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katherinewilliams221b · 4 years ago

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For A Greater Good 15/18

not my gif just the text. Origins

Summary: Kate Williams, young healer and member of the Order, joins Durmstrang’s staff at Dumbledore’s request. Her mission? Find a Death Eater and survive long enough to tell the story. Set in 1996.

Pairing: Charlie Weasley x ofc/mc

Masterlist

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5]

[Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9] [Part 10]

[Part 11] [Part 12] [Part 13] [Part 14]

Her pulse failed every time she held a quill to write to Charlie; her eyes stung whenever she closed them. At one point she started to feel a constant pressure on her right temple, and it didn’t abandon her during the next weeks that followed her discoveries.

Kate lay on her side in bed, with her arms tucked against herself, protecting the cursed paper that was causing her nightmares, and curled up in a ball. That was her default position every day since then.

She stared at the candle on her table, the only source of light in the room and in her mind. The fire danced and twisted, hypnotising, captivating.

She thought of being somewhere else, with someone else.

What kind of person you must be to fool one of the greatest wizards alive? Dumbledore wasn’t any saint of her devotion, but… he must have known, right? He had to… or perhaps not.

Her breathing was slow and even, she concentrated on it; in and out. In and out. If she kept her eyes opened they stung, but if she closed them… it was worse.

And just like every other night, the candle consumed itself, leaving Kate in total darkness.

“Don’t give up hope.” She had told her students when they saw that none of the umbrella flowers had teeth. “We still have time.”

“We don’t have time! Exams start on Monday and the AEDA is in less than two weeks from now!” Jon had exclaimed.

“What have we done wrong?” Greta had asked.

“Focus on your exams. Remember that you can have your notebook with the greenhouse notes, so make sure it’s complete. I’ll take care of the flowers.”

She didn’t know how. The migraines had intensified, the parchment she hid under her uniform burned her skin every day, every hour, it was a reminder that she had to get out of there as soon as possible. But she had made a promise, and she had to keep it: those plants would have teeth like her name was Kate Williams.

And there, lying in bed unable to see around her, she discovered what had gone wrong with her project: Dark Arts.

After that revelation, Kate went to the library daily to visit the botany section. Corentin deliberately avoided her, being aware of the rumours about them. They had spent a lot of time together these past few months, and inevitably, the castle residents would wonder why.

Deaf to the gossip, the bat kept one eye on the library and one on Kate. Unaware that her friend had her back from above, the young witch devoured pages and pages about crossbreeding, the only activity that kept her from thinking about the list.

The day before the Herbology exam, Kate was sitting at her usual table going over all the ingredients for the potion she had found. With Jorgensen's help, maybe she could grow those fangs.

Voices made her look up. Before long, an unusual commotion where they were standing deafened those looking for a quiet study area.

She saw Corentin, in his bat form, swiftly descending towards the shouting, and followed his path with her eyes. Two of her students, Vivien and Jon, were arguing heatedly, surrounded by their friends. The librarian didn't have to say a word; he just transformed into a human right in the middle of the two, glaring disapprovingly at them until the children dispersed.

Unwilling to perform her duties as an authority figure and scold her students for misbehaviour, she dipped her quill into the inkwell and began copying down the ingredients she would need. She had barely written two of them when movement out of the corner of her eye distracted her.

At a glance she recognised Vivien, who was deep in thought, and pulled a book out of her backpack grumbling to herself. The girl dropped it on the table with a thump.

"Has he been bothering you?" Kate couldn't help but ask. She didn't look up from the page she was reading. She managed to catch a few words in Vivien's mind, but they blended into each other in a swirl of acidity.

"He's been hounding me all week to study with him. He won't leave me alone." Kate put down the quill then and watched as Vivien pretended to read. "I hope after this he gets the idea."

"He won't bother you anymore today." Kate said after a while, "Remember the exam will be in class 82. You'll do fine." Vivien nodded as Kate gathered her belongings.

After asking Corentin's permission to take the book, she walked over to the table where Jon Hopkins was ogling Vivien in the distance, surrounded by his friends.

"Gather your things," she said without greeting, "You've found a study partner."

The boy looked at her as if she had six arms and as a protest began to form on his lips, Kate interrupted him, "It's non-negotiable. Come on, I don't have all day."

The group around Jon pitied their friend as he reluctantly advanced in front of the young teacher outside the library.

"I have to study." He complained as they made their way down the hallway.

"You will accompany me to see Professor Jorgensen and then to the greenhouse. You will study there while I experiment."

"What if I don't want to study?" He challenged. Kate just shrugged.

"Much better. You'll help me with my duties in the greenhouse and with the umbrella flowers. I recommend you find the will to study. I have a lot to do today."

"But why?"

"Maybe then you'll understand what it feels like to have unwanted company."

Kent Jorgensen gave Kate the ingredients without complaint. She had expected more resistance from him, had even prepared a speech to get the professor to agree, but it hadn't been necessary. She supposed he would want to maintain some diplomacy between them with a gesture that wouldn't set off the time bomb that could destroy professor Angelov's career and life.

Once in the greenhouse, Jon sat in the seat furthest away from her and leaned his elbows on the table pretending to read his notes while Kate waved her wand back and forth.

An array of pots, bottles and boxes surrounded her and with a sigh she set about preparing her potion.

The concoction was composed of a mixture of compounds of both plant and animal origin that Kate had never used before and when mixed together, it flooded the greenhouse with a putrid smell.

After two hours, a small explosion of a suspicious liquid, one miscalculation and several incorrect consistencies, Kate managed to obtain the muddy-looking concoction, which she had to leave to steep for fifteen minutes. It was time for the key part of the process: introducing the desired characteristic into the potion.

Jon looked up from his notebook wearily and watched in disgust as Kate cleaned the inside of a geranium's mouth before pulling a fang out of one of them with forceps.

"Why did you say 'sorry' to it?" The boy asked. Kate looked at him in confusion, waiting for him to elaborate further. "You apologised to the geranium." Kate tsked.

"Well, I just knocked his tooth out. He must not have been amused." She set the tusk down in a glass bowl and proceeded cleaning her workbench.

"You're strange... I mean..." Jon stammered out a few words at the look on Kate's face, who misinterpreted her frown as anger. "It's just... you're good. And kind. Like Professor Mawut." Kate smiled.

"Thank you very much, Jon." She raised an eyebrow and added, "But you're not getting rid of me today." He pursed his lips and returned to his notes.

Movement through the glass of the greenhouse caught her attention and squinting she caught a glimpse of Mer Yankelevich hurrying over the bridge towards the forest. Libor Marek was at her heels.

Marek grabbed the teacher's arm and something he said stopped her in her tracks. After a while, Mer released her grip and retraced her steps towards the castle, leaving Marek watching her from a distance.

"Professor Marek is very brutish." Jon commented, having seen the scene as well. Kate tilted her head, agreeing with the comment, and proceeded to grab the fang with a pair of tweezers. She dipped it into the potion and waited as the tooth disintegrated on contact.

"What do you think of Professor Yankelevich?" She asked absently. Jon grimaced and shrugged.

"She's okay, I guess. She's been pretty angry lately, though."

"Angry with you?" Jon shrugged again. He glanced over to where the two teachers had been having the conversation and turned back to Kate. "Professor Marek has been arguing with her a lot," he whispered, "I don't know why... it's almost lunchtime..."

"Great. I'll finish this and we'll eat together." Jon let out a frustrated sigh and rested his head on his fist. "We shouldn't pry into their business." Kate grimaced hearing herself say that.

She swirled the potion with her wand six times to the left and then eleven times to the right. With each twist, the liquid grew thicker and thicker until it hardened so much that the wand had become trapped inside. But she was not to let go of it, no. The instructions clearly stated that there had to be contact with the wizard for at least five minutes.

Practically breathless, she watched as the stone began to crack from the centre of the wand, slowly breaking into a brown powder. She sighed in relief at the desired result and wiped her wand on her overalls.

After adding water, the end result was a bowl of what appeared to be, but nothing could be further from the truth, soil.

She excitedly sprinkled some of it on all the pots of umbrella flowers, and after watering them, covered them all with a leather tarp.

"Tomorrow we'll know if it worked."

Kate watched her students work through the test she had prepared for them. After nearly an hour and a half, she stood up to relieve her stiff muscles. She walked between the rows of children sitting individually and checked out of the corner of her eye that they were only looking at their parchment. A small, fleeting smile broke out on her face, proud to see that most of the pupils were writing with admirable concentration. Some of them, like Micael Angelov, had supplemented their writing with small sketches.

When she reached the end of the class, she went the other way and leaned against the door.

“You have fifteen minutes left,” she remarked, glancing at the clock.

Young Angelov was the first to stand up. Securing his backpack over one shoulder, he handed the parchment to Kate with a shy smile.

“How did it go?” She checked that he’d written his name and looked up waiting for his response.

“Pretty good.”

Kate nodded with a smile and stepped away from the door to make way for him. A voice whispered her name behind her back and Vivien appeared to hand her her exam paper. Kate repeated the question.

“Very good! It was easy... although I didn’t remember you were going to ask about our herbarium... but I was able to answer them. Professor Williams, are you coming to the Glow-bug shower?”

“What’s that?” she whispered, indicating to Vivien to do the same.

“Professor Rhode explained to us that every year thousands of glow-bugs appear and light up all the mountains. It’s Thursday night. According to her, it’s very exciting.”

Apparently, Astrid was right. In her healer’s uniform, spelled to withstand the cold, and her hood hiding her ears and forehead, Kate made her way through the crowd in one of the castle towers. She found a gap near the stone wall overlooking the quidditch pitch and rested her hands on the stone.

It was the one night of the year when students were allowed to roam the castle at midnight, on the occasion of the very particular event that was about to take place.

She raised her hand to her neck, adjusting her cloak to protect herself from the cold, and looked up. A blanket of infinite dots stretched above them. The stars guarded the terrain from high above, and with no clouds, they were perfectly visible from any point. Despite the voices and the shouting, there was something about watching the sky that left Kate in awe and isolated from the rest of the world.

She took a deep breath, imagining Charlie next to her, stretched out, side by side on the lawn of the Burrow, hands casually brushing and competing to prove who had been paying more attention in Astronomy.

“It’s bright out tonight,” a low, husky voice brought her back to the present, “At least it’s not a full moon, in which case they’d be unnoticeable.”

She looked down to find Professor Marek standing next to her. She raised her eyebrows, “I didn’t think seeing glow-worms would interest you, Professor.”

“There are many things that interest me, Miss Williams, not just winning duels.” he replied in a monotone voice. “I didn’t know you‘d be interested in this sort of thing... always stuck in that greenhouse of yours with dirt on your fingers. Have you had enough of flowers and leaves?”

Kate huffed, but didn’t take the bait. She merely averted her gaze to her left, where another tower of the castle contained the same number of people as there were around her. Marek also looked around, but didn’t move his feet from the ground. Kate suspected she would have an escort during the event. The question was, why?

The torches on the stone walls around them suddenly went out, raising the murmurs and impatient exclamations of the children. Kate and Marek turned their heads as they heard Professor Yankelevich’s shriek, pleading for silence.

“I remember you were good with protective spells,” challenged Marek

“I can defend myself.” The professor nodded and looked at the tower next door waiting for the signal. A light from a wand announced the teachers were ready to begin.

“We’re going to create a bubble around us, make sure it’s not too high.”

Numerous wands rose into the air, coming from different parts of the castle. A silvery layer began to form over their heads, spreading at full speed through the air from the highest point of the castle to the ground. Once every stone and corner of the place was encircled, the colour of the dome faded until it was completely transparent, invisible to the human eye.

There was a collective urge to hold one’s breath. The anticipation was beginning to be palpable, and even Kate noticed how her body leaned forward, as if to concentrate better.

A tiny spark came into view in the mountains. It was an intense white light, but very small, so small that after a few seconds it disappeared. The general disappointment dissipated as dozens of lights began to scatter in the distance, then hundreds, and before long, the stars seemed noticeably extinguished by the cascade of glow worms drifting in the wind.

Kate had only ever seen one glow worm in her life; in a Care of Magical Creatures class where Kettleburn had brought one inside a jar to show how some people used to use them as lamps. The problem was, and also the reason the teachers conjured up a protective bubble, glow-bugs were deadly.

“Takes your breath away, doesn’t it?” commented Marek without looking away.

She nodded, mouth half-open, gawking at the scene before her eyes; the glow-worms were slowly approaching through the air, carried by the breeze to their heads. The creature comprised a transparent shell that resembled the shape of a Muggle light bulb. Inside was the worm, curled in on itself and emitting an incandescent light.

Several of them bounced off the invisible barrier, creating an almost hypnotic effect on the onlookers. The entire castle was under such a blinding spotlight everyone was forced to squint or shield themselves with their hands.

The worms had scattered within moments; some had strayed into the forest, some into the mountains, and the rest had descended the cliffs, leaving the castle in its usual gloom.

Kate turned to Marek the moment the torches were lit again. A particular, never-before-seen gleam decorated the professor’s eyes, which, as the seconds passed, transformed his gaze into a deep, watery unhappiness.

Marek pulled himself together quickly and as much as Kate longed to know the reason for such emotion, she kept her mouth shut and waited patiently for some dry, cutting remark to ease the tension.

“I don’t know my parents. They died when I was very young.” He proclaimed instead. She stood still, afraid to shoo him away like a bird perching in one’s window to say hello. Despite there being so many people around them, the rest of the teachers were ordering them back to the dormitories, giving them some ironic privacy. Marek was staring off into the distance, “But I have a memory, a very vivid one, of a situation like this. It’s like an anniversary for me, I don’t know what, but that’s how I see it.”

A cruel idea flashed through her mind, one that she was dying to spit in his face, but for the sake of their diplomatic relationship she held back inside her. Her eyes began to burn, and she cursed to herself for being so emotional lately. She carved a frown into her forehead to keep her tears from spilling.

“My adoptive parents never knew where I got such a story...”

“And despite...” she couldn’t hold back, her words would be hurtful and she knew it, but she blurted them out to his face all the same, “And despite not knowing your origins, which may well be non-magical, you make a point of despising those who are different from you. You could be a muggleborn.”

Marek peeled his eyes from the mountains and looked at her with his characteristic sternness. The facade had returned to his face and his heart was shut tight.

“No,” he hissed, “my blood is clean.”

Mer Yankelevich was pushing the last student into the building when he made eye contact with Kate. Surely she had been watching the entire exchange, she thought.

Professor Jorgensen appeared through the door at that instant, averting his gaze to Kate and Marek and then to Mer, intermittently. He closed the door behind him and both professors approached them.

“You’ll never be completely sure of that.” Kate shook her head at his comment, wondering why she’d been so concerned about his feelings. The professor turned sharply and without a goodbye, stomped off to enter the castle and disappeared from sight.

“Is Libor all right?” asked Yankelevich.

“He looks really obfuscated, but that’s usual.”

Kate took a step back, suddenly feeling irrationally cornered.

“He’s been acting strangely for some time now, and an unpredictable Libor can be dangerous.” said Mer.

Jorgensen turned to her, “To my mind, Libor is not an irrational creature...”

“Believe me, I know him well. We should stay away from him for a while, let him clear his head.”

“I don’t understand what you mean, Professor,” Kate said, a little upset. Mer walked over to her, holding her gaze.

“If you spend more time with us, you’ll understand that it’s better to give Libor his space. By the way, the year is coming to an end. Will you still be the Herbology teacher next year? From what I hear, Rhode is thrilled with you.”

“And so are the kids.” Jorgensen pointed out, also interested in knowing Kate’s response.

“I haven’t discussed it with Rhode yet...”

“But you’d like to stay on?” insisted Yankelevich.

“It’s been an interesting opportunity, of course, but...” The conversation was entering swampy territory and as eloquent as Kate could be, she was struggling to find the right words. In the end, following her mother’s advice, she opted to speak a truth. “I’m very lonely.”

“Ah,” nodded Jorgensen, “That’s the effect Durmstrang can have, yes. I bet you’re eager to get home as soon as possible, wherever that is.” Kate nodded slowly, recognising a small, complicit smile on the professor’s face, making her remember their talk months ago.

“Exactly.”

Yankelevich hummed, inspecting Kate closely. Uncomfortable with the interrogation and impatient to regain the safety of her room, she said a hasty goodbye and headed for the door leading to the stairs, leaving Jorgensen and Yankelevich in the starlight.

[Part 16]

A/N: Not a very exciting chapter I know, but still important. The end is near my friends.

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#charlie weasley #charlie weasley fanfiction #charlie weasley x mc #charlie weasley x ofc #charlie weasley/mc #charlie weasley/ofc #charlie weasley x jacob's sibling #durmstrang #kate williams #hphm #hphm fanfiction

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imnotwolverine · 4 years ago

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The Monster’s Lair - A Belle Tune

Vampire!Henry x Belle - multi-chapter

Chapter 1 - A Belle Tune | Chap 2 >

Disclaimer: Dark adult fairytale - stalking, mild injury, angsty vibes

Author’s note: Here we go dear readers, a whole new series!! As I was setting out the plotline I kept saying to myself; “Let’s make this 3-5 chapters, a short series, okay, Wolfie?” ...Welp... Apparently I have many talents, but writing short series is not one of them. I’ve tried again and again to reshape the plot into a shorter, snappier version, but I just couldn’t. So, here goes; 12 chapters of broody vampire Henry and sweet Belle. I hope you are ready ❤️

Word count: 1.991

Reading music: Agnes Obel - Tokka

(Link to my Masterlist)

It was the first day of Autumn, summer finally past, as a tale of old was sung anew.

The land was cracked open dry and dusty after months without rain, the crops starting to fail just before harvest season. It made the tensions run high amongst the town folk, their worried eyes aiming upwards. The air had been thick for days now, the clouds drifting heavy and grey on dreary skies, foreboding a long awaited storm that just wouldn’t break.

And yet, not all were worried. At this moment the morning air felt slightly cheery too, as a soft tune wove through the ancient pine tree forest that lay like a prickly blanket over the rolling hills.

It was a familiar tune, sung by a familiar woman’s voice, her pale skin and dark braided hair a sight he saw often in these parts of the land. Before her, two mutts sniffled happily, their wet noses pushing through the fallen leaves and shrubs that covered the dry forest floor.

From the shadows of that same thicket, he was watching her, watching her rosy lips curl up in that dreamy smile, her feet kicking her blue skirts with confident strides.

Belle, he knew her name by now, was one of the few who dared to wander so close to his grounds, his domain, her skirts rustling as she conjured a book from the depths of her pockets. Always reading.

At first he had been somewhat surprised to see a woman of her position even owning a book, a proper book. Her father was but a poor horse handler and her family long deceased.

But, indeed, she could read.

With an elegant hand she brushed down her skirts before sitting down on that same fallen down tree that she used everyday; her hide-out whenever the weather allowed. Clicking her tongue she instructed her dogs to lay down, her hand flicking through the book, returning to the page where she had left off a day ago.

