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mimir-anoshe · 6 months ago

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I love that ARCANE is using the MAJOR ARCANA for symbolism.

Chefs kiss.

These are Sevika's tarot cards from season 1.

The Magician (upright) overlapping Death (upright).

Foreshadowing? Oh hell yeah. But its only now after S2 Episode 6 do I understand what they might actually be foreshadowing. People may have talked about this before, so I apologise if this is similar to anyone else's meta. These are all my own thoughts, I usually just watch arcane and don't dabble into the meta but this season has me feral and I just rewatched season 1.

SPOILERS for Arcane S1/S2 below.

I just want to prologue this post with a note about how I've noticed even from season 1 there are thematic parallels and linear symbolism being afforded between Jinx and Viktor. Others in the community have too I'm sure. Its strange. I thought it was interesting in S1 but didn't deep dive into it, but S2 has driven headfirst into it and its making me go "oh... oh ok." Even Viktor in S1 noted Jinx's genius, and in another timeline perhaps Powder would've been a student of Viktors had fate not set them on parallel paths. Two children of Zaun, both mechanical/scientific geniuses. One physically disabled whilst the other mentally disabled. One who "escaped" and was given a chance, rising to the top only to create something that would be used for harm. Fighting that fate at every step. Whilst the other trapped at the bottom of the barrel, forced to use her gifts to become a weapon herself. Such GOOD story writing.

So now let's think about the art of the cards, because in tarot, even the symbolism of the specific art is important. Its why an artists interpretation of a major/minor can be so crucial to a reading.

Here's a figure map I made earlier.

Lets begin with Death.

Thirteenth of the Major Arcana, a "significant transformation and the end of a phase in life." There is death and rebirth symbolism all over arcane, but let's take a closer look at the symbolism mirroring the art.

Figure 7&8 - The one who has "died" a skeleton/skull laid down and being "imbued" with something as something else is taken away.

See that the imbuing focuses on the "chest" area.

It's quick, but it flashes briefly when Viktor is being imbued with the Hexcore. He canonically dies "the skull" and is reborn with the Hexcore on an "altar"/table.

Same with Jinx. Canonically "dies" and is reborn laying on an "altar"/table using shimmer. Purple being used as the visual thread between shimmer and the arcane of the hex; a colour imagery representation of "magical" alchemical/arcane power turning them into something beyond human.

Singed and Jayce. Two hands of death, giving and taking life as if they were a God. One using shimmer, the other Hextech thats imbued with shimmer. Messing with the balance of life and death.

With Viktor, the energy is transferred straight into his chest, just like on the card.

So now we've established the parallels to the death tarot, lets look at The Magician.

The First of the Major Arcana, "the connection between the physical and spiritual worlds, and the ability to manifest one's desires."

Viktor is the Magician. No doubt. He connects the physical and spiritual world of the arcane, he brings people back from the brink of death, as he was. He manifests his desires through the use of the hex, the arcane. And the dude just looks like a mecha wizard.

Though if you want it to be even more obvious.

Figure 3 - The Third Arm/Third Hand.

The image below is "The Machine Herald" Hero from League of Legends. This is the hero Viktor is based upon.

He canonically has three arms, same as the Magician in the card. The Magician is Viktor, Viktor is the Magician. The Magician is the Machine Herald.

The Magician overtakes/overlaps death. But Viktor by episode 6 still doesn't quite resemble the machine herald from the games. There's no third arm... Yet. So the Magician in the card isn't Viktor from episodes 1-6, this is the machine herald who comes after the one killed in episode 6. Another Rebirth is set to happen for Viktor.

Figures 1 &2 - White mask. Red/pinkish eyes.

Hmmm... Red/pinkish eyes are associated with shimmer. And a white mask, of the machine herald? The mask of a messiah. That the hextech Viktor will most likely also be imbued with shimmer like Jinx, to become the true "machine herald." Messiahs of the hex, monsters of the shimmer.

Its also worth noting that both Jinx and Viktor are framed as messianic figures of Zaun in this season. One the fighter who will rally together the undercity and free Zaun from its oppression. The other a healer and a saint like figure who will free the Zaunites of their suffering and lead them into a better future.

Jinx wanting peace - represented by Isha - and Viktor's dream of peace and healing for Zaun - represented by a lot of things including healing Vander - are metaphorically and literally killed in episode 6. Funnily enough, one symbol of peace killing the other (Isha and Vander - Child and Father). After all, peace and violence are two sides of the same coin, as are Viktor and Jinx. Or should I say, two sides of the same cog...

Figure 4&6 - The Cog shaped Hole in the Magicians chest/The Cog Coin and Jinx's cog.

"I understand now. The message hidden within the pattern. The reason for our failures in the commune. The doctor was right. Its inescapable. Humanity. Our very essence. Our emotions... Rage. Compassion. Hate. Two sides of the same coin. Inextricably bound."

In episode 6, whilst Viktor is explaining to Vi about what it will take to heal Vander, Jinx is sceptical. She doesn't even believe in herself as a messiah, so this "hero"? This "saviour" coming along to solve their problems? To fix things? When all she can do is break everything around her, jinx her own family, destroy? She's scoffing at Viktor sure, but she's also scoffing at herself. Mirroring. People treat her like they treat him, so to believe in him as a saviour means she would have to look into the water of that well and face her own reflection. And Viktor sees right through it, the pretence, and he sees her potential.

Knowledge is a paradox. Jinx wants to stick with what she knows, to destroy instead of to build, to "Watch it all burn." Or ignore the plight of Zaun, so she can live peacefully with Isha. Jinx - Powder - is choosing to remain ignorant to what's right in front of her. Right up until the moment Isha dies.

In the scene earlier in the episode, Jinx accidently destroys a bit of the well, releasing a cog that falls into water. Cogs have been symbolic of Viktor healing people throughout this season, using cogs to "Build."

Powder was thrown into water just like that cog by Silco, and reborn as Jinx. But its not Silco that picks up this cog. Its Viktor. He holds the potential of his creation in his hand, and in paradox, holds Jinx's destruction. Viktor holds Jinx's potential. He's literally holding the two sides of Jinx/Powder in his hand, her - their - fate. Just like Jinx, Viktor has the equal capacity to destroy, and if he is reborn as a weapon later on, perhaps that cog represents Jinx being reborn too. As a creator. A builder.

He holds onto Jinx's cog all the way through the rest of the episode, balancing that potential, that fate, of creation and destruction in his hand. Right up until the moment he dies, and the coin/the cog falls, sealing their fate. His death causing the deaths of Isha and Vander too.

So we've established that the story is viewing cogs/coins in a similar light. We've also established the show is linking Viktor and Jinx through the symbology of the cog.

This is reiterated in the symbolism surrounding the Tarot cards. Around the cards are coins that take the shape of cogs, the currency of Zaun. Fate - coin flips - and cogs, gods and machines. Deus Ex Machina, that is what Viktor is to become, and Jinx creates destruction using machines. She's an inventor, just like Viktor and Jayce. A creator and a destroyer. A god of the machine.

So how does Figure 6 - the coin cogs - relate to Figure 4? The hole in the Magician's chest.

On the Tarot Card, the Magician has a circle in the middle of his chest. A hole. Just like the hole Jayce puts through Viktors chest at the end of Episode 6. The one that kills him.

But if you look closely at the image above, it might be a stretch, but to me, the striations on the inner ring look very similar to those of a cog. The hole is what kills Viktor. Cogs have been given visual symbolism for healing, and are also associated with Jinx's potential for creation. Its a stretch, but it could potentially be foreshadowing Jinx using her abilities to heal Viktor; to build instead of destroy. We've already seen Jinx do it once with Sevika, by "building" her a new arm.

I also find it interesting that we're shown Jinx using her talents to build someone a new arm, and Viktor - the machine herald - still has yet to acquire his third arm. Perhaps he doesn't make it. Perhaps Jinx does?

Maybe, just maybe, Jinx - Powder - is the one to fix Viktor, and flip the cog of fate once again.

Now in Episode 6 we already get foreshadowing that it'll be singe - not Jinx - who saves Viktor by imbuing him with the ultimate shimmer from Warwick/Vander - stabilising him. He says it in the episode, but Viktor refuses to sacrifice Vander in the name of creating the ultimate weapon of destruction.

"It would destroy him."

Viktor's potential for destruction goes hand in hand with Jinx's.

Its even foreshadowed in both the cards. The red/pink eyes of the machine herald foreshadowing shimmer. And the shadow being imbued into the chest of the dead skeleton (Viktor) looks an awful lot like Warwick; the beast that traps Vander.

So why am I talking about Jinx saving Viktor if I'm so certain its Singe? Well I'm certain Singe will bring Viktor back to life, to be used as a weapon. That seems like the most likely outcome.

But like Viktor was saying about Vander "He's not a specimen, he's a man." Viktor was doing everything in his power to save Vander's humanity. So yes Singe will bring the machine herald back most likely - even if I think it'd be thematically cool for it to be Jinx - but I think Jinx will save Viktor. Save the man, the humanity. Be the big fat hero.

Jinx was a girl imbued with Shimmer, and despite having monstrous abilities and doing monstrous things, her humanity has still survived.

I could be wrong, I most likely am, but the the thing that's getting to me is this...

Figure 5 - The Broken Infinity.

At the centre of Viktor's chest, in the middle of Jayce's death blow and Jinx's cog of creation & destruction, is a symbol.

Now a diagonal infinity symbol is associated with the Firelights. Ekko. The boy who shattered time.

Broken Infinity? Shattered time? Seems to go hand in hand.

Though Ekko's symbol is a whole infinity, more akin to a Z than an ongoing X.

There are plenty of theories Ekko will play a role in Viktor's fate and the fate of everyone by rewinding time somehow. And the multiple shots of the coin rolling support that to an extend. Rewind time, change fate, change the flip of the cog. And I agree, I think Ekko is going to have a role to play. But there's also another character who fits with this symbol, who uses shimmer to move faster than humanly possible and defy fate time and time again. Who is the fulcrum of fate in the eyes of the story, the catalyst of everything. And only one character who has solely been associated with a broken infinity symbol before.

Jinx. That's Jinx's symbol. Her champion tag.

Jinx's symbol, right at the centre of Viktors chest. And this line to Jinx from Viktor...

"You have much to offer this commune, Powder. Your talents could be used to build instead of destroy."

And the line from Singe, about Viktor's fate being tied to the commune. Viktor IS the commune, he's the centre of it all. The one who can make the dream of Zaun - Vander's dream - a reality. And that line foreshadowed Jinx using her talents to help the commune. To help Viktor.

Hell, she was technically the reason he "died" in the first place. She fired the rocket that nearly killed him. Wouldn't it be poetic story telling if she was the one who saved him in the end?

I can't wait for Saturday.

I believe whatever happens, Viktor and Jinx's fates are inextricably bound.

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roriaa · 1 year ago

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When Sun and Moon meet MASTERLIST ⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Zuko x Fem!WaterBender!Reader Enemies to Lovers

As one of the Princesses of the Northern Water tribe, you were blessed with a gift by the moon. However you were permitted to be allowed to use the gift at all costs. From many hidden waterbending usages, the aftermath of the avatar visiting the Northern Tribe had led to your beginning journey, hiding yourself as a water bender as a princess from the Northern water tribe

All warnings are displayed in each individual chapter

Season 1 - Water

☾ Prologue ☾ Chapter 1 - Welcome Avatar ☾ Chapter 2 - Encountering the Sun ☾ Chapter 3 - Dangerous Gale ☾ Chapter 4 - New Sacrifices

Season 2 - Earth

҉ Chapter 5 - Trainer Sakari ҉ Chapter 6 - Hidden in Ba Sing Se ҉ Chapter 7 - Refreshing Tea ҉ Chapter 8 - Failed ҉ Chapter 9 - Tied with the Gaang ҉ Chapter 10 - Fraud of the Warriors ҉ Chapter 11 - Trust to Betrayal

Season 3 - Fire

𖤓 Chapter 12 - Ship Attack 𖤓 Chapter 13 - First steps in the Fire Nation 𖤓 Chapter 14 - Sparky-Sparky Boom Man!! 𖤓 Chapter 15 - The Invasion 𖤓 Ch 16 𖤓 Ch 17 𖤓 Ch 18 𖤓 Ch 19 𖤓 Ch 20 𖤓 Ch 21

Season 4 - Sun

☪︎ Ch ???

Aftermath - Moon

⋆ Ch ???

POSTS ONCE EVERY WEEK (MOSTLY) None of the pictures are made by me This is based off of the avatar the last airbender world s1 s2 s3 potentially will add the legend of Korra sneaks Please do not copy, translate or repost my writing. Reblogging is acceptable My work is ONLY on tumblr, ao3, and wattpad. If anywhere else please inform me. Ao3 link Wattpad link

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ringsofpowerconfessions · 27 days ago

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“Warrior Galadriel” has never been a problem until now. We defended “Warrior Galadriel” against the lorebros. Galadriel has been a warrior and a military commander since the end of the First age. We are told this in S1 prologue. She married Celeborn in Valinor, before he went to war against Morgoth in Middle-earth. This is what she tells Theo in 1x07. I don’t know why the fandom is arguing against show canon."

#galadriel #celeborn #rings of power #the rings of power #trop #lotr #lotr trop #lotr on prime #trop thoughts #trop confession #confession

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ficeacs · 9 months ago

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Dragons Fight, Little Light (Prologue)

Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon OFC Synopsis: Two dragons of a different scale that were meant to loathe one another instead found the love and comfort they had always sought. Warnings: Enemies to Lovers, Violence, Targcest, Begins with HOTD S1, Not Proofread Word Count: 7,573

“How long are we to stay?” Eraena asked, already displeased by what she had seen from a distance. She was still up in the heavens and the stench of the capitol already made her want to retch. “It smells like shite,” She hears her father call from a distance, and she felt her lips twitch upwards in agreement. Eraena undid the ropes that secured her to her saddle and was assisted off her mount by her brother. “Looks like it, too,” Jacaerys snickered and grimaced at the view of the outside.

“Lykiri, Alina, lykiri, my girl,” Eraena sighed as she stepped closer to her dragon, mumbling the words against her snout and pressing her lips against the scales of her beloved dragon. “But seriously, how long are we to stay?” Eraena asked once more, and she heard her mother snort. “We’ve only just arrived, my sweet,” Rhaenyra said as she threaded towards the wheelhouse. “Come, your brothers are waiting,” She smiled and led out her hand for her daughter to take. Eraena turned to her. Her silver hair shone upon the capitol sun, her pale skin looking even paler against her black dress, her figure lithe, wide purple eyes crinkling as she smiled at her. Eraena could not help but compare herself to what her Mother looked like once more.

