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hozierandco · 3 years ago

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Callum Turner x Reader - The After-Match pt. 2 (SMUT)

A few seconds later, the referee whistled the end of the game, making cheerful and despondent people in the audience.

Cal, 10.56 pm: You better be home in 30 minutes or I'm starting the after-match without you

Y/N, 10.57 pm: I'll be there in no time!

A wave of cheers had engulfed the streets: Chelsea had won and it was only the beginning of a long night for the supporters that had assembled from all around, from Trafalgar Square to Greenwich, from Brixton to Hammersmith.

Horns beeping everywhere, pedestrians with beer in their hand and their voices broken.

"Are you joining us, Callum? We're going to the pub to celebrate!"

"Nah, tonight I'm celebrating with Y/N!"

Callum's friends all chuckled while looking at each other "You lucky bastard!", one snickered.

"We're not holding you back then!", another added.

"Have a great night, lads!", Callum said while getting his coat that had been discarded on the hat stand by the door.

"Yeah, you too!"

There was no time to lose. He could not take a cab since he had not booked any and going with his own two feet would take him nearly an hour. He knew that an hour would be way too long and that his body would not be able to cope.

From the moment he had read that Y/N had been cheeky enough not to wear any undergarments, he had felt a bulge flourishing. He had benefitted from the half-time to try and get rid of the tide that was boiling in his boxers, to no avail.

He then decided to take the tube, hoping in his innermost that the next train wouldn't last too long to arrive and that it wouldn't be too crowded. The Northern line usually was not at that time of the night but it was a game night so who knew...

He ran to the Angel train station as his phone indicated that the next train would be there in 10 minutes.

Cal, 11.09 pm: Shit, Y/N, you've got me running... The things I wouldn't do to fuck you...

Cal, 11.12 pm: U there?

But Y/N too was busy running. If the road from Regent's Park to Primrose Hill was a rather short one, she had taken too much time parting from her friends and was now late for Callum's plans.

Y/N, 11.14 pm: It's only your warm-up Cal'

Cal, 11.16 pm: From now on, it's "sir" for you!

Only a few seconds after reading the instruction, Y/N heard her phone writhe again.

Cal, 11.16 pm: If you're not here in ten minutes, I swear things will go very wrong for you!

It was all that Y/N needed to go back to her running although she was aroused at the idea that things could go "very wrong" according to her boyfriend.

She had one last street to walk by. She looked at her phone: 11.23 pm. Why are the London streets so long, she thought...

Finally the door to the Georgian hôtel particulier they shared with three other tenants. 11.25 pm.

She walked in only to notice that Callum was standing under the bare lightbulb in their living room.

"Congratulations for the game!"

"Yeah...", Callum said absent-mindedly. Y/N understood what Callum was doing: he was going through all the possibilities he had to take as much pleasure with her.

In love, Callum was the romantic type with a twist. It did not take him much to change from Dr. Jekyll to Mr. Hyde but he always valued Y/N's pleasure over his, always listening to the echoes of her lust. He was a passionate lover beyond the shadow of a doubt.

But that night, Chelsea had won and a deal is a deal.

Callum walked in a painfully slow pace towards Y/N with his large hands behind his back. When he was at her level, he stood in a parallel way behind her back and with one hand started descending on Y/N's dress. He had to check by himself.

Careful as not to touch her genitalia for the time being as he was not willing to surrender now, he grazed her hips and noticed that she had not lied.

"You really didn't wear no panties, huh?"

"I wouldn't lie to you, Cal"

Callum clucked his tongue and corrected her while putting his two hands on her shoulders "What did I say? It's "sir" for the misbehaving girls who wear slim dresses with nothing under them"

"I wouldn't lie to you, Sir"

Callum flipped Y/N around so that she was now facing him and ignited a symphony of kisses on her neck, her forehead and finally on her mouth. With each kiss, he went stronger too which Y/N replied by forcing her tongue to meet his.

Callum pulled her even closer and was ready to take her right there on the spot but he had another plans. With the contact of his beige chino trousers over her velvet dress, Y/N could spot the bulge that Callum had tried so hard to hide.

She might have looked a little too much for Callum had to intervene "Since you seem to like what you see, how about you get on your pretty knees and suck me off while you're at it"

"Yes, sir"

Y/N hoped that she would not be the cause for a pond on the floor as she had not anticipated that not wearing underwear could come with such consequences.

She executed herself and got on her knees. Right there, in the living room by the sole light emanating from the lightbulb and with the only sound of the supporters from afar.

She used Callum's legs as a support to get down and nodded at her boyfriend's "Are you okay with that?"

She was eager for the touch she had craved for almost ten days. When Callum had to leave abruptly earlier in the night, she had sensed it as a treason. Surely, he knew what he was doing, not giving her any attention for days and all of a sudden being all smitten.

He knew th ehold he had on her and knew the mess she would become if he started a fire only to let the sparks burning behind him.

Y/N then took Callum's trousers and boxers off in one brief moment, thus revealing the proud length that was finally being acknowledged and addressed.

Without further ado, Y/N stroked the thick column with her right hand, taking care of the two other inhabitants with her other one.

Callum could at last savour the fruit of his team's victory and his patience paying.

He was still standing tall on his two feet and came to the dramatic conclusion that he would soon need a pillar to rest on if he did not wish to fall. And would need one very soon as a matter of fact, considering the speed Y/N had gotten her hands used to. He chose Y/N's hair as a pillar and started running his hands in it.

All in her reactions appeared as though she would follow to the letter his commands. She had hungry plums in place of her eyes that manifested her lust to get more from the interaction. And her mouth was watering in expectation of the forbidden fruit that she would gladly receive. Slight moans slipped through her teeth, echoed by Callum's bestial growl.

Some foam oozed out of the head of his member, which seemed to be the signal Y/N had waited to get her mouth have a taste at it. She lapped up the drops of cum before getting more inside.

"All fucking night, I've been dreaming about this..."

"... And Chelsea winning too, I suppose?" Y/N retorted as she caught her breath back.

"Only close second to this", he assured with a moan on the corner of his lips and his hands directing her mouth to find its way back on where it was aching.

Callum's head tilted back as the petite mort was about to overflow and take him in its wake "Oh! Fuck, Y/N"

Once Callum's cock was empty of its ambrosia, Callum held a hand at Y/N to invite her to stand up and once she stood in front of him, he kissed her. In his kiss, he led the parade towards their bedroom.

"Anything else I can do for you, sir?" Y/N playfully inquired in a moment of respite that her lover had been generous to offer. In fact, he also needed it as he was still panting from the kissing and the blowjob.

"Ride me", Callum said in a deadpan tone.

"Anything you want, sir!"

Callum had only had the time to pick his boxers from the floor of the living room but had relinquished his trousers over there. He lay all of his tall body on the bed, taking off his shirt in the process.

Still standing by the end of the bed, Y/N got her knees on the extremity of it, moving on all fours heading straight and as soft as a panther to her boyfriend.

She straddled him, pushing her hair to one side of her face. As she could feel the bulge forming again under her pounding groin, she took off her dress, passing the piece of cloth over her head. In a second when she did not have eyes on Callum as the dress was right before her eyes, he fondled the two pomegranates that introduce themselves to him.

He had straightened up and was now in a right angle to the headboard. In a perfect position to let his lips wander right between the two breasts.

"Fuck! You just never stop being gorgeous, do you?"

Y/N rubbed her pelvis against the actor's boxers on the spot where his growing protrusion was.

"Good God, I hope you're enjoying yourself... Teasing me like that..."

Y/N continued pleasuring her cavity as she purred at Callum's words. To help her on her merry-go-round and because he was craving more, he held her by her hips, enabling circles of bliss. He felt as though he was a bull on a rodeo stand, enjoying the view and wandering on her stomach, breasts and neck.

If there was one thing Callum loved above all, it was to see Y/N being satisfied. In their sex life, it translated in him usually being aroused by the simple sight of her coming. He could come too if he saw just how great it was for her.

"You're so bloody hot!", he commented almost breathless "but I really need to feel how wet you've gotten for me"

Y/N removed just enough of his boxers to grasp the tip of his cock which she plunged into her in one swift movement and carried on riding her boyfriend"

Y/N came some minutes later, too glad that she was finally getting all the attention she deserved. When Callum joined her, he let go of Y/N as she seemed exhausting from so much riding. As she lay on the bed, he slid under the sheets, to the level of her waterfall, desperate to have a taste of both fluids.

It was Y/N's turn to pull Callum's hair to show him how she wanted to be pleasured which Callum blindly followed. Shutting his eyes, he could feel the drops filling his mouth.

His tongue found its way through the humid weather. Y/N had always loved her lover's meticulousness when it came to that subject. It was as though he was under a mysterious spell, completely in trance. He was devoted and took all his time to give her all that she deserved.

Y/N wiggled under his moving head, moaning louder and louder by every stroke his tongue was taking.

"Callum!", she cried in the night as the supporters had grown quieter.

This time around, Callum did not correct her as having her come with his Christian name on her lips was worth all the gold in the world.

#callum turner #theseus scamander #callum turner x reader #smut #second part #one shot #though in two parts #never been good with maths #plot what plot #sir kink

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bitchapalooza · 4 years ago

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Nothing

Tw for mentions of death and talking about death

What is it like on the other side?

Is the grass really that much greener?

Do the birds chirp for the fallen?

Is heaven really a place to desire, hell to fear?

There he sat. Trembling in the dirty, muddied trenches. He, the young German lad, clenched his rifle to his chest as if it would shield him from the war. Fix all his problems.

Will there be a tunnel of light as so many claim?

Voices of heaven's angels guiding him home?

Loved ones at the gate awaiting the arrival of their fallen brother?

Germany looked to his side. His reluctantly claimed friend, Northern Italy, was strangely calm. His eyes a dull brown as he stared off into space.

Is it just like sleeping?

Or is it painful?

How much will it hurt?

Ludwig had never died before. The Great War is his first war. Hopefully not his last either. His brother was hesitant to allow him to enter the fight, knowing how young and inexperienced he was. But eventually he allowed it. And so here he was. Covered in mud. Sweat. His own silent tears from the previous night.

His hands shook as he felt the harsh pang in his chest as another young German soldier died. And another. And another.

Gilbert said he'd get used to that.

Ludwig turned to Feliciano. With how still the elder was, Ludwig swore he was a statue. Frozen in place. Everything about him seemed. Muted. Off. Depressing to look at. He looked his age this way. Not a young twenty-something but rather a man in his mid thirties. A tired man. Old. Still actively aging. Eyes hanging low and dark underneath. Cracked lips.

A still corpse. Just like the ones out there.

"Have you ever died before?" He asked without thinking.

When he realized what he'd said he tried to apologize. But North Italy spoke before him.

"Yes." He said. A simple, quick answer as opposed to the long winded ones the Italian usually gave.

Of course he has. Most of everyone older than him has died more than once already.

Ludwig bit his lip in fear of the outcome of his next question.

"What.... What was it like?"

North Italy smiled to himself. Almost nostalgic. A bit unsettling considering the topic but Germany ignored it.

Then he chuckled.

Germany's heart sunk. Stomach acid eating away at it as his hands began to trimble. He was expecting this war to tire the Italian down but to witness this side of him… It was nerve racking.

"You really are young. So I'll let you in on a little secret." The Italian turned to face the German. Bright brown eyes dulled. Clouded over. Full of lost hope.

A mirror image of the battlefield, Germany compared.

If he blicked, Ludwig feared it meant another young life was taken out there.

"If you ever find yourself in a situation where death is unavoidable— which you will—" The Italian raised a hand to his head. Reminiscent of a gun. He jerked his wrist, signifying it being triggered. "—remember to let them aim for the head." He grinned as he slowly lowered it back down. A broken, tired grin.

Ludwig's stomach churned. Cotton filled his mouth. His lungs. All the moisture was soaked up in an instant, leaving his throat dry.

"W-what..?" He rasped, fidgeting with his rifle. Gripping it tighter.

Feliciano shrugged. "It's immediate. It hurts way less than bleeding out on the hard cold ground. Hurts more when you wake up, too, because it hasn't fully healed over." The Italian rested his hand on over his torso where Ludwig had seen the ghost of a scar once. He internally winced, feeling horrible.

"At least with a headshot, all you'd suffer from is a headache after waking. Maybe a little nausea if you're unlucky enough."

The words of experience, Germany thought. He suddenly felt guilty of those few times as a boy where he'd ask Prussia to play mere days after he'd come home from war due to injury. Where he complained of a migraine that wouldn't go away.

Just what did his big brother go through?

"Then," Germany gulped. "What.. What is there? After you die? What is it like?"

Silence stretched between the two. It felt like hours had passed.

Ludwig was prepared to ask again when Feliciano spoke up.

"Nothing."

"...Pardon?"

"There's nothing there."

Germany shivered. "There's... Nothing?"

"That's right." Feliciano nodded.

"Nothing."

#tw death mention #tw death #hetalia #hetalia fanfiction #hetalia germany #hetalia north italy #hetalia veneziano #apologies if anything historical is inaccurate ><#i wrote this while i had no wifi access

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footballxwrites · 4 years ago

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A ben angst one please where ur together and u only find out hes going to chelsea through the media so u confront him and it ends in angst

*Didn’t proof read cos I’m a lazy sod, ignore any grammar mistakes and that lol x

“You better get packing then eh” you heard the voice of your best friend speak the moment you opened the front door, only for her to be stood with a huge smile across face and for some reason excited for you. “What are you on about now” you giggled, strolling through to the living room as she happily followed behind, chatting what sounded like a load of gibberish seeing as you hadn’t the first clue as to what she was on about, “we’ll surely you’re going down London with him- aw you’re gonna a London gal, leaving the northern roots behind-“ she rambled on as your Brian tried to process all the questions she was asking by the minute.

“First off how’s about telling me what you’re on about babe and why you thinking I’m moving to London all of a sudden” you laughed, stopping her in her tracks when she realised you clearly hadn’t been on social media today, “oh erm...I’ve put my foot right in it now” she nervously replied, hesitant to answer your question. “Come on you have to tell me now you’re worrying me” you said with furrowed eyebrows, knowing you were bout to get the Intel from her one way or another, “I mean these are just articles so it might not be for certain or anything” she quickly shrugged with a small laugh passing the phone for you to scroll through the hundred headlines including your boyfriend’s name.

Your heart dropped at the news of a transfer, it was bad enough seeing it meant you’d have to travel a couple more hours down the country and go even further south but it hurt to know the papers found out before you, he didn’t even have to decency to tell you at all never mind face to face. “I’m going to kill him” you said through gritted teeth, running a hand through your already messed up curls as your friend thought it’d be best to make tracks and leave you to wait for Ben to get home from probably his last training session at Leicester it would seem. “I’m sure he’ll have an explanation for all this, Ben’s not the type to keep things from you” your friend sorrowfully spoke, giving you a hug before heading for the door, “yeah I hope so” you sadly smiled, heartbroken to say the least.

——————————————

“Something smells good what you been cooking” a happy looking Benjamin smiled, waltzing into the dining room where you were sat at the table emotionless as ever. “When were you going to tell me, tomorrow, next week or maybe in a months time when you’ve got your bags packed and ready to go” you spat, shaking your head as you sat firm with folded arms, “it’s not like that I was planning to tell you, of course I was” he sighed, taking a seat at the table across from you, his voice trembly as ever, preparing to have the conversation he’s been putting off.

“I didn’t want to say anything till I knew it was for certain...and till i signed the contract” he quietly said, reaching a hand over the table to grab yours to which you avoided, too hurt to even look him in the eyes, “and I’m guessing that was today” you sniffed, putting two and two together as he softly nodded. “I know I should’ve told you, I didn’t really know how to” he gently said, slumping back on his chair as you raised your gaze and presented him with a nice big frown, “well Ben, you sit down and say I’m off to play for Chelsea football club because it’s something I’ve been wanting to do for ages, would you care to join me down London?” you joked in a huff, wondering that goes through that lads head at times if he can’t even tell his own girlfriend that’s he planning a transfer.

“It’ll be a fresh start, for the two of us” he smiled resting his arms on the table, carefree as usual and clearly not taking your feelings into account, “my job is here in Leicester, my life is HERE, how can I just throw it all away” you sighed with a sarcastic laugh as he looked disappointed by your reaction but I mean what did he expect, for you to just say ‘fuck my career, course I’ll come to London’.

“It’s a big place, London, more opportunities, higher pay...you’ll get a job no problem” he blurted out in a hope you might be persuaded by his efforts, “it’s not just about that Ben, I already live three hours away from my family and that’s hard as it is...seeing them what, four times a year if I’m lucky. Not to mention the only friends I have are here” you sobbed, not ready to make the sacrifice of seeing them even less. “But we- we can travel, get the train up. I know it’s a distance but we’ll make it work, I swear” he continued, springing ideas at you left right and centre, “I can’t...you know I love you Ben and would go to the moon and back for you, but there’s too much to lose. I’m sorry” you interrupted, taking his hands in yours as he sighed in defeat, devastated by your faint words.

“Right, well thanks a lot Y/N nice to know you’re a supportive girlfriend” he noted, pulling his hands from yours and leaning back in his chair once again with a groan, “what about me and my career? A new chapter in my football life is too much to ask for is it? You know if the roles were reversed I’d be already up them stairs packing the suitcases” he stated in disgust as you sat very much taken aback by his selfishness. “Don’t you dare make me out to be the bad guy Chilwell because we both know I’m not” you fought back, standing your ground as an awkward silence filled the air.

“It’s your choice, come to London with me and start fresh or stay here in Leicester alone, without our relationship” he said, clear as ever with the two options which completely tore you apart, having no desire whatsoever to go with him. “I’m not going Ben, I’m so sorry in that I can’t and I’ll wish you good luck with everything and my love for you will never go away...” you concluded, giving him a light kiss upon his head as he placed hand to your cheek and stroked it, the heartbreak evident in his eyes. “I love you too much to argue with your decision” he hastily laughed as you smiled, “I go the start of next month so I’ll leave the house to you, it’s better than selling it and the least I can do for you” he elaborated as you nodded before excusing yourself from the room, not quite believing your relationship of three years was at an end 💔

#football #footballer #football blurb #footballer imagine #ben chilwell #chelsea fc

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dany-is-my-queen · 4 years ago

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Born To Be Yours | Part X

Sansa Stark x Fem! Baratheon! Reader (Daenerys Targaryen x Fem! Baratheon! Reader eventually)

Season 1-8

Word Count: 3,387

Note: This is the end of S2! Thank you for reading <3

Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 Pt.6 Pt.7 Pt.8 Pt.9

“Are you out of your mind?” Cersei peevishly protested. You heavily sighed. “You just want to prove yourself, and impress that northerner friend of yours-“ You cut her off.