Away from the snarky remarks and jealous whispers of the town folk, here she could read as dawn cracked over the horizon, her presence welcomed by the listening embrace of the forest and its inhabitants. The birds quieted their song and the mice and squirrels halted their squabbling, just long enough to look and listen, bewitched beady eyes watching the pretty woman as she started to read aloud.

It was an old and leather bound rendering of Apuleius’ Cupid and Psyche, an ancient fairy tale, the book nearly falling apart as she brushed her fingertips over the yellowed, vulnerable pages. She had read it a dozen times now, and yet the monster couldn’t help but listen, his lips moving in a silent joined recital. He knew the words by heart at this point.

What exactly she did by the day time he couldn’t tell, his disposition making it impossible for him to visit town when the sun was out. And thus he would just imagine it. Perhaps she worked as one of the chambermaids for the Les Comtes. Perhaps she helped her father in the stables - he had seen the old man during the nights many a time, his rough hands being ever so gentle with the handsome beasts that belonged to the Les Comtes. In fact all was owned by the Les Comtes, the family so rich that almost all villagers worked for their estate and businesses.

Far too soon Belle’s voice would silence again, her finger tracing the page she had ended on, memorising it before gently closing the book, her eyes looking up through the thicket of the tree branches, watching those looming clouds up above. He knew what she thought; it was going to rain and she probably couldn’t return to this spot for a long time.

After the rain would come hail, winds, winter. And as it goes with reading outside, her natural reading nook was simply not able to hide her from the elements, and, with her reading hobby sneered at by the town’s folk, this might very well be her last reading session for this year.

With a sigh she got up, calling for her dogs and making her way back to the village, long skirts kicking, her book hidden back in the depths of her pockets. Oh, how he was going to miss her. Even if it was just for a day. Here in the forest he was awaited by an eternal nothingness. No job, no destination, only empty days that wove into a long string of months, years, centuries.

Returning to the crumbling ruins of his castle, the grande structure long past its glory days, he wandered endlessly through its halls, dust collecting on items that shouldn’t ever run into such disuse. Plates, cups, the fireplace, the beds. For centuries now he could not feel the pleasure of the simplicity of life. The food ashen on his tongue. His eyes, though closed, never truly resting. His skin no longer feeling the comfort of a warm hearth. His still beating heart but a mousy whisper of its once roaring strength.

Watching those heavy clouds above the treetops, he knew that it would be long before he would get to hear her voice again. A storm was looming, the long dry spell finally coming to an end and taking with it the long awaited rains. He knew it was a necessity, the listening critters around him feeling desperate for food now winter was soon to arrive, but he couldn’t help but feel a deep disappointment all the same. Because with the dreary days would come even more dark hours for him, the last sparkle of joy ripped from his life until spring would probably come again.

—

‘Another one dead.’ The hunter growled, heaving the dead dog’s body from his cart, the boneless heap of bled out sinew and fur unceremoniously dropping to the dusty ground. With the ongoing drought, food has become more and more scarce. Crops were failing, wild animals were roaming nearer to the village and despite their best efforts, the hunters had great difficulty to actually catch anything. Something strange was afoot in the forest and rumour was about; it was the beast!

‘So no luck then.’ Arthur said in a hushed tone, his old knees cracking as he squatted down to inspect the remains of the hound. And indeed. Neck cracked, jugular torn, the required strength for such an act belonging to no less than a bear..or beast..of sorts.

‘Twas a mad dog anyways. But still..’ The hunter squinted, looking out over the yellow grassed meadows, to the edge of the forest where that monstrous beast hid away. ‘..we must see to it. The darn thing must be done with once and ..for..’ He blinked, then looked at Arthur with mild confusion. ‘Is that Belle?’ He pointed at a figure that appeared from the tree-line, two dogs at either side of her light blue skirts.

Arthur pushed himself up with a groan and also squinted his eyes, his sight no longer what it had been. ‘If it’s a pretty thing with two mutts, a dress of blue and a smile for days, it must be Belle.’ He said, his vision too blurry to discern anything that resembled his daughter. The hunter gruntled his disapproval, though not denying that it was indeed Belle, his strong, broad shouldered frame turning back to his cart to bring out what few rabbits and pheasants he had managed to catch in his traps. ‘You ought to bring some sense in that girl, Arthur..’ He warned, bushy eyebrows frowning as he looked back at the girl, her skirts twirling as she threw a stick for the dogs to fetch.

‘She is just so very much like her mother.’ Arthur sighed, not fully agreeing with the hunter’s sentiments as his lips curled in an amused smile.

‘Tcould be the death of her, old man. The beast is out there, I know that much. In fact. There’s a meeting in the town hall by sundown, in case you wish to join.’

‘Good..good...’ Arthur nodded, only half-listening now, his eyes finally managing to focus on Belle as she kicked her legs over the wood log fence near the stables he worked, her face all smiles and skirts a muddy mess.

Oh..Belle!

The shutters of the barn-like town hall shuddered, the wind outside picking up and the torch flames dancing wildly in the draft. It was a busy night, the floorboards creaking as the town’s men got up from their benches to express their bewilderment and frustrations, loud “Aye’s” and “Nays” echoing in the air as the discussions roared.

Now the food reserves of the town were running low and people had to ration, the tension was near tangible. Winter was coming and the people felt as restless as the storm that was picking up outside. The pigs needed to be fed, the elderly were struggling, sickness was spreading and all fingers pointed angrily at the direction of that wicked forest. The Beast’s forest.

‘Dear people! My people!’ Old Master Le Comte stood up from the throne-like seat that was situated right at the head of the hall, his fatty fingers balancing a shiny cup of wine. He raised his hand to calm the uproar, old furrowy brows raising up to show two grey, beady eyes. ‘Say AYE and agree, that we must see to the end of this beast for once and for all. He threatens our livestock, steals our hunted bounty and his cursed evil talons bring us only disease and misfortune. This drought? I would not be surprised if it were by HIS design!’ He exclaimed.

The town roared up with enthusiasm, fists raised in the air as a loud ‘AYE’ resounded front to back. In fact only the old man Arthur sat quiet, far in the corner, thinking fingers pulling at his moustache. He had discussed the matter with Belle and all she had to say was; “It is indeed quite practical to make a simple minded animal responsible for all your sorrows. But is it right to kill it because you conjured an image of beastly proportion, fed by your own fears? From what I heard he only has killed those who came too close..far too close.”

‘HELP HELP!! The church! A FIRE!’ The large doors of the hall swung open as a young man burst through, arms waving in despair, the discussions regarding the monster quickly forgotten as everyone made haste to stop the flames as they quickly swept around them, the simple wooden structures of the inner town feeding themselves like perfectly dried logs to the hellish bonfire.

Arthur looked up from his daze and slowly followed the hastened crowd outside, his feet no longer so fast as he felt a sudden, surprising coolness in his neck. A wet coolness. With a question in his eyes he looked up at the darkened sky, feeling another drop on his wrinkly skin. Rain? Did the gods bless them just in time? Would all be well?

A conclusion made prematurely, as a new alarm was struck from the village’s heart.

‘THE BEAST! TIS THE BEAST!’ The loud screams came from the village square, Arthur’s attention immediately drawn back to the people that sped past him. Oh no..oh no...BELLE! She was alone, she was..

*FLUNK*

With a loud thud Arthur smacked to the ground, his eyes blinking in shock as he saw the person who had bumped into him rush passed, the silhouette of the person already fading from his vision as all he could do was claw into the dusty road, eyes seeing all black.

Oh no...he thought, his body now fading out of consciousness. Belle! She must be warned! She was all alone! The beast..Oh Belle..the beast..and...Belle...

With heavy blinking eyes he scratched and cried, trying to gain the attention of people rushing by, but failing. None could hear or see him as the storm drowned out his wails and the night hid him in unblinking dark, leaving him with little else but hope, hope that Belle’s joyful tunes would indeed not be ended at the slashing of beastly claws, like the hunter had warned him for this morning.

Oh Belle, dear Belle..

Chap 2 >

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#henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill fanfic #vampire!henry #beauty and the beast au #vampire #beast #angst #adult fairytale #belle #apuleius #cupid and psyche #stalking

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alyssawritesssfics · 4 years ago

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Hounded [1] 1. Pilot

Pairings: Bellamy x OC // Kane x daughter!OC

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: violence, series spoilers

Summary: After being locked away for eight months, Athena Kane alongside 99 other criminals is sent to the ground to find out if it's survivable. The ground was the dream, but who knew it would turn out to be a nightmare?

Author’s Note: Hii, this is the repost of my series Hounded! I’ve decided to have each chapter represent an episode. I just personally like the look of it way more and find it easier for me to follow along with while writing (and hopefully you find it easier to follow along while reading it). Please remember to note and reblog! It really helps me see interest and therefore update the story more often. Thank you! PS. If you’d like to be tagged in future chapters, please send me an ask with your @ and I will add you to my list!

previous chapter // series masterlist

The cement floor of my cell was cold against my legs, the sensation searing through the fabric of my jeans. I had sat here many times over the last few months, visualizing myself being blasted into space. It was a morbid thought, but one I could never seem to shake.

My cellmate Octavia let out a heavy sigh, pulling me from my thoughts. I examined her, lying across her cot on her stomach, her feet swaying back and forth in the air as she reread one of the few books she had for the hundredth time.

As I watched Octavia, an alarm began to sound within Skybox, causing Octavia to close her book and sit on the edge of her cot.

“What’s going on out there?”

I stood from my place on the ground, making my way over to our cell door. Peeking through the bars, I noticed guards piling in the main doors, opening cells and dragging people out of them.

“The guards, they’re removing people,” I spoke, my voice shaking.

Octavia stood up. “Moving people? Moving them where?”

I shrugged. “I have no idea.”

We both watched the guards remove more and more people before finally, two reached our cell. Octavia and I stepped back, allowing the guards to enter. The first guard to enter carried a case with him.

“Prisoners 395 and 530, stand facing the wall.” One of the guards said.

Octavia and I complied, as the other guard asked us to extend our dominant hands. Octavia extended her right arm, while I extended my left. The guards reached into the case, pulling out large metal wristbands and placing them around our wrists.

“What’s going on? Neither of us is eighteen yet.”

Eighteen. That was when we’d be up for reevaluation, the council deciding whether or not we’d be floated.

“No questions.” One of the guards responded, pulling me away from the wall. “Let’s go, both of you.”

Octavia and I exited our cell, the place we’d called home for nearly a year now, entering the chaos that was Skybox. There were long lines of teenagers, most younger than myself, on each side, on all levels. We followed the line all the way out of Skybox, into a long corridor.

“I want to speak with my father,” I said, turning to face the guard behind me. “Marcus Kane, he’s on the council.”

The guard stared at me, his face expressionless. “Keep moving.”

“No,” I spoke, a glare appearing across my face. “Where is my father?”

The guard pulled out his shock baton, extending it. “I said, keep moving.”

Not wanting to go through being shocked again, I took a deep breath, turning back around and continuing to follow the line. Eventually, the guards who had taken Octavia and I disappeared, more guards lining the path to wherever we were going.

The further I get down the line, I finally see it. One of the Ark’s guards were scanning identification cards before ushering them onto… a dropship?

A dropship.

“Holy shit,” I mumbled to myself. “They’re sending us to the ground.”

…

“Prisoners of The Ark, hear me now.” I listened on as Chancellor Jaha appeared on several screens within the dropship.

Octavia and I had been separated, sent to different levels of the dropship. Looking around, I didn’t recognize many faces, only a few from Earth Skills.

“You've been given a second chance, and as your Chancellor, it is my hope that you see this as not just a chance for you, but a chance for all of us, indeed for mankind itself.” He continued. “We have no idea what is waiting for you down there. If the odds of survival were better, we would've sent others. Frankly, we're sending you because your crimes have made you expendable.”

The sound of booing filled the dropship.

“The drop site has been chosen carefully. Before the last war, Mount Weather was a military base built within a mountain. It was to be stocked with enough non-perishables to sustain three hundred people for up to two years. If you survive this mission, your crimes will be forgiven, your records wiped clean.”

Chancellor Jaha continued on, though I began to tune it out. All I could think about was my father. Did he know about this? He had to have known, him being one of the Chancellor’s closet allies on the Ark.

As the thought of my father’s involvement drifted from my mind, the dropship jolted, sending my head forward, then back against the seat with brutal force. The dropship continued to shake, as screams filled the air.

“What’s happening?” A girl called out.

I had the same question.

The shaking lasted several minutes before finally, the dropship crashed. Everyone remained silent, unsure if we’d actually landed. After a few moments, people began unbuckling themselves, rushing towards the dropship doors.

I was one of the last to unbuckle myself, wanting to avoid the rush. By the time I had arrived, nearly everyone within the dropship was surrounding the door. As I peeked through the crowd, I spotted Octavia standing by the door, next to a taller boy I’d never seen before.

“Where’s your wristband?” I knew that voice.

Octavia spun around to face someone out of my view. “Do you mind? I haven’t seen my brother in over a year.”

While sharing a cell with Octavia, she’d told me many stories about her brother Bellamy. I almost wouldn’t have believed she even had one, if she didn’t bring him up so often. It was sweet though. I’d always wished I could’ve had a sibling.

That was against the law on the Ark.

“No one has a brother,” someone spoke.

“That’s Octavia Blake, the girl they found hidden under the floor!”

I watched as Octavia lunged forward, Bellamy grabbing her arm. “Octavia, no. Let’s give them something else to remember you by.”

By now, I’d pushed my way further through the crowd.

“Yeah?” Octavia asked, looking back at her brother. “Like what?”

Bellamy smirked. “Like being the first person on the ground in a hundred years.”

With those words, Bellamy reached over and grabbed the dropship door’s handle, pulling it down. There was a faint bang before the door slowly began lowering, creating a platform that led to the ground.

It was beautiful, more so than I ever could’ve imagined. The ground was covered in grass, just like I’d seen in books on the Ark. Trees surrounded us, nearly covering the clear blue sky above us entirely.

I watched as Octavia slowly made her way down the platform, looking back at her brother. He gave her a reassuring nod, and Octavia in turn took a deep breath before jumping off of the platform, her feet colliding with the ground.

We all watched her as she looked around, silent for a few moments. Finally, Octavia threw her hands in the air.

“We’re back, bitches!”

Cheers erupted through the dropship, delinquents spilling out around Octavia and running through the forest surrounding us. I slowly made my way down the platform, bracing myself as if I expected to burst into flames the second I touched the ground.

Octavia looked back at me, smiling. “What are you waiting for?”

I jumped from the platform, my boots meeting the hard ground. “Oh my god… We’re really here.”

Octavia squealed, pulling me in for a hug. “No more tiny cells and uncomfortable beds for us.”

“Well, I imagine uncomfortable beds aren’t quite out of the picture yet.” I laughed.

“You’re probably right.” Octavia shrugged with a giggle.

Octavia rushed off to catch up with Bellamy, while I stood in place, taking everything in. As I looked around, my eyes fell upon the girl whose voice I recognized earlier; Clarke Griffin, my childhood best friend.

Clarke stood by the edge of a cliff, staring down at the map in her hands. A tall boy with medium-length brown hair stood next to her. Based on the look upon her face, I figured I should head over there.

“Clarke?”

Clarke turned around, her eyes widening. “Athena?”

I couldn’t help but smile. It had been a year since I’d spoken to Clarke, and she looked exactly the same today as she did then. I remembered hearing stories of Clarke being arrested, the reasons often varying, but I never actually thought those rumours were true.

“What’s with the map?” I finally asked.

Clarke took a deep breath. “Do you two see that peak over there?”

Both I and the boy nodded.

“Mount Weather,” Clarke said. “There’s a radiation-soaked forest between us and our next meal. They dropped us on the wrong damn mountain.”

“Please tell me you’re joking?”

Clarke shook her head. “I wish I was.”

“We’ve got problems-” Wells Jaha, the son the Chancellor, spoke as he reached our little group. He stopped as his eyes landed on me. “Athena?”

I blinked, confusion setting over me. “Wells? What the hell did you do to get sent down here?”

“Don’t ask.” Wells shook his head, before continuing. “We’ve got problems. The communication system is dead. I went to the roof. A dozen panels are missing. Heat fried the wires.”

“Well, all that matters right now is getting to Mount Weather,” Clarke responded, marching closer to the dropship. She spread her map out on one of the wings. “See? This is us.” Clarke pointed to a spot on the map. “This is where we need to get to if we want to survive.” She moved her finger across the map.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” Wells asked.

Clarke’s face turned pale as she looked away.

Wells sighed. “Your father.”

The two remained silent, as another boy with a pair of goggles strapped to his head approached. He leaned over Clarke’s shoulder, surveying the map.

“Cool, a map.” He spoke, looking Clarke up and down. “They got a bar in this town? I’ll buy you a beer.”

Wells lightly pushed the boy back. “Do you mind?”

“Woah.” The boy spoke, holding his hands up.

“Hey, hands off of him.” I turned to see a group of boys approaching. “He’s with us.” The rest of the delinquents were also gathered around us.

“Relax,” Wells spoke, stepping back. “We’re just trying to find out where we are.”

“We’re on the ground,” Bellamy spoke. “Is that not good enough for you?”

“We need to find Mount Weather. You heard my father’s message. That has to be our first priority.”

“Screw your father,” Octavia called out. “What, you think you’re in charge here? You and your little princess?” She was staring at Clarke.

Clarke shook her head. “Do you think we care who's in charge? We need to get to Mount Weather not because the Chancellor said so, but because the longer we wait, the hungrier we'll get and the harder it’ll be. How long do you think we'll last without those supplies? We're looking at a twenty-mile trek. So if we want to get there before dark, we need to leave now.”

“I’ve got a better idea,” Bellamy responded. “You two go, find it for us. Let the privileged do the hard work for a change.”

Everyone around us cheered.

“You’re not listening, we all need to go!” Wells urged. “Athena?”

Before I could respond, another boy spoke. “Athena Kane? You’re Marcus Kane’s daughter!”

“Your father floated my mother!”

“And my father!”

“Mine too!”

I looked at Wells, narrowing my eyes.

Wells shook it off. “We have to go, now.”

“Look at this everybody,” A boy stepped forward. “The Chancellor of Earth.”

“You think that’s funny?” Wells asked.

“No,” The boy responded, kicking Wells in the leg and watching him fall to the ground. “But that sure was.”

Cheers erupted through the forest, people begging them to fight.

“Come on, Wells.” The boy egged him on.

Wells stood up, getting into a fighting stance. Before any swings could be thrown, the medium-length haired boy jumped from the top of the dropship, landing between them.

“The kids got one leg.” He spoke to the boy. “Why don’t you wait until it’s a fair fight?”

“Hey, spacewalker!” Octavia called out. “Rescue me next.”

People began to laugh, the crowd dispersing. Bellamy grabbed Octavia’s arm, pulling her away.

“Uh,” The boy spoke to Clarke. “So, Mount Weather? When do we leave?”