Where her Mother was light, she was dark; where she was true, Eraena was not. Where silver hair was supposed to grow, there were instead dark locks. Amethyst eyes that shone brightly turned to obsidian. The features of a doe had turned to look like those of its prey. Eraena scowled. Now, she was once again subjected to more talk as they returned to this wasteland.

“Stop scowling,” Jacaerys said, and the girl rolled her eyes. “I will do as I please, brother; I do not stop you from expressing yourself. I say nothing when you pout, why must you stop me?” She questioned and placed a pillow upon her lap as she took her seat. The wheelhouse housed five of them: Rhaenyra and her husband, along with her three elder children. The three watched as the twins started to argue. A knowing smile came along the eldest Targaryen, but his wife sighed, growing tired of watching and hearing the two argue for the past six and ten years.

“Because you look ghastly when you scowl, do you wish for them to see the once beautiful and renowned princess, the pearl of the realm, look like a witch ready to cast them with a spell?” Eraena’s eyes widened upon her brother’s words. She had no come back to defend herself, no insult to throw at her brother, so she pinched his arm in frustration. Jacaerys howled and glared at his sister, ready to retaliate with another insult. “You two, enough roughhousing!” Their Mother chastised them before he could even open his mouth.

“Jace called me a witch! I was only defending myself, Mother!” Eraena reasoned. “Be that as it may, a princess does not inflict harm to those who give her petty and untrue insults,” The girl’s shoulders deflated, and she could see from the side of her eye the smirk on her brother’s lips. “Your mother is right; when an insult is levied at you, you must not resort to violence,” Eraena stared oddly at her Father, “You resort to violence all the time!” She argued, and Rhaenyra turned to her husband with a small smile on her lips. “Well,” He said and thought for a moment. “Best armor up, Jacaerys, if you plan to throw more insults at your sister.” The younger prince rolled his copper eyes and turned to the slats of the wheelhouse that revealed the city.

When they arrived in the keep, only one thing was shared amongst the family. Disgust. It seemed that in the nine years, it was not only the children that had been subjected to change but also the keep. Eraena traced the stitching of her dress as she looked around the castle they once called home.

“It’s… clean,” she says, trying to find a positive. “Do not lie to yourself, daughter.” Her Father bit in ancient tongue, making her bite down on her cheeks. “How could they let this happen?” Rhaenyra whispered, her eyes roaming around the hall. “Why is there a seven-pointed star here? Have they turned the keep into a sept?” Jacaerys asked as he eyed the figure hanging above them. “I would say it is nice to be home, but I scarcely recognize it,” Their Mother said in disbelief, her hand resting on her swelling bump. “Hm,” her husband hummed and stepped further into the keep; his Valyrian gaze filled with nothing but repulsion.

Erarna turned to Jacaerys, who was tugging their younger brother along. “Where are you two going?” She questioned, “Tiltyard, care to join, sister?” Eraena made a face of contempt, making Jace chuckle, and hurriedly pulled their younger brother away. “Come, let us visit your grandsire,” Rhaenyra called and led out her hand for her daughter to take. Eraena chewed on her lip as they passed hallway upon hallway. It was the same as she remembered, yet at the same time, it was not. How can something so familiar be so strange at the same time?

As they entered the room, Eraena was appalled at how they had left it unclean and how they had let it dust away. The figurines that her grandsire once cherished were now filled with cobwebs and held the remnants of neglected time. She turned to her Mother, the disgust on her face unfading. She was too preoccupied eyeing the figurines that Eraena had not noticed that her parents had disappeared to the other half of the king’s chambers. The girl blew away the dust of the models, and her fingers itched to hold them once more. Her eyes closed in on a specific figure, and as she made her way to reach and inspect it closely, her name was called.

“Eraena,” Her Father called and motioned his head for the girl to join them. She made quick steps to where they stood. Eraena caught a glimpse of her grandfather lying unmoving on the feathered bed, and she was certain that it was a corpse. The king’s corpse that was left rotting and decaying. She took a sharp intake of breath as the king’s hand twitched. “E… Eraena? Is that you? Oh, my sweet granddaughter.” She heard the frail voice, and she turned to her Mother and Rhaenyra only urged her daughter to step closer even though Eraena’s face was filled with apprehension and perhaps even fear.

Eraena held back her look of shock at the state of the king. “It is. I’m here, grandfather,” she said and kneeled upon his bed. “Oh… you look just like her,” Eraena could see a smile starting to form upon his grey, cracked lips. “H-her?” She asked and gave a quick look to her Mother. Who in their family could she possibly look like? It was notable that there were scarce things that she had inherited from her Mother. “Aemma, my Aemma…” Eraena could only sadly smile. Her grandsire was truly fading. “A beauty you three are,” The frail king coughed and pointed to his side, and Eraena turned to the table beside her and retrieved the cup placed on it. The king took big gulps as his granddaughter held the cup to his grey and cracked lips. Eraena’s brows scrunched as the liquid emitted a certain odor.

She turned to her Father with a confused look on her face; Daemon only nodded. “Thank you,” The king said, and Eraena placed down the cup. “You must rest, Father; we— we will return after you rest,” Rhaenyra said in great concern, but her voice was soft and tried to hide her distress. Daemon took hold of her hand, and Eraena followed her parents toward the fireplace of the chambers. “See to it your brothers do not get themselves into any trouble; you were always the best at handling those two.” Her Mother smiled and cupped her cheek. “I do not see why; Jacaerys is older than me; he should play peacekeeper, not me.” The girl sighed. “Only by ten minutes, and your brother does not hold the same senses in him. Now go,” She smiled at her daughter sweetly, giving a loving pat on her behind as Eraena walked to exit the King’s chambers.

Eraena walked the halls and kept her head held high. The whispers of the court seemed to scream at her. It’s not as if she were surprised; she had heard all the vile rumors and whispers of vipers, and sadly, they were true. Eraena drew in a deep breath and squared her shoulders, standing tall. Whispers of vipers should not matter to princesses, she reminded herself. Eraena stood above the tiltyard in search of two boys in blue. As she reached the tiltyard, her eyes passed the silver hair fluttering with every skillful move the fighter made, and she told herself not to grow distracted. Finally, she saw her brothers and made a beeline to where they stood. They had blocked her view; well, Jacaerys did. The prince had grown a few inches taller than his twin sister, but their younger brother still did not reach Eraena’s height.

“What are you doing here?” Jacaerys asked. “Mother sent me. She feared you two may cause trouble.” Jacaerys scoffed. “Us? Were you not the one caught multiple times trying to sneak out of the castle in the dead of night?” Her twin countered. “I believe she had even bribed the guards when she would return home drunk,” Lucerys added. Eraena rolled her eyes. “That was in Dragonstone; I am completely behaved here. It is you two who had unending squabbles and petty fights with our uncles.” As the words left her lips, their attentions shifted toward the crack of wood and the violent swings of a Morningstar.

Ser Cole made to strike his Morningstar at the silver prince, who had dodged every attempt. Eraena turned away, not particularly enjoying the scene of battle; the girl looked around at the space and noted that, unlike in the inside of the keep, the tiltyard had not been changed. The crowd’s applause brought her away from her thoughts. “Well done, my prince, you will be winning tourneys in no time. They heard the knight say. “I don’t give a shit about tourneys,” came the reply.

Eraena took hold of my brother’s arms and linked them with her own, “Come, let us go. The smell of sweat unsettles me,” She said and attempted to tug at them. “Nephews, have you come to train?” They hear the one-eyed prince call. Eraena caught his eye and reminded herself to keep her expression neutral, which she had failed. When her eyes were captured by the prince, she was quick to look away as a man shouted a command. Eraena turned to look at the gates and saw the reason why they were all there. Vaemond Velaryon entered the yard with his bannermen and passed the three siblings with a pointed look. Eraena licked her lips and tightened her hold on Lucerys’ arm, feeling her younger brother grow still and nervous. When Vaemond passed, the princess turned to Jacaerys. “Now, can we go?” She whispered, and he nodded.

“Not so fast,” the prince said, and Eraena watched as he twirled the sword in his hand—a malicious grin on his lips. “You still have not greeted your uncle. Has your stay in Dragonstone made you so impolite?” There was no indication of anything on Eraena’s face, making the prince tilt his head in challenge. “Hello, uncle,” Eraena said, the last word foreign on her tongue. That was all she said before she turned away and walked upward, away from the tiltyard and with her brothers in tow. She gave no second glance at the silver prince even though she was tempted so.

“Where are you going?” Jacaerys asked as he matched his sister’s hastened steps. “To greet Rhaena, I reckon she and the babes have arrived by now,” she said and turned a corner. “Then where are we supposed to go?” Eraena paused and looked at her brothers. She shrugged; she did not even know why she was even sent to the tiltyard— she only knew they were to stir clear of any conflict. “Just do not… engage… or cause trouble. Avoid them at all costs; I know I will. There is a lot at stake at the moment,”

“But we wanted to train,” Lucerys said, and Eraena turned to her older brother. “Perhaps later than then, when Aemond and Ser Criston had finished. Or perhaps find other grounds to train.” She suggested and Lucerys gave a small nod at her offered solution. “There you three are!” Rhaena exclaimed by the end of the hall. “Joffery would not let me leave, kept insisting me to play that insipid game you invented for him,” She said to her sister who she greeted with a kiss on her cheek. “Ah, another victim of flowers and thorns.” Jacaerys snickered. “I eventually got so tired that I accidentally threw it overboard.” Eraena’s eyes widened, “Why would you do that? I spent days painting and mapping out that board!” She asked her sister in shock.

“I’m sorry! But we had been playing since the ship had left the harbor in Dragonstone! I grew tired at the sight of it!” Eraena sighed and nodded, understanding her sister’s actions. “When is Baela to arrive?” Eraena asked, and the three shrugged, “She had not said in her letter, but I would think it would be the day before the trial.” Rheana replied. “So, today?” Lucerys asked. Eraena could see the obvious nervousness in her brother. She went to ruffle his hair, a comfort she often did since they were children.

“You’ll be all right. You are the true heir of Driftmark; no second son can take that from you.” Eraena’s furrowed brows deepened as her brother shook his head. “I��I am not even supposed to be the heir! It was supposed to be you,” he reasoned. “Well, take it up with the gods. They did not give me a cock, and in consequence, I cannot have Driftmark, and you must bear this.” She tried to jest. “Eraena,” Jacaerys scolded with her choice of words. “It is unfair! Not just to you, but Lucerys as well. You are the second born! It was clear that whatever was in between your legs, you were set to inherit Driftmark.” Rhaena huffed.

“Well… no. It was clarified that whatever gender Mother’s first child would be, they would inherit the throne. It was not the same condition when it came to Driftmark.” Jacaerys explained. “It’s fine, truly, I am perfectly contented on being the heir of Dragonstone,” Eraena added. “I should hope so, especially when A—“ Rhaena caught herself before she could continue her sentence, both of the girl’s eyes widening. “Especially when what?” Jacaerys asked, quick to catch the secret between the two girls. The two girls looked at each other, sending messages with their eyes. “When what?” Jacaerys repeated. “Nothing,” Rheana quickly said. “No, you were clearly going to say something; what is it?” Jacaerys urged. “Nothing, I—“ Rhaena was saved when another voice was heard at the end of the hall.

“Sisters?” Baela’s voice carried, and the four forgot what they were talking about. “Baela!” Eraena said excitedly as she hurriedly made their way to them. “Oh, I’ve missed you!” She said gleefully, enveloping the two girls in her embrace. “Just them?” Jacaerys asked, and the newly arrived princess rolled her eyes. “You two, as well.” She said. “When have you arrived?” Lucerys asked. “Just now, I rode with grandmother on Melys,” Eraena smiled at an image of Baela atop the clouds with their grandmother flashing through her mind. Moondancer was still growing for her to take such a trip, so it made sense they rode together.

The five, were now finally complete. They walked along the halls of the keep and engaged in conversation and exchanging anecdotes of their time spent apart. They reached the gardens, and Eraena detached herself from the group and observed the flowers that the keep held. So many variants that did not grow in Dragonstone. She took a yellow flower in her hand, feeling the petals between the tips of her fingers, the voices of her siblings growing farther away. She raised the flower to her nose and frowned at the lack of fragrance.

“Eraena,” she heard her name called. The girl turned from the flower and saw as the queen stood behind her. “My Queen,” She said and quickly curtsied. “I see you are enjoying the gardens…alone... unescorted?” She questioned with a raise of her auburn brow. “Oh— my siblings are…” she drifted from her sentence, noticing they had disappeared. “I was with my siblings; I only got distracted by the flowers.” She reasoned. Eraena watched the queen’s lips thin, clasping her hands in front of her. “Best find them, princess. It is not advisable… or even seen proper to see you roam the keep unescorted. Would not want a fate befall twice.” Eraena was confused and wanted to question the queen’s words, but for this instance, she only nodded and excused herself to find her siblings.

She took hold of her skirts as she made fast steps to find the group. She had wandered the lower floor of the keep for some time and she still failed to find her siblings. Eraena disregarded the plan to find the four and made her way to her assigned chambers. She mindlessly walked the halls, her head filled with other thoughts— thoughts that preoccupied her so that she had crashed with another. “Watch it,” She heard the cold voice of Aemond, unlike earlier, the smirk on his lips was long gone. “Sorry,” The girl quickly said and stepped away from the prince to continue her walk. No other spare glance was given,

“Watch where you walk, Lady Strong.” At those words, Eraena stilled. She turned to her uncle; the smirk on his thin lips had returned quickly. Should she retaliate? she thought, then remembered the words she uttered to her brothers just a few moments before. Eraena licked her lips and walked away, taking the prince's smirk with her.

Night soon came, and supper was held in her Mother’s chambers. “Vaemond had arrived,” the eldest prince said. “We know we were there to welcome the second son of the tides,” Eraena replied, and her Father raised his brow in question. “Tomorrow is the trial. We must all be ready for whatever those cunts throw at us.” Eraena’s eyes widened when Baela choked on her wine; it seemed that she had forgotten how crass her Father was. “How was your exploration of the keep?” Rhaenyra asked the five.

“Eraena disappeared,” Jacaerys answered. “I did not! You left me in the gardens then I could not find you four,” She explained. “Mother, are we not allowed to venture here unescorted? The queen said it was improper for me to be without an escort.” She asked. She had never heard of such a rule that she must be escorted in broad daylight. “She said, ‘Would not want a fate befall twice.’ What did she mean?” Eraena added. Her parents exchanged a look, and the princess waited for an answer.