“I don’t need to prove anything.” She rolled her eyes.

“So what do you want to earn from it? You’ll stay in the Red Keep with the other highborn ladies. End of this conversation.” You pressed your lips, not pushing harder cause the result would be the same. If you are in the same place Sansa is when this starts then you can keep an eye on her in case things go sideways for your brother’s army.

You stormed out of her chambers. Cersei might not hold the same affection she does for your brothers and sister but she doesn’t want you to die, in her own strange way she cares, not that she knows how to show it.

The bells rang, the troops were ready, Joffrey had the stupid idea of attacking the Starks now that they were distracted. He came to his senses thanks to you, he finally kind of admitted you are were right. And that that wasn’t a prudent decision.

Truth be told, you were afraid, afraid for your family safety, this is war, nothing less, you were always so self-confident, you believed the good would persevere, the strongest and largest forces would win, the smartest. You can be so wrong about that fact... Tonight a lot of people will die fighting for his own King, and just because your brother is a bastard. You might as well be one too, but you are not, you are Y/N Baratheon.

The Throne Room was lit by great flaming braziers. “I see you changed your mind.” Tyrion asserted.

“My mother is very convincing.” You jested. “Actually, I pondered it through, Sansa needs me, she’d be devastated if some plucky soldier manages to drive an ax through my heart.”

“You can’t die before confessing your feelings to your lady.” He playfully remarked. She and Shae arrived, they slightly bowed.

“Lady Sansa and Sheila.” He said in purpose.

“Shae.” She corrected him.

“Shae, yes.”

“What are you doing here?” You questioned half surprised, you didn’t expect to see her until you were on the Keep.

“King Joffrey sent me to see him off, my Princess, my Lord. And you? I thought-“

“I’m not going anywhere.” She smiled broadly, acknowledging you will stay by her side.

“Sansa, come here.” Joffrey called for her. Shae and your uncle discreetly said goodbye to one another.

“Be safe. You are my favorite uncle.”

“I know.” He winked.

“Some of those boys will never come back.” Sansa didn’t take her eyes off the group of men heading outside.

“Joffrey will. The worst always live.” She emotionless said. Shae frowned, a bit worried you’d be angry about that, you couldn’t care less.

At the Meagor’s holdfast you sat next to little Tommen. You took a few seconds to stare at him, what a fine, decent, and handsome prince he was, unlike Joffrey, he deserves to live, he deserves the very best of the world and more. Across the room, Sansa and Shae were talking to each other. Occasionally you glanced at her.

“I don’t want us to die, Y/N.” Your baby brother said.

“We are not. I promise you, my little lion. Your big sister is here to protect you.” You squeezed his hand.

“I’m glad Myrcella is not here.”

“So am I.” Though you missed her every single day since she left King’s Landing, you knew she was safe, you were grateful that uncle Tyrion sent her away in time.

Suddenly you heard your mother’s voice calling for the Stark girl. She shyly stood in front of her. Perhaps Sansa was scared that Cersei would be angry to see her show devotion for you, she thought she might get scolded for staring at her daughter in a lingering way.

“I was wondering where our little dove has flown. You look pale, child. Is your red flower still blooming?”

“Yes.”

“Fitting, isn’t it? The men will bleed out there and you will bleed here. Pour Lady Sansa some wine.”

“I’m not thirsty, your grace.”

“So? I didn’t offer you water. Pour my daughter wine too.” The handmaid gave you the cups, you didn’t want to drink to be honest, just gave it a small sip, Sansa repeated your act. “I’m glad you didn’t insist on nonsense, my dear. War is no place for someone like you.” You scowled.

“That’s not the reason I’m not there.” Sansa saw you tensing, she changed the subject once you took another gulp of wine.

“What is he doing here?” Referring to the man that beheaded her father.

“Ser Ilyn? He’s here to defend us. When the axes smashes down those doors, you might be glad to have him.”

“I have my sword right here.” You grasped the cold weapon, resting in the armchair.

“After all that Jaime and Robert taught you you’ll be able to protect us all.” She scoffed. You waved off her comment.

“The lads caught a groom and two maids trying to sneak away with a stolen horse and some gold cups.” Ser Mandon Moore informed.

“The battle’s first traitors. Have Ser Ilyn see to them. Put their heads on spikes outside the stables as a warning.” She commanded him. “The only way to keep the small folk loyal is to make certain they fear you more than they do the enemy. Remember that if you ever hope to become a queen.”

“That’s a wrong understatement. Make them love you, not despise you.” You stated, not doubting of your words.

“You would definitively be a weak queen, my love.”

Everyone could already notice the Queen Regent was tipsy, maybe even drunk. She didn’t bring to care. Tommen fell asleep an hour ago, you didn’t want to let your guard down, in case you needed to run.

“Come, darling. Step closer. I know I’ve been hard on you. Lately it seems like you want to die. I can be a pain on your neck, but I can’t lose you, Y/N, I can’t.” She kinda sought to appease.

“It’s alright, mom. I’m still in one piece.”

“I have never been an example for you to follow.” You couldn’t get to the light all the faults she has had since you were a toddler, however, it wasn’t the time, nor was she in a position to talk about it.

“You can always start over.” It’s all you said back.

“She is very pretty, isn’t she?” You fixed your eyes on Sansa, she was holding hands with the other ladies, sitting in a circle on the floor. Some would say it was too obvious, your mother being one of them. You didn’t get to answer cause she was calling her once again.

“What are you doing?” Cersei asked, well knowing.

“Praying.” She plainly said.

“You’re perfect, aren’t you? Praying, what are you praying for?”

“For the gods to have mercy on us all.”

“Oh, on us all?”

“Yes, your grace.”

“Even me?”

“Of course, your grace.” You just listened to their conversation.

“Even Joffrey?”

“Joffrey is my-“

“Oh, shut up, you little fool. Praying for the gods to have mercy on us all. The gods have no mercy. That’s why they are gods. My father told me that when he caught me praying. My mother had just died. I didn’t really understand the concept of death, the finality of it. I thought that if I prayed hard enough the gods would return her to me. I was four.”

“Your father doesn’t believe in the gods?”

“He believes in them, he just doesn’t likes them very much. Y/N prays as well. But it’s okay as long as she knows who the real saviors are. Here.” She threw her a small pillow. “Another for her.”

“She doesn’t want to keep drinking, mother.” You spoke.

“Is that true, little dove?”

“I-I-“ Cersei was harassing her, the stutter gave her away, and you were growing weary of your mother’s behavior.

“You are just as frightened as this flock of hens. I should have been born a man. I rather face a thousand swords than to be shut up inside.”

“That was my intent too.” You objected.

“My daughter is gorgeous, don’t you think so? And she desires to spoil that face of hers out there.”

“Yes, your grace, she looks a lot like you.”

“Not the hair. These women. It was expected of me to ask them here. As it will be of you if you ever become Joffrey’s queen. If my wretched brother should somehow prevail, these hens will return to their cocks and crow of how my courage inspired them, lifted their spirits.”

“And if the city should fall?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? The Keep should hold for a time, if it were anyone else outside those gates I might hope for a private audience, but this is Stannis Baratheon. I’d have a better chance seducing his horse.” Sansa remained quiet. “Have I shocked you, little dove? Tears aren’t a woman’s only weapon. The best one’s between your legs. Learn how to use it. Do you have any notion of what happens when a city is sacked? No, you wouldn’t. If the city falls, these fine women should be in for a bit of a rape. Half of them will have bastards in their bellies come the morning. You’ll be glad of your red flower then. When a man’s blood is up, anything with tits looks good. A precious thing like you will look very, very good. A slice of cake just waiting to be eaten.” Cersei was tormenting Sansa because she wanted to bother you, upset you, and she achieved it, the uncomfortable look on the redhead's face was evident. She drank deeply from her glass.

“No one is going to rape Lady Sansa.” You promised, you wouldn’t let them get near her.

“Her hero will protect her. Yes. You, my sweet, sweet, silly daughter.” Cersei mocked, and Sansa flushed.

Cersei continued to tell Sansa stories about Jaime and her when they were children, you tried to distract yourself with your baby brother, you prayed for your uncle to succeed, for this to be over soon. You did not keep drinking, you were getting fond of wine, even ale. Now was not the moment to fill your veins with alcohol.

The Queen Regent apparently got curious about the foreign handmaiden, she didn’t act nervous, not even a bit, she asked her to tell a story, when Shae was about to begin Lancel burst in shouting at Cersei. He reported Tyrion’s destruction of the fleet and the landing of Stannis’s troops. She ordered him to fetch Joffrey inside.

“Your grace, what? The King’s presence is good for the morale.” He quibbled.

“Bring him back to his chambers now.”

“Not here?”

“With the women and children? Do you want him to be mocked as a coward for the rest of his life?”

“He is a coward.” You said out loud. She gave you a withering stare.

“Silence, Y/N.”

“Now, Ser Lancel.” He left, unconvinced. “Little dove, the real reason Ser Ilyn is here is for us. Stannis may take the city and the throne but he will not take us alive.”

The Lannister boy returned, he told the gold cloaks lost all heart when they saw Joffrey leaving. Cersei took both Tommen’s and your hand and rushed you off to the exit. Sansa tried to follow your gaze.

“What are you doing?” You baffling questioned.

“Buying us some time.”

“You can’t leave, these ladies-“

“Don’t make me repeat myself.” You got out of her grip.

“Are you coming back with her?” Your silence was the answer.

“Y/N, don’t go. I’m scared and if you are not with me-“ Tommen pleaded.

“My brave little lion. You are going to be just fine. You are very strong, just like father. I’ll be with you soon I promise.” You kissed his forehead. You didn’t look up to meet Cersei’s infuriated glare, you ran to Sansa’s room, where she must likely be.

You could never leave her behind. She was all that matters, Tommen will be safe with Cersei, she will defend him till her last breath. Something inside you told you uncle Stannis won’t be sitting on the throne tonight.

“...you won’t hurt me.” Sandor got there first, it was very odd, he seemed untroubled, under the circumstances of the battle. Sansa was relieved to see you.

“Of course he won’t.”

“No, princess, I won’t hurt her.” Sansa was holding the doll Ned gave her when they first arrived at King’s Landing.

“Why are you here?”

“Your big brother is a cunt. I won’t spend any other second of my life protecting a cunt. I wish you both good fortune, you might survive.” He walked out, leaving you alone with the northerner.

“Y/N... you came back. You must go with the Queen and the Prince.” You shook your head, taking her hand.

“No. My place is with you. I shall protect you and keep you from any harm. Remember, I’m not going anywhere.” She buried her face in your neck, the embrace was full of warmth. You laid in her bed, she gently placed her head on your chest. You were certain she could hear your shaky heartbeat, not for the war, nor for the fear but because of having her this close, you might as well confess your love right now, you don’t even know for sure if there is going to be a tomorrow.

She lifted her face, her eyes were dark, yours were too, there was only one thing you were dying to do. You softly caressed her cheek, your breaths became heavier, she closed her eyes and leaned closer, you sealed the kiss, her lips were oh so very thin, they were also edgy, a brief seconds later that changed, she deepened into it, melting your heart and body. Her hands resting in the back of your head and yours on her waist.

You smiled before the kiss ended, it felt like hours. You hope this is your last first kiss, with the woman you love. The bells rang again, you knew it was a sound of victory, you could tell the difference. Uncle Tyrion prevailed, you won.

“I love you. I’ve always loved you. Since the first day you came into my life.” You mumbled in Sansa’s ear.

“I can’t even put into words all the things you make me feel with just being around. You are the finest, loveliest, tenderest, and most beautiful person I have ever known, and even that is an understatement.” She stuck her arm around you.

“You intoxicate my soul with your precious blue eyes, my lady.” You said in a playful, sweet tone.

“Is that a good thing?” You giggled.

“Yes, yes it is.” You stayed in the cozy bed for another while. This felt so good that a part of you didn’t believe it was actually happening.

A couple of days passed since the victory. Uncle Tyrion was unconscious. You hoped he’d wake up soon. Now you were all gathered on the Throne Room, you stood next to Lord Varys.

Joffrey proclaimed your grandfather, Tywin Lannister, the new Hand of the King, and the savior of the city. He also awarded Lord Baelish with the Castle of Harrenhal for brokering the alliance between House Lannister and House Tyrell.

Loras was called to step forward, he knelt before the throne. It was so good to see him again.

“If your family would ask anything of me, ask it, and it shall be yours.” Joffrey stated.

“Your grace, my sister Margaery, her husband was taken from us before. She remains innocent.” You could notice he was still grieving for Renly, you knew him too well. “I would ask you to find it in your heart to do us the great honor of joining our houses.” You weren’t utterly surprised by this request, Margaery has always dreamt of being Queen. Still, you found Sansa’s unreadable expression from atop de gallery. This was swelling news.

“...For the good of the realm, your councilors beg you to set Sansa Stark aside.” Your mother finished saying.

“I would like to heed your wishes and the wishes of my people, but I took a holy vow.”

“I have consulted with the High Septon and he assures me that the crimes of the Starks against the realm free you from any promise you have made to them in the sight of the gods.” Maester Pycelll concluded.

“The gods are good. I am free to heed my heart. Ser Loras, I will gladly wed your sweet sister. You will be my queen and I will love you from this day until my last day.” You were beyond happy for this but also you couldn’t help feel bad for Margaery, she was one of your best friends, you cared for her and now she is the one who will live hell with your brother. That is what she really wants, she’ll know how to handle it, you hope, maybe he’ll truly love her, in his odd own way. Your northerner lady was finally free from that horrendous engagement.

“Thank you for coming. You saved us, Loras. I’ll be forever in your debt.” You gave Loras a big hug, he reciprocated.

“You are like my little sister. If I can help I’ll always will.”

“I’m sorry about Renly.” He ducked his head.

“He was your uncle, Y/N. I am sorry too.”

“Y/N! It feels like it’s been ages, right? Always a pleasure to see you.” Margaery approached you and her brother.

“I can say the same. Congratulations on your betrothal to Joffrey, my lady.” She grinned widely.

“I don’t know him very well but if he is anything like you then I’ll be very happy.” You returned the polite smile. You better warn her, not today though.

“I’ve missed you so much. One of these days we should assemble and chat.”

“Absolutely.” You excused yourself, leaving Loras and Margaery a bit confused for your sudden departure. They shared a complicit gaze.

“Lady Sansa.” Littlefinger bowed and turned around. You don’t like him being near her, you waited until he disappeared into the crowd before addressing the Stark girl.

“Have I told you how beautiful you look with that southern hairstyle? It suits you perfectly.” She blushed.

“Have I told you you are the cutest girl in the Seven Kingdoms and beyond?” You chuckled. She smiled, it was an unburden one that you haven’t seen in a while. “Things will get better or worse from now on?”

“Don’t stress about the future, my lady. Live in the present and make the most of it.” You tenderly said.

“With you.”

“Yes, if it is with someone else I’ll get jealous.” You winked at her.

Only Varys, Podrick the squire, and Shae came to visit Tyrion. You of course went to check on him too, he did all the hard work, he defended the city when Joffrey fled the battlefield. Still, he didn’t even mention him.

“...The histories won’t mention you, but we will not forget.” Lord Varys assured your uncle.

“How are you feeling?” You entered the room.

“A Kingsguard almost split me in two. I am now the monster the world has always said I am.”

“No. You were amazing. You didn’t back down. You fought bravely to defend the ones you love. I won’t forget either.”

“Thanks, my dear Y/N. I wouldn’t let those bastards get to you. Is your lady okay?”

“She is. We will have to catch up, but that will be at another time. You need to rest to fully recover. Let’s don’t keep your lady waiting.” You alluded to Shae. At least he has various people who love him just the way he is.

In the next couple of weeks your relationship with Sansa evolved, you became closer, letting your feeling flow out without any shame, you love her in secret from Cersei and Joffrey, and the others who wouldn’t accept it, who would do anything to tear you apart. Things had changed, but for the better.

#game of thrones fic #got #sansa stark x reader #sansa x reader #sansa x fem baratheon reader #house baratheon #baratheon reader #game of thrones x reader

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hws-cernunnos · 4 years ago

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Italian 101:expressing romantic love and attraction

As promised I'm back with the romantic version of this post :D Link

As usual long post ahead (❁´◡`❁)very long oof

Let's start this journey by defining each role with it's name :)

It can be quite useful to understand a certain type of mentality ! You'll see what I mean right away.

Boyfriend is ragazzo and girlfriend is ragazza and they literally mean boy and girl ahah. Now, it's normal for unmarried native English speaking couples in their late 20s and beyond, to call each other boyfriend/girlfriend. That's really not a thing in Italian. Ragazzo/a are only used by teenagers because it does feel quite infantile to refer to your s/o in such terms in our language 😅 especially if you live together... Ex:{nation x}è il mio ragazzo/la mia ragazza

... Which brings me to: compagno/a. It's the word used by adults to refer to their s/o and it means partner as in life partner and it really doesn't matter whether you're only dating, living under the same roof and/but decided not to marry(but maybe start a family!) it's still the correct terminology! So realistically the Italy Bros would call their s/o their partner, at their current age :) And oh! If you ship them with Vanya it could be a great pun since it also means comrade ahah. Kids of course don't make use of it because a) it indicates a committed relationship as I explained, it would be weird b)it kinda sounds like classmate lol (compagno di classe). Ex:{nationx}è il mio compagno/la mia compagna

Weirdly enough it's not that uncommon to hear a teen say fidanzato/a, which supposedly should only indicate your fiance ahah. As a kid it profoundly amused me to hear fellow 12-year-olds talk about their fidanzati. But it is indeed a common way to call your loved one and I used it myself to talk about my friends' bfs/gfs. As you can imagine it lost such connotation, but I can say that many still feel quite nervous about being called fidanzato/a because they feel like they're about to step on the altar. Ex:{nationx}è il mio fidanzato/la mia fidanzata

Talking about altar... Husband is marito and wife is moglie. On the other hand groom is sposo and bride is sposa. Ex:{nationx}è mio marito/mia moglie. As you can see they don't need an article, *John Mulaney voice* quella è mia moglie! I'm so sorry.