“Right now,” Clarke replied, looking at Wells. “Finn and I will be back tomorrow with food.”

“How are the two of you going to carry enough food for a hundred people?”

Finn looked around, grabbing goggles boy and another. “Four of us.”

“Sounds like a party!” Octavia had rejoined the group. “Count me in.”

“What are you doing?” Bellamy asked.

Octavia rolled her eyes. “Going for a walk.”

Clarke suddenly reached for Finn’s hand. “Were you trying to take this off?”

The wristband.

“Yeah, so?”

“Well, I don't know. Do you want the people you love to think you're dead? Do you want them to follow you down here in two months? Because they won't if they think we're dying.”

Finn nodded. “Okay.”

“Now, let’s go.”

“Wait,” I spoke up. “I’m coming with you.”

Clarke grabbed my hand, leading me away slightly. “I need you to stay here.”

“Why?”

“Wells can hardly walk and I need someone to help him keep an eye on things here. I know it’s been forever since we’ve talked, but I trust you a hell of a lot more than anyone else here.” Clarke spoke, her eyes shifting to Wells for a moment.

I smiled. “I don’t know if I should take that as a compliment.”

She smiled back. “You got this?”

I nodded. “Be safe.”

Clarke and I made our way back to the group. She grabbed a bag before looking at Wells, who sat on the ground leaning against the dropship. “You really shouldn’t have come here, Wells.”

With that, Clarke headed off into the forest alongside Finn, Octavia, and the two other boys I’d yet to meet.

I looked at Wells, frowning. “Let’s get you into the dropship so you can rest your foot in peace.”

…

A few hours later, I found myself returning to camp after going on a water run, my efforts having been futile. Just as I was about to reach the camp, I spotted Wells gathering sticks. He had also been searching for water the last I’d seen him.

“No luck?”

Wells looked up, startled. “No, you?”

I shook my head. “There’s gotta be water somewhere.”

“Just not anywhere near us,” Wells sighed. “Want to give me a hand with these?”

I picked up a pile of sticks, following Wells towards the dropship. We began dropping them in an already started pile when footsteps came up behind us.

“Find any water yet?” It was the same boy who had tried to fight Wells earlier. I recently learned his name was John Murphy. He stood beside another boy, also named John.

“No, not yet-” Wells paused, his face going pale before he quickly pulled himself back together. “I’m going back out if you want to come.”

I followed Wells’ gaze, spotting something carved into the dropship: first son, first to dye.

“You know, my father begged for mercy in the airlock chamber before your father floated him,” Murphy spoke, his eyes narrowed in on Wells.

Wells shook his head, pushing past the pair. “You spelt die wrong, geniuses.”

I attempted to follow Wells, though both boys blocked my way. “Where do you think you’re going? Don’t think we haven’t forgotten about what your father did.”

Shaking my head, I took a step back. “That was my father’s doing, not mine. The same goes for Wells. Feel free to take it up with them when they come down here though. I’ll be the last to stop you.”

Murphy looked me up and down for a moment before a smirk crept across his face. He didn’t say anything, simply stepping out of my way. I took it as an opportunity to join Wells, who still stood just a few paces behind them.

“We’re not safe here, Athena,” Wells whispered.

“No, we’re not,” I agreed. “There’s nothing you or I can do about it, not until Clarke and the others get back. We just have to lay low, watch each other’s backs, like the good old days.”

Wells smiled. “I’d give anything to go back there right now.”

I let out a small, shaking breath. “You and me both.”

…

Wells and I spent the rest of the afternoon searching for water, with no luck. As we came closer to the camp, I stopped. Noticing my absence from beside him, Wells also stopped, turning around to face me.

“Can I ask you something?” Wells nodded. “What happened with Clarke? I heard stories in lockup but never from anyone who had actually been there.”

Wells was quiet for a moment, kicking his feet around in the dirt. “Her father discovered a flaw in the Ark. That they’re running out of air. He wanted to go public with it.”

“But he didn’t?”

“Clarke found out and told me, and a few days later her father was arrested.”

My heart sank into my stomach. “You told your father, didn’t you?”

Wells shook his head. “It wasn’t me, but Clarke thinks it was.”

“So he was floated?” I was having a hard time processing all of this.

“Yeah,” Wells responded. “Clarke saw it happen, and then she was arrested too.”

I shook my head. “I had no idea…”

“That was kinda the point,” Wells mumbled.

I frowned. “You haven’t told Clarke it wasn’t you, have you?”

“I can’t tell her, Athena,” Wells said, not able to look me in the eye.

“Why not?”

Wells once again fell silent. “It was her mother.”

My eyes grew wide. “You’re sure?”

“It wasn’t me and I’m the only one Clarke told. Do you really think she’d expect her mother to turn her father in?” Wells asked. “I can’t tell her. It would break her, especially now.”

“So you let her hate you…”

Wells frowned. “Better than her hating her mother.”

I smiled softly. “You’re a really good friend, you know that?”

Before Wells could respond, the sound of screams filled the air. They were coming from the camp. Both of us looked at each other before hurrying our way back. By the time we arrived, there was a large crowd surrounding the campfire.

We both pushed our way through the crowd, spotting Murphy prying off a girl named Fox’s wristband. She winced as the wristband popped off, and Murphy tossed it into the fire.

“Who’s next?” Bellamy asked.

“What the hell are you doing?” Wells asked, his eyebrows furrowed.

Bellamy smirked. “We’re liberating ourselves. What does it look like?”

“It looks like you’re trying to kill us all.” I hissed.

“The communication system is dead. These wristbands are all we got. Take them off, and the Ark will think we're dying, that it's not safe for them to follow.” Wells added.

“That’s the point, Chancellor,” Bellamy replied. “We can take care of ourselves, can’t we?”

Everyone around them cheered.

“Do you think this is a game? Those aren't just our friends and our parents up there. They're our farmers, our doctors, our engineers.” Wells shouted, looking around the crowd. “I don't care what he tells you. We won't survive here on our own, and besides, if it really is safe, how could you not want the rest of our people to come down?”

“My people are already down here,” Bellamy replied. “Those people locked my people up. Those people killed my mother for the crime of having a second child. Your father did that.”

Wells shook his head. “My father didn’t write the laws.”

“No, he enforced them, but not anymore, not here. Here there are no laws. Here, we do whatever the hell we want, whenever the hell we want. Now, you two don't have to like it. You can even try to stop it or change it, kill me even. You know why?” Bellamy’s smirk only grew wider. “Whatever the hell we want.”

“Whatever the hell we want!” Murphy cheered.

Everyone began chanting around us, repeating those five words over and over again. I couldn’t believe it. How could they all be so stupid? So selfish? They were going to get all of us killed.

Suddenly, I felt a speck of water hit my bare arm. Then another, and another. Then, water began falling from the sky rapidly.

“It’s rain,” A girl called out. “Real rain!”

The cheering began once again, as I lifted my head to stare at the sky, letting the rain wash over my face. It was as if all of my previous worries washed away for a few moments.

“We need to collect this,” Wells spoke up, yanking me from my bliss.

Bellamy smiled. “Whatever the hell you want.”

next chapter

#the 100 #the 100 fanfiction #bellamy blake #bellamy blake fanfiction #bellamy blake x oc

27 notes · View notes

aye-write · 4 years ago

Text

Summary: Research student Isla Reid has been fascinated with the legend of the Kildonian Chessmen - a trio of mythical Pokemon rumoured to have lived centuries ago on the remote region of Kildo - for as long as she can remember. So, when a museum exhibit on the Chessmen is set to open in Kildo’s Hydrogate City, coinciding with her independent research project, she packs herself and her trusty partner Furret onto the long ferry journey bound for this new region.

However, when she arrives in Kildo, thoughts of her research, new friends, and an entire Pokedex’s worth of new Pokemon, are quickly dashed. Kildo is a troubled place, beset by natural disasters and fierce rivalries among its people. Isla suddenly finds herself at the centre of a centuries-old plot to invoke the wrath of the Chessmen, and is set on a race against time to stop them, before it spells destruction for the entire region.

Other Links: Read it on Ao3!

Tags: OC Pokemon journey, OC region, Fakemon region, bisexual main character, found family, ace main character.

If you are not interested in these posts, especially as I know Pokemon journeyfic is fairly niche, please blacklist the tag #Checkmate. Most of the story will be put under a Readmore anyway!

Author’s Note: If you’re interested in more information, exclusive updates, character art, and teasers for this fic, please consider following its sister tumblr @kildo-pokedex!

This was another chonker chapter at 4.5k that I didn’t anticipate being this long at all! The joys of plantsing, eh? I had hoped to reveal the starters this chapter, but that’s being bumped to next update. In the meantime, please enjoy the reveal of Brootser, and the partial reveals of Weldeon, Ampster and Coastrot!

*****

Chapter Three

Despite everything, night rolled over the Whispering Pine Croft.

After hours battling insomnia, Isla stole downstairs not long after the clock in the hallway chimed midnight. Goosepimples erupted on her skin, the air chilling her to the core. Clicking on the floor lamp, she cast her gaze around the living room. A rickety bookshelf took up most of one wall, covered in dust and trinkets. It didn’t take her long to strike gold.

The Etymological Dictionary of Old Kildonian, 1981 Edition.

Sitting at the old coffee table, she spread out her books and copies of the Old Kildonian script until there wasn’t an inch of space left. Then she opened the dictionary and started to read. She read, moving between dictionary and text, until her eyes strained in the dim light of the lamp, and the words on the page turned into incomprehensible squiggles. Just keep going, she told herself, as she marked off another decoded word. Just keep going. Just keep going. Just keep—

“Isla?”

Isla slammed the book shut. The noise seemed to echo forever in the quiet of the living room. The intruder snapped on the main light and Isla blinked foolishly as everything illuminated around her. It was Blair at the door, swaddled in an enormous red dressing gown and a pinched look on his face.

“What are you doing down here?” he asked, pulling his dressing gown tighter. “You’ll catch your death of cold.”

“I’m… I’m not doing anything,” Isla said, trying to collect the papers together, position her body over them, anything to hide them from sight.

“Really? You look like a student trying to panic revise a whole subject the night before an exam,” he chuckled, plopping himself in the seat opposite. “Come on. What’s up?”

Isla sighed. What was the point in lying? “I’m just trying to make some sense of these texts.”

Blair glanced at the clock above the fireplace. “At half two in the morning?”

“I couldn’t sleep. This presentation is doing my head in.” When Blair frowned, she added, “My supervisor asked me to update them with all the “progress” I’ve mad so far. Of course, I haven’t made any yet.”

“So, you’re trying to decode all these old books with…. an out-of-date Kildonian dictionary?”

“I found it in the bookcase. I thought it might help.”

“I’m pretty sure that book is older than me. Please don’t tell me you’re taking it word-by-word.”

“More or less.”

“You’ll be there months trying to sort all that lot.”

“I don’t have any other choice,” Isla’s voice cracked. “Everyone is hounding me. I can’t let this come undone. They’ll pull approval of my project and fail me if I don’t keep jumping through all their hoops.”

“Why is the legend of the Chessmen so important to you?”

Isla hesitated. It was an innocent enough question, but the thought of answering it felt like ripping her chest open and exposing the beating heart underneath. “Well...” she started, cringing at how stupid it all sounded in her head. “When I was little, I was kinda lonely. I didn’t have siblings. Or friends, really,”

Blair made a sympathetic noise.

“No, it’s okay. I wasn’t that bothered by it,” Isla lied. “But because I didn’t have many friends, I naturally leant towards books instead. And I loved fiction, like adventure stories and that, but I felt so much more connected to things that were actually real.”

Blair nodded. “Understandable.”

“Anyway, one Christmas, I got this book. I think it was called Myths and Legends of the Pokemon World and it had all the origin stories of all the legendary Pokemon from like… every region in the world. God, I ate up every single story - how Arceus created the world, the theory that all Pokemon came from Mew in some way, how Groudon and Kyogre created the land and sea. I was absolutely hooked. Then, right at the end, there were a couple of small articles devoted to a place called Kildo.”

“Typical,” Blair muttered. “Always playing second fiddle to the big guns.”

“The book explained a little bit about the legend of the Chessmen. I was just… amazed at how these Pokemon brought humans these gifts of technology and arts and whatnot and how advanced the region was for its time. And then when I read what happened next, well… I just wanted to know why. Why did the Chessmen take away what they gave the humans? What happened to them after they became dormant? I was obsessed. When I was younger, I had this stupid dream that I would like… Oh, it sounds so cheesy now, but… like solve the mystery of what happened all those years ago.”

“It’s not cheesy, Isla. Dreams are never cheesy.”

Isla bit the inside of her cheek. “I know that. It’s just… well, this legend has been everything to me for years. I’m not bigheaded enough now to think someone like me could ever solve it. But I’d love to find something. Even if it’s just standing in the same place these Pokemon stood once, all those years ago. But now it feels like it’s slipping away from me. I won’t be able to do anything unless I get these texts translated.”

“They’re well-known texts, right? Haven’t they already been translated?”

“The only translations that exist are locked behind online paywalls,” Isla sighed. “Not exactly within my budget. The originals were family owned. I suppose you can’t blame them for wanting them kept safe.”

“Could the university not pay for you to access them?”

“Not my department. They already think the project isn’t worth the time. They’re usually into social changes, modern day life, that sort of thing. Mythology doesn’t get a look in. Even though I changed my project a bit – focusing more on how the mythology influences modern life, with the Chessmen more of like a case study – the department still don’t want much to do with it.”

“Well, that’s their loss. Your project sounds fascinating just from what I’ve seen of it.”

“This little bit you’ve seen might end up being all it ever amounts to. With Nana Morag in the hospital, my options for translations are limited, and these old texts are all I have to help me piece together where the Chessmen might be.”

Silence unfurled around them. Isla stared down at her lap, her legs shaking and her mouth dry. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d ever talked so much about herself and she found that she couldn’t quite bring herself to look Blair in the eye.

“I think I might know someone.”

Isla pricked her head up. “Really?” she said, hope throbbing in her chest.

“I have a friend who lives in Inverbrook. It’s not a huge city, but they do have a subsect of Tideburgh University there. He’s doing a Masters in Language and mentioned being involved with an elective on Old Kildonian. I can contact him for you. He might be able to help.”

Something surged through Isla like she’d just taken a shot of adrenaline. “Oh, Blair, thank you! That’s amazing!”

“No guarantees, of course!” he said, spreading his hands hastily. “He might not know enough of it to be a proper help. But he may be able to put you in touch with some other folks who can help, if that makes sense.”

“It does. A lot of sense. Thank you again.” Isla paused. “Where is Inverbrook?”

“Pretty much directly south of here. About forty odd miles or so. Following routes 29 through 26 pretty much leads you right there. Public transport is crap, though, so you’re better walking most of it. Shouldn’t take much more than a couple of days if you’re…”

He paused. Isla knew what he wanted to say. If you’re fit. Women like her weren’t supposed to be fit. And even though the thought of days of walking filled her with equal parts apprehension and dread, she forced a look of determination onto her face.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I can handle it.”

Isla shared the news that she would be leaving in the morning as they sat down at the kitchen table. Kenneth and Skye stayed quiet, barely reacting to the news, but Rhona’s face crumpled.

“Oh, chick, are you sure?”

“I think it’s probably for the best,” Isla said. “I don’t want to be a burden, especially with you guys having your hands full with the croft and Nana Morag being ill. Having a guest is too much on top of everything. I really do appreciate everything you’ve all done, but I think it’s best that I head towards Inverbrook and start my research properly.”

A strange expression passed over Rhona’s face, one that Isla couldn’t make sense of. For several terrifying moments, she thought she’d offended her.

“You wouldn’t be a burden on us, Isla,” Rhona eventually said, her eyes brimming. “We’d happily have you here for as long as you want. It’s been lovely having you.”

Isla felt something in her heart buckle.

“We do understand that your studies have to come first. But… you said you wanted to go to Inverbrook?”

“Yes. Blair is going to put me in touch with a friend of his there that might be able to help me with some translations.”

“It might not be as easy as you think, chick. I’ve just been watching the local news. There was flooding down south. The river that goes through Route 27, which connects Port Glen to Inverbrook, burst its banks. The whole route is submerged. No-one can go through. It’s completely impassable.”

You wouldn’t have said the entire of Port Glen had only just recently been battered by a storm, Isla thought, as she set off down towards the harbour after a filling breakfast. The morning sky pinkened gently, like a mother’s embrace, and golden threads of sun drifted through soft, watercolour clouds. A cool wind kept the worst of the heat at bay as she walked. All in all, it was a fairly pleasant experience. Well, as pleasant an experience as walking would ever be.

It was Rhona that had suggested trying the ferry. She couldn’t be sure what passenger routes they ran from Port Glen, or if they only did international and goods shipments, but it was a better option than waiting the potential weeks for the Inverbrook route to be cleared or taking the (extremely) long way around the whole region.

Breathing heavily and sweating despite the brisk ocean breeze, Isla stopped to catch her breath as she arrived at the harbour. She cast her gaze around hopefully. It was quiet. Too quiet. Not a good sign in the least. Aside from the occasional sailor pacing the docks, and the sharp, cutting cry of seabirds, the place was still and silent.

The thought of asking someone to help sent panic crashing through her like waves in a storm, but there was no other choice. The best option rested with a nearby sailor, busily looping ropes and picking apart complicated knots. A Pokemon stood at his side. Squat, muscular, with short brown fur, flecked with white, and cut into a stout triangle pattern, it was another one that Isla didn’t recognise. Every now and again, the sailor tossed it a particularly difficult-looking knot of rope, which the Pokemon expertly shredded with sharp, curved claws.

“Brootser, the Pelting Pokemon. The evolved form of Brogue. With incredibly sharp claws and powerful jaws, Brootser are highly aggressive and territorial. Even against much stronger foes, it won’t back down easily,” her Pokedex chirruped.

Isla’s hand tightened around Soba’s Pokeball as she read more details. A Fighting type. A second evolution. Being a Furret, Soba wouldn’t stand much chance in a fair fight, much less an unfair one. While she did generally feel more comfortable approaching a fellow Pokemon owner, she probably could have stood to pick one with a less terrifying partner.

All the same, she approached the sailor, keeping herself primed like a coiled spring. “Excuse me? I was wondering if you could help me with something?”

The sailor had a strong, lined face, but he didn’t seem anywhere near as intimidating when he relaxed into a smile. “Sure,” he boomed. “What can I do for you?”

“Are there going to be any sailings from this port in the next few days? Anywhere that lands near Inverbrook?”

The Brootser, distracted from its work with the knots, pressed its wet nose against Isla’s hand. Isla let out an involuntary squeak.

“Brootser, stop that!” the sailor said firmly. “Sorry, miss. He’s obsessed with leather. Have you got leather in your handbag or anything? Your shoes? I swear, he can sniff it out within a mile. I have to keep him distracted at work otherwise he’d never leave people alone. Here, Brootser, go and do this for me.”