“Nothing, she meant absolutely nothing,” Rhaenyra said. Eraena’s eyes flew to her hands, playing with her rings. She nodded and turned to her sisters. “You must tell us about your ventures warding in Driftmark. It seems that Rhaena and I have scarce topics to discuss these past days,” Eraena said. Her sister nodded. I was hoping you two would be the ones to tell stories. It was dreadfully lonely there in Driftmark.”

“Oh, you should tell her about Arthur,” Rhaena said in excitement, and as if it were a reflex, Eraena’s cheeks pinked, and Jacaerys joined in their conversation as he heard an unfamiliar name. “Whose this… Arthur?” He asked and made the girl roll her eyes, pushing him away. “None of your concern, brother.”

“Mother, Eraena’s hiding something from us,” he tattled, and Eraena could not help herself but pinch his arm once more. “Hush!” she whispered harshly. “Leave your sister alone, Jacaerys; she is entitled to keep some secrets to herself.” Eraena gave her brother a smug look before returning her gaze to the two. “Tonight, let us exchange our stories without bother,” she said, and the two nodded eagerly.

It was high night when Eraena made quiet steps to her sister’s chambers, a candle in her hand. There was a storm brewing, and Eraena jumped with every clap of thunder. She was finally nearing the room when a gust of wind blew out the candle she held. Eraena was in the dark; the moon and stars gave no light to guide her way. The princess squinted her eyes and prayed she would not trip. Another clap of lightning, and the girl jumped with a squeak of shock. Her heart was beating violently in her chest. Finally, she found her way to her sister’s room. “Gods, you took so long! We thought someone had caught you!” Baela said and pulled her in. “Now, tell me all there is on this… Arthur,” she said and made Eraena sit atop the feathered bed.

She and Rhaena exchanged knowing looks. “I met him a year ago when he had started his training to be a knight in Dragonstone.” The girl started, and Baela nodded. “I was in the gardens, picking flowers for our rooms, and he was trying to hide from the wrath of his commanding officer.” Eraena tried to control the smile rising on her lips as she recalled the day. “So he hid behind me as Ser Samuel tried to find him. For an hour, he stayed crutched down behind me, moving where I had moved and us just talking and jesting.” Baela and Rhaena watched as the obsidian eyes of their sister twinkled, and the blush grew on her cheeks. “He’s kind, funny, and oh gods, he’s so tall and… dashing,” Eraena said, struggling to paint a clear picture of the soon-to-be knight. “Oh, gods, you love him!” Baela exclaimed, making Rhaena laugh. Eraena scoffed. “I do not! I— I like him, but I do not believe I love him. Not yet, at least,” she mumbled the last part, but it was heard clearly by the two.

When the following morning came, it was the day of the trial. The princess stared at herself in the mirror as a handmaid readied her. Womanhood had taken its full effect on her. Eraena's gaze paused on her thighs, and she could not help but frown. Never in her life had she the gap between her thighs that she saw most women had. There was a small pouch above her sex that Eraena had tried hard to be rid of. Her hips flared at what she found at an alarming and annoying rate; most of her dresses had clung to her waist but had difficulty conforming to the princess’ hips. Eraena’s gaze moved to her chest. Her Mother used to lovingly tease the girl about the ampleness of it until she thankfully stopped as she realized Eraena had grown quite conscious about it.

The princess took in a deep breath and moved to wear her dress—a black gown with gold laces and an embroidery of a dragon that she had made herself. Her fingers brushed the gold lace on the square neckline, teasing a hint of her bosom. “You outdid yourself on the design, princess,” Lyn, her handmaid, complimented, making the princess smile, and a ‘thank you’ escaped her pink lips. “What of your hair?” Lyn inquired. “A few braids, at the top, and can you make use of the ruby clips Father had recently given me?” Ereana waited patiently as Lyn did her hair, a book finding itself in her hands.

She walked with Jacaerys to the throne room, their parents behind them. “Do you not think you are a tad overdressed?” Jacaerys asked his sister. Eyeing the gown she had fashioned. Eraena, like their mother, wore expensive gowns. The finest silk, the purest of cotton, the most lustrous pearls, the most brilliant jewels, and the most shining gold are what she and her mother often wore. Jacaerys had no reservations before; however, now, it made him nervous to enter the throne room with his sister fashioning such a dress, especially with such a neckline and bodice conforming to her body. “Excuse me?” Eraena asked in disbelief, almost offended.

“Good luck, son,” Rhaenyra jested as she passed her twins. Daemon chuckled and eyed the two, ready to argue once more. “There is no such thing as overdressed Jacaerys,” she says, and her brother struggles to look her in the eye. “Women have little to express themselves, brother. You must understand that the way I dress is my way to show my support to this family since I have given little say in this matter, and I know my opinion would not be valued as much as a man's; this is the only way I can take my stand.” Eraena explained, and Jace nodded, but she could still see the reservation in her brother’s copper eyes.

“I just,” he trailed off. “Just what?” Eraena asked. “I just wished you could have worn a dress that had more to cover,” He said, making the princess narrow her eyes, “Mother wore dresses like these when she was my age; some of my dresses were hers,” She said. “Yes, but our uncles are there,” he tried to defend. “So?” Eraena asked incredulously. Jacaerys sighed and ran a hand through his face. “Never mind, you look lovely, sister. Let’s go,” he gave up, and Eraena conceded in the meantime, knowing their family was waiting for the both of them.

When they entered the room, they hurriedly made their way to stand behind their mother. “Who won this time?” Their Father asked, “I did,” Eraena said with a triumphant smirk, and Jacaerys shook his head. The smirk on the princess’ lips was soon wiped when she noticed three eyes on her. “Your uncles are looking at you,” Rhaena said lowly. “I know,” Eraena replied but still did not turn to the two. “I feel underdressed standing next to you,” Baela said, and Eraena rolled her eyes as she heard Jacaerys snort. “I told you,” he said with a prideful tone. “Hush,” She grumbled and looked down at her dress with a frown. She was not overdressed; she thought she wore an appropriate outfit for such an occasion. She would not let her brother sway her mind when it came to her fashion choices.

The girl’s attention was caught when she heard the door of the throne room open whilst her Mother spoke on behalf of her younger brother. “King Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.” The king took a while to sit on his throne, aching and wheezing with each step.

“I must... admit... my confusion. I do not understand why petitions are being heard over a settled succession. The only one present... who might offer keener insight into Lord Corlys's wishes is Princess Rhaenys.” All eyes turned to the Queen who never was. “Indeed, Your Grace. It was ever my husband's will that Driftmark passes through Ser Laenor to his trueborn son... Lucerys Velaryon. His mind never changed. Nor did my support of him.” The look of pure shock and outrage could be seen in the face of Vaemond. Eraena turned to the Queen and her father, the hand who had a look of surpassed irritation. Once more, she caught Aemond’s eye and once again, the princess quickly looked away.

“As a matter of fact, Princess Rhaenyra has just informed me of her desire to marry her sons, Jace and Luc, to Lord Corlys's granddaughters, Baela and Rhaena. A proposal to which I heartily agree.” Eraena turned to gaze at the floor and smiled at her sibling's proposals, but mainly her lack thereof. Rhaenyra had promised her that they would not arrange a marriage for her, that she was free to choose for herself.

“Well... the matter is settled. Again. I hereby reaffirm Prince Lucerys of House Velaryon as heir to Driftmark, the Driftwood Throne, and the next Lord of the Tides.” The king announced. Eraena let out a breath of relief. However, that relief was short-lived as Vaemond spoke once more.

“You break the law... and centuries of tradition to install your daughter as heir. Yet you dare tell me... who deserves to inherit the name Velaryon. No. I will not allow it.” Vaemond gritted out.

“Allow it"? Do not forget yourself, Vaemond. The king said. “That is no true Velaryon and certainly no nephew of mine. You... may run your house as you see fit... but you will not decide the future of mine. My house survived the Doom and a thousand tribulations besides. And gods be damned... I will not see it ended on the account of this…” Vaemond stopped himself; Eraena was chewing on her lip, knowing that this would not end well.

“Say it,” she heard her Father challenge. Her children... are bastards!” Vaemond yelled, and the hall emitted silent chatter. Eraena took in a deep breath but did not let herself waver, holding her pretty head high. “She… is... a whοre!” Vaemond yelled another treasonous phrase once more, and the young princess’ dark eyes widened, not believing that he would scream that out loud and in front of the king, no less.

“I... will have your tongue for that.” The king said and took out his dagger. Before anyone could blink, Daemon had sliced his sword through Vaemond’s head. The sound of blood gushing out and the thud of a body echoed through the room. Eraena could not help but gasp and turn to her brother, who quickly held her head to face away from the grotesque scene. “There, he can keep his tongue,” Daemon said. The king groaned and fell onto the throne, creating commotion throughout the room. “Return to your chambers, now.” Their Mother urged, and Eraena was happy to oblige.

“Gods, I— Wha— gods,” she could not even comprehend what had happened. The five of them were in Eraena’s chambers. All of them were seated, whether it was atop her feathered bed, a sofa, or a settee near the fire, but the girl was pacing and trying to erase the image of Vaemond’s severed head upon the bloodied floor.

“I forgot how violent father was,” Baela said, and Rhaena nodded. “He had mellowed down these past few years, though it is nice to see that the fire in him did not die down.” Eraena looked at her sister strangely, “What?” Rhaena asked. “He just killed a man, grandsire’s brother.” She breathed out, “He was coming for Luc’s inheritance. He called us bastards, our Mother a whore.” Jacaerys said. “Still! He did not deserve to die in such a way,” She said in remorse. “He had it coming,” Jacaerys shrugged, and Eraena shook her head. “Gods, please tell me you will be more levelheaded when you are king.” She said and took a seat next to Rhaena on the settee.

“You hold too much empathy, sister. Believe me, if the roles were reversed, Vaemond would have cackled to see Daemon’s head roll on the floor.” Eraena huffed and kept her thoughts to herself for the moment.

The day progressed and Eraena was left alone in her room, her sibling attending to other business in regard to their newly formed betrothals. Eraena walked to the dining hall alone, and when the doors opened, almost everyone was present. “Ah, there you are!” Her Father said and stood up to greet her. Eraena kissed his cheek as well as her Mother’s before she was escorted to her seat in between Jace and Aegon.

The king was carried into the room and was seated at the head of the table, she noted the look of surprise her brothers tried to hide upon seeing the state grandsire in up-close. “How good it is to see you all tonight… together.” The king panted and looked over the table. “Prayer before we begin?” The queen asked her husband, who nodded. As the queen began her prayer, plenty of pairs of eyes wandered around the table. Eyeing each other curiously. Eraena noted, Aemond, however, he kept his eye closed and hands folded in front of him.

“This is an occasion for celebration, it seems. My grandsons, Jace and Luc will marry their cousins Baela and Rhaena. Further strengthening the bond between our houses.” The king announced. Eyes went to the newly betrothed couples. Rhaena and Luc shared a look, both of them having a smile on their faces, as well as Jacaerys and Baela had smiles on their faces. “And what of you, sweet niece? No betrothals as of yet?” He asked and took a sip of his wine. “None, uncle,” Eraena said plainly. Aegon hummed and turned his attention to her brother.

“You do know how the act is done, I assume?” Aegon asked Jacaerys. “At least in principle. Where to put your cock and all that,” From the side of her eye, she could see Jace’s nostrils falling and his jaw tightening. “You can play the jester if you wish, but hold your tongue before my sister and my betrothed.” Jace had said. Aegon let out a breath and turned to Eraena with a pompous smirk on his face. “He’s a virgin, I’m quite sure of it,” he whispered the words that were only for her to hear. She gave no reaction and instead turned her head to look at her parents.

“It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table.” The king said, “The faces most dear to me in all the world, yet grown so distant from each other in the years past.” Eraena set her cup down, and Aemond tapped his finger on the table. The king took off his gold mask, revealing half of his face had decayed and, like his son, an eye was missing from him.

“My own face is no longer a handsome one… if indeed it ever was. But tonight, I wish you to see me as I am. Not just a king…” Viserys trailed off. “But your father.” He said and turned to his children, “Your brother,” he turned to Daemon. “Your husband,” he said to the queen. “And your grandsire.” He finished turning to the five cousins. “Who may not, it seems…walk for much longer among you. Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts.” Eraena could not help as her gaze fluttered over to Aemond. A steely look in his eye was focused upon his clasped hands.

Toasts from each side of the family brought me a sense of an alluring, yet unnatural sense of peace. Maybe this family could work. Eraena thought to herself, a fantasy that was beginning until she saw Aegon standing up and making his way to a chalice near Baela. “I regret the disappointment you are soon to suffer. But if you ever wish to know what it is to be well satisfied, all you have to do is ask.” Eraena bit her lip, praying to the gods her brother would not be baited so easily; alas, she was not heard.

Jacaerys slammed his fist on the table. Plates and silverware cluttered with noise. Aegon found his way back to his seat and leaned closer to the princess, the two of them waiting for Jacaerys’ outburst. Eraena shot a disgusted look toward her elder uncle, who only shrugged, “It was getting dreadfully boring and sappy, dear Eraena; you could not blame me.” he said. “I think I could,” she whispered harshly.

Aemond then rose, and Eraena looked between the two princes, who stared each other down. “Prepare for it to grow interesting, sweet niece,” Aegon smirked. A tense silence filled the table, the two boys still standing. Jace reached over and playfully punched their uncle’s arm, lips pursed together. “To Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond. We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth.” Jacaerys said. Eraena tried not to roll her eyes at the obvious lie.

“And as men, I hope we may yet be friends and allies. To you and your family’s good health, dear uncles.” Jace raised his glass, a smile on his face that she knew all too well to be teasing and insincere. Her gaze turned to Aegon, who seemed to be unamused by Jace’s speech. “To you as well,” Aegon said. I caught the eyes of Luc and Rhaena, who smiled at her with amusement. “I would like to toast Baela and Rhaena. They’ll be married soon. It isn’t so bad. Mostly, he just ignores you… except sometimes when he’s drunk.”

Eraena let out a bubbling laugh along with her Father, who chuckled, and her mother quickly chastised the both of them. She quickly covered her mouth when she noticed the stoic look on the other’s faces. “Good,” Otto said to her granddaughter with a smile. Ever since childhood, Eraena thought hard about the words Helaena would mumble. Words that everyone thought were ludicrous and mad, she found with deeper meaning. Helaena is seen to be mad, though Eraena always sees it as misunderstood; she holds wisdom and knowledge that no other at the table possesses.

“Let us have some music,” the king instructed. Jace made his way to stand up once more and went to Helaena, inviting the girl to dance. Eraena smiled against my cup when she saw the surprised yet excited look on the silver princess’ face. Aegon looked disbelieved and shared a look with his brother. Eraena took Jacearys’ seat and sat next to her siblings. For a moment, their family was the picture of unity. Smiles and laughs were shared along the table. However, the king grew in pain and was carried out of the hall immediately.

