Milord stays at the top end of the bed,”

Tyrion was frozen for a moment.

“Go,” Tywin said lowly, giving his son a small shove. “Your lady wife needs you now,”

Tyrion looked over his shoulder, and he was sure he could see a small glimmer of… sympathy in his father’s eye. Kindness even. And it was this look, paired with the shift in the way you screamed that had him running into the birthing chamber.

“Tyrion!” You sobbed, one hand reaching for him, the other reaching above you to grasp at the headboard. One of your trusted hand maids, who you had brought with you from Riverrun was at your other side, pressing a cool cloth to your forehead. Tyrion hurried to your other side, just in time for the maester to tell you to push, and the child was at last parted with your body.

All was silent for a tense few moments, until sharp cries filled the room. You could hear the cheering from the corridors.

“A boy, my lady,” the maester called out, and you sobbed for joy. “A healthy son. A little on the delicate side-”

“Is he-”

“No. He is not like you, my Lord. I delivered you and your siblings, and your son is exactly the size your brother was when he was born,”

“Can I hold him?” You whispered, your arms reaching out.

“Of course, my lady. He is your son,”

The child was handed to you, nuzzled against the bare skin of your breasts, his little cries soon petering out to soft snuffles of sleep. The maester left to deliver the good news to the Lord of Casterly Rock, but your world consisted only of Tyrion and your son.

“He’s perfect,” he said, letting out a relieved laugh. “And he’s going to tower over me when he’s a man grown,” You gave a laugh, happy tears streaming down your cheeks as you rested your head on his shoulder. Tyrion pressed his lips to your temple. “You wonderful, wonderful woman, I love you,” he murmured. “I swear to you on the old gods and the new that I will protect you and my son from all harm,”

You rubbed your son’s back gently, not wanted to disturb his sleep and you looked up to your husband. “Thank you,” you whispered. Tyrion, my Lord husband. My love,”

Tags: @sociallyawkward-princess @lazyotakujen @janelongxox @honeyofthegods @lxoxtxtxi @fullmoonshadowwrites

#tyrion lannister imagine #tyrion lannister x you #tyrion x you #Tyrion x reader #Tyrion Lannister x reader #request #2021 #family duty honor #part 2 #got #game of thrones one shot #game of thrones #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones imagine

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sehnsuchts-trunken · 3 years ago

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Dragon Sickness - Thorin Oakenshield

pairing: Thorin Oakenshield x gender neutral!reader

word count: 5k words (this ended up being a hell lot longer than I anticipated. uhm- yeah. if you’re in the mood for reading a oneshot about as long as a good novel chapter, here you go)

triggerwarnings: none, particularly. though I guess you could say emotional abuse? if you’re not comfortable with someone mistreating their lover (no physical abuse, only two times Thorin grabbing someone quite harshly), maybe this is not something you want to read also break up and v emotional sad depressive shit - this is not one for lifting your mood

summary: as the dragon sickness corrupts the king, Thorin’s lover decides that preventing a war is more important than following his orders

“I am not my grandfather”, he’d said. “I am not my grandfather”, over and over again. You’d believed it. You’d actually believed it, believed that he could fight the sickness before it could get the better of him. But the second he’d seen the gold, oh, the piles of gold in the depths of the mountain... He hadn’t been the same anymore.

You picked up a coin carelessly and flicked it, watching as it rotated in the air and reflected the light, then plummeted down again and vanished between all the others. They were mesmerising, you had to admit. All the riches, the jewels, the gold. But not worth this. Not worth losing Thorin to this sickness, this... this frenzy, this absolute madness.

You sighed and made to stalk over the mountains of gold as a hand grabbed your arm and turned you back. You met Thorin’s eyes rather with annoyance than the tender love you’d held for him so long.

He was almost always with you, nowadays. It wasn’t like you loathed his presence, god no. You loved when he was just in the same room as you, never mind standing so close to him you could smell his heavenly scent, or his hand brushed yours. But here in the mountain, the sickness clouding his mind, his company felt a lot like the cells the elves of Mirkwood had locked you into.

“You are not done here”, he growled. Not Thorin, you reminded yourself once more, It’s the sickness talking. Thorin would never say this to you. But it became harder to believe by the minute. Harder to believe not because you found Thorin so similar to what this version of him was, but harder because... because it looked nothing like you would ever catch a glimpse of your Thorin again. Thorin who was a good king, a great leader, a divine lover. Thorin who would never as much as touch you without your consent, who was soft and gentle, who sent prayers of praise to you.

“I’m taking a break”, you said through gritted teeth and fought back the tears as you’d done so many times since the dragon had been slayed. “I’m exhausted. We all are.”

Thorin released you and turned without as much as another glance at you. You shook your head and climbed the heaps of gold to what you had found out to be the library - or rather the remnants of what once had been a library, before the fire had burnt almost all of it.

It had become your secret spot. Not that the others didn’t know about it, oh they did, and you greeted them there more than often. But between all the books, the folklore, the legends, even documents and records, you felt safe. Safe, perhaps, because the fever kept Thorin to the treasures or the throne, well away from the depths of the library. You felt like you were committing treason every time you came here, but you needed it. No matter how much you loved Thorin, how much you wanted him to be king - for days now all you had done was wish you had never arrived at the mountain. Never opened that door. Never lost your lover.

“If... If Thorin- if he had the Arkenstone, if it was found... would it help?”

You stopped dead in your tracks right before the door. The Arkenstone? If he had it- If Thorin had the Arkenstone... It would make the sickness much, much worse. You had pondered it. Had discussed it with Balin in a quiet hour, had struggled with yourself about what you would do if you of all people came across the stone. Hand it to Thorin? Hand it to the king who it belonged to, who would give the lives of all others for that one stone? Hand it to a king beyond mad, who it would only turn further, have him spiraling down into frenzy? But withhold it from him...

Silence followed the hobbit’s peculiar question. You blended into the shadows in the front of the room and listened in. Had Bilbo Baggins, Master Burglar, only hobbit amongst the company found the Arkenstone?

“That stone crowns all”, you heard Balin say. “It is the summit of this great wealth, bestowing power upon he who bears it. Would it stay his madness? No, laddie. I fear it would make him worse.”

You counted the seconds before you stepped out of the shadows and into the library; three, you gave them and yourself. “You have the Arkenstone?”, you asked carefully. “You actually found it?”

Neither of them flinched, which perhaps you would have found intriguing, had it not been for the situation you were in. Bilbo seemed unsure of what to say, though Balin smiled at you.

“If you do... you better keep it. I’ve lost enough of him already. I don’t need him to- to lose himself completely. Hide it well, I doubt that in his current.... state, he’s one for forgiveness.”

And with that, you strolled farther into the rows of books, drawing your fingertip along their backs until you reached a corner in the very back of the stuffy room, where you’d put your coat, a candle you had found, what was left of your pack and weapons, and stacked books you’d found appealing. As appealing as anything could be at the moment, you supposed.

Treason, a voice in your head screamed, again and again. Treason. Traitor. But what you had spoken were true words; you had failed to keep Thorin from that sickness already, now you would at least keep him from going insane, from being lulled further into it. If he could not fight it... but he would. At some point, in some moment, he would. That’s what you told yourself.

It was the middle of the night when you heard it. Your name, whispered, in the darkness, once more, right there. “Thorin?”, you asked hopefully, still half asleep on your coat. Perhaps...

“It’s Bilbo”, the hobbit answered quietly. You would have groaned had you not deemed it rude. One moment that flicker of hope was enlightened, and then it was gone again. “I’ll give them the Arkenstone. The armies, I mean. Thorin cannot possibly go to war, or we’ll all be dead by tomorrow. And I thought, maybe, the stone would make him surrender.”

You jumped up, almost throwing over the pile of books to your right. Was he mad? He’d gone mad, that hobbit. Though... It did seem like a plan. The only one who could save you all, you supposed.

Thorin - it had been even worse than you had anticipated. Yesterday, when he’d declared war. When Bilbo Baggins, that wonderful little hobbit, had confronted him. The only one who had dared to, though you’d all thought it. You’d been close to. You’d been so close to standing up to Thorin and getting the company to safety. But you hadn’t been able to do it. You hadn’t been able to let go. Not of him. Not of Thorin, of your lover, of the dwarf who had made you the happiest you could have ever been. You wouldn’t lose him. And if that meant sacrificing your life, so be it.

You’d spent the evening planning how you would get the rest of the dwarves out of the mountain without Thorin noticing, without him leading them all into doom. But Bilbo - he’d come up with a plan, a plan so absolutely absurd, and yet, perhaps one that would end without war. Without death on either side.

“I’ll come with you”, you hissed, stood up and almost ran face first into a bookshelf. You needed quite a minute to adapt to the darkness, but soon you could see contours at least and made your way over to where you found Bilbo standing. “You don’t think it’s a bit- too dangerous?”, he asked in a whisper. “If anything happened to you, you know that Thorin would...”

“I know, and I don’t care”, you interrupted. Yes, indeed, he was a king, and some day, in some fantasy that wasn’t this version of reality anymore, you would have ruled beside him. “I’m doing what’s necessary to keep the others safe. Keep... him safe, too. All of us.”

Bilbo nodded, made for the door, and you followed him on tiptoes through the castle until he pulled out a rope from somewhere, and suddenly you were dangling in the air, before your feet hit the ground and you hurried alongside him to the city. The remnants of what once must have been a glorious city.

Treason, your mind screamed at you. Treason, treason, treason. But you had already done so much, this was nothing more than a drop of water in the depths of the open sea.

You sneaked wordlessly through the streets closely behind Bilbo, though he could not have known any better than you where Gandalf was just lingering, doing everything he could, too, to prevent this war from happening. Perhaps the hobbit had just been lucky, but when you’d stepped out into the open street, he was there, talking to Bard - King Bard, you supposed, after he slayed the dragon and saved not only his people, but the dwarves, too.

And suddenly, Bilbo was hurrying, raising his voice. “You think the dwarves will surrender? They won’t. They will fight to the death to defend their own.” You straightened your back and nodded, as though it mattered anything. “Bilbo Baggins!”, Gandalf exclaimed in astonishment. Had it been any other night, maybe you would have let him greet you, too. But it was not. “I need to speak to King Thranduil”, you interrupted instead, and added, gazing at Bard, “You, too, I suppose.”

Thranduil you had seen but once before. And it had not been a pleasant encounter. But he was an imposing man, you had to admit. Quite handsome, attractive even. And with an ego that probably took up all his insides.

“If I am not mistaken”, he said as he went and sat down on his makeshift throne - impressive, indeed. “this is the halfling who stole the keys to my dungeons from under the nose of my guards?”

You fought back a joyous laugh and simply resorted to a proud smile. You remembered that day so vividly it seemed it had just been yesterday. Bilbo took a second to answer, pondering, you supposed, if Thranduil would gut him right there right now. “Yes”, he confirmed finally, though rather taken aback. “Sorry about that”, he added.

The laughter had escaped you before you could hold it in. You loved him, you absolutely adored Bilbo, and his sense of humour shining through even now, it was all your own.

Everyone suddenly seemed to be looking at you. Though Thranduil didn’t let anything show, you noticed the little smile on Bard’s face, too. Good sense of humour, that man. Would be a shame if Thorin made him his enemy.

Right. Thorin. You’re here for a reason. Royal manners, you reminded yourself. Royal manners like Thorin has taught you. So you cleared your throat and stepped forward.

“We came...”, you paused, and tilted your head to face Bilbo, who stalked through the room and pulled a little bundle from his coat. “-to give you this.” He unwrapped it - and there lay, in all its beauty, the Arkenstone.

Though you had never before seen it, you would have recognised it the second you looked at it. It was a beautiful stone. Or, not a stone, you thought. It did not look like a stone at all. Rather it was... like a living thing, inside a transparent shell. Like a light that shone in every darkness, that lit up every room, in blue and red and pulsed all on its own. A heart.

“The heart of the mountain”, Thranduil realised, his voice filled with utter astonishment. “The King’s Jewel.”

You forced yourself to look away from the shining stone. Thranduil was right. It was the King’s jewel. Thorin’s jewel. The jewel that would turn his mind once and for all.

“And worth a king’s ransom”, Bard noted, leaning over the little table as the others. “How-”, he turned and looked at you, at Bilbo. “-is this yours to give?”

“It is not”, you said before the hobbit could so much as open his mouth. “It is not”, you repeated, “and yet it’s our only hope of ending this war before it begins. I... I could be ruling, right now. I could be sitting on a throne next to the King and yet, I am here, and I am asking you to take it and bargain. It’s the only thing that could possibly turn his mind. Take it to him tomorrow, take it and trade it for your wishes.” You paused, and inhaled deeply.

Treason, that voice sang. You’re betraying your King. But the dragon sickness that had gripped Thorin’s heart, it made him no king. The jewel made him no king. It was he himself, he who so lovingly had been willing to die to reclaim what was rightfully his people’s.

“Why would you do this?”, Bard asked. “You owe us no loyalty.”

You let out a cold laugh, but it was Bilbo who answered. “We’re not doing it for you.” He shook his head, and looked up at the kings in front of him. With nothing of fear in his eyes. Not respect, even, for the men before him. Just and simply utter loyalty to Thorin, to Thorin and you, and to the rest of the company who were sleeping soundly in the castle under the mountain. You had no words to thank him.

“I know that dwarves can be obstinate”, he went on, and you blinked away the tears in your eyes as quickly as you could, before your façade would crack and you would throw your arms around the hobbit. “and pigheaded and difficult. They’re suspicious and secretive with the worst manners you can possibly imagine.”

You laughed quietly, knowing that he was speaking of the night you all had stood before his door, and - as he had told you - before Thorin and you had arrived, the company had eaten his supply empty and almost torn apart his home. “But they are also brave, and kind”, he looked at you, “and loyal to a fault. I’ve grown very fond of them, and I would save them if I can.”

There was silence for a moment, but then you said, not to thank Bilbo as you wanted to or sob on the ground and beg for the armies to draw back, “Now Thorin values this stone above all else. Above... all.” Yourself included. “I’m sure that he will trade whatever he owes you for it.” Bilbo quickly added, “There will be no need for war.”

You looked up at the kings, as did Bilbo and Gandalf. And they looked at each other - and came to a silent agreement.

The company stood waiting atop the gates, armed to the teeth. You were beside Thorin, though you felt he was more distant from you than he had ever been. You’d committed treason. You’d betrayed him. You’d betrayed your King, your lover, your One.

You could not look him in the face the whole morning. Even though you knew, and you told yourself repeatedly, what you had done was right. You had prevented war - hopefully. Thorin, the one with a heart of love and tenderness, of loyalty and leadership, not who stood beside you now, he would have wanted you to do this. But it was hard to believe. It was hard to believe because this Thorin next to you, he would gut you and the hobbit both if he found out you had given the Kings the Arkenstone.

In a heartbeat of absolute desperation you grabbed Kíli’s hand, who stood on your left, Fíli to Thorin’s right. He smiled at you, though it was no reassuring one, no happy one.

Thranduil and Bard came riding through the rows of elf soldiers. Thorin pulled out the bow he had been holding and fired an arrow to land right in front of Thranduil’s elk. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t breathe. This was beginning horribly. You could not look at Bilbo, nor to Kíli, and you had no courage to gaze at your King. Not now. So you were forced to stare as the kings’ faces below changed ever so slightly.

“I will put the next one between your eyes”, Thorin threatened. Not Thorin. That was the dragon sickness speaking. You could hear it in his voice. It had lost all of its melody. All that had comforted you about it was gone.

The company cheered, though you had no interest in doing so. You stood still, pulled away your fingers from Kíli’s, and watched it all happen with a silent mind and empty gaze. Thranduil’s smile vanished - and although you were up so high, and his expressions revealed never much, you could see the anger on his face. The elves cocked their bows and pointed arrows at the company. The others ducked, their cheering stopped. You kept still. You stood where you were like a statue. Thorin kept his own bow strained.

But Thranduil held up his hand and the elves retreated. You let out a breath. "We have come to tell you", he said, and his words traveled up to you like he was speaking into your ear, though he did not raise his voice in the slightest. "debt of your payment has been offered. And accepted."

You didn’t allow yourself to tremble. Not the slightest change in your posture. Not a tensing of a single muscle. You had brought this upon yourself. You had played all your cards. You would not show a sign of fear.

“What payment?”, Thorin asked, and the rest of the dwarves slowly stuck out their heads again. “I gave you nothing. You have nothing.”

Thranduil turned his head to Bard wordlessly. You held your breath. And from his coat, he pulled the Arkenstone. In all its overwhelming beauty. It shone even in the day, even in the light of the sun.

“We have this”, Bard declared, and he held it up above his head.

Thorin lowered the bow. You felt close to crying. This was working out, your plan was working out! There would be no war, no death today.

“They have the Arkenstone”, Kíli said breathlessly. You didn’t turn your head. You stared right at the jewel in Bard’s hand. And prayed to all forces you could imagine that what you had done had been the right thing to do. “Thieves!”, the prince called.

You tensed ever so slightly. Not a finger moving. Not your expression changing. Keeping as still as you culd.

The princes started shouting, yelling. “How came you by the heirloom of our house?” “That stone belongs to the King!”

You closed your eyes for a brief moment. Thorin was quiet. Too quiet. Only his breath proved his presence in the dark. And then you opened them again, and you found yourself not in a nightmare, but reality still, this horrible present someone had created for you.

“The King may have it”, Bard offered, shrugged, almost. As though the stone was nothing to him. Nothing at all. And he threw it. Threw it and caught it with his right. You felt close to screaming, but you pushed the tone far down. How could he be so reckless, so foolish, to risk it shatter on the ground? How could he do it to his people, to the elves, to you? How had you given the stone to this king, and not yours?

He slipped it back into his coat, and Thorin next to you took a deep breath. Analysing, you realised. Thinking through his chances, his next move.

“But first”, Bard continued, “he must honour his word.” The bargain. You’d almost forgotten about that part.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Thorin shake his head. No. No, no, no, no. This was all going horribly. What had you done? What had you thought? “They are taking us for fools”, Thorin said quietly. You turned your head, slowly, away from the kings down below and to your own. “This is a ruse. A filthy lie.” Your thoughts halted. Your mind went ice cold. No. If Thorin thought this was a trap, he would never agree. But you could not verify, you could not tell him the truth, you couldn’t bear-

“The Arkenstone is in this mountain”, he shouted at the kings. “It is a trick!” You had to do something. You had to say something. Your one plan, your one hope... it had all brought nothing upon you other than death. Death when you could have saved the company, got them out of the mountain. You needed this to work. You needed to have him know the truth. He needed to, he could not fight, because he could not win. You made to open your mouth, part your lips, doom yourself. For him. For Thorin. For the company. But Bilbo had thought the same.

“It’s no trick”, he said. He stepped out from where he had been looming in the back. “The stone is real.”

You could not look at him. Instead, you watched as Thorin turned to him. His expression full of anger. Of rage, you realised. “I gave it to them.”

Finally, you snapped, and the tears that stung your cheeks were real. Tears of thinking he had betrayed your King, one might have guessed. But it were tears of thanks, of owed debts, of memories shared and lives saved. Of the same kind of humour, of stories told in the dark, of walking barefooted for a day, of defending each other, of unwavering loyalty.

Bilbo Baggins stood and looked at Thorin, waiting for his revenge. Accepting whatever may happen to him. And in that moment, you loathed your king. Loathed not only the sickness within him, but loathed what he did, what absolute destruction he was pulling them all into.

“You?”, he asked, betrayal sunken deep in his soul. You wondered what would have happened had it been you in Bilbo’s place. “I took it as my 14th share”, the hobbit explained lamely. “You would steal from me?”, Thorin asked. Cold. So cold. “Steal from you? No, no. I may be a burglar, but I like to think I’m an honest one. I’m willing to let it stand against my claim.” He sounded almost... carefree. As though this was nothing. You didn’t know whether to admire or pity him.

“Against your claim?”, Thorin repeated. His voice grew dangerously. The rage, you thought. It’s the rage getting the better of him. And then he smiled. Grinned, almost. It sent a shiver down your spine. Never, never had you seen this- this expression on his face. You felt like a single tree in the midst of a thunderstorm.

“Your claim. You have no claim over me, you miserable rat!” He threw his bow to the side, and you flinched. You flinched and he did not notice. He did not notice, although you stood nothing but mere centimetres behind him.

“I was going to give it to you”, Bilbo revealed. Stop talking, you wanted to shout. Stop talking, get away, get as far away as possible. Get behind enemy lines. Enemy - like the elves and the humans were your enemies. No - the only enemy here was the very dwarven king himself. The sickness inside of him. “Many times I wanted to, but...” “But what, thief?”

You had stopped crying, you noticed. Stopped particularly feeling anything but utter anger, anger at Thorin, at the mountain, at Gandalf for making you go on this quest. At anyone but Bilbo. Wonderful Bilbo who was doing everything for the dwarves, and they did not realise. “You are changed, Thorin”, he spat the king’s name, and you could not find yourself regretting that he did. “The Dwarf I met in Bag End would never have gone back on his word. Would never have doubted the loyalty of his kin!”

You clasped a hand to your mouth. Had Thorin thought one of the dwarves a thief? A traitor? His own kind, his own people whom he had traveled with, whom he had reassured and who had treasured him, honoured him like a king, even without crown and throne and fortune?

“Do not speak to me”, he said. “-of loyalty. Throw him from the rampart!”

Shock waved through your body. So much that you did not take notice of the dwarves, not of the armies and the Kings below. This was not Thorin. This was not your King. This man, whoever this man was, this man that you did not know - he was neither Thorin Oakenshield, nor was he a King. And he was not worth of being either.

He turned around as no one acted. “Did you not hear me?”, he called, and grabbed Fíli’s arm, ripped him from where he stood. The prince had to fight his grip until he let go.

And then he turned back around. “I’ll do it myself”, he shouted, and as he rushed forward, something in your head snapped. A wheel that had not been rotating before. A sword drawn. A dagger thrown.

“No!”, you screamed, and the king halted in his movement, barely a hand away from Bilbo. You took a step closer. A steady step. Steadier than you had thought. You felt like shaking. From head to toes, you felt like shaking. “No?” Thorin turned around and took you in. Looked you up and down. “You defend the burglar? The thief? You dare betray your King?”

You stood still under the weight of his eyes, the weight of knowing that this had once been the man you had loved so dearly. “You are not my King”, you said quietly.

“I am not your King?”, Thorin roared. “I am King under the mountain! I am not just your king, I own you as I own the Arkenstone! You are mine!”