The sailor tossed a section of rope a few feet down the docks. The Brootser growled, a deep throaty rumble, before dropping to all fours and pursuing. Within moments, the rope was ripped to little more than fibres.

Isla searched for something to say. She eventually settled on, “He’s cute.”

“He’s a menace is what he is,” the sailor said, wiping his brow. “Anyway, you were asking about the ferries? Unfortunately, the passenger ferry was badly damaged in that storm two nights ago and won’t be running any routes for a while.”

“How long is a while?” Isla asked nervously.

“We’re waiting for some metal workers to come down from Hydrogate. They’re delayed because their Weldeon team were exhausted after a big job in the ironworks. Currently we’re looking at about a week.”

“A week?”

“I’m afraid so. If you go to reception and leave your details, they’ll be able to contact you as soon as we know when the sailings will be going ahead.”

“Aren’t there any other options?”

The sailor considered. “Not here. But if you’re set on sailing and you could get to Dewbrae Town, I think they’re still running sailings.”

“Where’s Dewbrae Town? Is it close?”

“It’s up past Aberdrip City, which is an hour’s drive north of here. Then you have to pass through Aberdrip Forest and that brings you out just at Dewbrae. Maybe a couple of days walking if you keep a steady pace,” he paused, and Isla felt his eyes rake her body. “Maybe a couple more. But, if you’re in a hurry, it’s better than waiting around here. Everything’s very up in the air at the moment.”

Isla thanked the sailor, trying to ignore the heavy feeling that came over her. Why was this so difficult? She’d encountered disaster at every turn so far and, in her darkest moments, she couldn’t deny wondering if it was even worth it to keep going. Nana Morag ill, no passage to Inverbrook through Route 27, no ferry from the Port Glen docks, now she had to go all the way to Dewbrae – wherever that was – on nothing more than a possibility?

But what could she do? What other options did she have?

Rhona would know what to do, Isla decided. She had a way of sorting things out, an uncanny level-headedness her own mother didn’t have. That’s what she’d do. She’d head back to the croft and take stock of the situation. She started walking, thoughts whirling through her head like the flapping of birds’ wings. Maybe there was another way to Inverbrook. They knew the region better than she ever would. Maybe they could—

“WIIIIING!”

Isla gasped and swore as her foot trod on something soft. With a gust of cold air, the offending thing burst upwards and pain erupted at the top of her head. Sharp, pointed talons dug into her scalp and she yelped in pain.

“Gull! Gull!” her assailant screeched; each squawk accompanied by a swift peck to the head.

Isla’s hands closed around her attacker’s soft wriggling body. With all her might, she tore it from her head and tossed it as far as she could manage. But the Pokemon swooped back into the air, seemingly unharmed, fixing Isla with a glare that sent a tremble down her spine.

“Gull! Wingull!” it shrieked.

Recognition dropped into Isla’s belly like a stone. It was a Kildonian Wingull. The same Kildonian Wingull that had attacked Rhona the day Isla got off the ferry. At least, it certainly looked like the same one – she could hardly call herself an expert on them – but it was roughly the same size and had the same high-pitched squawk. And didn’t the Pokedex say that Kildonian Wingull only attacked people who had food? Isla didn’t have a single crumb on her. So what other motive could it possibly have for attacking her?

Isla reached for the Pokeball at her waist, panicked fingers scrabbling for the catch. But the Wingull screeched again, diving into a tackle. The impact came low in her stomach, knocking the air from her lungs and leaving her doubled over. The second blow sent her off-balance and stumbling, eventually crashing to the ground where the pain came in sharp spikes. With a fury of feathers, the Pokemon ripped Isla’s bag away from her.

“Hey!” She wheezed. “There’s nothing in there for you!”

Her protests were rewarded with a face full of frigid water.

By the time Isla had sluiced the water from her face, the Wingull had unhooked the bag’s clasp and was digging around in her things. Hairbrush and deodorant were both ignored, the coin purse in the shape of a Quagsire got an inquisitive gnaw but ultimately left in favour of a pen, which lasted a whole thirty seconds until it splintered and was promptly spat back out.

Every inhale felt like she was being stabbed underneath the ribs, but she still forced herself to move. “Leave my things alone! There’s no food in there!”

Wingull had wriggled itself right into the bottom of the bag and had pulled out an old emergency kit that Isla had nearly forgotten about. Most of the items had already been used or dumped over the years she’d had it, leaving only a couple of travel sized Potions, a Repel Kit, and a Poke Doll, wrapped up in a worn-out bag. The Wingull squawked indignantly and decapitated the doll in one fell swoop. Then it turned back on the travel bag, scraping around and tearing at it with its beak.

Something dropped out. Isla’s heart plummeted to somewhere near her feet.

It was a Pokeball. An old Pokeball scratched and grimy with age. A Pokeball that Isla had all but forgotten about ever since she made the decision to train just Soba all those years ago. A Pokeball that was now right in the Kildonian Wingull’s line of sight.

She saw it happening before it actually did. The hungry Wingull viewed the Pokeball as nothing more than a shiny, tasty snack. It darted forward, opened its beak wide, and engulfed the old capsule. Isla prayed that the ten year old ball would turn out to be too old to work anymore, and the worst thing to happen would be the Wingull hacking it back up again. But the Pokeball made a shrill shiiing noise as it made contact with Wingull’s beak, and the Pokemon disappeared in a flash of blue light.

The Pokeball shook. Once. Twice. Three times. Then it was still.

And Isla had caught a Kildonian Wingull.

Isla told the story of her accidental Wingull capture to an appreciative audience when she got back from the docks. And then again over sandwiches at lunchtime. While Soba curled up in the corner next to the radiator, oblivious to this new teammate, Isla released Wingull for the nerve-wracking job of introductions and feeding time. Rhona’s eyebrows rose so high that they practically disappeared into her hairline, but she didn’t protest.

“I can’t believe it’s the same one,” Rhona said, eyeing her half-eaten sandwich she was planning on saving for later. “Most try their luck once and then move on.”

“I think it’s young,” Blair said, lifting its wing to get a better look. “Perhaps separated from its mum too early. Maybe it doesn’t know any better.”

“I didn’t mean to catch it,” Isla sighed. “I’d forgotten all about that old Pokeball. We were always told to carry an extra one or two, even if we never intended to catch Pokemon, like for emergencies and that.”

“It must have been starving if it thought a Pokeball was food. Or maybe just exceptionally stupid.”

“Jury’s out on that one,” Isla said, as the Wingull pecked at a Tauros shaped pepper shaker.

“Kildonian Wingull are incredibly food oriented,” Blair lifted his plate to avoid the Pokemon’s frantically flapping wings. “Most of the bird Pokemon around here are.”

“Why is that?”

“Competition. Because there’s so many, they all compete for the same natural resources. That’s part of why people think Wingull adapted for Kildo the way they did. They couldn’t compete for most of the natural food, so they evolved to take food from humans instead. Problem is, they end up thinking all food is fair game. Hey, watch it! No! That’s mine!”

Isla suppressed a chuckle as Wingull lunged for the crusts on Blair’s sandwiches. In the kerfuffle of squawking and feathers, Isla looked over at Skye, who hadn’t said a word through the entire of lunch. Her face was screwed up.

“Skye? Are you alright?” Isla asked.

Skye made an odd strangling noise, pushed herself back from the chair, and ran for the stairs, each one thudding under her feet. A moment later, a door slammed.

“Did I say something wrong?” Isla said, horrified.

“No, not at all,” Rhona said, rescuing a glass of juice that had been upended when Skye left the table. “She’s just a bit upset. We were supposed to be going up to meet Professor Spruce tomorrow to get her trainer’s license and first Pokemon. But because Nana Morag is in hospital, I have to be here in case something comes up on short notice, and I just can’t spare the time to take Skye up to Aberdrip City. She’ll only be delayed for a few days, but the poor lass was so looking forward to it. Especially when she’s had to wait so much longer than everyone else.”

“Why’s that?”

It was only after she asked the question that she considered it might have been rude. Or none of her business. Too late to save herself now, though. Rhona’s face tightened, her mouth puckering like she was sucking on a sour lemon.

“Sorry,” Isla looked down at the table. “I shouldn’t be nosy.”

The kitchen fell quiet. Rhona let out a deep, juddering exhale and sat back down, folding her hands into her lap, the kitchen suddenly feeling about ten degrees colder. Isla took a sip of water, her mouth and throat turning to chalk.

“Skye had childhood cancer.” The words didn’t even get a chance to settle before they were tumbling out again, like Rhona was trying to get them all out at once. Like they couldn’t hurt her as much that way. “She spent most of her childhood in hospital with leukaemia.”

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.” Once again Isla found herself cursing both her mother and herself for not bothering to find any of this information out beforehand.

Rhona shook her head. “It’s alright, chick. We don’t talk about it much. Besides, she’s been in remission for a year now. But she’s missed out on so much school and she gets tired so easily.”

There was nothing Isla could say that would be enough. She had to settle for, “I’m sorry to hear that…” and hope Rhona could somehow understand just how much she meant it.

“There was a time when she was being treated that she became very low and very depressed. It was frightening. I’ve never been so worried in all my life. We were scared she was just… giving up. Then, one day, they had some Pokemon trainers visit the hospital. A lot of children there would never be able to go out training. Some wouldn’t even… you know, live to see their next birthday.”

Rhona’s voice wavered. Blair put his hand over hers and squeezed. “Easy, Mum. Don’t go upsetting yourself now.”

“One of the trainers was assigned to Skye,” Rhona continued. “But she was so quiet and so withdrawn that we didn’t think the trainer could get through to her. The trainer had this Pokemon with her – Ampster, I think it was – and it was like a light turned on behind Skye’s eyes when she saw it. I saw glimpses of my daughter again. This trainer stayed with her for hours. Just talking. She’s wanted to be a Pokemon trainer ever since. And I hate that so many things keep getting in her way.”

Rhona sunk her head into her hands. Her shoulders quivered.

Isla felt terrible. No wonder Skye had been quiet during the whole of lunch. How stupid had she been? Skye was being kept from her dream of being a Pokemon trainer and she’d waltzed into their kitchen showing off a Pokemon she hadn’t even meant to catch? It made Isla’s toes curl just thinking about it.

“Could Skye not make the journey on her own?” she asked.

“No,” Rhona lifted her head again, looking pale even at the thought. “She’s not fit enough. We were going to rent a car and drive her, but…”

“Could I take her?”

The offer slipped past Isla’s lips before she knew what she was doing. Rhona looked at her in mild shock, her mouth slowly gaping open.

“I mean, I’ll be passing through Aberdrip anyway!” Isla continued. “One of the sailors said I could get the ferry from Dewbrae Town which is just past Aberdrip, right?. I could take her along with me.”

“Gosh, that’s very kind of you, chick. And I’m sure Skye would love it,” Rhona said, nervously glancing at the stairs. “But I’m not comfortable with her making the trip back on her own. Or even just the amount of walking she’d have to do.”

“I could go with them,” Blair said.

Rhona looked at her son like she’d only just remembered he existed. “What’s that, honey?”

“I could go with them,” he repeated. “We could put Skye on Coastrot. That’s my partner Pokemon,” he added for Isla’s benefit. “He’s strong enough to carry her and we can keep her nicely bundled up. Then once Isla heads off to Dewbrae, I can take Skye back.”

“I don’t know,” Rhona said. “We need you here too.”

“Mum, it’s a day. Maybe two, tops, if we let Skye rest overnight. You and Dad can manage that long, right? You could ask a couple of the lads from the market to pitch in if you really need to. I’m sure they’d work for a hot pie and some cash in hand. And you don’t need to worry about us. We won’t do anything silly. We’ll just get Skye her Pokemon, check in for the night, see Isla off to Dewbrae the next morning and head back ourselves. Easy-peasy!”

Rhona still didn’t look convinced. “It’s such a long way, though. She’s not been away overnight in such a long time.”

“It’s a few hours of travelling, Mum. You said it yourself, Skye’s already missed out on so much. It might not feel like much for us, but for Skye, it’s her whole life. One delay after the other. And with everything the way it is right now, what if there’s just more delays? More reasons not to take her? You have to let her.”

Rhona went very quiet, her face pale.

“I’ll look after her, Mum,” Blair said. “She needs this.”

“I know you will. And I know she does,” Rhona heaved a sigh. “She’s not my little baby anymore. She’s growing up.”

“I’d like to go.”

Everyone jumped at the voice that came in from the doorway. Rhona wiped her eyes. “Oh, Skye, honey, sorry. I didn’t hear you come down. Are you okay?”

“I think I can do it,” Skye ignored her mother’s question. Her voice was louder this time, but still hesitant, like she was testing out its limits. “I want to go get my Pokemon and I’d like Blair and Coastrot to take me. And Isla,” she added, and Isla felt a smile curve onto her face. “If that’s okay with you?”

Silence widened like a chasm between mother and daughter and for one horrible moment, Isla half-expected Rhona to turn away, to start shouting, to deny her flat out. But then tears spilled out of Rhona’s eyes and her whole face softened.

“Yes, honey,” Rhona said, her voice little more than a whisper. “Yes, that’ll be okay with me.”

As they hugged, Isla felt a stray tear prick at the corner of her eye. The emotion surprised her. Yes, it was touching to see a mother and daughter hug and reconcile, but something told her it went deeper. As she looked out at the dying sky, strewn with deepening orange and slicks of black, something unsettled itself in her heart.

Tomorrow she would be leaving Port Glen. Tomorrow she would leave behind a family unit where she felt accepted. Tomorrow she would start her journey to Inverbrook.

She didn’t know which one felt scarier.

#checkmate #pokemon oc fiction #pokemon fanfiction #fakemon #fakemon fanfiction #long post #fanfiction

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howyoutalktostrangers · 4 years ago

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So,

Have you heard of the Pact of Ice and Fire?

When the new HBO show Fire and Blood debuts in 2021, it will cover a tangential side plot from the historical Dance of the Dragons that involves Jacaerys (“Jace”) Targaryen — firstborn son of royal claimant Rhaenyra, and rider of the dragon Vermax. During this internecine struggle, which killed off nearly all the dragons in Westeros, the teenage prince was tasked with rallying the troops behind his mother following his uncle’s attempt to usurp the Iron Throne. He ultimately flew north, then befriended and won the loyalty of Lord Cregan Stark of Winterfell, the formidable ancestor of the main characters from Game of Thrones. It’s these two characters who made a pact that may have implications that reverberate through the generations.

Taking place nearly 200 years before the fall of the Mad King, Jace’s story doesn’t particularly stand out amidst all the scheming, betrayals and bloody battles of the Dance — he lived just long enough to be dispatched by crossbows during a naval battle — but if fan theories are correct, he may be a key puzzle piece in the foundational mystery of the whole A Song of Ice and Fire series. And it all comes down to Jace’s secret wedding in the Godswood to Cregan’s bastard sister, and the child she gave birth to after his death.

It may even lead to a radical different interpretation of Jon Arryn’s dying words in Game of Thrones: “the seed is strong”.

To understand this theory, you first have to know that Jace himself was the bastard son of an enormous man named Harwin “Breakbones” Strong from the Riverlands. Because of this, Jace doesn’t have the traditional blond hair and Targaryen features of his mother’s family, but the brown hair and brawny build of his paternal line. This leads to multiple conflicts with Targaryen rivals to the throne, including an incident where one of the current King’s grandsons is blinded in one eye during a childhood dispute. During the Dance of Dragons, House Strong is almost entirely wiped out, partially because Jace’s mother wants to protect her children from any rumours that may bring their parentage into question. This mean that Jace’s secret child could be one of the only surviving descendants of this once proud family.

Who are some of the other Strong descendants, you might ask? Well, there’s a good chance that Ser Duncan the Tall (Dunk from A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms) is Jace’s ancestor, and through him we get both Brienne of Tarth and Hodor. Meanwhile, down in the Riverlands, we have The Hound and The Mountain, both known for their size — with the elder brother being transformed into an undead zombie named, coincidentally, Robert Strong. Further south we have the Baratheons, another family that has intermarried with the Targaryens, which produced the original usurper who cut down Rhaegar Targaryen on the Trident — another Robert.

For those of who who are still spotty with your Targaryen history, I’ll connect some dots for you. Though Jace never lived to see his mother on the Iron Throne, his widow Sara Snow vowed to obtain vengeance (something we see in Bran’s flashback visions) and his old friend Cregan Stark advocated on his family’s behalf in King’s Landing after marching south, taking charge of the Seven Kingdoms and bringing the war to a close. Cregan then returned to the North, where Jace’s covertly royal offspring was being raised in Winterfell. If this theory is correct, that child is Dunk.

When we read A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms, the collection of short stories George R. R. Martin wrote about the Blackfyre Rebellions, we meet Dunk as a hedge knight who takes on a Targaryen prince named Egg (short for “Aegon”) as a squire. That Aegon (the fourth, I believe) ultimately grew up to become the King who named Dunk to the Kingsguard before accidentally killing his whole family in a mysterious tragedy at Summerhall. It was during this inferno that Rhaegar was born, having been rescued by none other than Dunk, and it’s this connection that brings us up to the start of the series, which is told in the aftermath of Rhaegar’s death during Robert’s Rebellion.

But just like Jace and his Stark love, Rhaegar fathered a secret child with a northern girl, Lyanna. That son had dark hair like both his Stark and Strong ancestors, and was named Jon Snow while being secretly raised by another Stark — Ned. But if dragon-riding ability is passed down by genetics, as many believe it is, then he also has the DNA needed to mount one of Daenarys’ dragons once their storylines finally converge in The Winds of Winter and A Dream of Spring. It makes you wonder about the promise Ned made Lyanna in A Game of Thrones, and if it had something to do with the historical Pact of Ice and Fire made by Jace and Cregan over a hundred years earlier. If the North truly remembers, like they keep saying, then maybe he’s also duty-bound by his loyalty to the Targaryens and not just love for his sister.

That’s the thing about this series — the further you get into the future, the further you have to go into the past to understand the context. And here’s where things come full circle. While I was contemplating this today, and watching fan theories on YouTube, I thought about Jon Arryn’s dying words in the first book — “The seed is strong”. At the time it was interpreted as being related to Jaime and Cersei’s treasonous incest, but maybe he had the bigger picture in mind. Maybe he was tracking Targaryen lineages, and talking about a dragon seed bastard from the House of Strong: Jon Snow.

What do you think? Does it add up?

The Literary Goon

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ofgoodmenarchive · 4 years ago

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Blighted Empire: Ch 2

Playing With Fire

Whereas Dorian's Harrowing had been raised up as an inspiring success, Lavellan's was regarded as catastrophic near-failure, though no one could say exactly what occurred but him. Nor was Dorian about to pry- Evallan respected his deceit and evasiveness during their tutelage, he was obliged to the Keeper's privacy.

The decision on whether to repeat the Harrowing was not taken lightly and for once Dorian and Evallan were in the same predicament. Evallan, as of now, couldn't be trusted to serve and Dorian, perceived as the teacher who ill-prepared him, was once more not entrusted with anything of relevance.