A more yoyo *snort* way to refer to your bf/gf is tipo/a, which literally means dude/dudette ahah. Ex. {Nationx}è il mio tipo/la mia tipa😎.

Onto dialectal versions:) very important tbh, could give that something more to your texts. A common way to call your bf/gf in many northern Italian languages (except my own rjrnh) is moroso/a. It stands for "amoroso", loving and it takes the article according to the language; in most cases it does, in Veneto it doesn't. Ex:{nationx}è il mio moroso/la mia morosa or (in Veneto's case) ho visto mio moroso parlare con mio fratello(I've seen my boyfriend talk to my brother). Would be cute in a social media au like, bio "mio moroso🥺" link to the poor lad's account.

In many southern Italian regions you can find zito/a :) (it's used in Apulia, Sicily and Calabria as far as I know!!) and it pretty much means lad/lass.Ex:{nationx}è il mio zito/la mia zita. I'll assume someone like Mano would use it in a more intimate context.

Common terms of endearment and silly pet names ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

A very common mistake I've encountered in ffs is "mi amore". Italian really doesn't work like Spanish, in our language "mi" isn't a possessive adjective but a particle that indicates the indirect object :3

Ex:Mi piace il gelato.(I like ice cream, Ice cream is liked by me).

Mio is what you're looking for ☺ and it doesn't change according to gender because the adjective takes the word's grammatical gender (amore is masculine). In this case the adjective should be postponed "amore mio", unless in an example like this:

Ex. Sei il mio amore(you're my love).

Tesoro works the same way!! "tesoro mio".

As I mentioned in my platonic love post patata/o is very common and so is It's diminutive patatina/o, but it seems like carotina/o (little carrot) is popular as well (not as much tho! Once again the masculine form is pure invention ahah :)) .

Many use sugary sweet stuff like pucci-pucci which don't really mean anything dbbd we all probably collectively think they sound cute(or irritating, depends who you ask).

One I've seen a couple of times in ffs is caro/a...which indeed means dear in Italian!! But it's not that popular:( mostly because it sounds straight out a 50s commercial. It's used in a ironic way and once again ,with others I've mentioned in the other post ,to address someone who happens to be particularly annoying.

My favourite ones have to be respectively tato/a for Feli and principe for Mano. I truly thought tato/a(tatino/a) were panitalian but my main moots are from the South and they said it's not a thing there,,,? Quite the revelation. It doesn't mean anything, it's just baby talk and it's used for.. Anyone really... Your child, your pet, your bf... Might be a short form for the so popular patato but who knows ahah

Principe truly fucks me up. The idea of Romano calling his bf prince out all of things sends me. And yet it seems like it's quite popular in some parts of the South?? In my friend's @flamaflavio words "I've seen 30 something years old women use it". Oh btw princess is principessa just in case :3

Any kind of cute little animal is game(for example cucciolotto,little puppy or topolino/a little mouse that I've already mentioned). And ah in English there's this thing where you take your s/o name and add bear, in Italian it's orsacchiottino, little teddy bear.

Almost forgotten about it, a bad boy type of character might use dolcezza, sweet thing, or piccolo/a baby.

Let's conclude this post with some sentences o(〃＾▽＾〃)o

Sono innamorato/a di te "I'm in love with you"

Mi sono innamorato/a di te "I've fallen in love with you"

Ho una cotta per lui/lei "I've a crush on him/her"

A more sappy one could be "sei la luce dei miei occhi" (you're my eyes' light). It's also said by parents to their children

Ti adoro "I adore you"

Mi piaci "I like you"

Sono pazzo/a di lui/lei "I'm crazy for him/her"

I won't cover compliments but I can tell you how to say someone is hot ahah. You can say:

Che figo/a! (He/she's really hot!)

È davvero bono/a (He/she's really hot)

A funny way is "È proprio gnocco/a". My girl @flamaflavio introduced me to " È un intero piatto di gnocchi " "He/she/they is/are an entire plate of gnocchi" and I've never been the same😭

We also say "è proprio manzo" to talk about a guy ajsjsj. Manzo means beef, so I suppose it's the Italian version of "beefcake". On the same tone of the gnocchi plate a common meme is " Non è solo un manzo è un'intera macelleria " He's not only beef (a steak??)he's an entire butcher's.

In genovese slang(not language mind you, kids language ahhehs) we might jokingly say "Che beccio". A beccio is a very confident (and hot?definitely stylish) guy.

A more crass way can be "Che fregno/a"

Will keep this PG djdj but you can check this link out if you want some funny horny on main expressions ahah link

Aaand we're done!!! Just let me know if you've enjoyed this and what you'll like me to cover in next post 🥰 thanks for reading this

#aph italy #aph north italy #aph south italy #aph genoa #hws italy #hws north italy #hws south italy #hws genoa #italian #italian language #italian 101

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saultrunner48-theicebreakers · 3 years ago

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BLOG POST NUMBER ONE

In my young lad recollections, my grandmother in Sault Ste. Marie, Canada encountered a serious illness. My mother’s assistance was requested. As residents of Southern Michigan, my mother, toddler brother, and I set forth in our ancient Ford toward the border in late winter. Snow and ice were yet glued to the landscape. The journey was hazardous.

Then, as now, the trip required crossing two substantial bodies of water, the Straits of Mackinac separating Michigan’s two peninsulas, and the St. Mary’s River at the U.S./Canada border. At the time of our venture north, steel spans were but engineering dreams. Additionally, hills and flows of menacing ice invaded the winter Straits, bullying and badgering ships braving a crossing. Our jaunt was hopeless. Or was it?

Though in service two years before the Titanic, the ice breaker/ train ferry Chief Wawatum, an ugly and forbidding black hulk, provided the winter conveyance of automobiles, as well as rail cars, through the treachery of the Straits. Resting at the dock in Mackinaw City, she awaited the intermittent loading of cars that boarded alongside the occasional railcars towering over the loaded vehicles. As we awaited our turn to board, I recall being terrified of that floating beast, belching forth thickened plumes from her two stained stacks and screeching bellows of over-pressured steam. She stunk! She roared! She seemed as competent as a Model T Ford at the Indianapolis 500. But she was built as an icebreaker, and we had reached a significant challenge: reaching Canada required facing and overcoming icy obstacles.

Hindered by diminished light, Mom’s face grimaced as she was directed aboard the hungry hulk by conical lights swatted about by distracted crew. She infected her boys with terror as our Ford bumped and thumped over rails imbedded in the boat’s cargo deck. We were forcefully edged between two rail tanker cars. My brother began to cry, “Mommie, are we going to get squashed?” “Hush, son; let this crazy fellow get us to the spot he wants!”

Many minutes later we heard the thrump, thrump, thrump, as the steam pistons powered Wawatum’s propellers forward. We sensed the rise and collapse of the big ship as she bravely thrust herself through plates of ice thrust ominously toward the Chief, as though the winter winds detested her intrusion. At a walking pace, our steamship rose and dived as she hammered the frozen barriers. The seven-mile voyage taxed us with a more than an hour passage. Arriving in St. Ignace, Michigan, we resumed normal breathing. We had overcome the barrier: our journey continued.

This story I tell not solely because of my Irish roots (I can’t seem to avoid storytelling), but as a parable for introducing my class project. The project name is The Ice Breakers, a recollection of an activity I have maintained since mid-2018.

Among others, I serve local elementary school children who, for several reasons, are not well served by the nature of their individual learning patterns, because of domestic challenges at home, language barriers, acute anxiety, or, not infrequently, a simple need for more one-on-one human interaction than the traditional classroom cannot provide. These children, from kindergarten through fifth grade, face barriers that the absence of an easily transversed bridge prevents. Their life paths are blocked by barriers equivalent to the frozen plates in a northern winter. Their means of forging ahead are restricted, yet the usual “boat service” cannot handle the ice.

I am among a team of citizens, typically seniors, who serve as the “ice breakers” for these struggling human beings. Like the Chief Wawatum, we function beyond our life’s expectations. We are built to be tough. We are vintage humans: we have gained experience in tackling barriers. No, we are not trained educators: like the story of the Straits we help those without access to traditional means of crossing.

My project is the story of my experiences in ferrying young lives to a place of safe passage to their continued journey. The story is one is as meaningful to me as the memory of my own passage on the Chief Wawatum sixty-five years past.

Two lefties above brave the challenge of coloring our respective facial features (photo courtesy of Path to Shine, a non-profit organization).

#The photo at the top is one of the SS Chief Wawtam awaiting another winter corssing (public domain photo).

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weshallc · 4 years ago

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Thank you so much for putting up with me, I feel back in a Bernie state of mind now (I was far too chilled). Let’s see where we go from here.

BERNS NIGHT (revisited)

This has been a Poplar-on-Tweaven production brought to you by the Crown Inn and sponsored by Mount Busby Farm based on original characters from Call the Midwife.

CHAPTER FIVE: Ae Fond Kiss.

“Who Shall Say That Fortune Grieves Him. While The Star of Hope She Leaves Him?” Ae Fond Kiss, Robert Burns 1791

“I Pictured A Rainbow, You Held It In Your Hands.” The Whole of the Moon, The Waterboys 1985

Bernie grabbed Val’s arm to steady herself. Paddy stood in front of her fidgeting with the cobalt blue fabric with a wide green check overlayed with a thinner gold and black one. His fiddling pulled at the kilt pin weighing the piece of cloth down at the knee. The tiny silver dagger bearing his clan crest caught the light from the hall where Bernie remained stood stock still in the doorway.

Paddy then reached for the frilly white lace jabot fastened around his neck, pulling at the lace with one hand, as if it was choking him. The other hand straightened the black waistcoat with the three silver buttons, matching the three on the sleeves of the Montrose jacket. They in turn matched those perfectly polished down the front of both sides of the centre of that waist length black jacket.

Bernie’s dropped jaw started to quiver as a chuckle threatened to emerge. Paddy shot a look of accusation at Val who intern nipped Bernie’s arm. Her friend regained her composure.

“I told you she would think I look ridiculous,” Paddy spat at Val as if Bernie wasn’t in the room. It was however Bernie who responded as Val’s confidence appeared to waver.

“No, you don’t. It’s just a bit of a shock. I am not quite sure what’s going on.”

“We..well some people thought it might be nice to put on a Burns Supper. Like we used to...before-” Paddy started to falter as he noticed Bernie’s eyes mist over.

“For your birthday.” Piped in Val, trying to help Paddy out and regaining her confidence. “I will leave you to it, I’ve left Jack behind the bar and well he is still pretty green, if anyone asks for a cocktail we may be in danger of losing our licence.”

On Val’s departure, Bernie moved towards Paddy. The forgotten scarf Trixie had placed around her friend’s shoulders fell to the floor. Paddy bent down to pick it up.

“Oops, be careful, good job there is no-one stood behind you.”

Paddy straightened up swiftly and stroked down the back of his kilt. Bernie allowed a relief filled giggle as she saw Paddy’s frown soften. Taking the scarf from Paddy, she sighed. The pattern matched the tablecloths downstairs. “My mother’s tartan, they haven’t missed a trick, have they?”

“Trixie was most put out when her attempts to discover the Mannion tartan drew a blank.”

“Mannion is an Irish name, sorry.” Bernie wasn’t quite sure why she was apologising for her name, but it felt appropriate.

“We all know that now,” laughed Paddy.

“How did you find the Home clan tartan?”

“Violet and Evie poured over hundreds of samples and narrowed it down to a few which they matched to old photos of Wilf’s kilt. They figured that was how the wily old bugger had got round it, using your mam’s tartan.”

“Everyone has gone to so much trouble, I feel like such a fraud. I just wanted an evening alone with you in Appleby Thornton.” Bernie blushed, feeling even more guilty.

Sensing her confusion, Paddy cupped her cheeks in his hands. “We can go out any night.”

Bernie raised an eyebrow at Paddy’s optimism. Even though Jack had turned eighteen and could now serve behind the bar, Paddy still found it difficult to let go. Most of their evenings were spent working or propping up the bar.

Any further discussion of their work-play balance would have to wait. The sound of familiar footsteps running up the stairs alerted them their presence was required in the bar. Paddy and Bernie followed Tim into a cacophony of noise, the sound of fiddle, banjo and accordion mixed with laughter and the pounding of feet on the wooden floor.

Tim grinned and nodded as Bernie asked, “Isn’t that the Bridges that come in on a Thursday night?”

“Apparently, before they were married, they used to go to Scottish dancing on Thursday nights.”

Kevin and the Tweaven Folk band sounded like a group of musicians who were enjoying a successful long awaited reunion, rather than strangers that had only met a few days ago. Apparently Kevin didn’t just play the Bagpipes but was going to town on the harmonica. Mac had found refuge in Reggie and had settled on a bench seat with the dog's head resting on the lad’s lap.

Alan Bridges and his wife Yvonne broke from each other and flew off in different directions to persuade, grab and drag the people sitting at the tables onto the makeshift dance floor. Fred was up first, taking hold of Vi who had pushed her nose out of the kitchen to sneak a peek at the fun. She protested, explaining she couldn’t leave her post, but Evie chased her onto the dance floor with a tea towel.

Bernie smiled at Patsy and Delia. She had never seen anyone quick step to the Gay Gordons before. Phyllis’ face was flushed as she tried to stay in time, partnered by a very light on her feet Lucille. Bernie grinned as Paddy dug his son in the ribs and Tim scowled, shaking his head in protest. Her smugness was short-lived when Alan Bridges took hold of her hand and dragged her onto the floor. She groaned to herself, realising she should have seen it coming. But she knew she wasn’t the only one who had been distracted and let their guard down. As Alan swung her around, she glimpsed a determined Yvonne pulling a very reluctant Paddy to the centre of the room. A massive cheer went up, and it wasn’t for his dancing prowess, but the first view of the crowd of Paddy in his Highland Dress.

Bernie couldn’t deny she felt a tingle as the lights dimmed and Paddy stood behind the tressel table. She could see how nervous he was, his thumb working against the forefinger of his left hand, the right hand turning over his phone on the table. Voices were hushed, sensing a level of anticipation in the air. She hoped he could see her reassuring smile. When he returned her wink she knew he understood.

Everyone instinctively got to their feet as the sound of the pipes flooded the room. Kevin slowly marched into the bar from the kitchen playing, Mac following at his feet, ears pricked. A few steps behind walked Violet, beaming proudly, carrying a silver tray with her pride and joy in prime position. She placed the dish in front of a very pale but focused landlord. Bernie noticed Vi gently touch Paddy’s hand after she had laid down her burden.

Paddy cleared his throat, and everyone sat. Bernie held her breath, she was relieved when he started reading from his phone in his own soft Northern English twang and didn't attempt a Scottish accent. He did struggle a little with more than the odd word and she noticed it was in parts an English translation of Burns’s Address to a Haggis. She did think her dad would be shaking his head and laughing if he was watching these antics held in his memory. As a shiver left her, she wondered if Marianne was also looking down with pride and amusement.

Bernie bit her lip. This was the difficult bit, if trying to read a 18th century Scottish poem out loud wasn’t hard enough. She knew from years of experience Paddy had to keep reciting while removing the Sgian-dubh from his woolly knee-length socks. He then had to pull the small dagger out of its black leather holder and plunge the blade into the Haggis at just the right moment in the text. She went to hold on to her chair but was surprised when a long thin hand grabbed hers. Tim’s hand was cold, but sweaty at the same time, and she squeezed it back.

The verbal response of the audience to Paddy whipping the blade out of its sheath made Bernie giggle, and she heard a snort from her neighbour. The following stab and slash into the unsuspecting pudding received equal responses of gasps and murmurs. She felt the boy’s hand slacken in her own and his breath released from his chest at the same time she let her lungs relax. Bernie felt Paddy was doing the same, pausing as the crowd regained its collective composure. He dared to give her a quick glance, and she beamed in approval. She wished she could go over to him and push back the wayward kink of hair that had fallen over his face during the dramatics.

Paddy finished the poem with ease following the tricky bit. He didn’t seem to mind stumbling over some of the unfamiliar words. It wasn’t like anyone was going to correct him. There was much relief all around when he finally toasted the Haggis, and everyone could raise the complimentary whisky they had been nursing since the beginning of the festivities. Not everyone had been patient and some found they were toasting with an empty glass, supping air. A nervous Bernie would have been included in this number, but Trixie had passed on her dram so she could at least properly take part in the toast. Paddy received a standing ovation. He wasn’t deceived it was for his faultless performance, but more for effort or maybe they were just hungry and glad it was finally over.

The assembled guests ate their fill of Scottish Fayre. The whisky sauce may have proved more popular than the spicy offal and oatmeal pudding. Although Violet did remark that Poplar’s vegan population had seemed to increase dramatically overnight. Buckle’s Breweries Burns Bernie Beers proved very popular. Ale Fond Kiss, Red Red Rose Ruby Ale and Auld Lang Stout all sold out.

The dancing recommenced to the Tweaven Folk band and its newest member. The Bridges and the lead singer tried to engineer a ceilidh of sorts. This resulted in a room full of mostly English people flinging themselves and each other about in an attempt at the longest communal twizzy world record. The highlight being every time Paddy spun around in his kilt, a large cheer went up as it splayed out.

Eventually he refused to dance and Bernie gave up too. She found him outside smoking one of her roll-ups. She just grinned, knowing he deserved one. Bernie hugged Trixie’s scarf around her.

“Aren’t you cold in...erm that?”

Paddy smoothed the kilt under him, between his bare legs and the cool wood of Peggy and Frank’s memorial bench. Bernie grinned and went back indoors.