You spat out a cold laugh. “You are not my King”, you repeated, vicious, almost, now. “You are not my lover. You do not own me. I am not yours. You are not the man I have known. You are not the man I have loved. You are not worth to be King. So you are not my King. You are corrupted by the darkness the sickness brought upon you. You were eager to give not one life, but all fifteen in a war you could not have won. You are not the man I have loved. And you are certainly not the man I have agreed to marry.”

With one hand, you found and held your newest courting braid, and with the other, following a deep breath, you ripped the bead from your hair. The bead that had been a promise. An oath. A proposal.

You had not told anyone. You and Thorin had kept it a secret during all this time, had wanted to make it official only when you had reclaimed the mountain. It had been not only the promise of marriage - it had been the promise of life. Of surviving. Of being by one another’s side in the end.

Your hand started shaking now, when you saw the loose bead lying there. But you hid it well. You took a heartbeat, not longer, to look at it one last time. Look at what was left of Thorin Oakenshield, of the King under the Mountain, of the man who had loved you so fiercely.

And then you threw the bead away. As far away from you as possible.

You looked up and met Thorin’s eyes. There was no sadness. There was but hatred and rage. Having something taken from him - as the Arkenstone had been taken from him.

“Get out of my sight”, he said quietly. You turned at once. Turned and walked to where the rope was still tied.

Fíli put a hand to your back and gently pushed you further. Bofur tugged at your arm and helped you climb the first steps as your body began trembling. You noticed none of it. You did not notice that Bilbo climbed down after you; did not notice that King Bard, the Dragon Slayer, the man who had been the king he was supposed to be for his people without an actual title or a throne to fight for, had slipped off his horse and come to your aid. You barely even cared as he heaved you off the ground with ease, put you onto his horse and turned, or how Thranduil readied himself for the war he would declare.

You did not cry. You did not think at all. You weren’t even sure that you existed in that moment. Because you did not seem to breathe, or smell, or feel, or hear. You felt no sadness, no rage. You were empty. Absolutely and just empty.

#thorin oakenshield #thorin oakenshield x reader #thorin oakenshield one shot #thorin one shot #thorin x reader #thorin oakenshield oneshot #thorin oneshot #hobbit oneshot #hobbit fanfiction #thorin fanfiction #thorin oakenshield fanfiction #thorin #the hobbit #hobbit

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the-broken-truth · 3 years ago

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Yandere Greek God Headcanon: Goddess of the Hunt & Moon - Artemis (Romantic)

*STATIC*: What gave you this idea, Broken?

Broken (Sitting in a tree): Funny thing, My Grandfather was telling me about one of his hunting trips and this idea kept swimming in my head for a while.

*STATIC*: Is that so? Well, let's see what words you weave together out of this one, Pastless Pup.

Broken: Deal - Let The Words Weave Together!

Note: The Reader is a Male - His Name is Titus

If there was anything Artemis loved - it was hunting; the thrill of the chase is what excited her most of all.

She was the Goddess of the Moon & Hunt after all.

But she found herself...lacking the thrills and excitement of the hunts she would normally partake in - they were becoming dull to her.

Artemis needed a new hunt, a new target, a new prey that she could bring down and claim for herself, but where could she find something like that when she's hunting everything that has ever existed?

Artemis was wondering this when she walked through a small human village in her mortal form, looking around for anything that could give her some excitement when her keen ears locked on to a conversation taking place between 2 villagers by the Market Stalls.

"Do you think Lord Titus will be successful in this hunt?" - The Stall Owner asked.

"You know better than to doubt the Young Lord's Hunting Prowless; he was the one who delivered all those Elk and Bison when the frozen time took over us all & the other hunters were too indulged in Dionysus' Creation to get off their humps to do their jobs." - The patron said with a roll of his eyes.

'Lord Titus, huh? Just who is this person?' - Artemis thought as she began to make her way over to the stall and the two men, - "Excuse me." She gained their attention.

"Good Afternoon, Ma'am." - The Stall Owner began his greeting - "What can I do for you?" - He asked.

"I am a stranger here and I happened to be walking by when I heard you speaking over the Lord of these Lands - Lord Titus? May you tell me more about him?" - Artemis asked.

"Well, The Young Lord isn't the Lord of the Lands yet - that position belongs to his father but Lord Titus already has the love and respect of his people that everyone is just waiting for the glorious day that he sits upon his father's throne." - The Patron said with a smile.

"Don't we all?" - commented the owner.

"He is well-loved by the people of this village?" - Artemis asked.

"Yes. Lord Titus does more for the people than his own father and his nobles do, and he is the one in charge of the village. If not for the Young Lord, I am almost certain we would have been sent to Hades by now." - The Patron scoffed.

"What do you mean?" - Artemis asked.

"Just the previous year, there was a meeting as to what the additional taxes should be spent on. The people said it was a good idea for the funds to be spent on extra meats, rice, and bread from the nearby villages in case the snow turned feral on us; however, our pleads were drowned out by the Nobles requests for more wine and coins in their pockets." - The patron snarled.

"They purchased wine over food?" - Artemis asked.

"Yes, and as a result, the snow drove away all the prey so the villagers were starving while the Lord gorged himself like the fat bastard he is." - The owner said.

"What happened next?" - She asked.

"Lord Titus did what his father should have done - he listened to his people and went out to gather bread, rice, and oats from the villages willing to share while hunting for great beasts in distance lands for the meats we needed. When he returned, the winter claimed 3 elders and he was remorseful - mourning with the families and apologized for days about not being fast enough to save them; he gave them gold from his own private coffers." - The owner explained.

Artemis was curious of the man they were speaking over - was he truly everything these men were making him be?

"HE HAS RETURNED! LORD TITUS HAS RETURNED WITH CARTS!" A villager called out, causing everyone to run to the village gates.

She was about to find out.

Artemis followed to smiling faces of the village to the front of the village and her eyes widened at the sight.

A man that stood around 7 feet - his muscles were well sculpted from all that time hunting while his skin shined like a bronze statue - his hair was short and black, connected by sideburns to a well-shaved short beard.

His eyes...they were as blue as the ocean.

Behind him were 4 carts full: The first will meats, the second with bags of grains and oats, the third held large blocks of salt - most likely to reserve the meat and fish, and the last cart was full of new building supplies.

"Lord Titus! You've returned!" - one of the villagers said with a smile.

"I'm sorry for being late but the Lord of the 5th Village I visited had a spoiled daughter and she said she wanted me to be her husband." - His voice...it was soaked in power but kindness as well.

Artemis stands there with a smirk on her face - her new prey has shown itself and she wasn't gonna let it get away.

'Titus...I am the Goddess Artemis...and I claim you for myself.'

#Yandere Greek Gods & Goddess #Yandere Artemis

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duhragonball · 2 years ago

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[FIC] Luffa: The Legendary Super Saiyan (195/?)

Disclaimer: This story features characters and concepts based on Dragon Ball, which is a trademark of Bird Studio/Shueisha and Toei Animation. This is an unauthorized work, and no profit is being made on this work by me. This story is copyright of me. Download if you like, but please don’t archive it without my permission. Don’t be shy.

Continuity Note: This story takes place about 1000 years before 66 years after the events of Dragon Ball Z.

[1 September, Age 749. Earth.]

One story continues with two mercenaries robbing a child of his dearest possession.

Pasta and Bongo are craven opportunists. When King Gurumes begins destroying his own land in search of more Blood Rubies, his people become restive and unruly. His military and royal guard are stretched thin protecting his mining and construction operations, so he hires foreign mercenaries for added security. Gurumes' vast wealth pays them well, but Pasta and Bongo want more.

When they hear of the King's terrible curse, they tell him tales of the seven magic Dragon Balls, and the fabled wish that could free him from his endless hunger. Gurumes promises to pay them anything they want in return.

The exchange rate is a curious one. Legend holds that the Eternal Dragon can grant any wish imaginable, but Pasta and Bongo crave only profit, and there is plenty of that to be found. Gurumes would sell his kingdom for the wish, even as he slowly destroys it to unearth the Blood Rubies that so fascinate him. And while the Blood Rubies might fetch a high price, King Gurumes does not dare to sell them, for he cannot bring himself to part with a single gem. And so, when Pasta and Bongo steal the Four-Star Dragon Ball from the little boy's house, they leave a single gold coin as payment.

For some, that might be a great bargain. Individually, each Dragon Ball is useless. Master Roshi trades his away without a second thought. Bulma is resourceful enough and dedicated enough to track down the other six, but most would probably be happy to accept a chunk of gold and let someone else take up the grand quest.

But the boy does not care about gold, or rubies, or Dragon Balls, or wishes. For him, the orange crystal with four red stars is not valuable for what it is worth, or what it can do. He treasures it for what it represents: the memory of his adoptive grandfather, who once held it as a keepsake.

If he were an ordinary child, then he might have to suffer the injustice of Pasta and Bongo's crime, but Son Goku is far from ordinary. He fell from the heavens, with the blood of the Legendary Super Saiyan running through his veins. But when he arrived on Earth, he was nothing. An outcast from his own people, a weakling orphan with no memory of his heritage and no prospects for his future. Like a single Dragon Ball, he was useless and easily ignored.

It was Son Gohan, a kindly old man, who found the boy and gave him value. He took the boy as his grandson, named him, sheltered him, and trained him in the martial arts. And the boy never forgot that kindness. When his grandfather died, the boy kept the orange ball with the red stars in a household shrine, and spoke to it as if it contained his grandfather's spirit. For what Son Gohan represented could never be destroyed, much less purchased.

What price can be put on love? A gold coin? A kingdom? A castle full of Blood Rubies?

This was what Pasta and Bongo and King Gurumes could not understand. In their desperate greed, they could not imagine anyone wanting something more, and having the courage to fight for it. They could not imagine a boy venturing out into the world for the first time for something more precious than treasure. They could not forsee that boy mastering the Kamehameha on his first try, or joining forces with friends who would help him set things right.

This is why Pasta and Bongo's schemes would always fail. Each time the story is told, each time they come to the Land of Gurumes and offer to track down the Dragon Balls, their path leads them to Son Goku, and then to ruin. All because they could not conceive of something worth more than money.

According to Saiyan folklore, once every thousand years, a warrior of their race rises up to have incredible power. Son Goku is the culmination of that cycle, destined to take his place as the next in a long line of Legendary Super Saiyans. Pasta and Bongo are merely soldiers of fortune, unremarkable and easily replaced, a footnote in some more important tale. Their destiny is obscurity, again and again.

The heart beats, and the blood of this tale continues another lap on its endless course.

*******

[2 September, Age 749. Earth.]

"And that's all I know, I swear!"

Emperor Pilaf lived in a curious fortress in the middle of nowhere. The architecture resembled a cross between a mansion and a dungeon filled with robotic weapons and attack dogs. To a spacefaring mercenary like Luffa, it was the most familiar-looking thing she had ever seen on the planet. In her travels, she had encountered countless tin dictators and warlords who lived in similar facilities.

With his pointed ears and clammy blue skin, Pilaf looked more like a demon than an Earthling. Despite his regal attire, he had only two subordinates: a dog-man named Shu and a human woman named Mai. They carried themselves with a bit more dignity than their Emperor, although this wasn't saying much.

Luffa turned her back to the three of them, staring instead at the wreckage of the mechanical deathtrap they had tried to use against her when she first arrived.

"Let's go over it one more time," she finally said.

Pilaf quailed in terror, and Luffa shivered with revulsion. His cowardice was almost too much to bear.

"You were searching for the Dragon Balls," Luffa said. "And you found one a few days ago, but then Pasta and Bongo stole it from you. They left a gold coin as 'payment', the currency of the Land of Gurumes."

"Th-that's right," Pilaf said. "Wow, you really have an excellent memory. Not like Shu at all. He's always forgetting things, leaving his chew toys and throwing stars just lying around--"

"Aw, I said I was sorry about that, Sire," Shu whimpered.

"You know," Pilaf said, ignoring Shu, "I could use a lady with your talents in my organization! Expansion, that's the key to a successful enterprise, and I think the next fiscal year is going to be very busy for us. If you're interested, I'm sure Mai could find you an application form--"

"Quiet!" Luffa snarled. There was a series of yelps and shrieks as the three of them trembled in fear, and then she continued. "How did Pasta and Bongo find your Dragon Ball? I thought you needed a special radar to detect those things."

"They took our locator device!" Mai said. "Word got around that we were searching for the Dragon Balls. We even contacted them about it early on, to see if they had any leads. At the time, they thought it was all just a fairy tale, but once King Gurumes hired them, they must have decided to come after us and steal all our research."

"Idiot!" Pilaf screeched. "You can't just tell her that! That's highly classified information your divulging!"

"Sire, she's already captured us," Mai said wearily.

"Well... you could at least sound a little guiltier when you answer her questions!" Pilaf whined.

Luffa ignored their bickering and stood silently for a few minutes. At last, Shu spoke up.

"Uh, ma'am? It's none of my business, but if you want to know about Pasta and Bongo so bad, why don't you track them down and question them?"

"I already have," Luffa muttered. "Twice. And I've talked to the Ox-King, Oolong, Yamcha, and several officials in the Land of Gurumes. I've even talked to you before, Shu. Several years in the future, but on a different cycle of the loop, so you wouldn't remember that."

They were confused, naturally. To Shu's credit, he did his best to remain calm. Luffa supposed that he had experience from placating Emperor Pilaf's tirades.

"Well maybe you should take a break and have somethin' to eat?" Shu suggested. "Emperor Pilaf has a bunch of good food in the pantry. I mean, you are hungry, right? That tail of yours is moving kind of the same way mine does around suppertime--"

Luffa suddenly spun around and growled at them. "Of course I'm hungry!" she shouted. "I haven't eaten in days! I don't dare, because if I do I'll end up like him!"

"Him?" Pilaf asked innocently. "Him who?"

Luffa stormed out of the room, smashing her way through a wall rather than using any of the doors. Pilaf and his henchmen followed her and watched carefully until she levitated into the air and took off into the sky.

"S-she's gone, Sire," Mai reported nervously as Luffa receded into a tiny dot in the clouds.

"Yes, I see that," Pilaf snapped. "Now I want both of you to start cleaning up this mess so we can get back to work."

"Sire, she really wrecked the place," Shu pleaded. "It'll take us weeks to clear the debris."

"And it'll cost a lot of zenni to replace the equipment she destroyed," Mai said.

"So?" Pilaf sneered. "Don't bother me with petty details, you two! I need this facility to carry out my plans to take over the world!"

"Well, what about one of the backup stations, Sire?" Shu suggested. "Like the one out in the desert?"

"Are you suggesting that I, the great Emperor Pilaf, abandon part of my domain?" Pilaf demanded.

"Sire, what if that woman comes back?" Mai asked.

Pilaf didn't answer right away. Instead, he made an audible gulp as he considered the question.

"My decision is final," Pilaf said. "We'll evacuate this base immediately. It's not a retreat, of course. Merely a strategic withdrawal."

"Very good, Sire," Mai said knowingly.

*******

On an uninhabited island, Luffa had set up camp, and spent an hour distilling potable water for herself. She had not eaten since the night she found Excitebike devouring their supplies. There had been enough food to sustain a Saiyan for a year, and somehow Excitebike had eaten it all.

What made it truly strange was that Namekians did not require any food. It was as though he had become a completely different life form that night. The overwrought, snobbish Deep Time Investigator had become a brutish creature, obsessed with his next meal.

There was only one explanation, which was the one Excitebike himself had explained to her earlier that evening: The Blood Rubies.

The Supreme Kai of Time had assigned them to investigate an anomaly called the Ruby Loop. It was supposed to be a naturally occurring time distortion that contained a fragment of history. Everything on Earth was the same, except for two key differences. First, the course of events repeated itself, always starting over on September 1, Age 749. Second, this Earth contained a mysterious mineral known as the Blood Rubies. The Kingdom of Gurumes was lousy with them, and somehow they had affected the mind of King Gurumes. In his obsession, he began to destroy his own kingdom, and he interfered with the saga of the Dragon Balls.

In some loops, the Dragon Balls would be used to remove the Blood Rubies from the planet. In others, the danger of the Blood Rubies would be recognized and the people of the world would attempt to contain them by walling off the Land of Gurumes. But some how, some way, the Earth would eventually be destroyed in some terrible conflict. In either case, the removal of the Blood Rubies from the Earth would cause the cycle to reset and begin again on September 1, Age 749.

The Time Patrol had been exploring the Ruby Loop for two years, and learned of the curse that affected King Gurumes. It was believed that the Blood Rubies had caused it somehow, mutating his body into a swollen monstrosity, and leaving him with an insatiable hunger. When Time Patrollers began to experience mild symptoms resembling Gurumes' condition, rules were put in place to avoid any food or drink native to the Ruby Loop.

Luffa was no Deep Time Investigator. She had only been with the Time Patrol for a few weeks, recruited for her great power more than anything else. Nor was she a scientist or a doctor, who might be able to understand such things. Still, she knew enough to conclude that Excitebike had caught the same curse that had affected Gurumes.

He hadn't eaten or drunk anything other than the rations they had brought with them. And he had warned Luffa not to touch the Blood Rubies, since they were believed to be the source of the curse. Excitebike even wondered aloud if the air itself might be contaminated with the dust of Blood Rubies that had been crushed by Gurumes' mining operations.

The man was careful to a fault, and yet he had been affected more severely than any of the other Patrollers he had described. Luffa could only guess that it was a chronic exposure to the Blood Rubies. Chronoa had told her that Excitebike had logged more hours in the Ruby Loop than anyone else. That was the reason she had assigned him to show Luffa around. The Supreme Kai of Time believed that Luffa was capable of solving the mystery, but she needed an experienced hand to fill her in on the details.

As she watched the colorless drops fall from the spout of her condenser coil, she hoped that Excitebike had told her enough, because she wouldn't be getting any information from him anytime soon.

After she had found him gobbling their supplies, she had tried to reason with him, but found that his mental state was deteriorating rapidly. He tried to flee into the woods, and when she stopped him, he would scream about the Blood Rubies, like the ones he had shown her in King Gurumes' storerooms. It soon became clear that he wanted to go back there, and there was no way to talk him out of this.

Eventually, Luffa was forced to render him unconscious, using the same technique she had shown him earlier that day. But while she studied his motorcycle to find a way to call for help, he woke up and escaped.

"And that," Luffa said to herself, "was how I blew the mission. Best I could do was figure out how to drive the bike, but I can only go back and forth in time. I can't figure out how to get back to Toki Toki City, or even send a message. About the only thing I can do is track Excitebike down, but I can't do anything for him."

Luffa looked at the half-filled bottle of tepid water and sighed. She wished she could drink it all right away, but she had to make it last. Excitebike had warned her that the food in the Ruby Loop might be dangerous, but his strange transformation had proven that she couldn't trust the water either. As unpleasant as it was, the safest course was to distill her own urine. This was nothing new for spacefaring peoples. Luffa had lived most of her life aboard various starships, and each of them had waste extraction systems to recycle precious moisture. Doing it herself with a pot and a copper coil was another story. It was slow, dreary work, and the odor only made things worse. But what truly eroded her morale was the memories that it brought back to her.

"I thought you were just jerking me around," Luffa said as she thought back to her wife.

Zatte had taught her how to construct and operate primitive stills for just such an emergency. A survivalist from a species of survivalists, Zatte had known dozens of designs for the purification of water. Occasionally, she would demand that they go to some remote place and practice building them together.

"We lived on a luxury cruiser, never had any trouble getting fresh supplies, and even if it got this bad, I would have just gone to the nearest freshwater lake, or let you handle it for me, since you knew how to do all this crap," Luffa muttered. "But no. You wanted me to go through all this myself, make sure I could do it without you. 'Just in case.'"

The still Luffa had built was well-designed. It had been easy enough to steal a few feet of copper tubing and solder it onto a metal bottle. But it was not a long-term solution. She would continue to lose water through her respiration and sweat, and the volume she was recycling would gradually dwindle to nothing. Eventually, she would die of thirst, or take her chances on the water native to the Ruby Loop.

"Nothing like a deadline for motivation," Luffa said. "You told me this was only a stopgap, a way to buy time to forage, to plan. Heh... I used to complain about how boring this was, and you said the time was a blessing, a chance to take stock of the situation and think about the next move. The whole time... all I could think about was the way the flames reflected in your eye, and the smell of your hair..."

Luffa shut her eyes tightly. There were, after all, other ways to lose moisture. When the silence of the island became unbearable, she spoke again.

"I found Keda," Luffa said. "She didn't die like we thought. Somehow she got zapped into the future, and ended up on Earth. I still need to talk it over with the Supreme Kai of Time. I kept putting off telling her about it, but she already found out from someone else, so that doesn't matter. I would have told her myself, but I just didn't know how to explain it. Keda... well, she seemed safe there. Happy. I don't know if it's right to take that away from her, but it feels wrong to just leave her. It's Chronoa's call, probably, but I don't think she'd understand. Of course... if I don't get out of this mess, I may never find out what she decides..."

Frustrated, Luffa stood up and paced around the fire.

"This is stupid," she said. "This whole.... whole time fragment is inside a red rock floating in Chronoa's basement, and I can't contact her! I can go back and forth through time, interrogate anyone on this planet, but it doesn't do any good because no one knows what's going on, and I don't know what questions to ask! And Keda's alive and well in West City right now. I could fly to her house whenever I want, but I'm too nervous to-- Wait a minute..."

It suddenly dawned on Luffa that this time fragment was like the one she had used to track down Keda before. It was only a piece of history, but it included everything from the real timeline. The Earth was almost exactly the same, and so were all the people. It was a duplication of the real Earth, changed only by the circumstances unique to the Ruby Loop.

She had understood this when she was briefed on the mission, but she only acknowledged this on a factual level. At times, she had to remember that this was not the same Earth she had visited before in past missions. For other Time Patrollers, this was probably more intuitive, since nearly all of them hailed from the Earth, or knew it well.

Excitebike had only really shown Luffa the beginning and ending of a recent cycle of the Ruby Loop, but everything in the middle should have been fairly similar too. Somewhere in the middle of those years, a Keda would have appeared on Planet Namek and would have been wished to Earth by the Dragon Balls. Unless something involving the Blood Rubies had altered those events somehow. Keda might be on the Earth in the Ruby Loop, but she might have been living at a different address.

But Keda wasn't the one Luffa had in mind. As she waited for the last drops of water to fill her bottle, she began to rehearse her story. Even if her plan could work, it would require a lot of convincing...

*******

[1 October, Age 767. Earth.]

"And that's why I came to you."

Bulma cradled her teacup in her hand as she digested Luffa's story. After a few moments of silence, she set the cup on the table and shook her head.