As the king left, a roasted pig arrived and was placed directly in front of Aemond. Eraena saw the smirk on Luc’s face, trying not to laugh out loud. “Lucerys,” she whispered harshly at her younger brother. Eraena’s heart quickened, and she quickly turned to Aemond, who had his jaw clenched. The one-eyed prince punched his fist on the table, standing up at the same time. It caught everyone’s attention. Even the music had stopped. Aemond raised his glass. His eye had never left Lucerys. “Final tribute,” he announced, and the girl bit her lip, knowing this would not end well. “To the health of my nephews and niece. Jace… Luc… Joffery and sweet Eraena.” The girl rested her gaze on Aemond, “Each of them comely, wise…” the prince trailed off, his gaze flickering to Eraena, who was pleading with her eyes. Yet, of course, she was ignored. “Strong,” he finished.

Eraena let out a defeated breath. “Aemond,” the queen warned but was ignored by the prince. “Come. Let us drain our cups to these four…” Aegon raised his chalice. “Strongs,” Aemond finished. “I dare you to say that again.” Jacaerys challenged. “Why? ’twas only a compliment,” Aemond replied. “Do you not think yourself strong?” He added. Jacaerys threw a punch, and Lucerys made his way to his brother but was blocked by Aegon. Who grabbed the boy and bashed his head on the table near where Eraena was sitting. She stared wide-eyed and immediately slammed her foot down on Aegons for him to release her younger brother. “That is enough!” The queen yelled, but none seemed to hear her. Lucerys’ head was still pinned down, and Aegon was staring at Eraena with an amused smirk on his lips.

“You’d have to try harder than that, Eraena,” He said, and the princess’ vision reddened; she quickly stood up and used her knee to maim his sex. Finally, he let Lucerys go, falling on the floor, clutching his cock in pain. “Good,” she heard Father say in her ancient tongue with a smirk, but her Mother looked at her in disbelief. Aemond effortlessly pushed Jacaerys to the floor, a smirk on his face. The prince’s eye was quick to find obsidian ones who had moved to the side of the room, a triumphant smirk on his lips. It took Baela and Rhaena to hold her down and not join in to help her brothers. Jace quickly stood up and charged forward, but a guard stopped him and Lucerys.

The guard had let go of his hold on Jace, and it would seem that Jacaerys would have pounced on their uncle if it weren’t for Daemon, who had placed himself in the middle of the two. “Wait,” he said and raised a finger up, staring Jacaerys down until the prince moved backward and moved to where his siblings stood. “Go to your quarters.” Their Mother commanded. “All of you, go. Now.” She ordered. Eraena was the last of her siblings to leave; she could hear faint footsteps behind her and saw Aemond and her father walking behind the five of them. Baela and Raena’s chambers were the nearest to the dining hall. The two had left the awkward convoy in the halls quickly. “Jacaerys, Eraena, your Mother’s chambers, now.”

The girl’s lip found home between her teeth as she walked to her mother’s chambers, her head hung low. How hypocritical was she? She had frowned upon her father’s violent actions toward Vaemond, yet she was all but ready to join in on the fight. Yet, in her defense, she could not just sit there and let Aegon hurt her younger brother; the prince had deserved his cock to be maimed. “I simply do not know what to do with you two anymore!” Rhaenyra exclaimed with a disappointed sigh. “Jacaerys, why must you be baited so quickly?” She asked. “She called us bastards, Mother!” “But you should not give them a defensive reaction; it only makes you look guilty.”

Eraena scoffed, making her Mother turn to her with a raised brow. “Mother, look at us,” she said, and Jacaerys made his way to stand beside her. “Do not get me started with you. Joining in the fights of boys!” She exclaimed and paced around, playing with her rings once more. “I was only defending my brother,” Eraena explained. “That is no place for you, Eraena!” The younger princess held back her tongue, not wanting to say anything out of turn or offense. She caught her Father’s eyes, pleading that he would come to their aid; he sighed and walked closer to their Mother. “It was a childish fight, Nyra, you should be at ease that your children know how to defend themselves.”

“The Hightowers are at an outrage! They will use this spectacle as another reason to keep the crown!” She whispered harshly. “You two will apologize to your uncles, Eraena, you will apologize to Aegon, and you Jacearys will apologize to Aemond.” Eraena stared in shock. “I will do no such thing,” she said and stepped forward, “Eraena,” Jace warned. “I’m sorry, Mother, but I will not apologize for defending my brother from that… drunken creature and his violent brother! Nor should Jacearys apologize for defending our honor.”

“It does not matter; we must take the high road,” Rhaenyra said decisively. “Tell me, Mother, when you were our age, and if you were put in our position, would you apologize?” Eraena questioned and for the first time in a while, she saw my mother without an answer. Rhaenyra turned to her husband, who had an amused smirk on his lips. “Answer the question, dear,” Rhaenyra sighed and paced. “You two, out. Jacaerys, escort your sister back to her chambers.”

Jace and Eraena exited the chambers and walked silently back to the girl’s quarters. They were nearing the wing of her chambers when they saw a figure seemingly waiting for someone. “Ah, Lord and Lady Strong,” Aemond taunted once more with a smirk on his lips. Eraena’s hold on Jacaerys’ arm tightened. Jacaerys turned to his sister, who implored with her eyes for him to ignore the sulking figure in the halls. “How nice of you to escort your sister to her chambers,” Aemond said, and Eraena licked her lips, avoiding the prince’s gaze. “I should think it necessary, especially with the talk we hear of a promiscuous princess residing in Dragonstone.” Eraena stiffened at his words. Promiscuous? The word seemed like poison dripping from his lips. “We are not aware of such things, Prince Aemond. It is best not to listen to whispers of vipers,” Jacaerys said, and the two walked on. Eraena frowned at their uncle’s words. “Ignore him,” Jacaerys said as he saw the furrowed brows of his sister. “Good night, brother,” Eraena sighed and placed a kiss on her brother’s cheek before stepping into her room. She was not promiscuous, not at all!

254 notes · View notes

ellswritings · 9 months ago

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Masterlist ;)

*= smut

The Hunger Games

Imagines

Finnick Odair

Wasting All These Tears On You

Don’t Be Late

Love and War

Peeta Mellark

They Don't Know About Us

Katniss Everdeen

Johanna Mason

Haymitch Abernathy

Worse Things

Cato Hadley

Marvel Sanford

Clove Kent

Coriolanus Snow

Sejanus Plinth

Series

none yet :(

Teen Wolf

Imagines

Scott McCall

Stiles Stilinski

Derek Hale

Jealousy, Jealousy

Peter Hale

Chris Argent

Lydia Martin

Issac Lahey

Allison Argent

Malia Hale/Tate

Liam Dunbar

Kira Yukimara

Series

Lupus Nox- S1 Cast, Prologue, S1 E1, S1 E2, S1 E3, S1 E4, S1 E5, S1 E6, S1 E7, S1 E8, S1 E9, S1 E10, S1 E11, S1 E12

S2 Cast, S2 E1, S2 E2

The Maze Runner

Imagines

Thomas

Newt

Minho

Gally

Aris

Brenda

Sonya

Harriet

Series

none yet :(

Marvel

Imagines

Steve Rogers

Sparks Fly

Tony Stark

Snowflake

Bucky Barnes

Loki Laufeyson

Natasha Romanoff

Clint Barton

Logan Howlett

Peter Quill

Misery Loves Company

Gamora Ben Titan

Peter Parker

Peter Parker (TASM)

Thor Odinson

Michelle Jones-Watson

Wanda Maximoff

Pietro Maximoff

Series

none yet :(

Once Upon A Time

Imagines

Regina Mills

Emma Swan

Killian Jones

David Nolan/Prince Charming

Peter Pan

Rumplestiltskin

Neal Cassidy/Baelfire

Series

none yet :(

Bridgerton

Imagines

Anthony Bridgerton

How To Be A Heartbreaker

Colin Bridgerton

Benedict Bridgerton

King George

Simon Bassett

Eloise Bridgerton

Series

none yet :(

Harry Potter

Imagines

Harry Potter

About Time

Ron Weasley

Hermoine Granger

Fred Weasley

George Weasley

Remus Lupin

Sirius Black

James Potter

Like I Can

Draco Malfoy

Lucius Malfoy

Tom Riddle

Luna Lovegood

Bellatrix Lestrange

Series

none yet :(

Glee

Imagines

Finn Hudson

Sam Evans

Jesse St. James

Quinn Fabray

Santana Lopez

Brittany S. Pierce

Rachel Berry

Mercedes Jones

Mike Chang

Noah Puckerman

Series

none yet :(

Criminal Minds

Imagines

Aaron Hotchner

Undercover Heat

Spencer Reid

Derek Morgan

No Place Like Home

Emily Prentiss

Jennifer Jareau

Matthew Simmons

Luke Alves

Kate Callahan

Series

none yet :(

9-1-1

Imagines

Evan 'Buck" Buckley

Eddie Diaz

I Knew You Were Trouble

Bobby Nash

Athena Grant

Howard 'Chimney' Han

Maddie Buckley

Series

none yet :(

Gossip Girl

Imagines

Chuck Bass

Nate Archibald

Dan Humphrey

Serena Van Der Woodsen

Blair Waldorf

Carter Baizen

Series

none yet :(

Pitch Perfect

Imagines

Jesse Swanson

The Flirting Game

Beca Mitchell

Chloe Beale

Bumper Allen

Cynthia Rose

Benji Applebaum

Donald Walsh

Fat Amy/Patricia Hobart

Series

none yet :(

WWE

Imagines

Roman Reigns

Relinquish Control

Cody Rhodes

Fight Me

Fight Me Pt. 2

Shake It For Me

Tricky Situations

Jey Uso

Just Friends?

Jimmy Uso

Solo Sikoa

CM Punk

A Gift for the Victor

My Hero

Seth Rollins

Double-Booked*

Rhea Ripley

AJ Styles

Damian Priest

LA Knight

Sami Zayn

Bron Breakker

Dominik Mysterio

Drew McIntyre

Series

None yet :(

Miscellaneous

Chandler Bing

New Years Eve

We Can’t Be Friends

164 notes · View notes

cina-full-moon-xanadium · 8 months ago

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Since Rob posted her recommended subs for all pf Sentai, I think I’ll post a companion piece in my recommended subs for Kamen Rider!

There’s a few notes I want to put up front here, however — in the case of V3 and Kiva, I highly recommend waiting on those because much improved subs are coming for those soon in the form of Discotek and Earthly respectively. I also strongly suspect Discotek will do much needed releases for X and Stronger (and Amazon though it’s less in need of better subs) too, so I may recommend waiting on those too.

On a similar note, Media Blasters are to do releases for Shin (1992), ZO, J, The First and The Next which will probably be better than what we have, so you might want to wait on those too.

Brackets indicate ports of the subs onto higher quality versions, which will also be the most active torrents

Kamen Rider - Shout V3 - Generation Kikaida [glamrick] X - CeraKesh Amazon - EarthlyBereke Stronger - KT-MC-BK Skyrider - Bereke Scrubs Super-1 - Bereke Scrubs ZX - MCS BLACK - Discotek BLACK RX - Discotek Shin Prologue - Toei [TokuScrub] ZO - Weeaboo-Shogun J - MegaAnon

Kuuga - Shout Agito - Earthly Ryuki - Shout 555 - Earthly Blade - Excite Hibiki - Shushuto [OZC-Live] Kabuto - Earthly Den-O - Earthly [OZC-Live] Kiva - TV-Nihon Decade - Earthly

W - Over-Time [OZC-Live] OOO - Over-Time [OZC-Live] (but with neckspike's no-slur pack) Fourze - Over-Time [OZC-Live] Wizard - Over-Time [OZC-Live] Gaim - Aesir [OZC-Live] Drive - Over-Time [OZC-Live] Ghost - Over-Time [OZC-Live] Ex-Aid - Excite [OZC-Live] Build - Over-Time [OZC-Live] Zi-O - Over-Time [OZC-Live]

Zero-One - Shout Saber - Flamesubs Revice - GeoSubs Geats - Excite Gotchard - EiGo

SD - TV-Nihon The First - Media Blasters [TokuScrub] The Next - TV-Nihon G - TV-Nihon Amazons S1 - Over-Time [OZC-Live] Amazons S2 - Over-Time [OZC-Live] Fuuto PI - Crunchyroll [EMBER] BLACK SUN - Amazon Shin Kamen Rider - Amazon

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juuuulez · 2 years ago

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📋 | masterlist.

requests: Open! Please send me anything, even just little thoughts you have 🫶 my best works are casual dumps of ideas.

what will I write? Nearly anything! Currently taking requests for: Yellowjackets, The Bear, Stranger Things.

what’s on my masterlist? You’ll find Yellowjackets, The Walking Dead, The Bear, Shameless, and Arcane.

Yellowjackets:

Travis Martinez.

📝 : Fingers in his mouth.

📝: Travis manhandling you.

📝: Breeding kink Travis.

📝: Fucking in the forest (dom Travis).

📝: Fucking in the forest (subby Travis).

📝: Riding his bicep.

📝: Riding his thigh.

📝: Travnat smut blurb.

📝: Munch Travis.

📝: Blowing S1 Travis.

📝: Hate-fucking (soft ending).

📝: First time (pre-crash).

📝: Travnat x reader (sub Natalie).

📝: Travnat x reader (sub Travis).

📝: Fingering.

📝: Teaching Travis to eat pussy.

📝: Older Travis (SFW).

📝: Quiet sex in a crowded room.

📝: Size kink.

📝: Car sex.

📝: Travis crying + comfort sex.

📝: More Travis crying during sex.

📝: Subspace reader + soft dom Travis.

📝: Sub Travis headcanons.

📝: First time post-rescue.

📝: Giving Antler Queen Travis head.

🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️

The Walking Dead:

Carl Grimes.

📰 | Capulet: Carl Grimes x Saviour! Reader.

Capulet Moodboard.

Prologue: When the apocalypse breaks loose, you find yourself in companionship with your sport teacher, Mr. Smith.

Prologue, Part Two: Both you and Negan struggle to navigate your new relationship.

Part One: You meet Carl whilst the Satellite station is being raided, where they take you as prisoner.

Part Two: During your first visit to Alexandria, when Carl misfires a gun, you’re instructed to “babysit” him. This does not go very well.

Part Three: You return to Alexandria solo for some supplies, but Rick decides to protest. After a minor altercation, you make things even with Carl.

Part Four: Carl and Enid are at the Hilltop colony at the same time as the Saviours’ arrival. A fight ensues.

