#please show me your mercy dear sire

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

I'm so sorry I've been MIA!!! for like what - 4 days ????? (time blindness be hitting)

I hit autistic burnout REALLY REALLY hard earlier this week plus I was taking my ADHD meds wrong PLUS with the strike staying in is driving me up the wall like Jessica Drew

So I spent like four days straight throwing myself into new Spidersonas and making art and daydreaming about them cause it genuinely calms me down and let's my mind idle

So now I have like 3 new full Spidersonas and a bunch of art and also a lil anxiety and also some asks and writing I REALLY Need to finish

But yeah if you're waiting for that I promise I don't hate you or anything lol I just have the processing speed of one of these with a virus called Demand Avoidance

PLUS I'M REALLY HOBIE DEPRIVED like sorry Miguel I'm back to Hobie so until my brain syncs with Hobies frequency again imma be going feral about my punk baby boy

I'm gonna be posting some of my new Sonas soon so uhhhh haha yeah if you don't wanna see that.... That's what I got

One OC which I'm REALLY excited for (and so is Hobie)

So hopefully I'll be back to being a functioning person human thing (or whatever my default state is) by today or tomorrow

BUT I'M SORRY SO SORRY ILL BE BACK

[mrs-han]

Hi Mama Han! 💜 Please know my Happy Birthday wishes are meant to be sent the day of your birthday and not before 🙏 (in my country is considered bad luck to greet someone for their birthday days before 😅)

I thought of asking for something sweet like MC making Jumin sleep on her lap on the days at his penthouse when he obviously didn't sleep, but THEN I remembered this video:

https://youtu.be/d_sa4Ur04QU

And the masterpiece that was "The Trilogy of the Marias" with Thalia and I thought: Jumin's route, but as a Mexican telenovela with the funniest tropes we love from the medium (the rich boy, the poor girl, the evil stepmom, AMNESIA, lost relatives, Soraya! Pick your choice! )

Basically I hope you can write something you can have fun writing 😊 and Happy Birthday (in a few days)

Omo, hello Darling!! *huggu*

(Don’t worry, I totally understand — my family will only say it the day of, too! I got caught saying ‘Happy Birthday’ to my father the day before his birthday, and I got LOOKS.)

AND OKAY UM, MEXICAN TELENOVELAS?! Omo. Omo, I just got an idea based off of a show modeled after a telenovela 😂 if you know, you know! (My mom loves that novela, by the by 😂)

Okie!! Here goes!! And ¡¡¡Muchas gracias por tu petición!!! Siento haber tardado tanto ><

Jumin had never attended a unisex baby shower before. His father’s more lucrative partner insisted on a gender-neutral theme, something Jumin heavily admired. The colors were very pleasing to the eye.

But as the party progressed, Jumin couldn’t stop noticing the combined glow and irritability of the mother-to-be. She kept complaining of the room being too hot, or too cold. She had even thrown a gifted pair of slippers at her husband’s head at one point.

“Ah, sweet love.” Standing next to his best friend, V casually leaned against Jumin’s sturdy figure. “Take it in, Jumin. One day, that will be us. At the mercy of our dear —”

“What the hell is this?” The mother-to-be demanded, lifting up a pair of slim-fitting jeans. “Who would buy me this now?! Do I look like I can fit into jeans?!”

V awkwardly lifted his glass to his lips. Jumin bit back a laugh.

“Hey Jumin, she’d like jeans, wouldn’t she? She can wear them after she gives birth, right?”

“Honey, try to calm down —”

“How can I stay calm when some idiot thinks I can fit into a size two after this?!”

Slipping out of the room like an eel between rocks, V set his wine glass down and exhaled shakily.

“I’m not an expert, but —”

“Shut up, Jumin.”

Laughing softly, Jumin’s eyes fell to his blurry reflection echoed in the wine’s dark red color.

“Kind of makes you think, doesn’t it?” V asked.

“About?”

“Settling down. Having kids.”

Jumin was ready to object, but his best friend was right. His mind did wander to the possibilities of siring heirs one day, but that meant meeting a woman and…

Ehm.

Still. Jumin’s age combined with the lack of an heir to the Han family name got to him.

A little bit.

“I have no interest in dating anyone at the moment, much less marrying them. Children are, unfortunately, a very distant goal.”

Finishing his wine, V smacked his lips, much to Jumin’s chagrin. “Sure, if you stay in your bubble.”

“Sure, I should be just like you,” Jumin scoffed. “Rambling to the park attendant about the speeds of rollercoasters and eventually throwing up in the nearest trash can once the ride is over.”

“… You said you’d never bring that up again.”

“It’s safe to say that you and I aren’t siring any heirs anytime soon. Women repulse me, and you, well —”

“Yes, yes, I’ll probably puke all over the next woman I talk to. Right?”

“… No, but why not.” Jumin grinned.

V’s eyes grew as a thought came to mind. “Ready for a crazy idea?”

Jumin took another sip of his wine. “Why not, the night is still young.”

“Let’s donate sperm tomorrow.”

Spitting everything up, Jumin’s eyes bore into V. “Are you — what? Why?”

“Well, like you said. We aren’t having kids anytime soon, and with how much busier our lives are going to get, it’s not a bad idea.”

“V, do you really —”

“We’ll be giving the gift of life to a couple. Or a well-off single mom!”

“… I don’t know. Maybe. I’ll think about it.”

“Come on, Jumin. We both know you’re going to say yes.”

“Doesn’t it bother you? There will be a young man or woman that will one day look like you, or me. We aren’t in the private eye, Jihyun.”

“Who cares about all that. Why are you so worried?”

Jumin felt the uncomfortable churn of jealousy over V’s more carefree nature. “I… well, there’s no harm in checking it out —”

“I already made an appointment for us.”

“You wha — delete it.”

A shame V refused to listen. The following day, Jumin found himself sitting in the waiting room of a sperm donor facility.

“No, that’s literally impossible.”

“Ma’am… I’m sorry, but…” laughing nervously, the doctor looked at you, then at the paperwork in her hand. “The results prove otherwise. When was your last period?”

“Uh, a I’m a little late, but —”

“How late?”

“Two, three weeks? Look, I shouldn’t be pregnant. I can’t be pregnant, I’ve never had sex! I’m here for the results of a Pap smear, not to —!!”

You cut yourself off. You had to, or the swirling sensation you felt would eventually tip you over.

The doctor’s eyes gradually widened. “… You… were the Pap smear appointment at 0900 hours on Tuesday?”

“Yes!!”

“… Oh!” Her laughter almost calmed your nerves.

Almost.

“I confused my appointments, you see… I had an artificial insemination appointment with another client… forty-five minutes after you… I must have gotten you two mixed up…!”

“Are you kidding me?!” You yelled. “How could you confuse the two?!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I didn’t — I had a lot on my mind that day! You see, I had —”

“Oh my God, I don’t want to hear it!!” Throwing your hands up, you couldn’t stop focusing on the anxious churning in your stomach. Hell, maybe it was the seed suddenly aware that it shouldn’t be there.

“There are options for you to take —”

“You know what, you’re done. I want a new doctor.”

“Ma’am, it’s the end of the year… and if you want to schedule an appointment with a new provider, you need to wait until after New Years…”

“After New Years.”

“And our staff at the front desk is going to inform you that the wait will be about two months out…”

You had never been more furious in your life. Sliding off of the examination chair, you (tried to) take as many deep, controlling breaths as possible. You were too afraid to ask about your options, and while abortion was the most reasonable, this doctor would probably end up giving you cyanide to injest.

“If I may,” the doctor voiced timidly, raising her finger.

You shook your head, agitating the budding headache against your temples. “I really don’t want to hear any suggestions, thanks.”

“No, you see… the sperm donor asked that I inform him of when his sperm was ever used —”

“His sperm should have never been used.”

“Nevertheless… would you like to know…? Who…”

The timidity of your doctor’s voice frustrated you further. “It doesn’t matter. I doubt I’ll keep it.”

“Which is reasonable, given the circumstances! But, I’m wondering if you, too, would like to know… given you may not keep —”

“Fine. Who is it.”

She stared at you, fumbling with her fingers. “Are you familiar with Han Jumin of C&R International…?”

You stopped breathing. Your fingers tingled, your throat went dry, and your jaw clenched so tightly that you felt your teeth grinding rigidly against each other.

Han Jumin. The heir to the massive business conglomerate, C&R. Of course you knew him. Well, not personally. You were currently reading one of his books, The Successful Path of a Certain Man, for your Business Intelligence & Analytics final.

He was a business magnate, a flawless negotiator and the role model for business majors everywhere.

And you were inseminated with his seed.

“I have to go.”

“Um, wait — ma-am!”

Ignoring your doctor completely, you grabbed your coat and rushed out of the facility. It was too much for you to absorb, and you had so many questions.

Like, what was the Han Jumin doing at a sperm bank?

How would you go about suing your doctor?

Why did you schedule your first freaking Pap smear towards the end of the year?!

You wanted to go home, curl under a huge pile of blankets, and disappear from the world.

But something else captured your attention. A ping from your phone.

Unknown: … Hello…? Can you see this?

[beauxmccallum]

LOCATION: Alpin’s Plantation

WHO: @xxfelicityegertonxx​

 On rare occasions, Beau would invite people over to engage in a lovely dinner and music afterwards.  This evening, he asked the vampire Felicity to join him.  In his mind, the woman was nothing like his sire who continued to threaten his kin.  Instead, Felicity showed self control, kindness and mercy.  All traits, he admired of the woman.

At the door, he heard her and of course Stonewall was quickly wagging his tail and barking at the door, excited for a visitor.  When he opened it, he told the Golden Retriever to go lay down and he greeted the woman with a soft kiss on the top of her hand.  “Please, do come in.  How are you on this fine evening?  I still find it so strange that many of my acquaintances over the years managed to end up here in Wolford of all places.”  He started.  “Dear me, how rude of myself.  May I please take your coat?”  Beau asked as he led the other vampire further into his home.  “I was not sure about your preference, so I went with O positive for tonight’s meal.”

[shintorikhazumi]

English!AU (2): Has To Be.

A/N: Yey. I don’t know smack about what I’m writing. So warning. Badly written. Rip. Might suck. 

Hannah solo chap. Next chap two idiots and their chaperones are coming along.

Enjoy?

~ShintoriKhazumi

She wanted to cross her arms and show just how irritated she was by all of this.

But she couldn’t.

The tea was getting cold from her ignoring it, hands folded on her lap, unwilling to take up the cup and allow it to serve its purpose of providing her refreshment.

Like anything could refresh her for what was about to go down.

“After all that effort to create as much distance as possible... and here you are.” Hannah hated that condescending chuckle. “Sorry and without freedom. Simply under father's mercy."

She grit her teeth, fingers twitching. She needed to keep it all in. Control. Control. She could do it. She had long since been trained on ways to hold her composure, not that she'd ever found the need to use this skill back in Luna Nova.

Ah, Luna Nova. How she missed it. She had the freedom of expression, she could voice out her every opinion. Well, yes, she could be a little bitchy at times. She was working on that bit. ‘Sorry Akko.’

Here, however, she could not allow herself to lash out. She had to be composed, elegant, dignified. Bottled up and choking on all the expectations she had been trying to escape.

And yet, here she was. Back in their clutches.

“What a sad, sad girl.”

The voice was incredibly irritating. Hannah would love to shove a sock in it.

"Pathetic really."

'Shut it.'

“I bet you’re planning something. Conniving as you always were.”

Hannah released a sigh, shutting her eyes to avoid looking at the sore sight of her current companion.

"I'm not here because I want to fight you... Jared."

'I'd rather murder you right now without needing to. Annoying little prick.'

"Right. No fighting. And yet you came back." Jared sneered. "That in itself is already a declaration of war, my dear, dear sister.

“Listen.” Hannah growled, finally looking him in those similar-colored eyes that reminded her that she really shared the same blood as this terror of a family. “I’m not here because I want to be.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Well that’s because-”

“The Prince of Wales, Harold Windsor, enters.”

Hannah whipped her head about, eyes wide, unable to mask her emotions this time around. And it seemed like her the new arrival was unable to as well.

"Why... Are you here." It was a question that didn’t really sound like one. It felt more like a statement whose true meaning actually translated to, ‘I don’t want you here.’.

Hannah agreed with that sentiment. 'Does it look like I want to be?' She sighed internally, preparing her mind for the onslaught of either words or actions about to befall her.

Calmly, she responded. "Grandfather called for me."

"What?!" Harold marched forward, brows furrowed deeply, gaze burning hot. “He did not! I heard nothing of the sort!”

Hannah barely flinched. She needed to keep up her facade, afraid as she was. She could not show weakness nor fear. No. Not in front of this man.

Not in front of the man she once called Father.

“I suppose he did not feel the obligation to inform you, sire.” She replied, voice level.

“And why would he not? I am rightfully the next in line! I must know these things!”

‘Do you now?’

“How should I know? If you don’t know, your majesty, what makes you think a lowly servant such as I would?”

A flash of indignance crossed the man’s face as his hand quickly raised, ready to come down on Hannah, swift and solid.