"A time traveling Saiyan...?" she said. "And you're on our side, like Goku? That alone is pretty far-fetched. After all that trouble we had with Raditz and his two friends, I thought Goku was the only Saiyan left."

According to the history Luffa knew, Vegeta had taken up residence in Bulma's home by this year. In this cycle of the Ruby Loop, however, Luffa had sensed no trace of Vegeta's ki anywhere on the planet.

"The other Saiyans," Luffa asked. "What happened to them?"

"Oh, they're dead," Bulma said. "Piccolo killed Raditz, and then those other two showed up about a year later, but Goku showed them who's boss. The last one--the little guy-- he followed us to Namek, but he must have run into Frieza's soldiers. We never saw him after that. Good riddance, I say. Those guys were real creeps!"

Bulma suddenly noticed Luffa's tail laying across the armrest of her chair and her indignant expression softened. "Uh, no offense," Bulma added with an awkward chuckle.

"Don't worry about it," Luffa said. She was too tired and hungry to worry about Vegeta's fate. "I've met my fair share of Saiyans, and our bad reputation is well-earned. Anyway, where I came from," she continued, "you invented the first time machine on Earth. I'm positive that my own timebike is based on the same technology. If you could take a look at it, I'm betting you can help me send a distress call back to my base."

"But you're talking about something I haven't even thought of yet," Bulma objected. "If you can really travel back and forth on that motorcycle of yours, then why not go a little further into the future and ask me then?"

Luffa shook her head. "I would if I could, but it doesn't work that way." She didn't bother trying to explain the cyclical nature of the Ruby Loop, or that the older Bulma whom Luffa had met in Toki Toki City was from a completely different timeline. It had taken Luffa hours to locate a longer cycle of the Loop, one which allowed this version of Bulma to age past thirty-four. Luffa couldn't tell her the truth, which was that Bulma would suddenly become a teenager again in a few days. So instead she kept it as simple as possible.

"You're all I've got," Luffa said plainly. "Will you help me?"

Bulma thought about it for a moment longer before answering. "Well, I'll take a look at it," she said. "I mean, how can I pass up a chance to see a working time machine? But I can't promise anything."

"I understand," Luffa said with a sigh of relief. "Just see what you can do, that's all I ask."

"Let's head down to my workshop," Bulma said with a reassuring smile. "I may need to run some tests."

For the first time since she arrived in this strange time fragment, Luffa began to feel hopeful about the mission. She hadn't achieved the objective, but if she could get word to Chronoa and have Excitebike safely extracted, then they could at least lick their wounds and plan for another expedition. As horrible as Excitebike's transformation had been, it might turn out to be a valuable clue that would shed some light on things.

All Luffa knew was that she wanted to leave the matter to someone else. Her body still ached from her defeat at the hands of Beerus, and between that and the hunger that gnawed at her belly, she knew she was in no condition to solve anything. As Bulma led her into the repair bay and switched on the shop lights hanging from the ceiling, Luffa headed straight for the closest chair and helped herself to a seat.

"You said you have it stored in a capsule?" Bulma asked as she threw a white labcoat over her shoulders.

"Right here," Luffa said. She withdrew a Hoi Poi capsule from her pants pocket and tossed it into Bulma's waiting hand. Bulma activated the capsule and dropped it onto an open space in the bay. The capsule exploded into a puff of smoke, which faded to reveal a futuristic two-wheeled vehicle.

"Gosh. This looks like something out of a movie," Bulma said, barely containing her excitement. "You're telling me I invented this?"

"Not directly," Luffa said. "But I'm sure your tech is all over this thing. And even if it's not, I doubt anyone else on this planet could make any sense of it."

Bulma sat down on the bike and began looking over the controls. "You know, I've thought about time travel before, but I've been so busy working on the fortifications around King Gurumes that I've never had time for those kinds of projects. It's nice to know I'll get the chance one of these days. I guess things must settled down in the future."

Luffa didn't know how to respond to that, and so she tried to pretend she wasn't listening. "It's a pretty big place you've got here," she said. "You must have a big family."

"No, it's just me and my parents," Bulma said. "My sister stops by every few years."

"You don't have any kids?" Luffa asked.

Bulma shook her head, but didn't look up from the motorcycle's console screen. "Oh, you know how it is. I never could find the right guy. Besides, I'm still enjoying the single life."

That settled it. There was no Trunks in this world, which suggested that most of what Luffa knew about Earth history in this era wouldn't apply. As helpful as Bulma might be, she may not have had the same background as the one Luffa had met in Toki Toki City. This version seemed to have devoted much of her life to containing the Blood Rubies.

As Luffa pondered Bulma's qualifications, she noticed her pressing a button on a wristwatch she wore on her left arm.

"Any trouble?" Luffa asked.

"No," Bulma said. "You're right, this is Capsule Corp. I mean, the peripherals are. The bike itself seems to be remodeled from a Signia-LR, or maybe some later model they haven't built yet. But the computer console runs on my dad's operating system."

"Then you can figure it out!" Luffa said hopefully.

"Maybe," Bulma said. "I still need to learn how this thing works, but at least it's familiar to me. I just... need a little more time."

Luffa wanted to tell her to take all the time she needed, but she wasn't sure how much they had to spare. She leaned back in her chair and tried to ignore the pangs in her stomach.

And then, suddenly, she sensed a Saiyan power in the room, appearing as though out of nowhere. Luffa glanced to her left and saw Son Goku standing in front of a tool case with two of his fingers pressed against his forehead.

"Kakarot?" Luffa asked.

"Hey!" Goku called out to Bulma as he lowered his fingers.

"Well it took you long enough!" Bulma shouted.

"Hey, we got here as soon as we could!" Goku said with a smile.

"You told me it was called 'Instant Transmission', Goku!" Bulma scolded. She had dismounted the bike and was now angry wagging a multimeter at him. "'Instant' means 'right now'!"

"I told you!" Goku said. "It doesn't work that way. Sure, I can move from one place to another instantaneously, but I gotta concentrate to make it work. Besides, I have to have a strong ki to get a fix on so I know where to go. You're not a fighter, so it's tough to sense your energy from so far away."

Bulma slapped her palm against her forehead and gestured wildly at Luffa. "What, so you can't sense her?"

Goku glanced over at Luffa and shrugged. "Well, no, now that you mention it. Not from Mount Paozu, anyway. Wait a minute..."

He approached Luffa slowly and looked her over until his eyes finally widened with surprise. "You're a Saiyan?" he asked.

Luffa waved her tail gently and rolled her eyes. "You don't miss a trick, do you, Kakarot?" she said. "I've been suppressing my ki to avoid unwanted attention, but I guess Bulma must have contacted you without me noticing."

"Sorry about that," Bulma said. She held up her left arm and pointed at her watch. "But we've had a lot of trouble with Saiyans, and Pansy thought it would be a good idea to call if we ran into anything unusual."

"Pansy?" Luffa asked.

"Uh-oh..." Goku said. "I forgot to bring her with me."

"You forgot?" Bulma yelled. "What's the matter with you?!"

"Take it easy," Goku said. He held up his hands in as submissive a gesture as he could muster. "I'll go back and get her. It won't take but a second!"

Bulma pointed her thumb back at Luffa. "A second? What if she tries something funny while you're gone? She could take me hostage or... I don't know!"

"I came to you for help," Luffa said. "Why would I do anything to screw that up?"

"I know," Bulma said apologetically. "It's the principle of the thing..."

"Back in a jiffy!" Goku said. He had already placed his fingers against his forehead, and he vanished before anyone could respond.

"What a jerk," Bulma groaned. "He keeps showing off that teleportation trick, but he's such a scatterbrain that it almost doesn't do him any good. He might as well have flown all the way here."

"Why bring him into this?" Luffa asked. "If you thought I was a threat, you sure didn't show it."

"I believe your story," Bulma said. "I mean, this bike of yours would be pretty hard to fake. But you're still a Saiyan."

"So is he," Luffa said.

"Yeah, but he's different," Bulma said. "I've known Son since he was a little boy. Anyway, after the Gurumes crisis, we all agreed to stay in touch whenever anything weird came up, and you have to admit that time traveling motorcycles definitely fit the description."

"Okay, but--"

Before Luffa could finish her thought, Goku suddenly reappeared, this time with a woman holding his other hand.

"We're back!" Goku said cheerfully.

"Hey, Pansy," Bulma said. "Sorry to bother you like this."

"Don't be," the woman said. She was wearing a red sweater dress and white boots. "The signal watch was my idea, remember? So what's up?"

"She is," Bulma said, pointing to Luffa. "She's a Saiyan from the future, and she wants me to fix her time machine."

"Time machine?" Pansy asked. Bulma tried to point out the motorcycle to her, but Pansy couldn't seem to take her eyes off of Luffa.

It was during that awkward pause that Luffa began to remember where she had seen the woman before. The night Excitebike began to mutate, they had been preparing their campsite, when they saw a little girl wandering through the woods. Luffa had wondered about the child's safety, but Excitebike assured her that it was nothing new. The girl always came through the woods in that direction, as she always met Goku and Bulma at the beginning of each cycle of the Ruby Loop.

Now, Luffa had traveled forward nineteen years, and she was seeing the same girl as a grown woman. Her long red hair had been styled with a curling iron, and her brown eyes looked more determined than before, but the snapback hat on her head looked almost exactly the same as the one she had worn as a child.

And yet, even though Luffa remembered Pansy, there was no way that Pansy could remember Luffa. According to Excitebike, everyone who lived in the Ruby Loop reset with each cycle. Luffa had traveled across several cycles to reach this moment, and so this version of Pansy ought to have no memory of meeting two Time Patrollers in the woods.

So why was Pansy staring at her so intently?

"Sorry," Goku said to Luffa as he walked over to join them. "I got in such a rush that I never got around to introductions."

"I already know you by reputation, Kakarot," Luffa said. "You're the Legendary Super Saiyan of this era."

In spite of her troubles, Luffa couldn't resist the urge to mention that. From the moment she had first seen him transform into a Super Saiyan, Luffa had longed to face Son Goku in battle, but circumstances had made that impossible. The Ruby Loop might have offered a rare chance for them to fight, but Luffa was too weary and dehydrated to fight him at her fullest. Their match would have to wait.

"I guess you must've heard about what happened on Planet Namek, then," Goku said. "Well, I ain't 'Kakarot'. I may be a Saiyan, but I was raised on Earth. My name is Son Goku."

Luffa had no intention of ever calling him that, but she saw no point in arguing over it.

He then reached out and put his arm around Pansy's waist, drawing her close to his side. "And this," he said with a warm smile on his face, "is Pansy! She's my wife!"

"Your what?" Luffa asked.

Luffa didn't know much about the Earth's history, but she was certain that this wasn't right at all. She had forgotten the name of Goku's Earthling wife, but she remembered her having black hair and a much stronger ki than Pansy. And according to Excitebike, Goku and Bulma never would have met Pansy in the proper course of history. Their hunt for the Dragon Balls in Age 749 was supposed to lead them in a different direction, away from the Land of Gurumes, and away from Pansy.

But in the Ruby Loop, things had proceeded differently. Here, Goku did meet Pansy, and they must have fallen in love and married, while Bulma never married at all. It wasn't such a surprising change, once Luffa stopped to consider it.

So why did Pansy look so nervous?

NEXT: Blood will tell.

#dragon ball #fanfiction #lssjluffafic #super saiyan #luffa #bulma #goku #emperor pilaf #mai #shu #pansy #earth

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zeldanoel · 4 years ago

Text

Precious Things - Bagginshield

Started writing this because I was sad after watching the Hobbit movies last week haha, then I accidently 5,500 words. Also on my ao3 here.

Thorin had exhausted himself digging through gold coins that stank of dragon. He was pale, and his blue eyes, which Bilbo had at least once thought beautiful, were bloodshot and full of a gleaming darkness like the hoard itself. Bilbo found him early one morning sitting on one of the enormous staircases. Thorin's back was to him, and he sat very still, looking off slightly to his left. An ocean of gold sat below him. "Thorin," Bilbo said, and Thorin's head turned slightly, but not enough to look at him. "Did you get any sleep?" "It's not yet night," was Thorin's cold reply. "It was hours ago, when I told you. Remember? And now it's already morning and you--" Bilbo gave a worried sigh and sat down next to him. "Aren't you tired? Thorin." Thorin blinked and looked at Bilbo. His eyes lost a little of their crazed edge. "I am," he admitted, almost smiling, and looked back over the hoard below. The momentary light in his face faded. "But I cannot rest until my kingdom is secure." "But you can," Bilbo said, trying not to let too much desperation creep into his voice. He turned himself more towards him. "And your kingdom is secure. Please. If… if my friendship could be worth a few hours rest, do it for my sake if nothing else." Bilbo tried to smile as Thorin looked at him at that with slightly hazy confusion. "For your sake?" His eyes were almost clearing. He turned more towards Bilbo. "This is all you would ask of me, Master Baggins?"

"And a good meal, if you can stomach it," he replied cautiously. Thorin reached out and squeezed Bilbo's shoulder, his eyes shining now only with tears. Then he leaned down and rested his forehead on Bilbo's other shoulder. His voice when he then spoke seemed to rumble directly into Bilbo's core, making his heart clench and his stomach flip. "Of all the treasures now under this mountain," Thorin said softly, "you are one of the most precious, Bilbo." Bilbo's insides froze painfully. He couldn't smell Thorin, there was only smoke and metal and something inherently dragon-like. Bilbo reached up and touched Thorin's shoulder, almost expecting to feel scales. But no, there were thick layers of cloth. And when Thorin turned his head slightly in response to his touch, the skin of his forehead brushed Bilbo's neck, warm to the point of being feverish. "I don't know if I can find rest," Thorin said softly. "I'll do what I can to help," Bilbo replied.

Bilbo led him up the many stairs to the bedchambers. The one that Thorin had chosen wasn't his original one, but his grandfather's. The king's. The bedpost itself was gold, as were many of the other objects therein. But Bilbo didn't lead him into there, but into Thorin's old room. Thorin had only been through it once since the dragon had left--to sweep up any childhood treasures and valuables and dump them in a heap at the foot of the king's bed. As a result this room was somewhat sparse, drawing light from only the fireplace. It had a strange hominess to it, or maybe it was that old sense of familiarity. My room. Bilbo's old coat was already thrown across the armchair. "Were you in here before?" Thorin asked suspiciously. "I've, uh, slept in here the past few nights," Bilbo said apologetically, "I hope you don't mind." "No," he said honestly. The thought instead warmed him with affection. Bilbo turned down the bedcovers as Thorin shed his outer layers of clothing. "Can I get you anything?" Bilbo asked awkwardly, "oh, maybe some water--" he started for the door. "No!" Thorin said quickly, holding out a hand as though to stop him. "Will you stay with me, instead?" Bilbo blinked at him. His eyes flickered to the bed, and back. "I…? With…?" He gestured a little, but quickly accepted that Thorin really did mean for him to stay in the bed. "Sure. Sure, of course." Tired as he was, Thorin had forgotten momentarily that Bilbo had better manners than a dwarf. A dwarf, if he were uncomfortable, would have refused and perhaps sought a compromise, like sitting in the same room. But Bilbo simply set his blue coat and vest carefully on the armchair by his red one, crossed the room, and crawled into bed next to Thorin. It was like the hobbit radiated an aura of protection and peace for Thorin. Bilbo's presence meant something was going right. Bilbo lay on his back, tucked under the furs and stiffly staring at the ceiling. Thorin was on his side, waiting for the waves of anxiety to completely wash away. "Thank you," Thorin said. He rested his hand on the mattress between them. Bilbo looked over, turned onto his side to face him, and took his hand. "Just sleep," Bilbo said. His little hand disappeared in Thorin's. "One day," Thorin whispered, "I'll be the one to protect you."

-- “I am so sorry,” Thorin managed to say, “that I have led you into such peril…” his voice sounded far away, even to himself. He could barely hear when Bilbo spoke. “No, no, I am glad to have shared in your perils, Thorin. Each and every one of them.” Bilbo leaned down and quickly pressed his lips against Thorin’s. Soft and warm--not sensations Thorin would have thought to feel on this wintery peak, with so much of his body torn and bleeding. Bilbo broke back a hair’s breadth. “Please live, Thorin. You have so much to live for.” Thorin blinked at him, dazed. “More… than I knew,” he rasped. Bilbo’s eyes, dark and kind, stared earnestly into his. They were all Thorin could see. He wished he could see, just one more time, Bilbo’s hair golden with sunlight. The sun would shine on him again, without Thorin. He had to be happy without Thorin. He had to go home. “Farewell, Amralime,” Thorin managed to say. “Go back to your books and your armchair. Plant your trees, watch them grow. If more people valued home above gold, this world would be a… merrier place.” Even Bilbo’s touch was fading. If only Thorin had just a little more time, he could say more. He could sit with Bilbo under a kindly tree, and learn from him how to find peace. That image felt suddenly quite powerful to him. If Bilbo would stay by his side for just a little while longer… if Thorin could learn from him… “Keep hold…” Thorin whispered, “of my hand.” Thorin’s fingers were all but numb, but there was a pressure against them. “I won’t let go,” Bilbo said. “Stay with me, Thorin. Gandalf!” Thorin closed his eyes. A moment ago, death had been sure. But whether unconsciousness now took him for death or sleep, he had no power to fight against it.

His chest ached, burning with a stab wound. Other places he could feel in his body had been slashed. His entire being ached, no strength left in him to even raise his head. But he could hear things. Voices… was that Bilbo’s voice? He clung to the sound, and almost as soon as he did, it stopped so someone else could speak. Bilbo, he thought desperately, trying to get his mouth to form the words. “Thorin? Thorin, can you hear me?” He was drained. His stomach was sick. His eyes, heavier than lead, slowly opened. Bilbo was standing over him. The canvas ceiling of a tent was above them. Bilbo’s face was clean, perhaps some time had passed. Thorin’s hand twitched, searching for Bilbo’s. “You’re okay, Thorin, you’re going to live, just like I told you.” he smiled as though that would disguise his obvious worry. Thorin could only stare. “Stay,” he breathed out. Bilbo’s face broke. He took Thorin’s hand and held it against his lips. “I’ll stay. I promise.” Good. Thorin’s eyes dropped closed.

He woke again with an empty hand, and slowly opened his eyes. If only his throat weren’t so dry, he could-- He coughed, and pain stopped his breath. There was something wrong, of course there was something wrong, he’d been stabbed through the chest, maybe one of his lungs wasn’t working, he couldn’t breathe. “Thorin! Thorin, just breathe!” He turned panicked eyes to the hobbit at his bedside. Bilbo started propping him up, someone on the other side of him was helping. Tears sprang to Thorin’s eyes. The coughing wouldn’t stop, he couldn’t draw breath-- “Thorin, you can do this. Breathe in. Please.” He took a breath. In his ears it sounded like a death rattle. His next cough cleared his lungs and shot pains through his torso. He whimpered. “Come on, do it again.” Slowly, each breath became easier than the last. “Okay. We’re going to have you drink something now.” That was a dwarf’s voice. He couldn’t give it enough attention to determine which of his company it was. Thorin kept his eyes fixed straight ahead, willing himself not to pass out as they brought a meaty broth to his lips and he drank. They laid him back down. Bilbo took his hand again, watching him anxiously. “It’s no good,” Thorin said hoarsely. “Should’ve… left me.” He felt a tear trace out of his eye. “How could I have?” Bilbo asked fervently. He reached down with his free hand and touched Thorin’s cheek, brushing the tear away. “I couldn’t.” He withdrew his hand and squeezed Thorin’s. “Don’t worry about that now. We’re here now. Just stay with me.” Thorin wondered if he could.

He was running through a forest, a dark one where huge gray branches seemed to grope at him, snagging against his white coat. He had to find a way out. That's what he was searching for, right? He reached a stream. The water in it smelled terrible and stagnant, and moved sluggishly. And Bilbo stood on the other side. A shadow loomed over his shoulder, wielding a shortbow. The shadow aimed at him. Then the dream shifted rapidly. He was the stag, then the hunter aiming at the white stag, and then he was aiming at Bilbo, right between the eyes. No, he had Bilbo gripped by the front of the shirt, lifting him off his feet. You shouldn't have done that, it's bad luck. No one was stopping him. He was throwing Bilbo headfirst off the ramparts. Shouldn't have done that. Bilbo was falling. Thorin had to wake up. If Bilbo hit the ground, he'd be dead. Shouldn't have-- Thorin shouted, and was immediately pulled back into his body. His back was arching on the cot, fire spread across his chest. "Thorin, no!" Bilbo's voice. Bilbo! Thorin reached for him, grabbing for any part he could reach. He ended up with a fistful of Bilbo's coat. Bilbo gripped his shoulders, a weak attempt to keep him down. "Bilbo," Thorin gasped. "Bilbo--you--" he was alive. He was fine. "I'm here, Thorin. You're fine." Thorin breathed hard, wounds stinging. He focused in on Bilbo's worried face. Thorin took a few more breaths, trying to calm down and get rid of his sudden dizziness. He could still feel the dream, how it had been his hands that had nearly slain his friend. "It's okay, Thorin," Bilbo whispered. "You're okay." Thorin heaved another breath and released him, turning his face away. "Fili and Kili," he said hoarsely, turning back to him. "Kili is stable, thanks to Tauriel." Bilbo gestured across the room. Who…? Oh, the elf with the red hair. "And Fili?" Thorin whispered desperately. Bilbo opened his mouth, closed it, shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said. "He didn't make it." Thorin closed his eyes, breathing through his teeth. "Shouldn't have sent them in." "Thorin, it's not your fault. It's… it was battle, and you did the best you could." Thorin took in a breath and slowly released it. "Did Dain survive?" "Yes. Just a bit bruised." "I need to talk to him." "I--now?" Thorin grunted in affirmation. Bilbo, casting him more unsure glances, left the tent. Thorin finally got a look down at himself. His chest was tightly wrapped, and a few other places as well, like his foot. He could feel his heartbeat pounding against his wounds with a painful ache. Other than that he wore only his breeches and a thick wool blanket that had started to slide off. Achingly, he turned his head to look across the room. There was a cot there, and a table in between that obscured the top half of Kili's face. The lower half, and Kili's skin, was pale, and his chest rose and fell in brief, shallow breaths. He watched him for a long moment, willing his own life force to go into Kili. Stomping boots against stone sounded, and Dain threw open the tent flap. Thorin caught a brief glimpse of the dark walls of Erebor behind him before he strode in, Bilbo close behind. Thorin briefly raised his hand so Dain could grasp it. "Thorin," Dain said fervently, grasping his hand and kneeling by his bedside, "you have no idea how glad I am to see you awake." "How is everyone?" Thorin asked, "and how long was I out?" "Near 10 days. We've accepted the Laketown refugees into the Halls for safety. The treasure's been moved to the lower levels. Thranduil has sent most of his army back, but remains with a small retinue. I've done the same, but the Iron Hills aren't far if we should suffer a second attack, and we're keeping scouts out." Thorin sighed with relief. "You've done well. Thank you." He squeezed his hand weakly. Dain only nodded, smiling beneath his beard. With difficulty, Thorin finally spoke. "I'm going to abdicate." Dain's eyes widened. "Thorin, no!" "It's better this way. Once Kili is ready, I would have him be King Under the Mountain. Until then, Erebor needs you. Will you accept?" Dain shook his head. "No, Thorin, it isn't right--" "Please," Thorin whispered. "You're the one who took back Erebor!" "For myself. I have to give it up. It nearly… I nearly…" his eyes went to Bilbo, who still stood near the tent flap, dark eyes wide. "I have to stay away, Dain. For the good of our people." Dain was still shaking his head, face screwed up as though in pain. "Would you have me beg?" Thorin asked quietly. Dain frowned at their clenched hands. "No, sire. And until you've formally abdicated, you are my king. And I will do as you command. By the time Kili comes of age, Erebor will be as great as it ever was." A weight seemed to lift off of Thorin's chest, and he smiled. "Thank you. I will soon be strong enough to give my abdication before witnesses." He closed his eyes, exhausted from the effort of speaking. Dain pressed a hairy kiss to his hand and gently set the hand down. "Take care of him, Master Bilbo," he heard Dain mutter. "I will, thank you." He hadn't thought he'd fallen asleep, but when he opened his eyes Oin was there and Bilbo gone.