Part Five: Carl hijacks a truck, and winds up at the Sanctuary. You take pity on him, but Carl has other plans.

Part Six: You, Carl and Negan cook spaghetti. Annnnddd that’s about it.

Part Seven: Once again, you are tasked with babysitting Carl, this time leaving Alexandria to find supplies. An unsuspecting attacker causes a rift in your feud.

Part Eight: You and Carl bunker down for the night, and finally reveal your feelings regarding the first Saviour massacre.

Part Nine: Alexandria has regained their power, and Carl narrowly escapes death. Finally, your feelings catch up to each other. Season 7 finale.

Part Ten: You tussle with your emotions regarding Carl, whilst Grimes and co pay a surprise visit to the Sanctuary.

Part Eleven: After being taken back to Hilltop for recovery, Carl plans something to help lift your spirits.

Part Twelve: You, Carl and Judith share a picnic away from all the troubles of war. Alternatively: the calm before the storm.

Part Thirteen: The Saviour-Alexandria war comes to a close in one, final battle.

Epilogue: Six years later, Carl and Reader consider what the future holds.

📰 | Business Transaction: You and Carl conduct a business transaction. He patches up your wound, and you return his supplies.

📰 | Little Pleasures: You catch Carl and Enid sharing an intimate moment, and can no longer repress your feelings for the Grimes’ boy. Luckily, he intends on making it right.

📰 | Jerking Off Headcanons: NSFW! How does Carl choose to pleasure himself?

Part Two: NSFW! After seeing you in a bikini down at the lake, Carl has to deal with a few… embarrassing problems.

Part Three: NSFW! A makeout session in the woods quickly escalates. (Carl x Saviour! Reader)

📰 | Carl Grimes x Saviour! Reader: Not everyone approves of Carl’s girlfriend.

📰 | Sing Me a Song: NSFW! Negan gives Carl a tour of the Sanctuary, where his youngest wife grows quite the interest for the boy.

🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️

Negan Smith.

📰 | Negan x Virgin! Wife! Reader: NSFW! Negan’s always taken care of you, only now, you want him in a different way.

📰 | Negan x Daughter! Reader: Negan’s daughter is kidnapped, and he’ll kill to get her back.

🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️

Rick Grimes.

📰 | Rick Grimes x Reader: NSFW! After pissing you off over a comment about your outfit, Rick tries to prove your worth another way.

🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️

The Bear FX:

Richie Jerimovich.

📰 | Princess: Richie is your dealer, and also a pretty good lay. But recently he’s changed his priorities, and tries to change yours, too.

Part Two: Smoking up at his house.

📝 | Blurb: Bonding with Eva.

📝 | Blurb: Hate-Fuck.

📰 | Brat Taming: You’ve pushed Richie’s limits, and now you’ll take the punishment (NSFW).

🎧 | Playlist Roulette: Heartbeat.

📝 | Blurb: Richie and his young girlfriend.

📝 | Blurb: Popsicle.

🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️

Carmen Berzatto.

📰 | Dessert: Carmen makes you taste his cooking, even late at night.

📝 | Blurb: Cockwarming.

📝 | Blurb: Oral with Carmy/Lip.

📋 | NSFW Alphabet.

🎧 | Playlist Roulette: Agora Hills (NSFW).

📝 | Blurb: Virgin Carmy thoughts.

📝 | Blurb: Carmy meeting his celebrity chef crush.

📝 | Blurb: Carmy and his pilates princess girlfriend.

📝 | Blurb: Somnophilia.

📝 | Blurb: Positions.

📰 | Proximity: Carmy is your roommate: and happens to have terrible sleeping habits.

📝 | Blurb: Hate-fucking.

Part Two.

Part Three.

📝 | Blurb: Carmy + cats.

📰 | Lip x Carmy x Reader: Revenge-fuck.

📰 | Lip x Carmy x Reader: Taking both of them.

🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️

Michael Berzatto.

📝 | Ask: Berzatto Christmas.

📝 | Ask: Dating Mikey while his brother’s at Noma.

🎧 | Playlist Roulette: Are we still friends?

🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️

Shameless:

Lip Gallagher:

📝 | Blurb: Fucking Lip while your baby sleeps.

📝 | Blurb: Domestic parent Lip.

📝 | Blurb: Oral with Carmy/Lip.

📰 | First Time: Soft sex with Lip.

🎧 | Playlist Roulette: Cyber Sex (NSFW).

📰 | Lip x Carmy x Reader: Revenge-fuck.

📰 | Lip x Carmy x Reader: Taking both of them.

🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️

Arcane, League of Legends:

Viktor.

📰 | Synesthesia: You’re a painter, and Viktor is your muse.

📰 | Crush: Crushing on the inventor you’re interning with.

📝 | Machine Herald! Viktor Dating Headcanons.

📝 | Machine Herald! Viktor Blurb.

🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️🤎☕️

Jayce.

📝 | Jayce Talis Dating Headcanons.

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yannisdesk · 6 months ago

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Everything in regards to Vander in act 2 was perfect. The fact that he had a hand in the girls lives before the events of the prologue in S1, how he and Silco did try to hold onto their promise to their mother, how ultimately they failed and the tragedy of that is still unraveling, their home life, HIM NAMING VI, Jinx getting the bunny hand symbol from their mom, Vander + Silco + their parents all being miners that use gauntlets which end up being Vi's weapon of choice, Vi taking up boxing before even needing it as a skill and Vander being the one to teach her etc... I LIVE for the "small" stuff like this. Either you get it or you don't.

#crying like a bitch #arcane #vander #warwick #silco #felicia arcane #vi #jinx #powder

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elizawritestoo · 1 month ago

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pretty when i cry (masterlist)

pairing: s1 dean winchester x f!reader

summary: what can you do when the one you love leaves again and again?

series warnings (18+): angst, smut

prologue

1. don't say you need me when (18+)

2. you leave and you leave again

3. i'm stronger than all my men

4. except for you

5. i can't do it, i can't do it

6. but you do it best

IMPORTANT: for any updates, parts, posts, etc. that relate to this fic, please check out the tag entitled "pretty when i cry spn fic" for my page, everything related to this fic should be tagged (be patient if i forget lol)

so you wanna know more about the fic and my plan >> (click keep reading)

notes: more warnings and info to come, i promise! i currently just have a rough idea of the whole series but i'm so excited for it!

the series idea came from the song Pretty When You Cry by Lana Del Rey, so all of the chapter names are lyrics from that song

it's going to be season 1 dean in terms of characterization (and looks LMAO) but! this is definitely not canon! there may be some allusions to things that happen in the show, but definitely will not be canon.

i know this is going to be a very angst-filled and sad fic. i don't know for sure yet, but it is looking like a very ambiguous ending

this story will be 18+. idk how much freaky nasty will take place or the level of it, but i'm pretty sure it'll be in there somewhere (those chapters will be marked).

there is a possibility i add a chapter or two in there, but for rn it looks like it'll just be the six chapters i have outlined above :)

#dean winchester #dean winchester fan fic #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fan fiction #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester angst #supernatural #dean supernatural #dean winchester smut #pretty when i cry spn fic

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laxmiree · 6 months ago

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[CN] MLQC’s Lucien - Strategy Game Date - English Translation (1/2)

⚠️ SPOILER ALERT!! ⚠️

This post contains a detailed spoiler for a date that has not been released in EN yet! Feel free to notify me if there are any mistakes in the translation~

"Wow, if you remember someone, they must be really impressive!"

"Not at all. In fact, on most of the days we've played, he couldn't even win a pack of biscuits."

"So, about the same level as me then~"

"But MC is special to me. Whether it's ‘biscuits', 'candy', or even 'unreasonable requests', you always manage to win them over in another way."

Translation under the cut!

[T/N: Before reading the date, I highly recommend you all to read this R&S: Regarding What Book Doesn't Say (and while at it read The Victim Who Disappeared too~). This date contains important references to that R&S, and I would like to analyze this date later in comparison with it at the end of this date🥺 There's also some reference to S1 chapter 23 but I'm gonna assume that y'all already read it u.u.]

If you want to follow along with the voice, you can follow it here.

[Call- On The Way Home from Work]

Lucien: I just saw your missed call, what's wrong?

MC: [worriedly] I was just wondering why Professor Lucien, who clearly got off work an hour ago, still hasn't come home yet.

Lucien: [chuckles softly] Sorry, I was held up a bit by something.

Lucien: If you're not too busy, could you bring a trolley and come pick me up at the small park outside the complex?

MC: I certainly can, but what happened?

Lucien: I was stopped by that old gentleman who often plays chess in the park, and he invited me to play a game with him.

MC: Hmm? Why did that grandpa suddenly "abandon" his friends and come to you?

Lucien: Today, his chess friend stood him up, so he was searching the whole park for a "destined" person who could play chess.

Lucien: And on my backpack, I happened to have a chess pendant that you gave me.

MC: Oh~ But the Xianqi (Chinese chess) Grandpa plays and international chess aren't the same type, right?

Lucien: There are indeed quite big differences between the two, but luckily, I'm not too unfamiliar with the rules of Xiangqi.

MC: Judging by Professor Lucien’s tone, it seems like he has won~

Lucien: It was a narrow victory.

Lucien: However... I'm having some regrets now.

MC: Why?

Lucien: Things seem to have gotten a little out of hand after I won the game. He enthusiastically invited me to solve an endgame puzzle—

[Trivia: In chess, endgame refers to a chess problem where only a few pieces remain on the board, and the challenge is to find the best moves to win or achieve a draw.]

Lucien: And after I solved it, I found out that this puzzle has apparently been around for a few years.

MC: Wow! That's amazing...! So, doesn't that mean the brilliant Professor Lucien is going to become a big celebrity in the park?

Lucien: [sighs] ...But they're a bit too enthusiastic.

Lucien: [he sounds so helpless and dumbfounded it's cute LOL] To celebrate, that grandpa and the elderly watching the game gave me all the eggs, rice, and cooking oil they got from the supermarket.

Lucien: I couldn't refuse at the moment, so now I'm stuck here, overwhelmed by this weighty goodwill.

MC: Pfft, hahaha~ So that's why you asked me to bring a trolley and rescue you!

MC: I think I see you! Hmm? Are you buying something?

Lucien: [chuckles] Mm, I just found a flower vending machine here.

Lucien: After all, I did ask my girlfriend to come rescue me, so I figured I should at least buy a bouquet of flowers as a thank you.

[Prologue-Surprise Journey]

MC: You're going to compete against the world champion of 3D chess next week?!

When I arrive home from work and step into the entryway, the news hits me like a brick, leaving me frozen in place.

[Trivia: 3D Chess is a variant of traditional chess that adds a third dimension with multiple horizontal layers. It's different and more complex compared with classic 2D chess because besides being able to move horizontally, it can also move vertically between layers, and naturally, it has different rules compared to the classic (I tried to search the rules of one type of 3D chess and ended up being confused at it HAHA). Most ppl def can't easily learn it in one try unless you're Xu Mo]

Lucien calmly takes my bag and nods slightly.

Lucien: Mm, the tournament organizers invited Carl to play a simultaneous exhibition.

[Trivia: In chess simultaneous exhibition means one player plays against multiple opponents at the same time]

Lucien: Besides me, there will also be many 3D chess players and enthusiasts participating.

MC: ...Wait a minute, Lucien, you haven't been scammed, have you?

MC: There are a lot of scams going around these days that seem to trick people with things like registration fees.

[gurl why would you think that the great and mighty™️ Professor Lucien would get scammed🤣]

Lucien: That possibility certainly can't be ruled out, but I've already confirmed it.

Lucien can't help but chuckle a bit and opens the official website of the International Chess Federation.

Following the movement of his fingertips, I quickly found Lucien's name on the shortlist.

MC: So awesome…

MC: You've obviously only been playing 3D chess for a month, yet you're already able to participate in such a competition.

Lucien: This type of game is actually not that difficult once you grasp the rules.

MC: ...That's precisely something a genius would say.

He winks a little smugly, smiles, and pulls me into his arms.

Lucien: So, would MC like to go together?

Lucien: I recall you don't seem to be very busy next week.

MC: Of course, I would like to!

MC: This is your first time participating in a chess tournament, so I wouldn't want to miss it.

Lucien: That's good to hear. Otherwise, I might have to repack my suitcase.

Following his gaze, I notice he's already packed some of my clothes in the suitcase and I can't help but laugh.

MC: You already knew I'd say yes.

Lucien: Mm, after all, it seems like MC can never bring herself to turn down my requests.

[Date]

=[Part 1]=

MC: The guesthouse you chose is so beautiful!

I lean out from the villa window and look outside; the warm breeze passes through the tropical orange trees, stirring sweet orange-scented ripples on the clear pool water.

MC: This garden is exactly like a scene from an American movie, I feel like a pool party is about to start any second now.

Lucien: [chuckles] After I finish my competition, we might as well have a pool party here too.

MC: Sounds good! Then I…

I spin around excitedly, but then my gaze is suddenly caught by a vibrant blaze of crimson, making me fall silent.

Lucien is dressed in a cherry-red suit paired with an olive-green tie, giving off a bold retro vibe.

Complementing this look, a sleek leather belt with a ring buckle and a tilted round hat adds a touch of simplicity and style.

Lucien: [teasingly] If you keep looking at me like that, I might actually get a little shy.

Despite saying so, he doesn't shy away and instead approaches me with a smile.

MC: It's just so stunning... Did this Great Chess Player pick this outfit specifically for the competition?

Lucien: There will be a lot of people at the competition, so maybe this will help me better attract the attention of a certain little lady.

[T/N: Great Chess Player (大棋手 - dà qíshǒu) is how MC teasingly and admiringly refers to him while little lady (小姑娘 - xiǎo gūniang) is Lucien's special term of endearment to MC. So yes, he's the one picking the outfit to attract her attention, just like male peacocks displaying their feather🤣 Please don't be harsh on his color choice because he literally can't see them🥲]

MC: [pouts] Humph, I want to protest~

MC: Even without any help, I can still instantly spot you in a crowd!

Lucien: [chuckles] Of course, I believe that. But I also have a selfish motive.

He gently pinches my puffed-out cheeks and meets my gaze with a smile.

Lucien: [gently and sincerely] Just thinking about you watching me throughout the competition... it'll likely fill me with strength.

✂———————–

In the vast venue, a hundred chess players are seated at their tables, eagerly awaiting the arrival of Carl, the world champion.

The audience seats are already packed with hundreds of spectators, and the broadcasting equipment, along with the commentators, is set up and ready to go.

Feeling the solemn atmosphere, I shrink back a little and quickly walk over to the family seating area within the venue to sit down.

Host: Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the International 3D Chess Championship!

Host: Here today, we have chess elites gathered from all around the globe.