“I'm surprised there's not rumours I ensnared him with blood magic.” He sulked over breakfast with the usual suspects.

“There might be, why would anyone share them with us?” Elias pointed out optimistically.

“Oh, brilliant! I feel so much better!”

“Maybe you'd feel better if you actually worked in the library instead of drinking in the library?” Katerina grumbled, having had quite enough as the Senior Mage charged to that area.

“What work is there to do? If I have to translate one more blighted text that ends up being some ancient dwarf's shopping list!”

“It's what we do there, Dorian. You're signed up as a researcher!”

“Why don't you yell at Elias?” He whined. “He doesn't do anything either- when he's even there!”

“He's not signed up as a researcher!”

“It's true,” Elias bobbed his head affirmatively. “I'm not signed up as anything.”

“And you wonder why the Chantry don't give you the time of day?” Dorian rolled his eyes.

“I want to fight Darkspawn,” His friend defended with a sniff. “I practise my magic most of the day. What are you doing right now-- except drinking?”

“I did do something!” He spluttered with indignation. “And it was the one thing I was confidently entrusted to do- and it was a disaster! I can't even ask what happened to correct any mistakes I made!- Oh by the way, Lavellan, do you recall that horrifying trial you underwent? Would you mind explaining to me what was so traumatic that weeks of my tutelage were made void!?”

He slouched with much exaggeration. It didn't help he hadn't spoken to Evallan since his Harrowing- if the elf held Dorian responsible for his blunder, he couldn't say. There was also no way to ask after his well being without feeling suspicious. To anyone else it could seem only that he was agitated towards the failure- it was for the best.

But the old routine of tedium, sporadic drinking and reading the same books repeatedly was what truly ired him. Fila must have known as much, shooting him a smile across the table.

“You should work in the garden with us again- you're so good with the plants, Dorian! Titus doesn't know what he's doing.”

The plant-destroyer placed down his fork and pouted.

“They're plants! They just sit there! How can someone be good with them?” He complained while Fila shushed sweetly, patting his cheek. Dorian snorted at the pair.

“Don't be so offended, Titus. She's just trying to flatter me so I'll do something with myself.”

Fila reached across the table to squeeze his hand, embodying sisterly innocence as she grinned.

“And it's working, yes? Yeees? Yes it is!”

Something in his smile as he rolled his eyes must have signified defeat. He went without resistance.

Work in the garden was satisfying, he had to admit. Kept active, he did not think so much and observing the fruits of his labour gratified him. As a younger man he'd been tasked to organise and care for the area. Fila had naturally inherited the role from him years ago- it was a decent placement for a mage fresh out of apprenticeship.

The garden had expanded overtime and the centre pond widened but there was still a clear space on the grounds between the barracks, attached armoury and the tower itself. Like the apothecary he'd been housed in as a youth, these smaller, miscellaneous buildings were low and had an impression of dank even looking at the weathered walls.

Sounds of exertion drew his attention there and he discovered where Evallan hid himself- in plain sight. Two forms danced vigorously upon the flat ground between barracks and tower, the Templar Marcus swinging his sword with practised ease. Evallan lunged and sprang around the bulkier man, Lightbringer whirling like the wings of an insect.

“He trains here?” He asked Fila, who was busying herself trying to repair something after a certain someone's clumsy intervention.

“Why did you cut so much! You're not giving it a haircut Ti- oh?” She glanced at her clan-brother. “Every day with Marcus. You never see him go?”

“He wakes so early. I had no idea where he'd been.” He shrugged, continuing to observe. It was evident even to his civilian eye why the sparring was so strenuous- Evallan was accustomed to utilising Lightbringer as a channelling apparatus. His muscle memory was at a disadvantage in single combat with educated opponents and though it was marvellous to watch, the flaws were blatant once understood.

That also explained Lightbringer's presence- holding an empty hilt with a glowing blade had to be a stark difference from the weight of a physical sword. Training with anything other than Lightbringer itself would be wasted effort.

“Stop changing your grip like that, Maker! Do you listen, Lavellan?!” Marcus dictated severely, smashing Evallan away like a gnat. The elf was visibly flushed and launched again, practically screaming. Again, he was deflected.

“ARE YOU GOING TO KEEP THROWING YOURSELF AT ME LIKE A GIRL OR ARE YOU GOING TO HOLD YOUR SWORD PROPERLY!?” The Templar was near-sobbing in frustration, Dorian could hazard a guess as to how long this had dragged- years, perhaps! Evallan rebounded towards his opponent, defiant.

“He seems quite restless.” He tried not to sound too concerned.

“I don't think he likes practising with Marcus.” Fila answered, frowning at the two.

He quietly agreed. Though he had no idea what their history may entail the distaste between them was palpable- it would have been uncomfortable even without the Templar's howls. They looked one movement away from a genuine bout and fought as two dogs of contrasting breeds; the Templar a muscled, vicious blood hound and the elf a scrappy, half-crazed wolf. By their very nature they could do nothing but be at odds.

When Marcus halted for refreshment or a stretch, Evallan paced like a caged animal. When Evallan finally yielded and sat to rest, Marcus stood like a broken clock, smacking gauntlets against his helm and audibly muttering.

It was a miserable sport to be audience of and Dorian soon fixated on less upsetting details. Lightbringer was of great fascination, especially after Evallan's Harrowing. An incredible weapon- but it was the runes and function that captivated him.

All these details coalesced into an idea his idle hands knew they had to seize upon.

READ MORE ON AO3

#dragon age #dai #dorian pavus #apocalypse au #m!lavellan #pavellan #da fic #dragon age fic #blighted empire #my writing #and this is why i am not going to make any claims about the schedule anymore #cause i keep saying a chapter will be late and then it's early #honestly what is this schedule

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space-blue · 4 years ago

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Artist and Hound

Iain Hund, former supernatural homicide detective, now mere magical vandalism inspector, feels the staleness of his car's air like a strangling hand upon his thoughts. He sends a last baleful glare at the wall he has pointlessly stalked for the past eight hours and starts his car to drive back to the station.

In all his years in the Sup-PD, Hund had never doubted his own righteousness. When the Harris case had come his way, he'd broken all the rules necessary to land the damn man behind bars and still felt like it was right. He had accepted his demotion as a cheap price to pay to save the public from the likes of Jack Harris. So when he put down his things on his new cramped desk at magical vandalism, and even after a year chasing Blues dealers, petty curse carvers, and weres doing their claws on public property, Iain Hund had remained serene. Regret bloomed in him when the Artist's case was made his top priority.

Tom, whom he shares his desk with, is a cold shoulder to cry on.

"No chance with this new stake-out then?" Met only by moody silence, Tom pushes a box of donut accross the desk. "You look like you need some."

"You eat donuts like a road cop."

"Well, those guys know what's up. Didn't you work with them, back in the day?"

"Yes," Iain sighs, dunking his hand in the proffered box, "and this case is the most pointless and disheartening task I've been given in my career, which includes these old patrols with the normal's police, writing tickets and shit."

"Come on, the Artist has been taunting us for years, but she can't be flawless. Guy with an ability like yours, what's that? Magikolour synaesthesia? Why go for stake-outs and CCTV? Why not make some traps? You've got more magical ability than this whole floor put together!"

"Tom, I'd need so many warrants for one trap, it's not ever happening. I think I got given this task as extra punishment. Something senseless to run after until I retire."

"What if they really think you can catch the vandal who's never been caught?"

"Why do they want that anyway? Because some loony normal might scrap some paint off a wall and somehow figue out there's something off with it? What am I to say to her if I catch her? 'You're under arrest for artistry. Your fingers will be broken... No, sorry, I mean, I need your address so we can send you fines!' Don't you think we'd all be better off with more art like hers in NY, and less wendigos or murderous weres I could put behind bars?"

"Hund, I don't wanna disappoint, but the world's been doing just fine without you. Also, moaning to me isn't getting you back into homicide and you know it. Artist is no murderer, maybe you've got to change your tactic, get original."

Iain, knowing good advice when he hears it, wonders about the changes he could make. The police, sup or normal's, has no name or face to put on the Artist. Even her gender is as good as the street word, rumours from the guy who knows a guy who's seen her.

Dusting donut crumbs from his notebooks, Iain peruses through weeks of drawings. When seen by normals or photographed, the Artist's work is static, if beautiful graffiti art. The drawings were to capture the details of what sups–anyone with a shred of magical ability–saw instead: myriads of images, sometimes a whole scene, with characters turning to the watcher, mouth opening in mute calls, sometimes the paint exploding out of the walls, pulling you in clouds of coruscant particles. In his book Iain has little boats on the calm waters of a lake, the face of a submerged god half hidden under lotuses; a pale man weeping liquid gold; a woman playing a sitar, each sound coming alive in the shape of a fantastical animal; a highway bridge pillar turned into an aquarium in which twirled a bigger-than-life mermaid; and many more. His notebook is far thicker than the case file ever was. In the last pages he finds the sketches made of a long mural of dancers. Their appearance changed depending on the angle you looked at it, a masquerade of shape-shifters. In it is a message for the man the Artist knows is on her trail, for hidden behind the legs of a dancer stands a black wolf-dog and though it has no collar, a golden tag gleams beneath its jaws, etched in the faintest strokes with the name Iain.

That's how she must see me: the law's dog on his invisible leash.

"Alright, let's get original."

"Mmh? Where are you going?"

"Hudson Heights. I'm gonna get friendlier with our local alchemists."

He leaves Tom to choke on his donut.

Alchemists have no claws or tooth to rend through you, but they don't need them. The power they wield, and their tendency for single minded obsession, makes them a prickly bunch, and the Sup-PD has a special unit for policing them. Iain's badge feels like a flimsy shield in his hand as he steps down from the sunny, all-American street and into the subterranean entrance to the alchemy quarters. The skills of the Artist and the finesse of her alchemical paints has already sent Iain deep inside those hidden galleries of shops and studios, where his questions revealed envy, admiration, and wholesalers of raw materials who did most business online and all proudly claimed her as a loyal customer, whilst unable or unwilling to prove anything.

The man at the entrance smiles at Hund.

"What do you want this time, cop?"

"Just visiting Toby Smith as a customer today." Iain grimaces. "Please."

The doorman grins sardonically, Smith being a famously irascible alchemist. He reaches for the door handle and applies his magic to it. To Iain it looks like a blue aura. A small displacement magic, that opens doors to other places. He nods his thanks and scuttles past and right into the maddening chaos of Toby Smith's shop.

"You again? What do you want now?" a disembodied voice asks from all corners.

Smith does business like this, never bothering to be present in the same room as his customers, his store guarded by an arsenal of curses that would make any hardened criminal as docile as a puppy.

"Paints."

"You're still after the Artist?"

"Ah, yes sir."

"You planning on defacing her work?"

"No sir. I–well, I like her work too. She caters to her fans though, and I thought, maybe, I can get to discuss with her somehow?"

Drawers open at invisible hands, glass jars and packets start drifting towards Iain.

"You're planning some sort of painting show-down? You've got guts Hund, I like it. Leave two hundred behind, follow the instructions on the packs, and work on your magic before mixing, unless you want blowing your moronic face off."

"Thanks sir."

"You're a better guy than I assumed."

"Sir?"

"Mixing paints to life is a tiny magic, but it's also very rare. The Artist has a unique gift. That someone with such a high grade magic as yours can appreciate her work is good. Maybe with you on her case she won't get wiped after all."

Iain mouth goes very dry.

"Wiped? Why would..."

His mind reels. It makes perfect sense now. Why bother with breaking fingers, indeed! Such a small gift, to breath life into a pot of already alchemical paint. It would take a tiny trap seal with her name on it to erase her magic as surely as if she were born a normal. He can picture his bosses, patting him on the shoulder. Good job Hund.

"Hund?"

"Thank you sir. For your honesty."

Iain goes home on autopilot, lost in his thoughts. He spends several evenings practising, and more building the final spell-works and paints before going out. He's mapped the Artist's work throughout Manhattan, and picked a wall she is likely to walk by. Finally he sits behind the wheel of his car and works a small shifting magic on his face. He has decided to go into the night to do what he's paid to stop. He feels shivers of anticipation and dread, a kinship and a respect stronger than ever before for the Artist who so inconspicuously prowls the nights.

He does her portrait, suggested, unfinished, broad strokes of paint revealing how little he knows of her. Sitting beside her stands a black hound with a golden tag, his muzzle resting in her lap, adoring eyes gazing up into her unpainted face waiting to be filled. Artist and Hound, he titles it.

A promise.

Two days later, Iain finds that the mouth of the Artist has been painted over in a slight smile.

~~ October 2018 – Theme : Small Magics

#original work #original story #competition #fantasy

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emospritelet · 5 years ago

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Key to the Cell - chapter 5

[1] [2] [3] [4] [AO3 link]

Once breakfast was over, and the men had ridden out for the hunt with a cacophony of shouts and baying hounds, Belle retreated to the library to read the remaining chapters of the book. It told her nothing she didn’t already know, and squinting at the drawing of the ornamental dagger in the light of day still didn’t reveal what was written on it. She noticed that the drops of her blood had disappeared, though, sucked into the paper by the book’s own magic, no doubt. It was tempting to try the spell again, but she had nothing more to bargain with, and no desire to make any more demands on the Dark One’s time than she had already dealt for.

She put the book back on its shelf and sat back in her chair, thinking. It wasn’t the only book on the Dark One that existed, to be sure, but a search of the shelves before she sat down had yielded nothing further on the subject. Belle smiled to herself as she reached a decision. In the months that she and her father had been coming to Sir Gaston’s lands, she had made a friend of sorts. A purveyor of hard to find objects, he called himself, but he specialised in old books. If anyone would know where she could find out about the Dark One, it would be Jefferson.

Half an hour later she was taking the carriage into town, a tall, silent footman named Marcel and one of the maids, Celine, accompanying her. She knew it was for reasons of safety and propriety, but she missed the freedom of being in her own lands, with her own people. Here she was followed wherever she went, which was why she had begun sneaking down to the library at night for a brief taste of freedom. It felt as though Gaston’s servants were spying on her. As though she were a beautiful bird in a gilded cage, too valuable to be allowed to fly free, however briefly.

On this occasion, however, Marcel seemed more interested in the pretty maid than in her, the two of them sneaking glances at each other as the carriage rolled along, and a plan began to form in Belle’s mind. She kept a sharp eye out as they reached the market place, and once she spotted the shop she sought, she tapped on the roof of the carriage to stop and rummaged in her purse for some coins.

“Here,” she said, handing them to Marcel. “It’s a warm day and the road was dusty. Why don’t you both go to the tavern and have a cup of something while I visit the bookshop? It’s right across the street, you’ll be able to keep an eye on me.”

“We’re supposed to stay with you, milady,” said Celine automatically, but her eyes flicked to the footman again.

“I’ll only be ten minutes,” Belle assured her. “I want to enquire after some books I ordered. Once that’s done we’ll go to the haberdasher’s and the apothecary. You may both accompany me once you’ve quenched your thirst.”

Marcel and Celine shared a smile.

“Thank you, milady,” they said as one, and Marcel got out to hand Belle down.

She shook out her skirts, eyeing the shop she sought. The door was closed, but a bell above tinkled merrily when she pushed it open. The shelves inside lined every wall, and were filled with books, with cabinets holding ornaments and nautical navigation aids. There was a pleasing, familiar scent of parchment and leather and old paper, and Belle smiled as she glanced around, a sense of peace flowing over her.

She started as the proprietor bounced up from behind the counter, dressed in a russet-coloured coat over leather breeches and knee boots, a patterned cravat at his throat and a somewhat battered top hat on his head. Jefferson was a handsome man, with a ready grin and a glint in his eye, and from what she could tell, had a good heart and a keen sense of fun. He also had a young daughter named Grace, who liked to read as much as Belle had at her age, and Belle had given her some of her old books to borrow, much to Grace’s delight. Jefferson beamed at the sight of her.

“My Lady Belle!” he declared, sweeping a dramatic bow that was somewhat curtailed by the shop counter. “I’m delighted to see you! It’s been too long.”

“An entire week, at least,” she said, amused.

“Yes indeed.” He clasped his hands behind his back, bouncing on his toes. “Your frequent visits to my humble shop have not gone unnoticed. Why, only two days ago I had Sir Gaston’s steward come to visit me to enquire about them. Imagine my delight at such esteemed patronage.”

Belle’s blood ran cold.

“He was asking about me?” she said. “Why?”

“Oh, I’m sure your noble intended only wishes to ensure your safety,” said Jefferson cheerfully. “I’m to report back to him what you purchase from me. Romantic, no?”

Anger flared in her, and she felt her jaw protrude, as though straining against an invisible leash. She tried to relax, and smiled at Jefferson.

“It’s a good thing I seek only appropriate reading material for an innocent and fairly stupid woman, then,” she said dryly.

“It’s not as though I would sell you anything else,” he said, pressing a hand to his heart in mock horror. “This is a respectable bookshop.”

“Good,” said Belle seriously. “In that case I want to ask about the books you most definitely are not holding in this shop. In order to ensure - public decency.”

“Public decency has always been a passion of mine, my Lady,” he said gravely. “Tell me of these terrible tomes.”

She felt her lips twitch, but tried to maintain her concerned expression.

“I have heard tales of a sorcerer known as the Dark One,” she said. “No doubt there are books that cover his history, his origins. It would be dreadful if they were to fall into the wrong hands.”

“You won’t find such distasteful books on any of the shelves in this shop,” he said promptly, pointing under the desk and winking at her.

“I’m delighted to hear it.”

“Anything else?”

“I’ve also heard that there are books on magical prisons, and the breaking of curses.”

“A terrible rumour, if true,” he said. “I have no such books for sale.”

He mouthed you can borrow them behind his hand, and she wanted to giggle.

“Thank goodness,” she said. “You’ve put my mind at rest.”

“I should probably check, though,” he added. “Just to make sure. If you return in half an hour, I’ll be able to confirm it.”

“Good.” She hesitated. “While I’m at it, there may be something you could sell to me. Do you have anything on the Blue Fairy? Or on light magic in general? I’m sure there could be no objections to me reading something like that.”

“Let me see what I can dig out,” he said, tipping his hat to her.

“And I suppose I’d better add in something about proper wifely duties, as well,” she said. “That should put Sir Gaston’s mind at ease.”

Jefferson grinned, wiggling his eyebrows.

“For managing a new estate or for managing a new husband?” he asked, and she sent him a dry look.

“I’ll leave that up to you.”

His grin widened, and he lifted a finger.

“I have just the thing.”

When Belle left the shop, she took a moment to straighten her gloves, irritation with Gaston warring with satisfaction at having obtained more information on the Dark One. So. She was being spied on. No doubt to ensure she was suitable, the picture of a subservient, dutiful wife. The nerve of the man!

“Milady?”

Marcel and Celine had hurried over to her, and Belle nodded curtly, smoothing her features.