-- It took many weeks before Thorin finally regained enough energy to be restless. He and Kili both slept a great deal, as though every day they had battled hard. Oin, Bilbo, and Tauriel were in the tent the most, but every member of the company had occasion to stop by, and Thorin found himself apologizing to every one of them and refused to budge on his decision to abdicate. Only Balin didn’t push him to reverse his decision. The old dwarf simply watched him for a long moment, then nodded. Thorin’s heart sank a little. He’d almost let himself be persuaded by the others. “You do think it wise, then?” Balin took his hand reassuringly. “Sometimes it is wisdom to take yourself away from temptation. And I… wish I could take my personal feelings out of this, or erase for you what happened those weeks while we searched for the Arkenstone. I can see it has broken you. I wish to see you healed. And Erebor is the wrong place for that.” Thorin’s eyebrows furrowed. “What’s the right place?” “Well.” Balin’s eyes twinkled a little, like he had thought of something. “Somewhere peaceful, I suppose, where gold has no hold over the hearts of the people.” He squeezed his hand. “Somewhere where it doesn’t matter if you could have been king. Where you can take pride in not the circumstances of your birth, but the work of your hands.” Thorin chuckled, and his diaphragm seared with pain. He hissed, then looked back to Balin with a subdued smile. “It sounds like you already have a place in mind.” “Hmph. If you want recommendations, you should talk to Bilbo.” Balin patted his hand and sat back. “In any case, there are plenty of wars still to be fought, if you’ll have them.” “Moria,” Thorin said distantly. In his mind’s eye he could see Azog holding aloft a graying dwarvish head. He grimaced. The thought used to fill him mainly with righteous anger--now it made him sick and full of grief.

Thorin abdicated as soon as he could sit up to sign the documents in front of witnesses. He had a face of stone the entire time and spoke little. Kili had temporarily taken a turn for the worse and wasn't present. Bilbo did his best not to hover anxiously over Thorin. Thorin barely met anyone's eyes. Once the documents were signed, he nodded at Dain and sat back in his wheelchair, pale and grim. Bilbo started wheeling him back to his sick tent. They had to take a roundabout path away from the council chamber. "Wait," Thorin said at one of the intersections. He pointed to the left corridor. "Take me that way." "Thorin, I specifically memorized this route and if we leave it I'm going to be lost," Bilbo said to the back of his head. Thorin turned his head just a little. "You won't. Not while you're with me." Bilbo sighed and turned the chair to the left. The corridor soon opened up into one of the forge chambers, although this one had some slightly different equipment, long pipes like spears that Bilbo hadn't seen before. Thorin directed him across the room into an archway. Beyond the archway lay a dark room. Bilbo quickly lit the torch by the door with the box of matches he'd learned to always carry around, and once that was lit, the complicated lighting system that the dwarves had established throughout Erebor was ignited, filling the room with dim warm light. The room was full of colored glass: orbs and creatures and ribbons and prisms, many of them small and displayed on rusting shelves. Overhead were complicated light fixtures--many of them, like this was a storage room. "Erebor was the home of many crafts," Thorin said. Bilbo rounded his chair to stand next to him, hand resting lightly on his forearm. "Glass is not as expensive as jewels or gold, and it's more fragile. I'm pleased to see that Smaug didn't touch it." Thorin looked around the room, his face more lost than pleased. Then he nodded. "That's all, Master Baggins. We can return to your route." "I--that's all?" Bilbo said. "You don't want to look at any of them more closely?" "You may return later if you wish, Bilbo," Thorin said. His face had clouded over, preoccupied. "This place isn't for me." "I…" Bilbo wished he could think of something to say. It would make sense if Thorin were simply tired. But it was more than that. A light in him had gone out. He looked around for inspiration and grabbed a figurine off the shelf. He knelt before Thorin and held it up before him. Thorin's cold blue eyes turned to it impassively. "Doesn't it remind you of Beorn?" Bilbo said with a little smile. He turned the little bear so it caught the light. Thorin sighed. "I don't think Beorn was blue." He touched Bilbo's hand and gently pushed it away. "I appreciate it, Bilbo. Perhaps we can come back another day. Today, it's…" he swallowed and looked away. "No, I, I understand," Bilbo got to his feet and tucked the little bear into his pocket. "It could help to talk about it? I'm only here to help you, Thorin." "You are too kind for your own good," Thorin said miserably. "I'm sorry for how I treated you." "No--one moment of weakness doesn't define our relationship, Thorin." "I should have seen the path that would have led me to that moment," Thorin said. He leaned over and grabbed a wheel, pulling on it to turn himself away from Bilbo. "It's not just you. I know I've made the right choice in abdicating--!" His voice broke into a sob. "But how do I go on? How can I live with myself, knowing that the moment I had the power I sought after all my life, I abused it and ruined everything? If I hadn't--maybe Fili--" "Shh--" Bilbo leaned over the back of the chair and hugged Thorin around the shoulders from behind. "There are so many maybes, Thorin. It's a miracle that you're alive, and Kili. We would be worse off if we had lost you. I--on Ravenhill, I knew that if I lost you there, I would be more alone than I ever have been. I would go home and leave you buried in the Lonely Mountain, but you would have haunted me, much worse than if I could have left you safe and alive." He briefly tightened his grip. "Thank you for holding on." Thorin's hand pressed against the side of Bilbo's head. "You're such a fool," he whispered fondly. He stroked his hair once, then dropped his hand back into his lap. Bilbo released him, sniffling. "I wouldn't mind coming back here for a better look on another day," Thorin said, clearing his throat. "But I'm ready now to rest." "Of course." Bilbo started pushing the chair, and on the way out lowered the little metal hood that snuffed out the torch. With a few gentle corrections from Thorin, they made it back to the healing tent.

When Thorin awoke, the tent was empty except for Kili, who was sitting up supported by pillows, flipping a small knife over and over in the air. Thorin sighed. "Glad to see you're feeling better," he rumbled. Kili frowned at him. "You should have woken me. I wanted to be there." "To see your throne secure?" Thorin teased. Kili's face grew dark, and he raised the knife. "I will use this." He lowered it. "I wanted to be there for you. I'm still upset you did it." "Dain will make a fine regent. Also, he can walk fairly well, I hear." "Don't give me that. You'll be on your feet soon enough." Thorin stared at the ceiling. "You've worried Bilbo, you know," Kili said. "He cares for you a great deal. Oin says he barely left your side while you were sick--" "Don't talk about Bilbo," Thorin said. "I don't--I don't know what to think of him. I… keep wishing I could give what little strength I have left to you, so you can grow strong and healthy, but I get the feeling that the only reason I have some strength at all is because of Bilbo." He blinked tears away. "He won't let me go, even though I'm only a shadow of myself. I have been ever since I laid eyes on that accursed gold. I want to go, Kili. Now that your future is secure, what else have I to live for?" Thorin finally looked over at Kili, who looked pale and alarmed. "Don't talk like that," Kili said, "don't think like that. You--told Bilbo you'd go back with him to see more glass figurines, didn't you? For Mahal's sake, Uncle, your life doesn't have to be some enormous quest! You can just be alive to collect moments of peace. You--eurgh--" Kili grimaced and put a hand against his chest, leaning back more heavily against his pillows. "Kili?" Thorin said, struggling to sit up. "Kili! Bilbo!" In a moment Bilbo was rushing into the tent. "Take deep breaths," he said, pressing on Kili's shoulders, "we need to keep your chest open. And you lay back down," he snapped at Thorin. He reached over and grabbed a jar of salve off the bedside table, opened it, and smothered some on the exposed skin on Kili's chest. The sharp smell of peppermint and eucalyptus filled the tent. Kili gasped in breaths and when Bilbo tried to take his hand from his chest, he gripped Bilbo's hand instead. After a minute or so his breathing became easier, and he released Bilbo's hand and relaxed against the pillows. "Sorry," Kili muttered. "Got upset with Thorin." "Thorin's upset enough with himself," Bilbo said gently, shooting him an apologetic smile, "you just worry about getting better and not re-collapsing that lung." Kili nodded stiffly. Color was coming back to his face. He sighed and closed his eyes. Once Kili seemed to be secure, Bilbo disappeared out the tent for a few minutes before returning with Tauriel, who without so much as a glance at Thorin hurried to Kili's bedside and took the stool there. She began gently chiding him, and Bilbo sat on Thorin's bed and patted his hand. "He wasn't too hard on you, was he?" Thorin snorted. "If he was I deserved it." Bilbo sighed and took Thorin's hand to press an affectionate kiss to his knuckles. Thorin's eyes widened in surprise, and his breath caught. Bilbo caught his reaction and quickly put his hand down, blushing. "I, I'll see you later," Bilbo said. "Leaving me alone with them?" Thorin said in a mock hurtful tone, looking pointedly at Kili and Tauriel. "Let that be your punishment for upsetting Kili," Bilbo said with mock sternness. "I'll go get lunch for us." After Bilbo left Thorin looked wonderingly at his own hand. What had Bilbo meant by that? Had he-- A sudden memory came to him, that Thorin had dismissed before as a dream. Ravenhill--Had Bilbo really kissed him? He looked across the tent. Tauriel was leaning in close, whispering something that was making Kili's face light up with a rare grin. "Hey, you two," Thorin said grumpily. Tauriel immediately sat up, looking guilty. "Sorry, I--" "Uncle, we weren't, um…" Thorin waited, suddenly curious about what excuse they thought they had to give. He raised his eyebrows. But they quieted, waiting for him. "I was only going to ask," he said carefully, "whether you knew when Bilbo is planning to return to the Shire." The two exchanged looks. "No," Tauriel said innocently. "No idea," Kili put in, "perhaps you should ask him yourself? But I highly doubt he'd leave before he was sure you were stable." Thorin glared. "And why's that? Why shouldn't he feel free to leave?" "Well, he cares about you," Kili said. "If that much isn't obvious to you, then--" "Oh, of course it's obvious," Thorin snapped. "I just don't know what to do about it. Oh, nevermind." He turned onto his side, facing away from them, and tried not to eavesdrop. Thorin gripped the edge of his blanket, glaring at the material in his hand. In the end, he simply didn't deserve Bilbo's kindness, which made it vexing that Bilbo continued to show it. And that Thorin found himself relying on it like a lifeline. Everything about Bilbo made Thorin feel calmer. His practicality, goodness, straightforwardness, desire to make Thorin happier even on one of the worst days of his life. If Thorin were to continue living, he'd want Bilbo to be in that life. Slowly, paths were opening before him. He had to be better to Bilbo, see if the hobbit would accept him. If he didn't…? Thorin would find another reason to stay alive until the dwarves were ready to take back Moria. Then maybe he could get neatly killed in battle. Or not, and he'd look for another reason to keep going. It was too far to see ahead, too dim to know if he'd be able to find another reason. He hadn't meant to fall asleep again, but when he woke up he found a bowl of cold stew on his bedside table. Kili was asleep, snoring softly. Thorin bit back a groan as he sat up straight and ate his cold dinner. Right as he was finishing, Bilbo stumbled in, looking groggy and his curly hair in disarray. "Oh, good. Thorin. I thought I heard you, um, being awake." "Bilbo." Thorin set his bowl aside. "Sit down, I need to talk to you." Bilbo paused and squinted at him. "Please," Thorin tacked on as an afterthought. Bilbo sat down on the end of the cot, quickly rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Uh--yes. Yes?" "I… don't really remember well what happened on Ravenhill," Thorin said. "And what I think I remember might have been some dream, so I wanted to make sure there were no misunderstandings between us." He looked very seriously at Bilbo, heart hammering with trepidation. Bilbo looked back, poker-faced. "Did you kiss me?" Thorin asked Bilbo blanched and looked like he was going to laugh it off. "I? Ki--pfft. Well, I mean, considering--listen." He looked Thorin in the face. "You were dying, Thorin. And I knew it was my last chance to tell you how I felt. Feel. And I…" he looked at his knees. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done it, and ruined our friendship." Thorin's heart was bursting with delight and something like fear. He laughed a little, shaking his head. "And were you going to just keep it as a secret forever, hoping I'd forget?" "What, like how you were going to keep it to yourself that mithril armor is really only something a king would give to someone he intended to marry?" Thorin cringed. Bilbo wagged a finger. "Hmm, yeah, I've been talking to your company. Apparently you could buy an entire kingdom with this." He fished just under his collar to tug at the edge of the mithril. Knowing Bilbo still wore it despite knowing its value and meaning warmed Thorin's heart. Thorin settled back into his pillows, still mostly sitting up. "I'm glad I did one thing sort of right in those terrible weeks," he said with a fond smile. "I hope you keep it, and let it protect you on whatever adventures you have in the future." Bilbo frowned in surprise. "Well, I'm not leaving you," he said. "I don't mind keeping it, but I'm staying in Erebor." It was Thorin's turn to frown. "I'm not staying in Erebor." "Oh. You--? Where will you go?" "I was hoping you might have some suggestions. Balin thought I should go somewhere peaceful..." Bilbo's face cleared. He scooted up the cot so he could place a hand over Thorin's. "Come to the Shire," he said, "With me. You can stay with me for as long as you like, I won't ask you to stay a moment longer." Thorin took in a breath and nodded, hardly trusting himself to speak around the sudden tears that choked his throat. He slid his hand into Bilbo's. "We'll plant the seed from Beorn's garden," he whispered. Bilbo nodded, smiling. "Maybe get a bigger armchair, for you." Thorin took a shaky breath. "I want to apologize--" "Oh Thorin, you already--" "For all the things I'm going to do wrong. I never want to hurt you again, in any way, but I don't trust myself." He chuckled wetly. "You're taking on a handful of a dwarf." "I know!" Bilbo leaned in with a laugh. "I know. And I won't be perfect either. I like to think I have a gift for vexing you." Thorin leaned his head back and laughed at that, then grimaced, clutching his diaphragm. His wound throbbed. He sighed and smiled at Bilbo, who now looked worried. "Don't fret, Master Baggins. I have a feeling I will heal more quickly now." "I don't think that's how this works," Bilbo said, but a smile flickered across his face. "Oh?" Thorin drew Bilbo's hand up and kissed it. "And you're the expert on battle wounds?" Bilbo blushed. "I--yes, in fact, that is, I've spoken to a few experts, and…" Thorin kissed the inside of his wrist, watching his face. His blush deepened. His hand was trembling in Thorin's grasp. "And I… well, perhaps you're right. I don't know. Um." He met Thorin's eyes with a strange sort of yearning. Thorin lowered their hands, now blushing as well. If Bilbo wasn't ready, that was perfectly f-- Bilbo leaned forward and kissed Thorin. And Thorin felt that he would stay in the Shire for a long, long time.

#bagginshield #thilbo #my writing #lotr #fluffy #suicide ideation #I think that's my only warning tag #thorin gets pretty depressed and has passive suicide ideation #shire

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tlatollotl · 4 years ago

Link

As told to Scientific American

When a family member dies, we the Diné, whom Spanish conquistadors named the Navajo, send a notice to our local radio station so that everyone in the community can know. Usually the reading of the death notices—the names of those who have passed on, their ages, where they lived and the names of their matrilineal and patrilineal clans—takes no more than five minutes. It used to be very rare to hear about young people dying. But this past week, I listened to 45 minutes of death notices on KGAK Radio AM 1330. The ages ranged from 26 to 89, with most of the dead having been in their 30s, 40s or 50s.

I am in shock. The virus entered our community in March, through a Nazarene Christian revival in Arizona. They brought in vanloads and busloads of people from across the Navajo Nation for the gathering; then all those vans and buses returned them to their respective communities, along with the virus. There were immediate deaths because the medical facilities were not ready for it. More than 300 Navajos have already died of COVID-19, and the disease is still spreading.

I am a Diné storyteller and keeper of traditions. I live alone in a hogan, a traditional octagonal log house, in Chi Chil Tah, meaning “Where the Oaks Grow,” after the Gambel oaks indigenous to this region. Officially known as Vanderwagen, the community lies 23 miles south of Gallup, N.M.. The pandemic reached the area in late April. On May 1, the governor of New Mexico evoked the riot act to block off all exits into Gallup to stop the spread of the virus, and only residents could get in. The lockdown extended to May 11. It was not so bad the first week, but then we started to run out of food and water.

The groundwater in parts of Vanderwagen is naturally contaminated with arsenic and uranium; in any case, few of us have the money to drill a well. Normally, my brothers and my nephew haul water in 250-gallon tanks that are in the back of a pickup truck. At Gallup they have a high-powered well; you pay $5 in coins, put the hose in your tank and fill it up. You haul that home, dump that into your cistern, and you have water in your house. Without access to Gallup, people began to run out of water—even as we were being told to wash our hands frequently.

My hogan has electricity but no running water. My brothers bring me water, and they put it in a 75-gallon barrel. I drink that water, and I wash with it, but I also buy five gallons of water for $5, in case I need extra. I typically use a gallon of water a day, for everything—cooking, drinking and washing up. My great-grandmother used to say, “Don’t get used to drinking water, because one of these days you’re going to be fighting for it.” I have learned to live on very little.

We have a lot of cancers in our community, perhaps because of the uranium. And we have many other health issues that I think makes this virus so viable among us. We have a lot of diabetes, because we do not eat well, and a lot of heart disease. We have alcoholism. We have high rates of suicide. We have every social ill you can think of, and COVID has made these vulnerabilities more apparent. I look at it as a monster that is feasting on us—because we have built the perfect human for it to invade.

Days after Gallup reopened, I drove there to mail a letter. Every fast-food establishment—McDonald’s, Kentucky Fried Chicken, Wendy’s, Burger King, Panda Express, Taco Bell, they’re all located on one strip—had long, long lines of cars waiting at their drive-throughs. This in a community with such high rates of diabetes. Perhaps there wasn’t any food available in the very small stores located in their communities, but I also think this pandemic has triggered a lot of emotional responses that are normally hidden. On the highway to Vanderwagen, there is a convenience store where they sell liquor. And the parking lot was completely full, everybody was just buying and buying liquor. There is a sense of anxiety and panic, but I also think that a lot of Navajo people don’t know how to be with themselves, because there isn’t a really good, rounded, spiritual practice of any sort to anchor them.

COVID is revealing what happens when you displace a people from their roots. Take a Diné teenager. She can dress Navajo, but she has no language or culture or belief system that tells her what it means to be Diné. Her grandmother was taken away at the age of five to a BIA (Bureau of Indian Affairs) boarding school and kept there until she was 18. At school, they taught her that her culture and her spiritual practice were of the devil and that she needed to completely deny them. Her language was not valid: “You have a Navajo accent; you must speak English more perfectly.” Same happened to her mother. Our languages were lost, the culture and traditional practices were gone. That was also when spankings and beatings entered Diné culture. Those kids endured those horrible ways of being disciplined in the BIA schools, and that became how they disciplined their own children.

I meet kids like this all the time—who don’t know who they are. For 35 years I have been trying to tell them, you come from a beautiful culture. You come from one of hundreds of tribes who were thriving in the Americas when Columbus arrived; we had a viable political and economic system that was based on spiritual practices tied to the land. Some 500 years ago, Spanish conquistadors came up the Rio Grande into North America in search of gold. They were armed with the Doctrine of Discovery, a fearful legal document issued by the Pope that sanctioned the colonization of non-Christian territories. Then in the mid-1800s, the pioneers came from the East Coast with their belief in Manifest Destiny, their moral right to colonize the land. As their wagons moved west, the Plains Indians were moved out and put on reservations. When your spiritual practice is based on the land you’re living on, and you’re being herded away from what somebody else would call her temple, or mosque, or church, or cathedral—that’s the first place your spirituality is attacked.

My great-great-great-great-grandfather on my father’s side was captured and taken on what we call the Long Walk to Fort Sumner. Initially about 10,000 Diné were rounded up, and many died on that walk, which took weeks or months, depending on the route on which they were taken. They were imprisoned for four years at Fort Sumner, and released in 1868, because of the Civil War. At about the same time, my great-great-great-great-grandfather on my mother’s side escaped from Colonel Kit Carson at Canyon de Chelly and traveled north with his goats. He came back down to this area at just about the time my great-great-great-great-grandmother escaped Spanish slavery. Slavery was introduced here by the Spanish—that’s never talked about. The children born at Fort Sumner were taken into Spanish families, to be slaves.

We had the Spanish flu in the 1920s, one of many viruses to invade our community. Then in the 1930s there was the Great Depression. We didn’t know that was happening: we did not have money, but we had wealth in the form of sheep. And the government came in and killed our sheep in the Stock Reduction Program. They said the sheep were eroding the land, but I think they did it because the sheep made us self-sufficient, and they couldn’t allow that. We had spiritual practices around our sheep. Every time we developed self-sufficiency and a viable spiritual practice, they destroyed it. My mother said they dug deep trenches, herded the sheep and massacred them.