She returned with two Abhainn Dearg malt whiskies and one of the tartan tablecloths. She wrapped it around Paddy’s shoulders before perching herself on his chilly knees, flipping his sporran up out of the way. Paddy took over the blanket duties and wrapped the cover round her.

Cold fingers fumbled over sharing the dying cigarette and they sipped from the same whisky tumbler. From where she had placed them, Bernie could only reach one glass without leaving the warmth of the tablecloth and Paddy’s arms. Paddy had long since dispensed with the faffy lace ruff and wore a cream open neck Jacobite shirt, again courtesy of connections of Patsy. As Bernie playfully twisted the string ties around the fingers of one hand. She slowly ran the fingers of her other hand along the hem of the kilt.

“Is this Turner tartan, then?”

“No, the Turners are from Liverpool, probably some Irish in there somewhere too, but my mother’s family hailed from Fife.” Paddy softly answered.

Bernie wriggled on his knee, trying to gain a bunch of the fabric of the kilt in her hand, as the band broke into Deacon Blue’s, Dignity.

“So which clan...ayyyyyeah!” She quickly jumped up vigorously rubbing the flesh between her boot and the hem of her dress on her right thigh. Paddy stared at her in confusion and concern.

“Something bit me.”

“It’s January.”

“Am I bleeding, is there a bump?” Bernie turned her back to Paddy and lifted up her skirt. Paddy started to wonder whose birthday it was. He used his phone as a torch and took his time giving a thorough examination of her right thigh. The eventual diagnosis was no injury to her person, but there was a nasty snag in her new-on tights.

Paddy also identified the culprit pointing to the clan dagger attached to the front of his kilt. “I think you sat on this?”

“You stabbed me.”

“You stabbed you.”

She leant down and carefully unfastened the pin from the front apron of the kilt. She recovered her position now free from hazards. Scrutinising the tiny weapon in her hands under the light of Paddy’s phone,

“Aww, the crest is the world below a rainbow between two clouds. What does the motto say?”

“At Spes Infracta.”

“Oooh, you're getting the hang of these ancient tongues, aren’t you?” Bernie giggled, “what does it mean in boring old English?”

Paddy, who had been laughing with her, fell serious.

“It means Yet My Hope is Unbroken.” He gently tipped her chin forward with his thumb and forefinger and kissed her.

“That’s beautiful.” Bernie caught her breath. “What was your mam’s maiden name?”

“Hope.”

“Home and Hope,” smiled Bernie, partly to herself.

Paddy reached inside his sporran and handed Bernie a small tartan box with a gold bow on top.

“But this was my present.” She smiled, pulling on his shirt strings.

Paddy shone his phone torch on the box as Bernie opened it and carefully took out a silver brooch. She got hold of Paddy’s hand and shone it on a silver V bending inwards to make the shape of a heart with an emerald at the base just below the Home clan crest.

“That is a very fierce looking lion, why am I not surprised.” Bernie didn’t need the torch to see the glint in Paddy’s eye as he spoke. “I nearly got you the Hope rainbow one instead....but I wasn’t sure.”

Bernie smiled, “Maybe next year?”

“You are still very presumptuous after all these years. This was a one night only kinda thing,” Paddy choked, then swiftly changing the subject, “I liked the motto on the Hume crest, anyway.”

Bernie was impressed with his correct Scottish pronunciation of Home. She read aloud the words around the lion's head A Home, A Home, A Home, that is the slogan, but the motto is actually True To The End .”

“Well, I think the matriarchy has it tonight.”

“Do you know Robbie Burns was a great supporter of women's rights as well as being a romantic? He wrote a poem about it.”

“From what I’ve heard, he was very fond of women indeed. Counting the number of children he fathered.”

“Yes, that as well,” muttered Bernie, “but just for tonight I am going to be Shelagh Bernadette Mannion-Home and you can be Patrick Turner-Hope.

The traditional music of the Corries was now interspersed with more recent Scottish poetry, as the band played tunes by the likes of Travis and Franz Ferdinand. The Proclaimers, I’m Gonna Be 500 miles, filtered through the door leading to the beer garden. The accompanying laughter, the sound of leather and man-made sole stomping on polished oak convinced the two in the beer garden they weren’t being missed.

“One thing I can’t get my head around is how Val convinced you to do this?”

“She just reminded me of every time you have stepped out of your comfort zone for me. How many times you have had to embrace a part of yourself that you didn’t know existed or had thought you had left behind.”

Bernie rubbed her thumb over the slogan on her new brooch as Paddy continued.

“Basically how many times you have put me, us, our hope of a life, a home together before the person who you thought you were and believed yourself to be.”

“Val said that?”

“Sort of, maybe a bit more colourful and there was some violence involved, but I did agree with the sentiment.”

“I think our mams would have approved of Val.”

“Are you true to the end, Shelagh Bernadette?”

“Well, you just better hope this isn’t the end, Patrick.”

The sounds of Auld Lang Syne filled the night and Paddy leaned forward for another kiss, suddenly aware Bernie had very cold hands and had chosen not to replace the kilt pin.

#call the midwife #berns night revisited #to be continued #soon hopefully #home and hope #bless them

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theartofbeinganeldar · 5 years ago

Text

The Art of Being an Eldar: Legolas x Reader Chapter 5

Summary: After discovering that you were stuck in Middle-Earth, Thranduil summoned a council of powerful Elves and wizards to see what should be done with you, expressing his wishes of wanting you out of his kingdom. The council decides to send you with Legolas on an orc-hunting mission, and if the Elves of the company that he deems trustworthy-- one of them being his own wife-- say that you've proven yourself worthy of staying among the Mirkwood Elves, then you can stay. The problem is actually managing to succeed...

Chapter No.: Chapter 5

Key: [Y/N]=Your Name [F/N]= Friend's Name [B/N]= Bro's Name [S/N]= Sis's Name [M/N]= Mom's Name [e/c]= eye color [h/c]= hair color [s/c]= skin color [lad/lass/y-o]= lad/laddie, lass/lassie, young one

Notes: I know I've been trying to keep this story gender-nuetral, but dwarves have a habit of referring to people (Even Gimli to Legolas, though he's a lot younger than our golden boy) as "lad/laddie" "lass/lassie." Or even "young one," I've heard Balin call Bilbo. So for this story, I'll just put [lad/lass/y-o] in parenthesese, and you can just hear whichever one you choose. :)

Warnings: Fluff, angst, graphic depictions of gore and violence (Cuz of orc battles y'know?), more angst, slow burn, some light depression in the first few chapters, some amnesia about Middle-Earth because the Valar say you're not supposed to have foresight, hard-core language, feels, lots and lots of feels, mentions of NSFW content, maybe some eventual NSFW content, LGTBQ+ characters, Thranduil being a jackass at first because he's fabulous, Legolas being a hot edgy prince that nobody can handle, Kili being an innocent bean, Hobbits being smol innocent beans, except for Bilbo 'cause he's been through some tough shit, Bard being dad of the year, Thorin being one dumbass boi, awesome dragons, awesome Nazgul, awesome scenery, awesome stuff in general, Elrond isn't listened to by anybody, confused Aragorn is confused, Denethor's a bitch as always, brace yourself for creepy as fuck Cream of Wormtongue Grima Wormtongue, Boromir LIVES, Gandalf. (yes these are all legit warnings don't judge me.)

Pairings/Ships: Legolas x Reader, Legolas x you, Aragorn x Arwen, Faramir x Eowyn, Thranduil x Elvenqueen, Galadriel x Celery Celeborn, Boromir x OC, Thorin x OC maybe Bilbo you won't know for awhile, Fili x OC, etc. general LoTR standard shippings plus some of my own cuz I can't stand my boys being lonely

Word Count: I try to keep my chapters short, under 2000 words.

Rating: Teen (14+) for now

The Elves stopped just outside the northern border of the Mirkwood, to the west, to wait for the dwarves. But apparently the little guys just didn't give a shit.

The whole group camped for three days, then three more days, and by the end of it, you were even growing impatient. It was mainly the younger Elves that shared your impatience, but Elves like Elvenqueen and Erestor and Haldir seemed to think that they had all the time in the world, la la fucking la...

Legolas seemed in-between, irritated at the dwarves for being so late but not really caring in the long run. You tried several times to approach him and apologize, but he always seemed to disappear at the most inconvenient times imaginable.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity-- you were getting sick and tired of frolicking-- the sign of a camp on a distant ridge, a couple of days away, gave the Elves hope that the dwarves finally got their heads out of their asses and decided to show up. A couple of Elves seemed to puff some horses out of thin air, and galloped off to meet them.

"We get horses?!" You'd screeched, and wheeled on your friends-- Tauriel hadn't come, so Lindir, Elros, and pissy Blue-Eyes were the only actual friends here you had, even though all the other Elves were very nice to you. "Why the fuck didn't anybody tell me we got horses?!" You could've been riding to pass this time. Not that you knew how to ride a horse, but that wasn't the point.

Elros blinked at you in disbelief. "Those Elves awaited us on the border with horses enough for all. You have not seen them before?"

"No, dammit, or I would've been riding to pass the time!" You hadn't noticed them, because a certain Rivendell Elf had forced you to learn Elvish... You rounded on him. "Lindir! If you hadn't made me sit here and learn Elvish, I could've been riding!"

Lindir stared at you, then slowly raised an eyebrow challengingly. "You do not know how to ride, do you?"

You frowned. "That's not the point!"

Both Elros and Lindir chuckled amongst themselves. You huffed theatrically. "Fine, jackasses. I'm off to pet one of those sweet animals. You can teach me Elvish later."

Before either of them could stop you, you all but ran off, hoping not to slam into anybody or trip or cause something to fall that'd cause a huge mess. You were prone to all of them. And there were horses, enough for everybody there, and three very fat ponies that you almost started squealing over. Those, you guessed, were for the dwarves.

But one horse, out of all of them, caught your eye.

A sleek, gorgeous black, with a bright white star on his forehead. He was built for speed, like a racehorse, but he was sturdy, too. You looked for something to mark him as belonging to a certain Elf-- because you knew Elves loved horses, and that like all horse people, even look at their horse wrong and you make it on their kill list-- but they all seemed randomly selected out of somebody's stables, dressed in the same dark leather tack and saddlebags.

"Oooooh," You approached him quietly, and he nickered softly at you, his dark eyes scanning you and the Elves and the other horses warily. He seemed only recently tamed. "You, fine sir, are gorgeous."

"I beg your pardon?"

You promptly fell backward. Shit! Talking horses, too?! "What the fuck?!"

Legolas, with a smug smirk plastered onto his absurdly perfect face, sailed into existence from around a dapple gray mare. "Valar tell me you were talking to the horse."

"No, I can tell you I was talking to the horse," You sighed in relief, shaking your head as you stood. "But don't worry your platinum head, Goldie, all Elves are equally beautiful creatures."

Legolas rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say, mellon."

You stroked the black's face gently. "No seriously though, he's beautiful. Does he have a name?"

Blue-Eyes didn't look up from brushing his mare's mane. "Most of the horses came from Rivendell and Rohan, which they bought on the journey. The rest came from the Woodland stables. I doubt you will find his name, if he has one."

You felt a little disappointed that you couldn't ask if you could have the horse. You'd always wanted one, but for... Personal reasons that had to do with your biological father, you never got one. "Well... I'll just refer to him as The Black, then."

Blue-Eyes turned around, and started inspecting his tack. "Hm... He seems to have come from our own stables." He stroked behind the stallion's ears, and the horse snuffed appreciatively.

"Legolas," You said quickly, realizing you should catch him when you have the chance. "I'm sorry for not telling you about me leaving if this didn't go well. It wasn't my choice; Thranduil wanted me to go with Elrond that day, but I asked if I could stay. He sent me on this mission to see if I was worthy enough to stay in his Palace of Fabulous. I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but... I didn't think anyone would care if I left."

Blue-Eyes got a confused look. "Why... Why would you think that?"

You gave him a sad, lopsided smile. "No one has before."

Recognition, then regret, flashed across Blue-Eyes's face. "Oh, Sairen... I am truly sorry, mellon nin, I should not have been angry with you. I didn't realize... I should have, and I should not have been upset with you. I just... I do care if you leave, and, if I'm honest, I do not want you to go."

You patted his shoulder. "Just so long as you forgive me."

Blue-Eyes smiled at you. "Of course, mellon, if you can forgive me."

You grinned. "Forgiven." You nudged him with your shoulder. "I'm just glad we're friends again. I've never had so many people be nice to me, but only a handful of you I consider my friends."

"And who among us hold that honor?" He asked teasingly.

Oh shit... You'd seen movies where somebody's asked this question, and if the askee shows even the slightest bit of hesitation or interest in any of the friends, asker became pissed and/or jealous. Wait... Why do I care about that? You turned to him with a huge smile. "Well you and Tauriel, DUH, and then there's Lindir and Elros now. Just wait, I'll be friends with Haldir and Erestor too, and then your mom-- by the time I'm finished I'll even make your dad like me!"

Legolas chuckled. "I hope so, mellon."

"By the way," You said, and reached down to grab a handful of grass to give to the Black. "Lindir and Elros are trying-- and failing-- to teach me Elvish. I'm a horrible student, namely because I'm Elvish-challenged. Still, I'm learning, and I want you to teach me something very specific."

He looked confused. "What?"

You smiled. "Teach me the history of Middle-Earth! Everything you can! I can't read Elvish, but you can, and you know the stories pretty well, I'm guessing. So start with how the world began and continue on from there."

Legolas smiled. "Very well, Sairen." In one quick movement, he mounted his mare, then reached down for your hand. "Come. We will ride, and I will tell you all that I know."

You took his hand, feeling a spark from static you'd built up from petting the horse. He hefted you effortlessly up behind him, then urged his horse into a canter as you rode away from camp.

***

Needless to say, you fell off twice.

Once, you let go of Legolas for just a second as his mare jumped a small log, and whoops, there you go. After, still not learning your lesson, you let go of him while trotting beside a river and the horse's gait made you slide right off before you even realized what was happening.

Then you learned not to let go of Blue-Eyes, mostly because he laughed his Elvish ass off every time you fell, after making sure you were okay.

As for world history, it was all very confusing. There were like six different versions of somebody and a hundred different other guys shared the same name and places and descendants and confusing time periods and just ugh. That was one thing you remembered from Earth: Tolkien's works had always been confusing.

Long story short, though, there was a guy called Eru, or Illuvatar, and he created a bunch of friends through thought. These friends of his became the Valar, and Illuvatar created the whole universe-- Ea-- through more thought. Then he had all his friends-- fourteen of them-- sing, and they created the vision of Valinor, then Arda, and the mischief-maker was Melkor, brother of god-king Manwe.

Now, after a long bout of building and making and stuff they created Valinor and Tirion and Mandos and all that, and they created birds and beasts, but Melkor got jealous and tried to ruin it at every fucking turn. Seriously, the guy didn't give them a break.

Then, Aule, another Valar, who made a lot of shit, wanted to have a bunch of kids so created the little guys known as dwarves, and made them to be especially tough and hardy and stuff because they were supposed to be around during the time of Melkor. But, Illuvatar appeared in his living room one night and said "I think the fuck not my kids come first" which made Aule reeeaaaaaallly upset, so he tried to kill the dwarves (Supreme parenting 2.0!), but then Illuvatar said "wait idiot they can still live" so Aule put them in stasis-mode for like several million years, until somebody "accidentally" unleashed some new Elves into Middle-Earth-- which had no moon or sun.

So duh Orome shows up, says "hi" and everybody runs for their lives except for a few brave souls, who round everybody back up. So three particular Elves, Finwe, Lenwe, and Ingwe, who you're pretty sure were brothers, went to Valinor with Orome to see if it was suitable for Elves-- and it was pretty much Elven paradise, or Vegas or something.

THUS CAME THE FIRST SUNDERING OF THE ELVES, or, that's how dramatically Leggy told it; the Teleri came to rest on the shores of Aman instead of going still further (Who earlier had split further and some became the Sindar, who had stayed in Beleriand, and the Silvan Elves, who'd stayed in the forests of Beleriand or something, of which Blue-Eyes was the first.), the Nandor who got scared of mountains and refused to go further, and the Noldor, who came all the way to Valinor.

Once actually in Aman, the Elves loved it there. They were in paradise. Water. Books. Flowers. Sparkles. Everything an Elf dreamed of. They built a city on a huge hill called Tirion upon Tuna (No you refrained from laughing.), made of silver and gold and more sparkles, and there was lots of peace, until Melkor was finally caught and chained.

Peace, lots of peace, boring shit, more peace, then BAM, the idiot Valar let the bastard go, like dumbasses. Melkor hadn't changed of course, no one does. He started rumors like some crazy gossiper and started up a whole bunch of shit. At that time, this guy called Feanor was around. He was like, the Elf of Elves, but he had some breathtaking anger management issues because after his mom died, his dad waited like a couple thousand years then got married again, and he definitely did not like his stepmom.

Or his two half-brothers.

They were pretty cool guys, Fingolfin and Finarfin, and each brother had like a dozen kids each, one of Finarfin's, get this, was Galadriel. One of Thingol's kin? Celeborn. Elrond? Yeah, he's the grandson of Beren and Luthien, the son of Earendil, raised by Maglor, related to Turin, and his grandparents were Tuor and Idril, the latter of which was the daughter of Turgon, who was the son of Fingolfin, who was the brother of Feanor, so yeah.

Holy fucking shit. Their god stories were kinda hard not to believe when people still existed who could vouch for them.

So this Feanor guy created a trio of sparklies beyond all sparklies, called, the Silmarils. He got a mild case of dragonsickness, boasting and hoarding and showing off and gloating, but Melkor made him think his brothers were trying to steal his sparkles, which, fuck no, how dare they, and he made his brothers think that Feanor was trying to usurp their father Finwe's throne.

Damn that guy knew how to stir up some shit.

One of Melkor's chief servants? Sauron, the Dark Lord, previously known as Sauron the Sparkly Maiar Who Wouldn't Hurt A Butterfly. Balrogs? Yup, Melkor made them, too.

