#quay-homes

[nelsonashton39]

https://quayhomes.com.au/

Luxury Home Builder

Get your own customised luxury home built now with Quay Homes. Specialising in design, consultation and construction on the North Shore, Sydney.

[rurpleplayssims]

[kaleloverboy]

Home Bar - Modern Home Bar Mid-sized contemporary single-wall ceramic tile wet bar design featuring an undermount sink, recessed-panel cabinets, dark wood cabinets, quartz countertops, multicolored backsplash, and mosaic tile backsplash.

[carlakennedy]

Modern Home Bar - Single Wall With an undermount sink, recessed-panel cabinets, dark wood cabinets, quartz countertops, a multicolored backsplash, and a mosaic tile backsplash, this medium-sized minimalist single-wall wet bar image is stylish and modern.

[aracoeli]

Akerman chérie

[misunderstandings-georg]

Down on my hands and knees shrieking at the sky because I don't get to see Vivid from my evening commute

[causewayguy]

Pics courtesy of a fellow follower

************************

You folks know how Chinese parents like to have sons instead of daughters? They will always go 'Son good', 'Son carries our family name', 'Son is better'. But there is always one very special reason most fathers want a son for, and for me, her name is Charlotte.

Charlotte is my son’s latest girlfriend. They have been together for close to 1 year now and Charlotte has recently begun to stay over. Since my wife passed many years back, having another woman in the house was super exciting - FBTs, tank-tops, thin shirts, pokies, nip slips, etc. And all these from a hot piece of ass! Charlotte was becoming my main masturbation material.

One Saturday, I was home alone while my son and Charlotte went on their date. While scrolling through Insta, I came across Charlotte’s IG story; a selfie in my son’s bedroom and a side profile picture, with her jeans showing off her juicy ass. Suddenly, an evil thought came over me and I quickly went into their room, searching for something….viola! Charlotte’s lace panties. I started jerking off with her panties while eye-fucking her IG pictures. Before long, I cum all over her white panties. An eviller idea came to mind. I folded and placed her panties on the top of the pile, hoping my fantasy would come true tomorrow.

The next morning, I woke up at the first ring of my alarm and quickly went to the living room, as Charlotte always cooks breakfast for us. There she was. She smiled and greeted me then continued cooking her scrambled eggs. Not sure which Buddha answered my prayers as a piece of egg fell on the floor and Charlotte bends down to clean it up. My eyes widen in happiness, Charlotte was wearing the panties from last night, filled with my cum! I dashed back to my room to take care of the hardening boner, and came 3 times in just 15 minutes, thinking of what had happened and what can I do further in future.

Few weeks later, the 3 of us went on a family trip. I have been busy with work and had no time to masturbate so my balls are completely full. And Charlotte being on this trip certainly helped. At the pier we visited, I imagined the wind blowing her hair back as she sucks me off in her tight tank-top and jeans. I imagined fucking her against the wall of the art museum we visited, as though she was one of art pieces for everyone to enjoy. And finally, I imagined titty fucking her fantastic C-cuppers exposed through the gap of her black top and spray my cum all over Charlotte’s face as my son was in the shower. If the trip lasted longer than a week, I would have suffered dehydration from masturbating too much to Charlotte.

However, the best was yet to come. My son can never handle his alcohol well, so usually takes an Uber whenever he and Charlotte go drinking. One night, Charlotte ringed me well past midnight. It turned out my son was so wasted that no Uber was willing to take them home. I was fuming as I had to drive all the way down to Clarke Quay to pick them up. However, my heart melted as I saw Charlotte standing there, looking all defeated as my drunk son leaned his entire weight on her.

On our way home, Charlotte apologized over and over again to me but I just smiled at her, brushing it off. What I was actually doing was stealing glances at her deep cleavage from her wraparound white top. In her tipsy state, Charlotte began complaining about work, about friends, about my son drinking too much, about how he was not satisfying her enough. The more she complained, the more body movement she made and well, the more her boobs jiggle.

Hornnnnnnn! I was so mesmerized by her boobs that I did not notice a red light and the oncoming traffic horned. On instinct, I struck out an arm while hitting the brakes, trying to protect Charlotte from falling forward. But this meant that her front body fell onto my outstretched arm.

‘Uncle are you oka- Ahhhh…’ Charlotte moaned as she finally felt my hand on her boobs. I was high on adrenaline from the near miss, so when my hand was on the boobs of my masturbation fantasy, I just squeezed. When I realized what I have done, my cock also started to rise in my shorts. I tried to pull my hand away but Charlotte kept my hand there while she stuck her other hand between her legs. Her face was filled with CFM expression. ‘Please Uncle…don’t stop now…’

Without thinking, I sped home with one hand on the wheel and the other hand ‘servicing’ Charlotte. Alternating between both boobs, I managed to peel off Charlotte’s nipple stickers and started tuning her rock hard nipples. My car was filled with erotic female moans as well as the squishing sounds of something wet. My rock-hard boner was now like another gearstick that Charlotte groped at. I felt her pumping my cock to the rhythm of the squishing sounds between her legs, adding my moans to the already erotic surround sound in the car.

Within minutes, my car was safely parked in my garage, with me fucking Charlotte over the bonnet, pulling her golden long hair.

I could feel every inch of Charlotte’s pussy as I thrusted my cock into her. I could see her boobs bouncing out of that white top of hers. I quickly grabbed them and started to pump into her faster and harder. Charlotte’s face was filled with lust and her tongue hanging out, drooling and moaning.

I started becoming the devil again.

Me: ‘Who is bigger??’

Charlotte: ‘Uncle bigger~!’

Me: ‘Who is better??’

Charlotte: ‘Uncle better~!’

Me: ‘Who are you??’

Charlotte: ‘I am your slut, Uncle… Don’t stop!!!’

I could feel her pussy clamping on my cock as she cum but I couldn’t stop. Not yet. With my cock still inside her, I walked (dragged) her over to the back door and opened it. Still weak from her big orgasm, Charlotte leaned forward above my drunk son with her hair flowing down to my son's face. Now, I continued to fuck her harder, right above my son!

Me: ‘Who is the guy in front of you, you slut?’

Charlotte: ‘M….my boyfriend…’

Upon hearing her answer, I pulled out immediately, leaving my cock head barely touching her pussy.

Me: ‘Again, who is he??’

Charlotte: ‘Nnooo, he’s nobody! Don’t stop plea-uuuhhhhhhh’

Charlotte whimpered loudly as I thrusted my full length into her without warning. Watching her moaned right at her boyfriend’s face while his father’s cock penetrating her from the back was too much for me. I emptied my weeks’ worth of cum into her pussy raw, triggering Charlotte’s second big orgasm. Charlotte was so fucked that she fell onto my son, panting and shaking.

We rested for a bit (and me taking a mental picture of this scene) and I carried Charlotte up to my bedroom where we made some more loving before finally dozing off in exhaustion.

One year later…

Buzz, buzzz

I received a photo from Charlotte with the caption:

‘Dear, your son passed out from drinking again. 😊 Managed to get him drunk every night of our honeymoon. But now I am super horny le… Lucky I brought the bra with your cum stain with me. Sniffed it while I masturbated last night 😉. Will wear to on the flight back to SG later too. See you soon! xoxo Charlotte’

Thank you, Son, for the world’s best daughter-in-law.

[kosmichippieccfinds]

👑 MEDIEVAL MODS + CC | The Sims 4

I am currently playing Morbid's ULTIMATE Decades Challenge over on YouTube. Below is a list of all of the Mods + CC I am using in my game to create the ultimate MEDIEVAL experience 👑

I'll be updating this list as I add new mods and cc to my game.