She cursed her body, frozen with a familiar fear, cultivated since long ago. It was coming.

It was coming.

Her eyes were the only ones to react, shut tight just as she was about to receive the hit.

The strike never came.

Opening her eyes, Hannah was surprised to see Jared. His arm stretched out in front of her, as if to shield her from that man.

In front of them both was her bodyguard who had caught Harold’s hand in a tight grip.

“How dare you interrupt me-”

“I am simply carrying out the work assigned to me. To protect the first princess, Hannah Windsor, until the end of the selection.” The bespectacled man stated firmly, releasing Harold’s hand.

Turning to his charge, he directed her to the door, remaining close to the current heir apparent should he plan something else.

“It’s time for your audience with His Majesty, the King, Miss Hannah.” He said, far more gently than his cold voice from earlier.

“...y-yes. Yes, thank you. Sir Mark. I... I shall go.”

She left the room quickly, unable to bear the atmosphere any longer. Once out the door, she had found herself accompanied by two guardians, leading her to the room she knew was her grandfather’s.

She could only hope things would not get worse.

//

“Why am I here.”

“Why must everyone ask the same boring questions.” The old man replied, stroking his chin. “Isn’t the answer obvious?”

“Your Majesty-”

“Hannah.”

“G-Grandfather.” She heard a pleased hum. “I thought we had an agreement.”

“Well, I thought so too.”

“What is that supposed to mean?!” Hannah slammed her fist into the bedpost, feeling her held back fury escaping. “I told you I wanted to be a witch!”

“And I’ve told you that witches are not to be part of the royal family.” He replied calmly.

“Exactly! So why?!” Hannah interrogated, clearly exasperated at these events. “You told me I could not be. But if I truly wanted you to let me go, I would manage Cielton for three years, raise their industry economic value, earn it publicity and recognition on the map, and I did all of that!” Her voice raised higher.

She should be frightened, screaming at the monarch of their country; but when it was just the two of them, no guards, no other people around, there was only Hannah and her grandfather. Two members of a family.

“We had a deal.” She said, voice breaking.

“I’m sorry.”

“I wanted no part in this.” She angrily wiped the tears away on her sleeve, huffing away her crying. “Didn’t you already announce that I’ve stepped down from the selection years ago?”

“...”

“Grandfather!”

The man remained silent. This only fueled Hannah’s pain and feelings of betrayal. Her grandfather was the only family she had left that she believed she could actually trust, yet he wasn’t even listening!

“The moment the time limit you gave was up, I would leave for my life as a witch. I would turn my back to the family. Just like you and father told me to. That was the deal. You would take care of the announcements, the excuses. All of it. You said so because if it was found out that I was leaving to be a witch, the backlash would be too strong.”

Hannah sighed, sitting on one of the lounge chairs, burying her face in her hands.

“You didn’t hold up your end of the bargain!”

“Neither did you.”

“What!?”

“I know of you commuting to Luna Nova during those three years. You didn’t enter two years ago. You’ve been there for five.” He revealed. “I also know the Young Cavendish head is your friend.”

Hannah suddenly stood up, realizing she’d been found out. “Grandfather, I-”

“Thus, you didn’t hold up your end completely either. You went behind my back.”

“That was!”

“And so, our deal is invalid. I did not announce your backing off from succession either. So consider things fair.”

All her statements died in her mouth as Hannah slumped back into the chair.

“...Why does it have to be me?”

“Why not?”

“I’m serious.”

“I am too.” The old King chuckled mirthlessly. “Hannah, dear. You were thirteen. And your father was sneaking out in town creating one too many scandals for me to keep up with.”

“I have two older brothers.”

“And none of them did as well as you did. One doesn’t want the throne-”

“I don’t either!”

“-for good reasons.”

“...”

“I do not trust Devon with this land, Hannah. The way he looks at the crown, drinking in the sight of its power as though it were intoxicating wine... He will destroy this country, Hannah.”

“Jared-”

“Is incompetent. We both know this.”

Hannah couldn’t reply to that.

Time ticked by in uncomfortable silence. Only emotional breaths, and the rustles of sheets were heard.

Hannah felt the stinging of restrained tears at the back of her throat. Her eyes burned, her head throbbed. Her nails dug deep into her palms as she considered all of this.

It wasn’t fair. It truly wasn’t.

“...does it have to be me?”

“There’s no one else.” The King said sadly. “It has to be.”

[gerbiloftriumph]

The Silence Between Snowflakes

(also on ao3) ~ 4/8 - A Rose Among Thorns

(extra thanks to @captmickey​ for helping me work through three or so variations of the breakfast scene)

~*~*~

Snow fell, fires burned weakly with a fraction of their usual fuel, and people huddled together for warmth. Alexander’s face was constantly drawn with nervousness—since he couldn’t leave the castle easily due to all the snow, he’d taken to hiding himself in odd corners again like he had in his first few weeks here, apprehensive about...something. Graham worried for his son. Maybe he feared he was somehow to blame for this bizarre storm? It felt like something Manannan would do, if he was even around to do magic anymore after whatever Alexander had done to him.

But it was just weather. Wizard or not, who had magic like this?

A memory stirred. Hagatha?

“It’s winter,” Graham said to his own thoughts. “Just winter. It happens.”

“Yes, dear,” Valanice said automatically. She tilted her head back and drained her mug, holding a book over her face with her other hand so she could continue reading at the same time. They were hunting for stories and descriptions of similar weather incidents, and so far they’d come up with…nothing much. There were a handful of droughts, and at least one surprise butterfly migration, but nothing like an eternal, endless winter storm.

The family was picking at breakfast, sitting close around the table. Yet another storm had blown up this morning and was whistling past the windows, making eerie noises as it spun through the crenellations. Alexander was downcast, turning his toast to crumbs more than eating it. Rosella was trying to convince him, without success, to challenge her to another Battle of Wits board game. Graham’s spoon knocked hollowly against his nearly empty mug. The sugar was long dissolved into his tea, which was cold by now anyway. He continued to stir absently, thinking. Planning. With no ideas.

If only there was something to plea to, or something to challenge, but this was snow. He had sent messages to the neighboring kingdoms for assistance in food and fuel, but no one had replied yet (if they’d even gotten his messages in the first place). Daventry felt cut off, standing alone. He watched the snowflakes skim almost horizontally across the window.

A flurry of knocks made Graham sit up. “Yes?”

Royal Guards Numbers One and Three entered. Heavy snow tracked behind No3 in wet clumps, a damp line in the carpet showing where she’d walked, and she seemed out of breath and shivering. No1 stood close beside her, at attention but with a certain energy that suggested he was going to reach out and catch her if she wobbled.

“Permission to report, Sire?” he asked, his gaze never leaving his subordinate.

“Granted,” Graham said, surprised. He glanced at his family—they were all staring at the guards, startled by their sudden appearance.

“We apologize for interrupting breakfast, Sire. But we appear to have a new neighbor,” No1 said briskly.

“New…neighbor?” Graham put down his spoon and shifted his chair to give them his full attention.

“Number Three, you may proceed.”

“Permission to speak informally?” she gasped. She had definitely had been running through the snow, which was practically impossible with how thick the drifts were getting out there. It was a wonder she hadn’t twisted an ankle.

“Granted,” No1 and Graham said, almost in unison.

“Okay. I was on standard patrol. In the lavender fields, to the west.” Snow dripped off her shoulders. “I was climbing the hill, you know, the one that overlooks the river? As I climbed the hill, I started getting a prickle in my fingers, through my gloves, like the temperature was dropping fast. And…” she stopped, looking at No1.

“Proceed,” he prompted, but the usual dry edge in his voice softened.

“Sir. At the top of the hill, you can see into the valley. Only. Only, there isn’t a valley anymore.” She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, sir, who’s ever heard of a floating castle? It’s something out of a story.”

“It isn’t floating now,” No1 said. “It’s definitely landed.”

“Almost on my head,” No3 squeaked, and there was a note of hysteria in her words. No1’s hand rose ever so slightly behind her back to keep her steady.

“Wait. Are you telling me a castle just…appeared? In my field?” Graham went to the window like he could see it through the snow-crusted glass, even though that window only overlooked the kitchen herb gardens now slick with ice.

“Not entirely impossible, Graham,” Valanice murmured. “Remember?” True, though rare: Valanice had been trapped in one such moving castle twenty-some years ago, although that one had most definitely stopped moving.

Graham nodded. “But they might be here by accident. I believe that sort of transport magic is fickle and hard to control.” And twenty years ago, that had been simply a single spindly tower. It was relatively easier to enchant on a small scale, as far as he knew. But this sounded….

“It’s a full castle, perfectly enormous,” No3 continued, confirming Graham’s thoughts. “It made such a noise, like a great crashing monster, and I thought…. I had to start running back to the castle, but the storm this morning, I didn’t expect it to blow up like that, and I was. Caught out in it. I slipped on the hill trying to get back up, and I rolled, and with the snow like it was, blasting up from the ground, I…I got so turned around, I got lost, Sire, in Daventry fields, I got lost!

“And it was so loud, the castle, all groaning and creaking, and you could hear it echoing around the valley as it settled, and I…I was so sure something was going to grab me in that storm and take me away and I couldn’t even see my own glove in front of my face, and it was so cold. It just bit right into my bones even through all my layers and. I ran and I ran, and I could hear that castle the whole time, this awful sound, like you couldn’t hear if something was coming up behind you, and you couldn’t see in that storm anyway, and I don’t know how, but I found the tree line, and…”

“And she found me,” No1 said, subtly shifting so that he was between her and the royal family. “She found the trail back to the castle, found me, and I’ve dispatched scouts. Reports are clear, Sire. You have new neighbors, crushing your lavender.”

The room was still and silent for a moment, other than No3’s nervous hiccups for air.

“You didn’t hurt yourself falling, did you?” Graham asked.

“No, no, I’m. Fine. Just.”

“Shaken,” No1 interrupted.

“Didn’t want to wait before telling you, though,” she added.

“Here, let me get you some tea,” Valanice said, standing.

“No, no, I’m meant to serve you,” No3 said nervously.

“And you have done so wonderfully. Come on, sit here.”

“It could definitely be an accident,” Graham repeated, mulling it over while Valanice hunted through the mugs on the side table. “They might not have come here intentionally, especially if the storm blew them in.”

“Maybe they need directions,” Rosella chirped. “And ‘welcome to Daventry’ cookies.”

“Welcoming hot chocolate would be more appreciated,” No1 said blandly. “Reports indicate that the castle is made of ice.”

“…Ice?”

“Frozen water, yes.”

No3 was still trembling, tea threatening to spill over onto her gauntlets. She was surely thinking about getting lost in the snow, slipping and falling and hurting herself on one of Daventry’s rocky outcroppings. No1 was watching her carefully, and he radiated a bristly protective determination.

“Did you sense anyone?” Graham asked her, gently. “The castle was loud as it was landing, but…did you feel like there was anyone watching you?” For some reason he couldn’t shake the idea of ice people, which was perfectly ludicrous. But then, so was a floating castle.

“I couldn’t say, Sire,” she said. “I was too, uh. Distracted.”

“What about the scouts?”

No1 shook his head. “No one has heard so much as a word from it, but the storm is still quite bad. We can’t get close enough yet to confirm. I…” He cut himself off and resolutely refused to say whatever was still on his mind.

“Who’s out there?”

“Two and Four are on the road—I insisted on pairs, Sir, to prevent one getting lost alone. Kyle and Larry are on strict orders to report back the moment anything changes.”

(Larry’s arm had been badly broken during the attack that had taken Alexander eighteen years ago, and it had never quite healed right. But he hadn’t been much good at patrols anyway, so he and Kyle mostly ran messages together these days. Their footing was the most secure on any terrain. They’d had plenty of practice over the years, and a blizzard wouldn’t faze them.)

“I wonder. It sounds like something out of a fairy tale,” Graham said. The goblins thought fairy tales were true. He blinked, wondering where that idea had come from. “I want to see it for myself.”

No1 stiffened. “Sire,” was all he said, but so dry and sharp he could have cut someone.

“This doesn’t feel like a coincidence, a castle made of ice and this weather,” Graham said. “If I can see who’s in there, who owns the place, maybe that will help Daventry.” There was a buzzing excitement in his skin. The possibility of some action spurred him onward. Maybe they weren’t at the mercy of the skies. Maybe this castle held some answer for the storms that plagued his country—maybe finding a way to move it on would change Daventry’s predicament.

At the table, quiet and uncertain, Alexander said, “Could I come with you?”

Everyone turned, and Alexander shrank down in his chair. No1 instantly started voicing a thousand concerns, but Graham cut him off with a nod, delighted his son was taking initiative. “Absolutely.”

“Sire, please, allow me to speak freely,” No1 said.

“You may.”

“This is a terrible idea.”

“Has anyone threatened us? Does it feel harmful?” Graham asked, circumventing the concern.

“It feels cold, Sire.”

“That’s generally what ice does,” Rosella said, leaning heavily on the sarcasm to match No1, but she had a sparkle of mischief in her eyes that belayed her enjoyment.

