#performed every year without fail all over the empire

[saym0-0]

empires smp the musical is performed in stratos annually and has been longer than anyone can remember (you didn't hear it from me)

[thedinanshiral]

Blights

I tasked myself with analizying the Blights to check for patterns. I had already started this ages ago and had a draft or two including a very basic and improvised map to help me visualize the main events in each Blight.

I think i may have found it, the pattern. Everything is all over the place for hundreds of years but it's there.

After making a summary of each Blight and sleeping on it for like a week i started asking questions i frankly don't remember seeing before, in game or by fans. "What are the Archdemons doing, where are they going?". Everything is presented as drakspawn evil, wake up evil Archdemon, rawr destruction, Grey Wardens yay. Rinse and repeat.

But why? Why are the darkspawn searching for, waking and tainting OG dragons into Archdemons? Why are the Archdemons controlling hordes and entire armies of darkspawn advancing over the surface of Thedas? What are they doing, where are they going, what is their goal??

As i considered all these questions and some others, i found myself accidentally realizing several theories and ideas can be weaved into a single, convoluted one that explains everything. I'll try to keep it as short (lol) and easy to read as possible, so keep reading and watch me fail terribly at it (´:

Old Gods of Tevinter.

Who are they? According to established chantry dogma, they were spirits created by the Maker who in their envy, jealousy and whatnot decided to turn their back on them and cross the Veil, into the physical world, where they took the form of dragons and had humans worshiping them as gods. For this grave offense the Maker imprisoned them underground where they allegedly remained for ages until the Blights began.

Origins of the Darkspawn.

Unknown, really, but the Chantry teaches that when the Magisters Sidereal, following instructions from their Old Gods broke into the Golden City to claim godhood and corrupted it, the Maker punished them with the taint, turning them into the monstruous creatures known as darkspawn, who then spread their corruption as the Blight over the world, rotting and destroying everything on their wake.

Many questions come from this. The Old Gods, while imprisoned, continued to be worshipped by the humans of northern Thedas -Neromenians, then Tevinter- as these self-proclaimed gods would reach them in dreams and whisper ancient knowledge to the dreamers, teaching them blood magic as well. With their guidance Tevinter grew into the largest and most powerful empire in Thedas, until one day their gods spoke to them no more. All fell silent, and the Imperium fell into despair; why would their gods not speak to them anymore? Their fears and anxiety left them vulnerable, needy, so when the gods spoke again they not only were relieved, they were wiling to hang on every letter of their words.

And so when their gods made the most outlandish proposal they accepted it. To cross the Veil into the Golden City and claim godhood for themselves per their gods invitation. No effort, and no life, were spared to perform the ritual. Countless elven slaves lives were sacrificed -for their blood had special magical qualities- and almost all the lyrium available in the Imperium was reserved for possibly the biggest blood magic ritual Thedas had seen in many ages.

But as Corypheus, High Priest of Dumat, would much later share, the Golden City was black, corrupted, and the throne of the gods was empty. Yet they still were punished, deformed, blighted and thrown out back into the world to wander and be lost in ever growing madness. This event triggered the Blights, the first one being after the ritual with Dumat risen as an Archdemon with hordes of darkspawn at his command, and the first Blight would go on to last 200 years, with the Archdemon slained multiple times without truly dying until the order born to protect Thedas from him, the Grey Wardens, devised a plan to end him permanently.

So the questions, some of many, could be: Why did the Old Gods stopped comunicating with their priests? Why did they resume communication only to give instructions for a massive ritual to break into the Fade? Why promise godhood and power only to deliver a curse?

Evanuris rebranding.

One of the main theories around the Evanuris and the Old Gods is that they're the same. Both groups have 7 members, and in several cases by their names or attributes and even constellations associated with these deities, it's almost imposible not to see an equivalence between them. Both groups are imprisoned. Both groups are related to dragons. I already wrote on this here but in short:

Imagine the Evanuris had dragon mounts or vessels that they're connected to and control via a piece of their soul implanted in the creatures. As physical beings the dragons remain on the ground. Yes, they were shapeshifters too, but the codex about a servant taking on the dragon form reserved for the gods strikes me as very odd; if even servants could shapeshift to that degree, why did the Evanuris allow them to even have the remote possibility of shapeshifting at all? That story sounds more to me like that servant "borrowed" a dragon and took it out for a ride, the expression is "took wings" and the servant was convinced -if not forced- to do it by Ghilan'nain.

These dragons would have caretakers assigned to them, and when the Veil was created severing the connection between the Fade and the physical world, they must have been cut off from everything. Underground, for millenia, left to decay, left in proximity to or even inside Titan remains that without the control of the Evanuris may have corrupted them. Or maybe these dragon forms were already corrupted by the taint, as Andruil had already caught it in the Abyss and spread it everywhere.

Maybe some of the Evanuris were already blighted and either didn't felt affected by it then or the taint, much like how red lyrium works, made them feel stronger as it consumed them. Maybe Andruil's madness had spread to the others and that's why they had become so warlike and had become a menace to their own people. So Solas imprisoned them in the Fade, most likely under several different barriers, and created the Veil at great cost to everyone, to the whole world. For ages the Evanuris slumbered in their prison, until maybe they recovered just barely enough to try to reach out, and when they did all they could reach out to were the humans that had been building an empire on the remains of their own. But a dreamer is a dreamer, and a human easy to manipulate. Now imagine the Evanuris, under a new identity as Old Gods, essentially groomed Tevinter for hundreds of years for the sole purpose of them reaching a point in power and resources that would allow them to perform a ritual to let the Evanuris out.

Remember the ancient elvhen could develop spells through hundreds of years, in their inmortality time was barely perceived and so their way of planning could afford all the time in the world. So the Evanuris did that, they played the Imperium, ghosted them to make them desperate, and instructed them to release them without them knowing it.

Prison Break.

As it was designed to keep them in and was sealed from the outside they couldn't open the barriers from the inside, they needed others to do it for them, and those others were the Magisters Sidereal.

It's likely that to imprison such powerful beings Solas put up more than one barrier, so maybe the Magisters only crossed one, the Veil, and thought they had found the city empty. But this opening in the Veil must have been enough for one of the Evanuris to take effective control of one of the dragons underground, "Dumat".

Maybe -most likely IMO- there was no Maker punishing the Magisters Sidereal for their sin but it was the Evanuris spreading their own disease on to them, marking them forever as their new servants, casting them back into the world and condemning them to an existence devoted to releasing their dragon vessels so they might at least in part escape their prison in the Fade taking on their wings.

The OG dragons being the Evanuris mounts or vessels preserving a fragment of their souls would add to explain why Solas was so against the Grey Wardens' plan of preemptively killing the remaining OG dragons, or what Flemythal was doing at the end of Inquisition with Urthemiel's soul, sending it through an eluvian. Was she sending it somehwere else to keep it safe, or was she sending it into the prison, to return to its owner?

....But all this was supposed to be about the Blights! Getting there..

I first summarized each Blight, then with that info i took the map of Thedas and tried to visualize three key points: where darkspawn and Archdemon appeared, where they moved to, and finally where the Archdemons where slained. Because some Blights have been way more chaotic than others and they vary greatly in duration (compared the first lasting 200 years while the fifth lasted barely a year), the pattern wasn't immediately obvious.

Apologies in advance for these disasters..

The First Blight (-395 Ancient) had darkspawn overrun the Deep Roads first, and this is a constant in every following Blight: darkspawn in the Deep Roads. Always. The Dwarven kingdoms are the most affected. A few years later in -380 Ancient they reach the surface and the hordes advance over western Thedas

There's a battle of Nordbotten in the Anders where the newly founded Grey Wardens finally get a victory, but it would take them a long time to find a way to kill Dumat permanently -as the Archdemon was jumping from its slained body into the closest blighted creature over and over again until the Wardens caught up and came up with the Sacrifice that has since then become THE way to eliminate Archdemons -. The final battle and definitive death of Dumat took place in the Silent Plains. Afterwards it was a matter of pushing the remaining darkspawn back into the Deep Roads.

The Second Blight began in 1:05 Divine and lasted around a century. Darkspawn began appearing in the surface from the Hunterhorn Mountains in the Anderfells, eventually reaching the city of Hossberg and later laying a brief siege on Minrathous where the darkspawn were defeated. Other hords moved south into Orlesian territory, the battle of Cumberland ending in victory against them. Weisshaupt was also layed under siege but recovered by Orlesian forces. Meanwhile more darkspawn surfaced in Ferelden only to be defeated and pushed back by Alamarri tribes unified under a leader who would later become the first teyrn of Ferelden. More darkspawn also poured out of the Abyssal Reach in the Western Approach, which explains the Warden presence in the area and all the fortreses they built or made use of like Adamant Fortress.

Eventually around 1:95 Zazikel was slained in Starkhaven.

The Third Blight (3:10 Towers) was under the Archdemon Toth and with most of its activity around the central area of Thedas.

Darkspawn presence on the surface spread from north to south of central Thedas, hitting specifically Marnas Pell and Vyrantium in Tevinter, the city-states of the Free Marches along the Minanter river, and Churneau, Arslesans and Montsimmard in Orlais. As the Darkspawn advanced East over the Free Marches, Toth was slained in Hunter Fell in Nevarra in 3:25 Towers

The Fourth Blight (5:12 Exalted) is the most curious so far, in terms of darkspawn presence and movement on the surface.

On top of the darkspawn hitting the Deep Roads all over Thedas as usual, this time in particular attacking Orzammar, different hordes surfaced in opposite sides of the continent. Darkspawn appeared in the surface on the Anders in the northwest as well as on the northeastern coast, taking over Antiva city, reaching over Rivain, and also Wycome. Darkspawn over the Free Marches moved west, which i find a bit odd as the archdemon Andoral was moving from the Anders in the opposite direction (maybe they meant to meet halfway?). Hossberg was sieged once again, and darkspawn advanced over Marnas Pell, again. There were some minor incursions on Orlesian territories but Orlais quickly pushed them underground. Andoral was finally slained in Ayesleigh.

Lastly we have the Fifth Blight (9:30 Dragon) that we all know and adore..not. The shortest in history, so short it seems pointless..

It affected Ferelden, particularly Ostagar, Orzammar, Redcliffe, Lothering, Denerim..Lasted but a year, and Urthemiel was defeated just outside of Denerim.

Now, where's the pattern? The easiest one is Blights are becoming shorter each time. They've lasted, i order, 200, 90, 15, 12, and 1 year; if this tendency is sustained the next Blight might last just a couple of months..

Then I noticed, checking the final battles..

The Archdemons have been going East the whole time. And the Darkspawn activity moving south into Orlais repeatedly was very likely in an attempt to awaken more Archdemons, one known to be in the Western Approach (the circle south of Ferelden is where i think Razikale could be but there's no real evidence of this, just her cult moving south from Tevinter searching for her, as seen in the ruins of the Frostback Basin).

So the darkspawn never stop. They're always in the Deep Roads, surface when an Archdemon wakes up and follow their command while a portion of them keeps trying to go south of Orlais. And meanwhile, the Archdemons continue to try to go East.

Why? Maybe they know what lies across the sea. And this pairs up nicely -too nicely- with this idea i got about the Executors being Evanuris loyalists, perhaps a remnant of Elvhenan on the other side of the Amaranthine Ocean who have been working on the outside; nobody knows what and everything about them is a near complete mystery.

From their notes to the Inquisition we can tell they do have a certain power, i suspect it could be some form of mind control because how else can complete strangers convince everyone in an outpost to just ..join them. Leave the place abandoned, no signs of struggle, of violence, people just ..gone. The Executors claim they "prepare for the day and hold vigil", heavily imply they know what's coming and say not to look for or mourn the lost people for "they have given themselves of their own will to a higher cause". What could be a higher cause than the Inquisition's at that time?

In Tevinter Nights Solas prevents us all from learning what the Executors have learned about him, as he petrified the one present in that meeting, and later warns Charter of the danger they represent. Knowing the Inquisition is so close behind him and having the almost certainty that they won't be able to stop his plans, just what was so dangerous about what the Executor had to share about him? Solas is now a very powerful man on an apocalyptic mission for which he's willing to sacrifice even his own life, but the Executors are too dangerous? Suspicious.

An executor is someone charged with executing someone's orders. Whose orders? Not to mention Solas doesn't kill lightly or without good reason. I try to imagine just what sort of power could make him do that, when right now he is the most dangerous man in Thedas those across the sea couldn't be worse than him on his Dinan'shiral...could they? Maybe if the ones they follow are the ones he imprisoned.

In the Thedas Calls trailer just as we're shown the Rivaini coast the voice says "Glory to the risen gods, they've come to deliver this world". Who would say that about Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain escaping from the Fade, if not their loyal subjects?

Aaand that's all for now, thank you for your patience in reading this far!

[paradiserottttt]

— INTRODUCING , 𝐃𝐀𝐈𝐘𝐔 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐍 .

*     ◟    :    〔   ni ni  ,      cis-woman    +   she/her    〕      DAIYU CHEN ,      some say you’re a  THIRTY-FIVE YEAR OLD         lost soul among the neon lights.      known for being both  SHREWD  and  VINDICTIVE ,  one can’t help but think of  THE FAMILY JEWELS   by   MARINA  when you walk by.    are you still a  CONSIGLIERE  at    DEAD HAND  /  OWNER    at   THE OLIVE BRANCH MARTINI BAR ,     even with your reputation as the THE FIREBRAND ?     i think we’ll be seeing more of you and  NAILS AS RED AS THE SPILLED BLOOD OF YOUR ENEMIES ,  AN ALL CONSUMING PRIMORDIAL RAGE  , A TONGUE AS SHARP AS IT IS PERSUASIVE ,  although we can’t help but think of AMY ELLIOT DUNNE (GONE GIRL) , MAGNETO (X-MEN) , PATTY HEWES (DAMAGES)  whenever we see you down these rainy streets. 

— STATS . FULL NAME . daiyu chen NICKNAMES . dai (call her that and you might really die though) BIRTHDAY . october 31st AGE . thirty-five GENDER . cis-woman PRONOUNS . she/her ORIENTATION . bisexual biromantic FAMILY . none liena chen (mother) OCCUPATION . consigliere for dead hand / owner of olive branch martini bar MARKINGS/TATTOOS . none PIERCINGS . single ear lobe piercing HEIGHT . 5’7

— PERSONALITY . POSITIVE TRAITS . ambitious, poised, charismatic, meticulous, patient, persuasive NEGATIVE TRAITS . calculating, controlling, manipulative, unforgiving, vengeful, demanding, aloof LANGUAGES . chinese, japanese, english, spanish, russian, french EDUCATION . m.a. in business administration MBTI . infj ENNEAGRAM . type 3 (the achiever) MORAL ALIGNMENT . lawful neutral.  DEADLY SIN . wrath  HEAVENLY VIRTUE . patience ZODIAC . scorpio sun, capricorn moon

— BIOGRAPHY . THE WEALTHY CIRCLES OF SHANGHAI HAVE A PARTICULAR WAY OF DEEMING YOU A MISTAKE WITHOUT OUTRIGHT SAYING SO. The only daughter of one of the wealthiest business couples in the country, the path of LIENA CHEN was paved long before she was born. Diverting from this path meant being subjected to the utmost criticism and scrutiny— an experience your mother is subjected to tenfold. (your sympathy for her begins with this knowledge and ends with your abandonment— she is undeserving of the cards she was dealt, but so are you.) 

Your mother relinquishes all responsibility of you the moment you’re handed over to the elite NYC boarding schools you’d attend for the remainder of your youth. There, you are prepped alongside other kids of the elite, molding yourselves in the image of your varying responsibilities. At first, you pursue perfection in hopes of garnering your mother’s attention. Not a mark is missed— every classes is attended on time. Invitations to events go unanswered (or even more humiliatingly, an assistant is sent in her place.)

Other methods are tested out in hopes of garnering her attention. You attempt the reverse method, A.K.A. failing horrifically, but this only results in in newfound scrutiny from your instructors, fellow students, and headmasters. A drop in performance is wholly unlike you. You are restored to your former glory— deciding that attempting to attract your mother’s attention is a futile effort. (and don’t even get you started about that glorified sperm donor called a father— to you, he is nothing— vying for his attention would be beneath you.)

You chose instead to shape yourself into a weapon. You focus on expanding your arsenal of languages, diversifying your studies to become as worldly as possible, and eventually graduating at the top of your class. It’s around this time that you discover what your mother’s true job is. You learn that she’s essentially tossed you to the wayside in favor of some of the most unsavory characters to walk the streets of New York. Beyond that, your mother’s reshaped herself in light of the empire she now possesses— and with little intention of sharing the newfound glory she’s obtained. The pair of you could’ve been unstoppable. A mother and her heir. Instead, she leaves you in the dark, perhaps out of some false belief that she can protect you from the mob.

Never mind that, though. The moment she  accepts the position of JADE TRIBE BOSS, the mafia becomes your legacy. If she would deny you your birthright, you’d reclaim it as your own. You pursue a degree in business administration, earning a Masters from Dartmouth in Business Administration. When you’re able to obtain possession of the family business, OLIVE BRANCH MARTINI BAR, it transforms into a front for information brokering for various parties across the city— the sort of information that could get you killed— or worse. The front still remains functionally a bar, but if you’re well connected enough, you’re able to access behind the scenes privileges. Expensive drinks alongside priceless information. 

It is during one of these moments that DEAD HAND is put on your radar. After gaining a position as an associate, you have an idea to turn it into something more. Years of hard work and you eventually work your way up to CONSIGLIERE. You advise the boss on important matters concerning the mob— and allow DEAD HAND unfettered access to your channels of information. You would do everything in your power to build them up, for when the time came— you would need every ounce of power in order to send your mother’s empire toppling down. No more pretending as if you’re merely a blight on her existence— you would make your presence known and felt more than ever. 

— FUN FACTS .

Takes her coffee black, occasionally with a splash of whiskey. Looks down upon people who use milk and sugar— she assumes them to be weak-willed.

Prioritizes revenge-seeking above all else... usually. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't occasionally distracted by work or personal dalliances.

— ; TLDR

ambitious, mommy-issued, revenge-seeking consigliere with a no-bullshit attitude

[stingslikeabee]

@phoenix-flamed found the courtesan

Even after all the years residing in the empire, Melissa still thought the climate harsher and colder than she would have personally liked. It was almost as if the Phoenix's flame hadn't been just a spiritual comfort for the Rosarian people made manifest in their deceased royal family - but something far more tangible and which warmed every citizen from within.

The capital of Sanbreque did not lack comforts - or luxuries, for those who could afford; but it was oftentimes impersonal and too polished, akin to a diamond. With value, but hardly inviting like a good hearth surrounded by loved ones, a memory that had the courtesan smiling while her fingers moved over the fabric of a blanket as she walked around her own residence without fully paying attention to the destination.

With Gloria enjoying a couple of days off to visit a sister who happened to work in a village nearby and Damian out on errands, she didn't mind keeping hands and head busy with the domestic preparations for nighttime. That included making sure that the newest member of the household had everything he needed now that winter seemed to be approaching fast, even if technically that wasn't her role to perform.

But Melissa was not bothered by it - if things had been as the Drysdells had planned, it would have been her comforting her younger sisters or perhaps a child or two from a good marriage. Now, given the fate that the noblewoman turned courtesan was met with, she did it with those few sharing a home with her and who she dared to think as friends - maybe even surrogate family.

All that was left was understanding Miles' role - as the last one to join her staff, it was expected that he would need time to adjust to his work and the new companions, either the other bearers or the courtesan herself. The fame of those who had enough money to employ the (in)famous 'branded' was hardly in their favor - Miles had every reason to distrust anyone promising him anything, and Melissa acknowledged as much. The scars that were sometimes visible on him told the woman a heartbreaking story... And she knew these would not be quick to heal.

(If they ever healed, that was.)

Distracted by her own ruminations, Melissa never realized that she had been staring at the very same man she was thinking about - although not on purpose. Perhaps Miles thought himself alone - or was unaccustomed to privacy - and left the door to his room slightly ajar, whereas the courtesan had light steps and failed to be noticed. The brunette ended up just there, motionless like one of the many Greagor statues found all over Sanbreque.

The scars, the burns, the marks - how much could one endure? What incredible force had pushed Miles to resist and survive until they crossed paths?

The sound of movement within the room brought Melissa back to reality and the courtesan finally walked forward, knocking on the door politely before calling out to him, "Miles - my apologies for the intrusion, but I was unsure if you were comfortable enough with the sudden chill of the last few nights..." the woman paused at the threshold to his room then, not daring to enter without permission but also not allowing honeyed eyes to stray from the battered and bruised form of the man.

"Does it get worse during wintertime?" Melissa asked, voice dropping to a softer tone, "Perhaps I could be of assistance with that."

[dndwithaerin]

Part 11 - Shadows in the Forest

The Senator’s Gala continued through the evening without incident, though an indelible mark had been made in the minds of nearly everyone in attendance by Sean’s performance.  Seemingly every conversation circled back to questions surrounding him.  Who was he?  Where was he from?  How could one hire him?  Questions to which it would appear only one man had the answers, Lord Tenser himself, eager to take credit for himself for discovering the young talent.

His grandstanding did provide sufficient distraction, giving Laura and Orlaith the perfect opportunity to slip away, leaving the splendor of the event behind them, as they intended to keep their promise to Sean, a late night meet-up at the gates of the city.

Surprisingly, the pair encountered very little resistance, even as they made it to their destination and joined up with Sean and Blirix.  Only a solitary guard stood at the gates this night, surely lamenting being stuck on such a boring post while many of his comrades found themselves patrolling the much livelier upper rings.  He paid the foursome of very little mind, perhaps assuming them just another group of young nobles out for some fresh air after a few too many.  Surely, well-dressed as they were, they wouldn’t be going far, he must have assumed.

As they proceeded down the path, farmland to one side and brush on the other, Laura caught a glimpse of a number of shadowy figures.  It didn’t seem as though their paths were meant to cross, however, so she did not attempt to interfere with their business, prioritizing that of her dear friend.

Only after putting a few hundred feet between themselves and any prying ears did Sean elucidate the group to the true purpose of this excursion.  A calling he had felt ever since, or perhaps before, the lighthouse.  A missive from the elves of the forest not too far outside the city.  He had gone to visit them once before, met with their elder, and learned of their plight.  

A century or more ago they prospered in the land of Erie, coming and going from the city as they pleased, sharing the knowledge and goods the forest provided, not least among them the medicines crafted from the bark of the Great Tree.  Once the Empire landed on the shores, however, everything changed.  The medicines were highly coveted by the imperial forces.  Not wishing their goods to fall in to the hands of conquerors, the elves withdrew from the city.  

Seeing the winds of change upon them, one enterprising elf aligned himself with the Empire.  Asheon An’telas stepped forward, just as the new Imperial regime was finding its footing, betraying his kin in the name of ambition and self-interest.  He told of their home in the forest, how to find the rest of his people, and the secret behind the production of their medicines.

The Empire’s action was swift and ruthless.  They would have the elves medicine and they would not take “no” for an answer.  They marched on the secluded village, rounding up every living being they could find.  The women were to be left to produce the medicines, for the sole requisition of the Empire, at much higher volume than they had been crafting previously, while the men were taken away to some unknown location, under threat of death should those that remain fail, or refuse, to meet expectations.

Over the course of the decades to follow, this took its toll.  Their sacred tree had grown ill, no longer producing the bark from which the medicine was derived, forcing those that remained to turn to alternative methods, the blood of the elves themselves, carrying the selfsame qualities of the ever-so coveted bark.  As the years passed, they became sick as well.  Their lustrous silver hair growing dull and wiry, and sharp features becoming sunken.  All the while An’telas, the very man that had betrayed them, still sits above it all, having been granted a noble title, and a seemingly perpetual seat in the senate, for his service to the Empire.

As Laura, Orlaith, Sean, and Blirix crested a hill, the sound of a flute could be heard on the winds.  On the side of the path not too far ahead, seated on a tree stump at the edge of a plot of farmland, was a young looking girl draped in green cloth, silver hair billowing in the breeze.  She introduced herself as Gwendlehir, the same elf that had guided Sean, their supposed chosen hero, to their village some nights ago, had now come to bring the group to the heart of the Great Tree itself, so that they may attempt to rid it of its ills.

As ill-dressed as those that had just previously attended a formal gala were for the excursion, the trip to the heart of the forest went shockingly smoothly, owing in large part to their seasoned guide.  As they approached the Tree however, it became clear that they were not alone that night.

They spotted at least four figures near the entrance to the heart of the tree, three of them appearing to be Imperial soldiers.  The group attempted to hide, albeit poorly, as Orlaith stumbled, branches snapping beneath her feet.  Not a moment later, a voice called out in their direction, with a strange, foreign accent.

Sean and Blirix were first to reveal themselves, the former attempting to pass their presence as a… lovers’ getaway?  Well, it was certainly an��excuse.  The strange man seemed not to buy the explanation though, continuing to indicate to the rest of the group he was well aware of their presence.  

Last to emerge was Laura, having cast a spell allowing her to read the thoughts of the men as she approached.  The soldiers ranged from bored to bemused to seemingly concerned for the safety of the young troupe they had found.  When she cast her mind, however, to the strange man with some sort of mechanical apparatus attached to his back and a glass visor shielding his eyes, she heard… nothing.  Something, be it technological or magical in nature, was shielding his mind from hers, and he even seemed to know the moment Laura ended the spell, no longer detecting traces of magic.

The strange man finally introduced himself as Dr.Calicent of the Imperial forces special investigative division.  His purpose there was much the same as their own, to investigate whatever was plaguing the tree, though it was unclear if his intention was to find a solution.  What was clear, was that he had no intention of letting the group leave now that they had seen him.  Whether he saw them as collaborators or potential test subjects was unclear.

Dr.Calicent described to them as they descended what he had already observed in the heart of the tree.  Something had taken hold of it, some sort of growth, mold, cancer, held a grip so tight, all of the tree’s resources were going to just barely keep it alive, rather than promoting growth of any kind.  Laura posited then, that perhaps an infusion of resources or even life energy itself could bolster the tree, allowing it to fend off the blight, a suggestion which seemed to intrigue the doctor.

Following the small military detachment deeper inward, through natural wooden caverns and passageways, they finally approached the heart.  A large, seed-like shape sticking up from a floor of dirt and moss, illuminating the cavernous interior, albeit weakly, as surrounding that singular germ was a roiling mass of inky blackness, indistinct in form, boasting a number of tendrils, poised to lash out at any who may draw near.

As the group approached, Calicent produced a barrier of shimmering light in front of them.  No less than thirty feet from the core, the tentacles struck the wall of energy with such force that the entire cavern seemed to quake.  There would be no way out of this without a fight.

As soon as Laura began to conjure the mote of flame at her fingertip, the doctor lowered his barrier.  Blirix and the soldiers took defensive positions at the fore, protecting the more vulnerable combatants, Sean’s songs filled the air around them with a revitalizing essence, and Orlaith lashed at the creature with pure psychic force.  A piece of the doctor’s mechanical pack swiveled upward, mounting over his shoulder, unleashing a massive blast, single-handedly felling one of the tentacles, though the mass assaulting the tree seemed no worse for wear.