📺 Watch on YouTube

👑 MODS:

Medieval Windenburg

MC Command Center

MC Woohoo

More Traits in CAS

Royalty Mod

Medieval Interactions

Ye Olde Cookbook + Stoves

Home Region by Kuttoe

Fashion Authority 2 by Lot51

Functional Broom

Functional Loom

Functional Pottery Wheel

Archery Skill

Blacksmithing Skill

Honey Production Mod + Mead Brewer

Children/Toddlers Can Die of Anything

Playable Harp + Lute

Functional Horses & Carriages, No Helmet

Create Campfire Bonfire Anywhere

Arranged Marriages

Custom Farm Animals

Purchase Custom Animals

Zero's Historical Mods (pickpocket, disease, etc.)

Phone to Notebook Replacement

Sippy Cup + Toys Default Replacements

Stuff for Pets

Harvestable Wheat Grain

Natural Knitting Stuff

Live in Business (LittleMsSam)

More Buyable Venues (LittleMsSam)

Force to Leave (LittleMsSam)

👑 CC:

Build:

TSR Ye Medieval - Ligna Windows Set

TSR Ye Medieval - Timber Frame Walls

TSR Ye Medieval - Framework Walls

TSR - Broken Wood Door

TSR Ye Medieval - Soil Terrain

TSR Ye Medieval - Hay Ground Terrain

Birch Tree (2048x2048)

Objects:

Lili's Palace - Folklore Set No. 1

Linzlu's Frontier Items

TSR Ye Medieval - Peasant Homelife 1

TSR Ye Medieval - Peasant Homelife 2

TSR Ye Medieval - Peasant Homelife 3

TSR Ye Medieval - Peasant Homelife 4

TRS Ye Medieval - Tristan Bathroom

TSR Ye Medieval - Tavern Part 1

TSR Ye Medieval - Candle Holder

TSR - Skara Stool

TSR - The Old Garden Boat

TSR - The Old Garden Quay

Fish Market Decor

Fish Rack

Fish Crate V1

Fish Crate V2

Bohrium Vegetables I

Old Rustic Well ("Eco Living" version)

Stable Set by Moriel

Rustic Animal Shed

Rustic Chicken Coop

Rustic Bee Box

Bassinet + Infant Crib

CAS:

TheSimsResource (Ye Medieval)

TheSimsResource (Sifix)

Simverses (most of my peasant CC)

Anora's Hair (Princess Leia's Kenobi Hair by Buzzard)

Rosceline's Hair (Lusine by simstrouble)

Kenric's Hair (Henry Hair by JohnnySims)

Mira's Hair (Padme's Mustafar Hair by Buzzard)

Papa Cedrick's Hair (Wearwolves Game Pack)

Roseline's Peasant Dress

👑 LOTS:

Caspian's Seaside Hut (Lot + CC List) (20x20)

Caspian's Lakeside Cottage (Lot + CC List) (20x20)

TSR Ye Medieval Avelyn Castle (64x64)

TSR Ye Medieval Galbury Tavern (30x20)

TSR Ye Medieval Tyrada Tavern (30x20)

TSR Ye Medieval Herbalist Hut (40x30)

👑 SAVE FILE:

Srsly's Blank Save

Map Replacement Medieval Windenburg

[callahanisms]

pretentious(?) cinephile patrick zweig.

call it a college au i guess

technically, he's a business student. he's just minoring in cinema studies, which was your major. you always hated the business school kids that came into your literature class (because film is literature) and thought it would be easy. and then they'd be surprised that they were failing because they didn't do the readings and when they participated, it was with shallow commentary. you don't even want to recount how many racist, misogynistic, queerphobic things were said in the class (in general too).

which is why patrick zweig pisses you off.

patrick zweig actually loves film. and unlike the other business boys, he understands that wolf of wall street is a cautionary tale.

"i wouldn't want to end up like him." he said. "doesn't mean i can't enjoy the movie."

patrick zweig actually has good taste in film. okay, maybe not "good" taste because "good" is always subjective. he's a bit of a film snob. you can't believe that he likes Jeanne Dielman, 23, quai du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles. you really hated the movie, mostly because it felt like an eternity. that might have also been because you were high watching it. sometimes weed has that effect.

at first glance, he seems like the kind of guy to dismiss foreign films because of subtitles. except you learned that he regularly consumes—and seeks out—foreign cinema. he grew up on foreign cinema.

"my dad's big into french films. that's how i started watching them." he explained to your french cinema professor.

you swear he's in every cinema studies class possible. and he recognizes you too.

"excited for this semester (y/n)? i'm looking forward to the syllabus."

now, patrick being patrick, he mostly skims the readings. rarely does he closely read. he finds himself getting distracted easily. and it's not really helpful with the multiple times you've worked with him whether it's as discussion leader or doing a group project.

there's the rare occasion you've seen patrick zweig in business class. and to say the least, he looks miserable. sometimes, he's so bored that he's doing the readings for your class.

"why don't you switch majors?" "because business school is just to appease my parents."

you don't 100% believe his answer. or maybe he's right in thinking that it will appease his parents. you're not all too knowing about his home life. you guys just have class together. until...

"wanna smoke?"

a joint before your screening. you guys were watching Spike Lee's School Daze for the race and american film class. he's never seen it. you have. maybe the colors will pop even more if you took a hit.

"sure."

so you guys find the smoke corner and light the joint. you inhale and make small talk. patrick zweig isn't the asshole he seems to be. he carries himself with such douchebaggery that it seems to be a defense mechanism. and you learn during that smoking session that he isn't really pretentious. he's just really passionate.

"i hate Prometheus." he says. "what? how can you hate Prometheus? Prometheus is so good! it's like right up your alley!" you cough as you inhale. "listen, i may be a film snob. and sometimes i can be an asshole about it. but ridley scott is a bigger asshole than me." patrick takes the joint to inhale. when he blows, the smoke sort of billows around him. it frames his frankly gorgeous face. "lean into the haunted house of the Alien franchise. don't try to turn it into something deeper when it already had such interesting themes."

School Daze was a watch. patrick had a lot of thoughts, but he seemed to barely express them in class. he saved it for his letterboxd review.

"you have letterboxd?" "duh." he glances at you as you guys are walking to the bus stop. "what's your username?" "ppzweig." "you can't be serious. that's so immature of you!" but also so on brand for patrick zweig. "i made the account a long time ago okay! i'll follow you back if you follow me."

so you do follow him.

you learn quickly that patrick reviews for nearly every movie he watches. the exception are rewatches (if there isn't anything left to say) and films that just didn't really interest him or were terrible. oh and you see through his reviews that he really hates tarantino. actually very surprising! patrick always had something to say though. you loved terrorizing him when he walked into class.