Basically, Feanor started a revolution against the Valar and Melkor, who he called Morgoth, because Melkor was just too pretty of a name for such a bad guy, who stole every single light with the help of a hideously large spider called Ungoliant, killed Finwe, then took the Silmarils.

Feanor was piiiiiiissed.

So the Noldor left Tirion, killed some guys that tried to reason with them that turned out to be Elves, the Teleri, got cursed by Mandos, then Feanor, his sons, and a couple hundred who he knew didn't question him set off on stolen boats and burned them when they reached shore, leaving everybody else-- Galadriel included-- to walk the fucking Helcaraxe, a snowy strait wasteland, to get to Beleriand, which was filled with sparkling twinkle-toes Elves and much-less-serious dwarves-- who were friends.

There was also a good portion of the story dedicated to Turin, Beren and Luthien, and the couple known as Maedhros and Fingon, who you instantly adored: Maedhros, chained to a jagged cliffside for who-knows-how-long, and Fingon, who wanted so badly to save him, and eventually carried up to the cliffside by an eagle; he had to cut off Maedhros's hand, but the story was so heartfelt you were still internally squealing about it.

Yeah so that happened, and then a bunch of war and slaying and something about a Fall of Gondolin and the Children of Hurin and Beren and Luthien leading up to a whole lot of human-caused shit with Numenor, and then Illuvatar blew everything up and restarted, essentially. Toward the end of the second age, Sauron (The fucker had somehow lived through all that evil-cleansing shit.), in the form of a fancy-prancy Elf named Annatar, suggested the making of the Rings of Power. Three, a smart guy who hadn't fallen for any of Annatar's shit, Celebrimbor, hid for the Elves, while Sauron/Annator helped forge the rest in order to control them, making one ring, above all.

Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky,

Seven for the dwarf lords in their halls of stone,

Nine for mortal men doomed to die,

And one for the Dark Lord on his Dark Throne,

In the land of Mordor where the shadows lie,

One Ring to find them,

One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them,

In the land of Mordor where the shadows lie.

That was totally cool and stuff, and a handful of well-known Elves-- Gil-Galad, Glorfindel (Who'd uh, previously died due to a balrog trying to touch his hair.), Elrond-- and you're betting Galadriel, Celeborn, and Thranduil-- plus a bunch of well-known humans, lead by Isildur's dad, Elendil, and probably some dwarves, all came together with their armies and formed the Last Alliance of Elves and Men, totally discounting every dwarf that was there.

The nine kings who'd been given rings? Yeah, those were cursed, and because Men are greedy, they became shadows of their former selves, black-clad servants of Sauron, known as the Ringwraiths-- or, even cooler, Nazgul.

So there was a huge battle. Gil-Galad fell. Isildur's dad fell. Isildur cut off the One Ring from Sauron's hand, Sauron faded away, and Elrond took Isildur into Mount Doom to destroy the Ring. But he was weak, and was seduced by its power, and Elrond just stood there screaming his name apparently.

So there'd been roughly a couple thousand years of peace, and nobody knew where the Ring was. You doubted it was anywhere safe or secure, and much less that Sauron was actually dead.

Also, the Elves were fading. That scared you.

"What?! Great, I got sucked into a world where I'm just gonna die!"

Legolas laughed. "No, mellon nin, we are fading. Not dying. We just long for home, and our kind is slowly leaving Middle-Earth. This world becomes gray to us after so long of living here. We go across the sea, to the Undying Lands of Aman and Valinor."

"Okay," You leaned around him to see his face. "What is it with you Elves and the sea?! What's so important about it, if even you've never seen it yourself?! I certainly haven't seen any kind of ocean or sea."

Blue-Eyes smiled at you. "The first sound ever heard by the Elves was flowing water. It calls us home, in a way. It is said by my people that in water there yet lives the echo of the Music of the Ainur that first created this world."

"Huh," You said, tilting your head. "Guess that does make it really interesting..."

The sound of another pair of hoofbeats, coming up from behind, nearly made you fall off of the horse again. "Orcs?!"

Blue-Eyes grinned smugly. "Orcs do not ride horses, Sairen."

"Duh. I knew that. Fuck you."

"I'd rather you not without my consent."

"That's not always what it means!" You hid your blush by moving so your head was behind his back. Damn Elves...

It was Erestor, riding a gorgeous flaxen stallion. "Legolas, Elvenqueen calls upon the company of [Y/N]."

Nervously, you peered around Blue-Eyes's side. "Is that bad?"

Legolas spurred his own mare into a canter as he followed after Erestor. "Not in the least, mellon."

When you returned to camp, Erestor and Legolas took care of the horses, while they sent you on ahead-- by yourself, to a scary yet badass Elvenqueen you might glare you out of existence if you breathed wrong, like the wonderful friends they were-- to the Elvenqueen.

She sat by one of the center campfires, surrounded by a drove of Elves eagerly listening to whatever she was saying. Even in the firelight, she looked really young, but really regal and noble and even though she didn't have a wrinkle on her body you could tell she'd been around for eons.

All went silent when you approached. Nervously, you bowed. "Y-you wished to see me, your majesty?"

"Yes," She said, and waved to a place on a log across from her. "Sit."

You weren't terrified or anything. Just 'cause she decided not to skin you alive a couple days ago didn't mean she couldn't change her mind. You caught a glimpse of Elros in the crowd, and he gave you a reassuring nod: Don't worry, you won't die yet.

Comforting.

"Tell something of your world," She said.

You balked. Hadn't Thranduil told her everything you'd said? They seemed like the type of couple to do just that. Hadn't Legolas at least given her some information? They seemed close. You swallowed hard, readjusting yourself on the log. "What uh... What do you want to know?"

She thought for a second. "A tale."

You shifted. Sure, that was specific. You'd read billions of books (Well, maybe not quite that much...), but you couldn't remember any that Elves would want to hear aside from series’, like Temeraire, or The Gospel of Loki, or Eon the Last Dragoneye. Maybe you could use a movie, but Marvel and Transformers were too long and in-depth. You thought for a minute. You didn't even know how to give a much-shortened version of Eragon.

But out of everything, it was your best bet to tell a story and be safe from explaining your world's past, or things of your world, or cultures, mythology, or the concept of giant robots from another planet that hide by transforming into cars. Eragon was the closest thing you had to Lord of the Rings that you could remember right off the top of your head that was most similar; it had some of the same beasts, like dragons and werewolves, it was set in the same genre and had dwarves and Elves and Men, even if urgals were a new one... Then again, you weren't sure how they'd take dragons being good instead of hoarding assholes.

So, you got started.

As a hobby, you wrote a lot of fanfiction, which had mainly been for Lord of the Rings; you couldn't remember any of it now, of course, but you'd also started your own fantasy stories that had never been published. You were good with storytelling.

There were points where you had to pause and remember what happened next, or try to find words that explained the guilt or sadness or general feels of the story, but you did pretty good. By the time you were finished, the sun had came up and it was already noon, and the Elves that'd gone off to see if that camp was for dwarves were coming back, with a couple of pony-sized rams with shaggy coats carrying three tiny buff hairy guys.

Elvenqueen regally stood. "My thanks, [Y/N]. That was a wonderful story." She sailed through the ranks of the Elves, which parted before her like reeds to a boat.

"Is that a true story?" Lindir asked you, eyes wide.

You scoffed. "If it were true, I'd've had a dragon named Saphira or Shruikan. I have no dragon." You clapped your hands together. "So! When do I get to meet the dwarves?"

Blue-Eyes-- who'd joined later in the story, and another Elf caught him up on what was going on while he half-listened to what else was going on-- mockingly rolled his eyes. "Patience, mellon. I cannot think of any Eldar whom would willingly want to make the acquaintance of a dwarf."

You gave him a pointed look. "What about Thingol's people?"

Silence. Finally, Elros busted out laughing, and clapped the now-stunned Legolas on the back. "They have a point, mellon!"

But Blue-Eyes was right. It was only a couple hours before you were sought out by a Lothlorien Elf, who told you Thorin wanted to meet "the one who hailed from far." Apparently, nobody here felt like saying "the person that came from another planet." Not as mysterious, apparently.

So you followed the Elf to a tent, much smaller than those of the Elves, and a lot less colorful and, dare you say it, fashionable. Literally, it just looked like a bunch of old dark-colored blankets had been stitched together haphazardly. But, if you looked at the tools and tack of the rams, they were just doing it in spite of the Elves, because they had really good craftsmanship.

You weren't sure what to do. "Uhhh... Knock knock?"

You belatedly remembered one of the dwarves was royalty. "Sirs?"

The flap of the tent opened, and you got your first look at a dwarf.

He was an older dwarf, with a long graying beard and frizzy hair, and huge round ears. He looked you up and down in a brief but kind inspection, and, came to the very educated conclusion of, yup, not your normal Elf.

The dwarf smiled. "Ah, you must be [Y/N]." He sounded more Scottish than anything, and you were instantly relaxed. "The one from a far place. Not a normal Elf, then?"

You shook your head. "No sir. Just got here about a month and a half ago, actually."

He raised a hand. "Now now, we are all a part of this expedition, and I don't like being referred to as 'sir.' I am Balin to you."

You couldn't help but smile. He was a lovable little guy, a very sweet old dwarf. "Okay then. But, uh... Should I call Thorin or Dwalin 'sir'?"

Balin thought about that. "Ehhh... Thorin, yes. Dwalin? No."

You nodded, and Balin lead you inside the tent. It was pretty cozy, with three logs covered in roughish furs for makeshift beds. A small cooking fire was set up in the middle, and two other dwarves sat by it, halting their dwarvish conversation when they seen you and Balin. "This is they," Said Balin, in an introductory way. "[Y/N], child of [M/N], from far places."

The dwarf who you assumed was Dwalin-- buff, sleeveless, and with viscious muttonchops that made him look like Wolverine-- scoffed. "Tell me," Holy shit, he sounds like Leonidas from 300! "[Y/N], do you perhaps come from the Iron Hills?"

"Iron... What?" You were confused. Hadn't any of the Elves talked about you being from Earth? "N...No. I come from a place called Earth."

"Dwalin," Said the other guy, who radiated kingship, authority, and regal dwarfish-ness. He didn't take his eyes off you, like you were a predator ready to strike that he was wary of. He had a beard, but braided neatly down, and long dark hair. He wore dark navy blue and brown fur armor, and his voice was like, super deep. "They are not of the Iron Hills."

"Uh... Thank you?"

Thorin stood, and you bowed. "I'd uh, use some really respectful greeting, but I don't know any in dwarvish yet, so, it's an honor to meet you, Thorin, son of Thrain."

Thorin nodded. "I would say the same, if I knew you deserved any honor," He replied. Ouch.

You didn't know what to say. He obviously had no love for Elves. "What uh... What made you think I was from the Iron Hills, wherever that is?"

"To the east of Erebor, [lad/lass/y-o]," Balin informed you, and Dwalin whacked him so hard upside the head you could've swore they broke something.

"Oh. What made you think--"

Thorin looked at you with a look that said stfu so you did. "The dwarves of Erebor think little of Elven magic, or wizards. We did not believe a portal strong enough to pull someone from another world could exist. And as I have discovered, it does not."

You were confused. "What do you mean? You mean the ears? Those were latex, I swear, but suddenly they weren't. You can ask Thranduil, I'm not from these parts."

Thorin glared at you. "I would rather not converse with the Elvenking. He does not hear the word of others. As for you... It is clear you are merely an Elf of strange upbringing, who lost themselves in the wrong woods."

"Okay," You were starting to get irritated. You loved Middle-Earth, but you weren't from Middle-Earth. You didn't belong, like always, and you were ready to defend your position. In Game of Thrones--you'd never gotten far in that series, and had only started the books-- Tyrion Lannister told Jon Snow to armor himself in what people thought his weakness was, so that it would no longer be his weakness. That's exactly what you'd done over the course of your life, and you weren't about to lose that now. "Listen, I can show you the damn portal. It wasn't made by Elves, or wizards, or any of that other shit. The inscription on the portal came from the time of Gondolin, if that means anything to you. Do I talk like an Elf, to you? Do I act like one? The Elves were ready to kill me, just because I breathed wrong near their damn trees after being chased by orcs on oversized dogs. If I weren't from another world, do you honestly think I'd have such elaborate stories?"

Behind Thorin, Balin patted his hands down, giving you the silent signal to shut up. Glacing at Thorin's pissed off face made you listen. "How am I to believe you?"

You made a face. "Don't you dwarves have any kind of lie-detecting abilites?"

Balin sighed. "None that we can think of, [lad/lass/y-o]."

You huffed in defeat. "Okay, okay, you know what? You dwarves are beyond stubborn, so I'll just tell you once: I come from another world. If you don't believe me, fine, but I'd actually like to make friends with dwarves, thank you very much."

"Oh!" Dwalin chuckled deeply. "Then they must not be an Elf, Thorin! None in their right mind would go cavorting with a dwarf!"

Thorin frowned. "Perhaps a spy... But wait... You are not of the Woodland Elves. I see that now."

You looked down at yourself. "Gee, what gave it away?"

"You carry yourself differently," He began to circle you, and you felt like you were being circled by a vulture. An angry vulture... "Most unlike them, or any Elf I have heard tale of. Whom were you raised by?"

"Uh, my mother," You quipped with a cocked eyebrow. "Her name is [M/N]."

"And where do your kin reside? With the Rangers of Dúnadain?"

"With the what? Is that some kind of club?"

"Club?" Thorin repeated. "You believe that to be a weapon?" He gave you a disbelieving look, and you sighed.

"No, no. Where I come from, a club is a group of people that gather together and talk about stuff they like, or try to run the schools or shit like that," You were trying to explain with excessive hand movements, but you only seemed to be freaking him out.

He narrowed his eyes. In a rough and rusty language that sounded like it could be dwarvish, he said something; you didn't even catch any of the words.

You stared at him blankly for a second. "Mae g'ovannen...?" You tried, wincing at your hopeless pronunciation of the words.

Thorin regarded you with a newfound look of awe. Behind him, Dwalin chuckled. "That, was his attempt at Elvish. And you did not understand what he said?"

You stared. "...No? Was I supposed to? Did you just say something important? Or insult me? Hey, I'm only just starting to learn Sindarin!"

Thorin's look of awe shifted to a scowl and a bitter smirk. "It was not Sindarin, I can assure you. It was Quendi, that of the Noldor, the only Elvish my people know."

"Quen-- Oh, I get it now. Different Elves, different languages, it's all coming together..." You swung your arms casually. "Ok, so, what'd you say?"

"I told you that you are an imposter, and no better than Orc-filth" Said Thorin absentmindedly, "Which would send any Elf into a fit of well-groomed rage."

You couldn't help yourself. You burst into a fit of giggles, making all three dwarves look at you weirdly. "I-I'm sorry," You wheezed, "'Well-groomed rage'; yeah, that's pretty much what they do!"

"What of this quest, then?" Challenged Thorin as he took a seat. He gestured for you to do the same. "If you are not of the Wood Elves, yet you are indeed Elven, why are you on this journey? What purpose do you have here?" He poured you a drink; you'd never really tasted ale or mead of any kind, and recoiled from the smell.

"In order for you to understand, I'd have to tell you the story," You told him, and he gestured for you to continue. So you did. "I fell from the highest branches of an oak tree playing a game with my family. It was a standard day. Standard, pointless life. A life in a dying world that was way too fucking overpopulated, in the wrong damn places. It was a twisted kind of home. I didn't like it, and did what I wanted, so people hated me. I was dressed as an Elf--hence the ears.

"I wake up in the middle of the night, still in the forest, and am suddenly being chased by orcs on the backs of oversized dogs with six-packs on their faces."

Thorin grew confused. "Six-pack? What is that?"

You patted your stomach. "Those rows of six square tight muscles you get on you stomach if you work out. Now lemme finish!

"I get caught up in a river, shot by an arrow, and am half-dead by the time the Elves arrive lead by Blue-Eyes-- uh, Legolas-- and they're ready to kill me, but because I'm pretty much dead and in their forest, I'm some kind of threat. Because they're real nice like that. Thranduil-- who I kindly refer to as, Lord Fabulous-- wanted Leggy to kill me on the spot. Blade to my neck and everything. Until I pointed out that I could go home if we found the portal and would never return by pain of death. Ouch, but whatever.

"So we look, find it, and surprise! Can't get through. Can never see my family again. Can never go home. Suddenly I'm a real Elf. I go into a kind of depression before I realize that this place was a fictional world from where I'm from, which I'd loved, but for some reason can't remember shit now." You pointed to him. "Your name is important. Very. I know that much. You do something really cool, probably.

"But the Council of Wisdomy Guys was summoned, and they decided that it would be best if I proved my worthiness to stay among the Wood Elves on this mission. No pressure!" You grinned maniacally. "What brings you here? I hear a certain gray-robed wizard?"

"Ah, yes," He sighed. "Gandalf. My father met with him whilst I was in the depths of Erebor, so I heard no word of it and could make no protest against it until my father told me that I was to travel with two of my choice to assist the Elves. I only tolerate this for my father's sake, and he claims this will be a good lesson for kingship one day. But when I heard word of someone from foreign lands, I feared it was the dwarves of the Iron Hills attempting some form of scheme. Never have they liked us, and they never shall."

You scoffed. "Yeah, well... Most of the Elves may not like you either, but some of them aren't so bad."

Dwalin choked on his bread. Balin gave you a sad look. "But they tried to kill you!"

You shrugged. "I'm used to getting awful treatment. And besides, now that they know me, I've made some friends. Tauríel, the Captain of the Guard; Lindir of Rivendell, and Elros son of Elrond... And then there's Blue-- Legolas."

"Why d'ya refer to him that way?" Dwalin demanded with a disgusted look.

You shrugged. "A nickname. Where I come from, it's a gesture of friendship. I call Lindir 'Lindy' and he hates it, I can tell."

Thorin snorted. "Well, [Y/N] of Earth... Should the Wood Elves refuse your company, Dale might make a nice, temporary placement until you find elsewhere."

You smirked, nodding slowly. "I heard that emphasis on temporary. Don't worry; I thank you for your hospitality, but Lord Elrond is staying at the palace until I return. If I fail, he'll take me back to Rivendell with him."