It was at that point Laura attempted to put her hypothesis to the test, bridging the gap with a stream of her own life force, sending it directly in to the heart of the tree.  As the wisps of green energy connected, her vision began to blur, her knees began to tremble, and she felt almost a faint pulse in the back of her mind as the energy of her soul mingled with, and was propelled by, the force of her magic.  It felt as if she might be on to something.

Orlaith was quick to worry, but with Laura’s assurance that all was under control, she returned her sights to the mass of tendrils.  Calicent seemed to take special interest in Laura’s situation, directing his attention to her, even as his cannon apparatus continued to fire impressively powerful beams.

Laura continued, sending yet more of her life force in to the weakened core, the heartbeat becoming more clear in her mind.  Blirix diverted his attention from the defense for a moment to provide his own healing magic for her sake.  Sean played as well through the fight, providing healing through the chords from his precious instrument.  

One of the soldiers was hit on his unguarded flank, an incredibly devastating blow dealt by the clubbing tendril, causing Blirix to re-focus on the protective efforts.  A third stream of energy came from Laura.  She fell to her hands and knees, sweat rolling down her face.  This tactic was taking its toll, but it was working!  With every surge of energy the tree’s pulse grew louder, faster, clearer in her mind.

With a fourth wave of energy, her vision went black.  She fell to the cold, damp ground, completely unconscious…

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[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

So as part of my push to fill the world with soft fluff while we all need it, @sparkkeyper requested Aziraphale warming up a cold Crowley. And, well, things got a little out of hand with this bit of hurt/comfort. Also fills the @bingokisses prompt for “Brush of Lips, Almost-There Kiss/Bridal Carry” so that’s exciting!

Not clearly established, but this fic is just-barely-pre Arrangement.

“If that’s the way you feel,” Aziraphale said, hand on the door to his one-room hut, “then I suggest you leave, and find some other angel to bother with your nonsense.

“Good! Maybe I can find one who isn’t a self-righteous prick.”

“I’m terribly sorry,” the apology dripped with sarcasm, “that I choose not to blindly trust a devious…manipulative…snake.”

The words hit like a physical blow. Crowley sucked in a breath, tasting a hint of frost in the late-autumn air. “Fine,” he growled, turning away. He’d have to walk through the night to get back to London, but at just that moment he felt angry enough to march all the way to China and back. “Good riddance,” he snapped from the gate around the little garden, but Aziraphale had already shut the door.

--

“Call me a snake,” Crowley grumbled, pulling the thick black pelt more tightly over his shoulders. He’d thought the wilderness look – loose hair, black fur wrap, boiled leather jerkin belted over his tunic like armor – would make him look intimidating and cool. But as the temperatures dropped with the sunset, he really just wished for a good wool cloak.

“I’m not the one who’s manipulative and…whatever else he said.” The wind shifted, slapping across his face, sending his hair spinning behind him. “Cold-blooded. I’m not cold-blooded.”

He snapped his fingers, summoning a cloak, but the wind immediately ripped it out of his hands. It got caught on a tree branch, just out of reach. “Ah, never mind. Just slow me down anyway.”

Stuffing his hands into his armpits, Crowley marched deeper into the woods. Just follow the path west to the little creek, follow that out of the forest, main road was on the other side. Quickest route to London.

As the last light faded from the sky, the snowflakes began to fall.

--

“Coordinate our activities – of course we can’t coordinate, you fool, we’re doing opposite tasks.”

Aziraphale waved his fingers at the fire, making it burn just a touch brighter, and continued angrily chopping vegetables to drop into the pot of water. “And I certainly can’t just – just tell you what Heaven’s plans are for the north, or for the Holy Roman Empire, or for…for…blast!”

He glowered at the deep cut on his thumb and quickly healed it, an almost blinding burst of holy power. Well, that was probably enough for soup, anyway.

“All I’m trying to say, you foolish creature,” he grumbled, lifting the pot to nestle against the hot stones that circled his hearth, “is that we can’t talk…business when we meet. Is that so hard? Can you not get that one idea in your head?”

The shutters rattled in the wind, one breaking open to crack angrily against the wall. Aziraphale hurried over to push it shut, pausing to look across the dark fields to the woods beyond. Already a mix of snow and freezing rain had turned everything to a muddy slush.

Crowley would be fine. Crowley always found a way to be fine, and more often than not that way involved finagling himself into some comfortable circle where dozens of humans happily did his bidding. And when he couldn’t find that, he came to Aziraphale.

Well. Aziraphale would not – would not be duped into doing Crowley’s work for him.

“Enjoy getting yourself out of this mess,” Aziraphale said, pushing the shutter closed.

--

Bracing himself against a tree, Crowley tried to pull the back of his tunic up to protect his neck. Tiny spears of ice had assaulted it for hours, and he could feel the cold drops worming their way down his spine, soaking into his undertunic. His boots were drenched through, squishing a little with every step.

“Bloody creek,” he grumbled, searching desperately through the ceaseless fall of ice and snow. He should have passed it ages ago. He should be nearly out of the woods, and instead here he was, surrounded by mounds of wet, icy snow as deep as his ankles.

Everything looked strange. Everything looked different. Every rock transformed into something unfamiliar, every tree a shapeless mass of white. He was…

Crowley was lost.

“It’s fine,” he said as the wind shifted and the tree dropped another freezing glob of ice into his hair to ooze down his neck. “It’s bloody fine.” He pushed away from the tree and snapped his fingers, trying to summon a fire.

Nothing.

“Oh, for Sssatan’s sssake!” He pictured a cloak again. Nothing. A windbreak. A pile of blankets. A lantern.

Nothing, nothing, nothing.

With each failed miracle, Crowley felt the panic rise further, which was stupid. The only reason he couldn’t perform them was because he was panicking, so the thing to do was to stop panicking.

Useless, Aziraphale had called him. I don’t know what’s worse, that you come to me to help you with every little thing, or that you do everything in your power to get out of even thinking about working.

No, wait. Aziraphale hadn’t said that, not out loud. But the look in his eyes…it was obvious how he felt. Why wouldn’t he? It was true enough.

“Stop that, stop that!” He marched on through the forest. West. Just keep going west, London had to be somewhere around here. “It’s not my fault. Pointless assignments, impossible tasks, and you, you running around undoing everything I do – it’s not my fault I can’t get anything done!”

Useless. Failure. Worthless snake.

Had that been Aziraphale? Or Hastur? Or one of the other demons? They all thought the same, didn’t they? They were all right, weren’t they?

“No!” He waved his arms, visualizing a clear path through the slush.

Instead, he slipped on an icy patch and fell, chin cracking against the ground, one arm shoving into a particularly deep mound, filling his sleeve with snow.

“Fuck, fuck.” He scrambled to get purchase, to push himself up, wriggling around on his stomach like—

Like a snake.

“I’m not,” he whispered, but without conviction. “I’m not.”

--

Aziraphale tried to keep himself busy. Cooking, preparing herbs, copying pages out of texts, bits of wisdom that would be carefully left on the right desk at the right time, according to Heaven’s guidance.

He never quite knew when he’d be called to take care of something, never quite knew when Gabriel would announce he was coming down for an inspection. So Aziraphale always had to be ready, always had to look busy. Always had to be sure he was where he was supposed to be.

Maybe Crowley didn’t have to worry about that. Maybe Crowley didn’t have superiors checking in at random intervals, making sure he really had traveled to York, or Venice, or Kiev, or wherever else a bit of Holy assistance was needed. Maybe Crowley’s superiors actually trusted him to get the work done without…(Aziraphale pressed his eyes shut, carefully removing any accusations of micromanagement to the deepest depths of his subconscious)…without their careful direction and helpful input, but that wasn’t the case with Aziraphale.

He sighed and put the manuscript pages back on the bench. It was far too dark for a human to be doing copy work, and rather too dark for an angel. Perhaps he could take a break, just for a few minutes.

It’s always another excuse with you, Crowley had shouted. Well. Not shouted, but the words had hit him just the same.

But they weren’t excuses, they were – a thousand perfectly valid reasons why he couldn’t…couldn’t let Crowley interfere with his work, and yes perhaps some of them contradicted each other, but that wasn’t Aziraphale’s fault and…

“No, stop that.” He rose to his feet. Needed to keep busy. “A bit more water from the well. Better to be prepared.” The villagers often came up, looking for medicines, for advice, for a bit of food more varied than their usual diet (Aziraphale could miracle up fresh spices and vegetables any time of year, and that wasn’t…entirely cheating). Bad weather usually kept them away, but likely it would all clear up by morning.

He opened the door.

The wind that blasted Aziraphale’s face sent him staggering back. A fistful of mixed snow and rain hit him in the face, somehow colder than ice. By now, he ground was covered almost knee-deep in some places, and he could barely see the fence from where he stood, never mind the well.

“Oh…”

But, surely, Crowley had made it back to London by now.

Surely.

--

He had to keep moving.

Crowley huddled below a tree, knees pulled up to his chest, fingers wrapped around the back of his neck, trying to shield himself from the weather.

He shivered so hard his teeth nearly cracked, his ribs ached, and he felt sick to his stomach. Stupid mammal bodies, weren’t they supposed to retain heat?

He couldn’t feel his toes. The boots were packed with snow from trying to push through drifts. He couldn’t feel his fingers. He moved them back inside the pelt wrap again, pressing them into his already-wet tunic. The boiled leather jerkin clung to him like…well, like only leather could, getting stiff where he needed it to flex, getting soft where he needed it to stay rigid. Bloody useless.

Clenching his eyes tight, Crowley braced against another blast of wind, cutting through his layers like a dagger. What was the point of all this clothing if it didn’t help?

Some part of his mind kept reminding him to move. Not time to burrow yet, not time to conserve energy. Movement would create heat, warm him up.

No it won’t, argued the part of his mind that would never not be a snake. Moving uses heat. Stay. Conserve. Burrow down and wait for the sun.

“D-d-d-doesn’t matter,” Crowley groaned. “N-n-nowhere to go.”

His joints locked up, skin trying to pull itself away from the damp clothing pressed against it. He was tired. Mammal and serpent, both so tired.

No. He had to keep moving.

Crowley wasn’t sure how he managed to get his feet under him, managed to take the first shuffling, stumbling steps.

West. He was supposed to go west. Whichever way west was.

He picked a likely direction and started moving.

--

Was that hail pounding on the thatch? Or was the rain that strong?

Aziraphale waved the fire stronger, almost enough to over-boil the pots of soup arranged around the outside.

He didn’t really need that much soup. It just. Kept him busy.

--

The sun rose just as Crowley reached the edge of the woods.

It hurt to lift his head, to shift the muscles that had been hunched and braced against the cold for so long. The brightness of the sky hurt his eyes.

At some point, it had stopped snowing. He didn’t know when, his skin was completely numb. Wasn’t even shivering anymore. It was nice, in a way. Just the comforting darkness all around.

Now even that was gone, but he could look around the endless ocean of…snow was too strong a word, it was really slush…under the blood-red of the sunrise.

He wasn’t lost anymore. The hill, there to the right, the hut on top of it –

That was Aziraphale. He’d gone in a bloody circle.

I suggest you leave, and find some other angel to bother with your nonsense.

Fuck.

Aziraphale wouldn’t want to hear it. He’d wonder why Crowley hadn’t just miracled himself to safety, and he didn’t have the strength to explain that he didn’t have the strength. He knew his miracles had failed in the night – that he hadn’t been able to focus. Couldn’t remember exactly why.

Couldn’t really focus now.

Aziraphale wouldn’t want to help. He’d still be angry over the things Crowley said. Still be stuck in his holier-than-though me-versus-you mindset. Probably want to send Crowley away.

But Crowley would never make it to London now. Might not even make it up the hill.

He pushed himself forward.

I can do this, Crowley grumbled at himself. Just need a plan.

Aziraphale would let him in. He just needed a really clever argument to convince the angel first. Tempt him, trick him. Make him think helping Crowley would somehow help himself? No, that wouldn’t work. Maybe threaten to cause trouble in the village? Though he could hardly look capable of it in this state.

He stumbled through the gate – half-open, and held in place by a mound of ice that crunched under his feet. Just a few more steps to the door.

Well. Looked like Crowley would be going with his favorite plan: winging it.

He tried to knock on the door, but his arms had stopped obeying him, his hands wouldn’t budge from where he’d tucked them in his armpits. He tried kicking the door, but the snow and slush piled in a drift almost up to his knees, so he only succeeded in making a wet crunching sound.

The wind shifted again, another volley of ice, and the last of his heat was stripped away.

He was going to discorporate here, literal inches from safety. He was going to wake up in Hell and spend the next decade trying to convince his superiors to give him another body after he’d been so careless with this one. Worthless, stupid snake…

“Aziraphale,” he tried to call, throat too raw to make a sound, his jaw irrevocably clenched. He surged his whole body forward, smashing his shoulder against the door. “Angel! C’n see…smoke…lemme in…”

The door vanished in front of him so quickly, Crowley nearly tumbled through it. Barely managed to wedge his shoulder against the door frame to keep himself upright.

“Oh, my word!”

Blinking the ice out of his eyes, Crowley could see the look of shock and horror on Aziraphale’s face. Knew he wouldn’t want me here.

“G-g-got caught,” he managed, struggling to unclench his jaw. “Sssssstorm.” It was more a puff of steam wrapped around a vowel than a word.

“But – you – that was hours ago!”

“Nrf.” Something was spilling out the door, like a wave of…the opposite of pressure. As if the air was somehow lighter, easier to move in. So close. Just had to convince Aziraphale. “Look. ‘Ngel.”

“Enough. I don’t want to hear it.”

“B…” He shook his head, long, slow, dizzy loops as he tried to clear his mind. “Jus’lissen. Yer side…I mean, my side…”

“Don’t start on that now.” There was that stubborn edge to his voice. No point in arguing.

“Fffffine.” Another white puff filled the air between them and he tried to turn, one shuffling step at a time. He was still upright, that had to be good, maybe he could make it to the village before—

“No, you ridiculous—! Get in.”

“Wah…?”

Aziraphale grabbed the back of his fur wrap and hauled him through the door, kicking it shut behind him.

Something prickled across Crowley’s skin. It must be the heat, but he couldn’t feel it. Not really. The blinding light of the morning sun reflecting off the white landscape had been replaced with the cozy darkness of a shuttered hut, fire burning low in the hearth at the center. Oil lamps burnt here and there, giving a cheerful glow that reflected off the brass cookware, the earthenware pots tucked close to the fire, then bench covered in parchment, the neat white linen of the bed.

Then Crowley did feel something: the ice trapped in layers of clothing melting, sliding down, soaking further into his tunic. He bit back a groan.

“Come along, move faster.” One hand still clutching his furs, the other pressed into the small of Crowley’s back, propelling him forward.

“I c’n walk,” Crowley griped, but before he could even finish forming the words, he was in front of the fire, being pushed firmly down to sit on the floor.

“Yes, I’m sure you can, you always make such a display of it.” Aziraphale crouched beside him, brow furrowed. “Look at you. Look at your hair.”

“S’wrong wi’m’hair?” Aziraphale reached behind Crowley’s ear and pulled out an almost fist-sized lump of snow. “Oh. Nice trick.”

“Don’t be…Crowley, this is serious!” He grabbed Crowley’s chin in both his hands, ran thumbs across his cheeks, then pressed a palm to his forehead. “You’re too cold.” Cupped his hands around Crowley’s ears. “Not frozen, at least, but…couldn’t you at least wear a hood?”

“Nah. M’hair’s too good.” He tried to toss his head, despite Aziraphale’s grip, and he heard the splat of more snow working loose. “Lost it. Cloak. Wind.”

“And you didn’t just – just miracle yourself to safety?”

“Nrrrrrrgh.” Crowley bent his head, ready for the recriminations. He could stand them. Probably. Long as he didn’t have to meet Aziraphale’s eyes.

Aziraphale ran his hands across the thick pelt, scraping through melting snow, which still clung thick enough to turn it white. “My dear fellow,” he said, voice strangely soft. “If you were in trouble, you should have…have come back.”

Crowley’s head jerked up, searching for Aziraphale’s face. It was hard to focus but, yes, his eyes, not angry. Something else.

“Didn’think…y’wanted me…”

“Crowley…” Aziraphale shut his eyes for a moment, but his fingers sprang into action, twisting the furs free to drop in a pile behind the demon.

“Wha…Angel, what’re you…”

“Isn’t it obvious? Trying to warm you up.” He grabbed the heavy pelt with one hand and tossed it aside, as easily as if it were made of cotton. “It’s hard enough to heal a demon with holy power in the best of times, but if you’re too numb to even tell me if it hurts…”

“M’not.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” His hand rested on Crowley’s elbow, tracing it up to where one hand tucked into his armpit. Aziraphale tugged, but the hand didn’t come loose. “Crowley, please. We don’t have time for you to be petty.”

“S’nice coming from you,” he grumbled, and tried to shift his arms. “Can’t. Too cold.”

Aziraphale tugged at Crowley’s arms, rocking him in place, and made a noise of dismay. “Your clothes are soaked through! Of course, all that walking.” He turned to Crowley’s boots, started tugging them off. “You’ll be lucky if you still have feet under here.”

“M’fine. M’a snake. Don’ need feet.”

“You’re delirious.” Aziraphale jerked the first boot off Crowley’s foot, water and ice pouring out of it. He tugged off the wool wrapped around Crowley’s foot and ankle and inspected his toes. “Not black, at least. I think you’ll be fine. Can you feel this?” He breathed out heavily.

“Nnnnh.” Was that a little curl of warmth across the back of his foot? Or was he just imagining it? “Not delirious,” he added. “You called me snake. Las’time. Other thing, too. Untrustworthy.”

“Did I?” He started on the other boot. “Well, you can hardly blame me, Crowley, an agent of Hell repeatedly asking me to – to neglect my duties. What am I supposed to think?”

Crowley groaned. He didn’t want to argue. Couldn’t argue. Some of the feeling was returning to him, along the side closest to the fire, but that just made him feel colder. More miserable.

“Look, I know you’re tempting me, Crowley. I don’t know what your goal is, but I’m aware of what’s going on.” The second boot came off, and Aziraphale began unwrapping his foot. “I…I may have been…harsh. Defensive. But I’m just…trying to be cautious. You’re very good at what you do.”

“You think I’m g-good?” Odd, he couldn’t actually feel the grin on his face, but he could hear it in his voice.

“Hmmm, no. Obviously not. Demon and all that. But you are very clever.” He stretched Crowley’s feet out towards the fire, stopping them just shy of the ring of stones. The flames, Crowley noticed, didn’t feel very hot. “There. Let those warm for a moment.”

“You…” Crowley shook his head. Wished he could focus. “C-called me w-w-worthless. Ffffailure.”

“I most certainly did not!” He rested his hands on Crowley’s arms again, but they still wouldn’t relax. “I never said anything of the kind. Why would you even think such a thing?”

“Fine. You th-thought it.” Was he shivering again? Or were his lungs just seizing up?

“No. I didn’t. Truly, Crowley, I have never thought that of you.” He moved behind Crowley, crouching down, wrapping fingers around his narrow waist, tugging him slowly back. Away from the fire. “I have the utmost respect for what you do, even if I disagree with all of it, both your methods and your goals. I cannot deny that you are effective, that you get results even when you hardly do any work at all. I do not think you’re a failure. Or worthless. Nothing could be farther from the truth.”

Crowley stared ahead at the fire, which kept flaring up, brighter, redder. Tried to wriggle his toes. One of them stirred a little.

“How is that? Too hot?”

“Nah.” The shivers seemed to have faded, leaving him just tense. Hard to breathe. And move. “Not hot’a’tall. Some’n wrong wi’ your fire.”

Before he knew what was happening, Aziraphale’s arms wrapped fully around Crowley, and pulled the demon back into his lap. He gasped out a protest, even as soft arms crossed over Crowley’s and large hands rubbed at his biceps.

“Just what I was afraid of,” Aziraphale murmured, voice close to his ear. “You’re very, very cold. So cold you don’t realize it.”

“Aziraphale—! I don’t need you to…to…”

“Come, my dear fellow. You know you do. You wouldn’t have come to me otherwise.”

Long, slow movements of Aziraphale’s hands up and down his arms. He could feel the heat of them, of the chest pressed into his back. Better than fire. “M-m-maybe I’m t-tempting you.”

“No.” His grip slid once more to Crowley’s wrists and with a little pressure his hands popped free of his armpits, feeling damp and oddly distant. Aziraphale took one, then the other, giving them a few slow rubs each. “No, I know when someone is…truly in pain. You can’t fake that.” He hooked his chin over Crowley’s shoulder, bringing his fingers closer to blow on them, one hand, then the other. “And as you well know, I won’t turn away anyone in pain.”

“Do I know that?” He was feeling strangely tired. Well. Not strange, all that walking all morning, but it wasn’t the normal exhaustion. It tugged from somewhere deeper.

“Why else would you come here, even though you were angry at me?”

“N-n-nowhere else to g-go.” He leaned back a little, soaking in the warmth. “’Sides. M’not angry. C-can’t stay m-mad’t’you.” The movement of Aziraphale’s hands against Crowley’s slowed, briefly. “Y’r mad’t’me.”

“Am I?”

“Called m-me sssssnake.”

“I…But I always call you…serpent. Foul fiend. All sorts of things.”

“S’different.” He didn’t know how to explain it. How serpent was clever, chaotic Crowley, slithering around, outsmarting his opponents; but snake was stupid, useless Crawly, begging for his life, cowering in fear, hiding from every failure. Aziraphale couldn’t understand. He didn’t have two selves – a true one he tried to project, a wrong one that everyone saw anyway.

But even still. It hurt.

“I see.” One of Aziraphale’s hands dropped to rest against his stomach. “But you aren’t angry? That I sent you away like that?”

“Naaaah. Yer’n’angel. Gotta ssssay th-th-things like that.” Aziraphale still held one hand, thumb rubbing circles on his palm. Crowley wiggled the fingers of the other, and smiled to see them move. “Just…wish you’d trust me.”

“Why?”

“Cuz I trust you.” He tried to squeeze Aziraphale’s hand, but his fingers still moved stiffly, like twigs on a frost-covered tree. “I like you.”

Now both of Aziraphale’s hands were at his waist, pressing him back. It was nice. “Do you mean that, Crowley? Do you trust me?”

“Course.” Crowley turned his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder and found the angel’s face alarmingly close. His eyes were right there. His lips. Right there. “N-nerrer trusted anyone b’fore. N-not a lotta trust in Hell. Erryone’ll b-b-betray you.” He smiled, or at least he thought about smiling. No telling what expression his face wore. “You, too. You’ll b-betray me. S’fine. Don’ mind. J-j-just hope I see it comin.”

“Crowley…”

They were right there. Crowley thought of leaning forward just a little. See if that heat was in Aziraphale’s lips, too. Drink it in. Warm him from the inside.

“But even so. Yeah. I trust you.”

Aziraphale took a deep, shuddering breath. “Good.” His hands grabbed at Crowley’s belt and began to unbuckle it, loosening the leather jerkin. “You need to take your clothes off. Now.”

“Oh. Oh.” He dropped a hand to pat Azirphale’s…something…missed entirely, anyway, and landed in the dirt. “Angel’s g-gonna tempt me.”

“Stop that, you ridiculous…” He huffed out his annoyance. “Crowley, your clothing is soaked through and it’s making you colder. Let me help you out of it and into the bed.”

“You g-gonna j-j-join me?” He’d only said it to make Aziraphale uncomfortable, indignant. He really liked those little huffs. Instead, he was only met with silence. “Aziraphale?”

“Crowley…you’re always a little cold. Barely produce enough heat even when you aren’t…” He’d unwrapped the soaking leather, and one hand clutched at the hem of Crowley’s tunic. “No, I won’t. Not if it will make you uncomfortable. You can keep your clothes on, too, if you prefer. There are other ways to warm you up.”

“Oh.” He wished he could see Aziraphale’s face. “D-don’t mind. Ssssaid I trust you. Meant it.”

“You…ah…”

“Gonna haf’ta c-c-carry me tho. M’feet’re…” He tried wriggling his toes again, succeeded in flexing his whole foot together. “Do what you gotta. Trust you.”

He hadn’t realized how awful the tunic felt, clinging to his ribs and back, until Aziraphale peeled it off over his head, ran his hands quickly over damp skin. The rest followed soon after, and Crowley felt…not warmer. Lighter. As if some burden had been removed.

Aziraphale slipped on arm under his knees, the other around Crowley’s back, and lifted him easily, carrying him across the little hut to lay him on the bleached-white linens of the bed.

“S’nice,” Crowley murmured, as Aziraphale found more blankets to pile on him. Miracled up? Possibly. Lucky bastard.

“Oh. Ah. Glad it’s comfortable. Don’t really use it myself. Only have it because visitors expect it. Like the chamber pot.” He gave the blankets one more tug, then brushed his fingers across Crowley’s hair. “Is this better?”

“Mmmmh. Sleep?”

“One moment.” A rustle of fabric, and then the bed shifted and another body slid in beside him, tugging him against the soft, warm chest. “Is this better?”

“N-now’m warm.” He ran his fingers across Aziraphale’s back, feeling the way his skin dipped under the pressure, as if Crowley could truly sink into him. “Y-y-you’re n-nice.”

Aziraphale clicked his tongue, but his hand didn’t stop rubbing a slow circle across Crowley’s back. “That really is enough of that.”

“No. I m-mean you’re n-nice.” If he wiggled a little, he could rest his head on Aziraphale’s arm. Hmmm, that was good. “Y-you d-didn’t need t-to help me. M’a demon.”

“I told you. I will help anyone. Even you.” A hesitation, and Crowley could swear he felt something brush across his forehead. Maybe his hair. Everything still tingled a little. “Especially you,” Aziraphale said, voice even softer.

“Won’ help me wi’my work,” Crowley grumbled.

“That’s…I can’t…it’s different.” Another hesitation, and now he could feel Aziraphale’s other hand, still running evenly up and down his bicep. “What…did you want me to help you with? I…suppose I…wasn’t really listening.”

“Nrf.” Oh, he could feel himself shivering now, in a distant sort of way. “J-J-Jus’wanna know f’you’re…gonna…cancel out m’next j-job. S’along way t’walk for n-n-nothing.”

“And if I am?”

“I sssstay’n London. Ssssay you th-thwarted me. Sss’all g-good.”

Crowley could hear the rhythm of Aziraphale’s breaths, of his heartbeat, of the hands on his skin. It was all nearly enough to lull him to sleep, even without that glorious heat that surrounded him, reflected back from the blankets. It was the closest he’d ever come, in this body, to that luxurious feeling of basking, gathering the sunlight on his scales.

“You know, Crowley…perhaps we should talk. When you’re better.” His forehead pressed against Crowley’s, and he continued in a quiet voice. “I’m sorry I threw you out. I’m sorry I called you a snake.”

“Ssssss.” They weren’t supposed to say those words. “Can’t ssssay m’sorry for wha’I said,” Crowley muttered. “Umm. Cuz. Fffforgot what it was.” He remembered being hurt. Angry. But the words themselves escaped him. “I was jus’…jus’…”

“I understand.” Another of those funny brushes by his hairline. “Sleep now. I have you.”

--

Aziraphale’s lips still tingled where they’d brushed Crowley’s forehead.

For a moment, back by the fire, Crowley had been too cold. Too still. Aziraphale had come very close to losing him, and that frightened him more than anything. He couldn’t say way. It was just discorporation, and yet…

I trust you.