“I’ll call back for my books in half an hour, once they have been wrapped,” she said. “The apothecary next, I think.”

She walked swiftly enough that Celine had to trot to keep up, and made the rounds of the shops in less time than she had anticipated, but the exercise helped to ease her anger, and by the time they had left the haberdashery, she was calm again. She slowed the pace as they turned into the street leading back to the bookshop, and Celine sighed in relief, hefting the basket of her purchases.

“Alms for the poor, milady?”

A woman reached out to her with a pleading tone, blonde hair tied back from a face reddened by the sun, and Belle drew to a halt, biting her lip in distress. She imagined the woman had once been plump and pretty, but now looked gaunt and exhausted, her faded dress hanging from her, her hand a claw extended on a thin wrist. Two skinny, big-eyed children watched from the shadows, brother and sister, clutching at one another. The girl had a bracelet on her thin wrist, woven from brightly coloured woollen threads, no doubt scavenged from weavers' scraps. It made a strange contrast to her dirty smock and tangled hair.

“Get out of here, go on!” said Marcel roughly, aiming a kick at the woman, and she shied away. Belle rounded on him.

“Do that again and there will be consequences!” she snapped.

“I’m charged with protecting you, milady,” he said. “You don’t have to deal with these vermin.”

“When I marry your lord, these will be my people!” said Belle, frowning. She turned back to the woman. "What's your name?"

"Gerta, milady."

“And what has brought you to this sad state? Have you no work?”

“Not since the clearances, milady,” she said, eyeing Marcel warily.

“Clearances?”

“We had a strip of land down by the river," said Gerta. "A herd of goats and some vegetable plots. The Lord’s men drove us off two winters gone. Us and all the other smallholders. Beat our men when they protested, killed some. Killed my husband. The fields have gone to barley for the brewers, the goats slaughtered.”

Belle shook her head, and reached into her purse for some money.

“Milady, you shouldn’t—” began Marcel.

“I’ll do as I please with my own coin!” snapped Belle. She pressed some silver into Gerta’s hand, followed by a gold piece. “Here. That should feed and clothe you all for a little while, at least. Once you feel able, come to the castle and ask for me: I'll speak to the steward about finding some work for you."

"Oh thank you, thank you!" Tears pricked the woman's eyes.

"No need to thank me," said Belle. "You shouldn't be in this situation. I shall speak to Sir Gaston about what has happened to you.”

“It won’t do any good,” said Gerta wearily. “But bless your kind heart, milady.”

She clasped Belle’s hand between her own, smiling a little, and slunk away, the children following. Belle noticed that the boy was limping badly, his lower leg twisted and useless as he shuffled along, supported by his sister.

“They’ll probably just spend it on ale, milady,” said Celine.

“They look too hungry to want to bother with the tavern,” said Belle shortly. “Have many families been driven off their lands?”

The servants shrugged, and she clicked her tongue in irritation.

“What provision has been made for their welfare?” she asked. “Are there soup kitchens? Anything?”

“The brewers set up a soup kitchen,” said Celine. “They were told to take it down, because it just encouraged the beggars.”

“Well of course it encouraged them, how would they eat otherwise?” snapped Belle, and shook her head with a sigh. “Still, this is a matter for Sir Gaston, not you. I need to pick up my books, and then we’ll take the carriage home.”

She stomped off, seething with anger. What sort of lord would let his people starve?

Jefferson seemed to catch her mood when she returned, and made no quips as he handed Marcel a pile of books wrapped in paper and tied with string. Belle paid him, smiling slightly to show that her bad mood had not been caused by him. He was far more reserved in front of the servants, and she imagined it was just as well. No doubt an account of their day in town would reach Gaston before long, and she didn’t want Jefferson singled out for any special attention from the steward.

The ride home was subdued, and once the servants had carried the books and other purchases up to Belle’s room, she announced that she had a headache, and would be lying down until it passed. Celine drew the curtains and helped her off with her gown, and Belle lay down with a damp cloth over her eyes. The sound of the door closing softly made her sigh in relief, but she still waited a few minutes before tearing off the damp cloth and sitting up, reaching for the parcel of books. There had to be answers in there somewhere.

Jefferson had wrapped up five books in total, the top one being a very proper treatise on the management of estates from a noblewoman’s perspective. Belle tossed that aside with a curl of her lip, but after a moment, placed it on her nightstand. If Gaston wanted to hear about what she was reading, let him hear about that.

The second book was infamous, and made her blush fiercely and glance around before turning back to it. The Lady’s Boudoir by An Anonymous Gentlewoman of Note was rumoured to be the most complete compendium of detailed intimate relations between husband and wife. Along with illustrations. After suppressing a giggle at the look on Gaston’s face if he were to find such a book in her possession, Belle resolved to hide it somewhere safe until she could take it back to Jefferson. She had already read it, anyway.

The third book had an embossed illustration of a fairy on the cover, wand lifted high with a blue star at its tip. A Study of Fairies and Their Use of Light Magic, read the title page, and Belle pursed her lips thoughtfully and set the book aside on the nightstand before reaching for the next. It was a heavier volume, bound in battered blood-red leather with gilt letters on the spine: First Steps in Curse-Breaking.

She was almost trembling with excitement, eager to open up the book and pore over its contents, but the final book in the paper package had already drawn her eye. It was the slimmest by far, perhaps two hundred pages if that, with a plain black leather binding. Opening it up, Belle ran her eyes over the title page: The Dark One: His Origins and Powers.

Belle clutched the book to her chest, heart thumping, and sent up a prayer to the gods that the information she sought would be contained within. Then she got back onto the bed, wriggling against the pillows to get comfortable, and began to read.

#fic: key to the cell #rumbelle fic #my fic #rumbelle #dark castle rumbelle

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laiariblackadder · 5 years ago

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It needs to edited and stuff, but this is from like a year ago and I’ve been too lazy to update and edit?

Anyways, this is the beginnings of the first chapter for my sylvari personal storyline. Trying to mesh 4 damn people with the actual game characters is a LOT. BTW, none of this is canon because I’m too lazy to read a book. :/

So, What’s New With You?

She always imagined that this day would come, for her to go back to her place of birth in the same fashion she had left it. Running. She hadn’t been back in the forest in what felt like decades. So much has changed. For example, the big, overgrown, very grotesque looking fortress looming down at her as she runs past it. That wasn’t there before, and why are there Sylvari standing about as if they were admiring it? She went up to one of the men patrolling, hoping to ask for directions to the Grove, but not before a sylvan dog, black and jagged ran up to her with claws and teeth ready to work their way into her flesh. The man yelled at the dog to stand down as he waltz his way over to her.

“You seem very lost, do you even know where the fuck you are? Are you a sapling, you must be. Only the recently awakened and the desperate wonder over here.” To her, he seemed rather eager to help, but not before she saw the dagger in his hand, ready to place itself within her.

“Well first off,” she said, “I am not recently awaked or desperate so let’s notice that first. Second of all, I am trying to get to the Grove, I have to see the Pale Tree.” Her hands were now at her hips and awaiting his next breath.

“Ah, I see,” he began to ponder about, deciding whether he should invite her inside his little community all under the disguise of being a good samaritan, “ well luckily for you I can totally help you get to the Pale Tree. Now note that you are in the swamps and travel through here is not wise, however, I know of a shortcut through the village where we won't be attacked by pesky swamp trolls and hateful hylek tribes.”

She knew he was lying from the start, his mannerisms are that of a pathetic human bandit trying to con an adventurer out of their money, and she knew what he was, a courier of Nightmare. See the thing this poor sod didn’t and failed to realize is that you do not try to con a mesmer. She began to laugh hysterically which set the man off as he tried to swing the dagger towards her sides. The dagger hit, but it sure wasn’t her. The next thing he knew, he was blinded in a cloud of smoke and had no control of his actions. His dog attacked him and he attacked it and once the smoke cleared, both he and the poor Nightmare hound laid in a pool of their own blood, his eyes fixated on her as she smiled.

It was time for her to move on, she truly wanted to see if the man would help her, as again, she hasn’t been in the forest for quite some time. It was clear that things have changed and the knot in her stomach began bothering her again, her thoughts circling around her, afraid that she would not be ready for the change.

The Wardens and menders have been working nonstop to keep the general public calm and checking in on the wounded. Many of the pods were damaged and a couple of saplings never made it into the world and the ones who did are severely injured. The Nightmare Court has been active within the past few weeks, with minor, coordinated attacks all over the forest. This is the first major attack in years that the Grand Duke and Duchess of the Nightmare Court actually showed their faces. Take into consideration that Nightmare also had seeped its way into the Dream and threatened to harm mother and the unawakened dreamers, the Wardens were forced to abandon everything to protect the pods. The Grand Duchess knew what she was doing when she had the court attack Astorea and almost wipe out the warden outpost right then and there a few days ago. The Lionguard and the Vigil have been ever so helpful in restoring what little peace is left for the citizens of Astorea and hopefully the Grove.

“Captain! The last of the bastards have scurried on back to their hole in the ground, hopefully they won’t be coming back for a while,” the Warden Scout said.

“Good, make sure the frontier is secure, I’m going to check in with Niamh,” said the captain, as she started to remove her helmet and her locs began to stick out. Going to see Captain Niamh was going to be a stressful moment. She almost lost her for good, and the others know this, by her own hand. Malicidae was ordered to stand watch at Caer Astorea, in case another surprise wave of couriers were to return. Her conscious will not allow her to do anything Niamh tells her to, unless she knows she’s alive and well.

“But Captain,” the scout suggested with a concerned look, “Firstborn, erm, Captain Niamh said that you must return to post and that she would be very-”

“-I am very fucking aware that she wants me there, but it’s my damn fault that I wasn’t mentally strong enough to stop her from…,” Malicidae rambled on, eyes on the verge of bulging out of her skull. She was visibly pissed in this moment, at herself, at the scout, but especially at the Grand Duchess, my on my won’t she have a fun time chewing Firstborn Caithe the fuck out about all of this. Malicidae sighed and for once listened to the scout and motioned him to follow her back to the post.

Caithe sat next to the sapling, motionless with no expression as Firstborn Malomedies look upon her. He’s seen this face of hers many a time throughout the years and knows that she needs to be consoled, not that she will allow anything like that to happen.

“I should have been faster, I could have saved her. She doesn’t deserve to fight death this early in her life. She doesn’t deserve that.”

“Caithe, I...for the most part, she is breathing, and she has stopped moving in her sleep. She has found some form of peace for now. I can watch her for now.”

“I...should go speak to Mother about this. She needs to know what is going on. “

“Are you going to talk to her about-”

“-Ugh, yes you don’t have to badger me about her Mal, I am aware,” snapped Caithe which made Malomedies slightly flinch, eyes closing and hands massaging his temple, “but, it’s not like her to just suddenly give up like that. Something obviously spooked her, forcing her to retreat. Whatever, or whoever that was, must be formidable, and I must seek them out.”

Malomedies held Caithe’s hand with a firmness reassuring her. “Go,” he said, motioning to the entrance of the small room, “ please ask Mother what of today, and how to continue forward from this. Considering many of the pods were damaged, I don’t know if many of the saplings will even make it. Dammit! What was she thinking!?” He exclaimed with a seething anger, one Caithe knew was rare of him to act upon.

“She wants to make a Blighted Tree. Mother, but full of Nightmare. I’ve heard rumours about it, somewhere west of the Grove.” She explained. “She wanted to test a theory today, that she can infect saplings in the Dream, and that they would awaken from their pods as Nightmare Couriers. As of right now, I am unsure if she succeeded or not. There is no telling until she wakes up.” She nods to the sleeping sapling next to her in a calm and soothing slumber.

“Caithe, this is bad you know. We need to get with Niamh and see if we can get some scouts, maybe even contact the Order of Whispers. Maybe they know how to weaken her, at least long enough for us to make a plan to stop her.”

“And you think they will tell us anything? Come now, Mal. Let’s not worry about this now. If anything, the Grand Duchess was spooked enough to be on guard and actually stay to herself for a while. That will buy us some time you know.” Malomedies deeply sighed to Caithe, unsure of her comforting words as he knows better than to trust her intuition. He accepts her words regardless and she gets up and leaves the small leaf built building to go to the Omphalos Chamber to speak to the Pale Tree.

#tyriaslibrary #gw2 #guild wars 2 #sylvari #gw2 fanfiction #mypost #text

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onemilliongoldstars · 6 years ago

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a crown seldom enjoyed - chapter three

To maintain the fragile peace between north and south, Clarke of House Tyrell is sent to live in Winterfell as an act of faith between the two kingdoms. There, she is put under the protection of the first queen in the north, Queen Lexa of House Stark, Daughter of Wolves. A woman draped in steel and silver, wolves at her heels and rumoured to be a manifestation of the fury of the old gods; Clarke refuses to be awed be her quiet violence and cold smile. Instead of fostering unity, the meeting of the wolf and the rose lights a spark that spreads through the rest of Westeros, threatening to burn it to the ground.

3/25

clexa game of thrones au

read on ao3

Book 1: Chapter Three

The first time she notices the white wolf, she is stood atop one of the many covered balconies that look down into the courtyard, watching the world pass by beneath her. The courtyard is not as noisy as it sometimes is, and Octavia is stood a few paces away, keeping a respectful distance. It is the first time in what feels like weeks that she has had some peace and her eyes follow the soldiers as they train with staffs in the arena below her. In Highgarden the soldiers had been stationed far away in the castle, which was so huge it had sometimes felt like a city unto itself. There, she had been able to wander the orchards and the gardens, pray in the most beautiful sept outside of Kings Landing and always there was a singer or minstrel on hand to entertain herself and her hoard of ladies. Here, the sept is a small, dank affair made for a former lady of the household from Riverrun, a week’s ride south of the border. When she prays she is always alone, the northerners instead choosing to pray in the godswood, to the old gods of the north. In the godswood sits a Heart Tree, its white trunk marred only by the ancient carving of two eyes and a mouth. The red wood below the bark makes it seem as if the face is bleeding.

There are no minstrels or singers to be found at Winterfell, and the northerners avoid her as if she is the pestilence. Though she occupies herself with trips into the town and attempts to lose Octavia, there are moments when she cannot ignore how utterly alone she is. She misses Highgarden with an ache that sometimes feels as if it will consume her, crowding in her gut and working up her throat until she is strangled by it, and her fingers curl around the railing of the balcony as she works to clear herself of the emptiness settling around her shoulders. She is Lady Clarke of House Tyrell and she refuses to be cowed by this strange and stoic place.

Her gaze is caught then, her attention diverted from her misery, by the sight of the white direwolf. It is not strange to see the direwolves in Winterfell. At least one always accompanies Lexa, wherever she goes, but the others are often to be seen wandering around the castle, or returning from hunts in the forest. The white wolf is often to be found at Lexa’s side, but today Clarke meets the beast’s eyes and feels a shock. Its eyes are so blue that she can see them even from her place on the balcony and it feels as if she is staring into the face of someone she knows, or knew in another life. So humanoid are its features that she has to fight to look away, when she hears footsteps approaching down the balcony.

Prince Aden approaches, a youthful smile on his face, and he stops a few paces away from her, giving a neat bow. He flicks his floppy hair out from his eyes when he looks back up and straightens his tunic. Clarke wonders whether he is one of these young noble boys who grows so quickly his clothes have to be adjusted every few days. He looks the type, his body too tall for him.

“Lady Clarke, how nice to find you up here.” He takes a step closer, and she turns to give him a small smile, bowing her head.

“And you, your highness.”

He gestures to the balcony, “Do you mind if I join you?”

“Not at all,” She takes a small step to the side and the prince fills the gap that she has made, leaning against the railing and looking down at the courtyard. When Clarke follows his gaze, she sees that the wolf is gone.

“How are you, here in Winterfell?”

“Fine, your highness,” She answers, automatically, and the prince seems to think on it for a moment, before saying.

“I had to stay in Bear Island, with my uncle Lord Mormont’s family when the war was going on,” He speaks calmly, but Clarke turns to look at him with surprise, “I was younger then, but I remember it being scary. Though I was around family, and with my own people, I felt so out of place and odd and lonely, I almost wept with joy when they told me the war was won and I could go home.” He turns to give her a smile, “Not very manly.”

“You were only a boy,” She acquiesces and he nods.

“I only say this in hopes that you will see that I understand… I was lucky to be with people that I knew, and people who loved me. You must feel very far from home and from what you know.”

The words bring an unexpected shadow of the emptiness back with them, and she stares out at the courtyard for a moment, answering very softly. “Yes.”

“I’m sorry, I wouldn’t want anyone to feel that way here. It is my home, I would hope everyone would feel welcome.”

“What did you do to feel better, when you were on Bear Island?”

At her question, the prince’s face lights up with another boyish smile, and he offers his arm in a way so gallant it’s most disarming when matched with his youthful persona. “May I show you, my lady?”

Pressing down an amused smile, Clarke bobs a curtsey and takes his arm, allowing him to lead her. She knows the castle well enough by now that she realises where they are going and struggles not to balk. The prince must feel her hesitation, because he pauses and looks at her with concern.

“Are you well, my lady?”

“Of course, I just-” She looks to where they are going, the little building built up against the stable wall, and struggles not to wrinkle her nose. “The kennels, your highness?”

“Just try it? Please, my lady?” The pleading look he turns upon her is witchcraft, she’s sure, because she sighs and presses her lips together, nodding reluctantly and allowing him to lead her on.

“Of course, your highness.”

The kennels are dark and warm, filled with straw and the barking of dogs. The floor is dry, smooth earth and the loft allows a place for the dogs to lie around when the earth below becomes too wet or cold or hot. In the corner is a pile of blankets, where the dog boy will sleep to keep an eye on the hounds during the night. Torches burn on the wall, lighting the place up, and on a plump pile of straw sits a greyhound, her tongue hanging from her mouth. She lies on her side, belly exposed for the writhing pups to suckle at her teats. They are old enough to have their eyes open and they nip and yap at one another, fighting for a place, but the bitch is unfazed by their arguing. Every so often, she will lick at a passing pup, grooming them until they squirm away, but otherwise she is almost asleep.

Prince Aden gestures for the dog boy, and the boy lifts himself from his nest of blankets and approaches them. There is straw in his hair but Clarke is more focused on the pup in his arms, a wriggling little bundle of white and gray fur. He is feeding it with a soft cloth, dipping it in milk and holding it out for him to suckle. When Aden holds out his arms, the boy deposits the pup into his arms. Clarke watches the prince’s face soften, his arms gentle around the small creature. The pup squirms and whines and the prince feeds him from the rag.

“His mother rejected him because he’s the runt.” The prince’s voice is quiet, “But with the right care he can be just as strong.” He looks up at her, “Would you like to touch him?”

She is not known for enjoying animals, apart from the beautiful white mare she had ridden in Highgarden, but the prince’s eyes are so pleading that she feels she has to reach out and touch the little beast in his arms, stroking its soft coat.