No1 very carefully didn’t look at her. “It may be true that no one has said or done anything yet, but there is a blizzard on right now. It is highly likely whoever owns the castle is lying low until the storm passes. Simply because we have not seen any signs of actual threat yet does not mean your safety is guaranteed.”

“I think this might be a small risk,” Graham said dismissively. “If they meant us harm, they could have taken us unawares in the night. A floating castle landing on top of us would have been a threat. This probably is a mistake. They could need us.”

“I must have at least until this afternoon to confirm,” No1 said, and there was a taste of weary resignment in his words. “I will not risk more danger to your family if I can at all avoid it. You cannot travel in this blizzard in any case.”

Graham thought about it, then agreed. “Continue to watch. If anyone does respond, I want to know immediately. In the meantime, I think I’ll check the library for anything about moving castles.”

The walk to the lavender fields, several hours later, was peaceful enough. The blizzard had died back, although more clouds seemed to be gathering over the distant field, over the intruding castle’s turrets. Graham idly wondered if something inside had to rest and rejuvenate before storming again, and he laughed at the idea. They had no proof the castle had brought the snow, and it felt like a leap to imagine so. This was just an illusion brought on by his own expectation.

Nothing much had changed between the morning and now. Actually, nothing at all had changed. The castle was there, unmoving, and nothing had responded to any calls or flag waving or anything. No one really wanted to go up and knock, but the castle hadn’t opened up for anything else yet.

Number One marched a little way ahead of Graham and Alexander, watching the roads for any hint of danger, his hand on his sword hilt. Beside him was No3, guiding them along her original route to the castle so they would see it as she had. Her back was stiff, and she had fallen into the natural royal guards’ swinging gait. If she had any apprehension about returning to the place that had frightened her, she certainly didn’t show it, moving with all the trained confidence she could muster. Her fear would not be her defining memory. Graham couldn’t help but smile, proud of his team and the effort they gave.

Behind them, No2 walked a little more slowly, snuffling miserably with the start of a cold. He, too, had his hand close to his sword, just in case. Kyle and Larry were a little distance further behind, to act as part of a signal beacon, with Number Four watching them from Daventry Castle’s battlements. And that was as large a delegation as Graham wanted, at least initially. There were more guards available and ready to assist should things turn sour, but he didn’t want to tip things over into a fight unnecessarily. Too many numbers could look like a threat. They would stay outside, perhaps in the courtyard, and talk, he hoped, and determine what his new and preferably temporary neighbors wanted.

In the back of his head, Graham knew this was a foolish idea, but he was starving for action. Desperate to protect his people. This was the first thing he felt he could do. No threats had been sent from the castle. The Daventry guards had been left alone. If anything, Graham thought the floating castle residents might be hurt, struggling, unable to reply even if they wanted to.

Or at least, that’s what he told himself so that he wouldn’t think too hard about what a bad idea this might be.

It was quiet. Graham didn’t sense that anything was necessarily wrong. Winter was a quieter season. However, the air carried a strange, deadened silence to it that you tended to get only when it was actively snowing. Like the world was muffled and waiting. But it wasn’t currently snowing.

As they drew closer, the lonely silence grew. The snowpack started to give way to icy patches that made Graham’s boots, normally so grippy, skid and slide. He and Alexander had to catch themselves several times, and even the royal guards, boots currently equipped with crampons for patrols, were unsteady. The chill in the air nipped at them all the more as they drew closer. Graham’s ears ached, and he yanked his cap down further, smoothing his hair over the tips of his ears. He could feel the cold bite through his gloves.

The ice palace gleamed ahead of them, catching every scrap of light and reflecting it back. It was a thousand shimmering colors, almost impossible to comprehend. Its outer walls sparkled with white, cool grays, light blues, foamy greens, but further in, toward the heart of the castle, it took on crystalline blues, deep navy, black. The tallest tower, jutting at crazy angles out of the center of the castle, was purest white, and it was nearly translucent in places. It seemed possible to trace the hint of stairs leading up to its top.

But despite the clearness of the walls in certain places, there were no signs of humans, no colorful clothes of royalty or servants. Just endless grays and blues. Graham couldn’t be sure if some of the blue shapes were moving in the walls or if it was a trick of the light reflecting as he walked and changed his angle ever so slightly.

Finally, they approached the hollow itself where the castle sat. No1, shivering so badly that his knees knocked together, his armor clanging, bowed and gestured for Graham to lead.

It felt to Graham like he and his tiny entourage was the only life for miles. Not dangerous. Just achingly lonely.

The gates of the castle towered high above them. Icy, frostbitten, solid, and silent. Graham looked them up and down, marveling at how they had been carved. They had been given the clear marks of wood grain, of knots, of metal. It looked like a perfectly ordinary castle gate recast in ice and snow. As his gaze dropped to the base of the gates, he sighed. The castle had, indeed, simply plonked down in his fields—it was crushing the roses someone had so carefully planted in rows here. The poor bushes were twisted and curled and pressed beneath the foundation. The impact had knocked all the snow off them, and they were gnarled and broken and black looking.

Gently, Graham knocked on the gates, rapping with his gloved knuckle. The clattering echo that erupted from his knock sounded like gongs and bells striking each other, bouncing and resounding and reflecting on each other again and again. It seemed to shake the whole place. No one within would be able to ignore it, but as they waited, no one responded, either.

Graham knocked again, a little more forcefully, with the same result: a tremendous lot of noise, and no human or monster acknowledgement from within.

After a little wait, he went to knock a third time, and then he realized something odd. “You know,” he said to himself, “It doesn’t feel cold here.” He peeled off his glove and pressed his hand against the gate. It felt perfectly ordinary, like wood instead of ice, despite what his eyes insisted. It was warm, almost like it had been resting in the sun of a spring day. As he stood still, considering, he thought it felt a bit warmer, but his hand felt colder. Almost like it was leeching his warmth away, leaving a chill spreading up his arm.

Curious, he ran his bare hand down the wood, sensing the strange stealing warmth, wondering if this was magic or something more mundane—but then one of the crushed roses curled against the gate caught the side of his palm. It was much sharper and more piercing than an ordinary thorn bite should have been, and he hastily drew back his hand with a muffled yelp of surprise, half expecting to see blood pouring from a gaping wound but not seeing anything amiss. The flower itself, petals and all, was somehow still on the vine, shriveled and dead but nevertheless frozen into place on its stem.

“Are you okay, si—Dad?” Alexander asked, his voice shivering with cold or fear, Graham wasn’t sure which.

“It’s the roses,” Graham said, and rubbed his hand. “Just got nicked, wasn’t expecting it.” He leaned back and tried to see over the top of the gate. If anyone was coming to respond to his knock, it had to be soon. “I do think the guards were right. This place is empty, don’t you think? I’ve never seen a castle so still.” Still of life, anyway. The walls caught every reflection, every movement from outside, and shone it back like a broken mirror.

“It could be a really small staff,” Alexander offered, though he seemed distracted, concentrating on something Graham couldn’t detect.

“For a castle? Maybe,” Graham said doubtfully. “It takes a lot to keep one running, though. It’s not like a manor house. Still. Maybe they’ll reach out to us, since our attempts to talk to them don’t seem to be going anywhere. Hopefully we’ll learn something new by tomorrow.”

Above them, the storm clouds were starting to turn a bruised sort of gray, and No1 gestured for them to return home quickly. “Come along, Your Majesties. I shouldn’t think you want to be caught in that blizzard.”

“Shall we?” Graham said, and waved his son ahead of him. Before turning to go, Graham looked at the gate once more, and wondered what was just beyond it. What did the courtyard look like? If the gate felt like wood but was made of ice, were the carpets and tapestries the same? Torches casting off ice chips while still casting off heat in little half-melted alcoves? What about the people?

He sighed, shook his head, and followed his son up the path, rubbing his (gloved again) hand absently as he walked. His royal guards snapped back into their places, leading and following with swords at the ready, as apprehensive as ever. The wind sprang up behind them, hastening their steps like they were being chased away.

The hollow in front of the gate was quiet. No one came to the door to see who had been knocking. The rose bushes trembled in the wind. The rose that had caught Graham turned icy and cold. Frost bloomed along the shriveled petals, forcing the dead and withered rose into a second bloom, sharpening and hardening the petals, until the whole stem was solid and clear and blue and cold. It was almost part of the castle, almost frozen into silence in the gate, but the wind twirled through the hollow. The rose slammed against the door and broke into a thousand glittering shards. The sound of the impact was like another knock, ringing clear in the deepening gloom as early winter night stole over Daventry.

But this time, something deep within the castle shifted.

~*~*~*~

Valanice woke before Graham, but she didn’t want to get up. The air outside the blankets nipped her nose. The temperature had dropped again, and it didn’t feel like anyone had stoked the fireplace. Perhaps it was too early. She pressed herself against Graham—he was as cozy as a bear, a proper furnace of his own. Nice in the winter, not so nice in the summer, but right now she wanted him to hug her close and keep her warm. Sleepily, he obliged, moving his arms to hold her as she wanted.

She smiled contentedly and snuggled deeper with a sigh, but then his hand grazed her shoulder, and she flinched away, annoyed. “Graham, your hands are like ice,” she complained.

“Mmm?” He pulled her closer. “But you’re so warm.”

“No, seriously, Graham, you’re freezing. Stop that.” Valanice batted him away, sitting up in bed, properly awake now, blankets pulled up to contain the warmth.

He sat up with her, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He stopped. Blinked. She looked at him. She looked down. He looked down.

His hand was encased to the wrist in ice. Not encased. Replaced, transformed, by ice. Deep and clear and white, like a carving. It glittered and sparkled, catching what little light there was in the room. He twisted it, bent the fingers stiffly—they could hear the ice crackle, like ice cubes dropped into lemonade on a hot day.

They looked at each other.

They screamed.

~*~*~*~

Nothing helped.

Graham nursed blazing cups of tea that no one else could touch. He wrapped his hand in a hot blanket. He drank gut-warming whiskey and poured the rest of the glass over his hand. He plunged it into a hot bath. He held it distressingly close to the fireplace flames. During this last attempt, he tried to joke that it was like roasting marshmallows for s’mores—he was already a Graham Cracker, after all. It was a terrible joke that no one laughed at. Nothing changed. The ice remained resolutely icy.

In fact, by the end of the morning, the ice had spread. Not much, not enough that anyone other than Graham would notice. It was fractionally beyond his wrist, moving up his arm. Infinitesimally slow, but creeping along nevertheless. He pressed against it with his other hand like he could stop it, and that achieved about as much as his melting attempts. Nothing.

And, gradually, a chill started to spread, too. It didn’t matter that he was sitting clothes-singingly close to the fireplace, that he was practically chugging hot tea. There was a shiver in his fingertips, and a bone deep cold ache was spreading up his arm. By noon he could feel it in his shoulder, although the ice was barely beyond his wrist. His fingers seemed to be locking up, too, getting harder to bend.

“It’s that castle,” Valanice said. Her voice shook. Graham glanced up at her. “We have to get in there and demand they reverse...whatever this is.”

“They do have quite the defense system,” Graham agreed. He tugged the blanket higher over his shoulder with his good hand, careful not to drag it through the smoldering embers on the edge of the fire.

“Sire, you cannot go there again,” No1 said sharply. He snapped into full attention, as though formality would carry him forward. “I will not permit it. I have some sway over matters of your safety, and I shall invoke those abilities now. You shouldn’t have gone in the first place. I accept blame for that decision fully, and you may retire me at any point after these events are concluded. I shall send a delegation in your place, as I ought to have insisted upon doing the first time.”

“And have Matt or Kyle or Roberta freeze like me?” Graham said, an edge to his voice, ignoring their titles in his frustration. “I think not. This already got me. I’ve got to see it through rather than risk it happening to anyone else.”

“Sire.” No1 only stood up straighter. Someone could have used him as a level to hang paintings precisely. “If they caused this injury to you yesterday, they’ll only be delighted to have you stroll back up to them so they can finish the job.”

“No one was even around to do something malicious in the first place, you know that!” Graham insisted. “I pricked myself on that rose. It was inattentiveness, not intentionality. I tripped a trap that wasn’t meant for me. It was my rose bush, for stars’ sake, part of Daventry! It’s probably a curse on the castle that infected my country, and the people inside could be as desperate for help as me!”

“You can’t know that for certain, though. This might have been a trial foray, to see if they could catch you easily. Daventry has its enemies. Perhaps more so now than ever.” No1 glanced sideways at Alexander, who was sitting ramrod straight in a chair near the door, looking for all the world like a sculpture himself. “This is a delicate time, Graham,” he said, his voice and his protocol dropping so the king alone would hear him. “Don’t risk anything unnecessarily.”

Graham held his gaze for a moment, and then looked down at the hearth, at the snapping flames. “You might be right,” he said softly.

“I’m sure I am. I’ll pull together a team now. Volunteers only: they’ll be told the risks. But, Sire, I think I’ll have more volunteers than I’ll know what to do with. They love you. They want to help you. Please, let them.”