A tuberculosis epidemic in the 1940s took away my mother's parents. My great-grandmother, a healer and herbalist, had hidden my mother from the government agents who snatched Diné kids to put them into BIA boarding schools. My mother became a rancher, a prolific weaver, a beautiful woman who spoke the language. She did not speak much English. She died at 96; my great-grandmother died at 104. Now, in our community in Chi Chil Tah, there are no more traditional healers; the oldest person is my great-grand-aunt, who is 78. I am the only traditional Diné storyteller.

Now that we are talking about issues of race in America, we need to also talk about the Native American tribes that were displaced. There is a reservation in upstate New York of the Iroquois people—all of 21 square miles. How much land were the Iroquois originally living on? Who was living in what is now Massachusetts? What about Pennsylvania? What about all the states under the umbrella of the United States? Whose land are you occupying? Abraham Lincoln ordered the massacre of 38 Dakota men the day after Christmas, the same week he signed the Emancipation Proclamation; they call him Honest Abe. They don’t talk about the dark side of things, and I think that is what COVID has revealed—the dark side. We see a police officer putting his full body weight on the neck of a black man. And suddenly everybody goes, Wow! What have we evolved to?

It seems to me that COVID has revealed a lot of truths, everywhere in the world. If we were ignorant of the truth, it is now revealed; if we were ignoring the truth, it is now revealed. This truth is the disparity: of health, wellbeing and human value. And now that the truth has been revealed, what are we going to do about it?

#native american #Diné #new mexico #navajo #covid-19 #coronavirus

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silverfootstepswrites · 4 years ago

Text

Amaryllis | Chapter 24

++++

Karui tapped the pipe against the edge of the table. Ash fluttered down as the blue smoke rose up. She placed the tip in her mouth, leaning over to peek at the envelope.

“What is it, Grandfather?” she wondered, tilting her head to read the words.

Ebizo stroked his long beard.

“She is very much like her grandmother,” Ebizo murmured. He chuckled as he handed the letter over to Karui.

Karui’s fist rose to cover her mouth as she read through the contents of the letter. And then a laugh spurted out of her too.

“Oh, I wish I could see the expression on Prince Baki’s face. How terrible this is,” Karui sighed. She lowered the letter into her lap. “What will you do, Grandfather?”

Ebizo clucked his tongue. He held his hand out. With a guilty smile, Karui returned his pipe.

“The situation is actually quite straightforward. She’s made a reasonable request. And it will cost me very little to indulge her,” he mused.

“I thought she was just a military woman. I’m surprised to see such a cunning scheme from her,” Karui commented, looking down at the letter again. She blinked when Ebizo tapped his knuckles against the top of her head.

“Silly child. Do you think that branch of the family has survived so long in hostile lands simply by waving a sword around?” he scolded her. Karui rubbed her head, even though it hadn’t hurt at all. She blinked.

“I supposed not,” Karui said.

++++

Konohamaru swiveled his head around to check the alley behind him for what felt like the hundredth time. It hadn’t been easy to pin down a meeting with this person. And he wasn’t even certain if this was the person he needed to talk to.

Pulling his hood a little closer to his face, he ducked into the seedy little bar deep in the heart of the slums. Wary eyes fell on him when the door creaked. They followed him as he made his way to the bartender, an older woman with an eyepatch.

“Beat it if you don’t have any money, kid. This isn’t a charity,” the bartender grumbled.

But her visible eye widened when he pushed a golden coin across the counter towards her.

“I’d like to take some singing lessons,” he whispered. The bartender glared at him as she lifted the coin to her mouth. She bit down hard before she scrutinized the coin. And then she jerked her head for him to follow. Konohamaru looked around. When he couldn’t find a place to enter, he ducked under the bar to follow the woman past the wooden barrels of alcohol. To a small door in the back.

The bartender knocked in a peculiar pattern. There was a pause. And then a voice came from within.

“What?”

“You got a guest.”

“…Let the kid in.”

The bartender muttered something about being “full of herself”. She said nothing to Konohamaru as she hobbled her way back to the bar.

Konohamaru stared at the worn doorknob. He closed his hand around it and pushed. The door opened with little noise.

“You found the place alright. Not bad.”

It was just a dusty little room filled with barrels and shelves. There was a bed wedged into the corner, as if someone had squeezed it in last-minute. The woman sat at the foot of the bed. A lute case lay open behind her.

“You’re… the court musician,” Konohamaru said. But it was more of a question than anything.

Tenten leaned back on her palm, smiling. “Yeah.”

Konohamaru frowned. “How do I know I can trust you?”

It had been difficult to even find the musician in the first place. He knew there were messengers who ran for the General when she was in the capital. It had taken every moment of his spare time for a week to find one of them. And once he located the messenger, it had taken almost all of the money the General had given him to convince the man to point him in the direction of this tiny bar that didn’t even have a sign out front.

“A good question. And how do I know I can trust you, kid?” she wondered in return.

“I… I want to help the General,” he stated, a little helplessly. Because he had nothing else to support him. No documents, not that he could read anyway. No seal or ring to prove that he served someone more powerful than him.

Tenten tilted her head to the side as she appraised him.

“I’ve seen you tending the General’s horse. You really like her, don’t you?” she observed.

Konohamaru nodded.

“I owe the General. She picked me up when I was just some urchin who could sing. I’m not dumb enough to bite the hand that feeds,” Tenten then assured him. And then she sat up straight.

“So. What is this message you need to get to her?”

Konohamaru hesitated. And then he spoke. “Prince Naruto came to me in secret. He paid me to send word to Lieutenant General Inuzuka. I heard the Lieutenant General talk about how someone is shooting down… messenger birds? I don’t know why. But it has to do with the prince. And then he said he needed to send word quickly.”

Tenten scratched her arm as she took that in. “Well. Sounds like he’s going to tell the General, doesn’t it? Why come all the way here?” And then her hand stilled when she met Konohamaru’s eyes. He stared at her.

Tenten laughed. “Oh. You already know not to trust these people.” She tilted her head from side to side as she considered things. And then she got to her feet.

“Things are getting stale in the capital anyway. I might as well pay her a visit,” she decided.

Konohamaru fumbled when she suddenly reached inside her pocket and flicked him something. It was a silver coin.

“Thanks for the tip. But don’t give away this kind of stuff for free anymore. If you’ve got something I don’t have, you can profit in some way,” she advised him.

Tenten rode out of the city at dawn the next day. She joined up with a few merchants making their way up to Whitewave. She offered them a little coin to let her ride on the back of one of their wagons. She played songs to help pass the time. And by the time they arrived at the port city, the merchants were sad to see her go.

The city of Whitewave was run by Countess Inuzuka, an outspoken supporter of the General. The strong tie between the two women was reflected in their trade relations. The city was filled with exotic fruits and teas found nowhere else in the kingdom. It only took a day or so to find cheap passage to the Southern Tea Isle. In exchange, all Tenten had to do was play a few songs here and there to keep morale of the sailors up.

When Tenten arrived on the island, storm clouds hovered over the trees. She kept her head down and booked a room in one of the island’s more run-down taverns called The Sailor’s Rest. It wasn’t empty, but it also wasn’t crowded. As she climbed the stairs up to her room, Tenten noticed a few men occupying a table in the back. One of them eyed her in a sharp way, eyes narrowing behind his glasses. She made a note to herself not to linger too long here.

It almost didn’t surprise her when she realized that the General wasn’t here. It wasn’t like her to be quiet for so long. And she usually visited the mainland for a few months every year.

Tenten leaned against the bar in the Sailor’s Rest as she considered her options.

It was quite natural for most people to relay information to Admiral Haruno. The General’s cousin was well-known as her close confidante. Those who wished to curry favor with the General usually started with the Admiral first. But when she asked around, she found that the Admiral was quite busy. And with the General absent, there was no guarantee that any news would reach her quickly.

She tapped her fingers once. The bartender slid a tankard over to her. She nodded in his direction.

The man who had stared at her earlier was nowhere in sight. But at the same table was a huge, blue man. He offered her a smile, nodding before he turned his attention elsewhere. Tenten’s eyes narrowed when, a few minutes later, he made his way over to her.

“I’m not interested,” she stated before he could set his drink down.

The large man appraised her. Laughed.

“No offense. You’re an attractive woman. But that’s not it,” he replied. And then he offered his free hand.

Tenten stared at it. She considered swatting it away. She decided to shake it.

“Kisame Hoshigaki, handsome marauder and outlaw,” he introduced himself. And then he thought before he added, “Been working as the General’s security these days.”

She toyed with the idea of giving him a fake name. But she decided against it.

“Tenten.”

Leaning his elbow on the bar, Kisame jerked his chin toward her.

“You looking for her?” he questioned.

Tenten studied the man for a long moment. He was huge. The hand on his tankard made it look like a child’s cup. And that hand could easily bash her skull in. But then she had also noticed the way people who passed him greeted him with “Howzit, Big Blue” and “Hey there, brother”. Those sorts of greetings didn’t roll off the tongue overnight.

“Maybe,” Tenten responded.

She flinched back a little when the mercenary reached for his belt. He froze. Paused to give a pointed look, as if to reassure her. And then he rummaged around in the pouches on his belt until he produced a small gold ring. He could squeeze it onto his finger if he had to. But it was annoying to have anything on his hands, so he just carried it around on a gold chain instead. He handed the ring to her, keeping the chain looped around a couple of his fingers.

Tenten scrutinized the desert rose engraved into the gold.

“Never thought I’d see the day the General hired a mercenary,” she murmured. She handed the ring back to him.

Kisame flashed his pointy teeth.

“People keep saying that. It’s starting to hurt my feelings a little,” he replied.

Tenten glanced around the tavern. She tapped the bar a few times.

“Not here,” she declared. “Maybe the palace.”

Kisame snorted. “No.” He read the expression on her face and smiled again. “I know you want the palace because you want witnesses in case I try to kill you. But it’s not exactly the best place to exchange secrets right now,” he explained.

Tenten’s forehead wrinkled.

“The docks at dawn? The fishermen will be out then. Too far to eavesdrop. But close enough to see if either of us tries to stab the other,” Kisame suggested instead. He pointed at his chest, at the exact spot where Tenten had hidden a knife. She refused to give him the satisfaction of looking down at herself. It was a well-concealed weapon. This man was even more dangerous than he appeared if he could figure that out just from a short conversation like this one.

Tenten’s eyes narrowed as she held the mercenary’s gaze.

When she gave him a stiff nod, Kisame looked satisfied. He told the bartender to get her another drink on his tab before he walked away. Tenten left the drink untouched, slipping out of the tavern as quietly as possible.

At dawn, Tenten was already at the docks, concealed in the shadows of one of the stalls that had closed for the night. She could see the huge mercenary standing there, shifting his weight from foot to foot. There was another man standing some distance away. Just in case they were planning an ambush, she kicked at a rock, sending it skittering across the path. Both men turned toward the sound. She was too far away to hear, but she could see Kisame turn toward the other man to say something. The second man departed with a wave of his hand. She couldn’t tell whether the wave was for Kisame or for her.

“The General mentioned she had a musician wandering around the capital. That’s you?” he said in greeting when she finally joined him. She stood a good distance away, her arms folded across her chest.

“Where is she?” Tenten asked.

Kisame sighed. “If she didn’t tell you, I sure as hell won’t.”

Tenten clicked her tongue. She couldn’t help but approve a little. She tried not to show it in her face.

“Can you read?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Kisame answered.

She handed a note over to him. “Stableboy at Whiteriver Keep got wind of some strange happenings. Kid felt worried enough to come find me.”

Kisame unfolded the paper and read through the contents. His expression didn’t change. And when he finished reading, he tore up the paper and tossed it into the ocean.

“Lots of strangeness going around lately,” he grumbled.

Tenten stole a glance at the mercenary. At least he wasn’t asking stupid questions. She noticed a pebble at her feet. She nudged it into the water.

“Anything else?” he asked.

Tenten sniffed, unfolding and refolding her arms. “Don’t think so. I saw them bring more birds in. Lots of them. So seems like Little Namikaze isn’t lying about that, at least.”

Kisame paused mid-stretch as he took that in. Frowning, he turned to look at Tenten. She stared right back. Arching an eyebrow.

“They brought in more birds,” he repeated.

She nodded. “Crows from the north. Doves from the east. They do doves here don’t they?”

“So if they had to send more doves to Whiteriver, folks here would know…” mused Kisame, trying to put the pieces together.

Tenten didn’t quite follow his line of thinking. “Someone has to sign off. So… whoever’s in charge while the General’s gone, I guess.”

Kisame’s eyes narrowed. “Then there’s no way they wouldn’t notice something like this unless they were signing off with their eyes closed.”

Tenten’s arms dropped.

“Are you saying that-”

“She knows. The aunt knows and she hasn’t said anything,” Kisame declared, glaring out at the ocean now. He heaved a sigh, rubbing his hand across his forehead. “General’s not going to take this news well.”

Tenten’s eyes widened. “Lieutenant General Inuzuka said he would write to the Admiral about this,” she recalled.

“He won’t pass it to the General. That kid is right in his mother’s pocket. If the aunt isn’t telling her, then the cousin won’t either,” Kisame pointed out. Pressing his knuckles to his mouth, he continued staring out at the water. The sun was beginning to peer over the horizon now. The bottom of the black sky began to glow orange and red.

Tenten jolted a little when the mercenary’s eyes suddenly fell on her.

“This conversation didn’t happen,” he warned her.

Tenten smirked. “The General pays me too well for me to remember any of her secrets,” she assured him. But Kisame didn’t smile.

“I hope you forget this quick then.”

Tenten folded her arms again. “You really like her too, huh?” She glanced over him, noted the scars on his wrists.

“I’ve seen those before on slaves from the south. They had you in the fighting pits?” she observed.

Kisame rubbed his wrists. “Not for long,” he assured her. “You’d be surprised how easy it is to break through chains when you really want to bash someone’s head in.”

They stood there, staring out at the water for another moment.

++++

“I’m confused. So we’re not going home?” Kankuro wondered, hugging a pillow to his chest as he sat down. On the other side of the room, Gaara leaned against the lid of one of the trunks they had been filling with various clothes and souvenirs they had gathered during their time in the Viper’s Fang. All the gifts provided by Prince Baki had been placed in a separate pile. Kankuro kicked at some of the objects in that pile whenever he walked past.

“It all depends. But no. That’s not in the plan for now,” answered Sakura, leaning on her hand. She sorted through the letters she had spent the morning writing. Each one sealed with her ring. Temari had gone out to mail the first batch a little while ago. She would be back to send the others soon. Normally this was a task left for servants. But Sakura wanted to be sure that these letters made it to their destination quickly.

“What’s the atmosphere like in the palace, Meno?” asked Sakura.

Meno paused while folding one of Sakura’s robes for travel.

“Prince Baki is in meetings with his advisors much of the time. Consort Hoki interrogated the servants to identify which concubines aided Concubine Deba when she destroyed your property, General,” Meno reported.

“Any word on their punishment?”

“No, General. For now, Concubine Deba had the servants and guards confiscate their possessions to be appraised,” added Meno.

“For what?” Kankuro scoffed, stretching out onto his back and staring up at the gilded ceiling. “They destroyed something priceless. That’s like trying to fill up a bottomless pit with gold.”

“I suppose it’s more of a gesture. Shijima’s trying to show that she’s taking this situation seriously,” Sakura guessed. And then she smiled a little. “She really is a smart girl. It’s a shame that that’s gone unrecognized for so long in this place.”

Since Sakura was “furious”, it made no sense for Shijima to wander in and out of her quarters anymore. And while she wasn’t lonely with her cousins beside her, Sakura worried about Shijima. With the huge upset in the power structure of the harem, all Shijima would have to do is seize control. With Prince Baki in a foul mood, not many of the concubines would be brave enough to try any underhanded tactics for a little while. Still, Sakura knew how daunting it could be to do something like this. She hoped that the few allies Shijima had made in the harem were serving her well now.

As Shijima seized control of the harem from within, Sakura’s letters spread to all the cities with relationships to the Haruno family. Of course Princess Mei would be one of the first to receive word of the great offense Prince Baki and his wives had struck against her. Sakura was aware that Mei’s relationship with Baki was all about business. When forced to choose between Baki and the Haruno family, Mei was certain to choose the Haruno’s. It wasn’t just about distant family relations. It was about profit as well. Baki controlled some trade routes to the east. But the Haruno family’s access to gold and marble, as well as their vast network of connections to other cities in the Arids made them a better investment.

An added bonus was that Shijima had expressed discomfort at the relationship between Mei and Baki. Mei had mentioned once that she had a son by Baki, which ensured that he would never raise a hand against her city. After all, what kind of father would try to harm his own son? Mei was adamant that she had no other interest in the man. But if it bothered Shijima, then this was one way to solve the problem.

The other cities would face a similar dilemma. If the Haruno family was cutting ties with the Viper’s Fang, what would they do?

The Haruno family had spent generations marrying its children into the various cities surrounding them. And because blood must always be honored, there would be very few in their right mind who would choose to turn their back on a Haruno.

Baki was likely meeting with his advisors, who would push him to try to salvage the relationship with Prince Ebizo’s grand-niece before it was too late. But Baki’s pride would prove a stumbling block, just as she had predicted would happen.

It didn’t take long for messengers to begin pouring into the Viper’s Throat. They carried letters with seals of all different colors and patterns.

Prince Byakuren apologized for the conduct of Concubine Toge, one of Deba’s strongest supporters. Her father had been removed from his position as ambassador and was reflecting on his failure to raise a good daughter. Byakuren sent along jewels, as well as a written vow that he would always remain an ally of the Haruno family.

Prince Ibushi to the southwest disavowed Prince Baki for his lack of respect for traditions. He expressed mortification that he had ever shared a meal with such a man. He explained that the Viper’s Fang would no long be welcome to conduct trade through their port city.

Sakura recalled a battle a few years ago. It was towards the end of the war with Sound Country. With winter closing in, bringing with it the promise of frostbite, Shikamaru had proposed a plan that had sounded impossible at the time.

Rather than attack the main garrison of enemy troops, he had proposed ambushing the cities and roads that provided supplies. It had been a risky maneuver. But they had divided their remaining soldiers and disrupted Sound Country’s supply lines. That was how they had taken one of the biggest fortresses in the country and turned the tides of war in their favor.

Politics was like war in many ways. Maybe people did a little less stabbing, but the outcome was the same. Some people lived. Others died. And all it took was one mistake to break whatever careful balance there was.

There were, of course, some cities who remained silent. None of them would be foolish enough to criticize Sakura outright. But pressure from the surrounding cities would be enough to change their minds in time.

When word came from Karo a few days later, Sakura had to read the letter twice. Just to make sure she hadn’t misunderstood.

Prince Ebizo was disappointed to learn that Prince Baki was not the wise man that rumors suggested. Ebizo urged Sakura to return to Karo and not to suffer discomfort for an instant longer than necessary. He also mentioned that with the souring of this relationship, naturally Sakura could not accept the troops Baki had promised.

“What? But you need those soldiers, don’t you, Lady Sakura?” Temari read over her shoulder.

Sakura sighed as she tried to piece together what Ebizo meant.

“I think… I think that Great-Uncle is suggesting that if I were to refuse those troops… it would be another blow to Prince Baki’s reputation. Because he would be unable to honor a promise he made to me,” Sakura guessed.

“That is a very serious issue here. It might ruin him completely,” Kankuro agreed, looking a little too happy about the prospect.

There was one letter that arrived that put a damper on things.

It was from the city of Solace. To the north. Where Mei’s stepbrother Ao ruled.

Prince Ao sent his regrets at the misfortune that had befallen her. But due to the poor harvest in the north this year, he was unable to cut ties with Prince Baki. He reminded Sakura of how Baki was technically a cousin to her, and suggested that she try to find forgiveness in her heart, which was the mark of a good ruler.

“He must be out of his mind. He’s being deliberately disrespectful,” Kankuro complained.

Sakura tossed the letter on the table with a noise of disgust.

“Well… that was unpleasant,” she remarked.

“Why did you stop, Lady Sakura? There’s more,” Gaara wondered, reaching for the later. He turned pale as he read the final paragraph that Sakura had omitted. Temari grasped his shoulder to steady him.

“What is it?” demanded Kankuro. He grabbed Gaara’s arm to bring the letter closer to him.

“…Father’s in Solace,” Kankuro realized as he read.

“I wonder what he’s said about Lady Sakura. And about us. No wonder Prince Ao seems less than fond of us,” Temari said, her face grim. She moved to put her arm around Gaara’s shoulders instead.

“I’ll inform Great-Uncle. Perhaps there’s something he can do to chastise that man,” muttered Sakura, already thinking of what to write. When she looked up, biting the tip of her thumb, she spotted Gaara’s panicked expression. Her face softened.

She reached across the table to grasp Gaara’s hand. Her eyes were still unfocused. But he squeezed back.

“He’s far from you. He can’t hurt you,” she assured him. Gaara nodded. But he didn’t look convinced.

Along with Ebizo’s letter came an envoy who bowed deeply.

“Since your needs are not being met here, His Highness has commanded me to find housing for you in the city until safe passage to Karo can be arranged,” he reported.

Sakura gazed past the man, to Meno dusting in the corner. When Sakura met her eyes, Meno turned to glance at the door. Then looked back to her. Sakura nodded. She watched Meno gather some dirty linens in a basket before she made her way out. Hopefully the rumor would spread through the palace quickly.

Returning her gaze to the envoy, Sakura smiled.

“I’ll trust your judgment. Please inform my Great-Uncle that I am thankful for his care and kindness,” answered Sakura. The envoy nodded, bowing once again.

That night, Azra and Esma cleared away the bowls and cups from their evening meal.

Sakura had stopped dining with Prince Baki for obvious reasons. She even refused food from the palace’s kitchen. Instead, she sent the twins out to buy food from the market each day. They always returned with grilled meats and fresh bread. They tried to find something new, although Sakura assured them that she wasn’t so picky. When they counted out the change, Sakura pushed it back into their hands.

“Would you like tea? Some more wine?” Azra asked.

“No. You haven’t had a chance to eat yet, have you? Go,” Sakura urged, sending the girls out with impatient pushing motions. The twins smiled as they lifted the trays and made their way out of the room.

Heaving a sigh, Sakura leaned her head back on the couch. Her cousins were out for a walk to help them digest the heavy meal. Their company was nice. It would have been difficult to be away from home for so long if not for them. But a moment of silence was also something she looked forward to every now and then.

She heard the door open.

“What is it?”

“The security of this place is really terrible,” Suigetsu complained, not for the first time, lowering his hood. He crossed the room to hand over a folded piece of paper. And then he helped himself to rest of her wine.