“In Bear Island I tried to keep busy. The kennel master let me help him, I rode a lot. Animals are the same no matter where you are,” He meets her eyes and smiles. “They just need to be treated with kindness.”

She runs her fingers down the coat of the puppy, touching at the soft fur and the pup squirms away from the milk soaked cloth and licks at her fingers. The warm, wet touch makes her jump and when the prince laughs quietly, she smiles.

“If you would ever like some company, someone to ride with you or show you the wonders of the north, I would be honoured,” He offers her a charming smile and Clarke thinks, with a fond flutter of her heart, that in a few years maidens will be fawning over him and he won’t even realise.

“My lady,” Octavia steps into the doorway, from where she has been lingering just outside, and bows her head respectfully. Clarke steps closer to her, as the prince turns and deposits the runt pup back into the dog boy’s arms. Behind Octavia, in a woolen cloak, stands Reya, the only southern handmaiden who had stayed with her on her trip to the north. The girl has family here, so she is not as good company as Clarke had expected, but she is a welcome reminder that she is not alone, and Clarke welcomes her with a smile.

“Reya, what are you doing down here?”

“I have brought you letters, my lady.” She holds out the first one and Clarke takes it to run a finger over the yellow sun and moon of House Tarth.

“Lord Finn,” She smiles, a little surprised. Lord Finn of Tarth had visited Highgarden several times. As the nephew to the king, he had been readily welcomed, and as he had grown her father had teased her that Lord Finn had taken a shine to her. Despite being third in line for the throne, no union had been formed between them, but he had once kissed her in the orchard and she remembers that his skin had been unusually smooth and his lips had tasted of apricots.

“Another letter, my lady. It came from the capital today.” Reya holds it out and Clarke reaches, curious, until she spots the rose of House Tyrell in the blue of House Tully- her mother’s house.

She drops her hand before it can touch the parchment and turns away. “Burn it.”

Reya frowns, hesitating, “But, my lady, it's your mother’s-”

“I said burn it.” Her voice is so sharp that Reya startles, and nods, turning to hurry away.

There is a moment of silence and all of the warmth that she had felt moments ago burns away at the reminder of why she is here. It is easy when she is being treated kindly to forget that she is little more that a prize to be passed around wherever it is most convenient for the kingdom, but now the realisation has made her bones feel brittle in the cold.

“You are not reading correspondence from your mother?” Prince Aden asks her softly and Clarke feels a flare of indignation.

“No,” Before he can begin to lecture her, she gives a short curtsey and says. “If you’ll excuse me, your highness, I am quite cold. I will retire inside.”

---

The councillors who stand around her war table rumble and grumble with their complaints. They are men and women of the north, and as such they are not used to playing politics, yet here they stand for her, listening to reports on grains and taxes and the situation in the south. Glancing around the table, she feels a pang of affection for her council. Each are loyal and strong, chosen for their ability to think as well as fight and so she values their opinions more than anyone else’s.

Sage sits at her feet today and she amuses herself thinking of how he almost looks as if he too could be surveying the table in thought. Running a hand over his ears, Lexa looks over to where Maester Titus is fumbling through his pile of letters to extract what he thinks is the most important. The Grand Maester is more agitated than usual, though that is no great feat, and she wonders idly whether she will be able to get in some time with Anya practicing archery today. If this meeting can end before sundown, she may be in with a chance and one glance at the Captain of her Queensguard tells her that Lady Anya feels the same.

“Here,” Titus places a scrap of parchment on the table, gesturing to it broadly. “A letter from Lord Greyjoy. He writes that the south is in shambles, that Kings Landing is unsteady and that the king is weak and unable or unwilling to keep control of his bannermen.”

“Lord Greyjoy has always been like to exaggerate if he thinks it’s in his advantage.” Anya rolls her eyes, pulling the letter closer to herself to examine. “He talks a load of horseshit.”

“Greyjoy is certain that the peace will not hold, he thinks that Thelonius Baratheon cannot hold it.”

“Greyjoy is almost as northern as us, how does he know these things?” Her Master of Ships, Luna of House Reed, has always resented the Greyjoys for their betrayal during the war. If it weren’t for Luna’s mastery of the water, Lexa’s army would have fallen the moment that House Greyjoy showed themselves as turncoats.

“The Greyjoys trade,” Lord Manderly, her Master of Coin, tells her, distastefully. Not much stock is put in the Greyjoy word around her table.

“Thelonious will not fall.” Lexa puts in, and Titus sniffs, glancing over as the door opens and Aden slips inside.

“The man is weak, your majesty, if he cannot even control those who are loyal to him, who’s to know-”

“King Thelonius fought for peace too hard to back out now Titus, trust me.” Lexa tells him, firmly. “He knows that we would defeat his forces were he to try again, and we have only recently decided on a tediously long trade agreement with each region of the south, why would he try to undo all of that now?”

“Greyjoy also reports that he has appointed a new Master of Coin, Pike of House Lannister.” Titus adds, anxiously and Gustus hums softly beside her. Her Master of Law is usually a quiet man, preferring to watch and listen, but when he speaks the room goes silent.

“Pike is harsh, I have heard. A man with a tenacity of steel. Ambitious, driven, proud.”

“There,” Lexa looks back to Titus, “Does that satisfy you? If the king is weak, at least he has made the smart decision to have a strong man at his back, to hold him up, not to mention Lord Jacob of House Tyrell as his Hand. And he has a son, a strong son who will soon take a wife and begin to have children of his own. The Baratheon line is safe and the south is stable.” Glancing at the waning sunlight through the diamond windows of the small council chamber, she steps away from the table. “I think we are quite done here. Thank you all for joining me.”

As the rest of the lords filter out, Titus inches closer, his mouth pinched in concern. “Your majesty, forgive me but speaking of Hands, I must ask whether you have decided to take your own.”

“Titus,” She cuts through him with a glare. “You know that I like Aden to run the small council while I am gone, and act as my second in command.”

“I know, but your majesty-”

“He is named as my successor, it is important that he learn as much as he can about ruling the north.” With that, Lexa turns on her heel, leaving Titus in her wake. Aden is waiting at the doors, and falls into step beside her. He is silent, clearly reading her dark mood and they walk together, the prince barely matching her strides as she makes her way to the outer battlements of the castle. She waves away the guards, and tightens her cloak around her shoulders as the winds nips at their cheeks. Together, they stand at the battlements and look out over the landscape dusted with snow and rolling out before them.

“Titus does not want me to be your successor,” Aden says, at last and Lexa’s jaw tightens.

“Titus is not the queen and I say you are my successor.”

“It is because I am a bastard.” Aden leans against the battlement and his eyes are dark when she meets them. Reaching out, she touches his shoulder and is reminded of the boy that she grew up with.

“I will legitimise you soon, I promise. When the time is right.” He does not reply, his eyes staring out into the darkening sky and she squeezes his shoulder, sighing quietly before asking. “You spoke to Lady Clarke?”

“She seems lonely.” Aden shrugs, his voice quiet against the wind.

“I know,” She has not missed the dark look on the girl’s face, the restlessness in her eyes. “Is she a threat?”

“Not a threat, I don’t think,” Aden shakes his head, “But not a comfort either. She does not read her mother’s letters, Lady Tyrell may begin to think something has happened to her.”

Lexa grunts, “The girl makes everything more difficult than it has to be.”

“She’s angry,” Aden counters, turning to look at her properly. “She feels abandoned.”

“She has every comfort here and yet still she acts like a spoiled child.”

“She’s nice,” Aden says, simply, “You should try to talk to her more.”

He turns and makes his way from the battlements, before Lexa can protest that the girl will not speak to her.

---

The days soldier on, an endless march from one sunrise to the next, and Clarke watches the time pass with a misery so deep inside herself that she cannot seem to shake it. She wishes desperately that her father would write, but every letter she receives from Highgarden bears a blue seal rather than a green one, and she watches the flames lick at their edges and eat away at the ink that is spilt across them. Lord Finn writes that he was much saddened to hear of her stay at Winterfell, that if they had only become engaged that summer at Highgarden he would ride up to Winterfell himself and fight the northern queen for her. The sentiment is sweet, but misplaced, and she writes back to tell him so. A letter from Prince Wells brightens her mood considerably, and she reads it over breakfast, smiling at his tales of his father’s ever growing pressure to find a bride. Wells and she have been friends for as long as she can remember, their father’s close friends and allies. As his Hand, Thelonius often looks to her father for advice, and in their endless trips to Kings Landing the prince had been her playmate. As they grew, their friendship withstood, despite Wells near unbearable morality drawing him further and further towards the Faith of the Seven, while Clarke slipped into the deadly politics of the south with ease. She thinks he will be a great king, if a miserable one.

There is a sadness to his letters that gives her thought and she tucks it away in a pocket in her dress to reply to later.

Standing, she brushes down the skirts of her dress and steps out into the hallway. One of the Queensguard is stood outside with Octavia, to her surprise, and she blinks at him, taking in his white cloak and the way that he leans against the wall to talk with her guard. Octavia is smiling as she has never seen her do before, and Clarke had heard her laughter through the door. They both straighten when they see her, taking a step away from one another and Clarke’s eyes move between them curiously.

“My lady,” Octavia steps in before she can ask. “This is Ser Lincoln, of House Tallhart.”

“Ser, how can I help you?” She looks to him innocently, and Ser Lincoln seems flustered.

“My lady,” He bows his head respectfully, “The queen was hoping to speak with you in her private chambers.”

“The queen?” Her voice rises sharply in surprise, and she can feel the soft edge of her misery curling into a blade of fury inside her. “I’m afraid the queen will have to wait, I have a letter to respond to in the library.”

“The queen will not like being kept waiting,” Ser Lincoln tells her, after a beat of surprised silence and Clarke purses her lips.

“Then perhaps she will have to come and find me herself.” With nothing more to say to him, and before he can bodily carry her to the queen’s chambers, as he seems like to do, she marches away down the spiral staircase.

Behind her, she hears Octavia say, “I told you,” before her footsteps hurry behind her. “My lady,” Octavia pleads as they step out onto the covered walkway that leads to the library. Clarke is gratified to realise that the girl is struggling to keep up with her and entreat her at the same time. “The queen will want to see you.”

“Then the queen can come to me.” She tells Octavia sharply, and the girl sighs. Ignoring any further protests, Clarke pushes through the door into the library.

A tall, thick tower, which can only be entered by the staircase winding around its outside, or the covered walkway, leads to the Winterfell library. It is lit by candelabras and torches, wide windows letting in enough light to easily read by. The library contains many precious volumes, some of which are the only copies known in the Seven Kingdoms, as the castle maester had told her curtly when she had last found her way to the library. There are two levels, the library is warmed by the many fireplaces, with desks allowing for study and a long table in the middle of the room over which books and parchments can be scattered at ease. It is warmly coloured, the shelves a dark wood and colourful rugs tossed across the stone floors, and she sits at a table in front of one of the great windows to read Wells’s letter again.

It takes only a candlemark for the queen to find her.

She doesn’t deign to look up at the quiet sound of the door, though she hears Octavia shift, standing straighter in her post near the door. There is the rustling of skirts as s figure approaches her and she forces herself to wait until the queen is only a few paces away from her to look up at where she is standing, waiting.

“Lady Clarke, I was expecting you.” Queen Lexa looks as poised and elegant as always, a silver circlet sitting about her head, letting a green gem rest on her forehead. Her dress is the colour of fir trees, the sleeves long in the northern style, the material thick and the collar fur lined. Other than the circlet about her head, the only other jewels she wears are inlaid into the chain that hangs around her hips. She watches Clarke with an expectant expression, and Clarke would not sense her irritation if it were not for the twitch of her eyebrows.

“I apologise, your majesty, I wanted to respond to my letter as soon as possible.” She touches the parchment on the desk and sees the queen’s brows twitch again when she sees the seal that it is signed with.

“I would not summon you for nothing, Lady Clarke. As a rule I only do so if there is an urgent matter, I expect you to answer next time.”

She feels strange sitting while the queen stands beside her, uneasy and overshadowed, and so raises herself from her chair and brushes out her own silken blue gown as the queen watches. Her anger is spitting inside her chest and it’s the only excuse she has for saying. “With respect, I cannot be summoned like a hound.”

Queen Lexa’s mouth tightens with obvious displeasure at the words. “That was not why I summoned you.”

“And yet that is how it felt.” There is a charged air between them, a rolling hatred stifling the room and Clarke can see Octavia’s eyes darting between them anxiously.

“When a queen summons you, you come.” Queen Lexa snaps and Clarke’s anger spills over.

She takes one step forward, but the short shrill of Octavia’s sword sliding from her scabbard is enough to pull her to a halt.

“You are not my queen.” She informs the woman, in a low, dangerous voice.

She expects fury, expects indignation and anger, but instead the queen’s expression crumbles into surprise, before sliding into understanding. “I know.” She answers, simply and when Clarke only stares at her, shocked into silence, she continues, more softly. “I am not your queen, Lady Clarke, I do not pretend to be. You have loyalty to your king and that is admirable,” Her eyes slide to the letter on the desk again, before looking back to Clarke. “I do not summon you to my chambers or assign you a guard to wield my power over you, I do it to help with your stay here. You are my guest.”

Clarke is so surprised that she almost forgets how to speak. When words finally do come back to her, she asks, her voice a jot lower. “Then why did you summon me?”

Queen Lexa smiles, wanly and reaches into the pouch at her side to withdraw several letters. “I only ask that you respond to your mother’s letters.” There is a note of exasperated amusement to her voice. “She is becoming quite… insistent.”

“She can be,” Clarke takes the letters held out for her, and catches sight of a flash of amusement in Lexa’s eyes.

“Indeed,” She folds her hands at the small of her back, so much like a soldier that Clarke can picture her on the battlefield. “She is concerned for your safety, please reassure her.”

“I will, your majesty.” She doesn’t drop into a curtsey, but the queen doesn’t seem to mind. Instead, she turns to move away, hesitating at the doorway to say.

“I meant what I said, as my guest here I would like to make your stay more comfortable.”

“Thank you,” She considers for a moment, looking down at the letters in her hand before asking. “May I have a horse? I love to ride.”

A smile breaks out across the queen’s face like none she has ever seen and she looks so beautiful that Clarke’s breath is stolen away. “Of course, if you reply to your mother.”

Clarke smiles, nodding. “Deal.”

#clexa #clexa gotau #commander lexa #clarke griffin #fic

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0214mile · 6 years ago

Text

✎ svt as hogwarts students! AU

this is basically a ctrl+c and ctrl+v from my twitter account bcs i wanted a different platform to save my “au’s” on! this is NOT stolen! i am @.serencty [previously @.smolteeen] on twitter

[authors note]

this au is v much based on 21st century wizarding world

lots of hp reference so if u dont get them sorry!

they're my thoughts so please dont criticize

☾ if u have any comment to say anything/to add on/questions abt hp, please reply in 'comments?' (end of thread)

⇾ seungcheol

house: gryffindor

blood status: half-blood

patronus: mongrel dog

position 01: gryffindor quidditch captain

↳ keeper

position 2: headboy

a giant dork & liked by everyone

all girls love him&boys want to be him (or vice versa works too)

knows everything abt quidditch. and i mean EVERYTHING (basically oliver wood)

sucks @ potions

has a personal bed in the infirmary (thanks 2 quidditch + potions accidents)

teaches first years flying

has friends in first year & sits and talks w/ them —the go-to person for every first years

attends quidditch matches even after graduating

⇾ jeonghan

house: slytherin

blood status: pureblood

patronus: black swan

position: prefect

boys & girls have a crush on him (a wholesome BI king)

somehow gets E (Exceeds Expectations; 2nd best) in tests without studying

hosts interhouse parties in the room of requirements called '1004'

gets away with every prank (weasley twins wHo)

loves chan; like u hurt him and u will regret that FOR LIFE

never denies dating rumours of him & cheol (a wholesome BI king pt.2)

knows all your secrets

with jisoo all the DAMN time

⇾ joshua

house: hufflepuff

blood status: muggleborn

patronus: mountain hare

position: prefect

the most popular dude in hogwarts; like even peeves likes him —he's just SO NICe ufeel

hosts guitar lessons in gardens (sings sunday morning every single lesson)

ace student in charms

bffs with jeonghan

no one expects it but he's one of the biggest prakster in hogwarts (he’s the black horse okay)

uploads 'calming guitar acoustic for studying' on jihoon's music app (check jihoon)

WILD during 1004

⇾ junhui

house: hufflepuff

blood status: pureblood

patronus: tonkinese cat

position: hufflepuff seeker

(v much like cedric)

looks like a slytherin but yeEt he’s the epitome of UWU

the 'popular guy'

a complete charmer; even portraits like him

flirts a lot but has never been to base 2 in any relationship lol

good at alchemy and DADA

in the theatre club + hoshi's dance club

no one EVER sees him study but he still gets A (Acceptable; 3rd best)

⇾ soonyoung

house: gryffindor

blood status: muggleborn

patronus: eagle

position: prefect

one of the most liked + hated person in the school

cannot and will not shut up

detention is already part of his schedule beforehand

amazing @ transfiguration so mcgonagall loves him

hosts HOSHI's DANCE club

his wand has been broken +5 times so its taped together (somehow still usable)

constantly changes hair colour to be 2cool4skool

provoked the giant squid & was unconscious for 4 weeks

obvious prankster &gets caught all the time

⇾ wonwoo

house: ravenclaw

blood status: pureblood

patronus: nebelung cat

position: ravenclaw seeker

perfect mix of slytherin&ravenclaw

super intimidating & will judge u even if ur friends

somehow bffs w/ soonyoung

↳ only one who can control him

↳ always bickering

will fuking fight u if u call anyone mudblood

in the library 24/7

↳ reading everywhere & anytime

↳ loved by madam pince

↳ helps out in the library; recommends books, shows students where they can find books,etc

good @ all subjects except care of magical creatures hes rubbish

apparates everywhere & scares the shit out of everyone

admired by lots but doesnt realise it

⇾ jihoon

house: ravenclaw

blood status: half-blood

patronus: lynx

position 01: prefect

position 02: ravenclaw chaser

literally the coolest person in hogwarts

ace student in all subjects

always writing lyrics and making beats; if u sit next to him in class, u will not get ANY work done bcs of his tapping

created soundcloud equivalent app in the wizarding world

installed wifi & made muggle technology work @ hogwarts

responsible for the booze @ 1004

↳ releases songs under the name W00ZI

⇾ minghao

house: gryffindor

blood status: half-blood

patronus: salamander

position: gryffindor chaser

the8-ifies his uniform to be "edgy"

↳ wears GUCCI with his robes

↳ cuts up his uniform& adds chains

↳ basically revolutionized diy uniforms @ hogwarts

↳ responsible for fashion trends @ hogwarts

judges u & roasts u all the time

sleeps with a kermit doll uwu

taught portraits how to dab

knows all the secret passages

best @ DADA

best dancer in HOSHI's club

⇾ mingyu

house: hufflepuff

blood status: muggleborn

patronus: mastiff

position: hufflepuff beater

the 'popular guy' w/ jun

surrounded by girls & hates it but is too nice to say NO so wonu helps out by glaringlol

not particularly good @ any subject except care of magical creatures (wonu&him help each other out)

loved by kitchen elves

↳ in the kitchens 24/7

has been locked out of the common room several times

always dirty?; dust on face, mud on shoes, etc.