No1 bowed smartly and left with a click of his sharpened heels. After he was gone, the rest of the royal family filtered out as well, Alexander running to find an alcove to hide in, Rosella following him, Valanice going to order more tea. Graham sat alone by the fireplace, feeling the silent emptiness of the room bearing down on his shoulders. He felt hollow, and the room felt bitter. Like he was sitting in an icy cavern even now.

The same questions.

What did that courtyard look like? The carpets, the tapestries—could they bend like fabric while still being as cold as ice? Were the torches hot despite their icy veneer? What about the people?

He wanted to go back. He wanted to see inside. He wanted to know. He yearned to know. Was everything made of it, and did it still work? Were there others with ice instead of flesh? He needed to know.

He swapped the blanket for his cloak.

[everdino]

So, i

Really I really wanted Deadstick (oc that belongs to @eve-of-halloween !) to be alive (cause hes Adorable), so I wrote a little drabble with this au.

And also, I wrote it before I saw the canonical version of Deadstick alive, so I probably could not portray it correctly. Yes. Well. I hope you will like it.

Sorry for any mistakes. Deadstick and Hornet belongs to Eve, i dont own anything.

--

- "Oh come on you. I just want to take a closer look at her." -

With a soft laugh, the orange-violet con said. He stood leaning against the wall of the old building, with his shoulders down to show a lack of hostility. But this didn’t really convince the older mech. Triplechanger was still at a distance, clutching his own precious treasure to his chest. He was a bit confused, weighing the pros and cons

Blitzwing did not expect to meet him here. At least not now. This used to be a short walk around the base so that his little dear daughter could refresh herself a bit. Hornet giggled and wriggled among the claws of her sire, unaware of the uncomfortable situation he was in.

On the one hand, he should have lowered his guns and demanded that con get out of here right now. On the other hand he looked calm and unarmed. And most importantly it was his own Brother...

Blitz stepped aside, frowning at Deadstick. Too much shit happened between them so that the former con could entrust his brother with the most valuable thing that he ever had.

Deadstick, whose name Blitzwing called him, though he knew that it had been changed, was smaller and weaker than Blitzwing, even after the upgrade he received. But he was still a Decepticon, a damn smart Decepticon, and that made Blitz be on his guard.

- "I understand," - Dead said again, - "you don't have to trust me. But you must believe me, that I will not return to them."

- "I can’t see the reason why not." - Blitzwing answered sternly, turning his gaze either to Deadstick or to his own hands where Hornet was, as if she could magically disappear from there.

- "I'm tired," - Deadstick simply answered. - "I've always been superfluous among the Decepticons. Even when I, instead of the triplechanger programme, had another operation, my mind did not change much. I could stand up for myself, but still felt as if i was in cage."

Blitzwing's spark trembled painfully in his frame, and his mind was clouded by those memories that came to him in nightmares

I hate you. I hate you

His own voice echoed in his mind, making him squint with pain.

I hate you

It was only his fault. If he knew...

- "You...never told me what really happened to you." - Blitzwing said slowly, when the hated voice trailed off. Deadstick was silent for a while, gathering his thoughts. Not for Blitzwing alone, this was a tough topic to talk about. The silence was broken only by Hornet who honking to attract the attention of the creator. Blitz looked from his brother to his daughter, beginning to carefully pat and caress her head with a claw, at the moment when Deadstick spoke:

- "You went into stasis first. I remember that when you fell asleep, I was...broken. Scared. I cried" - Deadstick paused, expecting to hear a flurry of insults and accusations of cowardice, but much to the younger's surprise, Blitzwing looked at him silently. - "I did not want this, but obviously everyone did not care. Except...Shockwave. I remember that he went into the operating room and said to work with you first. And he took me to another room. He asked if I want to become stronger, if I want to avenge the carrier. I did not answer then because I was afraid that if I agree they will return me to the operating table. I felt that it would be bad there, it would hurt." - Deadstick again fell silent and suddenly exclaimed with sharp aggression - "I loved carrier! But I did not want to die! I knew that I would die. I was never like you!" -

Blitzwing staggered back in shock, instinctively hiding sparkling in his hands. Hornet stopped making a sound and peered curiously out of sire's claws. The Deadstick took a deep breath, calming. Maybe because he didn’t want to scare his niece. Maybe because, he was afraid of a triplechanger, who was on alert. - "I was never strong like you, I never wanted to fight with everything that I see, like you. I was different. And I knew that whatever they did to you there, I would not survive after it. And I told Shockwave that I did not want to die. He replied that my fears are true. That I really will be a waste of time and resources. Therefore, he offered me a different outcome. He offered me trainings, with a slight upgrade of my frame, which would compensate for my weak characteristics and limitations. Provided that all my loyalty will belong to the Decepticons and that I will work for him. And I agreed. I mean, it was the best deal of my life at that time." -

- "He told me that you did not survive." - Blitzwing said with increasing aggression, making efforts not to be furious and not to frighten his daughter. - "He lied."

- "Perhaps they expected that your breakdown would be beneficial for manipulations by Megatron" - answered the younger - "My frame was slightly altered and then I was taken to another place, to another ship. I spent a huge amount of time there, under the control of Shockwave, training and working with archives and other information. I probably was beneficial to them with my intellectual abilities, but despite this, my training with combat training was very tiring. I did not become a soldier, but i was quite useful in the information part, sending various information to Shockwave and doing other small and dirty work. He did not give me a single minute of rest, constantly monitoring my every move. Not to mention the fact that I continued to hear from other cons a bunch of shit about my weakness. until I started defending myself. But I was still afraid. Shockwave constantly reminded of the deal, reminded that I was alive only thanks to him and Megatron's mercy. Everyone treated me like an empty place. Once, something has changed. Shockwave...began to mention you. He had never done this before, but then he began to remind me that you left me. That you hate me Every day, he made me hate you back, but I really didn’t understand what it was all about. Therefore, I began to study the documents until I came across information that you are listed as traitors." -

Hornet let out a worried squeak when she noticed how intense Blitzwing was. He did not take his eyes off his brother, processing his words. His whole body was ready to either run or fight, for his sparkling, but everything was accompanied by painful memories.

- “And you know what?” - Deadstick looked him in the eyes. - "For the first time in my life, I felt anger. The anger that tore me apart. I was angry because you told me that we must be strong in order to take revenge on the Autobots. To avenge our carrier, it all happened because of you! And after that it was you who got along with the Autobot. It was you who connected your life with the Autobot and, moreover, gave life to sparkling from the Autobot! It's dishonest, Blitzwing, it's mean and dirty!" - Con soaked every word with resentment and anger, carefully studying the face of his older brother. To his even greater inner surprise, Deadstick noticed sorrow and regret on Blitzwing's face. But it only gave strength to continue:

- "Shockwave liked it. He kept reminding me of you, making me angrier. One day he called me. He said it was time for my last exam to prove my dedication to the Decepticons. I had to find and kill you. For this, Shockwave promised me a raise, he promised that I would get respect, which I lacked. But if I disobey him, then I will be dead. And I promised him that I would bring him your head, because I was angry with you. I crossed the half-universe to find this damn organic planet, find you and... Don't kill you! I broke a promise I made because, I can't kill my own brother. I could easily trap your autobot and, as a result, kill both with an accurate shot from a gun, but I could not! I was so close that if I didn’t kill you, then I would make you suffer by killing your autobot. But I did not do it!" - He gestured emotionally, quickly but clearly pronouncing every word. Blitzwing stood at a loss, frozen in place:

- "And now I'm here! A traitor like you just because you couldn’t kill a horse because of which I almost died, who hates me, who abandoned me!"

- "I did not hate you, Deadstick" - In one breath Blitzwing blurted out - "I was wrong. Believe me, I was very wrong"

Triplechanger's spark pounded inside, as if ready to leave his chest. His body was trembling a bit, old wounds opened and came out. All his regrets, worries and all his pain spilled over at one moment.- I'm really very sorry, Deadstick. I was blinded. I was hurt by the loss of Bronzewing, I could not think sensibly!

- “Bronzewing loss hurt me just like you Blitzwing,” - the younger answered, in a more calm tone, - “But I stopped only because I remembered him. Because this is far from what he want from us. He would never want his sparklings to end their lives spilling each other's energon. And I stopped. I lost my title and gained hatred among those with whom I lived all these years. - Blitzwing wanted to say something, but Deadstick did not allow, continuing: - "But now i am free. They hate me, probably a thousand times more than you. So I made my choice. Now there is no longer Shockwave above me. Now i'm on my own"

There was silence. Both mechas turned away, mulling over everything that had happened. Hornet put her tiny arms around Blitzwing's claw, as if she knew how hard it was for him now.

- "Deadstick" - Triplechanger was the first to break the silence. The younger brother looked at him again:

- "Please...forgive me. For everything i said. For all that i have done. I let you and our carrier down."

Deadstick silently studied his face before smiling a little - "You have changed a lot. Did the Autobots make you so soft?"

And before Blitzwing wanted to demand an answer, Con continued - "Your apologies are accepted, Blitz."

There was silence again, but this time there was no more tension. As if with one phrase, they destroyed the invisible barrier between them.

- "Well come on can i please look at her? I'm curious" - Deadstick said after some time of silence.

Blitzwing looked at him a little incredulously, but nevertheless removed his hand from the Hornet, allowing it to be seen better - "But just look. Do not touch."

Deadstick walked away from the wall and went toward them, leaning slightly to see sparkling. He stared at her for a long time with a slight smile on his face. Con raised his hand slowly, holding one claw closer to Hornet. Blitz strained again, ready, in case of something, to pull his hand back, but his brother was still careful. While Hornet herself was looking at Deadstick with no less curiosity. She poked her uncle's claw with her small hand and giggled loudly.

"She's so cute" - concluded mech, stepping back again - "Take care of her."

- "I give you my word" - Blitzwing nodded. - "What now? What will you do?"

- "I don’t know," - Deadstick answered honestly. - "I feel freedom, but I’m not sure that Decepticons will leave it just like that."

- I could not protect you then, but I think I can now." - answered Blitzwing. - "I can hide you here."

- "Blitz, i..really have to think a little more. For now, i'm gonna stay somewhere here, until I make some decision"

Blitzwing nodded - "I just...wanna tell that you're welcome here"

- "Wow. Autobots really makes you softer, don't they?

- "Shut it"

Deadstick chuckled, as they both heard voice of small little autobot. Hornet heard carrier too and began loudly honking.

“I have to go", - said Deadstone, quickly stepping aside. - “See ya, Blitz!”

- "Bye" - former con said as his younger brother disappeared into the dark. He turned to his daughter and a big scarlet grin grew on his face - "Will that be our little secret okay Hornisse?"

Hornet made a cheerful Honk sound, hugging his claw. Blitz with a Hornet made a cheerful sound, hugging his claw. Blitz with a chuckle carried her to a displeased Bumblebee.

[itsjulesharper]

Bonjour, amis! Before we start on this recap, there’s a few things I have to draw your attention to. It appears to me (correct me if I’m wrong) that Season 2 plays out over a few months. I mean, I don’t see any winter scenes/change of season, any person looking visibly older or any other indications of the massive passing of time. Cassel is slowly being poisoned, and Louis spent maybe 2 or 3 nights in the nunnery with William of Orange. Philippe and Liselotte are married and now they are pregnant…. so, a month or two of shagging, then minimum of eight weeks where the baby sprouts and no one knows until the piss prophet announces it. So, what irks me is twofold: 1) the Dutch War went on for years. Hell, just travelling from the front then back to Paris took weeks. But it appears that Louis and his guards have found some kind of time portal to whoosh them quickly back. Yes, I know showing every aspect of travel across the country is damn boring. But I would’ve liked to have seen a bit more indication of the time it took. Even just a brief mention in dialogue “you have been gone for months now, Sire…” blah blah. And 2) the Affair of the Poisons literally spanned decades. If you want to read more about La Voison (who I am assuming Agathe was based on) then check out this article. Or maybe just read Holly Tucker’s book). Decades. it was a major – MAJOR! – scandal, implicating some of the most well-known names in French nobility. And it did not start with Voison’s arrest, oh, no. There were other things happening that Louis knew about. So all those years have been crammed into these ten eps, and tbh I’m just a bit over the whole poisoning thing now. 

So, back to the story. We have left Montespan with creepy Father Etienne, who by his looks alone, is most definitely Up To No Good. We open here, with Montespan telling him he is not what she expected. He reveals that he is Father Etienne: “the church may have rejected me, but they cannot take away my faith.” She wants to know if he can do what she says she wants, and Etienne goes on a bit of a speech about harnessing nature, and not going against the natural order etc and coming from anyone else, it would be a cautionary monologue. but from him it’s downright ominous, words that are meant to challenge what Montespan wants, to see if she really wants them. Playing the devil’s advocate. Montespan rises to the bait: “in his soul he desires me more than anything.” Etienne wants to know if Louis is deserving of her love, and Montespan declares calmly and firmly that she would sacrifice her life for him. Ah, that should not be necessary, replies Etienne and now we hear the faint cry of a baby from somewhere in the creepy underground tomb/rooms. Montespan goes to look, then finds the baby, touching its cheek with a soft “she’s perfect” and that is weird and so out of character for her. Etienne replies that the world has no place for her, so “it falls upon me to find her peace,” then utters a prayer and a sign of the cross on the baby’s forehead and miraculously it stops crying. Montespan looks at the baby and yeah, I think she knows what’s going to happen. Etienne moves off, telling her of the duties she must perform before the ritual, certain rites, and Montespan is suddenly panicking, heading for the door and declaring that she is not sure she is ready for this. Etienne is a bit shitty: “Do you think this is a market place? That I am some simple merchant? Do you think this is some take-it-or-leave-it service to be dabbled in?” Montespan is scared, you can see it, but Etienne convinces thus: “Devote you and I to his service and your wishes will be granted.” Swear to the Bible or leave her fate to the mercy of the prevailing wind. The choice is hers. One guess as to what she does.