"hey so why did you rate Alien: Resurrection four stars?" "what happened to hello? how are you?"

side note: i did make a top 10 list of films that i think patrick would have. idk how character accurate this is but he strikes me as such:

Jeanne Dielman, 23, quai du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles (1975)

Trainspotting (1996)

Night of the Hunter (1955)

Citizen Kane (1941)

Amélie (2001)

A Clockwork Orange (1972)

Boogie Nights (1997)

Taxi Driver (1976)

The Wolf of Wall Street (2013)

Lady Snowblood (1973)

[thebekerslegecy]

👑 MEDIEVAL MODS + CC | The BEKER LEGECY

I am currently playing Morbid’s ULTIMATE Decades Challenge. Below is a list of all of the Mods + CC I am using in my game🐝

🍯 MODS: Wicked Whims (+18) MC Command Center MC Woohoo More Traits in CAS Royalty Mod Medieval Interactions Ye Olde Cookbook + Stoves +Fires Require Wood  + Hunting & Foraging Mod Home Region +Townie Demographics by Kuttoe Fashion Authority 2 by Lot51 Functional Broom Functional Loom Functional Pottery Wheel Archery Skill Blacksmithing Skill Historical Simolean Override - English Shillings Children/Toddlers Can Die of Anything Playable Harp + Lute Functional Horses & Carriages, No Helmet Create Campfire Bonfire Anywhere Arranged Marriages Custom Farm Animals Purchase Custom Animals Zero’s Historical Mods (pickpocket, disease, etc.) Phone to Notebook Replacement Sippy Cup + Toys Default Replacements Stuff for Pets Natural Knitting Stuff PreTeen LittleMsSam Mods ( Pick what you want) Sims4me

🐝 CC:

🍯Build:

TSR Ye Medieval - Ligna Windows Set TSR Ye Medieval - Timber Frame Walls TSR Ye Medieval - Framework Walls TSR - Broken Wood Door TSR Ye Medieval - Soil Terrain TSR Ye Medieval - Hay Ground Terrain

🐝Objects:

Lili’s Palace - Folklore Set No. 1 Linzlu’s Frontier Items TSR Ye Medieval - Peasant Homelife 1 TSR Ye Medieval - Peasant Homelife 2 TSR Ye Medieval - Peasant Homelife 3 TSR Ye Medieval - Peasant Homelife 4 TRS Ye Medieval - Tristan Bathroom TSR Ye Medieval - Tavern Part 1 TSR Ye Medieval - Candle Holder TSR - Skara Stool TSR - The Old Garden Boat TSR - The Old Garden Quay Fish Market Decor Fish Rack Fish Crate V1 Fish Crate V2 Bohrium Vegetables I Old Rustic Well (“Eco Living” version) Stable Set by Moriel Rustic Animal Shed Rustic Chicken Coop Rustic Bee Box Bassinet + Infant Crib SimsHistoricalfinds tumblr (directory) SIMS 4 MEDIEVAL CC TheSenseMedieval Allhistorical cc tumblr Medieval & Fantasy Mods List | Notion Kosmic Hippie's CC Finds — 👑 MEDIEVAL MODS + CC | The Sims 4 antiquated plumbobs : Directory CC Finds Navigation

🍯CAS:

TheSimsResource (Ye Medieval) TheSimsResource (Sifix) Simverses  Melancholy Maiden | creating Historical Sims 4 CC | Patreon satterlly | creating The Sims 4 CC | Patreon

🐝 SAVE FILE:

Srsly’s Blank Save Map Replacement Medieval Windenburg Medieval Map Replacement

🍯MY SIMS 4 MEDIEVAL WORLDS:

How to change sims4 world names (for existing save) How to change sims4 world names ( for new save)

Kingdom of France – Willow Creek’ Mali Empire – Oasis Springs’ Kingdom of Norway – Newcrest’ Inca Empire – Granite Falls’ Holy Roman Empire – Windenburg’ Kingdom of Denmark– Magnolia Promenade’ Republic of Genoa – San Myshuno’ Kingdom of Hungary – Forgotten Hollow’ Grand Duchy of Lithuania – Brindleton Bay’ Aztec Empire – Selvadorada’ Kingdom of Sicily – Del Sol Valley’ Ottoman Empire – StrangerVille’ Hawai’i – Sulani’ Kingdom of Scotland- Glimmerbrook’ Duchy of Milan – Brightchester’ Maya city-states – Evergreen Harbor’ Tatooine– Batuu’ Goryeo– Mt. Komorebi’ Kingdom of England – Henford-on-Bagley’ Republic of Venice– Tartosa’ Duchy of Burgundy – Moonwood Mill’ Kingdom of Aragon – Copperdale’ Mongol Empire – San Sequoia’ Mamluk Sultanate – Chestnut Ridge’ Kingdom of Ayutthaya – Tomarang’ Kingdom of Castile - Ciudad Enamorada

[nelsonashton39]

North Shore Builder | Quay Homes

Looking for a reliable North Shore builder to bring your dream home to life? Look no further than our team of skilled professionals. From design to construction, we are committed to delivering exceptional results that exceed your expectations. Contact us today to learn more.

[morbidology]

The tale of L'Inconnue de la Seine, or the Unknown Woman of the Seine, revolves around a death mask created from the face of a woman purportedly found in the 1800s, having allegedly taken her own life and retrieved from the Seine river near Quai du Louvre in Paris.

According to legend, the pathologist conducting her post-mortem was so struck by her beauty that he had a mask made to immortalize it. However, skepticism arose over the years due to the serene and flawless expression on the mask, leading some to speculate it was taken from a living model rather than a deceased body.

Despite the mystery surrounding her true identity, the visage of this woman became a popular decorative item, widely produced and adorning many homes in the early 1900s.

[rowanyx]

There is something so deep about Laerryn's choice in the finale, and Brennan's phrasing of the decision to be made.

To clarify, this scene (copied and pasted from the CR wiki transcripts):

BRENNAN: On a 16, you must make a tough decision. Do you want to further limit the release of energy and make the release of energy safer for the physical environs of Avalir and Cathmoíra, or do you want to ensure that Rau'shan and Ka'Mort will be permanently banished from Exandria?

TRAVIS: Impossible.

AABRIA: Laerryn's little joke to herself was always that the Heart of Avalir was the thing she inherited, but it was too small. She made it bigger, she improved it. She improved the Etheric Net and built this and that she was the Heart of Avalir, and she gave everything to this city. But I know what people are fighting to protect and I remember what Quay said about going down with the ship. So we will ensure it. This will work. Avalir be damned.

or this timestamp of the episode (in case the link doesn't work for the timestamp, the first comment's list has it labelled Laerryn's Tough Decision):

As we were first introduced to her, Laerryn Coramar-Seelie is the Architect Arcane. As Aabria herself even put, her whole life, all her work, is about taking the city and making it better. Building more. Expansion is the name of the game. So when Brennan specifies that the limiting of energy output will save the physical environs rather than the people, that holds weight.

Just, in a mechanics aspect, there is the fact she is an Abjurer. The whole point of her magic is exactly this choice. To stop things from being destroyed. Her wards that take the damage so that she or others will not. She is not built to bring destruction, leave the fight to others. She will be there to soften the blows that come her allies' ways. She is the one one deciding this, and it feels right, because she's spent her studies dedicated to figuring out how she will prevent the destruction that comes her way.

But that isn't all.

Because any other hero, any other party member, every other soul faced with this question could so easily think that it is a useless decision. A city can be rebuilt, but only if the Betrayer Gods are stopped before they kill all the people that can do so.

But Laerryn, who has dedicated her years to this, the position of Architect Arcane, knows this city and her structures far more intimately. She has been there, step by step, as she forged them. Designed them. Watched over their construction. It is by her hand it was built.

Asking her, specifically, is asking her to choose between everything she's done, or let it all burn. Asking her to make this decision is asking her to decide her legacy. Will she live on as the maker of the land that survived such devastation, but not the people, or will she go down as the one who helped stop the Calamity?

Her choice boiled down to this: Limiting the energy, their work, the libraries and churches, the colleges, grand towers and hallowed halls, stone and mortar, it all can go on unshattered. Or, stopping the Betrayers, the people may continue on.

Was her work more important than the lives she was surrounded by?

Aabria mentions Laerryn was given the Heart of Avalir, jokes how she improved it. But the Heart of Avalir, while magical, is only an engine. It was made, and can be again. So in this moment, I think Laerryn maybe realizes that the true heart of a city comes from the people. Always thinking, thoughts speed by her, whether or not she ever had time to really process the revelations before her demise.

Evandrin is already gone due her hubris. Who else would she lose? Would it have felt like home, without Loqautious there by her side? Would it truly feel like her city, without Patia keeping up with her? What would she cause, without Nydas to hold her back? What is Avalir, without her Brass Ring?