has a business @ hogwarts selling muggle technology

⇾ seokmin

house: hufflepuff

blood status: muggleborn

patronus: salmon

position: hufflepuff beater

one of the most liked & hated ppl in the school pt.2

louder than soonyoung

sings 24/7 u ALWAYS know when hes comig ur way bcs his voice echoes thru the hallways

works @ honeydukes for free sweets

only good @ charms

banned from potions

uploads on jihoon's music app under DK

reason why hufflepuff never wins the house cup

kicked out of the common room for being loud

once turned himself into a salmon during transfiguration for 5hrs fb status: flapping

super COOL when playing quidditch

⇾ seungkwan

house: hufflepuff

blood status: halfblood

patronus: basset hound

position: quidditch commentator

funniest & nicest person in hogwarts

liked by everyone; ghosts? portraits? teachers? students? u name it and they only have good things to say abt boo :)

loves all his friends (esp. hansol) & will FITE U if u hurt anyone

cheers the loudest in quidditch matches (never biased though)

uploads on jihoon's music app under BOOISHERE

booseoksoon combo is everyones nightmare

good @ all subjects except flying broke his wrist like neville poor boo :,(

wins most of the points for hufflepuff

mcgonagall & hagrid's favourite student ever

killed his plant in herbology & cried

welcomed in the kitchen 24/7

⇾ hansol

house: ravenclaw

blood status: muggleborn

patronus: orangutan

uniform has holes everywhere

↳ wears SUPREME and THRASHERS under the robe

skates to class

has a cassette player 24/7 hes just that wannabe cool 90′s kid okey

never listens in class but does well in tests so the teachers let him be

↳ daydreams alot but his daydreams are with meaning??/?

friends w/ the giant squid

no.1 listened rapper on jihoon's music app (under VERNON)

writes lyrics all the time

girls ♡ him but he ?

rapped for dumbledore's bday & got 250 points

bffs w/ seungkwan

↳ does covers w/ him

↳ w/ him all the time despite not being in the same house

good @ astronomy

⇾ chan

house: gryffindor

blood status: pureblood

patronus: marsh harrier

position: quidditch commentator bangchan is HERE

hangs out w/ older kids (esp. jeonghan)

good @ all subjects; a child prodigy we stAn

“DANCING IS MY PASSION”

↳ part of HOSHI's dance club

↳ watched+ listened to MJ and fell in LOVE ; loved dancing ever since

makes potions that makes u a little loopy/high for 1004

savage af

cried when jisoo got him MJ bed sheets & pjs for his bday

knows everyone's secrets (blame jeonghan)

surprisingly doesnt have that many friends

interested in muggle stuff

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professorflowriter · 7 years ago

Text

To have loved, and lost. Ch2

https://archiveofourown.org/works/11402901/chapters/25973142

He was halfway through the bottle now, and it was clear that it would not be enough for blissful oblivion. His head was spinning though, and he was too drunk to even move from the chair, let alone find another bottle. He just seemed to be unable to stop thinking, to stop going over the past few years, viewing his sins in vivid detail.

With a sigh he stopped fighting and let the memories come once more.

2 years, 10 months earlier (2 years and 6 months after the Battle of Hogwarts)

Severus had agreed to her suggestion of an after-work drink that Friday night, despite having been asked to pop in to see Lucius later in the evening. Not that it was necessarily after work for him, as the owner of a successful potions business he made his own hours. Hermione, however, worked in the Ministry, in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Her reputation for hard work and thorough research, as well as being a ridiculously soft touch when it came to others who came to her for help, had led her to being a general workhorse for anyone who came to her with a good enough story for why they couldn't do their own job.

She claimed she let them get away with it because she was looking to rise up through the ranks enough to make a difference, but Severus knew that wasn't how it worked in the Ministry. It was who you knew, not how hard you worked. Yet he let her moan time after time without giving her any real advice. He found it amusing to watch her get riled up at the ineptitude of her co-workers. She was even more stunning when riled up, her cheeks flushed and eyes blazing. He could barely take his eyes off her in such moments.

His reason for maintaining his friendship with her was actually twofold. On one hand, despite his hero status, there were still those who distrusted him, and by regularly meeting with the darling of the wizarding world in public (never privately – he didn't trust himself enough) was good for his reputation and therefore his business.

The second reason – he wanted her, blushing little virgin that she still was at the age of 20, and yet at the same time he didn't. She wasn't the type of girl you took to bed a few times then discarded. She would expect something far more from him; commitment, and that he wasn't willing to give, not to her or anyone. He was far too selfish and self-serving to be in a relationship. He wasn't interested in indulging the romantic wishes of a needy companion, but he was more than happy to take advantage of some of the attractive women that threw themselves at him, and why shouldn't he? He'd spent the last twenty years barely tolerated and close to universally hated or feared, while working tirelessly to save everyone's arses. Twenty years was a long time.

Of course the rumours were not true – that he'd stayed celibate as a way to honour the woman he loved – but it did mean that there were plenty of women who wanted to be that 'special one' who would teach him to love again. That would never happen, his heart was as faithful to Lily as it had been the day she died, and no desperate tart was going to change that. That didn't mean he wasn't going to take advantage of his status as a hero, although he'd always been careful to only bed women who would, for whatever reason, keep their trysts quiet. However, on occasion, he wasn't above using either obliviation or some other spell on some particularly stunning specimen of the female persuasion.

Either way, he wasn't going to complain. Whether he was limited to married women and those with something to hide or not, it was still better pickings than he had become used to during his time as a spy. Female Death Eaters were not a particularly attractive bunch – he couldn't even think about the time that the Carrow bitch had tried to come on to him without wanting to vomit – and the wives of the male Death Eaters were generally not much better. They had been married for their 'pure' blood and family connections rather than their beauty, the most notable exception being Narcissa – and Bellatrix too, he supposed, before Azkaban and insanity stole her youth and good looks from her. Not that he'd ever thought twice about sleeping with her. He much preferred to keep his balls intact, thank you very much.

Narcissa, on the other hand, had been an excellent fuck, and he'd even made the effort to please her as well as himself in the hope she'd come back for more. Of course she'd stopped once she realised she wasn't going to get any useful information out of him to help her husband's schemes, but it had been good while it lasted, and had never affected the friendship between himself and the Malfoy patriarch. All was fair in love and war. It wasn't like he hadn't done the same thing himself. Half the time he'd only slept with any of them for information, and rest of the time mainly to piss off their husbands. He'd also accepted that they were also only sleeping with him for the same reasons, but he'd never been on to look a gift horse in the mouth.

That was one of the reasons he seemed to be unable to put Hermione out of mind and out of his life. For some strange reason, she actually seemed to find him utterly irresistible, and it wasn't for his social status, as she was even more highly regarded than he. But despite the fact he'd like nothing more than to fulfil the dirty fantasies he'd been sneakily spying on in her mind since her 5th year at Hogwarts, he was far too mindful of his status to let it happen. Knowing the way the press still hounded all three members of the 'golden trio' – he couldn't even think the name without a sneer – any dalliance he had with the girl would no doubt be in the papers the next morning. She was watched quite carefully for any hint of a relationship since both Potter and his sidekick were engaged. Severus may have been a hero for his part in the second wizarding war, but he had no doubt public opinion would turn against him if he seduced her and then ran.

Besides, she was one of the very few people he could actually tolerate. Lucius was a good friend, and by no means stupid, but he was no intellectual, despite having a library Severus would kill for. Hermione, on the other hand, was a good conversationalist, enjoyed a lively debate, and was well on her way to being as widely read as he was. At Hogwarts it had only been her position in Gryffindor and at the side of Potter that had kept him from treating her like the outstanding student she was, She was the pupil he'd always wished for, and had they lived in a world that had never heard of Voldemort, he would have done his best to take her under his wing, and she may now have been pursuing a very distinguished career in potions rather than wasting her time at the Ministry.

He'd made it very clear, many times what he thought of her job, but she always often seemed to arrange to meet him when she had something particular to moan about, as if she thought she needed an excuse to do so. Severus would have been happy to turn up for any reason, or none at all, as he liked to keep an eye on her and make sure her head wasn't being turned by some young man. Besides, he would always go home with some new wank fodder for the nights he slept alone, and the meeting was worth that if nothing else.

She had a habit of chewing on her bottom lip, especially when she was listening to him speak. It drove him crazy, watching those plump lips swell, and sometimes he could barely keep track of what he was saying for wondering what they would feel like around his cock. She always won more discussions than she ought because of the distraction those lips caused. And then he would take great pleasure in dipping into her mind to see what new fantasies his touch had invoked.

Occasionally he would be disappointed with some mushy romantic scene, but he noticed that the more he touched her, the more likely she would be imagining the two of them in some compromising situation. She had quite the imagination, and although it was clear that she had read up on the subject, she was obviously still untouched, as he'd seen some things that were practically impossible. She'd frigged herself raw, he knew, over one particular book with moving illustrations while thinking of him. He'd been very grateful for the table between them when he'd seen that and he'd had to excuse himself early that evening.

Her imaginings often came to mind as he was ploughing his latest conquest, and he would imagine her young, supple form beneath his. More than once he'd only just caught himself from moaning her name as he spewed his seed into whatever willing witch he'd snared that evening. Only when he was alone would he allow himself to come with her name on his lips. It was a wonder, what with the girl's fertile imagination, that he hadn't just given in and had her already. It was also amazing that he managed to win any arguments at all.

Of course, if he had his wits about him, it wouldn't take much to create a similar distraction for her. He would always make sure to brush against her occasionally, or touch her hand mid-sentence and enjoy the way she would bite down on her lip even harder even as her eyes went dark with desire. He would make her blush occasionally by obviously checking out her lovely round arse or letting his eyes drop to her décolletage. He would always act the gentleman, offering her his arm, lending her his coat if it was cold out, as well as any number of small things that could be taken as an expression of interest, or even a very slow courtship.

He had no issue with leading her on, even though he had no intention of pursuing her. It was perverse, he knew, and he was an utter bastard for doing it, but he didn't really care. He liked to know that such a woman – endowed with both brains and beauty - was saving herself for him when she could have her pick of many younger and more handsome wizards than him. Perhaps she believed that because he was older, and clearly a traditionalist considering who his friends were and his part actions, that he wouldn't want her if she wasn't a virgin. Times were changing, but the wizarding world was still a lot more conservative than the muggle one. In any case, it was a novel experience, being wanted in such a way, and he would do what he could to keep her interested as long as he could.

He was replying the latest scene from her mind even as he disapperated to Malfoy Manor. He'd seen Hermione back to the flat she'd found as soon as she could afford to move out of Grimmauld Place and away from the sickening public displays of affection from her idiot friends and their respective girlfriends. He usually walked her back, but this evening she'd been slightly tipsy so she'd clung tightly to his arm all the way back. He'd been able to feel her fingers gently stroking the fabric of his sleeve, although, from a look at her expression, he wasn't sure she was even aware she was doing it.

As he'd bent down to kiss her hand in goodbye, he'd looked up into her eyes for a brief moment and automatically slipped into her mind, viewing her surface thoughts the way he found so easy after so many years of performing Legilimency. He'd caught a glimpse of a fantasy where he took her in his arms and kissed her, pushing her into the house and pressing her up against the door he'd closed behind him before taking her with abandon. Even as he strolled through the overly ornate gardens in the bright moonlight towards the front door, was thinking about the way her long legs had wrapped around his waist, and he'd reached down to position his cock at her entrance and…

"Ah, Severus!"

He scowled as Lucius appeared from out of the darkness behind the end of a hedge and spotted him interrupting his lewd imaginings with a muted greeting. Severus grumbled under his breath, sending clouds of vapour around his face in the cold air, before striding forward to greet his friend.

"What's the matter? You look as if someone's stolen your favourite cauldron," Lucius said as he came closer. He peered as Severus' face. "I remember now, you were meeting the delectable Miss Granger this evening. I recognise that expression, it's not all that different than the one you used to sport back when you were pining over that mud… muggle girl…"

"Don't, Lucius," he growled.

His friend knew when to move on. "Anyway, isn't it about time you took that girl to bed and got her out of your system?"

Severus just looked at him levelly. Lucius was more that aware of Severus' struggle concerning Hermione, as well as his reasons for not seducing her. His friend agreed with him that it would be a stupid move, although it was not just because he still held a lot of his old prejudices, but he found Severus' dilemma a source of constant amusement.

"Did you have something to speak to me about, or did you invite me here just to keep me out in the cold?

Lucius smirked. "Ah, yes," he drawled, lifting his cane and examining the end nonchalantly. "I have had some news from… friends… in the Ministry.

"What you and your lackeys discuss is unlikely to be of any consequence to me, unless it will affect my business."

"Oh, but it will concern you… not your business, but you personally, before too long, as well as a large part of the wizarding population."

"Go on…" he growled.

Lucius turned, using his cane to gesture towards the house. "Shall we go in? I think a strong drink may be in order.

The two men set off towards the house. "This had better be important, Lucius," Severus growled. He could have been at home having a good wank.

It's actually the reason I've been taking an evening 'stroll'. I spoke to Narcissa and Draco about it at dinner, and neither are particularly happy."

"You mean Narcissa is fuming, and you've escaped to the garden to hide," he sneered.

Lucius shrugged slightly. "She'll calm down soon enough, and most likely be up half the night planning. I thought it best to waylay you out here so we could sneak into my study quietly.

Severus grimaced. He had always been of the opinion that no news was good news, and if whatever Lucius had to say affected not only him, but turned Narcissa, a woman who had played host to a raving lunatic for a year, into a fury, then it must be bad indeed.

A short while later he was standing in front of the fireplace in Lucius' comfortable study, fighting his growing concern and thoughts of her. Silence had reigned for a few minutes, Lucius sipping his drink quietly in his chair while Severus tried to process all he'd just learned.

"What do you mean by appropriate age?" he said eventually. "Surely I'm too old to be…"

"It will affect all unmarried witches and wizards between the ages of twenty and fifty-five, unless a witch can prove that she is beyond her childbearing years."

"And is there no similar get out clause for those wizards who are unable to… procreate?" There was at least one potion he could think of that would do the trick.

"No, they are well aware there are ways to fake results, and the Ministry is extremely worried. The birth rate has dropped rapidly, although the percentage of squibs has risen. So many lives were lost, on both sides of the war. So many pureblood families were all but destroyed, and the half-bloods or lesser tend to not marry as young, so the number of marriages has fallen to almost as low as any time on record. Even couples who are already married and have had children will be expected to try for more, if they are of the right age."

"So that's what has Narcissa riled up."

"No, Narcissa would love to have another child, but it has always been usual for the Malfoy line to produce only one heir, so we do not expect anything to come of it."

"Then what…?"

"The Ministry has decided, as a way to encourage integration and stop another war – over blood purity, at least – that no one can marry someone with the same blood status. You, as a half-blood, will need to find a m… muggle-born, or a pureblood, whereas Draco…"

"…will have to find a muggle-born or half-blood. No wonder Narcissa is angry, neither of your families has had a drop of muggle blood enter it in a couple of centuries at least." He looked at his friend, who seemed fairly unconcerned. "I must say, you seem to be taking it better than I expected. What will Draco do now? I though he was well on his way towards an engagement with the Greengrass girl."

"Oh, that's still not quite the reason Narcissa is wound up," Lucius smirked. "Since the new law, in particular the mixing of those with differing blood status, affects those who are not already married. Therefore Draco has already gone to speak to Astoria this evening, and we are sure she will agree to an extremely short engagement rather than miss out on marrying a Malfoy. Of course, Narcissa is panicking over the fact that she will have less than two months to arrange their wedding."

Severus rolled his eyes. "I can imagine."

"And what of you, my friend. If you like, I know of a few women of good breeding who would be more than happy to vie for your hand, as a half-blood with your social status and wealth. Although you may have to spend some of it on buying a house somewhat nicer than that muggle hole you still live in." He took another sip of his whisky before continuing. "What on earth is stopping you from getting rid of that place anyway. You should be able to afford something quite decent by now."

Severus grimaced. As good a friend as Lucius was, he still hadn't grasped the fact that Severus really cared nothing at all for blood status, and certainly nothing at all for a pureblood wife who would expect far more from him, in both money and behaviour, than he was willing to give. In fact, there had only been one woman on his mind since the first moment Lucius had explained what was coming, although he was still not convinced there wouldn't be some way to get out of the whole mess. He was happy with his life the way it was, and he didn't need a wife to get in his way.

Yet the thought of her, of having her for his own, to take to his bed, was quite appealing. If he had to marry someone, it would be none other but her, the woman he'd denied himself for so long. All of his objections to having her faded in the light of the information Lucius had given him. She'd be far easier to manipulate than an older woman, experienced not only in the bedroom but also brought up to scheme and use her wiles to get her own way, as the women from the pureblood families all were. But he would have to be quick to act. It would be foolish of him to wait until the law came out to pursue her. He didn't want her to think that he was only doing so because of it. She was wilful, and proud enough to refuse him despite her infatuation with him if she believed him to be less than sincere. He needed to think, to plan his next step.

"I must go, Lucius," he replied, ignoring what his friend had asked. "I have things to arrange." He threw back the rest of his drink and set the glass down on the mantelpiece.

Lucius stood, surprise at Severus' sudden departure evident on his face. "But what of your wife-to-be? Do you want me to arrange a few meetings so you can take your pick?"

"That will not be necessary. I have already made my choice."

"But...? Already? Who have… wait, Severus! Please tell me you don't mean the Granger girl?"

He followed Severus out of the room as he made his way to the front door. Severus' lack of response only confirmed his suspicions.

"You can't be serious! She's no good for anything more than a quick tumble. You need a woman of good breeding who'll bring you a good dowry and a place among the pureblood families."

He earned nothing more than a glare as Severus took his cloak from the waiting house elf and swung it round his shoulders.

"You have time before the law is introduced. Bed the girl and get her out of your head. In the meantime I'll draw up a list of suitable brides. Perhaps I can arrange for you to meet them all at Draco's wedding, that way you can compare and choose the one you like best."

"If that is an invitation to your son's wedding, then I will be honoured to accept. But for the rest, I have no interest in your pureblood bitches, so you may save yourself the trouble." He turned to leave.

"Don't be foolish Severus. Why have a mule when you can have a thoroughbred mare? You won't think twice about her once you've got another witch warming your bed. The girl will be looking for her own husband soon enough and she'll forget about you just as quickly."

It was the wrong thing to say. It only made him more determined.

#sevmione #sshg #SS/HG #Severus x Hermione #severus #severus snape #snape #i love snape #snamione #snanger #hermione #Hermione Granger #harry potter #fanfiction

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