Play glorious INTRO-OUTTRO.

We are in a salon, with music playing and courtiers gambling and mingling, Louis is happy. Philippe gambles with some dudes and Thomas, and look, Philippe is victorious once again. Louis watches from afar and Philippe gathers his winnings to leave. Thomas leaves with him and they have a bit of a giggle. Oh, look, there is creeper Chevalier, looking morose and emotional from behind a curtain, watching them both. To his credit he is dealing with A LOT of emotional shit – he knows nothing of Louis’ request for Philippe to spy on Thomas and has already observed them being chummy prior to this, which prompted the catfight. He has seen Philippe in bed with Liselotte, willingly shagging. I assume Philippe no longer comes to his bed anymore.

And he is obvs still processing the pregnancy announcement. So with all that, WHY is he still staying? Because of the money? Sure. But does he think being this horrible and creeper-ish will win Philippe back? Okay, so we know that Philippe does still love him, so why cannot Philippe TELL HIM THIS, to reassure him that he is first in his heart? SERIOUSLY, this is basic storytelling stuff. If a conflict can easily be solved with two characters sitting down and talking about it, then it is not a sustainable conflict. I know Philippe has a thing about admitting stuff to the Chevalier – we see that in Ep2 when he reluctantly says “I missed you a great deal.” It is all so unnecessary and would make the conflict so much greater if the Chevalier KNEW about Philippe’s secret spy role with Thomas, knew that Philippe had to do it because the king commanded him, and then had to fake being angry/upset/jealous (or maybe wouldn’t have to fake it much) and stand back to watch the love of his life actively seduce Thomas. Now THAT would be conflict. (okay, I ran with this idea, and you can see my alternate Philippe-spying-on-Thomas suggestion at the end of this recap).

So, anyway, back to Morose Chevalier watching Philippe and Thomas chat, and Philippe smiling and touching and all “we make quite a team.” As the Chevalier creeps off, Philippe says to Thomas, “I’d call that a handsome morning’s work,” then gives him a pouch of his winnings with a smile. Then he turns away and his face drops so we know it’s all just a charming sham, but of course, the Chevalier is not there to see that so he cannot know. Pleased Louis is pleased, smiling as they walk: “It’s a convincing charade.” To which Philippe replies: “it’s easier when my orders rule up with my hobbies.”

Louis: At any rate, he seems to be falling for your charms. Philippe: I’ve yet to meet a man who doesn’t. Louis: Make sure you have his trust. You can then chose a moment to abuse it. Philippe: (curtly) I must admit, I’m impressed, dear brother. You set a fine example on how to deny your passion in the service of your duty.

Then Philippe walks off and Louis is left with a little frown on his face. It seems to me that while Philippe would do anything Louis asks of him, this deliberate flirting and the subsequent pain he is causing the Chevalier is frustrating him. He is not pleased at all.

And now we are in Philippe’s rooms and the Chevalier is drinking and let us pause a moment to enjoy the furnishings before another argument will distract us. SO LOVELY. But now ominous music plays and the Chevalier is looking quite drunk/high/pained as he asks “where were you?” (ffs, you KNOW where he was!) And ugh, Philippe is all, “what business is it of yours?” as if he isn’t only THE LOVE OF HIS FUCKING LIFE. Can he not seeeee? Why would he think the Chevalier would be totally fine with him flirting with another dude?

The Chevalier: You’re fucking him, aren’t you?

Oh. Just… no, honey.

Philippe: (tightly as he pulls a pouch from his coat) we devised a deft game of cheating at the card table. (tosses the pouch on the table) That hardly constitutes consummation!

The Chevalier looks so very tired and worn, his little “I see” not really convincing at all. “You can’t even deny it.”

…wat?

He walks slowly to Philippe, says “I want to know exactly what you’ve been up to.” Philippe replies, “you’re drunk,” but the Chevalier hurls the money pouch away, growls out “don’t patronise me!” and looks spoiling for a fight.

Philippe: There are bigger things going on here (the Chevalier dramatically rolls his eyes and stalks to the window). You have no idea what this is about. The Chevalier: (turns and yells) the whole fucking salon knows what’s going on. (pauses with a shaky breath) Do you have to rub my nose in it? Philippe: (turns away, clearly torn) It’s complicated. I can’t explain it right now. The Chevalier: (pulling out a musket, aims it at Philippe’s back) Maybe this will help you find the right words.

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WAT.

THE.

ACTUAL.

FUCK.

No. JUST NO. This is just….. I CANNOT. Gimme a moment…… *hyperventilates, dragging in deep breaths*

Right. Okay. Back to this scene.

we are all Philippe at this moment.

Philippe turns to see the musket pointed at him, looks angry and incredulous for a second then briefly nods and stretches out his arms. “You dare-” he whispers, “-threaten me?” The Chevalier lowers the gun, mumbles, “no…I have a much better idea.” And then…. OH THEN….. PUTS THE GUN TO HIS HEAD.

AAAAAGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH *RUNS INTO THE STREETS FLAILING*

Okay, dear readers, if you’ve been reading my recaps since the start, you KNOW how I feel about the way the Chevalier has been written for the show. How it is completely the opposite of how the historical Chevalier de Lorraine would have acted when presenting himself, when reacting to Philippe’s other lovers, when handling the jealousy and competition. This scene, this moment, is so far from what I know and love about the Chevalier that it is actually painful for me to watch. I am screaming “NOOOOOOOOO” at the screen, much the same as I did the first time I watched it. So. Much. Soap. I cannot see for all the melodrama.

*downs copious amounts of coffee*

Right. Back to the scene. The Chevalier holding a gun to his temple and looking as if his world has crumbled before him and Philippe standing there going, “you’re bluffing. Don’t even know how to load it properly” (okay, stop RIGHT THERE. The Chevalier is a fucking war hero, and even though they don’t show that in the show, he knows how to load a bloody musket. He is A CHEVALIER, which means he’s served in the army. Fucksake).

The Chevalier then smiles, a kind of sad-joyous-heartbroken smile as he looks at the gun and lowers it as Philippe ignores him and pours wine. Then he starts to blubber and says, ”do you really want to know how much I feel for you?” Philippe slowly looks at him as he continues. “Do you want to know what’s really in my heart? Let me show you.” And he cocks the gun, places it in is mouth. Philippe rushes over, wrestles for the gun and it goes off behind the Chevalier’s shoulder, taking out a gorgeous mirror on the wall. They struggle a bit, look a bit incredulous at each other, then Philippe throws the Chevalier to the floor where he curls up in a ball and whimpers. Philippe says tightly, “I don’t recognise you anymore. You stay away from me!” Then the guards burst in and see the Chevalier sobbing on the floor and Philippe standing, who says, “he missed,” then walks off, muttering, “the story of his life.”

Okay. I just cannot say anything more about that scene, except to say that Evan Williams is such a fabulous actor. I have absolutely NO issues with that whatsoever.

Marchal. Marchal will calm me.

*deeeeep breath* Now we are out in the gardens, thank Christ. This will be at least calming, right? uhhhh. non. We see a fox scampering about and apparently it’s such an unusual sight that the gardeners stop to watch, then race over to where it had been sniffing/nibbling the ground. Of course, the poor gardeners discover fresh dirt and a baby skull in it. Now we see Marchal on the case, looking further into the dirt, then commanding them to dig it all up. Poor man, can he not mourn in peace? First dragged back into Versailles because of the poison thing on request of the king, now some creepy baby killers that we know Creepy Etienne has a hand in.

So now we are with Louis in his small chapel room thingy, with Bossuet chanting and Louis on his knees in prayer. Bontemps enters and Louis is annoyed, but he insists the king comes with him, that Louvois awaits him in the council room. Apparently a messenger has just arrived from the Palatinate, Liselotte’s home. Oh, shit. This is not gonna be good. They are all in the council room, with a map before them as Louvois speaks.

Louvois: We have killed hundreds. Possibly more. Louis: And how many were soldiers? Louvois: (takes a breath) None, Sire. They were all unarmed civilians. Louis: (disbelieving) Our troops. Loyal professional Frenchmen have slaughtered innocent women and children. Louvois: They were out of control. Drunk. Rampaging. They looted. Butchered. Raped. They say the world has never witnessed such barbarity.

Louis is horrified, as well he should. He asks how it could have happened, that his general, Marcheral Turenne is a man of restraint. Louvois replies: “he claims, Sire, that he had his king’s blessing.” (remember Louis’ “do everything necessary?” to Luxembourg earlier?) Bontemps and Louvois both look troubled. “he’s lost all reason,” Louis says as he rips up the missive. “War has destroyed his mind. Eroded his judgement.” Louvois nods. “it would seem so, Sire.” The Elector Palatinate was their staunch ally, but now no more. He has joined William of Orange against them. Louis is speechless, sits slowly in his chair. “I must seek guidance from above,” he declares. “Ours is a god of wrath and we have angered him much already.” Bontemps wants to know if he is going to share the news with Liselotte. “She will find out soon enough,” replies Louis. “if she has not heard already.”

The camera is now on a letter in Liselotte’s lap, and slowly pans out to show her horrified expression gazing in the distance, eyes full of tears, while Philippe stands silently in the background. “What of your family?” he quietly asks. Some are unaccounted for but she has friends and cousins elsewhere. So they might have survived? “They say your forces killed everyone in sight,” Liselotte replies. “My country will never be the same again.” Philippe goes swiftly to her, says, “My brother’s actions have nothing to do with me.” Then he leans in, places a gentle kiss to her head and my heart breaks for Liselotte as she sits there in silence, tears streaming down her face. 😦 Philippe says, “I’m sorry,” and Liselotte finally looks up at him and says, “I am married to the family that has destroyed my people.” Philippe’s expression is a mix of sadness and anger.

*historical note. The sacking of the Palatinate was a black mark in history against the French. In Ruff’s Violence in Early Modern Europe, he writes: “ Perhaps the most devastating such desecration of our period took place in the Palatinate of western Germany, a natural area for staging attacks on France. To prevent such a use of the Palatinate, French troops under Marshal Turenne devastated the region in 1674, and the impending War of the League of Augsburg prompted Louis XIV of France to order devastation of the Palatinate again in the winter of 1688-80. This later act was one of systematic destruction, based on a map of target sites prepared by the war ministers, and the French destroyed many of the significant towns in the region, including Worms, Spier, Bingen and Oppenheim. In Mannheim, the capital of the Palatinate, the French not only destroyed the city but also executed citizens who returned to the ruins.”

The goblet again!!

Next scene and Philippe swiftly enters Louis’ rooms as he dines, declares, “Everybody out!” Bontemps splutters about conventions to be observed, but Philippe claps back with, “I don’t give a shit. Tell them to leave.” Bontemps, replies, his voice a little higher, “I don’t think that’s apt.” Philippe doesn’t care: “If you don’t, I will.” Bontemps is doggedly sticking to his guns but Philippe stares at Louis and says: “I have things to say that can only be heard both those who shared a bloody womb.” Louis casually drinks his wine (FROM THE GOBLET) as Philippe turns to the audience and yells, “Go on! GET OUT! Or do you defy your king’s brother?” and they all shuffle out as Louis gives Philippe a look, delicately pats his mouth with a serviette then tosses it to the plate.

“Must you live your entire life in a melodrama?”

BEST. LOUIS. LINE. EVA.

Philippe doesn’t care. “You are a monster. What you did in the Palatinate makes you no better than a common killer.” So very emotional and you can see it, hear it in Philippe’s voice. Louis gives him a look then starts on the whole, ‘every war includes regrettable casualties’ excuse but Philippe is angry at the mass slaughter of innocent people and justifiably so. (I cannot help but draw a parallel between this scene and today’s conflict in multiple countries). Louis says it was out of his control but emotional Philippe scoffs at that: “Of course. It is always someone else’s fault, isn’t it? You’ve never said sorry in your entire life.”  (I am in two minds about this comment – Louis as absolute monarch would have not thought of apologising to anyone about anything. Yet this is his brother, and his brother is talking familiarly to him, like he always does. Philippe is allowed to overstep the boundaries of convention only because he is the king’s brother.)  Louis declares that Turenne was acting on his own initiative, but Philippe is having none of it. It could not have happened without Louis’ consent, therefore they are as guilty as each other. Louis angrily gets to his feet and boy, is he pissed. He has a spy in his palace, his troops are in retreat and half of Europe is out to destroy him. Philippe grabs Louis’ flailing arm, declares slowly that he has blood on his hands. With a disgusted look, Louis yanks away and Philippe sadly nods, his voice close to tears. “Maybe that’s your true legacy,” he says. “You don’t want to be loved. You want to be feared.” Then he walks out, leaving a stunned Louis in his wake.