One last brush of lips, so gentle it could hardly be called contact. Even still, Crowley sighed in his sleep, pulled a little closer. He was shivering now. That was a good sign.

“I think I’ll trust you, too,” Aziraphale whispered. “I’ve…never trusted anyone before, either. We’ll have to learn together.”

[themousefromfantasyland]

THE GIRL WHO PRETENDED TO BE A BOY

What about a transgender fairy tale for Pride Month?

This variant is a English translation by Andrew Lang of a Romanian fairy tale called Ileana Sînziana. In this long, but fun tale, a powerful new Emperor wants in his court all the male heirs of the Emperors who he already dethroned. Knowing her father doesn't have any male heir, the youngest daughter of an old Emperor decides to dress as man and goes out in a journey.

In the end she is "cursed" to be a man, becoming Făt-Frumos, here translated as Fet-Fruners, a stock Romanian character in folk tales, a knight hero similar to Prince Charming. Făt-Frumos can be roughly translated as handsome infant or child or handsome boy.

Once upon a time there lived an emperor who was a great conqueror, and reigned over more countries than anyone in the world. And whenever he subdued a fresh kingdom, he only granted peace on condition that the king should deliver him one of his sons for ten years' service.

Now on the borders of his kingdom lay a country whose emperor was as brave as his neighbour, and as long as he was young he was the victor in every war. But as years passed away, his head grew weary of making plans of campaign, and his people wanted to stay at home and till their fields, and at last he too felt that he must do homage to the other emperor.

One thing, however, held him back from this step which day by day he saw more clearly was the only one possible. His new overlord would demand the service of one of his sons. And the old emperor had no son; only three daughters.

Look on which side he would, nothing but ruin seemed to lie before him, and he became so gloomy, that his daughters were frightened, and did everything they could think of to cheer him up, but all to no purpose.

At length one day when they were at dinner, the eldest of the three summoned up all her courage and said to her father:

'What secret grief is troubling you? Are your subjects discontented? or have we given you cause for displeasure? To smooth away your wrinkles, we would gladly shed our blood, for our lives are bound up in yours; and this you know.'

'My daughter,' answered the emperor, 'what you say is true. Never have you given me one moment's pain. Yet now you cannot help me. Ah! why is not one of you a boy!'

'I don't understand,' she answered in surprise. 'Tell us what is wrong: and though we are not boys, we are not quite useless!'

'But what can you do, my dear children? Spin, sew, and weave—that is all your learning. Only a warrior can deliver me now, a young giant who is strong to wield the battle-axe: whose sword deals deadly blows.'

'But WHY do you need a son so much at present? Tell us all about it! It will not make matters worse if we know!'

'Listen then, my daughters, and learn the reason of my sorrow. You have heard that as long as I was young no man ever brought an army against me without it costing him dear. But the years have chilled my blood and drunk my strength. And now the deer can roam the forest, my arrows will never pierce his heart; strange soldiers will set fire to my houses and water their horses at my wells, and my arm cannot hinder them. No, my day is past, and the time has come when I too must bow my head under the yoke of my foe! But who is to give him the ten years' service that is part of the price which the vanquished must pay?'

'_I_ will,' cried the eldest girl, springing to her feet. But her father only shook his head sadly.

'Never will I bring shame upon you,' urged the girl. 'Let me go. Am I not a princess, and the daughter of an emperor?'

'Go then!' he said.

The brave girl's heart almost stopped beating from joy, as she set about her preparations. She was not still for a single moment, but danced about the house, turning chests and wardrobes upside down. She set aside enough things for a whole year—dresses embroidered with gold and precious stones, and a great store of provisions. And she chose the most spirited horse in the stable, with eyes of flame, and a coat of shining silver.

When her father saw her mounted and curvetting about the court, he gave her much wise advice, as to how she was to behave like the young man she appeared to be, and also how to behave as the girl she really was. Then he gave her his blessing, and she touched her horse with the spur.

The silver armour of herself and her steed dazzled the eyes of the people as she darted past. She was soon out of sight, and if after a few miles she had not pulled up to allow her escort to join her, the rest of the journey would have been performed alone.

But though none of his daughters were aware of the fact, the old emperor was a magician, and had laid his plans accordingly. He managed, unseen, to overtake his daughter, and throw a bridge of copper over a stream which she would have to cross. Then, changing himself into a wolf, he lay down under one of the arches, and waited.

He had chosen his time well, and in about half an hour the sound of a horse's hoofs was heard. His feet were almost on the bridge, when a big grey wolf with grinning teeth appeared before the princess. With a deep growl that froze the blood, he drew himself up, and prepared to spring.

The appearance of the wolf was so sudden and so unexpected, that the girl was almost paralysed, and never even dreamt of flight, till the horse leaped violently to one side. Then she turned him round, and urging him to his fullest speed, never drew rein till she saw the gates of the palace rising before her.

The old emperor, who had got back long since, came to the door to meet her, and touching her shining armour, he said, 'Did I not tell you, my child, that flies do not make honey?'

The days passed on, and one morning the second princess implored her father to allow her to try the adventure in which her sister had made such a failure. He listened unwillingly, feeling sure it was no use, but she begged so hard that in the end he consented, and having chosen her arms, she rode away.

But though, unlike her sister, she was quite prepared for the appearance of the wolf when she reached the copper bridge, she showed no greater courage, and galloped home as fast as her horse could carry her. On the steps of the castle her father was standing, and as still trembling with fright she knelt at his feet, he said gently, 'Did I not tell you, my child, that every bird is not caught in a net?'

The three girls stayed quietly in the palace for a little while, embroidering, spinning, weaving, and tending their birds and flowers, when early one morning, the youngest princess entered the door of the emperor's private apartments. 'My father, it is my turn now. Perhaps I shall get the better of that wolf!'

'What, do you think you are braver than your sisters, vain little one? You who have hardly left your long clothes behind you!' but she did not mind being laughed at, and answered,

'For your sake, father, I would cut the devil himself into small bits, or even become a devil myself. I think I shall succeed, but if I fail, I shall come home without more shame than my sisters.'

Still the emperor hesitated, but the girl petted and coaxed him till at last he said,

'Well, well, if you must go, you must. It remains to be seen what I shall get by it, except perhaps a good laugh when I see you come back with your head bent and your eyes on the ground.'

'He laughs best who laughs last,' said the princess.

Happy at having got her way, the princess decided that the first thing to be done was to find some old white-haired boyard, whose advice she could trust, and then to be very careful in choosing her horse. So she went straight to the stables where the most beautiful horses in the empire were feeding in the stalls, but none of them seemed quite what she wanted. Almost in despair she reached the last box of all, which was occupied by her father's ancient war-horse, old and worn like himself, stretched sadly out on the straw.

The girl's eyes filled with tears, and she stood gazing at him. The horse lifted his head, gave a little neigh, and said softly, 'You look gentle and pitiful, but I know it is your love for your father which makes you tender to me. Ah, what a warrior he was, and what good times we shared together! But now I too have grown old, and my master has forgotten me, and there is no reason to care whether my coat is dull or shining. Yet, it is not too late, and if I were properly tended, in a week I could vie with any horse in the stables!'

'And how should you be tended?' asked the girl.

'I must be rubbed down morning and evening with rain water, my barley must be boiled in milk, because of my bad teeth, and my feet must be washed in oil.'

'I should like to try the treatment, as you might help me in carrying out my scheme.'

'Try it then, mistress, and I promise you will never repent.'

So in a week's time the horse woke up one morning with a sudden shiver through all his limbs; and when it had passed away, he found his skin shining like a mirror, his body as fat as a water melon, his movement light as a chamois.

Then looking at the princess who had come early to the stable, he said joyfully,

'May success await on the steps of my master's daughter, for she has given me back my life. Tell me what I can do for you, princess, and I will do it.'

'I want to go to the emperor who is our over-lord, and I have no one to advise me. Which of all the white-headed boyards shall I choose as counsellor?'

'If you have me, you need no one else: I will serve you as I served your father, if you will only listen to what I say.'

'I will listen to everything. Can you start in three days?'

'This moment, if you like,' said the horse.

The preparations of the emperor's youngest daughter were much fewer and simpler than those of her sisters. They only consisted of some boy's clothes, a small quantity of linen and food, and a little money in case of necessity. Then she bade farewell to her father, and rode away.

A day's journey from the palace, she reached the copper bridge, but before they came in sight of it, the horse, who was a magician, had warned her of the means her father would take to prove her courage.

Still in spite of his warning she trembled all over when a huge wolf, as thin as if he had fasted for a month, with claws like saws, and mouth as wide as an oven, bounded howling towards her. For a moment her heart failed her, but the next, touching the horse lightly with her spur, she drew her sword from its sheath, ready to separate the wolf's head from its body at a single blow.

The beast saw the sword, and shrank back, which was the best thing it could do, as now the girl's blood was up, and the light of battle in her eyes. Then without looking round, she rode across the bridge.

The emperor, proud of this first victory, took a short cut, and waited for her at the end of another day's journey, close to a river, over which he threw a bridge of silver. And this time he took the shape of a lion.

But the horse guessed this new danger and told the princess how to escape it. But it is one thing to receive advice when we feel safe and comfortable, and quite another to be able to carry it out when some awful peril is threatening us. And if the wolf had made the girl quake with terror, it seemed like a lamb beside this dreadful lion.

At the sound of his roar the very trees quivered and his claws were so large that every one of them looked like a cutlass.

The breath of the princess came and went, and her feet rattled in the stirrups. Suddenly the remembrance flashed across her of the wolf whom she had put to flight, and waving her sword, she rushed so violently on the lion that he had barely time to spring on one side, so as to avoid the blow. Then, like a flash, she crossed this bridge also.

Now during her whole life, the princess had been so carefully brought up, that she had never left the gardens of the palace, so that the sight of the hills and valleys and tinkling streams, and the song of the larks and blackbirds, made her almost beside herself with wonder and delight. She longed to get down and bathe her face in the clear pools, and pick the brilliant flowers, but the horse said 'No,' and quickened his pace, neither turning to the right or the left.

'Warriors,' he told her, 'only rest when they have won the victory. You have still another battle to fight, and it is the hardest of all.'

This time it was neither a wolf nor a lion that was waiting for her at the end of the third day's journey, but a dragon with twelve heads, and a golden bridge behind it.

The princess rode up without seeing anything to frighten her, when a sudden puff of smoke and flame from beneath her feet, caused her to look down, and there was the horrible creature twisted and writhing, its twelve heads reared up as if to seize her between them.

The bridle fell from her hand: and the sword which she had just grasped slid back into its sheath, but the horse bade her fear nothing, and with a mighty effort she sat upright and spurred straight on the dragon.

The fight lasted an hour and the dragon pressed her hard. But in the end, by a well-directed side blow, she cut off one of the heads, and with a roar that seemed to rend the heavens in two, the dragon fell back on the ground, and rose as a man before her.

Although the horse had informed the princess the dragon was really her own father, the girl had hardly believed him, and stared in amazement at the transformation. But he flung his arms round her and pressed her to his heart saying, 'Now I see that you are as brave as the bravest, and as wise as the wisest. You have chosen the right horse, for without his help you would have returned with a bent head and downcast eyes. You have filled me with the hope that you may carry out the task you have undertaken, but be careful to forget none of my counsels, and above all to listen to those of your horse.'

When he had done speaking, the princess knelt down to receive his blessing, and they went their different ways.

The princess rode on and on, till at last she came to the mountains which hold up the roof of the world. There she met two Genii who had been fighting fiercely for two years, without one having got the least advantage over the other. Seeing what they took to be a young man seeking adventures, one of the combatants called out, 'Fet-Fruners! deliver me from my enemy, and I will give you the horn that can be heard the distance of a three days' journey;' while the other cried, 'Fet-Fruners! help me to conquer this pagan thief, and you shall have my horse, Sunlight.'

Before answering, the princess consulted her own horse as to which offer she should accept, and he advised her to side with the genius who was master of Sunlight, his own younger brother, and still more active than himself.

So the girl at once attacked the other genius, and soon clove his skull; then the one who was left victor begged her to come back with him to his house and he would hand her over Sunlight, as he had promised.

The mother of the genius was rejoiced to see her son return safe and sound, and prepared her best room for the princess, who, after so much fatigue, needed rest badly. But the girl declared that she must first make her horse comfortable in his stable; but this was really only an excuse, as she wanted to ask his advice on several matters.

But the old woman had suspected from the very first that the boy who had come to the rescue of her son was a girl in disguise, and told the genius that she was exactly the wife he needed. The genius scoffed, and inquired what female hand could ever wield a sabre like that; but, in spite of his sneers, his mother persisted, and as a proof of what she said, laid at night on each of their pillows a handful of magic flowers, that fade at the touch of man, but remain eternally fresh in the fingers of a woman.

It was very clever of her, but unluckily the horse had warned the princess what to expect, and when the house was silent, she stole very softly to the genius's room, and exchanged his faded flowers for those she held. Then she crept back to her own bed and fell fast asleep.

At break of day, the old woman ran to see her son, and found, as she knew she would, a bunch of dead flowers in his hand. She next passed on to the bedside of the princess, who still lay asleep grasping the withered flowers. But she did not believe any the more that her guest was a man, and so she told her son. So they put their heads together and laid another trap for her.

After breakfast the genius gave his arm to his guest, and asked her to come with him into the garden. For some time they walked about looking at the flowers, the genius all the while pressing her to pick any she fancied. But the princess, suspecting a trap, inquired roughly why they were wasting the precious hours in the garden, when, as men, they should be in the stables looking after their horses. Then the genius told his mother that she was quite wrong, and his deliverer was certainly a man. But the old woman was not convinced for all that.

She would try once more she said, and her son must lead his visitor into the armoury, where hung every kind of weapon used all over the world—some plain and bare, others ornamented with precious stones—and beg her to make choice of one of them. The princess looked at them closely, and felt the edges and points of their blades, then she hung at her belt an old sword with a curved blade, that would have done credit to an ancient warrior. After this she informed the genius that she would start early next day and take Sunlight with her.

And there was nothing for the mother to do but to submit, though she still stuck to her own opinion.

The princess mounted Sunlight, and touched him with her spur, when the old horse, who was galloping at her side, suddenly said:

'Up to this time, mistress, you have obeyed my counsels and all has gone well. Listen to me once more, and do what I tell you. I am old, and—now that there is someone to take my place, I will confess it—I am afraid that my strength is not equal to the task that lies before me. Give me leave, therefore, to return home, and do you continue your journey under the care of my brother. Put your faith in him as you put it in me, and you will never repent. Wisdom has come early to Sunlight.'

'Yes, my old comrade, you have served me well; and it is only through your help that up to now I have been victorious. So grieved though I am to say farewell, I will obey you yet once more, and will listen to your brother as I would to yourself. Only, I must have a proof that he loves me as well as you do.'

'How should I not love you?' answered Sunlight; 'how should I not be proud to serve a warrior such as you? Trust me, mistress, and you shall never regret the absence of my brother. I know there will be difficulties in our path, but we will face them together.'

Then, with tears in her eyes, the princess took leave of her old horse, who galloped back to her father.

She had ridden only a few miles further, when she saw a golden curl lying on the road before her. Checking her horse, she asked whether it would be better to take it or let it lie.

'If you take it,' said Sunlight, 'you will repent, and if you don't, you will repent too: so take it.' On this the girl dismounted, and picking up the curl, wound it round her neck for safety.

They passed by hills, they passed by mountains, they passed through valleys, leaving behind them thick forests, and fields covered with flowers; and at length they reached the court of the over-lord.

He was sitting on his throne, surrounded by the sons of the other emperors, who served him as pages. These youths came forward to greet their new companion, and wondered why they felt so attracted towards him.

[Quick pause. This is a very funny trope that I keep finding in very old cross-dressing stories. The male characters find themselves mysteriously attracted to the female character pretending to be male. Think of Li Shang from Mulan.]

However, there was no time for talking and concealing her fright.

The princess was led straight up to the throne, and explained, in a low voice, the reason of her coming. The emperor received her kindly, and declared himself fortunate at finding a vassal so brave and so charming, and begged the princess to remain in attendance on his person.

She was, however, very careful in her behaviour towards the other pages, whose way of life did not please her. One day, however, she had been amusing herself by making sweetmeats, when two of the young princes looked in to pay her a visit. She offered them some of the food which was already on the table, and they thought it so delicious that they even licked their fingers so as not to lose a morsel. Of course they did not keep the news of their discovery to themselves, but told all their companions that they had just been enjoying the best supper they had had since they were born. And from that moment the princess was left no peace, till she had promised to cook them all a dinner.

Now it happened that, on the very day fixed, all the cooks in the palace became intoxicated, and there was no one to make up the fire.

When the pages heard of this shocking state of things, they went to their companion and implored her to come to the rescue.

The princess was fond of cooking, and was, besides, very good-natured; so she put on an apron and went down to the kitchen without delay. When the dinner was placed before the emperor he found it so nice that he ate much more than was good for him. The next morning, as soon as he woke, he sent for his head cook, and told him to send up the same dishes as before. The cook, seized with fright at this command, which he knew he could not fulfil, fell on his knees, and confessed the truth.

The emperor was so astonished that he forgot to scold, and while he was thinking over the matter, some of his pages came in and said that their new companion had been heard to boast that he knew where Iliane was to be found—the celebrated Iliane of the song which begins:

'Golden Hair. The fields are green,'

And that to their certain knowledge he had a curl of her hair in his possession.

When he heard that, the emperor desired the page to be brought before him, and, as soon as the princess obeyed his summons, he said to her abruptly:

'Fet-Fruners, you have hidden from me the fact that you knew the golden-haired Iliane! Why did you do this? for I have treated you more kindly than all my other pages.'

Then, after making the princess show him the golden curl which she wore round her neck, he added: 'Listen to me; unless by some means or other you bring me the owner of this lock, I will have your head cut off in the place where you stand. Now go!'

In vain the poor girl tried to explain how the lock of hair came into her possession; the emperor would listen to nothing, and, bowing low, she left his presence and went to consult Sunlight what she was to do.

At his first words she brightened up. 'Do not be afraid, mistress; only last night my brother appeared to me in a dream and told me that a genius had carried off Iliane, whose hair you picked up on the road. But Iliane declares that, before she marries her captor, he must bring her, as a present, the whole stud of mares which belong to her. The genius, half crazy with love, thinks of nothing night and day but how this can be done, and meanwhile she is quite safe in the island swamps of the sea. Go back to the emperor and ask him for twenty ships filled with precious merchandise. The rest you shall know by-and-by.'

On hearing this advice, the princess went at once into the emperor's presence.

'May a long life be yours, O Sovereign all mighty!' said she. 'I have come to tell you that I can do as you command if you will give me twenty ships, and load them with the most precious wares in your kingdom.'

'You shall have all that I possess if you will bring me the golden-haired Iliane,' said the emperor.

The ships were soon ready, and the princess entered the largest and finest, with Sunlight at her side. Then the sails were spread and the voyage began.

For seven weeks the wind blew them straight towards the west, and early one morning they caught sight of the island swamps of the sea.

They cast anchor in a little bay, and the princess made haste to disembark with Sunlight, but, before leaving the ship, she tied to her belt a pair of tiny gold slippers, adorned with precious stones. Then mounting Sunlight, she rode about till she came to several palaces, built on hinges, so that they could always turn towards the sun.

The most splendid of these was guarded by three slaves, whose greedy eyes were caught by the glistening gold of the slippers. They hastened up to the owner of these treasures, and inquired who he was. 'A merchant,' replied the princess, 'who had somehow missed his road, and lost himself among the island swamps of the sea.'

Not knowing if it was proper to receive him or not, the slaves returned to their mistress and told her all they had seen, but not before she had caught sight of the merchant from the roof of her palace. Luckily her gaoler was away, always trying to catch the stud of mares, so for the moment she was free and alone.

The slaves told their tale so well that their mistress insisted on going down to the shore and seeing the beautiful slippers for herself. They were even lovelier than she expected, and when the merchant besought her to come on board, and inspect some that he thought were finer still, her curiosity was too great to refuse, and she went.

Once on board ship, she was so busy turning over all the precious things stored there, that she never knew that the sails were spread, and that they were flying along with the wind behind them; and when she did know, she rejoiced in her heart, though she pretended to weep and lament at being carried captive a second time. Thus they arrived at the court of the emperor.

They were just about to land, when the mother of the genius stood before them. She had learnt that Iliane had fled from her prison in company with a merchant, and, as her son was absent, had come herself in pursuit. Striding over the blue waters, hopping from wave to wave, one foot reaching to heaven, and the other planted in the foam, she was close at their heels, breathing fire and flame, when they stepped on shore from the ship. One glance told Iliane who the horrible old woman was, and she whispered hastily to her companion. Without saying a word, the princess swung her into Sunlight's saddle, and leaping up behind her, they were off like a flash.

It was not till they drew near the town that the princess stooped and asked Sunlight what they should do. 'Put your hand into my left ear,' said he, 'and take out a sharp stone, which you must throw behind you.'

The princess did as she was told, and a huge mountain sprang up behind them. The mother of the genius began to climb up it, and though they galloped quickly, she was quicker still.

They heard her coming, faster, faster; and again the princess stooped to ask what was to be done now. 'Put your hand into my right ear,' said the horse, 'and throw the brush you will find there behind you.' The princess did so, and a great forest sprang up behind them, and, so thick were its leaves, that even a wren could not get through. But the old woman seized hold of the branches and flung herself like a monkey from one to the others, and always she drew nearer—always, always—till their hair was singed by the flames of her mouth.

Then, in despair, the princess again bent down and asked if there was nothing more to be done, and Sunlight replied 'Quick, quick, take off the betrothal ring on the finger of Iliane and throw it behind you.'

This time there sprang up a great tower of stone, smooth as ivory, hard as steel, which reached up to heaven itself. And the mother of the genius gave a howl of rage, knowing that she could neither climb it nor get through it. But she was not beaten yet, and gathering herself together, she made a prodigious leap, which landed her on the top of the tower, right in the middle of Iliane's ring which lay there, and held her tight. Only her claws could be seen grasping the battlements.

All that could be done the old witch did; but the fire that poured from her mouth never reached the fugitives, though it laid waste the country a hundred miles round the tower, like the flames of a volcano. Then, with one last effort to free herself, her hands gave way, and, falling down to the bottom of the tower, she was broken in pieces.

When the flying princess saw what had happened she rode back to the spot, as Sunlight counselled her, and placed her finger on the top of the tower, which was gradually shrinking into the earth. In an instant the tower had vanished as if it had never been, and in its place was the finger of the princess with a ring round it.

The emperor received Iliane with all the respect that was due to her, and fell in love at first sight besides.

But this did not seem to please Iliane, whose face was sad as she walked about the palace or gardens, wondering how it was that, while other girls did as they liked, she was always in the power of someone whom she hated.

So when the emperor asked her to share his throne Iliane answered:

'Noble Sovereign, I may not think of marriage till my stud of horses has been brought me, with their trappings all complete.'

When he heard this, the emperor once more sent for Fet-Fruners, and said:

'Fet-Fruners, fetch me instantly the stud of mares, with their trappings all complete. If not, your head shall pay the forfeit.'

'Mighty Emperor, I kiss your hands! I have but just returned from doing your bidding, and, behold, you send me on another mission, and stake my head on its fulfilment, when your court is full of valiant young men, pining to win their spurs. They say you are a just man; then why not entrust this quest to one of them? Where am I to seek these mares that I am to bring you?'

'How do I know? They may be anywhere in heaven or earth; but, wherever they are, you will have to find them.'

The princess bowed and went to consult Sunlight. He listened while she told her tale, and then said:

'Fetch quickly nine buffalo skins; smear them well with tar, and lay them on my back. Do not fear; you will succeed in this also; but, in the end, the emperor's desires will be his undoing.'

The buffalo skins were soon got, and the princess started off with Sunlight. The way was long and difficult, but at length they reached the place where the mares were grazing. Here the genius who had carried off Iliane was wandering about, trying to discover how to capture them, all the while believing that Iliane was safe in the palace where he had left her.

As soon as she caught sight of him, the princess went up and told him that Iliane had escaped, and that his mother, in her efforts to recapture her, had died of rage. At this news a blind fury took possession of the genius, and he rushed madly upon the princess, who awaited his onslaught with perfect calmness. As he came on, with his sabre lifted high in the air, Sunlight bounded right over his head, so that the sword fell harmless. And when in her turn the princess prepared to strike, the horse sank upon his knees, so that the blade pierced the genius's thigh.

The fight was so fierce that it seemed as if the earth would give way under them, and for twenty miles round the beasts in the forests fled to their caves for shelter. At last, when her strength was almost gone, the genius lowered his sword for an instant. The princess saw her chance, and, with one swoop of her arm, severed her enemy's head from his body. Still trembling from the long struggle, she turned away, and went to the meadow where the stud were feeding.

By the advice of Sunlight, she took care not to let them see her, and climbed a thick tree, where she could see and hear without being seen herself. Then he neighed, and the mares came galloping up, eager to see the new comer—all but one horse, who did not like strangers, and thought they were very well as they were. As Sunlight stood his ground, well pleased with the attention paid him, this sulky creature suddenly advanced to the charge, and bit so violently that had it not been for the nine buffalo skins Sunlight's last moment would have come. When the fight was ended, the buffalo skins were in ribbons, and the beaten animal writhing with pain on the grass.

Nothing now remained to be done but to drive the whole stud to the emperor's court. So the princess came down from the tree and mounted Sunlight, while the stud followed meekly after, the wounded horse bringing up the rear. On reaching the palace, she drove them into a yard, and went to inform the emperor of her arrival.

The news was told at once to Iliane, who ran down directly and called them to her one by one, each mare by its name. And at the first sight of her the wounded animal shook itself quickly, and in a moment its wounds were healed, and there was not even a mark on its glossy skin.

By this time the emperor, on hearing where she was, joined her in the yard, and at her request ordered the mares to be milked, so that both he and she might bathe in the milk and keep young for ever. But they would suffer no one to come near them, and the princess was commanded to perform this service also.

At this, the heart of the girl swelled within her. The hardest tasks were always given to her, and long before the two years were up, she would be worn out and useless. But while these thoughts passed through her mind, a fearful rain fell, such as no man remembered before, and rose till the mares were standing up to their knees in water. Then as suddenly it stopped, and, behold! the water was ice, which held the animals firmly in its grasp. And the princess's heart grew light again, and she sat down gaily to milk them, as if she had done it every morning of her life.

The love of the emperor for Iliane waxed greater day by day, but she paid no heed to him, and always had an excuse ready to put off their marriage. At length, when she had come to the end of everything she could think of, she said to him one day: 'Grant me, Sire, just one request more, and then I will really marry you; for you have waited patiently this long time.'

'My beautiful dove,' replied the emperor, 'both I and all I possess are yours, so ask your will, and you shall have it.'

'Get me, then,' she said, 'a flask of the holy water that is kept in a little church beyond the river Jordan, and I will be your wife.'

Then the emperor ordered Fet-Fruners to ride without delay to the river Jordan, and to bring back, at whatever cost, the holy water for Iliane.

'This, my mistress,' said Sunlight, when she was saddling him, 'is the last and most difficult of your tasks. But fear nothing, for the hour of the emperor has struck.'