"Good. One less Elf on our borders to deal with."

"Oh screw off."

Thorin grinned bitterly, but waved a hand. "Begone, I am done with questioning you."

You scoffed, and Dwalin took your drink and guzzled it. to your shock and amazement. Out of the three of them, only Balin wished you a goodnight.

But you weren't tired, which you realized as you found yourself heading back toward the horses. "[Y/N]," Said a familiar voice, and you turned to see Haldir striding toward you.

You bowed, suddenly recognizing him as somebody of high rank. "Mae l'ovannen, Haldir of Lothlorien. What's up?"

He blinked in confusion. "I..." He slowly looked up. "Believe the stars..."

You chuckled. "No, no; that's an expression, where I come from. It means how are you doing, what is it you need, nice to see you, etcetera etcetera."

He stared at you. "...'Et... Cetera...?'"

You slumped over. "Oi... It means a general list of similar meanings that're implied but nobody feels like saying."

Haldir smiled. "Oh, I see. Lindir wished for you to return, so that you could continue your lessons in Sindarin." He didn't miss your look of disappointment. He smirked. "Perhaps, when you are finished with Sindarin, and already know Common, Quenyan would be best for you to learn."

"Pfft," You waved a hand. "I'll live forever. Might as well. I'll toss some dwarvish in there while I'm at it."

Haldir made a face. "I suppose that is up to you, but every dwarf speaks Common, so it would not pose any form of language barrier for that to be avoided..."

*** You were woken up no later than the crack of fucking dawn, by an elaborate blowing of horns that probably alerted ninety-seven percent of the orcs of the northern borders to your presence, but oh what the hell.

What else you woke up to?

"Galu, mellon nin," Said Legolas with a shit-eating grin. "Ci maer?"

Slowly, your groggy eyes went from wide to thin, angry slits. "...I swear to the Valar, Blue-Eyes... I just fucking woke up. What are you saying? Speak in Common, or I'll tear you limb from limb because I am not a morning person."

He gave you a look, but couldn't wipe the smile off his face. "Le leich, Sairen. But if you are going to learn Elvish, then you must actually try to do so. Tell me, what did I say?"

You shrugged and slumped over onto a log. "Grapefruit, melons win, kid mobster."

Blue-Eyes chuckled, but internally, you busted out laughing after realizing what you said. "No, [Y/N], you have to do this. Concentrate. What did I say?"

With a sigh, you thought about Lindir's grueling lessons with you yesterday. "...You said, 'A blessing,' which is basically 'hi,' first; Galu. Then you said 'my friend,' and, 'are you well.'"

Blue-Eyes nodded, looking excited that you were getting the hang of Elvish. "Excellent. Now respond to me in Sindarin."

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. In the most unenthusiastic tone you could muster, you said, "Galu, Legolas, ni maer. A gin?" Blessings, Legolas, I am well. And you?

"Ni maer," He replied, then began polishing his bow. "Worry not, Sairen, soon Sindarin will come to you thoughtlessly. You already swear to our gods, instead of your own."

You did roll your eyes this time. An idea hit you. "Hey..." You looked at him with a huge smirk. "What's fuck you in Elvish?"

Legolas paled, then blushed. "You will learn how to speak intimately to another later--"

You huffed. "NO! What's your most offensive insult?!"

Blue-Eyes thought for a minute. "...Ego, which is the equivalent to what you mean when you proclaim that Common phrase of yours... Hopefully, most of the time."

You bit back a laugh. "...Eggo? As in, L'eggo my eggo?"

Blue-Eyes gave you a concerned look. "I... I am not sure what you mean, and it is not pronounced as you say it."

Commotion started up, and you spun around in your seat wildly to try and see why everybody was suddenly moving and packing up. "What's goin' on?"

Legolas smiled. "Well, Sairen, we are off to track the orcs."

You looked at him in a panic, pointing futilely to an Elf packing up the cooking supplies. "B-but... What about breakfast?" That sentence reminded you of someone... Someone small and innocent and prone to causing disasters... But who? Blue-Eyes didn't give you time to figure it out.

"You will not starve, mellon nin," He told you gently, and stood. "You are an Eldar now; you'd best learn what your body can do now rather than later." He smiled down at you. "Dadwenithon."

As if you understood what that meant, he practically skipped away. "...Dad marathon?" You repeated in disbelief. You got up and went to find somebody you knew, preferably not the Elvenqueen, Erestor, Haldir, or Thorin, because they'd just find you childish, or annoying. Elros was quick to find, and you approached him and his palomino steed with a very confused expression.

"Hey Elros?"

Elros looked up from brushing his horse's mane and smiled. "Ai, len suilon, mellon nin. Ci maer?"

You rolled your eyes. Stupid Elves and their five hundred different ways to say 'hi...' "Galu, Elros. Ni maer, a gin?"

"Ni maer eithro. What brings you to my company?"

"What the hell does dad marathon mean?"

Elros froze and looked at you like you were crazy. "I beg your pardon?"

You gestured wildly over your shoulder. "Legolas got up, walked away, and said dad marathon! And I've got no idea what he said!"

Elros grinned knowingly. "Ai,Legolas said dadwenithon. It means, roughly, I will return." He gave you a disgusted look. "And that is not how it is pronounced at all."

"Oh. Dadwenithon?"

Elros smiled proudly. "Yes! Precisely! Well done! But if Legolas told you he would return to you, evidently he meant for you to stay where you were."

Your eyes bugged out of your head. "Oh. I'll be going, then. Novaer." You didn't realize you'd said an Elvish farewell until you'd reached where you'd originally been seated, but that jumped out of your head when you seen Legolas waiting with his dappled mare and the black stallion (Heh heh...) from yesterday.

"Ooh! What's this all about?"

"I decided you should have your own mount throughout the course of this journey," He replied with a smile. "He is yours for now. Name him as you will, and by the end of this journey, I shall see if you may keep him."

You stared at him like he'd just grown a second head. "Wh... What? Keep him?"

Legolas smiled. "Surely you would wish to ride at will throughout the northern parts of Mirkwood?"

A huge smile spread across your face, and you excitedly spread your hands. "Well, duh! Gin hannon, Legolas! I'll call him..." You took the reins and looked him in the eye. "Starlight. I've always wanted a black horse called Starlight."

Blue-Eyes patted your back. "Well done, mellon. Already, Elvish is beginning to seep into your speech."

You looked at him in surprise. "I did that on purpose you dumb blond."

Legolas's eyes widened slightly. "Man?" Which you understood as, What?

You stuck your tongue out at him and crossed your eyes. "Blehlehleh!"

He recoiled. "What are you doing?"

With a laugh, you stroked Starlight's muzzle. "Messing with you. So you get up from the left side, right?"

Blue-Eyes just looked at you like you were crazy, then shook his head. "Yes, I suppose."

You went around to the left flank of the steed, which snorted suspiciously at you, like it wanted to know what the fuck you were doing. You peered at Blue-Eyes over the stallion's back. "Gimme a leg up?"

Legolas flushed and stared at you blankly. "If that is one of your vulgar insults, I swear to Illuvatar..."

A laugh escaped your throat. "No! Hell no! It means help me up, you moron!"

A sweet smile crossed Blue-Eye's features. "Well, then, come here, mellon nin, and I will aid you." He interlaced his fingers together as he bent down, allowing you to grip both ends of the saddle, step into his hand, and haul yourself up. You nearly fell off the other side, but just managed to catch yourself before you made yourself look like a complete idiot in front of Blue-Eyes, who noticed your struggle but said nothing, to your sweet relief.

Elros trotted through camp on his palomino, saying "Und wendo'hein!"

Legolas mounted his dapple-gray, and looked you up and down. "You are not sitting correctly." He told you, and reached over to pull your shoulders back. "Your shoulders need to make a line to your ankles in the stirrups."

You rolled your eyes sarcastically. "Great, now you sound like my collection of Young Rider magazines."

"Your what?" Legolas looked almost offended.

"It's basically a book only about twenty pages long made of cheap paper and filled with random tidbits of information. This series I started collecting when I was eight or nine, then continued until I was about twelve, thirteen... I had a lot of them. I loved horses."

Blue-Eyes furrowed his brow. "Did you have one?"

You scoffed. "In my world, you either have to be rich like Saddle Club or own a farm like Racing Stripes. Or, by some miracle get saved by a badass black Arabian stallion on a desert island." You smiled cheekily at him. "Which, by the way, your facial structure really reminds me of an Arabian horse's. Dished, kinda. And perfect and majestic and all that shit."

Blue-Eyes just looked like he was suddenly being attacked by a pack of savage wargs and he wasn't quite sure what to do. You grinned, and did the first thing all of the books and movies you'd read as a kid had taught you: gently tap your heels into the horse's flanks, and carefully guide their head with the reins. Starlight tossed his head, eager to get moving at a faster pace, and nickered softly as he started off at a walk. Legolas beamed at you as he rode beside you. "Well well, Sairen, it seems you are a natural at riding a horse. Perhaps the blood of the Eldar is finally starting to take a hold of you."

"Not quite," Said a new voice, and Lindir rode up on a sleek bay with a mischievous smile. "Suilad, Legolas! [Y/N]! Your Elvish is improving, but you still need to learn more."

You slumped in the saddle. "Augh, man, do I have to?"

Legolas and Lindir grinned wickedly at each other. "Ai, Lindir, man í lú?"

"Ú, Legolas. Eithro, ci maer?"

"Ni maer, mellon nin, ni maer."

So for a whole five or six hours on the trip, you got bombarded on either side by Blue-Eyes and Lindir trying to teach you Sindarin. At the end of the day, the Elvenqueen asked you for another story, so you told her the first one that popped into your head that you could honestly remember most of: Alladin's Lamp. It had been your favorite fairytail as a child, and while it was meant for younger audiences, the Elves enjoyed it just as much.

Then, Thorin asked to see you again. He asked about your world, and what it was like, and you were happy to get to know them, even if you were an Elf now.

And that's how it went, for the next few weeks. Unfortunately, at some point you'd run out of memorized storybooks, so you focused on myths from various mythologies, and then, even movies. 300 seemed to be a favorite of Thorin's, who overheard, but the Elves were especially interested in Gods of Egypt and The Hunger Games, and the Jedi from Star Wars. When you ran out of that material (It was a long trip with long nights, because apparently Elves didn't really get the concept of sleep.), you even switched to games; Darksiders and The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim got their attention, as did The Legend of Zelda.

But of all the damned stories you told them, they seemed most interested in Shakespeare, of all things. You only barely remembered reading Midsummer Night's Dream out of curiosity, but Romeo and Juliet, thankfully, everybody knew the gist of. Thanks to a certain Tom Hiddleston, you knew Coriolanus by heart, so that one wasn't too hard of a story to tell, and neither was (Onc you finally got them off of Shakespeare.) Pirates of the Caribbean, a classic for you, which, one of the characters, now that you thought of it... Will Turner... You couldn't quite remember his face, or Balian's from Kingdom of Heaven, which they all really liked, especially Legolas.

Eventually, the queen dubbed you Taleweaver, which you thought sounded pretty cool, but also a little nerve-wracking, because what if you ran out of stories to tell? You forced yourself to be casual. No worries. You were a writer, after all, just... Now your audience consisted of fantasy people instead of Tumblr bloggers.

No pressure.

One day, Legolas approached you alone as you groomed Starlight. "Yo," You said, s'upping him. "S'up?"

Blue-Eyes looked like you'd just thrown something at him. "Man?" You rolled your eyes. "Galu, mellon, galu. What is it?"

Legolas scoffed. "My mother has declared only a small party of us, including the dwarves, shall scout ahead and see if we can find their trail. Of the party is myself, Elros, Erestor, Haldir, and... you."

You pointed to yourself. "M...Me? The queen specifically requested me to go with you?" You narrowed your eyes suspiciously. "Whhhhhhyyyyyyy???"

Blue-Eyes glared at you as he stroked Starlight's muzzle. "It is nothing out of the ordinary. You wish to prove yourself to my father, do you not? I would like for you to stay in the Mirkwood as well, Sairen, so do not disappoint me."

"Well," You looked up at Starlight's face. "No pressure, right?"

Legolas smiled cheekily. "Not at all." He patted your back. "We begin at dawn tomorrow. Meet me by Starlight once you've woken, and we shall begin." He walked away, but half-turned to call out, "Do not be late!"

You nodded in exasperation, but as soon as he was gone, sighed and placed your face on Starlight's neck. "Mission," You hissed under your breath, just really wishing Lord Fabulous didn't have to be such a jackass. "Impossible."

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Le leich= You’re sweet

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angel-squid-trash-ghost · 4 years ago

Text

Parental Guidance Pt.6

Hakoda had the children dressed and fed by the time his mother had woken up. She fretted and fussed that he needed to be resting so he can get back to his regular duties. But is seemed his cold had all but disappeared. And for the time, Hakoda was enjoying spending time with his family. It had been too long.

Hakoda left to go get some burn ointment for Zuko’s burns. He found it strange how adamant they were of not going with him. Not even Sokka wanted to go. Smoke billowed from the small chimney of the healing hut. A noxious smell radiated from the entrance. Kehana always had reminded him of a ghost story Bato used to tell when they were lads. A tale of a winter witch that lived in the middle of nowhere. She never left her home until a blizzard came and would snatch and eat anyone who dared to venture out.

He entered the healing hut. Danak was inside holding a cloth around his thumb. It looked like he had cut it deep. The cloth was turning redder by the second. Danak tapped his foot impatiently. Kehana was hunched over her mortar and pestle grinding some green paste.

“Woman, I came for a bandage. By the time I get one I will have passed out from blood loss or the fumes of whatever poisons is in that brew of yours.” Danak sneered.

“You interrupted me. I will attend to your parchment cut in a moment.” Kehana mumbled.

Danak straightened his broad shoulders, “Parchment cut!? Woman, I am bleeding out here!”

“I do not think it is that bad.” Hakoda chuckled. “And Kehana with your usual Northern charm and impeccable bedside manner.” They both turned to face him.

“Good morning Chief Hakoda. Could you kindly tell this wicked woman that I am in need of aid? Seeing how she is the healer!” Danak finished shouting at Kehana.

Kehana ignored him throwing a dried plant in the pot. Hakoda shook his head. “So what happened to you?”

“I was trying to hold the baby and reached for my paring knife rather than the rattle.” Danak looked away embarrassed.

“How is the baby? No name yet. I bet Yise cannot choose just one.”

Danak wrapped the cloth again as it was becoming too saturated. “Actually, she has her heart set on an Earth Kingdom name.”

“Well if she is insistent, then just agree you get to name the next one. That is what me and Kya did.” Hakoda tried to smile.

“So, an Earth Kingdom name would be alright?” Danak pondered.

“Of course not! Fire children and Earth kingdom names. Next you will suggest marriages between nations.” Kehana put another plant in the pot making the smell recede.

Hakoda narrowed his eyes. “Marriages between nations already exist in the North.”

“To immoral men who couldn’t resist the sight of opened legs and green eyes. Children born out of wedlock are a pitiful result of war.”

“Pitiful is your outlook of the world. Get this man a bandage before he starts dripping.” Hakoda bit.

Kehana rummaged through a basket of bandages of varying sizes. “Here!” She threw the roll at him, “Now get out and tell your dim wife that she should have proper supplies instead of listening to silly ideas from foreigners.”

“Old bitch.” Danak stomped towards the door, “Feel better, Chief.”

“Thank you, Danak. Well wishes to your daughter and Yise.” Hakoda waved off.

Kehana moved back to her mortar, “What do you need?”

“I need something for my cold.” Hakoda said.

“Then why are you here? Ask your mother to make you soup.”

“I also need burn ointment.”

“For whom?” Kehana paused her grinding.

He smiled in disbelief, “Does it matter? I asked for it.”

“I’m not wasting anymore of my good medicine on that ugly thing.”

Hakoda growled, “Watch your mouth. Stop your assuming and just give me what I ask for. ”

Kehana hissed. “Your affinity for him is concerning. You are Chief. You have an obligation to protect-”

“And your obligation is to provide medical help to my village! You left a man to bleed from a knife wound while you mind your concoctions.”

“Is it for him?” Kehana ticked her head. A wild look came to her pale blue eyes. “It is summer. Many firebenders bloom at this time. Best to stomp a spark out before it becomes a flame.”

Hakoda watched her face warp into something hideous. Monstrous. “The burn ointment please.”

Kehana took a step closer, “I suggest you take him out far and club him like a seal.”

Hakoda couldn’t believe his ears. He curled his lip, “You’re disgusting.”

“Then if you don’t have the… gumption, there are many plants here that will do the trick.”

“Give me the ointment. Now.”

“If he is a firebender, he cannot be here!” Kehana ran to his face.

“Kehana! Give me the ointment!” Hakoda would doubt if the next village over did not hear him.

Kehana glowered a few moments. She spun around rapidly almost hitting Hakoda with her hair. She snatched a corked jar and shoved it in his hands. “What happened to your beard?” She smiled showing her worn teeth.

Hakoda tilted his chin away from her, “There will be a village meeting tomorrow. You are not to attend. Am I understood?”

“Of course, Chief Hakoda.” The crazed smile became wider.

He left without another word.

…

It was a relief to be back inside. The village had given him odd looks on his way home. Someone was surely to come by later and ask what happened. In a small village things get dull. Gossip of a confrontation will be good entertainment for a few hours.

Sokka was siting surprisingly still brow twitching as Katara and Zuko braided his hair. His mother was smiling softly holding a cup of tea. She was the first to see him. She had lost her smile. He called Zuko over. He looked very different from the distraught boy he held last night. He bounced over to Hakoda happy and affectionate.

“What are you two doing to Sokka?” Hakoda didn’t want the children to hear any of his previous tone.

Katara skipped over abandoning Sokka’s hair, “We’re making him pretty.” She sat next to Zuko.

“I’m already pretty.” Sokka rejected.

Zuko and Katara giggled. Zuko cocked his head, “Are you ok, Sir.”

“I am.” Hakoda said softly.