Her assistant, probably still waiting for her, in their offices, and the choice of which will see tomorrow?

How many will feel the heat of Rau'shan's flames as they die? How many will fall to Ka'Mort's earth?

None, she decides. Her friends and neighbors, the kinsmen of her home, will not feel these pains.

I think it is also a moment that beautifully showcases her accepting her death. She will not be here to heal her city. She's going down with the ship. Maybe her blueprints will be found and used, and Avalir will be as it once was. Maybe they won't, and they'll construct it all anew. But she won't see it, so it is their turn to take what was given and build on.

Of course, Rau'shan and Ka'Mort were not the only assets of the Calamity, and damage and destruction was still wrought across Exandria. But there are enough hands to clear the ruins and make their own stories. And that is because of the greatest Architect of them all.

She gave them a chance indeed.

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

Chapter 22 - The Old Gods and The New

Boundless Insolence | Loki x Reader

You refuse to wait for permission to speak to Bres and find out what he really wants. At the Asgardian Court, Jane reveals hidden talents.

Warnings: Mysogyny, fighting, still angsty sorry!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics and @reveriesources

Series Masterlist | Loki Masterlist | Masterlist

You’d wanted to attack, to run to the top of the cliffs where Bres had stationed his legion, and burn them all to cinders for their threats. You’d wanted to rage and fight. But Val had placed a hand on your arm and suggested you wait, guiding you across the deserted village and back home. 

She called a small council at your cottage, Thor pacing by the window, one eye on the cliffs above as if waiting for a surprise attack. He’d been in his armour since Bres first announced himself, calling Stormbreaker to his side. 

“We can draw this out, buy ourselves time.” The King suggested, “he gave us until noon tomorrow, let’s use that time. We still need more backup, we still need to get Loki back and I haven’t heard back from Carol. But we can do this. 

“Jane will want to help also. She is a fearsome creature and we already know she is willing to help us.” 

“Jane should be in charge of evacuating the village.” Brunnhilde drifted towards Thor, leaving you to your thoughts, watching the fire dance in the grate like a hypnotised snake, reaching upwards and then spitting embers. 

He still wasn’t home. How could you face any of this without him by your side. 

“Okay, we wait. But then what?” 

You looked over the frightened village. No one had dared to venture out during the evening. The normally bustling pub had not only been closed, but, like the rest of the village, shuttered.  The closed windows and doors, the quiet streets and empty market. Even the boats were all out, hovering on the horizon instead of coming and going as usual. You knew from the empty car park by the quay that many families had already left, rising in the milky dawn and fleeing over the border or taking their boats out as far as they could to wait out whatever incoming war was waiting on the cliffs. 

Anger burned inside of you on behalf of your home and then, as if in answer, along your finger tips and up your arms. You had worked too hard, for too long, gaining control of your memories, of your powers and building your life in Tonsberg to put up with someone trying to make you leave. No longer would you bow to these gods, these men, and their whims and ideas about you. Fire flared around you, a halo around your brow and your spear in your hands. You’d end this now. 

Marching towards the cliffs you allowed your power to swirl around you, taking over every inch of space between you and the towering rock face before you. Bres’ army was still stationed there, even if some of them had clearly fallen back in order to bed in and build tents and fires. This wasn’t your world, war and battlefields, but the village was yours, and the people who lived there were yours to protect too. 

You wanted your picnic spot back, the cliff tops where you walked with Loki after dinner, the fields where you’d strolled with Val, greeting the tourists and the villagers alike. 

This was your village, your home - your Loki. You refused to have a distraction when you needed to focus on getting him back. That’s all Bres was now, a hurdle between you and the only God you wanted to see parading on that cliff top. 

The steep march up was fueled by your anger and the swell of magic that was building inside. Never had you felt so in control, so drawn to your magic. Even when you’d been caught off guard by Lugh it had been your subconscious that protected you, now your fire moved naturally with you, another limb that reached out and made the braziers that Bres’ army were placing around their camp build until their basket’s melted, spilling ash onto the grass and sending the assembled soldiers stumbling back. 

In the centre of the camp one of the tents sat larger than the others, the deep green of the fabric snapping taught in the wind over the tall pole at its centre, the two open flaps were protected by the soldiers flanking either side and, as you approached, they crossed their swords. 

“Lady Estrid,” the older soldier spoke in a gruff tone and angled his head. You’d expected a fight, to be instantly jumped upon and bound as you had been before. But instead the camp fell silent around you, every pair of eyes turned towards you. 

“I wish to speak to Bres. To settle this matter.” You made your back as straight as it would go, channelling every one of Loki’s princely mannerism, every ounce of Thor’s presence, all you’d seen and learnt at The Golden Palace of the ways of a God. No one needed to know that your toes were clenched with fear inside of your boots or that your palms were damp with sweat. 

“His Majesty is indisposed at present, milady.” 

The soldier looked awkward, his eyes darting from you to ranks behind the tents, and then back over the sea. 

“He has specifically requested my presence, and yet now he’s indisposed?” You raised an eyebrow, one hand on your hip, the other turning your spear slowly, the flame dancing as the wind caught it. 

The soldier’s eyes darted to the white hot flame and then back to your face, the colour draining from him, “he left a note, milady.” He motioned uncomfortably for a messenger to approach, an ivory envelope in his outstretched hand. 

You snatched it from him, frustrated beyond reason that you were prepared for a fight with a man who was now, apparently, too busy to even show his face to you. 

At first the writing looked blurred, swirling together in unfamiliar patterns, but the more you looked the more familiar they became and the memory surfaced slowly, revealing the message. 

Estrid, 

Your insolence knows no bounds and I shall not subject my court to it a moment longer. Your engagement has been confirmed for many centuries and you will fulfil the promises made between our houses. 

You will stay with your guards until he arrives and then you will be married. You will fulful the prophecy and marry Vani of Vannaheimr and in our name bring about the second Ragnarok. 

Do not disappoint me again. 

Bres. 

Your hands shook as you read. He believed in the prophecy, and not only that, but he was counting on it to shake the foundation of the Aesir and Vanir. Clearly this plan was centuries in the making and, somewhere between his time and now, Bres had forgotten that there was nothing left to fight for. 

The people of Norway had been shocked by the knowledge that there truly was a Thor, a Loki, an Asgard. But since arriving their awe had turned to intrigue and, rather than worshipping them, they had taken to visiting as tourists, on cruise ships and in coaches. Perhaps the gifts they left at the site of Odin’s death could be counted as offerings, but it was their money, spent in gift shops and cafes in the village, that truly kept the place alive. 

Would Bres really burn down everything the Asgardians had built for some long lost jealousy? To take over a kingdom that no longer existed and was now a honeypot tourist trap on an otherwise empty coastline.  

You read the note again. 

Another Ragnarok. You’d seen enough in Loki’s memories to understand the destruction wrought on Asgard, you could never allow it to happen here. But then the destruction had been to take the palace, the land, the planet. What could Bres hope to conquer here? A few hundred people and an, admittedly, thriving tourist business. Would people even still come? 

You scrunched the note in your hand and looked up at the guards. 

“I will do no such thing. If Bres wants to discuss an engagement then he can come and talk to me like a civilised person.” You kept your chin high, looking down on the men despite their height. 

The second guard step forward, lifting his sword and pointing it at your chest. “Milady, Bres is no civilised person. He’s a God, a warrior, he will not-” You swung your own sword knocking him back and, for a moment, you sparred, parrying each attempted hit until he managed to back you up against his fellow guard. “He will not let you simply walk away from this arrangement.” He growled, spittle flying from his gritted teeth. 