So they started; and the horse, who was not a wizard for nothing, told the princess exactly where she was to look for the holy water.

'It stands,' he said, 'on the altar of a little church, and is guarded by a troop of nuns. They never sleep, night or day, but every now and then a hermit comes to visit them, and from him they learn certain things it is needful for them to know. When this happens, only one of the nuns remains on guard at a time, and if we are lucky enough to hit upon this moment, we may get hold of the vase at once; if not, we shall have to wait the arrival of the hermit, however long it may be; for there is no other means of obtaining the holy water.'

They came in sight of the church beyond the Jordan, and, to their great joy, beheld the hermit just arriving at the door. They could hear him calling the nuns around him, and saw them settle themselves under a tree, with the hermit in their midst—all but one, who remained on guard, as was the custom.

The hermit had a great deal to say, and the day was very hot, so the nun, tired of sitting by herself, lay down right across the threshold, and fell sound asleep.

Then Sunlight told the princess what she was to do, and the girl stepped softly over the sleeping nun, and crept like a cat along the dark aisle, feeling the wall with her fingers, lest she should fall over something and ruin it all by a noise. But she reached the altar in safety, and found the vase of holy water standing on it. This she thrust into her dress, and went back with the same care as she came. With a bound she was in the saddle, and seizing the reins bade Sunlight take her home as fast as his legs could carry him.

The sound of the flying hoofs aroused the nun, who understood instantly that the precious treasure was stolen, and her shrieks were so loud and piercing that all the rest came flying to see what was the matter. The hermit followed at their heels, but seeing it was impossible to overtake the thief, he fell on his knees and called his most deadly curse down on her head, praying that if the thief was a man, he might become a woman; and if she was a woman, that she might become a man. In either case he thought that the punishment would be severe.

But punishments are things about which people do not always agree, and when the princess suddenly felt she was really the man she had pretended to be, she was delighted, and if the hermit had only been within reach she would have thanked him from her heart.

By the time she reached the emperor's court, Fet-Fruners looked a young man all over in the eyes of everyone; and even the mother of the genius would now have had her doubts set at rest. He drew forth the vase from his tunic and held it up to the emperor, saying: 'Mighty Sovereign, all hail! I have fulfilled this task also, and I hope it is the last you have for me; let another now take his turn.'

'I am content, Fet-Fruners,' replied the emperor, 'and when I am dead it is you who will sit upon my throne; for I have yet no son to come after me. But if one is given me, and my dearest wish is accomplished, then you shall be his right hand, and guide him with your counsels.'

But though the emperor was satisfied, Iliane was not, and she determined to revenge herself on the emperor for the dangers which he had caused Fet-Fruners to run. And as for the vase of holy water, she thought that, in common politeness, her suitor ought to have fetched it himself, which he could have done without any risk at all.

So she ordered the great bath to be filled with the milk of her mares, and begged the emperor to clothe himself in white robes, and enter the bath with her, an invitation he accepted with joy. Then, when both were standing with the milk reaching to their necks, she sent for the horse which had fought Sunlight, and made a secret sign to him. The horse understood what he was to do, and from one nostril he breathed fresh air over Iliane, and from the other, he snorted a burning wind which shrivelled up the emperor where he stood, leaving only a little heap of ashes.

His strange death, which no one could explain, made a great sensation throughout the country, and the funeral his people gave him was the most splendid ever known. When it was over, Iliane summoned Fet-Fruners before her, and addressed him thus:

'Fet-Fruners! it is you who brought me and have saved my life, and obeyed my wishes. It is you who gave me back my stud; you who killed the genius, and the old witch his mother; you who brought me the holy water. And you, and none other, shall be my husband.'

'Yes, I will marry you,' said the young man, with a voice almost as soft as when he was a princess. 'But know that in OUR house, it will be the cock who sings and not the hen!'

[baoshan-sanren]

Chapter 46

Emperor Wei WuXian And His Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Birthday

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 Part 1 | Chapter 8 Part 2 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 Part 1 | Chapter 15 Part 2 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 Part 1 | Chapter 22 Part 2 | Chapter 23 | Chapter 24 | Chapter 25 | Chapter 26 | Chapter 27 | Chapter 28 | Chapter 29 | Chapter 30 | Chapter 31 | Chapter 32 | Chapter 33 | Chapter 34 | Chapter 35 | Chapter 36 | Chapter 37 | Chapter 38 | Chapter 39 | Chapter 40 | Chapter 41 | Chapter 42 | Chapter 43 | Chapter 44 | Chapter 45

Despite his insistence on carefully contrived plans, and his aversion to impulsive action, Nie HuaiSang is more than capable of thinking on his feet.

He had known that this moment would come eventually. Some day, an attack, a carefully aimed arrow, a cup full of poison, something would slip past their barriers. Wei Ying may survive it, or he may not. This has been the indisputable truth of their existence, a truth universally acknowledged, although rarely ever discussed.

Nie HuaiSang’s flesh makes a pitiful shield, and a saber in his hand is equally as useless. His skill lies in other areas, and his task, regardless of danger the Emperor faces, is to protect the throne. Many arguments have been had between them on this subject, some so heated, it had seemed unlikely that their friendship could survive them.

HuaiSang has no loyalty to the Empire. Oh, he can praise and flatter, and speak flowery words of dedication and devotion with the best of them. But deep in his heart, he has always been a simple creature, with simple and straightforward priorities.

His Sect, his brother, Wei Ying, Jiang Cheng, these are things worth living for and dying for. Everything else, including the rest of the Empire, would always take the second place. It seemed inconceivable that he could turn away from Wei Ying in pain, Wei Ying dying, in order to protect some collection of insubstantial ideals, some flimsy peace between regions that have always yearned to fight, to protect some golden monstrosity of a seat that HuaiSang himself would never choose to occupy, not for all the silver and jade in the world.

It took a great deal of time, and many bitter arguments, to accept that some day, Wei Ying may die, but that the Empire must continue to exist in his absence. It had been even more difficult to accept that HuaiSang must be the one to bring this about. To accept that there will come a time when he must step away from Wei Ying, no matter the danger, no matter the consequences, and perform those duties that the Emperor cannot.

He has assumed this responsibility, regardless of personal misgivings. He knows what he must do.

And yet, nothing could have prepared him for the reality of the task.

There is a small, hand-picked contingent of the Nie Sect, whose only priority is preserving HuaiSang’s life. Most of the time, this protection is adequate, verging on excessive. After all, HuaiSang rarely moves far from his comfortable lodgings in the Emperor’s palace, nor has he left the Immortal Mountain in nearly three years. He has rarely ever needed their protection, as the majority of the dangers at court cannot be fought with a sword. Still, having failed in their duty mere days ago, this small contingent had sprung into action before HuaiSang had even fully comprehended the danger.

He finds himself practically carried off the dais, a wall of Nie Sect uniforms surrounding him from all sides. It is not clear how far they intend to carry him; HuaiSang has never bothered learning their contingency plans, nor has he expressed any interest in listening to the instructions Nie ZongHui had insisted on issuing at least a dozen times a year.

But he cannot leave the hall; not yet.

His heels, hanging nearly a handspan off the ground, kick out. At the same time, the sharp edge of his fan finds the unfortunate ear of a Sect member he does not recognize. He does not feel pity for the man, whose tight grip will probably leave bruises on HuaiSang’s upper arm. They release him, more out of surprise than any intention, and HuaiSang tugs his collar straight, feeling rumpled and off balance.

Now, he can see Wei Ying still standing on the dais, the black chest at his feet. He can see the dark coils of smoke wrapping around his body. The hall is a chaos of noise and confusion, cultivators who should be the best, the most skilled in the whole of the Empire, stumbling into each other, overtaken by panic. HuaiSang feels it too, a quivering unsteadiness beneath his breastbone, a fear that threatens to spill and incapacitate.

A hand latches around his arm again. This time his fan is precise, striking the bridge of the man’s nose.

“Enough,” he snaps, “I am not leaving.”

“Young Master,” Nie SuiLin says, “the Lieutenant General has ordered--“

“The Lieutenant General does not issue orders to His Majesty’s Most Favored Person,” HuaiSang bites out.

Back to Young Master already, is he? The Emperor is still standing on the dais, on his own two feet, but Nie SuiLin dares speak as if the Emperor is already dead.

He resists the urge to kick the man again, this time with more force. Irritation and fury coil in his chest, suffocating the fear, pushing it to the background. Nie SuiLin looks furious as well, but he will find his fury no match for HuaiSang’s.

HuaiSang has a million tasks to perform, each one more difficult than the last, and he does not have time for nonsense.

“You--“ he points his fan at the poor man whose nose he had bloodied, “Find the General. He is to lock down the Immortal Mountain. Guards at every gate, every entrance, every palace window, every crack in the wall where someone may slip out. Once the city and the Emperor’s palace are secure, I will need him in the banquet hall. You--“ he points at another, “take charge in here. Empty out the hall of everyone who is in the way--“

A blast of power propels him back into the wall of men, nearly knocking him down to the floor. The sound of the guqin drowns out the chaos of the hall, each note forceful enough to make his ears ring and his teeth ache. Through the wall of bodies, he can see the glow of spiritual energy battling the darkness, the familiar white of the Gusu Lan Sect in its midst. The black smoke roils and snaps, fighting to keeps its grip.  

His bones feel rattled. Every one of his muscles is vibrating with the sound. His hands are shaking.

Useless as he would be, the urge to join them, to do something, anything at all, is overwhelming.

Irritation sweeps through him again. No distractions; no self-pity; no fear. He needs to focus.

He snatches the collar of the man with the bloody nose, “Find the General! Go!”

A hand latches on to his arm again, and he whirls, ready to beat Nie SuiLin until the man is bloody as well. Jiang Chen grabs his wrist before the fan can land, his expression tight and exasperated.

Although he shouts directly into HuaiSang’s face, his voice is barely audible over the now combined harmonies of the guqin and the xiao, “We need to secure the hall!”

HuaiSang closes his eyes, just for a moment, for a space of a single breath, so he does not leap at Jiang Cheng’s throat. Instead, he tugs a nearby Nie Sect member close, and shouts the same order into his ear. He sends another to find Nie ZongHui, with orders to escort all the Sect Leaders to the banquet hall and keep them there. His mind is trying to move too quickly, thoughts overlapping, contingency plans unfolding, reforming, and being dismissed, all in the matter of shaky, half-taken breaths.

Secure the Immortal Mountain. Secure the palace and the throne. Protect the Emperor. The Jiang Sect will take control of the Imperial Guard. HuaiSang needs to reach Wei Ying’s personal study before anyone else. He needs to--

He latches on to Jiang Cheng’s sleeve, “The Wen Sect?”

“On their way.”

He is stalling, and Jiang Cheng knows this.  

HuaiSang need to go. He needs to go right now, before the other Sect Leaders have an opportunity to think, to consider their own contingency plans, to place the succession in peril.

Instead, he watches Lan WangJi’s break Wei Ying’s wrist. He watches Wei Ying release an object, its shape indistinguishable from the coils of black smoke. He watches Lan WangJi pull Wei Ying away from the dais, away from danger.

HuaiSang does not notice that his fingers had wrapped around Jing Cheng’s arm until they are pried off, with more gentleness than Jiang Cheng is ordinarily capable of displaying. Xiao XingChen had stepped up to Lan QiRen’s left shoulder, two more Fan Sect cultivators bracketing Lan XiChen. More join in, their power insignificant next to the Lan Sect, but the cursed object appears less powerful now, its prize removed from its grip.

HuaiSang cannot see the place where Lan WangJi has laid Wei Ying down on the marble floor. He does not know if Wei Ying is dead or alive. Only when Jiang Cheng’s hand grabs a fistful of his robes, does he realize that he has moved forward, intending to push his way to Wei Ying’s side.

“You have to go,” Jiang Cheng says.

“I know,” he snaps, jerking out of Jiang Cheng’s hold.

Stupid Wei Ying. Stupid Empire. He is not crying. His eyes are watering. His eyes are watering because he is furious, and surrounded by idiots. Incompetent idiots, who touch things without thinking, hop over rooftops looking for an arrow through their throat, and never consider their own safety first. 

Idiots who insist on preserving some stupid, pointless legacy HuaiSang could not care less about.

With a growl, he turns on his heel, and grabs Nie SuiLin by the front of his robes, “Come with me.”

[engelspolitics]

History of Chinese Emperors

https://www.grunge.com/199249/the-tragic-history-of-chinese-emperors/

Chinese emperors existed for 4000 years; 49 dynasties, the longest of which lasted 289 years and the shortest lasted less than a year

About half of all emperors died in office/abdicated by choice; the rest was assassinated, forced to abdicate or commit suicide

Some emperors were very powerful absolute rulers; others basically gilded prisoners

Qin became first emperor of unified China in 221 BC through Total War and killing of his enemies, including brothers and sisters

Tang dynasty (618-907 CE) is widely regarded as the greatest of China's dynasties but their system of succession was so unstable that 12 direct heirs to the throne didn't survive long enough

Murdering happened into the last Quing dynasty (1644-1911)

Even unified China fell apart every now and then

As the Jin dynasty collapsed (266-420 CE) in the fourth and fifth centuries, China fragmented into multiple competing kingdoms.

Only one emperor in Chinese history was monogamous (Hongzhi)

Some emperors were insane

Fu Sheng → "one-eyed tyrant," half-blind; forbade the words like "missing" or "without," killing anyone who said them in his presence. He was deposed and killed in just two years for drunkenness, idiocy, and needless cruelty.

Liu Shan, abdicated in 263, was so incompetent his name is now idiom for idiot

Being related to an emperor was dangerous → long-standing Chinese tradition to execute entire generations of your enemy's family

Uprisings and rebellions were usually led by people eager to cull the imperial herd

Not safe in own home; concubines often murdered emperor or family members

Lives of concubines

As early as the Jin dynasty (266-420 CE) concubines were conscripts, chosen according to the particular criteria of that dynasty or emperor. For over fifteen hundred years, women and girls were kidnapped from or given away by their families

Foot binding was mandatory

Harems were full of jealousy and rivalry, and attacks/murders were common

Concubines belonged to emperor, who could kill him if he wanted

As part of the royal household concubines were often subject to purges as well and could be killed by competing sons or warlords

Well-performing concubines could be buried with the emperor upon his death

Four beauties → most beautiful women of ancient China (one may have been fictional)

Their stories come from four different dynasties and epitomized Chinese ideals of beauty

Xi Shi was sent by a rival king as revenge; so beautiful that fish would forget how to swim and sink below the surface upon seeing her reflection in the water

Bao Si was of surpassing beauty but never smiled apart from when the king repeatedly lighted the signal towers warning the kingdom of invasion. This aggravated his allies and when an invasion did happen he was left to his fate.

Wang Zhaojun sent away on accident

Diaochan so beautiful the moon would shy away when she looked at it

Foreign invaders ended many dynasties.

Qin Shi Huang began construction of the Great Wall to keep out the Xiongnu, who only vanquished after over 200 years of war

It took Genghis and Kublai 60 years to complete invasion and takeover of China

The Yuan dynasty they established lasted over 200 years.

The last Qing Dynasty, ended partially after a century of aggression and meddling by other imperial powers and is now known as the "Century of humiliation."

However also internal powers also brought down dynasties

without even counting events of 20th century, 4of the 10 bloodiest wars in human history were Chinese civil wars.

Most Chinese dynasties dealt with too many rebellions and revolutions to count

Especially uprisings of the Ming dynasty (1368-1644 CE) The Han (206 BCE-220 CE) and Qing (1636-1911 CE) dynasties

Song dynasty (960-1279 CE) is known by historians as economically prosperous and culturally dynamic but not politically stable

Six rebellions occurred in the Song's first 80 years, the country split in two by 1127, and was overwhelmed by internal unrest for decades on end before finally succumbing to the Mongols.

China's emperors were beset by religious and ethnic independence movements simmering for centuries before boiling over

The Han put down the Red Eyebrow rebellion, faced the Five Pecks of Rice Rebellion, and was then taken down by the Yellow Turbans.

The White Lotus, a political and religious group started during the Song dynasty, helped weaken the Qing before the anti-foreign, anti-imperialist Boxer rebellion ultimately exposed incompetence and the empire fell forever in 1911.

The Tang dynasty's (618-097 CE) Empress Wu Zetian was the only outright female monarch in Chinese history

Became a royal concubine at 14, finagled her way into the position of first consort, then empress consort, then empress dowager, before ruling openly as emperor.

Accomplished this by murdering her own infant daughter and blaming the emperor's wife who she then had killed too

After China was defeated in the First Sino-Japanese War the emperor pursued the Hundred Days of Reform to modernize the country and reshape the government.

The Empress Dowager Cixi disagreed with this and supported a coup against her own son, reversed the reform policies, and took power, ruling from behind a literal screen) until her death in 1908.

Reformist Emperor Wang Bang, only emperor of the ill-fated Xin dynasty (9-23 CE) was killed by a peasant uprising for his efforts.

China's emperors were anointed to lead as the literal Son of Heaven.

Anyone approaching, or approached by, the emperor had to kowtow → prostrate on their knees with their forehead touching the ground.

Emperor had fleet of custom-carriages and personal roads no one else could use

Emperor had own unique first-person pronoun.

The colour yellow had been associated with nobility since the Han but the Ming and Qing made it illegal for anyone else to wear.

Forbidden City consisted of 98 separate buildings, thousands of staff, and was a city functioning on its own

The Mandate of Heaven bestowed on all China's emperors was not a birthright but was earned and could be revoked → if emperors let country fall into poverty and chaos or lose face they were removed by force, frequently by their own generals.

Song dynasty was started by a military coup, then neglected the military and focussed on art but after centuries of fragile peace the empire fell to the Mongols.

There were massive coups involving millions of people and going on for years, like the one led by general An Lushan against the Tang dynasty which lasted eight years and cost up to 36 million lives.

A failed coup against Qin Shi Huang solidified his position as King of Qin, allowing him strength to become the first emperor of a unified China.

Gift-giving (guanxi, meaning relationships/connections) has been widespread in Chinese politics and business

Illicit income in the Ming and Qing dynasties was calculated by University of Missouri to be 14 to 20 times as much as official income.

[lapinmiel]

[Backstory] Felix, the Volturi Guard.

Felix was always a background character. We know his name, his power, how Jane uses her power on him and his position in the Guard.

Have you ever wondered what more he had to offer? Because I did, and here is how Felix’s life was like before becoming a Volturi Guard. 

Note: This post is long.

• Felix was born in the Byzantine Empire under Heraclian Dynasty. The year was 674 and the whole Empire was being succumbed to war. His native town, a little place called Gerolimenas, was in the south of what is now known as Greece. It was a stormy day outside and his older sisters were helping their mother give birth. It was such a hard birth that his mother couldn’t even get up for six days, his father thought that she would die — for this hard birth, he started to detest his son.

• He wasn’t given a name until his mother completely recovered. For the reasons that he “almost killed” his mother, his father left him with his sister for the days when his mother was recovering. After she, named Argentea, held him in her arms for the first, she whispered his name with a melancholic smile on her lips: Felix. For he was the lucky one to be born after seven miscarriages.

• Argentea tried to get his husband, Castinus, to get used to Felix and love him as a son. But Castinus was resistant, he didn’t even want another baby anyway. He was already happy with his three daughters. Even though townsfolk considered their seeds damned for not being able to conceive a boy, he loved his daughters more than his own self.

• Due to his relationship being broken with his father even before he was the age to realize it, Felix never felt at ease when his father was around. He learned walking when he was around nine months old and he would avoid walking to his father. His sisters and mother were so broken by their baby’s behaviour, how could a father be so cruel that his son, who didn’t even know his name, wouldn’t walk to him with excitement and a smile?

• His oldest sister Dominica was really stressed about the whole situation because she felt like if Felix didn’t have a good relationship with their father, he was up to bad luck. So she, the daughter who Castinus admittedly adored the most, started trying to get him and Felix close. She started by putting him into his father’s arms with a lie that she had to get work done. Castinus tried to repel her but Felix was already in his arms. This made him realize that the child, Felix, was just a human baby like they all once were and not a baby-shaped devil. Of course, baby Felix started crying but Castinus managed to calm him down. Still, when Donica came into the room again, he put on a frown and gave Felix away to her. But he wanted to hold him in his arms again so badly.

• Slowly, the sisters started to co-operate and create bonding time for Felix and their father. Dominica would leave Felix with him when she had to go and wash the clothes, Eulali, the middle sister, would ask her father to hold Felix while she cleaned the floors and Marcia would ask her father to help out when she washed Felix. The three worked so hard for them to bond, and their effort materialized when one night Castinus asked Argentea to give Felix to him, he wanted to hug him while they slept together. In the morning, when the sisters found out what happened, Eulali shed a couple of tears as the most emotional one. Finally, their family was free of unnecessary tension.

• Deep down Castinus knew that Felix wasn’t the cause of his wife’s hard labour. But he felt bad for trying six times to conceive a boy only for him to almost kill his mother. Castinus felt responsible for it didn’t know how to deal with the agony. As a result, he directed his anger to Felix. Fortunately, their relationship normalized before Felix was two.

• Their family was a warm and intimate one. They would often go on picnics. Castinus always made sure to make flower crowns for his gorgeous wife and beautiful girls when he returned home from work. They weren’t low class either, as a result, they could spend a lot of time together. Felix learned how to identify certain herbs and flowers, fish, cook and sing from his family. His oldest sister Dominica was particularly fond of her little brother and she would always try and steal others’ times with Felix. She would try and teach him how to talk and make people laugh.

• Felix was already by the time he was one, he was a very energetic child. He would run around the house for the whole day. Eulalia liked to play games with him but would get exhausted quickly. She would sit in the middle of the wheat fields they had in the back garden of their house and watch Felix rum through the wheat. Every few minutes, Felix would smile widely and kiss his sister on her cheeks. He loved his family dearly. Even as a child, he was genuinely good at showing his emotions.

• While his energy was never-ending, he had trouble talking. He didn’t say a single word until he was seven. The family thought that something was wrong with him. Castinus even had a couple of physicians check if something was going on but everything was alright. Five days after turning seven, he said his first words in a more than perfect way: he wanted his family to make him a flower crown.

• Somehow, Castinus never made him a crown and he was more than sad about it. Right after his words, Castinus went out, picked the flowers and placed a pink and blue flower crown on his little head. Felix, of course, started to run around happily.

• Even as a human child, Felix was extraordinarily strong and big. Other children who were around his age were more than seven inches shorter than him. He could pick up a large sack of wheat from their little barn and bring them to their kitchen. The first time he did it, Argantea was in the garden with her friend Cervella. The women’s eyes sparkled so brightly that Argantea knew someone was coming. Shortly after while she was leaving, Cervella suggested her to send Felix to Antiocheia so that he could become a noble fighter. Argantea kindly smiled and thanked her for finding her son so strong to advise her on such a matter like this, and said that she would think about it.

• She never did. She wasn’t sending her son over the sea to become a warrior. A gladiator. But Felix had already heard what Argantea was talking about and that night, demanded his father to make a sword for him so that he could be like noble warriors. Castinus couldn’t understand where that sudden request came from, but after Argantea told her about what happened with Cervella, and unexpectedly he thought that it was a good idea.

Cervella’s words made little Felix dream about going overseas and having adventures. This dream eventually died when his mother had an argument with his father about his education but Felix never stopped dreaming.

• It took an excessive amount of using persıave skills for Argantea to dissuade her husband of the idea of sending their son to Antiocheia. He seemed to drop the matter since he didn’t want to make his beloved wife sad but had another plan.

• A month later, a relative arrived from the other side of the sea. He was a strong, mountain-like man with muscles so big that Felix’s eyes almost came out of their sockets out of astonishment with them when he first saw him. He was the self-claimed mighty Theophanes, a gladiator and a distant relative of Castinus.

• The family didn’t know but Castinus had bribed him to come to Gerolimenas and teach the young and eager Felix the art of fighting. He, being a failed warrior who was seen as inferior by his peers, gladly accepted the offer and made his way to the town quickly. Castinus thought that he was a good warrior that took down hundreds but in reality, Theophanes was nothing more than a low-middle class warrior who was despised.

• Argantea was more than relieved to welcome Theophanes into their home. She was happy that her son wasn’t going away. At the same time, Felix’s wish was coming true. He was going to learn how to fight and be liked by the big guys. His frame and physical abilities were already superior to other children, it was just a matter of time before he was scouted by palace guards and taken away to get educated. Argantea knew it already.

• They started training right away. Felix was, as expected, unusually talented with anything that required physical force. He would handle the sword Theophanes gave to him so strongly that it wouldn’t even move a half an inch without his will. He would yield the shield he was given so well that Theophanes’s sword strikes couldn’t stand a chance. He wouldn’t even slip. It was when Castinus and the whole family realized that Felix was born to be a warrior. How he moved, how he held the sword, how he threw spears and how self-confident he was while doing all these things mesmerized everyone. Slowly, Argantea warmed against the idea of him going away.

• There was no need. It hadn’t even been a year before Felix started to out-performance Theophanes. He wouldn’t lose, he wouldn’t fall. Theophanes was more than angry about this. He hadn’t thought about teaching a child only for him to be better than him. He was irritated but as he was being paid, he stayed silent.

• People would see Felix and his teacher practicing in the fields. Townsfolk slowly started to show interest in them. They were a big, muscular man and a little child who won against him, the situation created a natural attraction. Day after day, more people would come and watch them. Naturally, Theophanes started being harsher on Felix to prove that he was still the better one. It was a childish fight and he couldn’t even dominate over Felix.

• Until the day when he abruptly unshielded him, kicking him and making him fall to the ground. He drew his swords to the air as if he was going to strike Felix, who was more than scared about what was happening. It was only when Theophanes realized how pitiful of him to kill a child. He stopped. Felix got off the ground. He didn’t run away but he had fury in his eyes.

• That night, Castinus forbid Felix to ever combat with Theophanes ever again when he heard the news. He was quick to tell Theophanes to leave the city too but of course, he didn’t leave.

• After that night, he started practicing alone in their garden. His father would allow him to use sacks of wheat or sand as targets. Regardless of having a real competitor or not, he was still showing progress.

• So much that when he reached age twelve, his fame had reached the other towns around his own and warriors come to offer fights. He would never accept because his mother didn’t allow him to fight. He was already a known warrior by then but never did anything that her mother said no to. He was still a child anyway.

• Up until seventeen, his days revolved around practicing, reading, helping his mother and sisters. Knowing that one day he would become a soldier or something similar, his father didn’t allow him to find a job so that he could spend more time with his family before going away. Felix was growing up rather peaceful beside his hobby. He and his sisters were still helping squirrels that fell from the trees, they would still feed stray cats. Felix was taking care of a stray cat that he named Magnilis, which was a mixture of words “big” and “eyes”. The cat would sleep under the tree where Felix would practice with a wheat sack. Unbothered, she would only wake up when she smelled food.

Growing up with four women, he wasn’t the typical “manly man” of his time. The men were expected to be tough, agressive and leading during his human life. Of course, he had those qualities and would easily show how he had all the qualities of a future warrior but regardless, he preferred to be as calm as his sisters. He was aware that even as a child, he had ambitions, but at the same time, liked spending time in the nature and living smoothly.