Zuko put his hands on Hakoda’s cheeks. Hakoda eyes drifted to his scar. Realizing this, he looked away. Zuko’s arms moved around his neck. The scar grazed his jaw. Zuko hugged him. Hakoda reciprocated. Katara joined with a kiss. And Sokka from behind. Kanna made her way over too. Her arms encircling them all. Hakoda breathed in deep. Their love radiating into him. He felt fulfilled. An image of cobalt blue eyes shining with delight, flashed in his mind.

When they broke apart Zuko was smiling, “Better?”

Hakoda nodded. “Yes. Thank you.” He took the jar from inside his pocket, “Let’s get this on just now. Shall we?”

Hakoda unwrapped Zuko’s fingers. He could tell the boy was putting on a brave face as he revealed the raw and peeling burns. He uncorked the jar making everyone cover their noses. Did everything that hag made have to smell so terrible? Katara handed him a brush and he got to work on applying the ointment.

“Do they hurt?” Sokka asked over his shoulder.

“Not bad.” Zuko winced, “My face hurt more.”

Katara watched as if she were supervising his work. Zuko saw this and put a finger on her forehead. He said something in Fire’s Tongue, and she responded. Zuko said something else mentioning Kehana’s name.

“Was Kehana ever mean to you?” He watched their faces drop.

“Kehana is not nice.” Zuko said simply.

“She’s more than not nice. She’s horrible. She has witch’s fingers and rats in her hair! She’s ugly and I hate her.” Katara raved.

“She said bad things about Katara’s and Sokka’s mommy.” Hakoda barely heard Zuko say.

He distracted himself with his task, “Do not worry about her children. You do not have to go to her if you do not want to.” He set his jaw so he would not scowl.

“When I’m a master waterbender I can just make a snowstorm and whoosh her away!” Katara declared.

“Yeah. And I can throw my boomerang!” Sokka held up his fist.

“She will get a smack upside the head from me if she keeps messing with my grandbabies!” Kanna added.

The children laughed. Hakoda shook his head chuckling. Kehana should run for the hills.

“Well to be a master waterbender you need a teacher.” He said to his daughter.

“Yeah but there’s no one here to teach me.” Katara shrugged.

“Which is why I am going to send for one. The only waterbenders are in the North. It is our only option.”

“Zuko will need a teacher too.” Katara looked at Zuko.

“No. I don’t want to firebend.” Zuko added quickly.

“Why is that?” Hakoda asked.

Zuko looked at him like he had three heads. “Firebending is bad.”

Hakoda put down the brush. He held Zuko by the wrists as he had done the night before, “Zuko. We have suffered much. All of us.” He looked around sadly. “By men who can control fire. They use their fire to burn towns and hurt people. What do you see there?” Hakoda pointed to the hearth.

Zuko paused, “I see fire.”

“Exactly. It keeps us warm, and cooks are food, and gives us light. We need fire to survive.” He released the small wrists, “You want to do good right?”

“Yes!” Zuko said desperately.

“Then that is what makes you good. Do not loose apart of yourself to please others.” Hakoda put his hand on his silky hair, “Never forget who you are.”

“Well said my son!” Kanna smacked her knee and held her chin high.

“You should be proud to be a bender.” Katara put her forehead to his, “We can learn together.”

“But you still have to do weapons training!” Sokka tackled Zuko.

“I will announce a village meeting tomorrow. I want the whole village to meet you formally. And I will make the announcement that you will live with us-”

“Yay!” Katara flung herself to her best friend. “I’m so happy!”

“Me too!” Zuko hugged her.

Hakoda shook with laughter, “And then we will make you an honorary citizen of the Southern Water Tribe.”

“What’s that mean?” Zuko sat up.

Sokka gave him a firm pat on the back, “That means you’ll be one of us and no one can say otherwise! You’ll be a warrior!”

“And a bender.” Katara cheered.

Hakoda nodded, “And Water Tribe.”

“And my newest grandson! Oh! Come here!” Kanna scooped him up and gave Zuko the tightest hug he had ever received.

…

The next evening, the entire village had gathered to the communal hut. Hakoda wore a ceremonial Artic fox shawl and a band of seashells. He carried his Whale bone spear unwrapped showing its sharp point. Kanna wore her favorite Snow Leopard Caribou stole albeit the season. She didn’t get to wear it often and would never miss a chance to dress up. She looked dignified on her favorite stool in her faint blue gown and silver jewelry. Both Katara and Sokka were dressed in darker blue summer outfits with a variety of beads strewn in their hair. And Zuko in an ashen grey. Gran-Gran had given him a braid wrapped in cord. A Water tribe symbol of humility and innocence.

Family groups made a circle around the hut so everyone could be seen and heard. Hakoda sat at the point with his mother to his right and the children to his left. Once everyone was settled, dried meat was passed around. It was believed a full stomach would make for a better temperament.

“Good evening.” Hakoda began.

“Good evening.” Everyone responded in their own time.

“Some of you may wonder why we are gathered here today and other’s probably have already guessed.” He looked around the room, “Firstly, I would like to address that my daughter, Katara, is a waterbender!”

Many cheered and gave their congratulations. Katara gladly accepted the praise. She slipped her hand into Zuko’s

“Wonderful news!”

“We finally have a bender!”

“How will she be trained?” Vakita, Moak’s wife asked. Moak raised a brow.

“I will have to send for a teacher. I have written a letter to Chief Arnook. I will send this letter in the morning.” Hakoda said absolutely.

“Another Northerner?” This time it was it was Kursru to speak.

“I understand your concern. But we have no choice in this matter.”

“It will be good to have a bender. Send for as many Northerners as you need. We need little Katara to learn as much as possible.” Bato said. No one was more loyal and understanding than Bato.

“Thank you, Mr. Bato.” Katara held a regal pose, “I have accepted my duty as sole waterbender of the Southern Water Tribe. I will train hard and endlessly until I am confident that I will be able to protect my people. I look forward to learning and mastering my element.” Katara recited the speech her grandmother helped her write.

“Does anyone else have any questions for me or Katara about this subject?” Hakoda asked.

“Yeah, can you not freeze us in an ice block again?” Noaluk groaned. Moak swiftly smacked the boy in the back of the head.

“That depends.” Katara said haughtily.

“That is enough. Any more questions? No? Ok. The matter is settled.” Hakoda pounded the spear to the ground. “Our next subject is probably something you all have been very eager to speak to me about.” He looked around the room again. Everyone stayed silent waiting for their turn to say aloud what they have been keeping to themselves. “We have had a guest here for quite some time. Almost seven months now. I understand that opinions about our guest have been divided. Some hateful even. I would like to introduce our guest.” Hakoda held out his hand.

Zuko looked around at the faces of all the village. Big and small were all staring directly at him. He felt stuck but shifted slightly. He watched their eyes move with him. He felt like a mouse trying to creep around a Mink Snake. No matter which way he moved, he would probably end up bit.

Zuko curled inwards. “Don’t worry. I’m right here.” Katara whispered in his ear.

He moved to Sir and sat in his lap with a finger to his mouth and his eyes down. “Ah-ah. Sit up straight and face everyone.” Sir said pleasantly moving his hand away. “Speak clearly now.”

“Hello. My name is Zuko.” Zuko felt his heart would burst from his chest.

There were oohs and ahs from the circle.

“Why does he talk funny?” Someone asked. Zuko didn’t see who but it sounded like an older boy.

Sir gave him a pat on the shoulder. “I like to sew and play outside.”

“And hit people with sticks.” Zuko could guess who said that.

“I came on a boat from the Fire Nation-”

“We know this. When is he going back?” It was an adult’s voice.

Zuko didn’t think his heart could beat faster, “I look forward to being a productive…” Zuko couldn’t remember what he was supposed to say as the room got louder with murmurs and whispers. Zuko went to stand to run away.

Sir held him in place, “We do not run when things get tough.” He said into his ear, “We stand strong and face our obstacles. If one way does not work, then we choose another.”

Zuko took a deep breath. He looked to Katara. She nodded. “I’m here.” She said in Fire’s Tongue. Zuko barely heard it amongst the growing noise.

He stood from Sir’s lap. “My name is Zuko!” The village went quiet. “I like to sew with Gran-Gran and play outside with Katara and Sokka. Katara teaches me Water Language and Sokka teaches me how to use weapons. They are my friends. Gran-Gran and Sir teach me lessons and how to be good. I want to be good. I want to be Water Tribe!”

“He can’t be Water Tribe!”

“Is he crazy?”

“Did you hear that? He wants to be one of us.”

“I think that’s a good thing!” Yise shouted. Everyone turned to Yise who was cradling her baby. Danak tried to hold her still, but she snatched herself away, “Why would we send the boy back just to grow up and be another Fire Nation soldier? If he wants to be Water Tribe, let him.”

“You foolish woman! You have always not been all there in the head!” The widower Lohara cried.

“Do not speak to her like that!” Danak shouted, “Go ahead sweetie. Finish what you were saying.” He grimaced suddenly having a change of heart.

“All I mean is that he is a little boy! He is not a danger to us!”

“He is Fire Nation!” Kursru complained.

“He is dangerous. He hit my son with a stick.” Vakita pulled her son’s closer to her.

“Because they attacked me and Sokka! Zuko was being a good friend! Noaluk and Yoton were being bullies!” Katara cut in. Zuko looked at her in awe.

“What if he turns out to be a firebender?!”

“Then he will be a danger to us all!”

“I am a firebender!” Zuko yelled.

Zuko with all his fury unintentionally summoned sparks to his hands. They did not spit like before but crackled like kindling when he clenched his fists. If Katara could be brave, then so could he. Several men stood. Zuko held his ground. Katara rushed to his side. Hakoda pounded his spear and demanded they sit. But when Kanna stood the men froze.

“Shame! All of you! Shame!” Kanna glared at every last man who stood.

“You say shame, but the Fire Nation killed my husband and left my children without a father!”

“And my brother and his son.”

“And my wife!” Hakoda bellowed. “We have all lost to the Fire Nation!”

Kanna took Zuko and Katara to sit back down with her. She kept them both firmly to her chest. “All of us. Even him.”

“More of reason he should stay. Look at what they did to him.” Yise pointed to Zuko’s scar. The baby started to wail.

Sokka rose. He couldn’t hold back anymore, “You think letting Zuko live here is the same as forgiving the Fire Nation! It’s not. I will never forgive the man who killed my mother! We’re sitting here arguing when there is no argument. Zuko doesn’t remember anything before the ship. How can he be loyal to people he doesn’t remember? But Zuko is loyal to us. He made a promise to my sister that they would be friends forever. And he really means forever. And I know he will keep that promise because Zuko is the most honest person I know! Yeah I’m looking at you Jiliruq!” Sokka pointed dramatically.

“I didn’t take your sharpening stone!” The older boy groaned.

Sokka shook his fist. “I know it was you! You were the only one near my stuff-”

“Sokka.” Hakoda warned.

Sokka exhaled, “Alright. When it all comes down to it, Zuko is going to stay with us. He is not gonna run around melting igloos, or eat babies, or steal people’s stuff. Katara froze the porridge this morning. Should we send her away too? Zuko’s a boy like me. Who’s lost just as much as we have and wants to be one of us. If an Earth Kingdom ditch digger washed up, we’d hand him a blue parka and a spear, right?” Some in the circle laughed, “Then we’ll do the same for Zuko. I mean he’s a human heater spit out by the ocean!” There was more laughter, “If La wants him here then I want him here too.”

The crowd spoke quietly on their take of his point. Zuko eyes traced the faces of the families around the room. He saw Yoton quietly speaking to his parents and Ms. Yise to her husband. The air in the room had gotten lighter. Zuko felt like he could finally take an entire inhale. Katara seemed to relax too. Her grip on his hand had loosened some and her face wasn’t wound as tight.

“But Chief Hakoda.” Bato spoke, “This arrangement is very unusual.”

“Yes. I think it will be a good change of pace.”

Bato nodded at the nonchalant answer. He knew Hakoda had already made up his mind.

“Does anyone have anything else to say?” Hakoda surveyed the circle.

Everyone had digressed to reserved utterings.

Bato let out a dry laugh, “I suppose he is to stay then.”

“Then the matter is settled.” Hakoda pound the spear again.

Kanna kissed both of their heads. “Did you two hear that? No more worries ok.”

Zuko let that sink in. No more worries. Katara beamed brightly. Sokka was smiling too. He came over to pat him on the back. Sir motioned for him to come over again. Zuko reluctantly untethered his finger’s from Katara’s and crawled to Sir. He directed Zuko in front of him and look out a beautiful porcelain jar. It was inlayed with mother of pearl in the shape of a Snow Eagle. Inside was a thick paint made of ash and squid ink. Sir dipped two fingers in and smeared two lines from Zuko’s hairline to his brow. He dipped one more time wiping his fingers across his forehead.

“This boy is now my ward!” Sir announced strong and proud. He turned Zuko around, “He is now known as Tulujok, child of the ocean!”

Tulujok. Water language for Crow-Owl. Katara joined him again. She snuggled into his cheeks.

“You are happy.” Zuko giggled.

Katara squeezed around him. “Aren’t you?”

Her smile made him want to leap for the moon. “I am always happy when you are happy.”

Life had only improved for Zuko after that. Although he had to split his time between Sokka and Katara. In the morning he would go to weapons training with Sokka and sometimes Sir would join them. After a while, the sight in his left had diminished to nothing. He was constantly swiveling his head further earning his name of Tulujok. He had to work twice as hard with half his sight. Eventually ,with weeks of relentless practice ,his spear had flown straighter and his arrows piercing their practice target. Never dead on. But knife play was always his calling. With the help of Sokka and Sir he was quickly becoming a skilled knife wielder.

His afternoons were shared with Katara and Gran-Gran in the igloo. His knife experience was put to the test when he skinned his first Seal. Gran-Gran had guided him through the rite earning him respect from the other home keepers. After chores, Zuko would help Katara and Gran-Gran with dinner. There was nothing like sharing stew with family after a full day of learning.

As for Katara’s and Zuko’s bending, neither had made much progress. Their lack of direction made for lack of control over their elements. There were accidents here and there. Zuko sneezing a flame or Katara hiccupping tea frozen were common mishaps around the igloo. And when Zuko and Katara had their first fight, Hakoda physically had to hold the children down before the igloo had caved in on them all. It had all started over something as trivial as a shared spinning top. Each of their screams either engorging the hearth or making cracks in the ceiling. It didn’t take them more than an hour for the best friends to make up. Each promising they’d never fight again.

Winter had come again. The ocean had frozen for miles out creating an icy labyrinth. There wouldn’t be another visitor for at least three more months. Zuko didn’t like the winter. He hadn’t before, but with the sun not giving him it’s light, something in him had weakened. Katara had seemed the opposite. She thrived under the silvery moon beams.

Snow steadily fell outside. Zuko was curled up by the fire. He had found a shiny black stone at archery practice. It was so beautiful. He knew Katara would love to see it. He traced over the smooth stone reflecting the fire’s light in its surface. The moment the furs moved Zuko was upright. Katara skipped happily to him.

“Zuko! Guess what? Ms. Vakita is going to have a baby!” Katara said excitedly.

“That is great news!” Zuko threw up his hands. The stone glinted.

“What is that?” Katara tried to grab his hand.

Zuko easily evaded her. He grinned, “It’s a surprise. Close your eyes.”

“Why? What is it?” Katara rolled to her knees.

“Close your eyes.” Zuko insisted in Fire’s Tongue.

Katara closed and covered her eyes, “Ok. I promise I’m not peeking.”

Zuko took her hand and placed the dark stone in the middle of her palm. Katara looked down to see the shining crystal. She gasped.

“Zuko! It’s so pretty! Where did you find it?” She too examined it in the light.

“At the archery range. Do you like it?” he was on his hands and knees quaking to hear her answer.

“It’s for me?!” Katara’s eyes glittered.

“Of course!” Zuko sat on his heels.

Katara was just about to hug Zuko when a commotion came from outside. Men were yelling in alarm. Zuko pulled Katara up and ran to Gran-Gran. Gran-Gran was on alert listening for any news. Katara’s started to think dark thoughts. Another raid. After all the time of peace. Another raid. More murder. This time they would come for her. And take her away like all the other waterbenders. She looked at Zuko. They would take him too. They would make him a soldier and make him kill. Katara started to cry. Zuko clutched her face. The look in his eye was striking.

“Don’t worry. I will protect us.” Zuko showed Katara his knife.

“A ship! A ship!”

“Zuko get your parka on now! Katara grab a blanket. We’re going to the communal hut.” Gran-Gran gathered what appeared to be an emergency bag. “Hurry both of you!”

Katara and Zuko did as they were told then helping their Gran-Gran pack water and dried food. She pushed the children out of the igloo with Zuko faithfully in front holding his knife ready to strike. Katara knew she might have to run. Scenario after dreadful scenario played in her mind. Flashes of her mother’s face kept appearing. The begging, the shrieking, the smell.

There was a terrible cracking sound coming from the ice as it broke. The ship was getting closer. Other families were running to the communal hut. Katara could see Sokka running towards them with a real spear and not his wooden practice one. Sokka took the bag from Gran-Gran and went in front of Zuko. The cold stung her face nearly freezing her tears. Zuko locked his arm in hers. He was walking fast but not too fast in front of Gran- Gran. He turned his head back and forth trying to catch any and all movement. Katara steeled herself and did the same. She saw her father shouting orders. If the Fire nation were going to come back, she would be ready this time. She no longer had a mommy to cling to. But she had Sokka and Gran-Gran and Zuko. She wasn’t going to let anything happen to anyone she loved ever again.

“They’re Water Tribe!”

“They’re Northerners!”

Katara fell to her knees in relief.