Despite your position you held your head high, “well I suppose that’s his problem, isn’t it. Because I won’t be discussing anything here. If he wants to talk we can meet on neutral ground outside of the village. I won’t put my people at risk.” You shoved, knocking him off balance enough to free yourself from the pressure of the flat of his sword. 

“Your people?” The sneer came from behind you and you whipped your head around to glare, summoning every ounce of the fierce warrior goddess Loki believed you could be. 

“Yes, my people. I am a member of the Asgardian court and a sworn protector of the people of this village. I don’t care what imaginary claim Bres has on me-” The guard deftly swept your sword down towards the ground, silencing you again. 

“It is no imaginary claim, milady, you are of his house. He is your mother’s husband and therefore -” 

Anger flared, roiling like lava. “My mother is dead.” You choked back your emotion but the fire was already there, steaming from your skin. “She is dead and he is nothing to me, he has no claim on me and he does not control me. Tell him to meet me at the edge of the village if he wants to talk, otherwise his presence here is an agitator of war and the Asgardian crown will not allow it. Either meet me properly, or move.” 

Fire erupted from your hands, carving a path over the grass and back to the worn path down the cliff. The guards stepped back from the heat, the other soldiers following suit, turning their eyes away. 

With that you turned to leave, allowing your cape to swirl behind you and your magic fizzing over in sparks of blue and silver before making your way back into the village. 

Whatever Thor and Val were planning, you just hoped they were right. 

Darkness crept up from the coastline, like a high spring tide it lapped at the pools of light dotted along the quay, taking them over and creeping ever higher up the coast. The sleeping village, cottages with drawn curtains and shops locked up tight, under the waves of depthless black that crept closer and closer, devouring every spec of light, snuffing out the dream of morning. 

Ghosts stalked the streets, warriors clad in clanking armour with glinting swords and spears, shields held high as they swept through the village.

You pulled away from the windows and back into the darkness of your bedroom. When Loki was with you it had felt so welcoming, like being embraced by the god himself in all of his velvet and brocade finery. Now it felt like a cage, gilded and beautiful, but useless against the advancing army that was taking over your village. You weren't protected, you were ensnared, that's how they saw it from their clifftop vantage. A snared animal thrashing against its trap, and there was no one to save you. 

Bres had never showed himself but, high on the clifftop where his army camped, there were now two tall silhouettes, picked out by the bright moon behind them.

Bres and your betrothed. The Vanir Prince was taller than Bres, and broader. Although Bres was a God, he had been for aeons and the years showed in the way he held his sword and placed his weight. The prince was younger, stronger, more cocksure even if he was less skilled. And that was a dangerous combination. 

Your stomach roiled, fighting the urge to throw up at the dread that sat heavy in your stomach. For all your posturing with the guards, you were still frightened. 

Thor had advised you to get an early night, to dig deep into your magic and spend the evening exploring its depths. Brunnhilde suggested lying in your bedroom in the dark, allowing the feel of the fireside to crackle through your veins. 

You remembered the fire with Loki, at his cabin, and how safe you’d felt, how secure in your knowledge that he would protect you by any means, that he had fought for you. The glow of the fire in the village pub, dancing merrily along with the chattering of friends. The fire in your own home hearth, welcoming you back after a long, cold, day out in the village. The vein of molten lava that curved its way through your life, lighting every wonderful moment. It filled you until you glowed, until the moon outside glowed brighter as well, lengthening shadows spreading across the carpet and up onto your bed. 

You could feel him then, Loki’s touch on the back of your hand and his silken voice whispering to you across the ocean. 

I believe in you, Asynja. You and only you. 

Focussing your energy on the thought you closed your eyes again and thought of him. 

I believe in you too, Loki, my one God. My love.

You hardly slept, tossing and turning in the empty sheets of your bed. Despite your prayers and calls, you hadn’t felt Loki last night. Even in your dreams he was gone, replaced by fire, endless fire that raged across the village consuming everything in its path. You shuddered, too frightened to open the curtains, too lonely to face a morning without Loki’s smiling face. 

Loki woke with a gasp, upright and panting, clutching at his chest and surveying the still bright, still mostly empty room. He’d dreamt of you, your long dress sweeping through the grass, and at first he had thrown himself at you as if he was still a boy, chasing you through the palace gardens. But as he followed, his eyes trained on the glitter of your dress, panic began to rise unbidden until he was sprawled in the morning dew and watching you walk towards a faceless man. The vanir banners that flanked him told him enough about his worst fears, but he didn’t expect you to follow. 

Fire licked up the banners, but didn’t burn them. Instead it danced through the fabric and into the Vanir man’s waiting hands. His clenched fists controlled the flame, squeezing it tighter until it squirmed through his fingers in blue ribbons. The Vanir merely laughed, releasing the flame and then trapping it again, his dark chuckle echoing into a void of darkness. Loki felt sick, choked, and had awoken expecting to find himself lying in his own vomit. 

Though he’d managed to contain his last dry and disgusting meal, he was still drenched in sweat, his heart racing. He didn’t dare drop his body temperature to that of his Jotun form, though his body cried out for the relief his magic could give to his heated skin. Instead Loki removed the regulation pyjama top that had been slid through the feeding hatch. It did nothing to cool his skin, but he rubbed his chest and arms with the fabric anyway and the act felt enough like cleansing that he managed to calm his heart rate. 

He couldn’t help but think of your own beautiful flame, how the heat called to his own, frostier, magic and played with it. You never sought to control his sedir and his own magic never thought to snuff out your own. Instead they twined together, teasing and playful. Controlling your spark, hurting it for fun, had never - would never - cross Loki’s mind. Even in his worst moments he had a reverence for magic, it was the only civilised way to respond to another’s talents. To quash another, unthinkable, yet the thought of the Vanir doing just that had crossed his mind. 

He tried to shake the dream away from his mind, but he couldn’t help feeling the painful nagging sense that this was less a dream and more a prophecy. 

It was hard to discern when morning arrived in Tonsberg, the fog that weighed on the land was so heavy it blocked out the light, leaving the village street lamps still flickering even when the school bell had rung, the shops open once more despite the threat that loomed above them. The Asgardians were sensible, staying away from the cliffs and the god that paced them, but they weren’t cowards. They’d spent too long worrying about Ragnarok, too long worrying about Thanos, they would not be bullied from another home. So the village woke, despite the fog and the fear, and they went about their business in the gloom. 

Brunnhilde called an early meeting, opening the doors of the long hall herself, before the sparse staff that made up her, albeit relaxed, royal court had arrived. There was tea and biscuits, as usual, Thor leaving a trail of crumbs from the kitchen to the fold out table that now took up the space in front of the King’s throne. Jane brushed at them without looking away from Korg who was animatedly telling her about a new video game he’d been playing at the after school club. It all looked so normal, so wholesome and relaxed that the anger you had so carefully banked threatened to well again. 

Did no one else care about Loki? Did no one miss him? Was this some godly game played between mortals to them, when your whole life was in the balance. 

You sank into your seat, pulling a steaming mug towards you, allowing the increasingly loud conversation to drown you. 

It was Jane who noticed you first, reaching out and placing her hand on your arm. 

“How’re you doing this morning?” The tender way her eyes softened made you feel sick, you didn’t want pity, you wanted revenge, you wanted to march into the Avengers stupid, cold, awful compound, rescue Loki and burn the rest to ashes. Fire flared from your finger tips and Jane snatched her hand back. 

Instead of the harsh words you’d been thinking, panic rose - “I’m so sorry - I -” 

“It’s alright, it’s shit, isn’t it? Being stuck left behind, feeling powerless?” 

You nodded, looking back down into your tea, now scalding hot from the power surging in your own hands. 