It was a message from Shijima. Thanks to that lax security, Suigetsu and Mangetsu were able to slip in and out of the harem to deliver notes like this one.

“Listen to this,” Sakura said as she read. Suigetsu turned to her, still gulping.

“Prince Baki has been in a foul temper these days. He summoned me, demanding to know how to ‘fix that woman’s mood’. I appeared, shed some tears, and insisted that I was trying my best. I’m beginning to think that you might be right. He is not a bad man, but not very clever.”

Suigetsu choked on the wine. Wiping his chin with the back of his hand, he coughed and laughed at the same time.

“She sounds like you,” he pointed out, thumping his fist against his chest.

Sakura skimmed over the rest of the message. She crumpled it into her palm to burn later.

“M’Lady,” Suigetsu called, suddenly serious. Her eyes fell on him.

“Have you gotten any sleep?”

The nightmares had crept up on her. It was so sudden that she had almost felt bewildered by their return. But once they settled back into her skull, it was like they had never left in the first place.

She knew that it was stress. The unfamiliar environment. And even as she dreamt, she was frustrated by her lack of control over her own mind.

Swords dripped blood onto rotting corpses. And everywhere she roamed, whether it was on charred battlefields or barren cities, she could hear sobbing. As constant as the chorus of crickets during the summer.

She jerked awake in the darkness, her heart racing. And if there was someone else in the room, her mind automatically screamed ‘enemy’ without giving the rest of her a chance to catch up. Temari nearly went blind one night when she burst into the room, hearing strange noises. Luckily, the dagger missed and hit the door instead. From that point on, Sakura laid down a strict rule that no one was to disturb her at night.

Mangetsu broke the rule. A lot.

When Sakura woke shouting about someone bleeding out. Ordering someone to put pressure on the wound, because soon the number of corpses would outnumber the living who had to carry them. Sweat drenched her shirt and her hair. And she whipped around as she heard a sound at the window. Mangetsu had opened it from the outside. He pocketed his knife that he had used to wedge the lock open.

“Sleep. I’ll just sit here,” he said, settling in a chair in the corner of the room.

She was too exhausted for anger. She wiped her hand across her forehead.

“What?”

“I’ll just be here. Go back to sleep, M’Lady,” Mangetsu repeated. He idly flicked a bit of sand off his clothes. And when Sakura glared at him, Mangetsu pointed toward the door, where Suigetsu was probably standing watch.

“Has the same thing. It’s better when someone’s in the room with him. I figured I could do the same for you,” the mercenary explained.

Sakura considered throwing him out. But she had spent enough time with Mangetsu and Suigetsu. If she removed him, he would find another way back in. It wasn’t worth arguing with him about this.

It was easier than she thought to fall asleep with him watching her from the corner of the room. Maybe because she was used to him walking past the room at night on his patrols. She had never asked either of the brothers to watch her room so closely. And she had never asked them to confront the palace guards who spoke ill of her. Neither of them had mentioned the latter to her. It was only because Meno and the twins had whispered it to her during a rare moment when both of the mercenaries were out of the room. The rumors were likely exaggerated. But Sakura was confident that it was true that Suigetsu had taken down a guard twice his size. She was less confident that the guard had burst into tears.

She slept a little. It wasn’t perfect. She still jerked awake a few times. But the haunting wails that pierced her ears were a little easier to ignore when in her half-woken daze, she heard a soft sigh and “It’s not real. Try to sleep some more”.

In the morning, when she crawled out of bed, the chair in the corner was empty. And Mangetsu said nothing to her about where he had spent his night, as if it had never happened in the first place.

As Shijima had mentioned in her note, she was kneeling in front of the doors that led to the northern wing of the palace. When the doors opened up, Sakura hesitated. As if surprised to see Shijima sitting there. And then she resumed speaking to Temari as she walked right past the consort. Kankuro and Gaara stared at Shijima. They exchanged looks and then watched Sakura continue down the hall.

“Sorry,” Gaara whispered before they hurried to catch up to Sakura.

“I know what she’s doing. Suddenly extending an olive branch will only undermine her at this point,” Sakura assured Temari once they were out of the palace. She adjusted the shawl that covered her hair.

They didn’t actually have much business in the city. However, it was important that Prince Baki think that they did. They checked the post station to see if any messengers had arrived with news from out west. They relaxed at the bathhouse, ate street foot standing in the shade of a tall building, and then visited a few vendors to browse the shiny wares they had on sale.

By the time they returned to the Viper’s Fang, night had fallen. And Shijima was still kneeling in front of those double doors.

Sakura ignored her again as she swept past.

“Have one of the girls pour some of that wine we purchased. The day has been hot and I’m quite thirsty,” Sakura remarked.

Temari glanced at Shijima. But her steps didn’t falter as she continued after Sakura.

“Of course, Lady Sakura,” Temari replied.

In the morning, Suigetsu tapped on the door to Sakura’s room. Just enough to wake her that she didn’t draw a weapon on him when he stepped inside.

“You know that she’s still out there,” he said, without greeting. He glanced at the empty chair in the corner. Mangetsu had slipped out a little while ago. Suigetsu seemed to know of the arrangement. But like his brother, he made no comment about it.

“Who?” asked Sakura, raking her hands through her tangled hair.

“Shij- The Consort. Whatever.”

Sakura’s hands froze.

“You mean that she’s returned this morning?”

“No. She went somewhere for a few minutes during the night. But then she came right back. Probably went to the…” Suigetsu trailed off and Sakura caught his meaning. Her hands dropped into her lap.

“So she’s been there a full day? Without eating?”

Suigetsu rubbed the back of his neck, thinking. “I mean, I haven’t seen anything. Maybe she snuck in a meal during those few minutes? I wouldn’t put it past you nobles. You’re all kind of crazy,” he answered.

Sakura closed her eyes, thinking. She exhaled through her nose, shaking her head. She reached her arm for something, pointing. Suigetsu followed the line of her arm until he spotted her robe draped over the back of her chair. A year ago, he would have balked at the thought of being ordered around like this.

Snickering a little at himself, Suigetsu plucked the robe off the chair and draped it over Sakura’s shoulders. She pulled her arms through without thanks. She opened her eyes. They were bloodshot and a little puffy. When Suigetsu pointed to them, Sakura swatted his finger away. She pressed the backs of her hands to her eyelids. Suigetsu’s smile faded as he examined her face.

“What’s the reason why you don’t want to sleep?” he suddenly wondered.

She lowered her hands a little. “What do you mean?”

“Are you scared of your dreams? You know they can’t hurt you,” Suigetsu told her. While he was smiling, it wasn’t a mocking expression. Sakura held his gaze for an extra moment, lowering her hands all the way now.

“No. I’m scared of who I am inside them,” she answered.

Suigetsu was quiet. He nodded.

“Better scared than dead,” he pointed out before he stepped out of the room.

Shijima raised her head when the double doors rumbled open. Sakura took a step out, arms folded across her chest. Her hair was loose. She was still in her nightgown with just a robe thrown on top.

“What is the meaning of this?” demanded Sakura without greeting.

Shijima lowered her head again.

Shijima had informed her in a short message that she would be putting on some sort of scene. Sakura hadn’t realized that she would push her body so far.

“Please don’t leave, General. I realize that you are rightfully upset. But please reconsider,” Shijima requested, staring at the floor.

“And you think this will change my mind somehow? Kneeling here?”

There were bound to be guards or servants hiding somewhere nearby. Sakura kept her tone cold, her gaze sharp.

“It seems you intend to starve yourself on my doorstep. You must not realize that someone like me is quite familiar with death. Do as you please,” Sakura stated before she slipped back inside. The doors slamming shut behind her.

Sakura walked past Shijima again on her way out into the city. When she returned in the evening, Shijima still knelt there, her face haggard. Sakura didn’t speak to her. Safely inside her room, Sakura turned to Gaara. She put her hands on his shoulders.

“You’ve always been friendly with her, so it will be less suspicious. Sneak outside later and bring the poor girl something to eat. And some water,” Sakura instructed. Gaara nodded. He cast a look of concern toward the door.

But when Gaara returned, he shook his head.

“She refused.”

Sakura sat down. She clenched her jaw. Lifting her fist to her mouth, she pressed her knuckles to her lips.

“She’ll hurt herself,” Temari worried too.

“She must have a plan. She’s not that stupid is she?” Kankuro leaned his elbow on the back of the couch as he spoke.

“She must. But…” Sakura trailed off. She looked up when Gaara crossed the room. He sat at her feet, grasping her free hand.

“We should trust her. She must know what she’s doing,” Gaara urged. She looked down at his face. When had he grown up so much? It took a moment. But a faint smile appeared on her face. She pulled her hand free of his to pat his cheek.

“Yes. I suppose so,” she agreed.

That night, Sakura slept even more fitfully than usual. She was startled awake by someone yelling her name too close to her. Her eyes flew open to find Mangetsu’s face above her. She moved to push him away, but her arm jerked to a stop. It took her a moment to take in the situation.

Mangetsu’s hands gripped her wrists, holding them above her head. And before she could rebuke him, she felt the shape and weight of a knife in her hand. In both of them, actually. She slowly relaxed her fingers and wrists. Let the blades fall harmlessly onto the bed. Mangetsu stared her right in the eyes. Whatever he read there seemed like enough. He let out a sigh of relief as he released her. Sakura flexed her hands, rubbing her reddened wrists. They would probably bruise.

“Sorry. You woke swinging knives and I had to,” he muttered, taking a few steps back.

Sakura nodded. She tried to calm her shallow breaths as she sat up. She turned her head away from him, fist pressed to her forehead. It was mortifying enough for someone to witness this. Somehow his lack of judgment made it all the more embarrassing.

The door opened.

“You don’t look like you’re going back to sleep this time.”

“So you’re both just walking in and out as you wish now,” Sakura growled as she recognized Suigetsu’s voice.

“Come on, M’Lady. Let me show you something nice,” Suigetsu said, ignoring her glare. He picked up her falchion propped up in the corner by the bed.

“What nonsense are you saying in the middle of the night?” she sighed. “Put my sword back.”

Suigetsu’s tone changed. He was serious now. “M’Lady.” He waited until she was looking at him properly. “I don’t know a lot of things. But this… I know this.”

So Sakura followed Suigetsu outside, into the courtyard. Mangetsu trailed after them, an odd smile on his lips, as if he were in on some kind of joke.

He tossed Sakura her falchion. She kept it in the scabbard, regarding Suigetsu with suspicion. Suigetsu wielded his own weapon. And then he reached out toward his brother. Mangetsu unsheathed his sword and handed it over to Suigetsu with a pointed look.

Looking insulted, Suigetsu grumbled, “I’ll be careful. I’ve only dropped it once…. twice.”

And then he turned to Sakura with a grin.

“I’ve seen you fight before. With all those fancy twirls. It’s stupid.”

Suigetsu was brutal. He lunged and slashed in the moments when she felt most vulnerable. And just when she felt like she might be able to catch her breath, he was attacking again. There was no question that Suigetsu’s fighting style was unrefined and nonsensical at times. But it was something that was born out of necessity, not flair. So what it lacked in showmanship it more than made up in efficiency. She managed to get in some good maneuvers here in there, but by the end of the round, she felt somewhat like a fox being chased down by a pack of particularly tenacious hounds.

“Sometimes…” Suigetsu suddenly said, “It feels nice to just do something… and not to think. It helps.” He held his hand out to her.

Sakura searched his face. And then she almost smiled as she grasped his hand, letting him pull her up.

“I know what you mean,” she replied.

She washed up and fell back into bed for the little time left until dawn. She closed her eyes, still a little afraid to sleep. But exhaustion made it difficult for her to fight sleep for long. And mercifully, when she succumbed, it was to a dark, dreamless sleep. Kind and quiet like the bottom of the ocean.

A few hours later, Sakura was out of her bed. She opened up the doors to the north wing of the palace. Shijima still knelt there. Her movements were sluggish as she lifted her head. Sakura took a few steps forward. Stopped in front of her. And then she knelt, leaning in close.

“You’re not waiting for me, are you?” Sakura whispered.

Shijima glanced around. And then she offered Sakura a tiny, secretive smile.

Sakura lifted her head a little. She pulled a wineskin out of her cloak and tossed it in front of Shijima.

“Drink. Or I really will leave today,” Sakura ordered.

Shijima opened the cap and took a sip of the water. And then she another. Soon, she was gulping down every last drop in the container. When she looked up to Sakura, wiping her chin on the back of her hand, Sakura was holding out an orange.

“You must realize that this is ridiculous, Consort Hoki,” Sakura chastised as she watched Shijima peel the orange. But her hands were shaking so badly that she couldn’t do it. Clucking her tongue, Sakura reached out to peel the fruit for her. She handed the segments to Shijima and watched her eat.

“What will happen if you leave this way? Doesn’t that doom this city?” Shijima worried, chewing as she spoke.

Cheek in her hand, Sakura tilted her head as she thought.

“Doom is a strong word.”

Shijima looked relieved.

“But not wholly inaccurate.”

Shijima looked even more concerned than before.

“His contacts to the east will continue to deal with him. Largely because of you, actually. You do know that marrying you has made that man richer than he could have ever hoped?” Sakura pointed out. And though she had mentioned this to Shijima before, perhaps the wording struck a chord within her. Because Shijima’s eyes widened.

“His standing out here will certainly change, however. I’ve persuaded my Great-Uncle not to declare war, which is a good thing. Great-Uncle hates conflict, but his heir doesn’t,” Sakura went on. Her eyes darted to the presence she had noticed hiding further down the corridor. The servant girl ducked behind the column, likely praying that Sakura hadn’t spotted her.

“I’ll tell you something good because I personally like you, Consort Hoki. The Arids have been peaceful for so long for two reasons,” Sakura said, holding two fingers up. “The first is that the major cities have intermarried so much that there are few of us who cannot call each other ‘cousin’. And second is that most of the cities here are of similar standing. Or they are allied with someone who can protect them. It’s usually the weakest in a pack that gets swallowed by predators, after all.”

Sakura could see the words settling into Shijima’s head. The girl turned pale.

“So if The Viper’s Throat falls-” Shijima whispered.

“Predators will fall on it like vultures on carrion,” Sakura finished the thought for her.

This wasn’t something she had gone over with Shijima beforehand. She hadn’t wanted this reaction to feel rehearsed in any way. And perhaps it was a little cruel. Sakura wouldn’t abandon Shijima in the middle of such a risky affair, but the girl had no way of knowing that. They had only known each other for a short time.

With the consequences hanging over her head, Shijima would be pushed to be think a little harder and to speak with more conviction. And from the way that the servant girl went sprinting down the hall, perhaps Baki would realize just how badly things could go if he continued to cling to his pride.

“You can kneel here for as long as you wish, Consort. But I am returning to my Great-Uncle’s city in a week’s time. As soon as all my affairs are put into order. And you can continue to kneel here once I’m gone for all I care,” Sakura concluded, rising to her full height. As the double doors closed, Sakura turned around to look at Shijima. She offered her a glimpse of a smile before the doors separated them again. She hoped that the girl would be smart enough to put together a good strategy. Sakura had set her up with some strong pieces, but there was only so much she could do from behind for her.

Later that morning, Azra and Esma whispered to Sakura that there was some sort of commotion. They guided her by the hand to a secret passage hidden behind a large urn. She had always felt suspicious of the placement of the ostentatious decoration. But she was thankful for it now when the twins guided her into the narrow space. It led them an oddly-shaped space. When Azra pointed to a set of tiny holes, Sakura was confused. Esma mimed cupping her hands around one ear. So Sakura leaned in closer, pressing her ear against the holes.

“I’ve had enough of this spectacle. Get up this instant, Consort Hoki.”

It was Prince Baki’s voice.

When Sakura looked to the twins, Azra nodded furiously. Sakura pointed at the other holes on the wall. She motioned for the girls to join her. Eyes glittering, they squished in with her to listen in on the conversation.

“I will kneel here for as long as it takes for the General to quell her anger, My Lord,” Shijima replied. Sakura smiled at how confident Shijima sounded.

“Forget that woman. She’ll be leaving soon. You should be thinking of how this affects my reputation,” Baki grumbled.

Sakura scoffed. So did Esma.

“I am thinking of your reputation, My Lord. If relations with the Haruno family truly remain this way, it will affect every part of your reputation. Surely you realize this.”

“Do not nag me, Consort Hoki. Don’t think as if you know everything just because you’ve spent some time with that woman.”

Sakura shook her head. She had no idea what Shijima saw in that bull-headed man. She had asked Shijima on multiple occasions whether this was the path she really wanted to choose. It would be a simple affair to have them divorce and to bring Shijima with her to Plumeria. They had no children, so the divorce could be on the basis that they had failed to produce a legitimate heir. One of Baki’s many concubines could be promoted to Consort instead. She would do well in the tropical climate. And there were so many nice young men she could introduce her to. Ones that would surely be head over heels for her. Unlike a certain stubborn fool.

“Maybe I should be nagging you. You haven’t handled things very well with my silence.”

That snapped Sakura right back to attention. Azra grabbed Esma’s hand, eyes wide.

“What was that?”

“You’ve never seen me as your consort. You allow your concubines to harass me. You exclude me from social events when I should be by your side. And all this time, I’ve held my tongue because I trusted that my lord husband would know what he was doing.”

Azra’s mouth fell open.

Sakura grimaced to herself. She couldn’t even begin to imagine the expression on Baki’s face. That was a bold criticism to unleash on anyone.

“I’m no longer a child. And you’re not the man I thought you were. I suppose it’s time for the both of us to face reality.”

Esma slapped her hands over Azra’s mouth. Sakura covered her own mouth with her hand. They waited for something else. But it was silent.

Just as Sakura began to worry that she might have to intervene, she heard noises again.

“Come with me,” Baki growled. And then footsteps began retreating across the stone. Hurried and sharp.

The following morning, Shijima arrived at the northern wing of the Viper’s Fang. Meno opened the door, bowed, and then disappeared to go inform Sakura of the visitor.

Sakura leaned against the inside of the door, staring out at Shijima. Because Shijima was rosy-faced and practically glowing with satisfaction. Sakura appraised her, sighed.

“What is it?” she demanded, still aware of the eyes all around the palace.

“I have a proposition from my lord husband,” Shijima announced.

Sakura folded her arms across her chest. “And where is this… lord husband of yours during such an important discussion?” she wondered.

Shijima gave an impish smile. “Still asleep. My lord is quite tired from… a long night,” she admitted, lowering her voice. Sakura had to fight the urge to smile right back. She turned on her heel instead.

“Come inside quickly. Don’t waste my time,” she retorted. The doors closed behind Shijima as she followed after her.

But as soon as the doors were gone, and Mangetsu confirmed that no one else was around, Sakura threw her arms around Shijima.

“Oh, well done, love. You’ve worked so hard,” Sakura said, her voice warm now.

And although Shijima had been smiling, the instant she heard those words, she burst into tears. Clinging on to the back of Sakura’s dress, she sobbed about how frightened she had been. How difficult it was to watch everyone who had once been so warm to her to act so cold now. Even if it was all just a show. Azra and Esma sniffled too as they set an extra place for Shijima at the breakfast table.

Teary-eyed and runny-nosed, Shijima took a sip of the tea they offered to her. She had cried even harder when Temari had rushed out in her nightgown to hug her too, starting the hysterics anew.

“Now. Eat something. You must be starving,” Sakura urged. Before she could move her hands, Gaara was already piling fruits and bread onto her plate. Kankuro refilled her teacup and added a bit of sugar.

“I… ate last night… with His Majesty,” she confessed, her eyes falling to the table.

“Is that all you did? Eat?” Kankuro probed.

Shijima erupted scarlet. Temari reached over to slap her brother on the arm while Sakura chuckled.

“So this is what you meant when you told me you learned things before you came here,” Sakura teased. Hands on her cheeks, Shijima peeked up at her. When she nodded, Kankuro burst out laughing. He fell against Gaara’s shoulder. Gaara had his face turned away to be polite, but from the way his shoulder’s shook, it was easy to see that he was laughing too.

“Mother told me many stories. I’d never… but I knew… so…”

As Shijima grew an even brighter shade of red, Kankuro took a sip of tea.

“Father had 8 concubines, so Mother had to be good at maintaining a household.”

Kankuro spat his tea out. And Sakura couldn’t even chastise him for his poor table manners because she was too busy coughing and choking on her tea too.

As it turned out, one of the skills Shijima’s mother had instilled in her was the art of good pillow talk. Whatever had transpired during the night had left Prince Baki quite open to suggestions. Shijima wormed her way into his thoughts, suggesting this and gently steering him away from that. While Shijima had struggled with dealing with other women, apparently she had little trouble with the opposite sex.

“So I suggested that all you really wanted was a fair punishment for Concubine Deba. And that if you were appeased, all the relations and diplomacy would go back to normal,” Shijima explained.

“What is ‘fair’ in your eyes then?” asked Sakura.

“Well… I knew Prince Baki wouldn’t want to execute Concubine Deba and her son. After all, that’s his son too. So I suggested stripping the son of his title and sending Concubine Deba away instead.”

Sakura nodded, examining the healing cuts on the back of her hand. “Why not send her to work for my Great-Uncle? Labor for her debts?”

“What about the other concubines? The ones that helped Deba?” prompted Temari.

“The same treatment. Prince Baki was hesitant at first. But then I assured him that our son would be the best successor,” Shijima said, placing her hand on her stomach.

“There’s no way of knowing that you are already…” Kankuro trailed off, miming a rounded stomach with his hands.

“No. But… we have time. It will happen eventually. The women of my family are very fertile,” Shijima answered with confidence. “I also suggested that since I’d appraised the value of the goods I confiscated from the harem, that we could send them to the Haruno family as a gesture of apology and goodwill. It would cost Prince Baki no additional money and it would help smooth things over for now. Just like you said, General.”

Sakura nodded, her coughing finally under control.

Gaara handed over her tea to help clear her throat. Sakura took a sip before she spoke again.

“You do realize that by not killing his sons you’re leaving a threat for the future,” Sakura warned, not for the first time.

Shijima nodded. “I don’t want to do it. It doesn’t feel right. Even if it means they’ll come back to challenge me. I’ll just have to work a little harder.”

Sakura looked down at her tea. She set it to the side. “I don’t know if it’s the right choice, but you’ve made it. And I respect that,” she admitted.

They went over some more details together. Sakura would send out a letter to Karo in a few more days outlining Shijima’s compromise. Another one would reach Hilal as well. From there, the rumors would spread. And Sakura would make every effort to ensure that Consort Hoki’s name was attached to the story.