• He was good at singing too. He was so good that when Dominica married, he sang a song for her when she was leaving the house. She would never return to her home again, but they weren’t aware of that yet.

• Dominica got pregnant right after her wedding. It was good news, a two-day celebration took place in the household. Six months later, Dominica died during birth. The child, who was a little baby girl, was early and took her mom with her to the other side. It wasn’t an uncommon thing to happen during that time but even though they were ready for bad things, they couldn’t handle it well. It took months for the remaining sisters and Felix to stop sleeping in her old bed in their house. The sound of cries echoed through their home and no one would say a thing about anything.

• Months later, something got revealed that made the whole family furious. As confessed by the maid in Dominica’s home, a lover of her husband had poisoned her, resulting in her death. The family was quicky to find the lover and made her confess. Later, without giving her away to the local judge, they got rid of her. It was the first time Felix had ever shown serious rage. If he wasn’t holding himself, he would’ve ripped the woman’s head off with his bare hands. It was the price she would pay for murdering an innocent woman.

• He didn't realize what he had done was a horrible act. He didn't even feel pity for the maid, he felt absolutely nothing while killing her except the sweet sense of revenge. His mother, however, felt scared. The acts of her son scared him for the first time. 

That was when she realized that Felix was more than just a calm, light-hearted, witty, energetic child of hers — he had wrath in him that waited to combust at any given time. 

• Weeks later, two soldiers came to their house. Argantea realized what was about to happen, but it was his fate anyway and no effort could stop it. The soldiers announced that Felix was to come with them to Constantinople, to be trained as a royal guard for his Majesty.

• It wasn’t what Argantea sensed at all. As a result, she got honestly happy for her son because they weren’t taking him away to punish him but to reward him as a royal guard. He was already eighteen and it was unusual to be taken into the palace that old but Felix was exceptional, and the royal guards had no reason to not recruit such a talented warrior.

• As it was the lesser good, but good anyway. He joined the soldier right away, leaving his family with tears and long hugs. It wasn’t the last time he would see them, but the last time he would see them alive.

• Felix joined the royal guard after being examined. As expected, he was exceptional: he performed so well that the juries didn’t even put him in education for a day. The night before he was a boy, and in the morning, he was a guard, protecting his Majesty. Felix had never seen a royal before, he had a lot of reasons to be excited. He couldn’t sleep the night before being officially recruited. He kept turning in his bed to the point that the men with who he shared the room woke up. He pretended to be asleep, and it didn’t take long for him to fall asleep due to staying as still as a stone. That night, he saw a glorious armour being made, with golden and silver, it had blood on it.

He got used to the guard life easily. Unbeknownst to him, he had a talent for blending in co-operating. He started to rise ranks quickly, most of the guard admired and envied him at the same time.

• Years passed by like a flooded river. He couldn’t catch up with days, and eventually, he started to miss home. How his life contrasted the one he lived now, how he spent time with his sisters, his mother would cook for them and how they would go on hunting with his dad. Those days seemed so old. Even though he loved performing his abilities as a job, he missed living in silence. The feelings and thoughts kept haunting him for months. However, these feelings weren’t coming out of nowhere. He missed his family, yes, but the feelings were enhanced.

• One day, bad news arrived. His hometown had been attacked by foreign raiders. When he heard the news, he prepared for the night and ran away with a horse. He had to kill two other guards to get out. The act of killing would’ve been a night are for him if he was a child but he was grown now and he would kill anybody who messed with anything regarding his family.

• The journey home took weeks. He wouldn’t stop even for a single minute if the horse didn’t need to rest. He was restless. Bad ideas wouldn’t leave his mind. What if his father was killed? What if his sisters were taken away? What about his mother? He couldn’t sleep. He could only believe and those breaths were fueled by pure rage. The rage he would carry to his other life.

• When he arrived at his home’s doorstep, what happened was already obvious: the door was broken and the walls were covered with black soot.

• For one time in his life, he didn’t cry even though his whole body shook with anguish: he directed it outside as an embodiment of another feeling that he was already familiar with — wrath. He drove his sword and stroke anywhere he could see. The walls, torn pillows, vases, glasses... He couldn’t see. He couldn’t feel. His heart was beating to burn his body from inside to outside, to kill the feeling of being lost and having lost everything. No one was left now. No one was breathing. They couldn’t see happy days anymore, they couldn’t go out to pick flowers anymore. They couldn’t live anymore.

• He found their burnt bodies in their little barb. Without understanding why he sensed that they’d tried to hide in there hoping that they wouldn’t be found. But now they were there’ burned to death.

• He laid on the entrance of the barn for two days. He cried, screamed, punched the ground. No one would answer. Almost everyone in the city was dead anyway. Then he got angry with the king for not protecting the city. He hated that he was serving him. He hated that he’d willingly went to protect the king. He hated that he’d started as a child which eventually led him to go away from his family.

• When he got up to leave, without having a route to follow, a man approached him. It was a chilly evening when Felix saw the man, he felt a nervous feeling go down his spine.

• The man had an indulgent expression on his face. Wearing a light grey cloak, he seemed like he knew what he was doing.

• He asked Felix how he was doing. When he tried to answer that he was leaving, he asked again, what he was doing.

• Then it dawned on Felix. He wasn’t doing anything anymore. He wouldn’t return to the palace. He didn’t have a home. He didn’t know anyone. He didn’t have a job to do. He was lost and alone in the whole world.

• Right then, the man asked him to join him. He didn’t say much but made it obvious that he was a powerful man with a large following and an established system of community.

• Felix’s thought about it for a couple of minutes. Then he realized that if his family weren’t alive, there was no point in living a happy life. He was just so, so badly loved his family that his whole will to live disappeared. His breaths felt as if he was inhaling fire. Indeed, he was breathing the smell of his burnt family and home.

• He declined the offer. But the man, determined to persuade him into joining his family, asked him again. This time, demanding him to think thoroughly.

• With a sudden but deep change in his feeling that felt like rising of the seas and swallowing the coasts, he felt his feelings of refusal changed slowly, but irreversibly. Suddenly, the feeling of living for a cause filled him.

• He looked at the face of the man. With eyes black as the night, the man had a sly smile on his face. The answer of acceptance came out of Felix’s mouth with a raucous tone.

It was Charmion, but yet to know about the realities of a world existing without regular people knowing, he couldn’t question his feelings. The change seemed natural to him.

• Then, without being able to tell what’d happened, he felt a burning sensation in his neck. Then, he felt it on his wrist. Suddenly he felt like his eyes went blind and he couldn’t feel anything other than the horrible, horrid feeling of being burned alive. He lost all his senses except pain.

• After the days that felt like an eternity to him, he woke up. He didn’t rise up from his bed with a peaceful mind, he went feral. He literally jumped out of his bed and as he didn’t know how to control his newly gained powers, he accidentally slammed himself to the wall beside the bed he was laying on. Suddenly, he felt like his body was chained onto the wall. It was the power of another guard, Malte, that paralyzed him right there and then to stop him from damaging himself or the things around him.

• He was then taken to the presence of three men. They introduced themselves as Aro, Marcus and Caius. Informing Felix of what he was now and what he was assigned to do, they dismissed him to be taught of the history and laws of Volturi and vampires, the species that he now belonged to.

They’d chosen him for the strength they’ve never seen in anyone before that he possessed.

• He had never seen, heard or imagined such a thing before. The things he was told sounded like fairy tales. Somehow, he couldn’t believe that he now had the eternity to live. He couldn’t understand how he stayed calm and content either because the last emotion he experienced as a human was grief. He was confused. Nevertheless, he felt happiness. Because at least, he was assigned to do what he loved doing and he wouldn’t have to worry about dying or losing anyone anymore. He was staying for the eternity.

[codenamewitcher]

Betrayal || The Mandalorian x reader

A/N: So I was doing a deep dive on Wookiepedia and I came across Darth Traya's page and found this quote: "Know that there was once a Darth Traya. And that she cast aside that role, was exiled, and found a new purpose. But there must always be a Darth Traya, one that holds the knowledge of betrayal. Who has been betrayed in their heart, and will betray in turn." and it gave me an idea for this fic so here we are. Also I don't know if this will be a oneshot or a series, I left it where if I decide to make it multiple parts I can do that, but if I don't it's able to stand alone. But if I do make it into a series and you want to be tagged, let me know!

This is my first Star Wars based fanfic, so I hope that y'all like it, and thank you for taking the time to read this!

Pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x force sensitive!reader ; Din Djarin x ex-Empire!reader ; Din Djarin x F!Reader

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, cursing, a little angsty

Song: Start - Ellie Goulding, serpentwithfeet

Betrayal is like playing with fire, you're just asking for the betrayed to turn around and bite you right back. My Jedi Master was playing with it when he handed me over to the Empire in order to gain a higher ranking within the hierarchy. Shortly after I was tortured by Darth Sidious who promised the safety of my family if I pledged my loyalty to the Galactic Empire, and I did. I didn't hold onto much hope for the Jedi's to come save me once I first got captured because I knew that the moment one started going to the dark side, they would never fully be light again. And it angered me that they gave up on me because going to the dark side was never much of a choice I had, because every time I showed any form of resistance in going dark, Sidious had no problem dragging my sister in and causing her some type of pain until I did what he said.

For 6 years, I served the Empire as a flight commander, doing things that I didn't want to do, nor I am proud of. Starting on my seventh year, a year before the Battle of Endor, Sidious failed to uphold his end of the deal and killed my family. He blamed it on the Rebellion, but I didn't believe him because I knew his handy work along with the Rebellion's, and all the signs pointed to him. So, with nothing or no one no longer holding me back, I began to feed the Rebellion any information I held on the Empire. I continued to stay with the Empire during that time, taking enjoyment in watching as every information leak chipped away at the Empire, but also waiting for the prefect moment to enact my revenge which ended up being during that fateful battle. I didn't go after Sidious; I knew what battles were and weren't mine. During that last year I also rekindled the relationship I once held with my old Jedi Master and in the time of that battle, I killed him. I would be lying if I said it didn't hurt when I did, but his betrayal hurt more.

Afterwards I finally left the Empire and spent the last five years hunting down ex-Imperial officers and saving innocents from their grasp, doing what was never done for me. Which that path lead me here on Nevarro standing face-to-face, blaster-to-blaster with a Mandalorian, the only thing preventing me from shooting him was the shiny, new beskar armor that gave me an idea on exactly who he was and what he did. I knew using the force was always an option but that came with consequences, like remnants of the Empire finding out that I was still alive; I worked hard on keeping my identity a secret. I've only ever used it when I found myself in life-threatening situations where everything else failed, the same goes for the light saber that sat at my waist, hidden by the cloak I wore.

"So, you're the bounty hunter who handed the child over." I state, breaking the tense silence between us. "Do you have any idea on what you've done?"

The Mandalorian's body tensed up further than it already was, and his body shifted in the slightest, he was trying to contain whatever anger he held under his armor.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" His modulated voice snapped.

"Fixing your mistake. What are you doing here?" I ignored the other question, not wanting to give him my name.

"Fixing my mistake." He grunted, I was a little shocked with him admitting that, most of the people I know and have come across, refuse to take responsibly for their mistakes.

Before I could get another word in, a stormtooper walked into the hall we were in. The Mandalorian turned and shoot him down while I took that as my chance to shoot the electronic panel to the door adjacent to me. I could feel the child in there through the force, which I also used to keep tabs on the Mandalorian behind me, not trusting him one bit. As the door slid open, I had enough time to avoid a blaster shot, which hit the Mandorlian's armor, and quickly shoot down the offending stormtrooper. I turned the corner to find Imperial Doctor Pershing standing next to a operating table that had the child strapped down on. I raised my blaster, aiming it at Perching's head while the Mandalorian stepped up next to me aiming his on the machine hooked onto the ceiling about to perform a task on the child. I could feel that there was an unspoken understanding between the two of us to protect the child, but I still didn't trust him because I knew the moment we got out of this, we were going to get into a fight on who takes the child.

"No, no, no, please." Pershing begged as he held up a hand in the air, surrendering. The Mandalorian shot down the machine while I stepped forward to Perching. "No, no, please, don't hurt him, he's just a child."

An icy like feeling spread throughout my veins as I looked at the Doctor and anger begun boiling its way up through my body as I grabbed Pershing by the collar and threw him up against the wall, my blaster lodging itself underneath his chin. 

"Please."

"Shut up." I hissed but before I could say anything else, the Mandalorian spoke up.

"What did you do to it?" Pershing started his rumblings again but the Mandalorian cut him off. "What did you do to it?"

"I-I'm protecting him, I'm protecting him. If it wasn't for me, he would've already been dead, please." With that, I let go of him and he crumpled to the floor, before I could step away, he looked up and seen my face under the hood, by the widening of his eyes and how he tried to back himself further away from me but couldn't due to the wall, I knew he recognized who I was. "I'm so sorry about what I helped him do to your family, I'm trying to m-"

Without hesitation I grabbed his head and brought it down on my knee, knocking him out and breaking his nose. It took every bit of self-restraint I held to keep from killing the doctor, the broken nose and concussion would be considered a mercy if I'd let myself go on a full rampage. I turned around to find the Mandalorian looking at me, the child cradled in his left arm, his blaster was still in his hand but was pointed at the floor. I knew he was suspicious of me by his grip on the blaster, ready to be raised, aimed, and fired whenever.

It didn't take but a second for me to notice the stormtrooper quietly coming up behind the Mandalorian ready to shoot him, but I was quick in my actions of slightly pushing him out of the way and shooting the trooper down.

"We need to go."

"You're not coming with me." The Mandalorian walked ahead of me out to the hallway, the child still tucked in his arm. I let out a snort and followed him.

"You think I'm leaving you alone with the child?" I asked, after we shot down two more troopers, he turned to look at me. I felt another stormtrooper headed in my direction, so I turned around and raised my blaster. Just as the door slid open, not giving the trooper a chance, I fired my weapon, knocking him back and killing him.

I turned back to the Mandalorian but didn't get the chance to figure out what he was going to say back because three other doors leading into the room we were in opened and stormtroopers started walking in.

"Freeze!" 

"Don't move!"

My back came in contact with the Mandalorian's as eight stormtroopers in total filed into the room.

"Hands up! Drop the blaster!" The Mandalorian and I hold our hands up, blasters dangling from our fingers.

"Wait. What I'm holding is very valuable." I feel the Mandalorian start to kneel behind me. "Here."

I continued standing, internally weighting my options. I could easily take all of them out with the force, but if I did that, the remains of the Empire would know I'm still alive and would hunt me down. I also knew that if I allowed myself and the child to be captured, the Empire would torture us to death, and I was not going back to the Empire. But then again there's the fact that Pershing seen my face and that Jedi were the enemies of Mandalorians.

But he's protecting the child, surely, he knows.

"Drop your blaster and get down." A trooper in front of me yells, taking a step closer to me.

I take a deep breath and slowly start to lower myself down, I hear the child whimper, and I just as I was about to make my decision to use the force, I heard the slight sound of one of the Mandalorian's vambrace weapons lock into place. I froze, dropping my blaster to the floor, knowing that whatever the Mandalorian was about to do, I did not want to move and become a target.

"Stand up." Then whatever weapon he charged up was released, a whistling sound followed thin projectiles that blew up when they found their mark. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding after the troopers were down and there was no longer a sign of immediate danger coming from the Mandalorian's vambrace. I felt him move behind me and him pick up his blaster, I followed suit, and followed him out onto the street. 

It was quiet between the two of us as we walked down the street, the townspeople and visitors watching our every move made my skin crawl, their stares making me feel restless and like a caged animal. I eventually felt a few people following us and could barely hear the quiet beeping of a tracking fob.

"We're being followed." I whispered as we entered the town square.

"I know." The Mandalorian muttered back, we slowly came to a stop in the middle of the square as armed bounty hunters surrounded us, blasters trained directly on the two of us. A man walked out and blocked the town exit, and by the looks of it, he was a dealer for the bounty hunters.

"Welcome back, Mando!" His right hand moved to his hip, grabbing the handle of his blaster, but not yet taking it out of its holster. "Now put the package down." 

Anxiety crawled its way up my throat and in my mind, there was no way I could take this many people down using the force, it would leave me too exhausted. Despite spending years under Sidious' rule, being trapped like this never sat right with me, it brought back way too memories that needed to stay buried deep within my subconscious.

I took deep breaths in and out trying to keep the anxiety at bay, knowing that I could lose control if I didn't calm the hell down.

"Step aside, we're going to my ship." The Mandalorian spoke beside me, I was a little surprised at the mention of ‘we’.

The bounty hunter smiled. "You put the bounty down and perhaps I'll let you pass."

"The kid's coming with me."

"If you truly care about the kid, then you'll put it on the speeder, and we'll discuss terms."

The Mandalorian turned his head to look at the speeder next to me, the labor droid beeping under the Mandalorian's stare.

"How do I know I can trust you?" I tensed; he wasn't going to give the kid up, right?

"Don't do it." I lowly hissed. The familiar feeling of betrayal started to set in and I froze yet again. What the hell was wrong with me, I haven't even known the Mandalorian for 30 minutes and I allowed myself to trust that he would protect the kid?

"Because I'm your only hope." The bounty hunter states, not at all seeming fazed by this predicament. 

The Mandalorian walked past me but stopped at the edge of the speeders trailer, looking down at the child.

That son of a bitch. 

Anger started to regain its grasp on me and started to drown out the anxiety with the pounding of my heart being heard in my ears and my blood beginning to boil. It became clearer to me today that no matter how hard I try, the anger I held while I was the commander I once was still lived within me despite hating that part of myself, never wanting to be like that, and trying everything to destroy that part of me. But somethings from the past carry themselves with you to the present and this just so happens to be one of those things.

I also knew this anger wasn't just towards the Mandalorian, but towards myself, everyone who had their blasters pointed at me and the child, and at the makers of this galaxy for letting it be like this. I'm so sick and tired of being fucked with and having my hand forced into things I did not want to do. But I knew before I did anything drastic, I needed to wait for the Mandalorian to put the child down so I curled my free hand into a fist, nails biting into my palms skin, but the sting was a welcomed feeling.

The Mandalorian turn his head to look back at me, taking note of my anger, and then he did the unexpected by grabbing his blaster and shooting a hunter. He was quick in hooking his elbow around my arm and throwing all three of us in the speeder. My back hit the bottom of the spender, knocking the wind and anger out of me and causing black spots to cloud my vision. Blaster bolts bounced off the speeder while the Mandalorian point his gun at the droid, yelling at it to drive. I gasped for air, panic settling once again because I couldn't breathe, and my arms were not doing what they were told. It felt like hours, but I knew it was only seconds when I finally regained my breathing.

The speeder begun moving as the Mandalorian started shooting at the hunters. Once I regained function over my body, I fumbled for my blaster, and aided the Mandalorian in shooting down bounty hunters.

Oh, how I'm going to kill that fucking tin can once we make it out of this.

We'd made it a great distance towards the exit before someone shot the droid, causing the speeder to stop abruptly and send me and the Mandalorian flying into some of the barrels on the speeder.

I gritted my teeth in pain as the Mandalorian slowly grabbed the sniper rifle and aimed it up at one of the roofs. He fired the weapon, the target being reduced to ashes, killing him, and then aimed at another. I let him do his thing as I slowly moved my body away from the edge of the barrel digging into my back. I finally reached for and grabbed my spare blaster once I got away from the offending barrel and begun taking out hunters that had yet to scatter in fear of the rifle. 

"That's one impressive weapon." The bounty dealer yelled out.

The Mandalorian and I stopped, and he turned his head in the direction of the bounty dealer's voice. 

"Here's what I'll do. We're going to walk to my ship with the kid and you're gonna let it happen."

I clenched my fist again; the anger crept its way back in. I knew, even though I didn't know the bounty dealer, I knew the he wasn't going to back down, and let us walk away like the Mandalorian suggested. The next thing he said proved my suspicions right. 

"No. How about this." I nudged the Mandaloria's foot with my own, gaining his attention, pointing around us at the hunters I just noticed creeping up on us. He nodded his head in return and turned back to his rifle. "We take the kid, and if you and that that girl try to stop us, we kill both of you and we strip your body for parts."

The Mandalorian kicked the barrel out besides me, causing it fly into a hunter who he then electrocuted with his rifle. He got back down to reload his weapon and I shot up shooting down some more hunters. Behind me I heard the Mandalorian get back up and shot out with the flamethrower in his vambrace. It didn't take long for it to run out of gas and the two of us were back down again, taking cover.

He looked down at the kid, I could tell defeat was settling in. As I watched the two, I couldn't help from being reminded of my family, and I knew right then that this child could not, whatsoever, go back to the Empire's grasp even if it meant I went back.

"Do you know about the powers the child holds?" I decided to ask him, knowing that this would either end up in me using the force or us being dead and the kid taken if I didn't do something. He looks up at me and nods his head in the slightest. "I have the same powers; I'll be able to hold them back long enough for you to get to your ship with the kid and leave."

His body froze at my confession. "That's why you came, you're like the kid."

"Yes."

"Then why haven't you used it yet?" There was a hint of anger in his voice, but I didn't blame him, I had him believing I was just an ordinary human being.

"Because with what I'll have to do, it'll exhaust and weaken me, and I would just hold you back. So, I must know that you can make it out with the child, and that you don't move until I go down because I can possibly take you down too."

The Mandalorian nods his head in understanding.

"Okay." I close my eyes and took a deep breath in, remembering the fear I felt with Sidious' torture, the pain of being betrayed by my Jedi Master, the Jedi turning their back on me because I was considered too far gone in the dark side even though it was never my choice, and then the anger of having my hand forced, Sidious killing my family, and how the Empire continued in wanting to hurt innocent people and the child. I held that breath in as I got up, letting those emotions settle, and when I'm finally to my feet, I exhale, letting all of those emotions out into a pulse of force. It knocked everyone on the ground back, some hunters flying into walls, object being knocked into some more, and others just falling on their backs, getting the wind knocked out of them. The only area that wasn't hit was the area of the speeder and the hunters on the roof.

After the release of energy, I couldn't keep from my knees going out beneath me, but before I hit the hard metal of the speeder, the Mandalorian caught me and gently laid me down. Why wasn't he going?

"Go." I whispered out, I was so mentally and physically drained that it took a lot of effort into saying that single word. He nodded and picked up the kid, cradling him in his arms once again, blaster in his other hand.

Before he got the chance to stand up and jump out of the cart, a flare shot across the sky and hit a roof with a hunter on it. My eyes started to burn with unshed tears at the sound of more blasters being fired, I couldn't see anything that was going to on out there, but it didn't sound good. I wanted to cry in frustration, my own hope of the child getting out drained out of my body. 

"Get out of here! We'll hold them off." A modulated voice spoke that was not the Mandalorian's voice in front of me. 

There was more of them?

"You're going to have to relocate the covert." The Mandalorian spoke to someone off to the side.

"This is the Way." The other voice spoke, the Mandalorian repeated the phase back. 

Out of the corner of my eye I watched as the Mandalorian moved over to me and placed the kid in my arms.

"Hold onto him." It took everything in me to wrap my arms around the creature, but I held onto him as the Mandalorian picked me up in his arms and got out of the speeder. Over his shoulder I seen the hunters that had ran off when the Mandalorian got out his rifle were back and more Mandalorians out on the field firing back at them.

The Mandalorian ran with me and the child in his arms up to his ship, which we surprisingly made it to without running into anyone. He walked up the ramp of his ship and right as soon as he sat me and the child down on the floor and against a wall, our momentary luck ran out.

"Hold it, Mando." The bounty dealer said as he claimed down from some compartment within the Mandalorian's ship, the dealer had his blaster trained on the Mandalorian's back. He slowly stood up and turned to face the man. "I didn't want it to come to this, but then you broke the Code."

The Mandalorian's head glanced to his side and then he shot out a whipcord at a control panel, causing the compartment to fill up with steam. I held the child close to me as the bounty dealer blindly shot into the steam in which the Mandalorian disappeared in. Then, out of nowhere, he shot his blaster and hit the dealer in the chest, knocking him down.

The Mandalorian wasted no time in kicking his body down the ramp and the pulling the ramp back up. He walked back through the ship and as he pasted by to go up to what I assumed was the cockpit, he told me to stay put - like I could go anywhere anyways.

Shortly after, the ship started to take off.

The child cooed, I looked down at him to find a green hand reaching up towards my face. I reached one of my own hands up and grabbed his, smiling down at him, as his three little fingers wrapped around my thumb, melting my heart in the process.

"You know, I once knew someone that was like you. I wish I knew where he came from so, I could take you back to your family, but sadly I don't." The child cooed once again.

I heard the clank of the Mandalorian's boots before I seen him, he walked over to me and the child, squatting down and reaching his hand out to the child, a small metal ball in his hand. He dropped it in the child's outreached hand.

"We're in hyperspace now." He finally spoke as he sat down on the floor, watching the child play with the ball while continuing to hold onto my thumb. A smile found its way to my lips as a thought crossed my mind.

"I thought you said I wasn't coming with you." I joked, the Mandalorian shook his head. 

"That's was before you admitted to having the same power as the kid."

"So, you kidnapped me." I hummed and he snorted at that remark.

"You seemed pretty reluctant on going wherever the child went." I leaned my head back, closing my eyes as I let out a soft chuckle at his remark.

"You know both me and the child will but hunted down now, right?" 

"I know."

I wanted to make another comment but the adrenaline from the fight was gone, and exhaustion was pulling me into its deep, dark depths that I couldn't formulate any sentences in my hand and mouth did not want to open. The last thing I heard was the child's coos before sleep pulled me under.

— ‡ —

If you want to check out my other works, my masterlist is in my bio, tumblr’s tagging system messes up when I link stuff.

[aquadestinyswriting]

New WIP Series- The Wizard's Tale

I've decided to write a series of works that will cover Selene's story as Grand Magus of Toreguarde from the moment that she realises that the Seal beneath her tower is failing until Ragnarok is averted. This way I can tell her side of the story without having to link absolutely every detail over the course of those three years into one single work. Think of it as a kind of highlights reel of her life during this time. Most works will be standalone, but one or two will need to be multi-chapter. While I may not post them in chronological order, please be assured that I will link each one in the order they are meant to be read on this post as and when I upload each one (and this post will be linked onto my Masterpost for ease of access).

Genres- High Fantasy, drama,

Themes-  Power and corruption, vulnerability, fate and free will, relationships (both romantic and platonic), mental health, politics, betrayal of trust, grief, guilt, growth

Synopsis-  Selene Frigidwake is the Grand Magus of the city of Toreguarde, the jewel in the crown of the Drakemarie Empire. Considered one of the greatest wizards of her age, she has left the adventuring life far behind to play politics with a greedy and corrupt city council instead. Not exactly the life she had been hoping to lead after defeating the demonic armies ten years ago, but she's managed. Unfortunately, the failure of the Seal beneath the wizard's tower starts a chain of events that threaten everything she holds dear. Unable to act due to the Edict put in place by Toreguarde's City Council, she can only watch from the sidelines and hope that her guidance will be enough to allow those who now follow in her footsteps to succeed.

Main Characters

Selene Frigidwake: Grand Magus of Toregaurde and the one whose story we'll be following. A wizard of the twentieth level, her profile is to be found here.