Night falls over the palace now and a storm is brewing, and Louis is in his rooms, at an alter and kneeling in prayer. The windows burst open, sending correspondence flying and Bossuet hurries over to close them. Louis wants to know why he is still being tortured. Bossuet cannot say. He is frustrated – he’s crushed all carnal thoughts, destroyed his enemies and yet STILL God is punishing him with the massacre. Bossuet offers the usual “to pray is the only solution, Sire,” and yeah, Louis does not like that answer one bit. But apparently all answers will come to him through God.

We are back in Marchal’s dungeon/office where he is piecing together the baby skeleton, and one of his men enters, offering up the skull of another baby. Marchal looks grim – this is a pattern.

Cut to the chapel and Marchal approaches Bossuet, asks him about Saint-Geneviève’s, the refuge for lost souls, where babies of whores are taken. Bossuet says there is no such place. Marchal asks how he can be so sure. “Because,” Bossuet replies, “I have authority over all France. That includes you.” Marchal looks unimpressed/meh, asks him about Father Etienne. Nup, don’t know him.  Then as Marchal starts to leave, Bossuet replies, “Etienne… Guibourg?” Marchal waits. Bossuet adds: “If Guibourg is at large, you must stop him. Quickly.” *cue ominous music*

The Queen is at her toilette and Maintenon (formerly Scarron) enters with a smile. Oh, the Queen is asking her how she can become a better lover for her husband….. and Maintenon’s reply? “the profound love of wedlock can only come through God, Majesty.” OKAY THEN. But the queen wants to know more. How would Maintenon characterise her own marriage? “My late husband was very busy with his work. He was not one for… physical prowess.” The Queen is all ‘huh.’ and Maintenon adds, “although occasionally, my husband seemed to find me irresistible after I bathed in aromatic oils.”

*historical note: Paul Scarron was a poet and novelist and frequented salons in Paris, where he met Françoise d’Aubigné and married her at 17. He was 42. He was also crippled but details are unclear as to how – some accounts say he fell into icy water, some that he hid in swamp waters and others said it was the result of polio. Either way, he had a permanently twisted upper body and paralysed legs, so had to use a wheelchair and took opium for the pain. His salon was popular and frequented by the crème de la crème of Parisian writers and poets – Madame de Sévigné, Ninon de l’Enclos, Abbé de Choisy.   He also supported The Fronde (and lost his pension because of a ranty anti-Mazarin pamphlet) and their marriage yielded no children. You can read more about him here.  And with Maintenon here. 

A mademoiselle Solange then walks into the room, a former friend of Montespan. The queen would like to compensate the girl for her loss, by becoming a friend of the queen. She wants her to spy on Montespan: the queen does not trust ‘that harlot’ to keep her distance and she will make her pay if she returns.

I just have to interject here and show off some lovely earrings. Aren’t they fab? Click on them to zoom in.

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the queen….

Solange….

and Agathe’s earrings

Back now with a worried-looking Montespan in Agathe’s place, who hands her a note. Montespan asks if reading it is all she has to do; Agathe says Guibourg will explain the rest. But Montespan is not comfortable going against the teachings of Rome. “The Church,” Agathe sighs. “The Church likes to believe there’s nothing of spiritual worth before Christ. They try to deny the ancient wisdom. They cannot ignore it. To doubt is natural.” She takes Montespan’s hand, a gentle gesture that still feels quite malevolent , then hands her two wrapped bottles. Montespan replies, “I will stop at nothing to secure the king’s love.” This pleases Agathe mucho and tells her Louis’ sweat is needed to seal the charm.

Suspicious Marchal is suspicious

Now in a salon, with merry music playing and courtiers mingling. Marchal prowls about (that word suits him so much… PROWL) and spots a couple doing not-so-subtle suspicious things. The woman walks across the room, deposits a book on a gaming table, Odile the maid saunters past and picks it up. Meanwhile, Marchal’s man says they cannot find Etienne, to which Marchal says to find Mathilde the whore. She will know. Off Marchal now charges, after Odile, who is hurrying through corridors. She runs into Marchal but there is no book and she stutters. Gaston suddenly appears.

Look at that lace! It better be French.

“Has Odile incurred your disapproval?” Ah, but Marchal is not having any of Gaston’s polite sly shit. He remarks on Gaston’s distinctive cloth of his coat.  “I’ll give you the name of my tailor… if you can afford him,” is Gaston’s reply. Marchal smoothly ripostes: “I prefer a less tawdry cut.” Gaston doesn’t like that, coming back tightly with: “some of us were born to set fashions. Others to merely follow them.” He leaves with his servant and Marchal prowls about the corridors a bit more, finds the book on the floor and sees that a hole has been cut in the centre. He knows and I am happy because Gaston’s time will surely come.

Night time now and Montespan is hurrying through the palace in a hood, a determined look on her face. She sneaks into Louis’ bedroom via the secret door, watches as Bontemps leaves, then pulls a pillowcase from the bed. She quickly leaves, through a less-pleasant passage way and gives the pillowcase a deep sniff. Poor Montespan, she is really feeling the loss of Louis and the romantic in me thinks she misses the man, not the privileges or the doors he opened for her Then she sees a door quickly close and it is poor Solange, the one who the queen told to spy on Montespan. “Where you spying on me?” Montespan says unnecessarily. “I thought you were my friend!” And Solange shoots back with “everything I learned of treachery, I learned from you.” So Montespan grabs her, drags her back into the passageway and….. Okay, strangles her from behind.

Right.

I have no words. Instead, I offer up this pic. >>>>>

We are now in Marchal’s dungeon/office and Mathilde is all a-huff as she enters, saying “I ain’t done nothin’ wrong,” in a cute but totally-out-of-place OIlver-Twist-gutter-English accent. Marchal needs her help to find Creepy Etienne and she’s shocked because the dude is a saint with all the whores. Marchal does his persuasive “if you care about the safety of your child, tell me all you know”.

Back to Montespan at Agathe’s and the woman is doing some ritual with the pillowcase and telling her to rub stuff on her skin and drink stuff that of course will be totally okay and legit. Montespan again expresses doubts and Agathe plays the most terrible of mind games, saying “I would not have invested in your future if I did not believe in you. And you know in your heart, you’ve already taken that first step.”

Too emotional. Do not want.

Montespan starts to cry, saying “she was my friend,” and I do feel quite sad for her. The look on Agathe’s face is frankly “ugh. Shut UP with yer moaning.” Clearly, Montespan with her FEELINGS and DOUBT and HUMANITY is harshing Agathe’s buzz.

Solange’s body has been found, and two men carry her through the corridor and everyone mills about, gossiping in shocked whispers. Finally, a death without poison. Sophie is sad and moves off, the queen looks at Louis then follows. Louis whispers to Marchal: “I can feel my enemy’s breath on the back of my neck. Find them!” Bontemps looks to Marchal, Marchal looks away expressionless, but his mind is no doubt furiously working.

Louis is pissed. He kneels in his little prayer room, scoffing at the effigy of Jesus on the cross, mocking him. “Here I am before you. A sinner. Penitent. Do you hear me? Do you see me?  You taunt me, is that it? I’m here for your amusement? Punish me if you must, but why should the people of France suffer for my sins?” Frustrated and angry, he paces, yelling about confronting his foes with God’s help, demanding it. Jesus on the cross stays silent as the ominous music swells.

We see Creepy Etienne exit his hobbit home in the woods with a bundle, mount his horse and leave, and yay! Marchal and his men are watching through the trees. To your horses, chaps!

Versailles at night again and Maintenon enters Louis’ little prayer room, to find him sat on the floor, looking drained and not looking at all King-like. He gave orders not to be disturbed, but apparently it’s okay to defy him because she came to pray. (such BAD protocol). What does she pray for? “For you,” she replies. He is a bit annoyed by that: “I am in no need of prayer.” Oh, but Maintenon disagrees. He needs it more than anyone because he carries everyone’s hopes, desires, dreams. But he is unimpressed. “I live a gilded life.” Montespan replies: “Bearing the heart of France is a terrible burden. You must be stronger than all of us.”  And if he can’t find the strength, then God will help him. And now we see Louis starting to get to know her, a scene that would have played a lot more logically before he made her a Marquise. He asks how she finds her strength: she has lived a full life, has known sin and redemption, and has achieved inner peace. Louis laughs: he wishes it was so simple. Then she gets all pious and says he must confront his fear, confess his sins, blah blah. Unimpressed Louis yells at her but something is sapping the breath from him. Panic attack…..? Stress….? Maintenon tells him he’s a good man, that he isn’t alone…. and I has a bit of a cry as Louis does, resting his head in her lap as he weeps.

Poor Louis. 😦

Right. Back with Montespan, and she stands in a dark room with candles and a stone altar with a carved pentagram as Creepy Etienne chants Latin and four other caped dudes stand about. She agrees to “serve the Lord” and steps forward, removes her cape and lays on the stone, then parts her robe to leave her topless. A baby is brought in…. and now we see Marchal and his men galloping through the night, searching. They find stone archways… (the grounds of a church? Monastery?) and Marchal is off and running, sword fighting off one dude then another as his men follow. The baby is crying as Etienne is handed a knife, the blade descends and blood splashes Montespan…. but Marchal is suddenly there and Montespan legs it, Etienne holds out his hands in surrender and a guard swiftly takes the baby. The baby is only cut across the arm, Montespan grabs her clothes from another room and runs. The plan is thwarted.

*Historical note: So over the course of ten or so years, there were numerous poisonings and black masses rumoured to be held. Montespan was implicated in them, as was Olympe Mancini, comtesse de Soissons (former lover of Louis and sister of his first love Marie, and who left Paris before being named). It was said Montespan took part in these masses/orgies and babies were sacrificed over her naked body as she sprawled on a stone alter. She also was quite paranoid of losing Louis’ favour at court, which also meant all her friends and family would miss out, so over a period of time, she was adding a ‘love potion’ to the king’s food and drink. Poor Louis would get pains and headaches for no apparent reason and when he found out what she was doing and put a stop to it, they vanished. Guess it can’t be too good for the body to regularly ingest bits of ground up animal and plants.

So now we are back with Louis, waking in Maintenon’s lap. He says she helped him find his strength, but she counters with “you carry your responsibilities like a cross.” Louis is coming to the realisation that he is just a man –  weak, fallible, a mortal man, and Maintenon encourages him to see, to hear, to feel. And to breathe. She places her hand on his chest and they take deep breaths together… and yep, there is the kiss. So much for the sanctity of marriage and all that. But I guess maybe they don’t think of kissing outside wedlock as a sin? Those crazy 17th century nobles. Maintenon slowly pulls back, she looks worried. Then Louis says, “my heart beats again,” and it is all good.

We see a wide green shot of Versailles, then we are in the Duc de Cassel’s rooms and he does not look at all good, coughing and stuff, and he finds a note. From Thomas to Sophie, obvs. He puts it back as she enters the room, asks if something is wrong because she cannot read his expression. “I’ve spent a lifetime perfecting that particular skill.” What is he thinking? “A wife,” he says, “should never ask her husband that question. The answer will always disappoint.” He puts out a hand to her and she visibly flinches, and damn, I am not happy that it is clear she’s expecting to be hit. But instead he strokes her hair then walks away. She is suspicious and it appears she thinks he’s found her letter. “You frighten me,” she admits. “Oh, I am not the one to fear,” he replies. “A girl like you should be more careful in her choice of lover.” She plays innocent but Cassel goes on: “never trust a man who presents more than one version of himself. Or one who writes stories for a living.” Damn, Cassel. That is some spot-on philosophical shit. Is it possible to enjoy such a horrible person?

Louis and Philippe now (FINALLY PHILIPPE!!), standing in one of Louis’ rooms, at the window.

Louis: You’re sure Thomas suspects nothing? Philippe: I have him eating from my perfumed palm. Louis: then you will tell him tonight that the king is arrogant, pig headed and paranoid. Philippe: Shouldn’t be too difficult. (Bontemps’ look LULZ) Louis: You will say I am losing my grip on reality, rejecting all reasonable advice and that you wish to leave Versailles for good. Philippe. Again, I think I can manage that. Louis: And then, you will tell him that the war is lost, that my men are cornered, like rats in a trap. We cannot hold onto Utrecht another day. We will withdraw all our forces after nightfall. Philippe: How can you be so sure this will work? Louis (smiles): Because I have seen the light.

gratuitous pretty-faced Philippe pic.

Then he turns and strides off, Philippe gives Bontemps a look, Bontemps leaves too and Philippe sighs and goes back to whatever is out the window. 

Now, we all know that being so blatantly obvious in imparting information to a spy can only backfire. Just you wait.