Prince Baki was not a complicated man. Whatever Shijima’s mother had taught her was obviously effective against him. As the days went by, he was rarely seen without Shijima at his side. And when the concubines saw how much the prince favored the consort now, there was a mad scramble to try to get into her good graces. The servants as well were quick to change their allegiances.

With some persuasion on Shijima’s part, Prince Baki even apologized for the delay in handling such a terrible insult against her. It was interesting how much his gaze had changed in a matter of days. No longer were his stares directed at her. In fact, it seemed he was having trouble looking anywhere but at Shijima, which Sakura welcomed. And hanging on Baki’s arm, Shijima looked so happy that Sakura couldn’t find it in her to criticize the man too much.

“It’s quite alright. It’s all thanks to Consort Hoki that things were resolved so quickly,” Sakura commended instead.

And Baki looked over at Shijima to smile.

“Yes. She’s wise, isn’t she?” he answered.

But as Sakura prepared to move on to their next stop, the eastern kingdoms to the east of the Viper’s Throat, Sakura received a letter from Ebizo.

My dear,

I know it was your intention to visit the Qing Kingdom, but I must ask you to journey north instead.

Rasa’s influence over Prince Ao has become concerning for all of us. He has refused summons to return back to Karo. I would send troops there myself, but Prince Ao may see that as an act of aggression. Instead, I must request that you visit the city for yourself and handle Rasa as you see fit. He ceased to serve a purpose for us when you had him removed for your employ. You have dealt with the man for much longer than I have, so I will trust whatever judgment you pass.

Sakura burned the letter as quickly as she could.

When she read between the lines, she could see what her great-uncle was asking. If she found it necessary, she could eliminate Rasa completely. And that wasn’t something she wanted Temari and her siblings to have to confront.

Instead, she put on a smile as she informed her cousins that there was to be a change of plans. Kankuro was a bit disappointed that he wouldn’t get a chance to see the markets in the east. There were rumors of grand festivals that he had been looking forward to taking part in. And when Sakura revealed that they would be moving north instead, Gaara said nothing. His expression was tight though. Temari grabbed his hand. She motioned for Kankuro, who moved to grasp Gaara’s other hand.

“You can return to Karo first if you’d prefer. It should be a quick trip,” Sakura offered.

Heads close together, the siblings exchanged a few quiet words. Temari frowned as Gaara shook his head.

“We will be with you, Lady Sakura,” Gaara promised.

Sakura sent word ahead of her. Although she hadn’t actually been invited, Ao would have no choice but to open his arms to her if he didn’t want to suffer some sort of criticism from neighboring cities.

As they prepared the luggage and the gifts for their reluctant hosts, Baki invited Sakura to visit the barracks in the city with him. Kankuro and Temari were busy overseeing preparations, but Gaara was free to accompany her. He held her hand as they walked through the busy city. Mangetsu trailed a little ways behind them.

When they arrived at the barracks, they appeared to be running through drills. Sakura recognized the setup. Men lined up in a formation. A single man in front barking orders.

As Baki stepped onto the field, they stopped. The man in front was tall with shaggy white hair. He stood at attention, saluting as Baki approached him. He yelled an order. All the soldiers saluted in unison.

Smiling, Baki extended an arm to gesture towards the men.

“Your regiment, as promised, General,” he announced.

Sakura released Gaara’s hand. She crossed her arms behind her back as she turned her gaze to the men. “How many in total?”

“5000, as promised. And this is Commander Darui. My best,” Baki replied.

Sakura arched an eyebrow. “You’re giving away your best? Let’s not tell each other lies, Prince Baki,” Sakura retorted.

Baki’s smile faded a little. But he tried to reclaim the expression, laughing.

“Alright, you’ve caught me there. But Commander Darui is certainly one of the best. He will not fail you. And he speaks the language of the west, so you should have no discomfort communicating with him.”

Sakura looked Darui over. He kept his gaze on her feet.

“Do you have a problem serving under a woman?” she queried.

“No, Ma’am,” came his prompt reply.

“We’re going far from here. You will not return to these lands. Are you still willing?” she pressed.

He saluted. “I will follow you wherever, General. It is an honor.”

Sakura scrutinized his face. And then she laughed a little. “What an insincere reply. Well, you have some time to change your mind if necessary.”

Then she turned to face the soldiers still in formation.

“My travels will take me far from this land. If any of you are unwilling to follow me, be it family or an aversion to reporting to a woman, then I will not force you on this journey. We depart in a week. If you choose not to follow me, there will be no consequences. Take some time to make your decision,” she announced before clapping her hands once.

Without waiting for any input from the two men, Sakura began walking away from the barracks. Gaara hurried after her. But Mangetsu was already at her side, leaning in towards her to whisper.

“You shouldn’t have been so easy-going, M’Lady. You’ll lose some of them.”

Sakura leveled him with a look. As if she couldn’t believe his line of thinking.

“Good,” she replied, “I need troops to become my hands and feet, not a burden. I would rather leave any whining children behind.”

Mangetsu snickered, shaking his head a little.

“Then why are you bringing Suigetsu?” Gaara asked, grabbing onto Sakura’s sleeve as he finally caught up.

Mangetsu laughed even louder. And Sakura smiled too as they made their way onto the bustling city streets.

++++

#itasaku #courtly intrigue! au #fanfiction #amaryllis

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cknightleyart · 3 years ago

Text

Purple Phire Princess

Part 1

In fire there are many shades, hues, and tones. Once a pond a moment there was a princess made of the royalist of purples. She was named Phire after her father who ruled over the Flareany. One day when Princess Phire was 13 she was allowed to leave the Royal Palace on her own.

"Dearest daughter of mine be mindful that not all is fare in Flareany... Not all you meet will have your best interest at heart. Many will try to steal your light. Don't let them." Warned King Phire.

"How can one steal what is me?" Asked the Princess. "Who's out there?"

"Not all Flarens burn the same..."

"My'Light you are needed in the Skilletem." The serf said with widen eyes.

"Excuse me dearest daughter... Mind my words." The King said as he rushed to the Skilletem.

Princess Phire mind her father's warning before she left the kingdom. The Palacesgards opened the gates for her.

"When will you be coming back?" The Palacegard asked.

"Afternoon... I will be heading to Crimsunbrix

To meet a friend." Said Princess Phire. "Her name is Mesa Mora..."

"See you soon, My'Light." The Palacegrad said as she opened the castiron gates.

While Phire and Mesa walked the Boulevard of the farmers market they found a Mage doing tarot readings. A Ocean blue Flareany with silver hair came out her Witvhes booth heated. "What you mean I shall cause my own misery? I want a better future. Give back thy coin!"

"The cards had spoken! The future ain't free. You see you started the prophecy." Exclaimed the Witvh.

The boy stormed off. "Don't waste your coin on her." He told the girls.

"Come one. Come two. Let she what my cards claim for you." The Mage pointed at Phire and Mesa.

Of course they got their reading done despite the boys warning. They walked in the booth and admire the crystals dangling from the ceiling. The crystals washed over them before they sat side by side. The neon pink lights from the Witvhes deafpunk-mask characters shifted while she put the tarot in the desk-shuffler.

Phire watched the machine. The Witvh asked them to pick a type of reading off the menu. Each reading listed had an emjoi that makes her deafpunk pink. Mesa picked the 5th typed to the top. "That a reading for Romantica..." The machine handed Mesa the deck. "Pick 10 cards. You can look at them. But I suggest you don't."

Mesa laughed. She looked at each card before picking her 10. She placed the rest in the deck and handed the cards to be tempted by the Mage.

"Romantica or Love; the unlighten ones call it, is more than sexual. Transcends the physical and emotional... Your master card is the Ace of Swords." She pulled out the card with a hand emerging from a cloud holding a long sword. "You are a strong girl who will grow into a mightier woman. You will find Callers of every nation trying to romance you... However, they will not last... Now each card you picked are the lovers you will lose." She drew the other nine. "The Knight of Wishes. The Princes of Wishes. The Fool. The Joker. The Warrior. The Twin Flame. The Devil. The Mortal. And The Chibi Sun... Be careful of the Chibi Sun 'cause it's upside down."

Mesa felt the ooogies. "How do I lose them?"

"Does it matter you lost them. Just don't make that miss step thinking you found the one. The one isn't in this draw. There no card for him."

Phire felt the ooogies too. Was nervous about her turn. Since she didn't care for romance; she picked the 3rd type of reading. She loved the name Epicventura. She watched the machine shuffle. She picked 3 cards blindly. The Mage interpret them.

"Father Time. The Tower. Blooming Moonflower... Your a royalty. Real in flesh, soul and mind. I can tell by your cards you time is now... You will face new challenges past generations had not foreseen. However you will live happily enough after the wrecking." Said the Mage.

"How come her fortune is nice? All my lovers are going to die...?" Noted Mesa.

"You picked what you picked. The cards had spoken."

The friends carried on to enjoy the market buying beans till dust hit. On the way back to the Palace they came across a white cat with purple eyes being attacked buy a flock of crows. Phire scared the flock away from the white cat.

"Damn those birds... They pecked him to death. We gotta get him to the Palace." Said Princess Phire. She took the cat to the Firesages and in moments the once dead cat was living.

"Thank you for re-animating me..." Said the White cat suprising the Princess, Mesa and Firesage.

"What you can talk? How can that be" Asked the Firesage.

"Just how you learned." Replied the cat then jumped off the table onto his feet.

"You can stand?" Said Mesa.

"Well I don't know how that's so interesting. You stand every day... Now I must be going. My Major will be pissed. Which way to Sayaity?"

"Sayaity?" The Firesage said."You're from Sayaity? You're a long long way from home. Your in Flareany Palace"

"My Majors not going to like this one bit." After some further explanations they learned the cats name was Markham. He wasn't always a white cat. Do to a curse from a Warlovk in Sayaity he been turned. His Major Zir.Clarence been trying to reverse the curse but need 4 ingredients across the globe. He got issued A-shard from the liberty Bell in Decline, the blood of a vampire from Rubikity, and while he was in Rubikity going to Qiwishstone he ran into the flock of crows.

"Qiwishstone isn't that far from Flareany." Said Princess Phire. "What you need in Qiwishstone?"

"You're Father will not allow you to travel that a ways..." Said the Firesage.

"I need the feather of a Phoniex." Markham said.

" We can't just let a cat of his size travel his own. My father will understand I am of age I could it's not out of the kingdom." The Princes declared.

She asked her father when he was his sweetest. It was always after he took off his crown in his Study. Of course he didn't want his daughter to travel at-all, but he saw the fire in her eyes. That same flame he had when he was her age. If he said no he know she will do it in spite. He allowed her with the company of Mesa, The Firesage, and The Palacegard.

After the Firesmith made the party their armory they where ready to travel. Princess Phire armory was made of white gold with copper finishing. She wore cat-like claws that was made Osedon crystals that matched her booths; it kept her flame in-check.

Mesa armory was made of stainless steel. She was given two daggers that looked like a snake.

The Firesage armory was made of Rose Quarts. She was given a staff made of cherry wood with a ruby crystal; that would amplify her spell-accuraty.

The Palacesgard was made of Bismuth. Her weapon was shield with the sigil of Blue Fire with gold wings.

Markham Of'Sayaity armory was a jumper made of leather. He was also given a so thin blade it was naked to the human eye.

The met in the courtyard. After the Firesmith showed his administration for his models he told them each item work best together. "- the stone made works best in the sun. The metal made work best at night. Work as a unit and you'll do fine. And most importantly don't give my Smithin' a bad name."

"We wont." Promise Princess Phire.

The journey began in Menthol; outside Flaerity.

In Menthol the party had no trouble making there way to Newer Goldity. There they heard whispers of a bird made of fire attacking the pigs on Old Mans Jinkans farm.

"You know that Jinkans is a character. Very queer... If you ask me. Did he make bacon. Fire birds are long gone." Said the city man.

"Where is this old man Jinkans?" Markham asked.

"Which Witvh cured you? It's been years since I talked to a talking cat. Where you from? Everyone knows that Old Man Jinkans live on Old Town rd." Replied the city man.

On old town rd the party found the farmhouse of Jinkans. There liad the blacken skulls of his stock of pigs.

"No Flareany can cast such a fire. It must be the Phoenix." Mesa said in delight. "I feel sorry for the pigs tho-but you know..."

Markham was ecstatic. "Soon I'll be no more a feline. Let's see if Jinkans can tell us where it went."

"Pipe down. We can't just knock on the door of a old man demanding information. We should of thought this out." Said the Palacegaurd.

"True. He just lost his stock. Imagine how he must feel?" Princess Phire looked at the brunt farm.

"What are you doing?" Shouted a boy from the farmhouse. He ran up to them holding a hoe as a weapon. "This is private property! Not a theme park! Nothing to see here!"

Princess Phire recalled that boy from the tarot reading. His silver hair was in box-braids and he was dressed in overalls. His Ocean fire was more golden do being in a new city. His light made hers blush.

The Palaceguard shield the Princess. The boy tripped on his feet, face planting into a mug pie. The party laughed.

"Stop that's not funny..." Phire said forcing herself to stop laughing. "Are you alright?" She rushed to help.

"Perfectly fine. I don't need your pitty."

"How dare you talk to the Princess like that?" Said the Palacegard.

The boy noticed her royal fire. "I don't care if she is the Queen of Makebelieve... This is still private property. You rule over nothing here. And if you did you rule over dead pigs." Said the boy.

"We are not here to rule. We must talk to your grandfather-" Markham said.

"Old men Jinkans isn't my grandfather. He's my uncle. His name is just Jinkans. I'm Jincode. This is Jinfarms."

"I read of the Jinkin. I'm and Princess Phire daughter of King Phire and this is my party. We came to help Markham Of'Sayaity get a Phoniex feather to undo his catattitude..."

"So where is your Uncle?" Asked Mesa.

"He's away getting more pigs." Jincode explanated. He told them about the horror he witnessed on the day the Phoniex caused. "It came down like wildfire. It went east. I thought Fire birds where extinct? I thought wrong."

"They stay to themselves mostly in volcanoes. There must be one nearby." The Firesage said.

"There is no canoes to the east. That bird must be dumb... Just mountains. The Golderhills." Said Jincode.

"It must be inactived." Princess Phire said.

Jincode joined the party to seek revenge on the Phoniex. They traveled east to the Golderhills. The smell of burning bacon came from a cave. To there luck they found the Phoniex resting on top a bed of blacken skulls of pigs.

The cave was cold.

That was good for the party.

"Go get your feather so I can end it's life." Whispered Jincode to Markham.

"Jobs indeed." Said Markham. He leaped stone to stone where the resting Phoniex poached.

"That's one cool cat." Said the Palacegard.

Markham sneaked a pinch at the tail of the Fire bird. Getting the feather woke up the Phoniex and She roars. Her roar sounds like crystal cracking and embers burning. She pushed Markham away making him fall. The Firesage uses her staffs magic to catch him. The feather on the other hand was lost.

"Sugar we need another feather!" Markham said.

"No we don't it's right there!" Princess Phire said pointing at the spot. The feather was caught between a rock and a hard place. The Phoniex made the cave heat-up.

The Firesage attacked the wild beast with her magic to make it go to sleep. Each try was missed. The bird attacked them with a fireball. The Palacegard shield them all. The bird swings down to attack and Mess cut her with her snake dagger.

Unfortunately she got hit back by a blast of embers.

"Mesa!" Cried Phire. "We gotta get out of here!" The cave became too hot for even the Flareany princess. Her party left to rethink there plain.

Back at the Jinkans Farmhouse Uncle Jinkans laughed at them. "What was you thinking? It's a bird made of fire. There's no way your going to get that feather. KittyCat, get use to being a feline."

"I can't just give up. Do you know how hard it is to be a talking cat? It would be worst if I waa black." Said Markham.

"Don't fear Markham... We just need research. Do you guys have a computer with Internet?" Phire asked and Jincode showed her the house PC. It was a old model made in 2021 but Phire knew how to work it.

"Sorry for the oldness... We're not technology inclined. My grandfather grew up on this computer." Jincode said.

After serfing the world-wide-web for everything under Phoniex and Fire Bird.

Phire found out they are weakest after dust. She also learned that on the night of a new moon their fire is at its coolest.

The following day they went at dust to try for the feather. Jincode still wanted to kill the beast despite Phire telling him no one ever killed a Phoniex in the stories she researched.

He insisted that he's going to make history out of herstory. She laughed and blushed. Making Mesa feel the ooogies.

"Do they really gotta flirt? I never seen Phire like this." Mesa said.

"You sound jealous." Markham said.

"Its like I'm yesterdays news." Mesa stated.

They gone inside the cave to see the fasting Phoniex on her nest of skulls. The echo on Jincode's kicking a rock woken the Phoniex.

She roars causing the earth to shake.

"Thanks a lot Blueboy!" Mesa said drawing her daggers. "That Witvh was spot-on."

"Why bring her up." Jincode rolled his eyes.

The bird attacked with a breath of cold ash.

The Firesage blocked the attack. She spelled a rock in her control and tossed it at the beast. The beast cried as the rock hit her.

She spat green fire at the sage. The attack hit her and she fainted from the foreign flame.

The bird took flight and tossed stars at the rest of the party.

Phire added the yellow light into her. Her inner flame roared a burning berry tone. She grew inside and was able to punch the Phoniex. She got three jabs in before her power-up went out. She was drain.

Mesa blocked the starts with her daggers who ate them. They where full and grew into a two dual swords. They gave her the ability to turn invisible.

Markham hid behind a stone with Jincode from the stars. After watching Phire eat more falling stars. Jincode thought he could do the same. He let one hit him.

Feeling the light settle in him his silver hair burned Pacific blue. He felt a rush that he never felt before and his thought rushed. He started throwing fire jabs all over.

He hits Mesa making her faint. She became visible after the hit.

"Watch where you tossing those hits!" The Palacegard remarked as she dodged the stars. She used her grafuling-hook to move closer to get a feather. Next to the nest she noticed a six giant topaz egg. "Sugar Honey Ice Tea!"

The Mother Phoniex attacked her.

She fainted.

"We gotta get the Heynow-Out-of-here!" Princess Phire used the last of her flame to cast a bright light so Jincode, Markham and herself to wakeup the fallen party to evacuate.

Uncle Jinkans felt to bad to laugh at them. He gave each of them a special elixir to heal 100 percent. After they where healed fully he laughed. "-So she's a mommy. Your not getting that feather..."

"We just need to think outside the box." Princess Phire said.

"Is it really that bad being a cat?" Asked Mesa. "You can die a cat or a human. Dying a cat you might get treated better. Humanity can be messed up. Think about it... You can have a nice shoes box that coast way less than a casket."

"You might be right?" Markham the Cat said.

"Don't give up! We came this far. I am not a Quicker! We are not Quickers!" Princess Phire declared.

Her party cried.

Phire went hard at work doing more research on Phoniex. She learned of the Legend of the Queen and The Phoniex. In her study she read that by nature the bird isn't destructive by nature but brings life. The Queen in the Legend kissed the bird and let it burn her so she could become the Phoniex.

Phire found that half bizarre. "I'm not doing all that..." She said to the site. The Legend was typed in 1995 by some man named DJ Big R. Back in 95 the Humans where still leading what was Wi-Fi. So she took the story with a grain of salt.

"You need to get some sleep. Your light is dimming, girl." Mesa worried.

"Okay. I will hit the hay." Phire turned off the computer and went to sleep.

Two days later the party was ready to take on the beast. This time Princess Phire had a idea. This time they would wait for the bird to leave when the sun was rising The Phoniex left to search for stock to feed its fire. Phire knew it would need to get more food since their last encounter with her.

Once the party saw her leave the cave the rushed into the cave.

"Still want to get your revenge?" Teased Mesa.

"Shut up. Revenge is foolishness." Jincode said.

(End of part 1)

#cknightleyart #black writers #cknightleypen #writers on tumblr #Purple Phire Princess #ppp #p3

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heyitsani · 4 years ago

Text

I Keep My Eyes Wide Open All the Time Chapter 4

Word Count: 6000

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Major character death, Mentions of past rape/non-con (eventually)

Pairing: Jason Todd/Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne/Jon Kent (hinted?)

Summary: The loss of someone important changes all of their lives.

Notes: This. Is. Sad. This is your warning. I cried writing this and I hope that emotion is conveyed onto the screen for you. Next chapter still expected Friday!

If you have not read When You Move I Move, this one won’t really make much sense. So you can read that here: WYMIM

You can also read this chapter on AO3 here

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He had been on his way to the kitchens in search of Ser Jason when he had noticed his mother hurrying out of the castle, dark cloak thrown over her deep green gown she wore for the day. It wouldn’t have taken his notice if the manner of dress wasn’t so...common for someone like her. It was no more elegant than what a commoner of the lower levels would have worn. And after all the lectures he had sat through of her trying to convince him to never lower himself to the status of the people he was to rule, he found it curious she would be wearing that dress.

“Good afternoon, Your Highness,” one of the staff members called out as they passed. He gave a hello back, but kept his focus on his mother.

In a split second decision, he turned and followed the woman out of the castle at a distance.

“Ser Roy, may I borrow your cloaks? I will explain the instant I return them,” Damian rushed toward the knight, who was chatting with another man Damian wasn’t sure he knew. The redhead regarded him for a moment with narrowed eyes before shrugging the black material off his shoulders and handing it over. “Thank you. Ser Kyle, hurry,” he called to his personal guard as he quickly tried to get his mother back in his sights.

The guard picked up his pace and caught up to his charge, brow furrowed as they kept to the shadows. “My Prince?” Damian shushed him when he spoke and kept his focus on his mother. He watched as she weaved in and out of the people milling about in the streets. She ignored vendors calling out about their goods and seemed to be focused on a particular destination.

“Hoods up,” Damian told Ser Kyle as he pulled the hood on the borrowed cloak over his head and saw Ser Kyle do the same out of the corner of his eye. “Keep to the shadows with me. I am not certain where she is going, but Mother is acting suspicious.”

Ser Kyle kept quiet and Damian chanced a glance at the man who Ser Jason had personally vouched to be his personal guard and found him watching the Queen as she continued to hurry along. “Ser Todd asked me to keep you safe. I cannot say for certain this is safe, but I will follow you until I deem it necessary to leave.”

That was good enough for Damian.

“Where do you think she is going?”

“If I had to hedge a guess, I would say The Narrows. She is not dressed for the upper levels. But no woman, not even your mother, would travel into Crime Alley on purpose.” That made sense. And the further into the city streets they got, the more accurate the assessment seemed to be. But what exactly was awaiting them once she reached her destination?