Thazaar Clayrmantle: Selene's Second and the one who takes over the duties of Grand Magus when Selene is out of the city or unable to perform her duties for any reason. A half elf with tanned skin and bright red hair, Thazaar is a kindly man, who takes care of the more mundane, day-to-day running of the wizard's tower

Thaddeus Darkmantle: Head of Academics and a dour and somewhat cynical man. As his title suggests, he takes care of the members of the wizard's tower who are responsible for teaching those who are interested in becoming apprentice wizards. He is also technically in charge of the Arcane Library, but rarely does anything in there because he is more than aware of Selene's background as a certified Arcane Librarian (and the fact that she'd rather take care of the place herself).

Dwena Diamondust: Dwena is in charge of the tower's magical defences and security. Her Planeshifter abilities ensure that she can appear from seemingly nowhere whenever and wherever required. She also helped to design the interior of the tower, ensuring that, by using portals, everything that was required could easily fit into the available space. Dwena has also taken it upon herself to act as Selene's Personal Assistant, keeping an eye on the Grand Magus and making sure that she isn't taking on too much all at once (as she is prone to do at times).

Reginald Schreiber: Toreguarde's Chancellor from its inception until his untimely death*. He is responsible for looking out for the financial interests of the city's nobles and trade guilds and does so with vim and vigour. Unfortunately, as with any career politician, Lord Schreiber is prone to being rather.... single-minded in his aspirations. Sincerely disliked by both Selene and General Strucker, he is not known for following the spirit of Toreguarde's laws unless it suits him, especially when it comes to the Edict banning the remaining Heroes of Toreguarde from acting in the city's defence without prior authorisation by both the full City Council and Lord Drakemar's vassal.

Edwin Goodwin: Originally the Abouna (or High Priest) of the Temple of Galana within Fangthane, he came to Toreguarde to minister the temple there instead when the dwarves of Fangthane declared an official Grudge against Toreguarde due to events outwith his control. His full profile is here.

Minor Characters

Elowyn O'Toreguarde: Selene's 'niece', unofficially adopted as part of the Grand Magus' found family during the Demon Wars ten years prior. A Watchperson turned Paladin who has been sent off by 'Destiny' to save the world, following in the footsteps of both her mentor and Selene herself, despite the latter wishing it were otherwise.

Egrim Shiverstaff: The original Abouna of Toreguarde's Temple of Galana. An old adventuring partner of Selene's and one of the Heroes of Toreguarde who has a statue in the central plaza. He is a kind and gentle dwarf, who is more than happy to offer up a cup of something and a willing ear when Selene needs to let off some much-needed steam.

*please note severe sarcasm.

Tag list (dm for +/-): @druidx, @strosmkai-rum, @homesteadchronicles

Stories

The Failing of the Seal (Multiple Chapters)

The Guardian’s Dilemma

A Letter to You

To Heal A Broken Soul (Multiple chapters)

Confessions of a Troubled Heart

[reallifesultanas]

Portrait of Mehmed III / III. Mehmed portréja

Origin and childhood

Mehmed was born in May 1566 as the great-grandson of Sultan Suleiman I, and as the first-born son of later Mehmed III and his favorite concubine, Safiye. At his birth, the statesmen were quite worried about the future of the dynasty, for in the autumn of 1566 Sultan Suleiman died and was followed by his son Selim, whose only one heir was Murad and infant Mehmed. Because of this, the sultan himself was eventually forced to produce sons. However, Mehmed was not left without brothers for long either. His half-brother Selim followed him in 1567 and then his full-brother Mahmud in 1569.

Mehmed's childhood was fairly calm, his father being the only true heir to the empire, so they did not have to worry about strife. Mehmed and his siblings lived in peace with their parents in Manisa until 1574. Then in 1574 Sultan Selim passed away and Mehmed's father ascended the throne. With this, the life of the family turned upside down as they soon moved to Istanbul. There Mehmed's life was complicated by the power struggle between his mother, Safiye, and his grandmother, Nurbanu Sultan. This struggle may have only subsided for a few months when they mourned Prince Mahmud, who died in 1580.

In 1582, at the age of 16, a huge circumcision ceremony was held for the prince, organized by his aunt, Esmehan Sultan. The circumcision was performed by Cerrah Mehmed Pasha, who was the husband of Mehmed’s other aunt, Gevherhan. Maybe just after the circumcision, maybe even earlier, Mehmed got very close to Gevherhan and her husband. Perhaps the balanced couple brought some consolation to Mehmed’s life, who, being a sensitive soul, was certainly worn out by the political struggle in the harem.

Deterioration of his relationship with his father

Mehmed was extremely committed to his mother, so he defended Safiye with his full heart in her fight with Nurbanu. However, Sultan Murad was at least as committed to his own mother as Mehmed, so it was only a matter of time before the battle between the two women would destroy the relationship between the sultan and Mehmed also. Soon Safiye Sultan was exiled to the Old Palace in late 1582, or early 1583, along with her daughters. Mehmed begged his father not to humiliate Safiye for false accusations, but Murad was dismissive.

It is not known whether Mehmed was as angry with his grandmother as he was with his father, but it is certain that his grandmother tried to protect Mehmed. Nurbanu was already very ill by 1583, but she spent her last months trying to reconcile father and son. To this, she also managed to cover up a huge sin of Mehmed, which would easily cause a death penalty. Mehmed - perhaps to anger his father - had sex with one of his father's concubines, who got pregnant. The princes were forbidden to have sex and procreation until they were given their own province, and sexual intercourse with a member of the sultan’s harem was essentially a betrayal that the prince could have easily lost his life if Murad would found out. However, as soon as Nurbanu learned of the incident, she killed the concubine so that no trace of Mehmed's actions remained.

Mehmed left Istanbul in December 1583 to get his own province. This event usually involves a huge ceremony, with the Sultan personally giving his blessing to his son, escorting him out of the city. Before he left, Mehmed went to his father's usual audience where he asked him to go to the Old Palace together to ask for his mother's blessing before he leaves. And he also said Murad that he should forgive Safiye and marry her to restore her ruined honor. Murad immediately distracted his son and refused to show up for his farewell either. With this, Murad was the first sultan ever, who did not appear when his son left the capital. Mehmed was still stationed in the suburbs for days, waiting for his father, but Murad did not attend. In the end, on her death-bed, Nurbanu could convince her son to have better insights. The dying valide asked her son to swore that he would not hurt Mehmed and that he would settle his relationship with him.

The young prince

Mehmed certainly left the capital depressed, which was not helped by the fact that extremely cold winter weather was there so that they reached Manisa only by January 1584 with great difficulty. Then finally the prince could start his own life, start building his own circles. When he was circumcised, Mehmed had received plenty of presents, all of which he had taken with him to Manisa. These included several concubines, the most valuable of which he received from Gevherhan Sultan, who gave Mehmed a young Bosnian concubine of her own upbringing. The concubine was named Handan and soon she gave birth to children for Mehmed. Most historians see her as the mother of Mehmed's firstborn child, Prince Selim, who was born in February 1585.

Unfortunately, the princely harem of Mehmed is very poorly documented, so it is not known exactly which children were born from which concubines. Mehmed had two main concubines in Manisa, Handan, and Halime, but it is not certain that all the children came from these two women. Shortly after Prince Selim, a boy named Suleiman was born, but not much is known about him. In 1587/88 another son, Mahmud was born, who was undoubtedly the son of Halime; then he was followed in 1590 by Ahmed, the son of Handan. Most likely, more children were born during the princelyhood of Mehmed, but less is known about them. In addition to his sons, he also had at least three daughters, Hatice certainly from Halime; Ayşe probably from Handan; and his daughter, Şah, maybe from Halime.

But not only the Manisa harem was vivid with the ever-swelling family, great changes took place in Istanbul's harem as well. In 1585 (or sooner) Sultan Murad forgave Mehmed's mother and even married her. Thanks to this, Safiye was always there next to the sultan, so she again had the power to protect her son. Safiye eventually successfully balanced between Sultan Murad and his son, Mehmed, because it seems that the relationship between Murad and Mehmed has stabilized somewhat. However, Murad was afraid of his son for the rest of his life, for Mehmed began to become very popular in the eyes of the soldiers.

His accession to the throne

Murad died in 1595, and Safiye Sultan immediately sent a message to her son to come to Istanbul. An attempt was made to keep the sultan’s death as a secret, as Murad had produced plenty of boys over the past 15 years. True, they were all children, and their mothers did not have any power that could have endangered Mehmed's accession to the throne. Nonetheless, Safiye warned those around her to be careful and instead of sending a vizier to Mehmed with the news, he sent the chief gardener without any particular escorts. However, the news of Murad's death somehow leaked, according to several ambassadors, the situation became very dangerous in the capital, as they feared a rebellion. Dozens of people from the harem were thrown into the sea every night. Safiye and her supporters tried to maintain order and get rid of anyone who could have acted against them until Mehmed arrived.

Finally, Mehmed arrived eleven days later and ascended the throne. His accession to the throne can be considered historic in several ways. For he was the last sultan to ascend the throne, after ruling in a province and gain experience. In addition, the law of fratricide at the time of his accession started to be a dramatic, unnecessary event for the people of Istanbul and the statesmen. This is why the practice happened the last time in an official form at his accession. Upon Mehmed's arrival, he immediately ordered the execution of his younger brothers, during which nineteen princes were torn from their mother's arms and strangled. The next day at the funeral, nineteen small coffins followed the sultan's coffin. The people of Istanbul were shocked, and public opinion - although not condemning Mehmed for his deed (since he only followed the laws) - was changing clearly against the law of fratricide.

Like Mehmed's father, he ascended the throne at a relatively young age, being only 29 years old, about as many as Murad III or Suleiman I were when they ascended the throne. Mehmed was a promising candidate and tried to prove his abilities. Under pressure from his Veziers, he went on a campaign in person in 1596, which was quite unusual, since neither Murad III, nor Selim II lead a campaign. The purpose of the Viziers was to win the love of the soldiers and the recognition of the people.

His reign

So Mehmed himself led the campaign against the Kingdom of Hungary in 1596 and successfully occupied the castle of Eger. However, the occupation of the castle alone did not make the campaign successful, as they failed to win on several fronts and the war was not over. Although Mehmed earned the Gazi (conquerer) prefix for his name, he failed to win the love of the soldiers. The sultan behaved rather cowardly during the campaign, at one point, at the field of Mezőeresztes, on the advice of the chief eunuch Gazanfer Agha, he almost fled the battlefield.

Returning to Istanbul, although the glorious sultan was received with a huge ceremony and his popularity began to rise, his joy did not last long. In 1597, his eldest son Selim and a younger son, Suleiman, also died as a result of an epidemic so do one of his consorts and others from the palace. With this, the issue of inheritance has also become uncertain. Unlike her father, however, he did not start foolishly the reproduction. The fact is, however, that at least two sons were born during this period, probably both from Halime. Prince Cihangir was born in the late 1590s and died in 1602; Prince Mustafa was born in 1600 or 1601, as the last child of Mehmed.

It is clear that Mehmed tried to be different from his father in every way possible, so in addition to the campaign, he also tried to rid the palace of his father's people, his dwarves, his mutes, and other things which he considered unnecessary, but which his father found amusing. Mehmed forcibly wanted to win the love of the people and the soldiers by being different from his father, but it was his loving and beloved mother, Safiye, who hindered him the most in this. Mehmed gave his mother enough power to go beyond even his own father. Safiye's dominance is well exacerbated by the fact that returning home after the Eger campaign, Mehmed could not appoint the one he wanted to be Grand Vizier, but made his brother-in-law, former Grand Vizier Ibrahim Pasha as the new Grand-vizier, under pressure from his mother.

Mehmed was thought to be his mother’s puppet, which, objectively examined, also seems a legitimate accusation. It is not known for sure whether Mehmed was unfit to rule and his mother, therefore, tried to forcibly dominate Mehmed or Safiye was led by a simple hunger for power. Unfortunately, little is known about Mehmed, so his private life and personality are less known, which makes his judgment difficult. The sultan loved to spend most of his time in the harem, he loved to play chess with the daughter of one of the leading harem servants, he never argued with his mother or viziers, never executed anyone for fun. Mehmed seems more like a retreating, slightly ninny man, mom’s little boy who did anything for his mother, than a real strong man. True that as a prince, he opposed the sultan which would suggest he was maybe brave, but he did it for the sake of his mother, and as a sultan, he also gave her everything she wanted, so it seems there was only one thing that made Mehmed brave, and that was the doing something for his mother, Safiye. For her, even the ninny boy confronted anyone.

Conflicts

Mehmed's brief reign was accompanied by many rebellions. The reason for this was not primarily Mehmed’s person, but his mother Safiye, who put her own men in every possible position with which they build a corruption network that spanned the entire empire. And as a faithful child, Mehmed complied with all of his mother's requests. The resentment of the people finally culminated in 1600 during a Sipahi rebellion. In March, after Mehmed distributed the soldiers' fee among the statesmen, the Sipahis demanded the heads of every rich, corrupt statesman (and woman) from the sultan. It was the first really serious rebellion against Mehmed, but after a long rampage, he finally managed to convince the soldiers that he would change and will remove his mother from the vicinity of state affairs. So Mehmed’s fear eventually led him to repeat his own father’s deed: he exiled Safiye to the Old Palace. However, the exile was certainly only to reassure the soldiers as Safiye returned soon. In addition, after this uprising, for the first time in his life, he rejected a wish from his mother. During the rebellion, his mother's close friend, Esperanza Malchi, was murdered, and Safiye demanded revenge for the woman and demanded that his son replace two of his viziers, who she said did not protect Esperanza enough. However, Mehmed was so afraid of the rebellion that he rejected his mother harshly and briefly.

Not learning from the threat from the soldiers, Safiye and her men continued the corruption, and Mehmed could not (or did not want to) do anything about it. Thus, it is perhaps not surprising that in 1601 another revolt shook the capital. Then, on March 21, the Sipahis revolted again and sent a delegation to the sultan, demanding that he surrender several of his statesmen, if he did not give in to their demands, he could easily be the victim of dethronement. In fright, Mehmed agreed to extradite everyone on the list, but eventually, Safiye, Grand Vizier Damad Ibrahim Pasa, and Yemişci Hasan Pasa convinced the sultan that he could not betray his loyal men. The head mufti, Sunullah Efendi - who, by the way, secretly supported the uprising - eventually convinced the soldiers to calm down, changes would come.

Of course, no change took place, so in January 1603 there was another revolt against Mehmed, in which not only the Sipahis and the Ulema, but the Janissaries were included as well. On January 6, they captured Gazanfer Agha along with the chief black eunuch, Osman, and dragged them out of the palace, all the way to Topkapi’s third gate, where both were beheaded in front of the crowd and the sultan. According to eyewitnesses, the sultan began to sob as Gazanfer Agha was very close to him. The insurgents eventually were fine with the execution of Gazanfer, Osman Agha, and other less significant individuals and the uprising ended.

Another significant uprising associated with Mehmed’s reign was the Celali uprising, which spread throughout Anatolia and kept the empire on fire for decades to come. There have also been wars on several fronts between the Ottoman Empire and its neighbors. This much strife, of course, did not start only because of the person of Mehmed and Safiye but as the geopolitical situation also changed a lot, facilitating the development of rebellions and wars. However, the fact is that the Sultan’s person did not help the situation also.

Last drop

By 1603, Mehmed had only three living children left, Mahmud, Ahmed, and Mustafa. Since Mehmed did not have Haseki, he did not have a favorite concubine, the people did not know which son Mehmed himself favored. That is why everyone could hardly wait to send his sons to the province. After all, one could have guessed from the provincial classification to which son was the closest to Mehmed. However, events slowly showed the Sultan’s feelings on their own.

While Mehmed’s popularity was in ruins, his eldest living son, Mahmud, was popular very much. The Janissaries and Sipahis all supported the young prince, which caused strife between father and son. Mahmud repeatedly acted very recklessly in the presence of his father, for example, asking his father to give him an army to defeat Celalis; at other times he urged his father to give him province at last. For a sultan who experienced 3 rebellions in 3 years, these words could have been extremely frightening. Especially considering that Mahmud was very popular among the rebel soldiers, thanks to the fact that he spoke openly against Safiye several times. He claimed that his grandmother’s activities were very detrimental to the empire and that his father was essentially a puppet in the hands of the valide.

However, Mehmed even overlooked Mahmud's recklessness and support, as he never appointed Ahmed, perhaps the one he liked more, as heir to the throne against Mahmud. However, according to legend, Mahmud's mother Halime, in 1603 sent a letter to a seer to ask if her son would ever rule this empire. However, Safiye grabbed the reply letter and suspected Halime and Mahmud that they had conspired against the sultan. In addition, there were rumors circulating in the capital that Mahmud and his mother wanted to poison the sultan so that Mahmud could occupy the throne. This was already too much for Mehmed, so Halime and Mahmud were accused of treason, and their servants were tortured until they testified against them. And in the knowledge of these confessions, Mehmed sentenced his own son, Mahmud, to death, the sentence was carried out on June 7, 1603. All the ambassadors present during the events in the capital believed that Safiye was behind Mahmud's execution.

His death

The execution of Mahmud certainly had a negative effect on Mehmed's health, especially if he made the decision only under pressure from his mother, as the ambassadors suggested. Mehmed had been obese for years at the time, which was so heavy that he could not ride a horse, but he had no known illnesses or malaise. He was also relatively young, so the issue of inheritance was not so important in the eyes of the commoners. Shortly after Mahmud's death, however, Mehmed appointed Ahmed as heir. He wanted to refer to this by appearing at a state ceremony, where Safiye took Prince Ahmed to watch the state ceremony together. In addition, Mehmed arranged for Ahmed to accompany him wherever he went. Thus, from the summer of 1603, there was the new heir apparent to the throne, the sick, quiet Prince Ahmed.

Then, on the night of December 20, 1603, Mehmed died suddenly, certainly due to a heart attack, at the age of thirty-seven. His overweight and the much stress he suffered during his brief reign certainly contributed to the fatal heart attack. And the next morning he was succeeded on the throne by his thirteen-year-old son, the first sultan who never ruled in the province but ascended the throne without any experience. Mehmed was buried at Aya Sofia.

Used sources: C. Finkel - Osman's Dream: The Story of the Ottoman Empire; L. Peirce - The imperial harem; M. P. Pedani - Safiye's household and Venetian diplomacy; G. Börekçi - Factions and favourites at the courts of Sultan Ahmed I (r. 1603-17) and his immediate predecessors; Necdet Sakaoğlu - Bu Mülkün Kadın Sultanları; G. Börekçi - A Queen Mother at Work: On Handan Sultan and Her Regency during the Early Reign of Ahmed I; Kayaalp-Aktan - The Atik Valide Mosque Complex: A testament of Nurbanu’s prestige, power and piety; P. Kayaalp - The Empress Nurbanu and Ottoman Politics in the Sixteenth Century Building the Atik Valide; S. Faroqhi - The Ottoman Empire and the World around it; C. Imber - The Ottoman Empire 1300-1650; D.A. Howard - A History of the Ottoman Empire

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Származása és gyermekkora

Mehmed, 1566 májusában született Szulejmán szultán dédunokájaként, a leendő III. Mehmed és kedvenc ágyasa, Safiye elsőszülött fiaként. Születésekor az államférfiak meglehetősen aggódtak a dinasztia jövője miatt, ugyanis 1566 őszén Szulejmán szultán elhunyt, helyét fia, Szelim vette át, akinek egyetlen egy örököse volt, Murad. Muradnak pedig egyetlen fia, Mehmed. Emiatt végül a szultán maga rá lett kényszerítve, hogy fiakat nemzzen. Azonban Mehmed sem maradt sokáig testvérek nélkül. Féltestvére Szelim 1567-ben követte őt, majd 1569-ben édesöccse, Mahmud.

Mehmed gyermekkora meglehetősen felhőtlenül telt, apja volt a birodalom egyetlen igazi örököse, így nem kellett aggódniuk a trónviszályok miatt. Mehmed és testvérei egészen 1574-ig békében éltek Maniszában szüleikkel. 1574-ben aztán Szelim szultán elhunyt és Mehmed apja lépett a trónra. Ezzel a család élete alaposan felfordult és hamarosan Maniszát hátrahgyva Isztambulba költöztek. Itt Mehmed életét megnehezítette édesanyja, Safiye és nagyanyja, Nurbanu szultánák hatalmi harca. Ez a harc talán csak néhány hónapig enyhült, amíg az 1580-ban elhunyt Mahmud herceget gyászolták.

1582-ben, 16 éves korában hatalmas körülmetélési szertartást rendeztek a herceg számára, melyet nagynénje, Esmehan szultána rendezett. A körülmetélést Cerrah Mehmed Pasa végezte, aki Mehmed másik nagynénjének, Gevherhannak volt a férje. Talán épp a körülmetélés után, talán már előbb is, Mehmed nagyon közel került Gevherhanhoz és férjéhez. Talán a kiegyensúlyozott házaspár hozott némi vigaszt Mehmed életébe, akit érzékeny lélek lévén minden bizonnyal megviselt a háremben zajló politikai harc.

Apjával való viszonyának megromlása

Mehmed, az anyja iránt végletekig elkötelezett volt, így teljes mellszélességgel védte Safiyét a Nurbanuval vívott harcában. Murad szultán azonban legalább annyira elkötelezett volt saját anyja iránt, mint Mehmed, így csak idő kérdése volt, hogy a két nő csatározása a szultán és Mehmed viszonyát is megkeseríti majd. Safiye szultánát 1582 végén, vagy 1583 elején száműzte a szultán lányaival együtt a Régi Palotába. Mehmed kérlelte apját, hogy ne alázza meg hamis vádak miatt Safiyét, Murad azonban elutasító volt.

Nem tudni, hogy Mehmed nagyanyjára is hasonlóan dühös volt e, mint apjára, az azonban bizonyos, hogy nagyanyja igyekezett óvni Mehmedet. Nurbanu 1583-ban már nagyon beteg volt, azonban utolsó hónapjait azzal töltötte, hogy igyekezett kibékíteni apát és fiút. Ennek érdekében egy halált érő bűntettet is sikerült eltussolnia. Mehmed ugyanis - talán, hogy bosszút álljon apján - szexuális kapcsolatot létesített apja egyik ágyasával, aki teherbe is esett tőle. A hercegek számára tiltott volt a szex és gyermeknemzés, amíg nem kapnak saját provinciát, emellett a szultán háremének tagjával való szexuális együttlét lényegében felségárulás volt, amiért akár halállal is lakolhatott volna a herceg, ha Murad rájön. Nurbanu azonban amint tudomást szerzett az esetről megölette az ágyast, hogy ne maradjon nyoma Mehmed tettének.

Mehmed 1583 decemberében hagyta el Isztambult, hogy saját provinciát kapjon. Ez az esemény általában hatalmas ünnepséggel jár, a szultán személyesen adja áldását fiára, kíséri ki őt a városból. Távozása előtt Mehmed a szokásos audienciára ment apjához, amikor újra megkérte őt, hogy menjenek el együtt a Régi Palotába, hogy anyja áldását kérhesse távozása előtt, valamint apja egyébként is bocsásson meg Safiyének és vegye őt feleségül, hogy helyreállítsa lerombolt becsületét. Murad azonnal elzavarta fiát, és nem volt hajlandó megjelenni a búcsúztatásán sem. Ezzel Murad volt a valaha élt első szultán, aki nem jelent meg fia távozásakor, hogy áldását adja rá. Mehmed napokig állomásozott még a külvárosban, várta apját, Murad azonban nem ment. Jobb belátásra végül csak Nurbanu szultána tudta bírni a szultánt, halálos ágyán. A haldokló valide megeskette fiát, hogy nem fogja bántani Mehmedet, és hogy rendezi vele kapcsolatát.

Az ifjú herceg

Mehmed minden bizonnyal lehangoltan hagyta el a fővárost, melyen nem segített az a tény sem, hogy extrém hideg tél dúlt éppen, így csak nagy nehézségek árán érték el Maniszát 1584 januárjára. Ekkor végre a herceg fellélegezhetett, elkezdhette saját életét, elkezdhette kiépíteni saját köreit. Mehmed körülmetélésekor már rengeteg ajándékot kapott, melyeket mind magával vitt Maniszába. Ezek közé több ágyas is tartozott, melyek közül a legértékesebbet Gevherhan szultánától kapta, aki egy saját maga által nevelt fiatal bosnyák származású ágyast adott Mehmednek. Az ágyas a Handan nevet kapta és hamarosan gyermekeket szült Mehmednek. Legtöbb történész neki tulajdonítja Mehmed elsőszülött gyermekét, Szelim herceget, aki 1585 februárjában született.

Sajnos Mehmed hercegi háreme igen rosszul dokumentált, így nem tudni pontosan, mely gyermekek mely ágyasoktól születtek. Mehmednek két fő ágyasa volt Maniszában Handan és Halime, azonban nem bizonyos, hogy minden gyermek ettől a két nőtől származott volna. Szelim herceg után nemsokkal egy Szulejmán nevű fiú is született, akiről azonban nem sokat tudni. 1587/88-ban újabb fiú, Mahmud jött világra, aki kétség kívül Halime fia volt; majd őt követte 1590-ben Ahmed, Handan fia. Nagy valószínűséggel további gyermekek is születtek Mehmed hercegsége során, ám róluk kevesebbet tudni. Fiai mellett legalább három lánya is volt, Hatice bizonyosan Halimétől; Ayşe pedig valószínűleg Handantól; Şah nevű lánya pedig talán Halimétől.

Ám nem csak Maniszában zajlott az élet az egyre duzzadó háremmel, Isztambulban is nagy változások következtek be. 1585-ben (vagy már hamarabb) Mehmed fellélegezhetett, ugyanis édesapja megbocsájtott édesanyjának, sőt feleségül is vette. Ennek köszönhetően Safiye ott volt mindig a szultán mellett, így újra volt hatalma megóvni fiát. Safiye végül sikeresen egyensúlyozott Murad szultán és fiuk, Mehmed között, mert olyabá tűnik, hogy Murad és Mehmed kapcsolata valamelyest stabilizálódott. Murad azonban élete végéig tartott fiától, amiért Mehmed igen népszerűvé kezdett válni a katonák szemében.

Trónralépése

Murad 1595-ben elhunyt, Safiye szultána pedig azonnal üzent fiának, hogy jöjjön Isztambulba. A szultán halálhírét igyekeztek titokban tartani, hiszen Murad rengeteg fiút nemzett az elmúlt 15 évben. Igaz mind gyermek volt még csupán, anyjaik pedig nem rendelkeztek semmiféle hatalommal, ami veszélyeztethette volna Mehmed trónralépését. Ettől függetlenül Safiye óvatosságra intette a körülötte lévőket és ahelyett, hogy egy vezírt küldött volna Mehmedhez a hírrel, a főkertészt küldte különösebb kíséret nélkül. Azonban Murad halálhíre valahogyan mégis kiszivárgott, több követ beszámolója szerint a helyzet igen veszélyessé vált a fővárosban, lázadástól tartottak ugyanis. A háremből pedig minden éjszaka több tucat embert vetettek a tengerbe. Safiye és támogatói igyekeztek fenntartani a rendet és megszabadulni mindenkitől, aki ellenük tehetett volna, amíg Mehmed megérkezett.