Thomas is writing at his desk as Philippe creeps up and puts his hands over his eyes. “Is that the delicate touch of the duc de Cassel?” LULZ Thomas. So hilarious. Philippe says they need to go out and gamble and get drunk as he casually checks out all the papers on the desk. Thomas gets nervous and says it’s a play about the war he’s working on. Philippe nonchalantly lets drop that Louis is making a mess of the war, Thomas says he should be in the play and be the lead role. They have a bit of flirty banter as Philippe walks about, notices Thomas closing a folder. Philippe then drapes himself on Thomas’ bed, reading aloud the verses from the paper he still holds. Thomas casually lays beside him, says “try some more, this time with real feeling.” And his hand goes to Philippe’s breeches, pushing the coat aside. The look on Philippe’s face is a bit “ooookay then…” but he sinks down in the bed a bit and keeps reading, the paper in front of Thomas’ hands as Thomas continue to undo his breeches. Then Thomas smoothly straddles Philippe’s legs, and the camera pans up to Philippe’s face as his words falter and he groans a little and it is more than clear that Thomas is pleasuring him with his mouth.

Okay. I actually do not think this is that bad. Sure, I am feeling SO VERY BAD for the Chevalier. But historically, Philippe and the Chevalier had other lovers during the time they were together. Also – my alternate Philippe-spying-on-Thomas plot line at the end of this recap.

Now we are back with Louis, Marchal and Bossuet, and Louis is looking through the books they confiscated from Etienne. Bossuet says they deal in the devilish art of human sacrifice. “This unholy priest feels no remorse? No pity?” asks Louis. Marchal: “not yet.” (ahhhh, yessss!) Louis commands Marchal to extract the names of the village accomplices from him – one of them a woman – and show him “the full force of my justice.” This is what we love about Marchal – taking down names and getting shit done.

We are with Agathe now, and Montespan jump scares her, and the poor woman does not look good. Black mass rituals will do that to you. Also, she hasn’t had anything to eat, just some weirdo potion Agathe told her to drink before the baby-stabbing ritual. Then she sees the blood on her arms and frantically rubs at it, getting a bit hysterical, crying that she has sold her soul as Agathe tries to soothe her. What of Father Etienne, Agathe wants to know. Yeah, Marchal has him and what if he speaks? Agathe says he has never betrayed any of his followers…. and they hear footsteps, and just like that, Gaston walks in (DOES NOBODY KNOCK??) and says calmly, “Then he’s never met Monsieur Marchal.” Montespan looks all sad and forlorn and lost, wants to know what she should do now. “After the way the king has betrayed you,” Agathe says, “don’t tell me you do not seek justice.” Gaston gives a most excellent evildoer face and we all know what Agathe’s brand of justice means.

Next scene and we FINALLY see the Chevalier again, dozing at a window, then suddenly waking as a door closes and we hear a “until the next time,” from Thomas and damn, the Chevalier has a determined look on his face as he follows. YOU GO, HON! We see incognito Thomas in the village, passing over a note to a caped figure, then glances back to the Chevalier ducking into a doorway. Thomas whispers something in the man’s ear that sounds like “I’m being followed” then they split up and Thomas heads behind a wall. The Chevalier looks out, follows, ducks behind another wall, then draw out a …. wtf a dagger? (the man is a knight in the king’s army FFS. HE HAS A SWORD). He whirls to see a man in the distance, a hand goes to his shoulder, spins him about then punches him in the face.  

<<<<<< And I am left here with THIS expression.

NO. I refuse to acknowledge this terrible travesty. I know it is within the character of show Chevalier but this is… Lord. An insult. A warrior, a man versed in battle, a decorated soldier who knows how to fence and shoot and ride… uselessly waving about his dagger as he is being beaten up then robbed – ROBBED AND STRIPPED – by a handful of villagers.

GET IN THE BIN.

Oh, thank CHRIST we are back at Versailles now, with a view of the fountain in the morning. Can we have just some bit of sense, pleeeeeease? oh…… We see a pair of bloodied feet shuffling along the corridor, some coughing, someone being a bit startled…. it is the Chevalier returned, beaten and bloody as he opens the door to a dressed Philippe reading a book. His first words? “Look what you’ve done to me now.”

OH what the F—

Philippe is astonished as the Chevalier gets out, “compliments of your new lover,” and slams the door. Yes, it was Thomas although he didn’t see his face, because the Chevalier was following him. The first thing he does is grab the mirror (ahhh, that is amusing) and shuffles over to the desk to survey the damage. Philippe is all ‘whyyyy?” to which the Chevalier tightly answers, “ because I wanted to discuss the weather over armagnac and macaroons, what do you think?” Philippe silently kneels before him, pours water and then gently pushes back the Chevalier’s hair, dabs a cloth into the water to wipe away the blood. The Chevalier screeches and grabs the cloth: “you’re making it worse.” And the look Philippe gives him… Kind of shitty but also just taking it.

Philippe: Why won’t you let me help you? The Chevalier: Because this is all your fault! (slams the cloth down and rises) I’ll go ahead right now, kill him this time. Philippe (grabs his arm) You can’t! The Chevalier: I have my honour to think of. And so should you! Philippe (sounding worried) : You mustn’t cause him any more trouble. We have to leave him alone. The Chevalier: Why?! Philippe: Trust me. It’s important! The Chevalier: Trust you? Seriously?

Then Philippe kind of leans in, but the Chevalier slaps his hands away with a “get your hands off me!” And then… NOOOOOO Philippe, with tears in his eyes, says, “I love you!” and the Chevalier’s face freezes, stunned, but then Philippe ruins the potentially awesome “ILY TOO!” moment by adding, “but Thomas has to be left alone. We both… need to show a brave face. Can you do that? For me?” And the Chevalier briefly closes his eyes, looking all sad and bloody and UGH I need to give him a big hug because CONFLICT SO MUCH. He silently rolls his eyes then says quietly, “run me a bath,” and shuffles off and Philippe is left look all massive cry-eyes puppy dog sad.

*SOBS*

Me? Asking for forgiveness?!

Okay, now we are outside, Louis standing under a massive fancy canopy as he watches Maintenon stare broodily into the lake, then she turns and sees him and comes over. She seems preoccupied but it is nothing. He invites her to sit down (armless chair AHHHHH) and of course it’s not nothing because she now proceeds to tell him it is definitely something. About the Princess Palatine. Okay, Louis’ expression means he was most def. not expecting that. Liselotte has been in mourning and Maintenon is sure it is an oversight because a few words from him would ease Liselotte’s pain. Louis looks a bit irritated, then says she’s right, that he will express his deepest regrets but damn it does not sound as if he really wants to do that at all. Oh, yeah, Maintenon is not impressed and Louis can see that. Maintenon has something else in mind: asking her forgiveness. (insert SHOCKED LOUIS face here). “Confession is not the same as apology,” she adds.  He leans in, strokes her face (for anyone and everyone to see, I might add!) says, “why can’t my priest be more like you?” then ….

OMG he KISSES HER! What on EARTH is the queen gonna say when she hears about it?? Montespan is subdued: he wants to know if he frightens her. Oh, no. “Only myself.”

The scene fades out, and then fades in to a teary Liselotte seated in her rooms, Louis standing as he says, “I want to show my appreciation and respect. You are a model of humility. And restraint. You have fulfilled your duty as my brother’s wife under trying circumstances…” He steps to her as she remains silent, a hand on her shoulder and I see they are using a particular filming technique. Liselotte’s face is clear and in shot, we see her entire expression and the tears on her cheeks, see her lips tremble. It is Louis out of focus, standing behind her, talking. It brings the viewer’s eye squarely to the most important person in frame – Liselotte. We have to see her pain and her upset. We acknowledge Louis only by his voice not his figure, so it is his words that matter, that speak for him. Louis continues: “and now you must feel great distress after what has happened in your country.” Liselotte still remains turned away from him as tears fall, says, “is that supposed to be an apology?” and now the camera goes to Louis’ face. “Obviously, I would let you return home were you not carrying my brother’s child.” Liselotte finally turns to look at him and now we also see Philippe in the room, out of focus and in the background. Liselotte replies: “my child will grow up in a family of murderers. I came here to discover a new life. Of joy. Of liberty.”   

The camera cuts to Philippe and there are his sad puppy eyes again 😦 Liselotte rises, continues: “I am now your captive. You have complete ownership of me. I am at your mercy.” And she stretches her arms a little, palms up in supplication, and Louis is a little shocked, I think. A little taken aback. Then he sighs, says “I am sorry.” Then turns and walks from the room.

We are at nighttime now, and Bontemps is getting into bed, beside Louis’ bed. We see Louis trying to sleep, but he has visions of a blood-red pentagram and the priests around the stone altar, some creepy words and the baby sacrifice. Which is weird because Louis did not see this first hand. Then he wakes, thinks for a bit: something is troubling him. Bontemps swiftly gets up. “What ails you, Sire?” And next we see him striding into his little prayer room with Bontemps behind, where they meet Bishop Bossuet and Marchal, who hands him the book that Father Etienne had. Louis flicks through the pages, then finds a picture of a minotaur and the labyrinth. “I drew this in my own blood,” Louis says. “And now I recall where I saw it first.”

We see a flashback to Louis’ tarot reading, the Agathe turning the cards to reveal the same picture. “And now the Labyrinth returns to haunt me,” Louis finishes as Marchal silently looks at him. “The tarot sorceress may be part of this heresy too,” Louis tells him. They both look ominously at each other, flint jawed and serious, then Louis gives him a slight nod. Marchal leaves and Louis turns to the crucifix, gives the tiniest of smiles, a brief nod and makes the sign of the cross before he strides out.

We are in Marchal’s dungeons now, and a beaten up Etienne is stretched out on a cross a-fixed to a turning wheel, much like roulette. His soul is immortal, apparently. “Is that so?” Marchal drawls, not at all impressed, and wants to know who else is behind ‘this abomination.’ Etienne will not give it up and a few torturous moments on the slow spinning wheel are had, until he mumbles… “Claudine.” Oh, shit, he is baiting Marchal. “…so soft to the touch,” Etienne whispers. Marchal is expressionless as he turns away and Etienne keeps on his creepy pained whispering: “She cried for your help, you know. As she died. Like a lamb to the slaughter.” Marchal sloooowly turns back around. “it was gratifying,” Creepy Etienne keeps whispering. “taking her life force. For one so… so sweet…” and then suddenly Marchal goes all rage face and lunges forward with a yell and stabs Creepy Etienne in the belly. Yes, it is gross… not overtly bloody but we see Etienne’s face and his expression and it creeps me out.. And yes, Marchal keeps stabbing him in a rage, and Etienne is already well and truly dead. But it feels like that was Etienne’s intention, to rile up Marchal to get him to kill him. Marchal is breathless, leans on the hilt of the knife still buried in the now-totally-dead priest, then with a gasp he turns, casually yanking the blade out as he goes.

End of episode!

And now the BONUS….

So, I mentioned an alternate Philippe Spying On Thomas plot line. We have Louis needing Philippe’s help to spy on Thomas the traitor. Philippe has massive reservations but says yes. So the Chevalier sees Philippe and Thomas getting chummy in the salons and is understandably heartbroken, but when he confronts him in his rooms, he is so very cool and collected. Glacial. The Chevalier: If you want me gone, I would just appreciate the direct approach. Philippe: What are you talking about? The Chevalier (casually drinking wine): Your little lapdog… Toby? Thierry? Philippe: It is Thomas and you know it. The Chevalier: Oh, oui. Him. (waves a dismissive finger) Well, if you do insist on trading down, then I shall take my leave. (makes a mocking bow, barely covering his hurt with a cold demeanour) With Monsieur’s permission, of course. Philippe: (watches in silence for a moment) It is not what you think. It is… (clearly struggling) complicated. The Chevalier (crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow): You know you are terrible at keeping secrets. Tell me.

So then after some coaxing (maybe even of the sexual variety because the Chevalier is not above using sex as a weapon), Philippe tells the Chevalier that Louis has commanded him, that Thomas is a spy and he has to get him on side so Philippe can spy on the spy. The Chevalier laughs, then realises Philippe is deadly serious and they discuss it, finally agreeing to do Louis’ bidding. And now the Chevalier has MAJOR CONFLICT because he has just given his stamp of approval for his lover to cozy up to another guy, to touch him, to flirt and stuff. Maybe even shag him. All in the name of loyalty and for the good of the country. And he has to reconcile with that, because his heart is torn. He loves Philippe and quietly rages inside because no one else can touch what is his. But knows how much Philippe needs Louis’ approval and how much this means, with Louis putting his trust in his brother and asking him for help. This is a Huge Deal in Philippe’s mind. So the Chevalier has to sit back, endure the gossip, the snide comments from his enemies who are suddenly seeing him publicly fall from Philippe’s favour. Worse, he has to see his lover with a traitor, in order to give Philippe what he needs… the approval and trust of Louis.

Merci for reading ❤ 

Versailles S2, Ep9 – The one with the sacrificing Bonjour, amis! Before we start on this recap, there’s a few things I have to draw your attention to.