“Well, Trouble, fear not, you are not powerless and neither are we. We will get your Loki back and we will see these unwelcome guests thrown from our town.” Thor placed an unusually gentle hand on your back and rubbed it up and down. Despite yourself you turned into his embrace and allowed him to wrap an arm around your shoulder. “Come, sister, Warriors of the Asgardian Court do not cry over their tea.”

You looked up at his twinkling smile and couldn’t help but let out a wet laugh. He’d never called you sister before and although your stomach still roiled at the thought of Loki being alone, at least you felt at home. 

“Let’s do something then, Thor. We have to make a move at some point, or who knows who’ll turn up to kidnap or invade or whatever those arseholes on the hill want.” 

“They want you.” Brunnhilde’s voice was low and smooth as always, her eyes trained on you carefully. 

Thor nodded, “but we shan’t give you over to them.” 

“Perhaps it would be better if you did.” They had watched, yesterday, as you’d approached the cliffs, ready to attack or shield depending on the outcome. The quiet of the camp had surprised you all and left you somewhat on the backfoot, primed and ready to fight with no outlet for the sedir and adrenaline building across the village. But they’d been proud to see their warrior defend herself, and had not felt the need to intervene. 

Brunnhilde paced in front of the throne, hands in her pockets, pushing her suit jacket back as always. But she looked tired, disappointed. 

“I had a call with Carol last night and it’s not good news.” She sighed, leaning on the table with one hand, nails tapping. “She had intended to visit sooner anyway, but has been called away and will not be able to help.” 

“Why not!” Thor complained, eyebrows furrowed, “I thought you were -” 

“Yes, we are and she’s not coming, is that okay with you, Thor?” 

You’d never seen her snap like that, her anger as quick as a viper and the whole table went silent in its wake. 

Jane tensed beside you and shifted into your side, “they’re, well, they were dating, I don’t know what’s going on.” She whispered. 

“Who is she anyway? Carol?” 

“Captain Marvel?” Jane offered and she tried not to show your shock. You’d had no idea such help was even on the table, but knowing that you were losing it - she could have changed everything. 

Brunnhilde turned again, her slower pacing somehow more worrying. 

“I was counting on her being able to negotiate with the Avengers, but we will have to strategise. Rethink.” 

“We will still be able to beat this Bres- I have no doubt.” Thor relaxed into his chair and frustration built again. 

“Thor, this may be a huge joke to you, but it’s not to me, if you have a plan, share it.” You rounded on the god, allowing your fire some outlet around your fingertips. Beneath the table Jane squeezed your elbow reassuringly. 

“He’s bluffing, Trouble, he wishes to frighten you and make us nervous. If he wanted to attack, he would have done it by now.” He scoffed. “He wants you, I would place a hefty bet he needs you for some scheme of his. We shall keep you safe and keep him waiting.” 

“And Loki, how are we getting Loki back?” 

Thor went quiet, the Avengers were equally so, no longer communicating with Thor and refusing to answer any calls. 

“Someone needs to go there,” you implored, “we need to go and just take him back.” 

“They’re the Avengers, we can’t just march in, we need to be smart.” Jane said, trying to calm the tensions at the table. “And we do need more back up, we can’t leave the village without their King.” 

“So Brunnhilde stays here and Thor comes with me?” 

“You can’t go there alone,” Brunnhilde rounded on you now. “I won’t let any of my subjects take on the Avengers alone. If Loki cannot escape himself then they have him kept somewhere either impenetrable by force or by magic. They will have anticipated you and Thor as well as your combined abilities.” 

Jane tapped on the table. “What about me?” 

Thor shot her a look and shook his head subtly. 

“What do you mean?” Brunnhilde looked between Thor and Jane. 

“Well, Thor’s told you about -” 

“How clever she is!” Thor cut in, “is she not so very clever?” 

Korg nodded emphatically. 

“Thank you, but I actually meant -” 

“She can work the computers very well, she knows all about the electronic mail and even has a device to read it with.” Thor continued to shake his head at Jane. 

“Thor!” Jane and Brunnhilde shouted at once and, in the millisecond of quiet that followed, Jane lifted her hand and beckoned. 

At first you thought nothing was happening and then Mojlnir appeared from the coat rack, racing towards Jane. Thor panicked, attempting to hold his hand up, but Korg pushed it back down, allowing the hammer to sail past him and into Jane’s hand. 

Lighting crackled around her in a flash so bright you had to squeeze your eyes shut. When you opened them the lightning had gone, but so had the Jane you were used to seeing. Her hair was longer, blonder, and her normally plaid covered arms were bare and bulging with muscles. Her jeans and shirt were replaced with Asgardian armour, a red cape flowing from her shoulders. 

Thor had buried his head in his hands while Brunnhilde looked at the newly revealed Jane, silent and agog. 

Korg smiled, opening his arms, “oh wow, a new Thor!” 

<<Chapter 21

Chapter 23>>

[scotianostra]

On October 23rd 1295 the “Auld Alliance” treaty was signed between John Balliol, King of Scots, and Philippe IV of France.

The treaty stipulated that if either Scotland or France was attacked by England, the other country would invade English territory. However, this wasn’t quite as even-handed and mutually helpful as it seemed. For one, because the English had lands in France, all the French were required to do was continue their struggle against the English on their soil.

The cost of any outright war between Scotland and England, meanwhile, had to be borne entirely by the Scots.

But for a tiny nation like Scotland, alliance with mighty France was of great symbolic importance – even if it didn’t stop the English frequently invading Scotland during the centuries the Auld Alliance ran.

If you read my posts you will have seen the mention of battles fought, not only in England, but on French soil, where Scots fought and died, we were regarded as elite soldiers.

Shakespeare’s ‘Henry V’ rightly portrays the Battle of Agincourt in 1415 as one of England’s greatest military victories. For the French it was a disaster that led to the near collapse of their kingdom. In their darkest hour the Dauphin turned to the Scots, England’s enemy, for salvation.

Between 1419 and 1424, 15,000 Scots left from the River Clyde to fight in France. In 1421 at the Battle of Bauge the Scots dealt a crushing defeat to the English and slew the Duke of Clarence.

Honours and rewards were heaped upon the Scots army by the French. The Earl of Douglas was given the royal Dukedom of Touraine and the Scots army lived well off the land, much to the chagrin of the French peasantry.

Their victory was short lived however; at Vernuil in 1424 a Scots army of 4,000 men was annihilated. As mercenaries they could have expected no mercy and those who were captured were dispatched on the spot. Despite their defeat, the Scots had brought France valuable breathing space and effectively saved the country from English domination.

Many Scots continued to serve in France. They aided Joan of Arc in her famous relief of Orleans and many went on to form the Garde Écossais, the fiercely loyal bodyguard of the French Kings, where they were at the very heart of French politics.

Many Scots mercenaries settled in France although they continued to think of themselves as Scots. One such man was Beraud Stuart of Aubigny: a third-generation Scot immigrant, Captain of the Garde Écossais from 1493-1508, and hero of France’s Italian wars. To this day both he and other Scots heroes of the Auld Alliance are celebrated in Beraud’s home town of Aubigny-sur-Neve in an annual pageant.

The Auld Alliance wasn’t simply a military alliance; it was based on a long-established friendship founded on the Scots love of French wine.

The signing of the Auld Alliance in 1295 might have given the Scots French support against England, but it also gave the Scottish merchants the privilege of selecting the first choice of Bordeaux’s finest wines - a privilege which was eagerly protected for hundreds of years, much to the annoyance of English wine drinkers who received an inferior product.

French wine was landed on Wine Quay of Leith and rolled up the streets to the merchants’ cellars behind the water front. The wine landed was mostly for the elite of Scottish society, with most commoners drinking whisky or beer, but it seems to have been popular with everyone for Hogmanay celebrations.