Host: They have emerged from fierce preliminary rounds and will face Carl, the champion of the International 3D Chess Championship, in a head-to-head battle.

Just then, on the large screen suspended above the venue, a refined-looking man is waving and greeting the crowd below.

Host: Following the classic tournament rules, each player will have 120 minutes to make their first 40 moves, after which they will have another 60 minutes to complete the rest of the game.

Host: To ensure fairness and smooth progression, a team of referees will supervise the entire match.

Host: Please remain quiet during the match so that the players can concentrate.

Host: We hope you all enjoy this feast of intellect and strategy!

As the match bell rings, the first game appears on the big screen.

Carl opens with a knight's jump, using the black pieces. Time flows in silence for a long while before his opponent finally makes their move.

Just as the unfamiliar and complex cross-layer moves are starting to make my head spin, the game reaches Lucien's table.

Facing Carl's aggressive opening, Lucien doesn't panic. Calm and collected, he establishes his defensive formation.

I quietly note the position of his piece, trying to summon the knowledge I learned from playing classic chess with him in an effort to keep up with the game.

However, as the game progresses, I quickly become lost amidst the complexity of the situation.

Thankfully, that splash of cherry-red color always manages to blur out the world, allowing me to clearly see him every time I look up.

While waiting for his turn, Lucien leans back and intently watches the live screen, unlike the others who are engrossed in studying their own games.

[This passage implies that, unlike other players who are focused solely on their own games, Lucien is observing the matches on the live screen to study the world champion's strategies and gameplay. Also, this passage is an interesting parallel with how Lucien sees the world - to him, her color blurred the world around her, allowing him to see her clearly🥺]

Yet whenever it's his turn to make a move, he does it extremely quickly.

After a few rounds, players on the field are gradually eliminated and leave, but Lucien remains seated, his remaining time nearly equal to Carl's.

Most of the time, his expression remains calm, only occasionally does his brow and eyes curve slightly as if he's noticed some clever moves.

Even though he's far away, I feel like I can see that fascinating and captivating world through his eyes.

I gaze for a long time, so long that I only snap back to reality when Carl sits down opposite Lucien.

The stage is empty, and before I realize it, only that red figure remains.

The black and white sides are locked in a tense struggle, like a small battlefield. Pieces fell constantly, yet new attacks were relentlessly launched.

A hushed silence gradually spreads over the audience. Finally, the timer goes off, and the referee, who has been observing from the sidelines, rises to his feet.

He takes a step forward, waiting for Lucien to put down the piece in his hand, pick up a pen and write something, then seal the paper in an envelope.

As if on cue, the people around me rustle and leave. I instinctively get up as well, feeling puzzled, and head towards Lucien, who is also departing.

MC: Is the match over?

Lucien: Not yet, it's just that the official match time is up. Now the moves are sealed, and the match will resume in an hour.

MC: I see. So, what do you think?

Lucien: Although the situation is a bit tense right now, I've more or less deduced the strategy he'll likely use.

He narrows his eyes, looking like a smug little fox.

MC: Wow, I knew you were good, but I'm blown away that you've been able to hold your own against the world champion for so long…

Lucien: Would you mind holding onto that compliment until the 26th move and telling me again later, MC?

MC: Um?

I suddenly figured something out, and in that instant, I found the answer in those confident eyes.

Lucien: By then, I'll have won.

=[Part 2]=

Lucien wins.

At the 21st move in overtime, Carl topples his cornered king piece and concedes defeat.

It's not that I never thought he would win, but seeing Lucien standing on the podium, the clear reality of his victory washes over me along with the tide of applause.

I clap with extra force, wanting to convey all my heartfelt congratulations to him.

MC: Congratulations, grand champion!

As the award ceremony ends, after waiting by the side of the stage, I step forward and greet the person before me with a big hug.

An icy chill clings to him, yet the voice that falls upon my ear is incredibly gentle.

Lucien: [chuckles] I received all of MC's congratulations.

Lucien: Even though you were a bit far away, the way you clapped so enthusiastically was especially adorable, just like a little seal.

MC: Of course! As your girlfriend, I can't let myself be outdone by anyone else…

??: Mr. Lucien, congratulations.

A stranger's voice suddenly interrupts the conversation as Carl, dressed in a suit, walks over in surprise.

Carl: I'll always remember this match, I hope to see you again on the competition stage someday.

Lucien: Thank you, there will be a chance.

Lucien nods politely, and only after watching the other person disappear into the crowd does he speak, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

Lucien: Was that Carl?

MC: Hmm? Even a superbrain like you can have face blindness?

Lucien: Perhaps I was too focused on the chessboard, so I didn't pay attention to his appearance.

Lucien: Besides, his clothes seem completely different from what he wore this afternoon.

Seeing him explain earnestly, I can't help but laugh.

MC: [laughs] If I were Carl, I think I would be more hurt that my opponent, whom I faced for half a day, doesn’t remember me than about losing the match.

MC: Speaking of which, you don't forget everyone you've played chess with, do you?

Lucien: [stunned as if hit by a memory of someone from his distant past] …

It’s as if something leaps into the depths of those dark eyes along with my words, and they suddenly blink quickly.

Lucien: Not quite everyone.

MC: Wow, if you remember someone, they must be really impressive!

Lucien: Not at all.

Lucien: In fact, on most of the days we've played, he couldn't even win a pack of biscuits.*

MC: So, about the same level as me then~

I can't help but curve my lips into a smile, and it seems as though my rising smile also slowly melts that touch of indifference.

Lucien: [chuckles] You're right, it's about the same level. But MC is special to me.

Lucien: Whether it's ‘biscuits', 'candy', or even 'unreasonable requests', you always manage to win them over in another way.

MC: [laughs happily] Hahaha, that friend of yours would probably think you're way too biased if he heard you say that!

Lucien smiles faintly as if my words allow him to vaguely picture that person before his eyes—

Fuzzy... distant... yet somehow a little vivid.

Lucien: Perhaps, but all of those are just assumptions.

MC: Even if they are assumptions, aren't they still based on deductions from the past?

I hook my finger around his, gently swaying our hands together.

MC: Even if the past may be gone, isn't there still “something” from it that continues to run through your life in different forms;

MC: Accompanying you as you pass by and meet many amazing, yet lovely and warm people?~

Lucien: Of course, I have never denied that.

It was as though an imperceptible wound within those profound eyes had been quietly mended, allowing a trace of a smile to escape.**

Wanting to keep that smile lingering for a while longer, I wrinkle my nose.

MC: But... I've clearly played chess with you too, and several different kinds! Yet the first person Professor Lucien thought of wasn't me!

Lucien: …

Seeing his eyes widen slightly, I smile with satisfaction.

MC: Hmph, looks like I need to work harder! In that case, I'll start by learning 3D chess!

I take the prize chessboard from Lucien's hands, giving it a gentle shake.

MC: Please teach me, Teacher Lucien.

✂———————–

[T/N]

*: the biscuits!!! I'm sobbing ;-;, turns out Lucien still remembers Fan Zihang/Zack so clearly... I hope we'll get another mention of Fan Zihang/Zack on his birthday too huhu.

**: I'm taking liberties in translating this one 😂. The original line is “那双幽深的眼瞳里似有道小小裂隙被悄悄填上,终于泄出一点笑意。” which if literally translated it will be “In that pair of deep and dark eyes, it was as if a small crack had been quietly filled up, finally revealing a hint of a smile.”. The 'crack' can symbolize an unhealed wound from the past. As it gradually fills, this wound is slowly mending, allowing him to release some of his past burdens and letting a hint of joy show through his eyes. Or, you can also think of it as a frozen lake that slowly melts and reveals a small crack, allowing the sunlight to fill in and showing what's in the water all this time (there's happiness from those past memories too).

Next: Part 3 & 4-> [Here]

#this guy really is like a male peacock preening his feathers LOL #FAN ZIHANG MENTIONEDDD #just right before his b-day too sob sob i hope we'll met him again soon #mlqc lucien #mr love queen's choice #mlqc cn #mlqc spoiler #mlqc #mlqc translation #mr. love queen's choice #mr love lucien #mlqc xu mo #mlqc spoilers

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viridian-dagger · 3 months ago

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Seiðr of a Death Singer - Prologue

Rating: Explicit/Mature - 18+ only! Minors DNI

Warnings: named/minimally described oc, murder, non-explicit rape, sacrifices to norse gods, magical hysterectomy, evil nuns and evil priests, death, violence, physical abuse, seer!oc, kjartan is an absolute cunt but he's only in this one (and dies), underage mc for half, sex work, bastards, heresy, using religion to justify murder, oc is essentially poisoned and rendered effectively mute, stabbing... if i forgot anything please let me know!

word count: 10k lol

Author's Note: here begins my first stab at a last kingdom fic ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ this first chapter has a slightly different form than the rest, because I'm trying to get us through s1 and s2, but we abandon canon along the way. The POV timelines overlap so bare with me while we get to the start. Let me know what you think and if you wanna be tagged in upcoming parts! also this might end poly so i'm tagging all the potential ships until i decide. cross posted on ao3! beta read by @witchoftheewilds

Edit: I want to state unequivocally that I am anti-AI. I do not use it, do not condone the use of it, and will never change my mind on this. I do not permit anyone putting my works into AI for any purpose, nor copied into any other languages.

Series Masterlist | Next

1. Røskva

Røskva always knew she was different. She could see it in her mother’s eyes when she was barely old enough to be trusted to run to the baker on her own. It was even more noticeable when her mother left her at her nan’s door just before her 6th summer.

Her nan had been kinder. Kinder than most. Definitely kinder than her mother had been. Her nan taught her to read and write, how to mix salves, make teas, and treat wounds. Røskva was set to be a proper hedgewitch, fit to take over for her nan when she chose to step aside.

Her nan had also understood the part of Røskva that had frightened her mother. Had warned her about how to stay safe and undetected as a seer. Her nan was a seer too, not a powerful one but a seer nonetheless. She’d warned Røskva about the things kings and chieftains would do to her in order to harness her power.

“My sister was bound to a cruel lord, Røskva,” her nan told her one night. “He bound her to him in blood. He used her for evil, vile things. And when she refused — he killed her. You stay away from anyone who wants to use your visions for their own benefit.”

Røskva had tried to listen, and did her best to keep the evidence of her gifts to herself. But nothing could stop the vision of her village falling to ruin and flames. Blood spilled on the grass. She hadn’t been able to stop screaming while she watched it play out.

It had been her undoing. Kjartan the Cruel came, hearing tales of a powerful witch who could stop the hands of death from reaching him. Of course he was mistaken; she was only a scrawny girl with knobby knees who hadn't yet gotten her first moonblood.

It had only served in making him more cruel. He forced her to watch as he slit the throat of her nan, and burned her village to ash. He sent his heir, Sven the One Eyed, after anyone who ran.

Kjartan had bound her to him in blood that night. He carved the binding runes into the arch of her foot before stealing her maiden hood as she screamed.

Røskva was sure she hadn't stopped weeping until they reached Dunholm the next day. But it wasn’t until she had been tossed unceremoniously on the floor of a bedroom, and two pairs of young, empty eyes stared back at her that the fear set in. Both of the girls were older than her, not by much, but both were round with babes.

That night, she had prayed to Frigga not to let a child quicken in her own womb. She sliced her palm open on the edge of a floorboard, drawing symbols on the floor in her blood before burning the bits of bits of birch and mistletoe she found in the pocket of her dress. She begged Frigga not to let her suffer the same fate. She pleaded to all the Gods she could think of not to force her to bear Kjartan’s child.

The next morning, she found herself wet with blood and weak as the two other women screamed for help.

Kjartan’s hedge witches confirmed she would never bear a child. She couldn’t help but smile as Kjartan raged. She had barely even noticed when he took her again; the satisfaction that she would never bear him a child was worth the blinding pain.

Kjartan’s whores were kind to her after that. They knew she’d never bear him an heir, so they accepted her into their fold. She taught them and their children to read and write when Kjartan was off raiding with Sven.

The visions came strongly when they were away. They always ended the same — both a little older, dying without honor. The methods changed frequently, though. Each brought satisfaction that knew no bounds. But in every vision, there was a man with bright blue eyes and a sword with an amber attached to the hilt.

Røskva itched to blend teas and make salves, but she wasn’t allowed out of Dunholm without Sven as her guard. Neither he nor his father trusted her not to run as soon as she was given room to breathe. She had sighed about it to Mylin while she cleaned the cut on the face of her son, Sihtric.

Not two days later, she had a sachet of mallow and ground ivy on her bed, and the mismatched green and brown eyes of the boy following her wherever she went.

It took him six moons to gather the courage to speak to her freely, and another six to stop blushing whenever she looked him in the eyes. They spoke about what her life was like before Kjartan had stolen her, and about her visions. He had held her face in his hands as he tapped the tattoo into the thin skin of her her throat

She told him of the deaths that would befall Kjartan and Sven, and how she could think of nothing more thrilling than their deaths. Sihtric had smiled then, his teeth seeming to sharpen as he surged forward and kissed her firmly on the mouth.

“I swear, I will find a way to free you from my father. I don’t care what I have to do,” he whispered between breathless kisses. “I swear, I will never leave you to suffer here alone.”

And just for a moment, she believed him.

It was only days later that Kjartan and Sven returned to Dunholm with a pretty redheaded woman named Thyra, and she didn’t need to ask to know that they had killed her family. The red rimmed eyes told her all she had needed to know.

Røskva had stolen away into the young woman’s room after Sven had grown tired of the woman’s wailing and found solace in one of his father’s whores.

“What are you doing here?” Thyra hissed when she slid into the room, eyeing her warily. Røskva did not blame her for not trusting her until she told her the blend of tea she had brought for the redhead. The whispered truth of tansy and yarrow, hidden with ginger and mint had Thyra collapsing into Røskva’s arms in a fit of tears.

She did her best to soothe the poor woman, understanding her pain.

From then on, her and Thyra had become friends. Røskva snuck into her rooms when she could, surprised by the army of dogs that were steadily growing in numbers.

Thyra told Røskva about her brothers, and about how they would free them from Kjartan’s wretched hold. “I promise, my dearest friend, when they come for me they will free you too.”

Røskva didn’t have the heart to tell her she’d given up on the idea of ever leaving Kjartan. Not when he came to her bed every night demanding prophecies of his greatness as he took her. Not when he would whip her for breathing a word of his dishonourable death. She knew she shouldn’t tell him, but the fear in his eyes filled her with glee whenever she said it. But he had bound himself to her in blood. The only way she would ever leave his service would be if he let her go, or if he died dishonored. And he was too cruel to ever allow her to leave.

It was only when Sihtric whispered his promise to save her that she dared to hope.