#katara #Zuko #sokka #young katara #young zuko #young sokka #hakoda #kanna #atla fanfic #Avatar The Last Airbender #bato #parental guidance au #alternate universe

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freingriffen · 4 years ago

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A Crashing Tide - 01

The black boulders of the mounded seawall jutted against the fluid arms of cobalt and white seaspray that launched between their crevasses. The frigid northern waves piled high before crashing against the rocky path that stretched out towards the faint silhouette of a lighthouse in the distant fog, looking like at any moment the harsh storm might break the illusion and snap the brittle barrier they were to walk upon. Eight men in muted blacks and blues and garbed in various dull metals moved up in a column across the wall’s deteriorated wooden path. They were were ominously covered by black chain hoods like those of some dark and armoured executioners. Each of their wooden-stocked rifles pointed from the line in a new direction, unabated by the harsh waters spitting violently against them that tried to obscure their path. It was in these moments that seamaidens were said to leave the weary and confused to their deaths in the water, but these men had a purpose and knew their path. Where others found a destructive enemy in the storm that stood indomitably in their path, the men found an ally that ushered them in. The howling winds and crashing waves masked the first shot from the leader, causing the lookout on the lighthouse’s upper gallery to drop against the tower’s wall and disappear beneath the edge of the railing, leaving a red stain on the grey bricks. The group moved silently as far as anyone nearby was concerned, outshone in all manner by the deafening roar of wind and water so well that the pale guard with his jaw half hanging from his head failed to notice the men approach behind him in their heavy gear. The nearest soldier gripped his neck and turned it sharply to the side and at a complex angle as another rounded on him and slit his throat deeply for good measure, preventing anything more than a guttural squeak from being uttered. The soldier in the lead extended his hand behind him and held it out, then raised it beside his hand and held four fingers before waving his hand under arm and pointing to the door of a building beside the lighthouse and drawing an upside-down U-shape with his hand.

Stop. Four men, move up, that building, on the door.

The four men immediately behind him in the line broke from the group and moved past the lighthouse to a two-storied building behind it. The other four remained with the group leader as he called similar signals; Three fingers before pointing to himself, then pointing directly to the door of the lighthouse and making that upturned U-shape, followed finally by tapping his helmet.

Three men, me, move up, that door, breach.

He held his hand out again as one of the soldiers pulled up beside him to the large tar-painted door of the lighthouse with his rifle slung and a broadaxe in hand.

Five... Four... Three... Two... One...!

The door’s iron hinges, rusted and pitted as they were, gave way well before the lock did. The door rent and pivoted on its lock with a loud crack and several pops as it fell away into the room. The soldier immediately following the breacher fired off right beside his ear at the rising Forsaken Deathguard, smacking the shocked look from his face with a bullet. The soldier raised his breaching device - The broadaxe with a pickhead on its back - and felled the next guard whom was rising from his seat on the stairs. The four of them advanced quickly up the stone steps, knocking away or crushing the remnants of the guards’ lunch under their footfalls as they ascended. The staircase ascended from left to right in order to enable its defenders, as all towers did, however the soldier in lead was left-handed and quickly brought his axe to brutal bear against the undead defenders descending upon them. Legs hooked and swept by the pick were followed by the hollow crunch of dusty, bloodless bodies being torn apart by the axe’s blade quickly thereafter. Another shot rang past his ear as the axe came down on another, causing a Forsaken body to slump past him and tumble under their feet. They quickly broke out into a room - The lighthouse’s watchroom - and the stairs turned to grey oak timber stained with what can only be described as the dusty mucus that came from its new corpses. Several shots quickly cleared the room as the three behind the breacher entered it, scanning with their rifles for anything that dared to try and refute their recent volley, before just as quickly retreating. Up they continued in their hasty pace, unabashed or unbothered by the next two defenders that made their way down, the last being clad in robes rather than armour and seemingly weaponless but for a wickedly barbed dagger. The staircase opened up into a service room, lit only by the dim candles that were haphazardly stuck however they could be to the clockwork mechanism beneath the lantern, which jutted out from the ceiling in the centre of the room. It was enough light for the several robed and hooded Corpses to dwell amongst, snarling at their attackers. The soldiers wasted no time, lining up their rifles and letting off a volley.

Only one remained...

The group stepped out through the broken doorway and into the dim grey air of the raging storm. The lighthouse was well built, one of the soldiers remarked to himself quietly, given that they hadn’t ever thought of nor heard the tempest whilst inside. They stalked toward the bunkhouse and toward the door when one of the windows on the upper floor burst open. A gangly corpse rolled across the overlooked rooftop and off the eave, hitting the muddy stone ground with a thud. One of the soldiers rounded on him quickly, rolling him under his foot to find the body already riddled with holes. They glanced up as a group and saw their comrades smiling down on them. “I s’pose we can consider the compound clear, aye?” One of them called in their thick highland accent, breaking the mission-imposed concept of silence. “Come clean this up, he’s your toy.” One of the others called back up to him, pulling up the chain veil that obscured his face to flash the other soldier a cheeky grin. The lot of them entered the bunkhouse, letting out a series of short cheers and laughs to one another as the two teams rejoined. “No trouble then, Frasier?” The team leader asked, removing his hood and draping the wet metal around his shoulders and neck. “Few guards, nothing above tier. Was a piece of pie, but no one felt like chatting o’er a cuppa today. Your lads?” He asked back as he lit up an uncommonly short pipe and glanced around the room. The others seemed to be taking up seats around the room, illuminated by the holes in its sides that allowed some of the seaspray to get in. “Aye, acolytes of some sort. Non-magical. One gave us a location after we gave him a reason to.” He nodded, taking a similar glance around at the men. “Griffen’s hunch correct?” He asked, looking over at the only soldier still with his metal hood on, but whom was clearly looking up at them listening to them talk. “Aye... Looks more an’ more that way every day.” Griffen groaned, “I told you, McMillan, they would want the Capitol back.”

“Well calm your tits, mate. Our last acolyte, rest his soul in hell, gave us a clear direction first,” McMillan turned back to Frasier, “Best dress sharp lads, we’re goin’ to Kul Tiras first.” “Tea with the Admiral, then?” He quipped back, dousing his smoke as the men began to merge on the door. “Yeah, an’ you’re not invited.” McMillan threw him the two-fingered salute as they walked outside.

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nextwarden · 4 years ago

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Age of the Sun

He was of the Sun. Literally. They'd eventually explained what that meant. His powers came from many things: his will, his control over his aura, the world around him, but, fundamentally, they were powers of light, powers of the Sun. Of course that didn't define his abilities, it simply categorized them along the axis of the Wills. He answered to the will of the World, and the World was of light, which in turn gave him strength. It felt weird at first, his affinity was entirely other, after all, something removed from light as he imaged it. Fire would have been more appropriate, in all its blazing glory, warming the souls of those around him and showing them the way by reducing enemies to scattering ashes. But he was of cold and clear, of calm and steady, of that which melted under the power of the beams of sunlight that invariably rose after every night. Ice was fluid, much like fire but differently. Where fire was volatile and explosive, ice was slow and patient, running slower yet than water itself, and keeping etched in its eons old memory all the woes around. It calculated and creeped on you soundlessly and once you noticed it it was too late, in a crack it would have you numb and ready to sink into a long slumber. How it could have been of light he did not grasp for a long time. Only when the Axes were revealed, truly revealed, not simply explained, but revealed to him in a vision during one of the longest fights yet in the middle of a heavy winter night, only then had he understood. Axes were alignment dependent on the divinities they belonged to, they had sway over one'sactions and heart but no true thing to say on the matter, at least not forcefully. As he'd seen in Serom and Simin, the mistresses of poisons and venoms, as he'd seen in Vanesh, keeper of shadow puppets and occasional wielder of the somber arts, the appearance of one's power didn't determine one's worth.

Then there had been the matter of his name, bound to him during the second ceremony to confirm his identity. An old word associated with many meanings and layers - which was quite quite ironic as in it designated light in its most primal form, that which hone upon the world to show in its truest form. A bearer of light, of truth, of virtue and righteousness. They'd made him to be that. Not that he wasn't interested in fairness and doing the right thing, he'd gone that far to follow up on his beliefs after all; he'd never asked for it however, never really wanted it. He'd taken on that role partially by sheer curiosity, partly in boredom, maybe even a little bit to surrender some sort of wild hope?

It had taken him time to truly understand what it meant to be of the light. That night in the ancient woods, engulfed in hail and snow with no true grasp on either direction or orientation, and a band of fellow soldiers trying their best to simply stay alive until the morn to come. He'd never actually quite believed in the power night held over human hearts, nor the surprising depth of the meaning of "longest night" before. It wasn't a casual burden or one of the usual hardships to overcome, there was a nameless terror in a cold, starless night which never seemed to plan on ending. He found himself at the foot of a wall of dark snow, literally as much as figuratively, how to get out of that situation? How to believe? In himself and in others?

…

Despair had been creeping upon him all night, deeper and deeper as it went. Waiting and waiting, not quite hoping anymore, for the sun to shine its first light on the desolate snowy decor. The harsh wind and dark night had not stopped eroding his patience and his will. His companions were in a similar condition if not worse. Little time, little hope. How he missed the sweet days of the Capital, the scent of flowers in the spring and the heat of bread in his hand. That was when he understood, when, somehow, in the midst of the tempest, within and without, being of the Sun bordered over the precipice of logic and began to make sense to him. Hoping was one thing but believing was the step he had to take. Belief in himself and the worth of his mission, the strength of his comrades and their bond, belief that after night would come day again and a new beginning. Belief could lead to foolish actions and visions of the world, but if mastered right, it could also open new doors. If one could believe, then one would know, and knowledge was power. Perhaps he was not the hero of this story, but he could help write it.

He'd felt it long before the first rays of the sun pierced the deep blackness. Within him. It stirred, slow and steady, weightless yet sluggish, as if asleep for too long. It roused and shook, shivered and yawned, before spreading all over. He was One. With himself and with others, with purpose and with power, with strength yet no desire to take, only to give. Communion, he had realized later. A feeling akin to a little death, some had said, giving up what one was to become part of more, becoming less to become more. It was strange, he realized, yet it had always been, he realized too. On days of sun he would feel good, and on grey days he would feel faint, rain would give him peace while the Sun would warm his soul. A cycle had been long growing within it, repeating each day and each night. It was not all, however, he'd learned to see what before was hidden, to see the Will and the Sun here nothing had been before, where too few or too faint, where others looked not long enough.

He saw flickers of light, somewhere between halos, fireflies and flares, it rarely surrounded, more often than not simply dancing lightly around. Always shimmering, faintly one beat, bright the other, growing and receding, coming and going. That was the Will, yet it was no order, it was a path, many paths, offered most generously to any who would borrow them. Yet it was never so brighter than when he laid eyes on them. They hued in golds and honey and sand, melting into every colour conceivable as the day went by, and found he could not look away. Enveloping their whole figure, as if walking out of the light itself. He could never put the words on what exactly it was he saw - or felt, yet he knew. He felt, so he knew. It wasn't truth. Truth was absolute. It was verity, his own voice and his own path, his to choose, and, by god, he chose it.

***

"As the ashes of morning settle and night is cast back into the shadows, a new champion rises, my friends! Listen to the Will of the World as it sings the hope reborn and rejoice for the age of Light is upon us once more! May his name be honoured by all and may his blade cut true, Vytus Yggdrasil. Freedom in blood and peace in light!"

The archpriest of the holy Order of the Storm had addressed the crowd in such words, fervour in his demeanor and absolute belief in his words. Such began a new cycle of hope and reclaiming, he had assured, the darkness would be quelled again, fought back to the confines of the lands and they would prevail. The ceremony on the whole had been coated in such tones, that of destiny and inevitability. After all, a new Hero had appeared and made themselves known both to the Alliance and to their enemies by shining brilliantly on the battlefield and pushing back against the oppression of the Ashen Legions. A new dawn to the night.

Born to unknown parents, orphaned since his youngest age, Vytus had never expected in his wildest dreams to become entwined with the Will of the World. His own path had always been to be by Zema's side. The proud knight and protector of the soul with the ever wilting flowers in their hair and freckles on their arms, the one who had shared everything with them since the fragile child had learned to dance under the rain, falling prey to cold fevers each time they repeated the feat yet unrelenting in their desire for Vytus to accompany them outside when the skies darkened. The one who shared still, now a grown adult still sporting flowers in their flowing sunset mane - still wilting, although they did tend to last longer -, with a smile far stronger than their body had become and an undying desire to dance to the world's beautiful symphony whenever. Their soul had not dimmed despite skin now covered in galaxies of tears and cuts, earned with pride over the years. The fight had been harrowing and he knew that had Zema not been there, he'd never have managed to come so far. Yet he'd always believe it would be them who would rise to fame, with their innate talent for natural magic, a rare and precious gift of the Will if the witch which had confirmed this during their first ceremony had spoken true. Zema had the aura, the talent and the ability to make it shine, and he was ready to follow, protect and support wherever they wished to go. Yet, despite it all, he had revealed himself as the next chosen.

It had happened a cold winter night, as the stars shone dim in the sky and their expedition had faltered in the crossing of the Perynos, the mountains separating the northern arm of the continent from the rest. They had been seeking an old relic and the guidance of ancient spirits in an abandoned forest when a pack of direfoxes had apparently taken a liking to their scent. Sent running into the deeps of the woods they'd managed to find shelter in a small grotto. Six they were, Zema and him, Michael of the order of the Storm, Kal, a travelling musician they had met a few weeks prior and who had insisted on accompanying them, and two of the local lord's men who served as guides as best as they could.

…

"Much like the Hero of the past, as legend says."

The quiet discussion between the two soldiers had caught his ear and he had listened. They'd partly turned to include them when they'd noticed.

"He'd gotten lost in such forest too. Almost passed on, but they got saved by his revelation," said the older of the two, bearded with a single spiky line of hair in the center of his head.

His colleague, a more reserved lad spoke in turn.

"A shining beacon from within, legend says. Not dissimilar to what you've described. I can't see it but I can feel the warmth of the light within. My bad eye is sensitive and I can feel it, I see the colours unknown," he pointed to his bad eye.

"Torn by a nölger a few years back, he says he can perceive things others can't, since."

The spike-haired proceeded to mime a mauling.

"I can too!"

"Yeah, yeah, I believe," the other scoffed gently, "but it does resemble that of the previous Hero. They say it was in a forest like this, not this one but a sister, another part of the ancient that once covered the whole of the lands, further to the east."

"I…", he hadn't quite known what to say.

In truth he had felt the surge of power within him, as if a potential had revealed itself behind a now open door. A new path that would lead him to something more. He couldn't quite grasp it still, he couldn't even be sure it was what it meant.

"I cannot say if it is such, I mean, it would be hard to believe that for myself…"

Their eyes had been true and so had been Zema's. Michael and Kal had been more reserved and curious, but Zema had believed from the moment they'd felt his aura surge and coil. They'd always been the more sensitive of the two, alway the one to see beyond, and so they had known. It had taken him a few more weeks to truly begin to believe, but Vytus had had to resign himself to the surprising truth: he had awakened in himself the mark of the Hero. Not by power or worthiness, more as a response to a need, or perhaps a want. He'd known what it had meant, perhaps that was why he'd been so reluctant to accept the change… For change it was, a change of destiny, of fate, and, more unnervingly, of himself. His greatest fear had not come to pass, however, as Zema had remained by his side all the way and he'd remained by theirs, each acting as the other's sword and shield when needed, each other's pillar, each other's rock. They were two but they were one, in a much deeper sense than anyone else might have agreed to believe, deeper than the lords and their sons and daughters of marrying age had been inclined to hear, deeper than the teachers and wisemen and trainers had chosen to accept at first. Still they had all seen in the end - had they not, he had made them see - that one without the other would not do, they were them or they were not at all. The mark of a true hero, a strange dwarven woman has chuckled in such a meeting they had had to live through many variations of, a strange almost knowing glint in her eye.

…

They'd risen and fought. He had had to learn the way of the sword, which had come quite surprisingly naturally to him, flowing along his liquid aura in almost perfect and instantaneous synchronicity. It complemented well with Zema's more reserved yet unyielding shieldborn tactics. And, as times passed, supported efficiently by Michael's all-rounding aura and Kal's strange ways with curses and illusions. They'd made their way to the top, recognition raining on them as all but him had believed he deserved.

He had not truly wanted it, however. Being recognized was good, pleasant too. Offering his abilities for the sake of others had always been his call in life, Zema had been the first recipient of that. No, the problem was the reason he was. Were the reasons for this war truly what they could be? What they should be? He'd learned more as the years had passed, more about himself, about his beliefs and their origins, his imperfect knowledge of the world, of himself and those around him, of what truly mattered and what didn't. An attempt to separate them by a band of local nobles in the hopes of making him their pawn had gone down in the lands history as a very bad decision. Zema was his and he was theirs, not a voice more had a say in that.

…

Perhaps that is what had driven him and, almost immediately so, Zema, to turn away from what they had always been told they were destined to accomplish. They had accomplished much, quelling tensions and fighting in remote regions, finding ways to defend against the Ashen Legions yet also coming to understand where they came from. Such that they had welcomed one of their enemies into their ranks. It had surprised all of them when Michael himself, the vanguard of the Order, had insisted on helping the gravely wounded and abandoned harpie. They'd found the feathered woman torn and bleeding on the side of the road in the aftermath of a long and difficult battle. Sueh-lissa, as they'd eventually learned she was called, had somehow become their companion of travel and of questing, teaching them the ways of the land in ways they had not known existed before and teaching them about the Ashen as much as she learned about them. It had opened new horizons, too many it seemed, as it had also turned questions back into their minds, questions they'd known they had possessed since long before yet had never wanted to actually pull from the depths of their mind and ask. Uncomfortable. They'd asked and found answers, reflected, and eventually decided that seeing things for themselves would actually be of service, insisting on a questing chain away and in travels, pretexting one of the utmost importance, given by oracles in the uncertain smoke of the future.

They'd travelled east and west, north and south, all over, to the deepest reaches and the dangerous lands, crossed over the seas and walked the continent and its myriad of surrounding iles in the hopes of finding a truth which seemed to elude them. It had taken a stop in a small, remote village, a refuge for beasts and halfling Sueh had heard about in passing and a fateful meeting with a soul who had died once and another who had not to gain an inkling of understanding as to what the Will of the World truly represented. They had not been the first. Long ago another had chosen a similar road, armed with a lance and a heart full of love. He too had not been alone, and such had begun the conquest of peace over the land, peace that had endured and stretched for so long, much of what had been forgotten had been recalled...

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A Hero’s Retirement

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