[sunaddicted]

Rainbow (00q, E.T. sequel)

James cocked his head to the side "Can you explain to me why does your skin change colours? I'm guessing it's not a random thing" he blurted out, curiosity winning his inner battle after having spent a couple of hours in silent observation: Q easily and systematically took apart and put together again the best equipment Q-branch had to offer in almost an hypnotising way. The poor Major didn't know that James had actually stopped destroying his equipment and losing it everywhere - still, the Quartermaster never saw it again because he'd give it to MI6 resident alien. He just couldn't help himself: whenever Q pouted and looked up at him with those bright green eyes - always there no matter which form he had taken in that particular moment - James would give in to any requests that the alien would make. One of Q's tentacles flailed around a bit and his skin lost its usual marble whiteness in favour of a bright pinkish hue "Rude" the alien chided, scowling down at the laptop he was taking apart - hands and tentacles working together in effortless harmony "I don't ask you why you flush red sometimes, do I?" "So, it has to do with your feelings?" James grinned, endeared by the way Q was easily flustered - which made the pink hue only more evident. Deciding that he'd rather use his hands to work, Q half-heartedly shoved at James with one of his free tentacles and showed him his teeth. Not that it was of much use: apparently, the agent was unfazed by his shark-like smile "You're so nosy" "Professional deformation" James retorted with a shrug, gently coaxing the tentacle to twirl around his finger with careful prods that really were just caresses "So? You turn pink when you're embarrassed - which other colours can you do?" He asked curiously, tugging lightly on the tentacle wrapped around his finger and sliding a bit closer to peer down at Q's skin. "Why don't you tell me, oh great 007?" Snark and sarcasm were something Q had picked on quite quickly and James couldn't help being endeared by the prickly personality the alien showed sometimes "I've seen you turn blue once, when a doctor came in and scared the living daylights out of you" "Our parents take great care in scaring us of anything remotely medical and human" Q pointed out, crossing his arms and all of his tentacles - except the one that James had claimed for himself - to convey his message clearly: no teasing allowed "Besides, I don't need human doctors" James rolled his eyes: that was a conversation they had had quite often and neither of them had yet budged on their position "You don't know if you're immune to our diseases: you need shots. I don't want you to die because of a mere cold" he said honestly, tickling the tentacle in his grip "I'll hold your hand" he added with an impish grin, even if he meant every single word he had said. James himself wasn't find fond of doctors, having met his fair share of and criminals who liked to mess with the human body while wearing a white coat for the dramatic effect, and he'd never let Q face one of them alone if they scared him. Q had to focus greatly to make sure that starbursts didn't blossom on his skin; if he had any saying in it, James would never see that particular pattern - not even on his dying day "I'm not a youngling" he protested to hide just how pleased he was with the other's words that showed just how much the agent cared about him. Swooning after a human - had his bearer known that, he'd have revoked his lab privileges before he could start pleading for mercy. And Q would have wholeheartedly agreed with the punishment. "And now you're sad" James observed, voice dropping an octave to a sweet and consoling tone that people rarely heard coming out of his mouth. Q glanced down at himself and saw splotches of black seep under his skin like ink dissolving into water "I was thinking about my bearer" "That's another thing I noticed" James jumped at the occasion to change topics, hoping to distract Q from any sad thought swirling around his mind "You never say mother and father - you always say bearer" he pointed out, indirectly asking elucidation; after Q had understood that nobody wanted to hurt him, he had always showed himself to be quite eager to share fact about his alien culture and biology. "Oh, that" pink swirled together with black, painting his skin in a unique pattern "Our bodies can both bear and sire younglings" Q frowned, rooting around his brain in search of an appropriate term to better express what he meant in English "We're hermaphrodites?" He asked, unsure about whether he had used the correct word. James blinked in surprise "What about gender then?" Q peered into the agent's face, trying to see whether there was any horror or disgust displayed on it. What he saw, it was only unbridled and genuine curiosity and a thirst for knowledge "We choose what it fits us best, it's... a fluid concept for us" "That's fascinating" James stated and really, there never would be a thing about Q that he didn't find interesting. *** James had some bad mental associations with the red: it was the colour of blood - freshly spilled or already drying - and of gore; it was the colour of Vesper's sundress when she had drowned under the scalding Venetian sun of an Italian summer; it was the colour of Q's skin whenever he was hurt and in pain. After the nth time he hadn't brought back his equipment to Q-Branch, Boothroyd had decided to get at the bottom of the question; he had made sure with his own eyes that 007 hadn't lost his gun or earwig in the field, which could only mean that the agent was keeping them to himself. Unashamedly, once he was back in MI6, he used the building security cameras to follow 007 and find out where he secret stash was. He had known about the resident alien but, while a man of science, Boothroyd had never interested himself in alien biology and preferred to stick to technology. So, he had left the poor thing alone to get used to its new environment - everyone with enough clearance knew that the alien would never be allowed to go back to his home planet - and he made sure that his curious underlings too left it alone. Really, it was 007's fault if he had made his way to the alien's cellar - no matter how tastefully decorated, its rooms were still a prison - to ask the creature what it exactly did with his tech. Only to discover that the alien had a wonderful mathematical mind with a knack for engineering "Can you look less... Alien?" Boothroyd had asked and when the alien had shown him its human disguise, he had patted it on the shoulder and congratulated it about its first job in MI6. Of course, M hadn't been exactly thrilled about it but the Major had made sure to point out that he was the only one who could choose who he thought was better fitted to work in his branch. Plus, the poor thing needed something to do or it would go insane, cooped up as it was with only 007 and an unfriendly doctor as the only people visiting it. And Boothroyd gave 007 the exact same speech he had given M, when Q got hurt and he lost his head like a bull charging at a red drape. Apparently, Q's disguise wasn't as airtight as he had thought; when the alien focused on work or felt a particularly strong emotion, it would sprout tentacles or its skin started changing colours. Personally, Boothroyd thought it was rather cute - and he knew for sure that Bond wouldn't think of the alien as scary or dangerous even if it started gobbling down people. Sadly, humans could be extremely obtuse. When Q's skin had turned a sunny yellow in excitement - Boothroyd would later learn that the alien had managed to crack open a firewall nobody had even managed to weaken - an underling had freaked out and shocked Q with a taser. And since disgraces never come alone, that was the exact moment when 007 entered his branch. James rushed towards them, putting himself in front of Q as a shield in order to protect him. His hands fluttered all over Q's skin, digits skimming over the bright red flashes swirling together with a terrified indigo blue "Can you move everything?" He asked, gathering the other's trembling form in his arms. Tentacles tentatively slithered out to wrap themselves around his biceps and neck, holding onto him for dear life, but James didn't mind: he just drew Q closer and encouraged him to also wrap his arms around his waist, glad to see that Q seemed to have not been harmed by high voltage of the shock "Calm down" he murmured, hand running up Q's shaking spine "I'm here now" And to Q's relief, James would always be there for him when he needed him to.

[adleryoung]

I rummaged around in my Elfintory, pulling out the jug of brandy Ravenmad had given me in order to reach smaller items that had slipped behind it.

"Quickly, Sire, quickly," the Ixie urged.

"This fake Vulpitanian medal & monocle, and this gem from the SALVs' laboratory are probably the most incriminating items," I thought at her with Elfmind.

"By the Lady, Sire, I cannot carry all that," the Ixie protested.  "Unlike thee, I have no Elfintory, and needs must grapple objects in my arms.  I can take but one.  Choose!  Our time is short!"

I hastily handed her the gem, and stuffed the other items back into Elfintory.  She grasped the gem firmly, and vanished.  I turned my attention back to the Floozies, who were still squabbling amongst themselves.

"Why can't I hire you all as a team?" I asked.

"You're only entitled to one!" Avogadro's voice resounded irritably from down the hall, where I supposed he and the Marshal were waiting.

"The mole speaks the truth, Highness," the smartly-dressed ungulate remarked.  "Royal Statute A-56 states that a noble defendant is entitled to a Floozy.  Singular.  Not a harem."

"Hey pal, I'll take one of the extras if you're not usin' her," the rat in the other cell interrupted.  "Doesn't matter which.  I think me and the mousie would get along just swell.  Or if Wolfie wants to wrestle, I'm game."

"Sir, the regulation applies to noble defendants," the ungulate stated.  "Are you noble?"

"Not in any sense of the word," the rat glumly admitted.  "Elves don't lie, see."

"Well, ladies, I'm sorry you all wasted your time coming down here," I sighed.  "But Meadow is the only one whom I actually requested."

Suddenly Meadow squeaked and flinched.  She reached into her Elfintory and fumbled out a buzzing, flashing glass orb.

"Yes?  Hello?" she said to the orb as she held it up in front of her face.  "Who is this?  How did you get this scry?  What?  She WHAT??  Oh dear, oh dear.  Fuma's Mercy!  I'm sorry, Adler, but I, uh, I've really got to take this."

Everyone watched silently as Meadow hurried out of the Detention Center.

"It appears, Highness, that you will have to settle for your second choice," the ungulate observed.

I glowered at the remaining three and momentarily entertained perverse (almost Unseelie) fantasies of deliberately antagonizing them.  Perhaps I should nominate Sergeant Avogadro or the reprehensible rat across the hall to serve as my Floozy, just to show them that I could CHOOSE rather than settle for an option that was quite apparently being forced upon me.

"Wolf Queen," I asked the one in the skimpy armor.  "Who sent you here?"

"Begorrah," she replied.  "Sure and nobody sent me at all, at all.  The Wolf Queen fights fer Justice and goes where she's needed."

"The Wolf Queen I've read of in legends carried a formidable weapon called 'Sun-and-Moon.'  Where is it?"

"Sure and not every situation calls fer hackin' and slashin', me boyo," the Wolf Queen giggled.  "Might ye be believin' it's at the cleaners?"

"Please tell me you're not Estvan Silverbrush," I thought at her in Elfmind.

"That I cannot tell ye, for elves do not lie," she replied.  "Ach, there's no need to be makin' such faces.  Ye cut such a foine figure as SALV Relda Fauxfox, sure'n I decided to get into the act an' adopt a disguise meself.  And when I saw that you were in need of legal advice, well, I decided to come and render me services.”

"Do you know anything about Imperial legal proceedings?" I asked.

"Hudalaleigh, lad.  Me japes an' shenanigans have served me well enough for centuries upon centuries."

"Are you quite all right, Highness?" the ungulate asked me.  "You suddenly look quite ill."

"He's just worried about his case," Doris piped up before I could respond.  "But poor little Cute Prince Adler need not fret.  I'll just get a magistrate to certify a Writ of Corpus Delecti and we'll be out of here by lunchtime."

"You realize there's no such thing, right?" the ungulate scoffed.  "Did you get your legal training from old issues of Jane, the Lowfolk Femme?"

"It's required reading for all Palace Floozies," Doris sniffed, crestfallen.

"Who sent you?" I asked them both.

"When word went around the Floozie Baths that you had been arrested, I volunteered," Doris gushed.

"Minister Lynne personally appointed me this task," the other ungulate stated crisply.  "You may call me Ms. Thomson, Floozy-at-Law, at your service."

Well that's just great, I thought.  If she was selected by Lana Lynne, that meant that Thomson was the Sisterhood agent.

"Sorry, ladies," I sighed, resigning myself to my fate.  "Ms. Thomson is clearly the most qualified.  Doris, 'Wolf Queen,' I thank you for your intentions but alas, it seems I cannot use you at this time."

Doris made a choked sound in her throat and started dabbing at her eyes.

"Not so fast, me boyo," the wolfess snarled.  "Sure and nobody gives the Wolf Queen the brush-off like that."

"What would you have from me?" I asked, exasperated.

"Well, did me old eyes deceive me or did I see ye clutchin' to yer breast a moment ago a bonnie wee bottle o' Three-and-a-Half?"

I stared at her agog for a moment.

"Sure and under normal circumstances I'd be loath to deprive a prisoner o' spiritous sustenance, but - ye ungrateful blatherskyte - ye've gone and spurned me largesse, and have cruelly broken this poor doe's heart into the bargain.  This poor, tall, lovely, forlorn doe.  She stands in need of some gentle consolin'."

"Aren't you married?" I asked suspiciously.

"And who might ye be talkin about?" the 'Wolf Queen' retorted hotly.  "Hand over the needful if it's rid o' me ye wish to be."

With a heavy sigh, I pulled the bottle out of my Elfintory and passed it through the bars into the so-called Wolf Queen's waiting paws.

"Many thanks, me boyo," she cackled.  "Now then, Doris, me dear.  Let's away and drown our sorrows in this sweet Elfhamian nectar."

"Finally," Ms. Thomson whispered as soon as they were gone.  "Now then; I hope you got that Ixie to remove the most damning evidence, Your Highness.  I suggest that you speak as little as possible during these proceedings."  In a louder voice, she called down the corridor:  "Marshal!  My client and I are ready!"

Theronmyathus and Avogadro returned to my cell, unlocked it, and led me to a small interrogation room which contained a table and three chairs.  The others waited until I was seated, then sat - the Marshal on my left, and the Sergeant directly across from me.  Ms. Thomson planted herself delicately in my lap.

"I must advise you -" she began.

"SEARCH HIS ELFINTORY!" Avogadro growled, leaning forward over the table.

"I regret the intrusion upon your person, Your Highness," Theronmyathus croaked.  "It is an unfortunate necessity."