The lower into the city levels they went, the cooler the air got and the less people were out milling about. It made it harder to blend in with the crowd, but Ser Kyle seemed to know exactly where to go to be sure they stayed out of sight but kept the Queen in their sight. Damian allowed the guard to take the lead on following his mother and stayed a step behind so the older man could focus. When his mother glanced around before stepping into an alleyway, Ser Kyle tugged Damian into the alley just before and began looking around.

“What are you doing?” Damian questioned, frowning as the man glanced around the back of the building that separated them from his mother. When Ser Kyle said nothing, but waved him over, Damian finally caught on. There was a ladder leading to the rooftop and the pair quickly climbed it.

“You must stay quiet My Prince.” Damian simply nodded and followed the man to the edge before dropping down so they could peek just over roof into the alley below. The sight of his mother with her hood down was not surprising. The fact that she was in a quiet conversation with a soldier dressed in the garb from her home country, Nanda Parbat, was. To the point where he felt Ser Kyle grip his arm and his entire body tense.

Damian knew enough about his grandmother’s home country to know that they were on good enough terms with Gotham to be allowed into the borders, but that his great grandfather was not the kind of man to not keep tabs on all countries he was allies with.

“…You owe him much,” the home language of Nanda Parbat caught on a breeze and Damian could pick up bits and pieces. “Ra’s does not offer this lightly. Your son will bow to him.” That made Damian tense, pulling Ser Kyle’s attention from the pair below to the boy next to him. But Damian kept his focus on the two and strained to hear more.

“I will hold my end of the bargain. Or my life is forfeit.” The solider gave a nod and a bow before turning and walking away. He watched his mother look at a small vial in her hand before slipping it into a pocket in her cloak and returning the way she came.

Sitting up, Damian tried to sort through what the pair could have possibly been talking about. What was in the vial? Why did his mother owe the king of her homeland her son’s allegiance?

“Your Highness?”

Looking at Ser Kyle, Damian frowned and tried to think of an explanation. But there was none. Had she even done anything wrong when he didn’t have the whole story? Not by their word of law.

“My Prince, did you hear anything they said? I do not speak Arabic.” Without considering the consequences, Damian shook his head.

“I could not hear,” he lied, though he wasn’t certain as to why. “We should return before anyone else notices we have gone. I promised Ser Harper an explanation, but I do not know what kind of explanation this will be considering.”

He knew the older man was regarding him closely, but Damian also knew he could lie with the best of them. His mother had made sure he could play his cards close to his chest. This was one of the few times her lessons were actually useful.

For once he was grateful.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Damian, come,” his father had said softly as he passed the room where he had been reading one of the books his mother had assigned him. Since it was an incredibly dull account of the history of Nanda Parbat, Damian was happy to mark his place and follow his father as they headed down the hall.

“Where are we going, Father?” He questioned, looking up at the man as they made their way closer to the exit of the castle.

“Ser Jason is to ride,” was the answer he received and the shortness made Damian frown. He hadn’t heard of any pods coming close. The last he had heard they were a fair ride away, but he wasn’t the Dragon Slayer. And only Ser Jason could really say if it were necessary for him to ride.

Bounding down the steps after his father, he smiled at the sight of the Slayer in his armor. Damian had always loved the gold and red he wore. The fierce strength the ensemble screamed. “My King,” Ser Jason greeted his father as Damian took the last few steps to reach them. “My Prince,” he said in a tone that Damian had come to recognize as one only used with him. His fatherly tone Damian had coined it.

“I received word that you are to ride.”

“There have been sightings coming through of a pod of three out near the Ethiopia boarders,” Ser Jason said as he straightened from his expected bow. A bow that was so pointless in his eyes. But propriety must stand, or so he had been told before.

“That is a far ride,” Damian said, surprised that the man would venture that far. He didn’t see the point of traveling such a distance when their lands were not in danger.

But the man nodded and looked down at him with wise eyes. “It is, but I would rather them not get closer to our lands. Not whilst we approach the dry season.” And he supposed that did make sense. Didn’t make the decision to go so far any easier to accept though. But Ser Jason was the one who knew how to handle these situations. And if his father trusted him, then Damian could. Even if his instincts told him something was very wrong with this.

“You go alone?”

“I do, for now,” Jason answered him. Damian could tell his father didn’t like that answer. He had seen that narrow eyed look plenty of times when he was speaking with his mother. But Ser Jason seemed to find it amusing instead of intimidating. “I have allies within the lands and can call upon them if the need arises,” he laughed softly, calming Damian’s own nerves that had asrisen.

Then he remembered.

“Will you bring the scale like you promised?” It had been promised so long ago, but Damian asked each time the man rode. At this point he didn’t even expect it anymore but enjoyed the laughter it brought to the older man’s eyes.

“I shall do my very best.” Damian let out a soft shout before smiling over at his father. With a nod from the king, Damian sent Ser Jason one last smile and farewell before he bounded up the stairs to return to his book he had abandoned earlier.

He had almost reached the study when another set of footsteps caught his attention. “Ah, Nephew! Where are you coming from?”

“Aunt Cass,” he greeted, stopping so the woman could catch up to him. “I was saying farewell to Ser Jason. He is riding after a pod near Ethiopia.” The look of surprise on his aunt’s face reminded him of his own concerns at the matter. “He said he didn’t want to risk them coming closer to our lands when the dry season was approaching.”

His aunt hummed and nodded, eyes drifting as she took in his words. But her reaction unsettled him. He knew the woman observed much and said little. She knew far more than most members of the family just because she watched more than she acted. And he often wondered what kinds of secrets she kept from them all for their own sakes.

He wondered how many secrets she had been told without anyone actually meaning to tell them.

“He is not wrong,” she murmured as she wrapped an arm around his shoulders and guided him in the direction he had previously been heading. “But you are worried, I can see it.”

“It’s so far. He doesn’t usually go so far.”

“But he told you why he was doing so.”

Damian shrugged. Sure, the man gave a reason, but that feeling of something being wrong still bothered him. It still told him there was more to the situation. “I do not know why, but I feel like that was not the full reason he was leaving.”

But his aunt didn’t say anything, she simply hummed again and walked with him. He didn’t know if she was waiting for him to say more or if she simply had nothing to add, but he could feel his shoulders tensing with each passing moment.

Once they reached the study he had been using, he stopped walking and his aunt paused with him.

“You should try not to worry about Ser Todd. He is the best of the line and he loves your father too much to not return to him.” Nodding, Damian let his shoulders fall and tried to convince himself that she was right. “But if you figure out why it is you feel this way, then you can always talk to me.”

“Thank you, Aunt Cass.” The woman nodded and leaned forward, giving him a hug before she continued down the hallway, leaving Damian to return to his lessons. But the nagging feeling in the back of his mind remained.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Thank you,” Damian said softly as he took the letter from his manservant as the tray with his breakfast was sat down on the small table he liked to take his first meal of the day at. At thirteen, he found he appreciated the quiet morning in his room as opposed to the lively breakfasts in the hall with the other members of the family.

Especially the mornings when Ser Jason was still out on a hunt. Meals were not the same when one of his fathers were missing.

Sitting on his plush chair, he carefully broke the official seal of the council and opened the letter. He couldn’t imagine what they could be sending to him in such an official capacity at this time of day, but he went along with it all the same.

But the words written on the parchment made his blood run cold.

And the paper hadn’t even hit the floor before he was throwing open the doors to his room and looking for a servant. “Please, have you seen my father this morning?” He gasped at the elderly woman carrying a stack of blankets and sheets.

“Yes, My Prince. I saw him rushing out of the castle not long ago. His personal guard was with him. Barely chanced a glance at anyone as he hurried. Must have been important,” she told him, and Damian called out a thank you before he ran off in the direction she had mentioned.

He didn’t look back when the sound of someone hurrying along behind him appeared, knowing it would be Ser Kyle since it was his job after all. He wasn’t sure where his father would have gone, at least not until he stepped out of the castle and realized.

The Sept.

“Your Highness, where are we going?” Ser Kyle questioned as they continued to hurry, almost running to get to the building Damian knew he would find his father in. “My Prince, what has happened?”

Pausing in his rush, he turned to face the man who’s heart he was probably about to break. “Ser Jason has fallen.” Ser Kyle paled and gasped out a ‘no’, shaking his head. And Damian wished he could say it was a cruel joke, a whim of a lie. But he could feel his own heart fracturing and he could only image what his father was feeling right then. “He has returned for his final rest and I must get to my father.”

The other man was silent, but nodded and they hurried to the Sept.

When they reached the building, Damian was unsurprised to find his father’s personal guard there, blocking entrance to anyone who might want it. But the instant Ser Victor spotted Damian and Ser Kyle, his eyes went from hard to incredibly sad, understanding.

“My Prince,” the guard gave a bow and stepped aside so Damian could head inside. “We shall keep unwanted persons out.” Glancing at Ser Kyle, Damian watched the other man take a few deep breaths before nodding and steeling himself. He was so thankful for the two of them in that moment, knowing that his father’s grief would be protected for the time being.

Stepping into the Sept was always a moment of wonder, even in the saddest of times, the room with it’s colored glass and natural light, was always breathtaking. In that moment though, Damian couldn’t take in the beauty. He couldn’t revel in the rainbow of colors that graced the floors and the sparkling of the metals embedded in the walls. He could only see the lower half of a body covered in a red shroud and the back of his father; shoulders low in grief.

“Father,” Damian called out softly, not wanting to startle the man. Or maybe he couldn’t speak louder if he had tried. He couldn’t be certain. He could be certain that he would never forget the look in his father’s eyes when the man turned to look at him briefly before turning back to look at Ser Jason’s body. “Father, I am so sorry.” He felt his voice crack on the apology, his own pain breaking through.

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting out of his father in that moment, but he didn’t hesitate to take the older man’s hand when it was offered. Seeking the comfort of his father as well as trying to offer the man some of his own. But what could he possibly offer in a moment like this? What could he possibly do to make the pain less?

“Do you think he knew I thought of him as another father?” Because of course he had never told the man. Of course he had never said the words out loud, despite having felt the affection from a young age. King Richard and Queen Catalina might have been his biological parents but Richard and Jason were his parents in every other way. How could he not have loved the man his father loved so strongly? How could he not love the man who so obviously loved his father just as much? Who treated him as though he were of his own blood?

He didn’t look at his father when the man looked down at him. Instead, he kept his green eyes on the body of the man in question. “You love him so I, too, love him. He always had words of wisdom and tales of his travels. I will cherish those.” But that didn’t even breach the surface of how he really felt. It didn’t tell of the times they had spent laughing over a snack in the kitchens while the staff bustled around them. It didn’t tell of the encouragement that the older man had provided while Damian trained with the swords and learned to be the best fighter he could be. It didn’t tell of the quiet conversations between them in the library when his mother had gone too far. When she had forced him to cut off the only friendship he had ever cherished.

It didn’t tell of so many things he would hold close to his heart for his remaining days.

“He felt the same for you. He…” Finally glancing away from Ser Jason’s body, Damian looked up at his father and pressed his lips together to fight tears of his own. The man before him would never be the same, he knew that with every fiber of his being. He knew his father would never be the man he was. “I do not know that I will recover from this loss. I feel as though the world has been stripped of all its color, all its joy.” And what was he supposed to say to that? What comfort could a son give when a love like theirs had been stripped away?

Opening his mouth to say something, anything, he was cut off by the sound of one of the various guards who had apparently come to watch over them. “Your Majesty, your father is on his way. His manservant thought you would like the warning.”

His father nodded and Damian watched him reign himself in, in a way that he had only ever seen his father do it. It made him frown, heart aching more prominently for the man. That he felt he had to compose himself for the sake of his own father instead of allowing himself to just be honest in his pain. But when his father gave him a small, albeit sad, smile, he accepted the action.

“Would you like me to leave?”

“No, my son. I feel I would be much better should you be willing to remain at my side.” And though Damian felt it would be better for him to step out and let father and son be alone, the squeeze of his father’s hand put an end to that line of thought. “Father,” the man greeted as Damian spotted his grandfather hurrying down the steps.

“Richard, I am so sorry.” And while Damian had been concerned his father would try to hold it in while the former king was present, he was glad and heartbroken to watch that not be the case. He watched his grandfather gather his father into his arms and felt the quiet sobs like a knife to his heart. Never had he seen his father cry. There had been plenty of emotions he had seen in the other man, but never sadness in this way. Never sorrow.

Never grief.

It hurt to watch, to hear. But it didn’t make him want to run, it made him want to come closer, to provide comfort he wasn’t yet qualified to give. But he did what he could. He moved closer and grabbed onto his father’s cloak with the hand not still holding his and pressed close.

And the look in his grandfather’s eyes over his father’s shoulder told him he had made the right choice. That this was exactly where he needed to be right in that moment. That nothing else mattered. No one else mattered.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He had kept his gaze on his father for most of the meeting and he knew that most of the Council had done the same. The usually vibrant and cheerful king was dull in his smile and his eyes. Not that any of them blamed him for his current demeanor.

Not when Damian had spent the entire night up with the man as he cried silently into his pillow.

But the Council had been called and the discussion had been the procedure for the lack of a slayer, despite the body having only been in the Sept for a day. It almost seemed cruel to expect the king to go through this, but appearances had to be kept. Or so everyone told him when he had voiced his displeasure at forcing his father through this.

“The kingdom still needs their king and they do not know the connection between the two men the way those close to him do,” his grandfather had reminded him. But Damian knew most of the country at least suspected the truth of it all.

“Is there anything left to bring to the table?” One of the councilmen asked, standing in a spot a few seats down from where Damian sat just to the right of his father.

Pushing to his feet, he drew twelve sets of eyes to him as he took a deep breath. “Council, I know my presence is technically not one of authority yet, but I would like to bring forth a request regarding honoring our fallen Slayer.” There were some murmurs amongst those at the table and for a moment he thought he would be denied, but at the clearing of his father’s throat any complaints were kept silent. “For as long as our history has been told, we have celebrated and honored our royal members with the Feast of the Seven after their passing. I would like to formally request that we grant that honor to Ser Jason.”

“Impossible. It has never been done,” one of the older members called out from the far end of the table and Damian frowned, looking down at his father. The man was already looking up at him, pride and adoration in his sad eyes. At his nod, Damian steeled himself further.

“We have broken tradition plenty of times in the past,” he pointed out. “When King Thomas and Queen Martha were taken before their time, the Council granted the Feast to be fourteen days.”

“Because we were honoring them both.”

“But it was unnecessary as you were honoring them together. Ser Jason was not of royal blood, but he is one of us. My grandfather loved him as one of his own children. Other members of the family have loved him more deeply then they would ever be able to say,” he kept his voice steady, despite building emotion. Not just for the sake of his father but for his own. Because he loved the man more than he was allowed to admit without casting shame on his mother. “He was the last of a legacy and he deserves to be honored as such.”

One of the women near the middle of the table carefully stood and looked toward the king with a firm nod before sending a smile to Damian. “I second. The Kingdom of Gotham deserves to honor the Last Dragon Slayer and this would allow those who wish to travel into the city to pay their respects the opportunity to do so.”

“I third and call it to a vote.”

Dropping back down into his seat, Damian let his father slip his hand into his smaller one as they watched the council members go through the motions of the vote. Damian let out a relieved sigh when it passed unanimously.

“Thank you, My Son,” his father whispered, squeezing his hand.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Grandfather, may I speak with you?” Damian called out from the doorway of his grandfather’s study. The older man was seated at his desk, but his attention had been on the window instead of the papers in front of him. The tired, blue eyes of the older man turned to take in the sight of his only grandchild and waved him in.

“Of course,” he agreed, and Damian nodded, stepping fully into the room and letting the door fall shut behind him as he made his way closer to the desk. “Is everything all right?” And the question made Damian frown, wondering how he could answer it honestly. “Perhaps that is not the right question to ask. Given the situation.”

Sighing, the young man nodded and dropped down into one of the plush chairs. “I have a question regarding the pyre tonight.” His grandfather’s eyebrows rose, but he remained silent so Damian could say his piece. “I wish to break tradition again. I know we are giving…that we are honoring him with the Feast of the Seven, but I wondered if I might light the pyre after Father?”

Damian had studied up on and been to enough pyres to know that the acting King and the still living previous kings were the ones to traditionally light the pyre, especially when the person was of the high ranking Ser Jason was. But there had also been a few moments in time when that tradition had been broken under special circumstances.

“May I ask why?”

“He did not contribute to my blood, but he was still a father to me. I deserve the right to stand by Father’s side and say goodbye to…” He trailed off, looking down at his hands that he had clasped tightly in his lap. He hadn’t said his name since he had found out that he had been slain and he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to without a deep ache in his chest.

Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly and got himself under control. His mother’s voice sounded in his mind, telling him to act like the Crown Prince that he was. To act like a Wayne. His father had been strong outside of the moment in the Sept the other day and Damian knew he could do the same.

Once he felt like he had gotten himself under control, he looked up to find the former king regarding him sadly. “Though I thought of Jason as a son, I will relinquish my right to the pyre light. You may say goodbye to your father in this manner, if that is what you really want.”

“It is.” His grandfather nodded and leaned back in his chair.

“Tell me how my son is. I have not seen him since yesterday and no one I have asked has either.” Damian felt a sad smile curl his lips just slightly. He had left his father to come here. He had hardly allowed himself to be apart from the man since the Sept. Despite his mother’s protests and demanding he keep up with his studies, he had not allowed his father to be alone for long.

“He was sleeping when I came here. I have been close ever since hearing the news,” Damian admitted to his grandfather. The man looked relieved and pained at the news, a conflicting set of emotions if Damian had ever seen them. “I do not know how to help him other than make sure he sleeps, and he eats. I think the Feast will be good, give him something to focus on other than his broken heart. But until then, he deserves the chance to mourn in his own way.”

“It is good of you to look after him. That is not a burden a son should have to carry.” And perhaps his grandfather was right, but Damian couldn’t help but wonder who would carry it if he didn’t? Who else would his father allow himself to be honest around? Who else would he trust with this pain?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Everyone is already in place, Your Majesty,” one of the guards spoke softly. His father glanced back at him before looking to the guard and nodding. Without another word, Damian walked behind his father with his mother at his side and headed up the steps where the funeral pyre was being held. And in the short walk, Damian couldn’t help but marvel at the sight of all the people who had gathered to watch. People who had loved the man in their own way. Including the women from the local brothel that he had heard Ser Roy and Ser Kyle discussing on the training fields.

Damian had made a mental note to mention it to his father so they could be sure they were still looked after. But he had a feeling his father already knew. Even in the depths of his grief, he was still good at caring for his kingdom.

When his father took his designated seat, Damian came to a stop beside it and stood tall. With his mother so close, he knew it was expected of him to remain strong. He wasn’t sure how she would react to him being the second to light the pyre tonight, but he told himself whatever she did or said would be worth it. She had already proclaimed her displeasure at him having gotten Ser Jason honored with a Feast of the Seven. This couldn’t be any worse.

“It is no secret that House Wayne has always held the highest respect for those of the Dragon Slayer occupation, but Ser Jason always held a special place in our lives due to the fact that he was the last remaining slayer. The last of his line and the last of a profession of bravery and strength.” The words of his grandfather washed over him as he looked out over the crowd, taking in each of the faces as they listened. He watched tears fall and hands clasp together. He watched whispers and hugs of comfort. He watched people give to each other what he was not allowed to give to his father in that moment.

“We will honor Ser Jason Todd with the Feast of Seven Days as we do for members of the royal family because he is one of ours. The doors to the palace and sept will be open to each and every citizen of Gotham to pay their respects and to join us in our grief.” And despite his mother’s discontent at his actions regarding this, Damian felt his pride swell when he watched the approval of the citizens.

He hadn’t suggested it for them, he had done it solely for his father. But he was glad that they approved of the motion all the same. He was glad to give them something that had been somewhat selfish in its origin.

The movement of his father standing pulled Damian’s attention away from the crowd to the man as he walked toward Ser Jason’s closest friend to retrieve the torch to light the pyre. The look that passed between the two men was meaningful and Damian knew that Ser Roy was grieving just as much, though in a different manner, for the man they all had loved. He knew Ser Kyle, who he would find if he bothered to glance back, was struggling with the grief as well.

Something precious had been stolen and they were all struggling under the absence of it.

With a shaking breath, his father stood before Ser Jason’s shrouded body and looked out over the crowd. “To the last of the Dragon Slayers, to the greatest of the line, to the fallen soldier, and to the man behind the sword. The world is a colder, darker place without the splash of crimson from your cloaks and your sea colored eyes. May those of us who have been left behind honor your legacy and never forget your bravery. May we never forget your strength and your character. May we never forget your love and kindness to those who surrounded you.”

A scoff to his right drew Damian’s eye for a moment and though he couldn’t be certain, he was fairly sure it had come from his mother. But her stiff posture and blank face gave away very little. And not for the first time, his mind flashed back to the exchange between her and the guard from Nanda Parbat he and Ser Kyle had witness in the Narrows.

“You owe him much.”

But what did she owe King Ra’s for?

“Damian,” a voice cut through his thoughts, pulling his attention to his grandfather as he stood in front of him. With a nod, Damian moved forward and ignored the motion his mother made to try and stop him. He knew his grandfather had probably positioned himself between them on purpose, so he could step up behind his father.

No words were exchanged when the older man passed the torch to him, but he could she the surprise in his eyes. The question as to what was happening. But Damian ignored it in favor of stepping forward to the pyre to light the opposite corner that his father had started. And though he was expected to step away from the fire once the act was done, he felt he couldn’t move away just yet. The heat from the flame warming him, but the sight breaking him with each crackle.

Ser Jason had said this would happen. That there would come a time when Damian and his father would have to bury him. Not because he wasn’t good at his job or that he was reckless, but because that was the way of the Slayer. Families always buried them long before they joined them. And though he had believed the man, he had hoped beyond hope that Ser Jason would be wrong. That this once he would be proven incorrect.

“I’ll take that, My Prince,” Ser Roy said softly as he stepped up next to Damian. Glancing up at the older man, Damian allowed him to take the torch but still did not move. There was a beat of silence and Damian found himself waiting, knowing there was something the solider wanted to say. “He loved you very much, Your Highness. I know he was never able to tell you how much, but he was not so shy with his words with others.”

With a stilted bow, the solider walked away and Damian felt himself move away from the pyre to stand next to his father and grandfather, ignoring the look his mother was sending him. Because despite knowing she would find some way to punish him, he would never regret his actions as of late.

#jaydick #dick grayson #jason todd #damian wayne #past lives au #anikah writes

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