Végül Mehmed tizenegy nap múlva megérkezett és elfoglalta a trónt. Trónralépése történelminek tekinthető több szempontból is. Ő volt ugyanis az utolsó szultán, aki úgy került trónra, hogy előtte saját tartományt igazgatott, melyben felkészülhetett az uralkodásra. Emellett a testvérgyilkosság törvénye az ő trónralépésekor verte ki a biztosítékot Isztambul népe és államférfijai között, így ő gyakorolta utoljára hivatalos formában. Mehmed megérkezésekor azonnal elrendelte öccsei kivégzését, melynek során tizenkilenc herceget téptek ki anyjuk karjából és fojtották meg őket. Másnap a temetésen tizenkilenc kicsi koporsó követte a szultán koporsóját. Isztambul népe pedig sokkot kapott, a közvélemény - bár nem ítélte el Mehmedet a tettéért (hiszen csak a törvényeket követte) - egyértelműen a testvérgyilkosság törvénye ellen kezdett formálódni.

Mehmed apjához hasonlóan viszonylag fiatalon lépett trónra, hiszen csak 29 éves volt, körülbelül annyi, mint III. Murad vagy I. Szulejmán voltak, mikor elfoglalták a trónt. Mehmed ígéretes jelölt volt, és igyekezett is bizonyítani rátermettségét. Vezírei nyomására 1596-ban személyesen indult hadjáratra, ami meglehetősen szokatlan volt, hiszen sem III. Murad, sem II. Szelim nem vezettek szultánként hadjáratot. A vezírek célja az volt, hogy elnyerjék a katonák szeretetét és a nép elismerését.

Uralkodása

Mehmed tehát maga vezette az 1596-os Magyar Királyság elleni hadjáratot és sikerrel foglalta el Eger várát. Azonban a vár elfoglalása önmagában nem tette a hadjáratot sikeressé, hiszen több fronton nem sikerült győzedelmeskedniük és a háború nem ért véget. Mehmed bár kiérdemelte a Gazi (hódító) előtagot nevéhez, nem sikerült kivívnia a katonák szeretetét. A szultán ugyanis meglehetősen gyáván viselkedett a hadjárat során, egy ponton, Mezőkeresztesnél a főeunuch Gazanfer Aga tanácsára majdnem kocsin menekült el a csatatérről.

Isztambulba visszatérve bár hatalmas ünnepséggel fogadták a dicső szultánt és népszerűsége emelkedni kezdett, öröme nem tartott sokáig. 1597-ben legidősebb fia Szelim és egy kisebb fia, Szulejmán is elhunytak egy járvány következtében, akárcsak egyik ágyasa és sokan mások is a palotából. Ezzel az öröklés kérdése is bizonytalanná vált. Apjától eltérően azonban nem kezdett esztelen gyermeknemzésbe. Tény azonban, hogy legalább két fia született ebben az időszakban, valószínűleg mindketten Halimétől. Cihangir herceg az 1590-es évek végén született és 1602-ben el is hunyt; Musztafa herceg pedig 1600-ban vagy 1601-ben jött világra, Mehmed utolsó gyermekeként.

Jól látható, hogy Mehmed igyekezett minden létező módon különbözni apjától, így a hadjárat mellett a palotát is próbálta megszabadítani apja kegyeltjeitől, törpéitől, némáitól és más általa feleslegesnek megítélt dolgoktól, melyeket az apja szórakoztatónak talált. Mehmed kényszeresen szerette volna elnyerni népe és katonái szeretetét, azzal, hogy más lesz, mint apja volt, azonban ebben épp szerető és szeretett édesanyja, Safiye gátolta a legjobban. Mehmed akkora hatalmat adott anyja kezébe, mellyel még saját apján is túl tett. Jól pédázza Safiye dominanciáját az a tény, hogy az egri hadjárat után hazatérve Mehmed nem nevezhette ki azt akit akart nagyvezírré, hanem anyja nyomására kényszerből nevezte ki sógorát, a korábbi nagyvezír Ibrahim Pasát.

Mehmedről úgy tartották, hogy édesanyja bábja, ami objektíven vizsgálva az eseményeket is jogos vádnak tűnik. Nem tudni biztosan, hogy Mehmed alkalmatlan volt e az uralkodásra és anyja ezért igyekezett erőszakosan dominálni Mehmedet vagy egyszerű hatalom-éhség vezette Safiyét. Mehmedről sajnos keveset tudunk, így magánélete, személyisége is kevéssé ismert, mely megnehezíti megítélését. A szultán szerette ideje nagyrészét a háremben tölteni, szeretett sakkozni az egyik vezető háremszolga lányával, sosem került szembe anyjával és olyan esemény sem maradt ránk, amik alapján vérengző szultán képe rajzolódhatna ki előttünk. Mehmed inkább tűnik egy visszahúzódó, kissé mulya férfinak, anyu kicsi fiának, aki az anyjáért bármit megtett, mintsem valódi erős férfinak. Igaz, még hercegként szembeszállt a szultánnal, ami azt sugallhatná, hogy bátor volt, ám ezt is édesanyja érdekében tette, majd szultánként mindent megadott neki, amit csak akart, így úgy tűnik, egy dolog volt csak, ami mátorrá tette Mehmedet, mégpedig, ha az anyja kedvére kellett tennie. Érte ugyanis még a mulya fiú is szembe szállt bárkivel.

Viszályok

Mehmed igen rövid uralkodását sok sok lázadás és viszály kísérte. Ennek oka elsődlegesen nem Mehmed személye volt, hanem édesanyja Safiye, aki saját embereit ültette minden pozícióba, mellyel az egész birodalmat átívelő korrupciós hálózatot építettek ki. Mehmed pedig hűséges gyermekként anyja minden kérését teljesítette. A nép ellenérzései végül 1600-ban csúcsosodtak ki egy szpáhi lázadás során. Márciusban, miután Mehmed, a katonák jussát az államférfiak között osztotta szét, a szpáhik minden gazdag, korrupt államférfi (és nő) fejét követelték a szultántól. Ez volt az első igazán komoly lázadás Mehmed ellen, ám hosszas tombolás után végül sikerült meggyőznie a katonákat arról, hogy változtatni fog, anyját pedig eltávolítja az államügyek közeléből. Mehmed félelme tehát végül odajuttatta őt, hogy saját apja tettét ismételte meg: száműzte Safiyét a Régi Palotába. A száműzetés azonban minden bizonnyal csak a katonák megnyugtatását szolgálta hiszen Safiye hamarosan visszatért. Emellett ezen felkelés után utasította el nagyjából életében először anyja egy kívánságát. A lázadás során ugyanis anyja közeli barátját, Esperanza Malchit meggyilkolták, Safiye pedig bosszút követelt a nőért és követelte fiától, hogy váltsa le két vezírét, akik szerinte nem óvták eléggé Esperanzát. Mehmed azonban annyira félt a lázadástól, hogy anyját ridegen és röviden elutasította.

Nem tanulva a katonák fenyegetéséből, Safiye és emberei tovább folytatták a nagylábon élést és korrupciót, Mehmed pedig nem tudott (vagy nem is akart) tenni ellene. Így talán nem meglepő, hogy 1601-ben újabb lázadás rázta meg a fővárost. Március 21-én aztán a szpáhik ismételten fellázadtak és delegációt küldtek a szultánhoz, követelve, hogy mondassa le több államférfiját is, ha ugyanis nem enged követeléseiknek, könnyen trónfosztás áldozata lehet. Mehmed ijedtében beleegyezett, hogy kiadat mindenkit aki a listán szerepelt, de végül Safiye szultána, a nagyvezír Damad Ibrahim Pasa és Yemişci Hasan Pasa meggyőzték a szultánt, hogy nem adhatja ki hűséges embereit. A főmufti, Sunullah Efendi - aki egyébként titokban támogatta a felkelést - végül meggyőzte a katonákat, hogy nyugodjanak meg, változások fognak következni.

Természetesen nem történt semmiféle változás, így 1603 januárjában újabb lázadás történt Mehmed ellen, melyhez a szpáhik és az ulema mellett a janicsárok is csatlakoztak. Január 6-án elkapták Gazanfer agát a fő fekete eunuchal, Osmannal együtt és kirángatták őket a palotából, egészen a Topkapi harmadik kapujáig, ahol a tömeg és a szultán szeme láttára mindkettőt lefejezték. Szemtanúk szerint a szultán zokogni kezdett, hiszen Gazanfer Aga igen közel állt hozzá. A felkelők végül megelégedtek Gazanfer, Osman Aga és más kevésbé jelentős személyek kivégzésével és a felkelés véget ért.

Másik jelentős felkelés, ami Mehmed uralkodásához kötődik, a Celali felkelés volt, ami Anatólia szerte terjedt és még hosszú évtizedekig tartotta lángokban a birodalmat. Emellett több fronton zajlott háború is az Oszmán Birodalom és szomszédai között. Ez a sok viszály természetesen nem csak Mehmed és Safiye személye miatt indult el, hiszen a geopolitikai helyzet is sokat változott elősegítve a lázadások és háborúk kialakulását. Azonban tény, hogy a szultán személye nem segített a helyzeten.

Utolsó csepp

1603-ra Mehmednek csupán három élő gyermeke maradt, Mahmud, Ahmed és Mustafa. Mivel Mehmednek nem volt Haszekije, nem volt kiemelt kedvenc ágyasa, nem tudta a nép, hogy Mehmed maga mely fiát favorizálja. Épp emiatt alig várta mindenki, hogy fiait tartományba küldje. Hiszen a tartomány-beosztás alapján lehetett volna sejteni, hogy melyik fia iránt hogyan érez a szultán. Azonban az események lassacskán maguktól is megmutatták a szultán érzéseit.

Míg Mehmed népszerűsége romokban volt, legidősebb élő fia, Mahmud népszerűsége az egekben. A janicsárok és a szpáhik mind támogatták az ifjú herceget, ami viszályt okozott apa és fia között. Mahmud többször is igen meggondolatlanul viselkedett apja jelenlétében, így például kérte apját, hogy adjon neki sereget, hogy legyőzhesse a szultán ellen lázadó Celalikat Anatóliában; máskor sürgette apját, hogy adjon neki tartományt végre. Egy szultánnak, aki 3 év alatt 3 lázadást tapasztalt meg, ezek a szavak rendívül ijesztőek lehettek. Különösen ha figyelembe vesszük, hogy Mahmud a lázadó katonák között igen népszerű volt, hála annak, hogy többször szólalt fel nyíltan Safiye ellen. Azt állította, hogy nagyanyja tevékenysége igen káros a birodalomra és, hogy apja lényegében egy báb a valide kezében.

Mehmed azonban még elnézte Mahmud meggondolatlanságát és támogatottságát is, hiszen sosem jelölte ki Mahmud ellenében az általa talán jobban kedvelt Ahmedet trónörökösnek. Azoban a legendák szerint Mahmud anyja Halime, 1603-ban levelet küldött egy látnoknak, hogy megkérdezze, fia uralkodni fog e valaha a birodalomban. A válaszlevelet azonban Safiye kaparintotta meg és meggyanusította Halimét és Mahmudot, hogy azok összeesküdtek a szultán ellen. Emellett pedig a fővárosban olyan pletykák keringtek, hogy Mahmud és anyja meg akarja mérgezni a szultánt, hogy Mahmud elfoglalhassa a trónt. Ez már Mehmednek is sok volt, így Halimét és Mahmudot megvádolták árulással, szolgáikat addig kínozták, míg nem vallottak ellenük. Ezen vallomások ismeretében pedig Mehmed halálra ítélte saját fiát, Mahmudot és az ítéletet 1603. június 7-én végre is hajtották. Minden követ, aki jelen volt az események során a fővárosban úgy tartotta, hogy Mahmud kivégzése mögött Safiye állt.

Halála

Mahmud kivégzése minden bizonnyal negatívan hatott Mehmed egészségére, különösen ha csak anyja nyomására hozta meg a döntést, ahogy a követek sugallták. Mehmed ekkor már évek óta el volt hízva, mely olyansúlyos kereteket öltött, hogy lóra sem tudott ülni, emellett azonban nem volt ismert betegsége, nem voltak rosszullétei. Fiatal is volt, így a trónöröklés kérdése nem volt olyan fontos a köznép szemében. Nemsokkal Mahmud halála után azonban Mehmed kijelölte Ahmed fiát örököséül. Erre egy állami ceremónián való megjelenéssel akart utalni, ahová Safiye vitte el Ahmed herceget az Aranyszarv-öbölbe, hogy együtt nézzék meg az állami ceremóniát. Emellett Mehmed elrendezte, hogy akárhová megy, Ahmed elkísérje. Így tehát 1603 nyarától meg volt az új trónörökös, a beteges, csendes Ahmed herceg.

1603. december 20-án éjjel aztán Mehmed hirtelen elhunyt, minden bizonnyal szívrohamban, harminchét évesen. Túlsúlya és a sok stressz, ami rövid uralkodása alatt érte minden bizonnyal elősegítette a végzetes szívrohamot. Másnap reggel pedig tizenhárom éves fia követte a trónon, az első szultán aki sosem uralkodott tartományban, hanem minden tapasztalat nélkül lépett trónra. Mehmedet az Aya Sofyiában helyezték végső nyugalomra.

Felhasznált források: C. Finkel - Osman's Dream: The Story of the Ottoman Empire; L. Peirce - The imperial harem; M. P. Pedani - Safiye's household and Venetian diplomacy; G. Börekçi - Factions and favourites at the courts of Sultan Ahmed I (r. 1603-17) and his immediate predecessors; Necdet Sakaoğlu - Bu Mülkün Kadın Sultanları; G. Börekçi - A Queen Mother at Work: On Handan Sultan and Her Regency during the Early Reign of Ahmed I; Kayaalp-Aktan - The Atik Valide Mosque Complex: A testament of Nurbanu’s prestige, power and piety; P. Kayaalp - The Empress Nurbanu and Ottoman Politics in the Sixteenth Century Building the Atik Valide; S. Faroqhi - The Ottoman Empire and the World around it; C. Imber - The Ottoman Empire 1300-1650; D.A. Howard - A History of the Ottoman Empire

[mythologyfolklore]

Ares and Athena through the years - Ch. 22

Chapter twenty-two: Apollon's birthday

.

It was rare, that Ares and Apollon actually got along.

But their roles in the Trojan War four hundred mortal years earlier had given them a thing or two to bond upon.

Today was Apollon's birthday.

The god of light, music, healing and plagues made surprisingly little fuss about it, considering how often he insisted on being in the centre of attention, like the pretentious prick he often was. Yet, when it came to celebrating the anniversary of the day he was born, he asked for it to be treated like any other day. He never threw a party or allowed the others to throw him one, though he did accept birthday gifts and wishes. He didn't even remind people, that it was his birthday. Which was why it happened sometimes, that one god or the other completely forgot about it.

Ares wasn't one of those gods – he always remembered his siblings' and half-siblings' birthdays, every single one. That was his subtle way of showing, that he cared.

And that was why today he was himself to sit with his half-brother and endure his fancy and pretentious music, even though he hated it. Ares liked the sound of war flutes and Spartan war drums, but apart from that, music wasn't his thing at all.

The Mousai weren't present (they were busy spreading inspiration on earth), so the two so opposite half-brothers were alone – except for all the animals, who had heard Apollon's music and had gathered to listen. The god just had that inviting and calm vibe, that drew animals in, especially when he sang and played his lyre. Ares on the other hand had a farouche and cold aura, which kept most at a distance.

When an old she-wolf placed her head onto Apollon's lap, he paused his music for a moment.

“Hello there, old girl”, he chuckled and fondly stroked her head.

Ares couldn't help but sigh in relief, because he had been close to falling asleep from the lulling music.

Apollon looked up. “Ares, you don't have to sit here and listen to me. I know you don't like my kind of music.”

“Meh, it's fine”, Ares assured him. “Just thought I might as well relax a little.”

The younger god smiled: “If it's relaxing enough for you to fall asleep, I do not mind. Besides, you look like you could use a nap. And a make-over.”

The war god blinked. “Huh? Do I have bags under my eyes again?”

“And dark rims. Also a few frowning wrinkles here and there. You look like an overworked middle-aged mortal.” The blond handed him a mirror.

Ares beheld his own reflection and laughed: “Oh fuck, you're right! I look like shit!”

He concentrated on his reflection, his face freshened up and he looked as youthful as gods were supposed to (though he still looked older than the other second generation Olympians).

“Better”, the war god nodded in satisfaction. “An' don't worry, Sunny. I'm fine. I just didn't get any sleep last night, no thanks to Zeus an' Hera.”

“If you say so”, the god of healing said doubtfully.

“Trust me on that”, Ares assured the younger man, despite both of them knowing, that he was lying – the fact, that he was referring to his own parents by their names gave it away. But the god of truth had the tact to accept the lie without back talk.

“I still think you should treat yourself to a day off for self-care, though.”

“Ya know I take care of myself as best as I can. I treat my body like a temple.”

“That's true”, the other admitted. “You have your physique to show for it.”

“Damn right.” Ares grinned and elbowed him playfully. “Admit it, ya like my looks. I've seen ya checkin' me out.”

“I wouldn't deny it, even if I could”, Apollon admitted candidly. “You are quite a handsome man – but also really unlikeable. So do me a favour and don't think I'm into you, just because my eyes have been wandering.”

“Rest assured, I don't”, the older god replied. “I wouldn't want ya to be anyway. Ya know how I feel about gettin' involved in that stuff. Speakin' o' which …”

“Yes?”

“When are ya gonna tell Hermes?”

The blond blushed bright scarlet and began to stutter helplessly, until Ares finally took pity. “Never mind, just take yer time. There's no such thing as bein' too prepared, after all.”

Apollon arched an eyebrow. “That's coming from the war god, who rushes into battle and immediately starts slaughtering people left and right, without so much as an actual plan?”

“We're not talkin' about my main job here”, Ares retorted. “I separate my work from my private life. My work is wreakin' havoc among mankind an' bringin' war, as well as performin' the duties of a crown prince – ya know, representation, paper work, all that jazz.”

Awkwardly, Apollon rubbed the back of his neck and admitted sheepishly: “I always forget that you're the crown prince and how dutiful you really are – how much father trusts you with.”

Ares shrugged: “It's okay. Besides, the fewer people know, how much I know, the better. I don't need them pesterin' me with questions about stuff I've sworn to be silent about.”

The blond smiled wryly. “Pretty ironic, how much we know and how little of it we're allowed to tell, isn't it?”

“It is”, Ares agreed. “An' you've seen how Daddy's Owl of all gods failed miserably to handle my princely duties; how she got us into trouble with the Romans.”

Apollon shook his head. “I can't believe she failed at that. Of Pallas Athena, one would expect that she's careful and tactful.”

“Don't blame her”, Ares told him. “She's got the brains for it alright. What she lacks is experience. An' she never got the chance to get it, 'cause I'm not allowed to talk to anyone about it, let alone tell 'em how that stuff works. That stuff is confidential, it's between Zeus, grandaunt Thémis an' me, just like the works of fate are between him and you. There was no way she could've known, especially with how introverted she is.”

“I suppose you're right”, the younger god relented. “But still … you saw them back then. They were so … it was as if they were just waiting for an excuse to come at us.”

“Oh trust me, they were!”, Ares grumbled. “I've been dealing' with them for many centuries. The empire they're dreamin' of is yet to come, yet they're already itching to subjugate the entire Mediterranean, like the hubristic and power-hungry fucks they are (especially Mars – ugh, I hate that arsehole!). Even though as to date Roma is just a small city in Italy, they already act like they own the world- hey, Apollon, are you okay? Shit, what's wrong, you're shaking!”

“Ares … did you hear, what Mars said, before you interrupted?”

“I came right in as he was getting into my mother's face and started to brag about their so-called glorious future.”

“And he said, that he and his pantheon could always fix their problem of not having a god like me … Ares, you should have seen his face!”

“Oh, I did!”, the older god snarled. “And I swear on my immortality, if the situation hadn't been so dire, I would've run a spear through him right then and there!”

“I've seen the future”, Apollon choked out – he was obviously on the verge of tears. “I've seen what is going to happen. The Roman gods and their mortals are going to … they're going to … oh Khaos, I'm frightened!”

“Hey! Hey!”

Before the light god could have a full-on panic attack, Ares grabbed his shoulders.

“Stop!”, he ordered, calmly but sternly. “Look at me. Deep and slow breaths, do you hear me? Deep an' slow.”

Wanting to help a little more, he allowed Apollon to lean into him. Ares hated body contact, but his younger half-brother needed the physical proximity right now. So he sucked it up and gently rubbed the other's back, as the blond sobbed into his shoulder.

“Shhhh …”, he murmured, “Yes, that's right … just breathe. Listen, okay? Whatever scares you, it's yet to come. It's far ahead. Focus on the now. You're safe. You're with family. No one can hurt you now. Everyone and everything's alright. Shhhh …”

Somewhere along the line, the animals that were still here drew nearer and nuzzled the blond, sensing his distress in the way that only animals really could.

Ares couldn't help but chuckle at the display. “Animals really love ya, huh?”

“So what?”, Apollon grumbled defensively. “Not everyone can be the unapproachable, stoic guy you are!”

“You flatter me, but I wasn't making fun of you. Here …” The black-and-red-haired god charmed a box of tissues into his hand and offered it to the other. “Want some?”

The Archer accepted the tissues and dabbed his face. “Thanks. Crap, that was pathetic …”

“Don't say that. It's not pathetic to be scared of the future – especially, if you know how shitty it's gonna be. But if you let it distract you from the present, it'll hurt you and ruin your life. So let's not talk about the future anymore, hm? After all, today's your birthday.”

He felt the younger god sigh into the crook of his neck.

“You're right. Thank you, Ares. For being so understanding.”

The war god chuckled: “Hey, we may not get along most of the time, but you're still my brother.”

“Half-brother”, Apollon corrected. “Do you remember, how you used to remind me of that all the time? How you always called me 'bastard', 'whoreson' and other charming things like that, and used the epithets 'Letoides' and 'Latôios'¹ in the most derogative manner you could?”

Ares laughed sheepishly: “Oh yeah. I did that, didn't I? Sorry for that.”

He could hear the smile in Apollon's voice, as he accepted the apology.

Eventually the light god backed away. “I think I'm better now. Thanks again. I really needed that, I guess.”

“Yeah, I could tell. An' you're welcome.” Then he had an idea and smirked lopsidedly: “So, Sunny. Wanna hear somethin' crazy?”

The younger god shrugged: “Sure, what is it?”

“Has anyone ever told you I can actually sing?”

Apollon chortled: “Yeah, right! I'll believe it when I hear it!”

The older god's grin widened: “Play one of those cheerful dancin' songs you always perform at Dionysos' parties. And I'll sing to it.”

Apollon grinned back and picked up his cithara. “Alright, Andreiphontês². Show me what you've got!”

.

Athena was making pottery again.

Apparently Zeus and Hera had had another vicious domestic and a lot of earthenware had got shattered. So they needed new vases and pots.

With a sigh she molded the rim of the pot.

Really, when would her father and his wife finally get to their senses and get marriage counselling or something like th-

“ATHENA, I NEED YOUR HELP!!!”

Athena yelped in surprise, as Hermes bust through the door, and accidentally squashed the still soft clay pot, rendering her work for nothing.

“Thanks a lot, Hermes! Now my work is ruined and I have to start all over!”, Athena snapped, scrapped the clay and angrily threw it into a bucket of water.

“I'm sorry”, he mumbled in the smallest voice she had ever heard him speak with.

That made her sit up more straightly.

“What do you want, Hermes?”, she sighed. “Please make it quick, because Zeus and Hera are going through earthenware like papyrus and I have a lot of work still ahead of me.”

“…”

The goddess's bright blue eyes narrowed. “You better not walk away like 'it wasn't important after all', after you made me ruin my own work! You busted in here and yelled at me to help you, so whatever it is, spit it out!”

“I … I just … want advice for a present.”

Athena blinked and tilted her head. “Present?”

“Yes … present. Because today is Apollon's birthday.”

“Oh.”

Forgotten was the ruined pot.

It had almost slipped her mind (just almost, but still), that there was a birthday today (because for some incomprehensible reason Apollon insisted, that the mortals should celebrate his birthday, but not his fellow gods). He didn't even bother to remind others, when it was his birthday, even though it clearly hurt him, when they forgot.

“You want my advice on what you should gift him?”, Athena queried, as she washed her hands. “Listen, I may be the goddess of good counsel, but you know Apollon much better than I d- oh no, Hermes, no! Don't give me that look! Stop it! Stop giving me those puppy eyes! Anything but those damn puppy eyes!”

“Pweeeeaase”, Hermes whined and the puppy eyes intensified.

She sighed and dried her hands off. “Alright, fine. Well, I think you should give him something useful. Something he could use in everyday life. Hmm … he already has a lot of tunics and brooches and so on … oh, how about a hairband? With his impossibly long hair, he could always use one. Wait, I think I have a few pretty ones …”

She went over to her cupboard, got a wooden box from it and put it onto the table. “Here you go. You can pick two out of these – only two”, she added warningly, when Hermes eyed the hairbands with a scheming expression.

The god of thieves huffed, but began to search through the bands for two he deemed good enough.

But he seemed to have trouble deciding. “I don't know, they're all so pretty …”

“Pick something that fits his hair and eye colour”, Athena advised.

Hermes muttered under his breath, as he rummaged through the box.

Eventually he gasped and picked out two hairbands – both ruby red with golden embroidery.

“Ohhh, these are perfect!”, he squealed in delight. “They'd look so beautiful in his hair! Thank you so much, Athena! You're the best big sister! Oh boy, I hope he likes his birthday present! Bye!”

Then he made off with the new hairbands.

The goddess of wisdom sighed and inspected the box, if more than two hairbands were missing. And sure enough, that little bastard had stolen three: a dark green one, a bright blue one and one coloured like bronze.

The black-haired woman shook her head with a fond sigh.

That silly, little kleptomaniac …

.

Hermes hurried across Olympos, eager to deliver his own present.

It took a while to find the person it was intended for.

To his great surprise, he found Apollon sitting with Ares on the sill of a large window.

To his even bigger surprise, Apollon was playing his lyre and Ares was singing to it.

That sight was absurd in a lot of ways, last but not least because of the fact, that those two almost never got along and had absolutely nothing in common, save their father and their terrifying anger.

Hermes hid behind a pillar and spied on the two from behind it.

The two so different half-brothers seemed to be having fun.

Something about this bothered Hermes. A lot.

Why are these two sitting so close together, why are they genuinely laughing with each other, why are they smiling like that, since when do these two make music together, Ares doesn't even like music, this makes no sense whatsoever, since when does Ares even like spending time with Apollon, hey you big bully, get away from my beautiful sunshine, wait, when the fuck did I start thinking like that, what the fuck is even going on here-

Luckily, before the brunet could rile himself up he remembered, that Ares was very much straight and Apollon wasn't into people with Ares' demeanour.

Hermes giggled. Silly him! He'd been jealous, just because those two were getting along for a change!

Apparently the two men had heard his giggling, because they abruptly stopped their music and looked around in alarm.

“Did ya hear that?”, Ares noted.

“Yes, and I do hope that was just Hermes”, Apollon remarked.

“SURPRISE!”, Hermes shouted, jumping out of his hiding place.