She learned to cherish when Dunholm was free of its lords. She and Thyra could speak more freely, the other women were less fearful, the children smiled and played, and Sihtric sought her out bearing herbs and asking only for payment in stolen kisses in the dark of night.

“I swear on my life, I will find a way to free you,” he mouthed against her neck, teeth scraping over her pulse as she shuddered in his arms.

The night before her 15th name day, with Sihtric curled around her back as she slept, she dreamed of death. A man tied to the bow of a ship, steadily drowning as his friends were forced to row. A mother fading in her childbed from fever. A holy man with a bolt to the chest. A woman screaming as fire consumed her home. A man with a crown on his brow passing in his bed. Kjartan being stabbed repeatedly as his sword remained out of reach. Sven being devoured by dogs. Many others followed, too many to count.

She awoke to the sound of screaming, a pair of mismatched eyes staring down at her in fear, and ice gripping her heart.

It wasn’t until the next morning that Mylin told her that the screaming had been Røskva's own.

Kjartan returned a few days later after hearing word of the prophecies. Her head was splitting still and she couldn’t muster the strength of a lie. He’d whipped her till she fainted from the pain and sent Sihtric out on a mission after he protested her treatment.

Sihtric had stolen into her rooms later that night before he left. “If it is the last thing I do in this life, I will see that you are free again,” he sighed, forehead pressed against hers as twin tears fell down their cheeks. They had marked each other in ink that night, finishing when the light was creeping across the horizon. Sihtric slipped away with the dawn, swearing again that he would return for her.

She waited and waited, tracing the black lines on the back of her hand and her throat as she worried over him. And on the eve of her 16th name day, the doubt crept in. Mylin was gone by the next year and that was when she realized he had deserted her. And by her 18th, she knew she’d never see him again.

The visions worsened as she spent time alone, wandering between deaths like a ghost. It became harder to differentiate reality and the visions. With Mylin dead and Sihtric gone, the isolation began to gnaw at her sanity.

Thyra had grown wilder and more haunted as time passed. She stopped speaking of her brothers, and her family. No coaxing or tales of Røskva’s own youth could break her from her melancholy. She begged Thyra to tell her what could soothe the pain in her heart.

“The only thing that would soothe me is the knowledge of their deaths. I want not for love, nor laughter, nor family. Only pain brought upon the ones who killed my parents.”

In a moment of weakness, Røskva whispered the prophecies of their deaths — that both would die dishonored and be made to wander Niflheim for eternity.

Røskva knew she had made a mistake as soon as the words passed her lips. The haunted look in the other woman’s eyes cleared as a sharp grin spread across her face as she pleaded to her friend to not breathe a word of what she’d said to anyone.

It was only days later that Sven took her out of Dunholm. She knew something was wrong when they didn’t stop at the meadow she usually gathered chamomile and wild garlic from. He walked her to the edge of the river and slid a blade into her gut.

“You’re released from service, witch. You hold no sway over our deaths,” he sneered before pushing her into the icy waters behind her.

She fought for air, fought for life, but darkness took her into its cold embrace.

2. Sihtric

Sihtric had never been so torn in his life. He’d sworn his loyalty and his life to Uhtred, who wanted to kill Kjartan and Sven just as much as he himself did. The first time he had seen the Dane-Slayer and the amber tipped hilt on his back, Sihtric knew he would be the best person to enlist to kill his father. Especially knowing Kjartan wanted Uhtred dead.

His new lord had been inching them back towards Dunholm, stopping at every shithole along the way to get more men and gain alliances. Sihtric had thought that gaining the allegiance of a King would make things move faster, but Guthred was a slimy, slippery bastard and Sihtric seethed thinking about what he'd done. What he cost them.

Selling Uhtred and Halig into slavery had been devastating and infuriating. The little cunt of a king had hidden behind the priests when confronted with his treachery and had slithered back into his hall. Two years in the turd-king’s service had done Sihtric no good; all he had gained was a friend in the big Dane named Clapa, and gotten quite adept at drinking ale until young Ragnar had come and told them his plan.

The young earl had been single-minded in his search for Uhtred. And when they had finally found him, it had been a relief, even if the man was shattered, and Halig gone forever. But in his place, Uhtred had found Finan. The Irishman had warmed to Sihtric immediately after seeing Uhtred embrace him. The man was crass, and Gods, Sihtric didn't know how he'd ever catch game again with the man’s booming voice carrying like a death singer’s cry. But Sihtric was grateful for the man, and for Young Ragnar, Brida, and even the nun, Hild. It was because of them that Uhtred had returned.

It took time for Uhtred to return to himself, and even longer to fully gain his strength and his true smile. Lady Gisela and Hild helped the most in putting their lord back together. Finan joined him less and less on night guard, the Irishman was finally able to sleep through most nights. Things felt better in the two years that Uhtred had returned, and the arrival of the young Uhtred had been the last piece that seemed to heal him.

But Sihtric felt a weight on him; every night before he closed his eyes, he saw her staring back at him. He’d sworn her an oath, and many years had already passed. Four since he'd left, but nearly ten since he'd first sworn a vow to her. Surely she’d felt abandoned by him, and he couldn't blame her. He traced the black lines on his head and neck as he remembered her face, time beginning to distort his memory of her.

He knew his mother had already passed on. She'd hid it well enough from the other girls, but he knew she wouldn't have survived the summer after he left. She had urged him to leave before then, to find someone who would rip his father from the world, root and stem. Uhtred had always been that man — Røskva had known this to be true without even realizing that the men from her visions were Thyra’s brothers.

Thoughts of Røskva plagued him as he travelled — and when he slept, when he couldn't sleep, when he ate, when he laughed, when he saw the haunted look in Uhtred or Finan’s eyes. It was an ache in his bones he couldn't relieve. He could remember the way her breath caught in her chest when he'd sworn to find her. To save her. He hadn't realized how foolish it'd been until he'd sworn his oath to Uhtred. Sihtric was but a boy when he'd sworn to her. He was a foolish child, unable to fulfill the promise he'd made.

But she was even more a child than he’d been. Gods, he should have slaughtered his father and half brother the day they'd brought her home. They'd ridden off to collect a witch and come back with a screaming, helpless girl who hadn’t even grown tits yet. And she’d sacrificed any future children so as to not be tied to his cruel, heartless father, and did it without a second thought.

Røskva had always been stronger than him. She’d vexed him endlessly with her stubbornness. Every time he'd have to clean the whip marks on her back, she'd bear it in silence until he finally broke and asked her why she didn't lie.

“Because I'm not afraid of him. The worst thing he could do to me now is kill me, and it would be a welcome reprieve. So every time I tell him he'll die and spend eternity in Niflheim, and I can see the terror in his eyes, it is worth this pain,” she would say with a fire in her eyes that frightened him.

He'd never told her, but Sihtric loved her eyes. Despite everything his father had done to her, everything she had endured, her eyes were so alive. If one looked into them, they could read every thought as it passed through her head. It was the only thing his bastard father hadn't taken from her; the life in her.

Sihtric feared more than anything that he himself would be the reason the fire in her eyes died.

It was those eyes that haunted him these past four years. Every step was to get closer to her, to freeing her. Uhtred was a good lord, a worthy lord. Serving him meant freeing Røskva. And if she wanted nothing to do with him any longer he'd bear the broken heart and leave her in peace. But she deserved peace. She deserved a life.

Riding up to Dunholm had filled him with dread, but Uhtred and Ragnar had a solid plan. Breaking in from a back door that only the slave women used while Ragnar sieged the front gate had been genius. And as soon as the battle had begun, he felt nothing but the hate he had harboured for his half brother and his father. He wanted the Ragnarssons to kill them, to make them suffer for all he, his mother, and the other women had suffered under their rule. But mostly he wanted them to suffer for what they'd done to Røakva.

The battle had been won easily; his father hadn’t inspired loyalty like Ragnar or Uhtred. His men fled once they realized their end was near. Sven had been attacked by Thyra’s hounds, and his father had been dispatched to Niflhelm, disgraced and without his weapon; just as Røskva had predicted.

He hadn’t been prepared for the savagery of Ragnar though. The desperation and hurt in the young earl as he hacked away at his father’s corpse had been shocking. It was enough for Finan to put a hand on his shoulder in support as they all watched in horror as the man collapsed into his brother’s arms and sobbed. Sihtric wondered if Røskva would do the same if she were able. To finally release years of pent up rage on his father. He found that he couldn’t blame Ragnar for it; it was justice. For all of them.

Watching the siblings reunite had filled him with fear at the prospect of reuniting with Røskva. Thyra had been so angry and hurt when Uhtred and Ragnar called out to her. But Father Beocca had gotten the woman to call off her hounds. Mayhaps he should bring the priest with him to speak to Røskva…

“Sihtric! What’s the name of the bloody lass you can’t stop mooning over?” Finan called out from the window of the slave house.

“Røskva! Ask them where the little witch is!” He called back and Finan smiled before disappearing again through the window.

Uhtred came up to him then, eyes red and glassy but the smile on his face was evident. “Thank you, Sihtric Kjartansson. I know it must not have been easy to betray your kin. But you will forever have a seat at my table, if you should choose to take it.”

Sihtric smiled back, grasping the man’s forearm, “My only kin here was my mother, who I know is dead, and Røskva. She…. she was my father’s seer, and the only person who ever struck fear into him,” Sihtric explained, pressing his forehead against Uhtred’s.

“You love this girl, yes?” Uhtred asked with a wry smile. Sihtric felt his face warm as he nodded and turned away. “Well then, I look forward to meeting the girl who made Kjartan the Cruel tremble in her wake!”

“She was still a child when I left. I swore I would return for her…” he admitted as Uhtred pulled him under his arm and they began walking. “I fear she thinks I have forsaken her for glory.”

“But you are here, and you are making good on your oath. My sister is also hurt, and feels abandoned, but she is already starting to forgive. Our women are not like these soft Saxons; their fury burns hot and fast. But Røskva will forgive you, Sihtric. Do not despair,” Uhtred smiled.

He spotted Finan speeding toward him with a grim determination on his face, “Sihtric, we need to speak.”

“Where is Røskva?” He asked, feeling the tendrils of panic surge in him. “Was she hurt? Is she okay? What did he do to her?”

Finan opened his mouth to speak, but the hissing tone of Dagný cut him off. “She’s dead because of you, Sihtric Kjartansson!”

Despair shot through him like an arrow. He could not believe it. She couldn't be dead. She brought death, she did not succumb to it. His father couldn't have killed her; he was too fearful of her.

“Explain yourself woman!” Uhtred demanded, hand grasping Sihtrics shoulder.

“Sven may have murdered her on your father’s order, but make no mistake; she does not live because you left her here to rot.” She hissed again, before spitting at his feet and walking away.

“She went mad at the end,” another voice whispered, but he didn't turn to look at who was speaking. “Trapped in visions, she was. Screaming about death. Sven took her out one day, and he came back alone. About a year ago.”

Sihtric’s chest ached as his mind spun. A year. He could have come for her a year ago. He could have done more. And he didn't.

And he would have to learn to live with the gaping hole in his heart that his failure had left.

3. Røskva

She woke to the hushed whispers of women. Bleary eyed, she could not differentiate between them and their grey forms. She tried to free herself, but was swept back into the current of darkness.

She was swept from battle to battle. Hundreds and thousands of men perishing in pain. Women dying in childbirth. A man stabbed in the eye after an alehouse brawl. A woman dying at the hands of a cruel husband. Children dying from the cold or hunger. People dying asleep in their beds.

The onslaught of death pulled her under and she could do nothing but let each one flow through her.

She awoke again days later in a haze. There was no more whispering. No more grey garbed women. She was alone, in a warm bed. The small room had nothing but a chair beside her bed with a pitcher of water and cup sitting on the seat, and a strange wooden ornament on the wall.

“Oh heavens! You’re awake!” A woman gasped from the doorway. “Sister, go fetch the Abbess. She’ll want to speak to our guest,” she ordered someone else before bustling into the room.

Røskva watched her as she tittered about, filling the cup and handing it to her, clucking like a hen until Røskva drank.

“Dear, we were frightened when you screamed like the Devil himself was chasing you! I’m sure you were afraid too, screaming like that. But drink now and recover your voice. The Abbess will want to speak with you.”

Røskva watched in silence as the woman fretted over her. The frantic smothering reminded her of her nan. The memory of her nan hadn’t found her in years, and it brought a fresh stinging pain and a tear to her eye. The grief was still sharp, despite the years it had been since Kjartan had slit her throat.

Røskva didn’t have time to dwell on it as an elderly woman swept into the room, shooing the other women out.

“Alright child, no time for tears. Tell me where you came by such an injury and found yourself drowning in a river. Did your husband do this to you?” She asked simply.

The truth caught in her throat as she looked at the woman. Kjartan was her slaver, her captor. He was never her husband. He was too foul for the word. The only man who she’d even considered marrying and running away with had been dead to her for 3 years. It would be easy to lie; say her husband tried to kill her… But the lie caught in her throat all the same.

“I haven’t all day, child. If it was your husband, we will report it to the church and render your marriage void,” she huffed impatiently, “I can see by the markings on you that you were claimed by a heathen. We can tell the church you were taken against your will, and you will stay here as a sister for the remainder of your days.”

The fragile piece of freedom she’d felt upon waking grew teeth in that moment. No, she would not stay, but she also did not owe this woman her truth, her life, or her freedom.

“Raiders,” Røskva rasped out, wincing at the pain it brought. “I ran. He caught me.”

The woman assessed her cautiously, eyes narrowing as she looked her over, eyes catching again on the tattoo on her throat. “How old are you, child?”

“19,” she rasped back.

“You are a child,” the woman sneered. “Are you pure?” The confusion on her face must have been evident because the drab woman scoffed. “Have you ever laid with a man!”

Her eyes must have given it away, because the woman was out of her seat in a huff as she called for another woman to join them.

Turning back to Røskva with a glare she spoke again, “You may stay until your wounds recover, but you will refrain from speaking to the impressionable sisters here. Either Sister Mildreth or I will tend to you, and when you are healed we can help you find a home in the nearby town. But once you are healed you will find no shelter here.”

With that, she left. The grey billow of her robes snapping as she disappeared down the corridor.

A younger, sour faced woman swept in moments later. “I’m Sister Mildreth,” the woman said plainly. “I’ll be here to check on your wounds until you’re healed. What’s your name?”

Røskva narrowed her eyes. The woman had all the charm of a thorn in her foot.

“Where am I?” Røskva snapped. “Why are you all calling each other sister?”

Evidently, it was a poor question. Because the woman’s sour expression turned to one of open hatred. “Heathen wench,” she hissed. “You’re in a house of God!”