Trade, especially of wine, has a tendency to fly in the face of political changes and alliances. After the Reformation, the Auld Alliance was no longer feasible between Protestant Scotland and Catholic France, but the trade in Claret continued. People simply kept drinking it.

An example of this process can be seen in the post-Reformation destiny of St Anthony’s fund: a charitable fund raised on the back of the wine trade. The fund was simply converted to Protestantism by King James VI and passed onto the Old Leith Parish Church.

As late as the 1670s, Scots merchants were still going to Bordeaux to get their first choice of wine. Even after the Union of Parliaments with England in 1707, Scots continued to smuggle Claret into Scotland to avoid taxes. Scots of all persuasions, Jacobite or Hanoverian, continued to drink Claret in preference to patriotic Port - especially when toasting the exiled Stuart kings as 'the King over the water’.

[actual-bill-potts]

There was a large crowd by the quays of Tol Eressëa.

Finrod did not, in principle, particularly enjoy seeing many of the Eldar gathered on the beach. It brought back too many memories: the curious milling about after the earth had swallowed the Númenoreans - what a stupid, thoughtless, evil waste of life - the departure of his father’s host for Middle-earth, taking with it everyone he had not yet lost, and of course the - first incident.

But today he was here among the crowd, and his father and mother, and his grandfather and grandmothers, and Angrod and Orodreth with Finduilas, and finally Celebrían. Still a small group, compared to the carefree days of his youth; but another place was about to be filled, for his sister was coming home.

Galadriel was coming home! He had missed her for so long that the thought of her was a river-tumbled stone in his heart, worn smooth by longing; but she would be here at last. When the news had come his mother had not stopped singing for days, and his father had stood taller, as if released from some great weight.

There were other important passengers on this ship, of course. Two mortals, for one - Finrod could not wait to meet them - and the famous Elrond, who was already twice-dear to him as Celebrían’s husband and a descendant of those whose loss could never be worn down in his heart. Celebrían’s small anxious face always brightened when she spoke of him; and Finrod had some hope that some of the great shackles of grief she still carried would be broken away by her spouse’s presence.

The crowd was not only Galadriel’s nearest and dearest, of course; there was Elwing the White, standing still and serious as she always was, waiting for her son; Idril and Tuor, hands clasped, awaiting their grandson; many of the Returned from Rivendell who wished to see Elrond again; and a large number of Elves who, Finrod was fairly sure, were merely curious about the mortals.

Though perhaps that was uncharitable. All on the ship - save perhaps the Halflings - had been dearly beloved by so many.

And now they were coming back. There was a collective breath from the crowd as the ship appeared on the horizon, sped by Ulmo. A beautiful sight, as Círdan’s craft always was; but Finrod hardly noticed, straining his eyes to catch a glimpse of golden hair. Was that her? It must be, standing eagerly at the prow - so like his sister - he almost laughed for sheer joy. He was half-afraid to move, to blink, lest she disappear from his sight; but he blinked, twice, thrice, and there she still was.

Beside him, Celebrían murmured, "I see him," with a note in her voice that Finrod intimately recognized. He had said it often enough himself, when someone long since gone had returned from a hunting trip or a visit or simply a long walk. There had not been the desperation, the raw grief and longing, in his tone then that Celebrían’s voice carried now; but that unalloyed joy would not be his again. The one he loved had died indeed, and would not return.

He breathed through the grief and refocused his eyes, searching for a glimpse of dark hair - Celebrían had told him that much - curious to see Elrond. There, perhaps, under the sail, next to a small creature who must be one of the Halflings -

Finrod froze, and breathed in so sharply that Celebrían beside him looked at him, concerned.

"It is nothing," he said. "Merely - surprised."

Celebrían nodded absently and returned her gaze to the ship.

Elrond was the image of Lúthien, come again to the world. For a moment Finrod was lost in memories of Doriath, laughing with a pair of star-silver eyes that had looked into his just as Elrond’s had for a moment, both merry and grave.

She had been gone so long.

Beside him, Angrod leaned over and said, with all his customary tact, "Celebrían, you did not tell us your husband was Lúthien come again!"

Finrod winced - comparisons to Lúthien were always somewhat tricky - but Celebrían only laughed. "Wait until you see my daughter!" she said. "I believe my parents were a bit heartbroken. Three grandchildren, and they might as well all have been tiny duplicates of Elrond. For awhile, anyway," she added. "Elladan has my mother’s chin, and Elrohir my father’s very arched eyebrows." She was smiling more widely than Finrod had ever seen.

The ship drew ever closer. Galadriel’s eyes met his, and she winked; then she saw her daughter and an expression of such tenderness passed over her features that Finrod had to look away. There were so many Galadriels that he had never met: wife, mother, queen, grandmother.

But she was here now.

The instant the ship docked, Celebrían was running, a small silver flash. Elrond hastened to meet her, and for an instant silence fell as they crashed together like waves meeting the shoreline. Elrond spun her around and around, Lúthien’s face bright and alive once more; then they were kissing so passionately Finrod had to look away again.

Galadriel did not immediately come to meet her family, but Finrod did not begrudge her that; she was waiting for her daughter. That did not matter to Eärwen and Finarfin, who together were not three steps behind Celebrían, and who were weeping before they even reached Galadriel. "My daughter," Finrod heard Eärwen say, "My Nerwen. My daughter!" and then Galadriel was nearly obscured by her father and mother.

The joy in the air was tangible; Finrod nearly laughed aloud for no other reason than sheer happiness. Angrod was grinning beside him as Celebrían tore herself away from Elrond at last and flung herself at her mother, a small shining figure against Galadriel’s stately tall queenliness; then the whole troupe emerged fully onto shore and Finrod and Angrod, Orodreth and Finduilas, all hurled themselves at Galadriel in turn. They ended up in one laughing pile on the sand; though Finrod nearly extricated himself when he saw the Halflings emerge from the boat. They were so small, and so - so bright to his eyes. He had missed mortals, oh! How he had missed them! But then Olórin followed them out, and said in his booming voice, completely ignoring the undignified tangle that was the House of Arafinwë: "Our mortal friends are weary from their long journey, and seek rest; all who wish to may come visit later!" and although this was addressed to the crowd, his eyes were resting directly upon Finrod.

Well, Finrod could take a hint; he turned away and dumped a handful of sand down the back of Angrod’s shirt.

"Ow!" Angrod yelped. "What was that for?"

"For being irritating, no doubt," Galadriel said serenely; then she shrieked in turn as Angrod poured sand over her head. "Angrod! My hair!"

Elrond was standing a little aside, looking at his mother, who stood transfixed upon the shore. Finrod carefully did not look, not wanting to intrude upon a reunion that, like his own with Galadriel’s, had been two Ages in coming; but he could not help hearing Elwing’s murmured, "My son; my son! Forgive me! Have you come back at last?" and Elrond’s gentle, "There is nothing to forgive, Naneth," before he was distracted by Finduilas - the traitor! - tossing sand at him.

At last Finrod and his siblings righted themselves, brushing the beach from their hair. Finrod could not stop looking at Galadriel. How grown she was! How wise, how strong, how shining! She had been grown for a long time, of course; but she was a Queen now, as he had once been a King; and she had never abandoned her people.

Galadriel, of course, had so many people to look at that she could not hold his gaze for long. But when she did meet his eyes, the old familiar light filled them as it always had: a teasing gleam, as if laughing at a joke only they two knew.

At last Celebrían stepped forward into the throng, holding Elrond by the hand. Close up, Finrod could see that he did not only bear the mark of Lúthien. There were Beren’s stiff-set shoulders, his cleft chin; and if they were Beren’s they had once been -

"May I present Elrond Peredhel, Lord of Rivendell and my wedded spouse," Celebrían said. Her tone was formal; but her eyes were lit with such joy it seemed as if she bubbled out the words. Such joy! It was good to see her so happy.