The other two men screamed and Apollon dropped his lyre in shock. The animals that had been chilling with them, hurried to escape the perceived danger.

“DAMMIT, SQUIRT!”, Ares squalled, “WHY'D YA SNEAK UP ON US LIKE THAT?!”

“Yes, for shame!”, Apollon gasped out. “That was uncalled for, Hermes!”

“Are you kidding?”, Hermes cackled, “That was a riot! You should have seen your faces-” But his laughter died instantly, when he saw Ares' dark expression.

“No, squirt, seriously! That wasn't funny! Sunny Boy had a mental breakdown earlier! His nerves are still raw as fuck and the last thing he needs is to have the crap scared out of him!”

The Messenger blanched, tackled hugged the blond god and grabbed his face.

“What happened?! Please tell me!”, he pleaded.

“Hermes, let go, I'm okay now-”

“No, you're not!”, Hermes cut him off. “Look at you, you're still so pale! Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to scare you like that!”

“It's nothing, I'm better now, really”, the older god tried to reassure him. “Would you please let go of my face?”

“Oh. Sorry”, the brunet muttered and complied. “Can you tell me what happened now? And how you two of all gods could … uh …”

“Sit together an' actually have some fun?”, Ares supplied.

The Messenger nodded: “Yeah. That.”

“Eh, we just bonded over confidential business – and no, I won't tell ya what it was”, Ares added pointedly, when the other opened his mouth. “I just said it was confidential. And everybody knows that you can't keep a secret for shit, unless we make ya swear the Stygian Oath. So, sorry. Not tellin'.”

Hermes frowned.

He hated when others had secrets from him, especially Apollon.

The god of sunlight, truth and prophecy was actually incapable of lying, so his only other option was to either speak in riddles, or fall silent altogether. It didn't matter what option Apollon chose, because being unable to be open always took a great toll on him.

By contrast, Ares was a natural; he dodged, lied, cheated, countered any attempt at prying and feigned ignorance, like it was second nature to him (which Hermes was sure it was). What he refused to reveal, people would never know.

But this time, much to Hermes' relief, Apollon told Ares, that it was fine.

Ares shot him a doubtful look, but told Hermes: “He's seen the future and it fucks him up, because the future sucks and the Roman gods do too. That's all I can say.”

The Messenger nodded, knowing he would have to make with that answer. “Alright. Whelp, I'm sorry for my crappy timing. Should I come back later?”

Apollon smiled: “No, no. Stay here. Let's talk about more pleasant things. What did you come here for?”

“Oh, right!”, Hermes cried and flashed the blond a mischievous grin.

The blond's golden eyes narrowed. “What are you plotting, you little cattle thief?”

The brunet laughed: “Just hold still and close your eyes!”

Apollon arched an eyebrow, but complied.

The younger god giggled and lost no time in tying up the other's long hair with the new red ribbons. They really did go perfectly with those golden curls.

“What are you doing?”, the older god demanded to know.

“Just you wait … there! All done!”

Apollon opened his eyes and blinked in confusion, as Hermes held a mirror in front of him and one behind his head.

“Look! I got you new hair ties! Aren't they pretty?”

The brunet didn't fail to notice, how the cutest blush ever spread over the older god's pale face.

“Yes … yes, they are”, Apollon said and turned his head to smile at his younger half-brother. “Thank you, Hermes. I love them.”

“Happy birthday, Sunshine!”, the Messenger laughed happily and gave the other a warm hug.

Suddenly there was a click – reminding both, that Ares was still here. And currently smirking at them from behind his camera.

“You two are hopeless!”, the black-and-red-haired god snickered and put his camera back into the bag he always carried about.

Apollon began to stutter in embarrassment, while Hermes just stuck his tongue at his oldest half-brother.

“Oh shut up, you mystery-monger!”, the brunet retorted. “You hate music and I still caught you sing with him earlier! Speaking of which …”, he smirked, “… I didn't know you can sing! You sure have an amazing singing voice for someone, who despises musical activities! What a hidden talent you are!”

“If you tell anyone, that you heard me sing, I'll rip out your tongue!”, the war god snarled.

Hermes put his arms up. “Alright, damn! Relax! I was joking! Seriously, I don't see what your problem is!”

“To be honest, neither do I”, Apollon agreed.

Ares huffed: “Ya mean, apart from the fact, that I'm the god of terrible war an' singin' pretty songs doesn't fit into my reputation? It annoys me, when people ask me to sing for them. I know I can sing, but it's not really a hobby of mine. My hobbies are … ya know …”

“Blood and thunder!”, Hermes groaned. “Yes, we all know it!”

The war god grinned from ear to ear. Then he stood up. “Anyway, gotta go. Bye!”

Apollon jumped up. “Wait! You can't leave me here alone with him!”

The red-eyed god cackled: “Oh, I can and I will!”

“You're pure evil!”

“I'm necessary evil! Happy birthday, Sunny Boy!”

“Why, you old-!”

“Now, now! Let's not stoop to the level of petty insults! Have fun, ya love birdies!”, Ares sang. Then that belligerent arsehole flew up and away, leaving behind two furiously blushing Olympians.

But once they recovered, Apollon turned to the Messenger and grumbled: “I'm telling you, Hermes, he's pure evil!”

“A first class jerk!”, Hermes agreed. “Still, did he give you anything for your birthday?”

Apollon's expression softened instantly and he nodded, smiling.

In that moment the brunet understood.

To spend some time with the blond and let him talk about his cares: that had been Ares' birthday present.

.

---

.

1) Letoides/Latôios: Son of Leto (one of Apollon's epithets) 2) Andreiphontês: Men-Destroyer (one of Ares' epithets)

[narniagiftexchange]

                                              exceptions.

                              THE AUTUMN NARNIAN GIFT EXCHANGE.

(G-rated, no NSFW, K-language, one-shot, contains Reepicheep, Prince Caspian, and the Pevensies, and is in Reepicheep’s POV)

                         for   @luxaofhesperides from  @noctusfury.

Note to Recipient: I have to admit that this was a little challenging for me, in a good way. I had never written anything with Reepicheep or wrote it in his POV, so I had to do some homework and learn to write in his voice. I also struggled with what exactly I wanted to go with this fanfic, not knowing what theme or scene or film that I wanted to do this in. However, I managed to find it in this fic and I hope I did Reepicheep justice. Thank you in advance for your gift, and I hope that my own gift for you will give you as much joy and pleasure as yours did me. May you be in the Great Lion’s Paws.

As a young mouseling, Reepicheep had many expectations. He expected to be warm; expected to be safe; expected to be fed; expected to get a pleasant night’s rest; expected his brothers and sisters to quit shoving him; expected to grow up big and strong like his parents yesterday; expected his parents to come at his beck and call.

But the greatest of all his expectations was this: Reepicheep, more than anything else, expected to be told the legends of the Four Kings and Queens of Narnia. Every night, without fail; he couldn’t sleep unless his parents or his nanny told him one of the Narnian legends from their past.

Such were his expectations.

And told them, they did, for this scion that would be the future leader of their Clan of Mice, for nothing was withheld from him (indeed, this vice would end up coming back to bite him when he was older). And Reepicheep was fortunate in having parents every bit as valiant and bold as he was, and also had a deep devotion and love for Narnia and its history. And so, they never tired of telling the tales of yore again and again… and again, and again, and again.

Such were his expectations.

Reepicheep loved hearing the legends concerning the Golden Age, when Aslan defeated the White Witch, their enemies were routed, and the Four Monarchs of Narnia, known as the Pevensies, were crowned and ruled Narnia for a long time.

He heard the tales of Queen Susan the Gentle, of the beauty and grace that flowed from her like a gown (according to legend, she was said to have been the reincarnation of Swanwhite, one of the Ancient Queens of Narnia, before the White Witch took over), and such was her influence that quarrelling tongues and fists of dissention were stilled and silent before her majesty. And such was her beauty, that kings and princes, lords and dukes fought wars (and even instigated some) in order to claim her as a bride — the most infamous of which was Prince Rabadash the Ridiculous of the Calormen Empire. She was also renowned for the balls that she put together in bygone days.

Foremost of the Tales were of her and the Queen Lucy’s involvement concerning Aslan: witnessing His Death and Resurrection, of their accompanying the Great Lion on His back — the greatest of honors, Reepicheep thought — to the then-abandoned Witch’s Castle and freed all Narnians that had been turned to stone and, led by Aslan, raced to Beruna and overturned the tides of war, snatching victory from the jaws of defeat. There were other stories concerning the Queen Susan, but they were of such content that was of no interest to Reepicheep (and try as one might, there weren’t many stories concerning the Queen Susan to begin with, due to her remaining in Cair Paravel for most of their reign save for the occasional trip to Anvard in Archenland to meet the Royal Family there).

He heard the tales of Queen Lucy the Valiant, of how she was the first Human and the First of the Monarchs to enter Narnia since the Elder Days, and how she met Mr. Tumnus and later the Beavers. The stories also told of the unique relationship she had with the Great Lion of Narnia, the High King of all High Kings — Aslan — and of how, of all her siblings, was given the name “Lioness”.

He heard the tales of her skills as a healer, with her cordial of the rare Fire Flower, from which one drop was send to cure all ills and injuries — even bring them back from the brink of death (proven in King Edmund’s case), and of her valiance in many a battle as she led the archers, and, yes, even in the thick of the fighting; and of how despite the High King’s misgivings, she was eventually allowed to join her brothers in the hells of war.

But the stories concerning the Queen Lucy that most tugged at Reepicheep’s spirit was of her adventures and journeys traveling the great Eastern Sea, of which was her domain. The song that his Dryad nanny sang to him, pertaining to him, wooed him ever more into these particular tales, and it gave him a deep and insatiable longing to sail to the East, to the end of the known world — to Aslan’s Country. (However, as he grew older, Reepicheep would learn that such dreams would have to wait until a Son of Adam comes to rule Narnia once more and bring her back to its former glory.)

He heard the tales of King Edmund the Just, who had betrayed his siblings to the White Witch, but later repented of his crimes and was pardoned by the Great Lion, later proving himself in the Battle of Beruna; valiant were the tales that detailed the Just King’s achievements, of how he had fought with a lion’s ferocity in the desperate fight at the Rocks of Beruna in the battle, of how he slew three Ogres much bigger than him as he ran to intercept the White Witch and save his brother’s life, of how he destroyed Jadis’s wand with his sword and nearly gave his life to not only rescue his brother and atone for his wrongs, but to also help give his people some sort of advantage.

And let us not forget the stories afterward, of his wisdom and sense of justice that was renowned in all corners of the world; of his power and skill as a diplomat, having a tongue of silver that calmed even the most temperamental politician or ruler and helped wrangle peace or trade with many nations for the benefit of Narnia — a tool that could turn into cold, biting steel to intimidate potential or current enemies; and of the tales of his battles, alone or with his Royal Brother the High King, and of his tactical cunning and ferocity in battle. One of the highlights of his career as a warrior was in the Battle of Anvard against the Calormene forces led by Rabadash, and defeating him in single combat in a quite effortless manner (or so Reepicheep thought). Some of his most favorite stories of King Edmund was, predictably, those of the tournaments and contests of arms that the Kings had participated throughout their reigns.

The stories also spoke of the everlasting love and loyalty between the two brothers. So strong was their bond that they were said to almost be the same person, as one being. Rare was the occasion that one Brother was separate from the other, and the Just King was the High King’s shadow wherever he went. Their bond of kinship was such that the young and irrepressible Reepicheep made the solemn resolve to have such kinship with his own siblings (and I’m afraid he was rather overzealous in that endeavor).

But the Tales of Yore that Reepicheep had great expectations to be told before bedtime were concerning only one Pevensie: High King Peter the Magnificent. It was these tales above all else that most fascinated Reepicheep, had him sit, enthralled, with wide eyes full of awe and admiration, as his parents and even his nanny told him story after story of the High King of Narnia — the first and only High King, save for Aslan Himself.

Many a tale was said of the brilliant radiance shining forth from him, as if the Sun had come from the heavens down to Earth, instilling awe and respect among his subjects and allies, and fear and hatred from his enemies; of how his mere presence would silence every tongue and deed in any room with a confident and commanding aura; and of the many deeds in his reign in building roads, schools, homes, entire towns, and even harbors with fleets of ships.

There were tales, too, of his fell temper — of how quick he was to anger should anyone threaten or bring harm to his Royal Siblings or to his people, and often had to take his younger brother to calm him down to reason. (I’m afraid that this was one of the vices that Reepicheep would inherit from his idol and King, and would eventually have to learn to temper it in later years.)

However, the tales that Reepicheep was most eager to hear — and the stories which would seal his destiny for eternity — were those of his feats in battle and deeds of renown: the famous Battle of Beruna, of his duel with Maugrim and later the White Witch, of the many skirmishes against the Fell-Beasts ever after, of his wars against the Giants of Ettinsmoor and Harfang, and against the menacing Calormen Empire — and let us not forget of the High King’s numerous contests and tournaments with other knights and rulers of valor and chivalry!

Yes, it was these tales that would mold Reepicheep into a valiant Knight of Narnia. While the Kings and Queens that were his inspiration were long gone in the immortal sands of time, Narnia was still here — different, yes, but here all the same. The creatures, too, were still here — in hiding, but alive, and planning their one last gamble to reclaim Narnia for their own. Narnia was in need of saving. Narnia was in need of a Hero — a valiant Knight capable of great and mighty needs, and perform many an act of mercy, honor, and kindness. A Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Lion — like the High King Peter!

This was his expectation, to be like the great High King, his hero and mentor, and fight to free Narnia as in the days of the Winter Revolution. To fight as if he was one of the Knights of the Most Noble Order of the Lion, knighted personally by the High King himself! Who knows? Mayhap what was could come again, and the Kings and Queens of Narnia would return through the cries of Queen Susan’s Horn, as the legends have said.

Reepicheep had many expectations, but even that would be expecting too much of the universe! Wouldn’t it?

But despite this, Reepicheep believed, and hoped, and persevered, as all optimists do, and have done, in every age through time eternal.

This was to be expected.

<><><><><><><>

This wasn’t what he expected — not in a thousand years!

Reepicheep wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he ran to defend Prince Caspian from some unknown assailant (aside from it being Telmarines, for who else would be attacking Narnians in an underhanded, cowardly ambush?), but never in his wildest dreams did he expect to be standing in the presence of High King Peter the Magnificent and his Royal Siblings!

The young Mouse — now a full-fledged Knight of Narnia like his father, and his father’s father, and his father before him, and so forth — just stood there in awe, sword drawn, mouth agape (he was fortunate that none of his comrades noticed his discourteous demeanor in favor of focusing on the Monarchs; completely unbecoming of a Knight!) as his dark eyes drank in the beautiful sight of the Pevensies in all their glory.

Prince Caspian’s comment broke him from his shameful behavior (only to be scandalized by it a moment later): “…I’d thought you’d be older.”

Reepicheep gaped at Prince Caspian, completely flabbergasted. This was not what he had expected from the young King-to-Be. That’s not the sort of thing one says to Royalty. So what if the Kings and Queens of Narnia are a bit on the young side? Prince Caspian was one to talk, not yet eight-and-ten himself!

“If you’d like, we could leave and come back in a few years…” Now, he’s done it! Only five minutes in, and His Royal Highness has insulted the High King of Narnia!

“No-No! It-It’s not that,” Prince Caspian assured him hurriedly. “You’re all just… not what I had expected.” He’s done it again! Has His Highness never learned court etiquette, or did they just neglect to teach him the finer things?

Reepicheep briefly heard the younger, dark-haired King — King Edmund — direct a similar comment towards one of the Minotaurs (which was completely understandable, in Reepicheep’s mind, as he didn’t fully trust the creatures himself), before hurrying off to rescue Prince Caspian from further shaming himself with his deplorable decorum.

“We have anxiously awaited your return, My Liege,” And it was true, they did. And according to knightly behavior and code of conduct, he gracefully bowed from the waist with a paw to his heart as he said, “Our hearts and swords are at your service.”

However, any further conversation was halted when his sensitive ears picked up someone using the Forbidden Word: “…He is so cute.”

Immediately, he brandished his sword and interrogated all and sundry with the point of his blade. “Who said that!?” he demanded.

“Oh… Sorry.” Reepicheep turned to see that it was the youngest Monarch, the Queen Lucy, who had spoken the words with an apologetic (and slightly amused) smile gracing her features as she clasped her hands together on her gown.

Realizing that he had made an outburst and drew his sword in front of the Queens, and wanting to make it clear that he meant no offense towards the Valiant Queen, he said: “Your Majesty, with the greatest respect,” he even made a gallant, courteous bow towards his Queen to show that he, did, in fact, have the greatest respect towards her, “I do believe ‘courageous,’ 'courteous,’ or-or 'chivalrous,’ might more befit a Knight of Narnia.” And with a twirl of the blade, he sheathed it back into its scabbard.

“Well, at least we know some of you can handle a blade.” the High King remarked. His expression was pleased and looked impressed by his skill.

Reepicheep beamed. “Yes, indeed,” was the casual reply, wholly pleased with himself. And wanting to put himself even more in his hero’s favor, Reepicheep continued: “And I have recently put it into good use, securing weapons for your army, Sire.” There! That is how one spoke to Royalty — particularly those who’d disappeared for a thousand years. I hope you’re taking notes, Your Highness.

“Good. Because we’re going to need every sword we can get.”

As the High King then turned to speak to Prince Caspian, Reepicheep took that as his cue to step back into the background and hoped that the young prince at least learned from his mistakes and didn’t insult the High King further than he obviously already had.

Granted, Their Majesties weren’t what he expected — and he certainly didn’t expect to meet them along the way back to Aslan’s Howe. Reepicheep himself didn’t understand why the Pevensies returned to Narnia back to their child selves when they had first been coronated. It seemed rather counterintuitive and also puts Their Royal Majesties in a serious disadvantage. But he assumed that Aslan must have a really good reason, and, naturally, one doesn’t question the goings on instigated by the Great Lion. If He wanted the Four Monarchs of Narnia to return as their old child selves, who was Reepicheep to protest against it? Perhaps it was Aslan’s way of making sure that the Narnians recognized them? It was cyclical, he was sure. He remembered the Old Stories told to him by his parents, and his nurse, and compared the two: the Pevensies came to Narnia to start a Revolution, dethrone a tyrant, free Narnia, and rule as her Kings and Queens; and they returned to Narnia during yet another Revolution to dethrone a tyrant, free Narnia, and instill the Prince Caspian as the new King of Narnia (though Reepicheep hoped that Their Majesties would stay afterwards) — history repeats itself in more ways than we think.

As Reepicheep soaked in the radiant presence of Their Majesties, the High Kings and High Queens of Narnia, he realized that they had superseded his expectations. None of them were what he had expected — they were greater than he could have ever hoped or dreamed. The Monarchs of Old Narnia that were in the Legends irrevocably paled in comparison to their real-life transcendent splendor and majesty! And a bold hope grew in the Mouse Chieftain, then — a hope that Aslan has heard their prayers and answered them by sending them the Saviors of a previous Age, and the Knight of Narnia knew beyond a shadow of a whisker’s doubt that with them on their side, chances of victory had gotten much more favorable.

Yes, they had exceeded his expectations. In every respect.

But that, of course, was to be expected.

[thesoobfiles]

a meeting orchestrated by the force – a. skywalker

Request: @originalposter-96, Can I ask for an Anakin Skywalker imagine? The reader knew him as she was in his training, but when he turned away for the dark side, she doesn’t see him for a long while. When they meet again, she’s a singer in a band. Now, as Darth Vader, he’s surprised to see how much she’s changed. She was performing at a party that he showed up to after feeling the force bond between them. She fails to see him in the crowd as her band performs ‘Slim Pickens’ by the Offspring. After the song, he couldn’t help but worry about her. He doesn’t know how to settle his feelings when he sees her. Once he finds her, they reunite at last and he tries to reassure her that he still cares for her.

Words: 1.8k

A/N: alright, so for the sake of the imagine, Vader is not a crispy boy and didn’t get severely burned on Mustafar. also, the Outlander Club on Coruscant is real; it’s the club Obi-Wan and Anakin went into in Attack of the Clones to catch the shapeshifter… and i don’t know if there’s something wrong with my inbox or something but it isn’t showing me the ask so i can’t respond to it… anyways, hope you enjoy!

-

You were the lead singer in a band, ‘Toy Soldiers’. The band consisted of a Twi’lek drummer, a Rodian bassist and a Gungan guitarist.

All of you were just starting out, amateurs, but everyone could tell you guys had talent.

The gang was in high demand, eventually being booked at the Outlander Club on Coruscant; everyone was excited because this was only your third gig and everyone already wanted you guys.

Everyone was well acquainted with each other and was buzzing with excitement as they set up; you, on the other hand, were oddly quiet. Something about this place made you feel a very strong connection with a man you had lost many years ago, 10 years to be precise. You shook it off and placed your hand on the mic, ready to sing your heart out.

Little did you know, that man felt the same connection you had and was on his way there.

Darth Vader was ordinarily more machine than man; his intimidating suit paired with his prosthetic arms and legs made this so. He rarely had the opportunity to lounge around without his suit given his position.

Vader often had trouble rekindling with the Force; however, he couldn’t deny the strong pull he felt to a certain club he visited in his youth.

(Y/N).

Darth Vader hadn’t seen (Y/N) since he was Anakin Skywalker, but he abandoned that name long ago in favor of his new moniker.

Take me for a ride

I’m the one you pushed aside

But it’s coming back to you

Yeah it’s coming back to you, hey!

He left his quarters in a hurry and boarded his starship immediately.

Run to the sound

Take it back and double down

‘Cause it’s coming back to you

Yeah it’s coming back to you

Wearing his everyday suit would obviously make him stick out like a sore thumb; so, he packed the only clothes he still had: his Jedi robes. He knew it was risky; he knew there was the slight chance someone might recognize him as a Jedi, as Anakin Skywalker, but he grabbed them anyway. He sloppily landed his ship and quickly made his way over to the Outlander Club. He changed into his old rags; the clothes that had so much bad history woven into the fabric, it made him sick.

Well

Well we’re pouring gasoline

So dance around the fire that we once believed in

He walked in and the first thing he say was you; he was taken back by the sight and froze to the spot. You’ve changed so much, but at the same time, not at all.

It’ll never be the same, now

‘Cause there’s nothing left for us to be

Give it up the champions of greed

So come around and have another round of me

He doesn’t think he’s ever heard you sing before; when would you guys, as Jedi’s, have time to sing? He shakes the memory from his head and basks in the smoothness and the raw intensity of your voice.

Dance f***er dance, let the motherf***er burn, hey!

You belted the lyrics with all of your soul and you feel oddly connected to it as well. This song makes you think of a time when the Empire wasn’t around; when Anakin was still by your side.

Snake’s in the grass while you are living in the past

Say what’re you gonna do?

Yeah what’re you gonna do, hey!

For some reason, the connection you felt earlier this evening is only getting stronger. It’s been so long since you’ve felt this connection, let alone so strongly. He must be here, but how?

Earn never learn

When you’re cheering while it burns

Yeah we’re coming after you

Yeah we’re coming after you, hey!

You are too caught up in your thoughts to notice, but the crowd is going wild. They love you guys and you’re too in your feelings to enjoy it.

Slim Pickens well he does the right thing

And he ride the bomb to hell

Yeah he rides the bomb to hell

It is truly unfortunate, the tragedy of Anakin Skywalker; doing what he thought was the right thing. He left – no, slaughtered – the Jedi Order: the remaining Padawans, Knights and Masters were all left to the same fate.

Watch the pulse, it quickens after every little sting

If you’re gonna go to hell

Drinking up you might as well

Your heartbeat picks up as the connection grows stronger; Anakin always had that effect on you. You couldn’t see him as the club was filled to the brim, but your Ani walks closer with every word that leaves your mouth.

Are you really gonna take it like that?

Riding on the missile with the cowboy hat, and

Well the world is gonna end

So dance around the fire that we once believed in

You’re brought back to Order 66, seeing the bodies of your Jedi friends thrown to the floor with reckless abandon. The brilliant life that once filled their eyes replaced by a dull shade of its former color.

Wanna tear it down again, now

‘Cause there’s nothing left for us to be

Give it up to the sons of anarchy

So come around and have another round of me

Tears form in the corners of your eyes and you blink them away; when you and your teammates were practicing this song during rehearsal, you didn’t feel such a strong connection with it. Why now?

Dance f***er dance, let the motherf***er burn, hey!

But, now, here. In this cantina, singing this song, with the pull of long forgotten connection, with the possible presence of Anakin Skywalker…

Are you really gonna take it like that?

Riding on the missile with the baseball bat, and

You mentally slap yourself on the wrist and try to focus on singing the rest of this song without falling apart.

Well we’re pouring gasoline

So dance around the fire that we once believed in

It’ll never be the same

The takers and the liars that we all believed in

Well we’re going down in flames

So dance around the fire

We dance around the fire

‘Cause it’s never left for us to be

Give it up the champions of grief

So come around and have another round of me

Hey, hey!

Dance f***er dance, let the motherf***er burn, hey!

Applause immediately erupts from the audience; you can sense joy in all of the attended, but there is one who feels worry more than anything else… You and the rest of the ‘Toy Soldiers’ take a bow. You begin to pack up your equipment into your ship.

By now, all of the members in your band had packed up their equipment and have decided to mingle with the locals. You just finished talking with the manager about the revenue when you felt someone coming towards you, someone familiar.

You turned around expecting one of your bandmates, but were instead met with a face you hadn’t seen in a decade. The cooper color of his eyes are unfamiliar and are in the place of the dazzling blue you loved so much.

You whisper his name, “Anakin…”

A name the Dark Lord resented until it left your lips, “(Y/N)…”

You stand there, your feet stuck to the ground of the bar, unsure of what to do.

Was this really happening or is this a fever dream? You thought; however, you weren’t sick and the strong connection you felt earlier suddenly made sense.

“You-you left the Jedi Order…” You stuttered out, “You left Padmé and the baby, you left Obi-Wan… and you left me…”

He was left speechless and didn’t know what to say. The Sith Lord was worried about you and he quickly acted on instinct… Those feelings he had for you all those years ago suddenly came gushing out like a waterfall and his feet carried him over here; however, now that he was standing in front of you, he had no words for his former lover.

Yes, he did leave the Jedi Order; he no longer held their ideals and couldn’t serve under their corruption any longer.

Yes, he did leave Padmé and the baby; however, even though he no longer loved her, he didn’t plan on killing her and their unborn baby.

Yes, he did leave Obi-Wan; his best friend and mentor had sought his death and only one of them was coming out of there alive.

And yes, he did leave you; he thought you had been slaughtered during the order and he couldn’t bear the thought. He had shut that part of himself off; he put it under lock and key and melted the key.

He hadn’t felt the tug of your shared force bond in so many years; maybe it was due to the location or maybe it was destiny. A meeting orchestrated by the Force to bring Anakin back to the light...

Vader closed the distance and engulfed the young woman in a hug, her face buried in his chest, his Jedi robes still holding the scent of Anakin Skywalker, “Now that I have you in my arms, I’ll never let you go again.”

You look up at his face and are met with the ocean blue eyes of the Jedi you fell in love with so many years ago.

You break out in a smile and wrap your arms around his frame.

Anakin Skywalker had come home.