Elrond bowed, and the House of Arafinwë bowed to him as Celebrían introduced them each in turn. "Haru Finarfin, and Haruni Eärwen; Ar-Haru Olwë and Ar-Haruni Falwen; my cousin Finduilas; and my naneth’s brothers Angrod, Orodreth, and Finrod Felagund."

Elrond came to a stop before Finrod, and bowed low. "My house and I," he said, "stand forever in your debt." His voice was deep, deeper than any Elf’s Finrod had yet heard: the voice of the House of Bëor.

"Not so," Finrod protested; and swept into the magnificent courtesy of the King of Nargothrond. "It is I rather, and all the peoples of Middle-earth, who owe a debt to you and your house. All that I lost," he added, seeing Elrond about to protest, "I gave gladly long ago, in the name of one whom I loved; and I counted it a joy to give it. Do not hold yourself in my debt, Descendant of Bëor!"

After a moment, Elrond nodded and stepped back. His face filled with wonder. "Then the tales were true?" he murmured. "Bëor the Elf-Friend was beloved in truth by the King of Nargothrond?"

"Beloved; deeply beloved; and the love he gave in return was -" Finrod’s throat closed off. Two Ages, and the loss was still there.

Elrond bowed his head. "Forgive me!" he said. "Perhaps -" but he stopped. "Later," he said, and again took Celebrían’s hand.

Then there was another round of merry greetings, for Eärwen wished to hear of the voyage, and Celebrían for news of her father, still in Lothlórien, and her children - "you must meet them, Haru, they sometimes look so Noldor that my father was appalled," she said laughing.

But as the party began to drift away from shore, towards the ferry that would take them to Alqualondë, Elrond grew grave. He drew Celebrían aside for a moment, and placed his hand on her shoulder, and said something too quietly for Elven-ears to hear; but Celebrían’s sudden stillness and pallor could not slip by unnoticed.

Finrod happened to glance round, as Elrond was speaking, and saw Celebrían’s face break as if she had been split down the middle, and he knew. He could not help but know.

He did not know, yet, that it was Arwen, she who was said to be Lúthien returned indeed, who had chosen the path of Elros; but that suffering, from which there could not be relief till the breaking of the world, he knew as intimately as he had once known the inside of Balan’s wrist.

The rest of the trip was quiet, though no one pried - all had lost too much - and when they arrived at the beautiful house Eärwen kept, Celebrían and Elrond took a little food, and then entered their chambers and closed the door very softly. The House of Arafinwë remained in the graceful entrance hall several minutes more, talking of nothing in particular; then Galadriel said that she would like to unpack her things, and went upstairs. All dispersed: Orodreth and Finduilas to see to their luggage as well, Angrod outside to "kick at tide-pools," as he termed it, Finarfin and Eärwen to the kitchen, and Finrod - was at loose ends. He stood in the hall for a moment more; then he went up to see Galadriel.

At his hesitant knock, she called, "Ah - come!" as if she had been expecting him. Perhaps she had been. His sister was wise, and knew him very well.

He opened the door and entered. Galadriel was unpinning the pearls in her hair, which she had doubtless worn to greet Olwë and Falwen - politicking was a hard habit to break! - and her luggage was strewn across half the bed. Finrod felt his lips quirk at the sight. Few would guess that Galadriel was not always tidy; but she had rarely been so.

"Help me with my hair?" she said, without preamble, and Finrod sat beside her and began undoing the complex plaits. It could have been any number of evenings, after a ball in Tirion or Doriath or Nargothrond: Finrod and Galadriel, the two vainest members of the family, unraveling each other’s carefully-wrought braids and laughing over some amusing happening or other.

They were not laughing now.

"What has happened?" Finrod asked after a moment.

Galadriel met his eyes in the mirror. "My granddaughter Arwen has -"

She stopped. Her nose crinkled in the way it always had when she was about to cry.

Finrod touched her shoulder. "You needn’t say it," he offered. "I know. I could not help but see."

"I have missed you, Ingoldo!" Galadriel said, laughing a little. "Most gracious and perceptive of brothers. I suppose you could not have helped it, at that."

"You know why," Finrod said softly. "You know why I could see."

Galadriel sobered. "I will not make you say it, either."

"You needn’t make me," said Finrod. "We are in Aman, land of memory and peace, and there are no Men here who can be harmed by the appearance of bias, nor a leaguer that must hold and trump all other considerations; nor even many who will laugh - not that I care! I loved Balan. I wedded him in heart and in law, and held his children to be my children, and I dwelt with him in joy until the day his - his spirit left the circles of the world." It was still hard to say. "And he and all his children will not return to me until the breaking of the world - save Elrond and Elwing only. My heart went forth in joy and returned in bitterness. Yet I do not regret him. I do not wish to forget."

Galadriel’s nose crinkled again, a little; and her eyes were so bright with pain it hurt to look at them. "I have had many years - as mortals count them, anyway - knowing Arwen’s choice. Yet the moment of parting was not made easier. My only granddaughter! She danced and laughed in Lothlórien for many years, as Lúthien did in Doriath. You remember," she said, and Finrod nodded. "The most patient child - that was unlike Lúthien - and the kindest, and the most skilled of hand. That is like her atar; she meant to be a great healer, like him, when she grew up. And she was! A great healer and a great craftswoman both…" she trailed off.

Finrod had gently unraveled most of her crown of braids as she talked; now he took up her comb and began to run it through her hair. "Would it help to speak of - how it happened?" he asked.

Galadriel leaned back a little. "Not as yet," she responded, voice almost steady. "It is too - too close. But if you would - would talk to my daughter, when she is ready, I - there are not many who will understand."

"Of course," Finrod said. "Your daughter is a delight," he added. "Her company has brightened many a sad hour."

"So she has always been," Galadriel said fondly. "She is like you in many ways. I often thought of you - of all my brothers - when she was growing up. I thought how you would love her. I am glad to be proven right."

"I am sorry I was not there," offered Finrod, because he was.

Galadriel’s shoulders stiffened, just a bit. "I still have not forgiven you for the Lay," she said.

"The Lay? I quite like it, it’s a master-class in First Age composition - oh dear," said Finrod.

Galadriel was crying quite stormily. She turned to face him, so suddenly that he had to snatch the comb back or risk its entanglement.

"You," she said, "did not have to hear it sung throughout your kingdom for two Ages of the world. You did not have to hear how your brother died alone and in pain at every feast night, every festival, every musical celebration - you did not have to hear young bards attempting to bring out new sides of the story every century or so, as if your brother’s death was a light-prism or a tuning fork -" she paused for breath.

"I was not alone," Finrod pointed out, because after all he had not been.

"I should have been there!" Galadriel said. "Battling Sauron by your side as you dared to reach out your hand and attempt what none of the rest of us had even tried; or failing that, shouting down our foolish cousins; or at the least I should have been able to bury you! I did not hear that you had left Nargothrond until you were dead, dead and gone and lost to me, and you did not even have the decency to do it in such a way that would not follow me for two Ages! You fool! You utter, complete -" she broke off, burying her head in her hands. She was half-laughing; but the laughter was not merry.

Finrod reached out hesitantly; and she grasped his hand and pulled him close. "My brother," she said. "My brother who has returned!"

They sat like that, golden head upon golden shoulder, for a long time. Then Finrod took up the comb again, and they settled in front of the mirror. Queen and King, sister and brother, exiled and Returned: and for all their sorrow they could yet have been freshly come from the court of Menegroth, kicking off their dancing-shoes and laughing at the darkness.