“Which one?”

“The One True God!” She snapped in return.

Røskva sighed and nodded, remembering what her nan had told her about the Saxons and their God, their rules, and their holy books. It made no sense to her, but she figured she owed these sisters for not letting her die in a frozen river.

“Give thanks to your God. I will heal and leave you all in peace,” Røskva promised. “I have no problem with you, Sister Mildreth. I am grateful to you.”

“If you were grateful you would give up your heathen ways and repent to the Lord,” she hissed.

“I cannot. I am pledged to my Gods. I can not forsake them for yours,” she said softly.

“Then to hell it is with you,” the young woman snapped.

Røskva sighed; she no longer feared Hel nor Niflheim. Death would be a welcome change compared to her life with Kjartan and Sven. Røskva ignored the woman’s muttering as she tended to her wounds.

“This wound has no doubt made you barren,” she said harshly. “Tis a small blessing, as you will not give this world any more heathens.”

“I was made barren at 10. I prayed to my Gods and they answered. I revel in the gift they have given me by stripping me of a womb. I will never be a slave to a man who whelped a babe off me like an animal,” Røskva sneered back.

The sister fled with a gasp, leaving Røskva to her thoughts.

Røskva was… free. She waited for the fear of it to come, but it never did. All she could summon was a breathless relief.

And the feeling gripped her with strong jaws and teeth that sank into her bones. She couldn't even find it in herself to be snappy with the Abbess or Sister Mildreth when they called her a wicked heathen or a whore. By the time she healed fully they had given up on insulting her and left her in silence after she had refused to take part in the Christian bathing ceremony.

The Abbess had kept her word on finding her a room in a nearby village after she healed. The Abbess had found an innkeeper who was sure she had no issue with an unmarried, Godless woman renting a room.

The Abbess hadn't been amused when Røskva pointed out that she had more Gods than all the people in the room combined but the innkeeper had given her a wry smile and a wink.

But the innkeeper, Gunda, had welcomed her after the nuns left in a huff. She promised a room and daily food in exchange for help around the inn until she could find a wage.

But Røskva had other plans. As soon as she'd been released by Gunda for the afternoon, she ran to the river’s edge and began collecting herbs.

And that night in her room, she gave her offerings to her Gods and began her work. She dried herbs to make teas, salves, tinctures, poultices, whatever she could think of. And the customers came fast.

She found quickly that the village had lost their healer a few months before, and there were many people who were willing to overlook her heathen ways for her treatments.

Healing others was easy, but she wasn’t sure she could ever heal her own wounds.

4. Uhtred

Uhtred was sick of Mercia and all their problems. The screams from down river had been grating and kept nearly all of Coccham awake most nights. The sounds struck sympathy through his wife, blooming steadily with his child, fear into his children who were too young to be plagued by the fear of raiders and slavers, and unease into himself and his men.

It bothered Uhtred endlessly that he could do nothing but sit and listen to the screams while the Mercian king sat by and did nothing to end the suffering of his own people. Mercia was at the top of his ever growing list of problems.

When Alfred had given him permission to venture down river into Mercia, to help the villagers and stop the raiders from destroying everything while their king did nothing, he had felt a grim satisfaction but it was short lived. Not even his men’s jokes about Sihtric mooning over the alehouse whore in Witancaester or Clapa’s jokes could keep the rage at bay.

When Uhtred saw the line of women and children in chains, following behind two men on horses, he saw red, cutting down the slavers without remorse. He knew he'd spend every night freeing Mercia from slavers if he had to, even if his wife would banish him from her bed for it. Alfred had been clear on banning the Saxons from slaving. The Mercian cunt failing to do even that was impossible to forgive.

But coming home to Aethelwold and tales of a corpse proclaiming Uhtred the King of Mercia and Aethelwold the King of Wessex did little for his mood, and a summons to Wintanceaster for the Princess Aethelfled’s wedding, from the King himself, did nothing to help.

Not even a tryst with his wife on the road had helped, because it led him to meeting the princess’s groom, Aethelred of Mercia. The little shit had called his wife a whore and questioned who had fathered the babe she grew, and if it hadn’t been for her, the man would have lost his tongue for it before he could swear his vows to his bride. Finan, Sihtric, and the rest of the men were ready to demand blood for her honor. But it was only at Gisela's insistence that they were forced to let the insult go.

The wedding did nothing to help his mood either with Aethelwold whispering in his ear treasonous things about them ruling Wessex and Mercia together. Uhtred knew he would have to go see this ghost. The only pleasant surprise was the arrival of the baby monk, Osferth. The young man was Alfred’s bastard, raised in the faith but desired a warrior’s life. He was eager, and green, but Uhtred found the boy endearing and agreed to take him under his wing.

Gisela smiled and pressed herself up on her toes to kiss him after he strapped on his armor in preparation to leave, “Be kind to the new stray you’ve picked up; he doesn’t know what this life means yet. And tell Sihtric he can marry the girl if he does well tonight.”

“I won’t let him marry a whore who loves nothing more than his silver because he's broken hearted over the seer girl that Kjartan murdered,” Uhtred sighed, wrapping his arms around his wife’s waist.

She frowned at him, “Did you not find love after Iseult died? She was taken from you, and you loved her. Why are you denying him the same thing?”

“Because you were not a whore; you were the sister of a king,” he reminded her.

“Is Aethelfled not a whore in a bridal gown? If you keep on like this, maybe you believe I truly belong to your uncle,” Gisela spit back.

“Even if she was not a whore, which I do not grudge her for, she does not love him. Steapa told me that she calls him a heathen and a fool when we are at Coccham.”

Gisela's eyes narrowed as she pulled away from him, “I will be confirming that with Steapa, you know it would not do you well to lie and pacify me.”

Uhtred laughed softly and wrapped himself around his wife again. “I know I am not the most honest man, but lying to my wife would end in cruelty I have yet to know. I would not dare to insult you this way.”

She softened and twined her fingers with his, “Do not tell him this, Uhtred; it will break his heart.”

He had ended up promising Sihtric if he could swear he was not trying to fill the hole the little witch he lost had left him, and he could swear to his whore’s loyalty, he would allow them to marry. Sihtric had initially been pleased, but by the time they were riding back to Witancaester, he hadn’t spoken about the girl again. He simply rode beside Finan in silence.

When they returned, Uhtred was greeted by Beocca and Steapa at the gates of the city. He hadn’t even gotten the chance to kiss his wife before Alfred was summoning him to fix more of Mercia’s problems. This time, they were sent to Lunden, to handle something Aethelred should have been able to do on his own. The Mercian cunt had questioned his loyalty to Alfred openly, and it took every ounce of self restraint not to kill him. The little shit was lucky Beocca and Thyra had waited to tell him about Aethelfled’s treatment at her new husband’s hands; it was likely he would have cleaved his head from his shoulders in front of the Witan.

The more he had to deal with the Mercian cunt the more surprised Uhtred was at finding someone who bothered him more than Aethelwold. At least Aethelwold was easy to ignore, and easier to threaten into silence. And there were those blessed times where he’d been too drunk to speak. But Aethelred seemed to exist purely to piss off Uhtred and his men.

The siege had been poorly planned and even more poorly executed. If he had known the Mercian cunt had brought the princess and Thyra with him to the front, he would have sent her back to Witancaester with Finan. Sihtric, and Clapa. It was only after they had ransacked the camp when Beocca screamed for his wife that Uhtred learned of the women being brought there. He had nearly seen red then but his men had kept him from killing the boy. That was when he learned that Erik and Siegfried had taken Aethelflaed.

Alfred had been livid and immediately sent Uhtred to try and get her back. He had pleaded for Alfred to reconsider, seeing as he would be gone for weeks and Gisela was close to her labors. But he was rebuffed and sent regardless.

He was grateful for Hild, Thyra, and Beocca who swore they would look after Gisela while he was gone. And even more grateful that his wife did not deem it necessary to kill him for missing the birth of his new son.

The journey to Beamfleot was long and every hour spent in Aethelred’s presence grated on him.

“Lord, I say we get him drunk and leave his sorry ass out in the cold,” Finan suggested with a smirk.

“It would be a kindness, Lord. Men like him deserve to be put down like rabid dogs,” Sihtric groused from the other side of him.

“Unfortunately, we can do neither. Alfred warned me that I would lose his backing if I mistreated the Mercian shits in any way,” Uhtred sighed. “I want to be rid of Mercia and its problems, and return to Coccham with my wife and our children.”

“We all want that, Lord. Hopefully Alfred will see after this what a useless shite he married his daughter off to,” Finan agreed.

“We could only be so lucky,” Uhtred mused before turning to Sihtric. “Ride ahead to Baemfleot and warn them of our coming. Tell Erik that we desire to negotiate for Lady Aethelflaed, and warn him of her husband. But tell him I require to see her before we can negotiate. I will not make a deal for a corpse.”

Sihtric nodded and rode ahead without a word.

“Lord, I don’t know what you told him about his whore, but he hasn’t said her name in weeks,” Finan said lowly.

“I told him I would permit the union if he could swear he was not trying to lose himself in another to numb his loss, and if he could swear the whore’s loyalty. I believe I made him see the error of his choice in a bride,” Uhtred explained, but the guilt gnawed at him. “Maybe I was too harsh. Gisela and Thyra believe I was.”

“No, Lord. You saved us all from another problem. We’re already working our arses off to save a princess from the problems caused by one shite marriage. Who knows what another would bring us,” Finan groaned.

Uhtred knew Finan was right when they reached Beamfleot. Uhtred was ready to throw the princess over his shoulder and carry her back to Witancaester kicking and screaming when she begged him to leave her with Erik; they had apparently fallen in love. It had taken all of his effort not to lose his temper, but he couldn’t find it in himself to disparage her for wanting to rid herself of her husband. Uhtred promised to do what he could, but it would not be easy.

He had to remind himself constantly that she was little more than a child, but her outbursts and tantrums grated on him while she openly insulted everyone who would listen. He found that he did not envy Erik in the slightest.

He sent Steapa back to Witancaester with the terms of their negotiation and waited for the big man’s return. The waiting served to remind him of the time he was spending away from Gisela and his children. Stiorra would rebuke him in the way only 4 year olds could for missing her name day, and Young Uhtred would undoubtedly gripe about the missed riding lessons he’d been promised. But worse, he knew that each day that passed he chanced missing his new son’s arrival. Gisela had decided on Osbert and refused to be swayed. Despite his protests, he always smiled at the thought of her naming their sons after him.

The night Steapa returned, before he could even tell anyone that the offer Erik made was accepted, all hell broke loose. Baemfleot went up in flames with Lady Aethelflaed trapped inside. Erik had died at Siegfried’s hand, and the plan was in shambles.

When the dust of battle settled, both Erik and Siegfried were dead, along with Clapa and many other good men. And the ride back to Witancaester was a somber affair with Aethelfled still bound to Aethelred.

Alfred had met them at the gate of the city, giving his thanks before hastily sending him to attend to his wife, who’s labors had begun the day before according to Beocca. Uthred raced through town to Thyra and Beocca’s home, and the weight of the last few weeks lifted off his shoulders hearing the cry of a babe ring out into the open air.

But it was Hild, not Gisela who greeted him at the door.

“Uhtred, my friend, she is gone,” Hild said, eyes filling with tears as she pulled him into a hug. “She fought, and she has given you a son.”

“She can not be gone, I must see her,” Uhtred cried, pulling away from the embrace, but Hild’s arms tightened around him.

“Uhtred, she is gone. But she wanted me to tell you that she will meet you in Valhalla when it is your time, and that you must live and find happiness while she waits for you.”

Uhtred could barely breathe as he collapsed to his knees, heart shattering in his chest. He did not know how to do what his beloved wife requested of him; he knew his happiness had died with her.

5. Røskva

The fall air was wet and dreary. Røskva had been excited at the turn of the season if only to get out of the hot, sticky summer, but the cold was worsening Gunda’s health. The older woman had become like family to her in the few years that she’d been living there. Røskva was worried about her stomach pains, but her offerings to the Gods never yielded a vision of Gunda’s death, so her fears were abated for the time being.

Gunda had learned of her visions, and had taken the news in stride. She dealt with the customers and let Røskva hide away with her visions and her herbs. The only times Røskva had to see anyone was when a truly sick customer came, and when she would deliver supplies to the abbey.

The years had also softened her relationship with the nuns from the abbey — the Abbess herself couldn’t deny the salve Røskva made to aid with the older woman’s bone pains — and Røskva was happy to provide.

The years had softened her own fears, but not much. She no longer woke screaming most nights, seeing Kjartan’s face in her sleep. He hadn’t appeared to her since the vision of his death came one last time. It was as if she was there, feeling the seax stab into her own wrist and the blade arc down into her chest. The man who wielded a sword was a Dane with blond hair, tied back at the nape of his neck, with a tattoo between his brows. She felt the rage in him and shared it, reveling in the fear Kjartan felt in his last moments.

She woke half the village screaming that night, but she woke knowing that he and Sven were dead. Gunda hadn’t asked how she knew, but never doubted her for a second.

It didn’t stop Røskva from sleeping with a dagger under her pillow even now. Dreams of Sihtric haunted her for years, but now she had dreams of grey rats descending on her with noose and flame.

It was another dream of flames and pain that woke her that morning. It had taken until the sun rose for her grip on the dagger to loosen, and then the sounds of Gunda bustling about had gotten Røskva to unbar the door and rejoin the world. Gunda had waved her off when she had offered to make breakfast that morning, not liking the look of the way the other woman's hands shook with effort when she picked up the kettle. But Gunda had argued that the haunted look in Røskva’s eyes and the bags underneath them were reason enough to send the girl on her way.

“You need the rest more. Kept awake with your visions all night, didn’t you?” Gunda asked with a shake of her head and a tut as Røskva looked at the table in silence. Gunda sighed and took one of her hands. “Go on and get your herbs. I'll be here with my old bones when you get back, child.”

Røskva had stopped to deliver salve and tea to the abbey when the vision came: Gunda dropping dead on the kitchen floor as the kettle screamed on the fire. Røskva came out of the vision screaming as the sisters fluttered around her like chickens. She hadn’t bothered to explain before taking off in a sprint toward the inn.

She could hear the kettle down the street and knew the truth of her vision but didn’t want to believe it. It was only when she found Gunda curled up on the ground that she allowed herself to weep. She didn’t notice the gathering crowd, nor the way the sisters whispered between themselves. All Røskva knew was that she lost the only person who cared about her in this world.

The sisters arranged for Gunda’s body to be taken with their custom, and she didn't argue. She knew Gunda believed in the Christian God, but never held Røskva in contempt for believing in her Gods. It had been a nice change to the company of the sisters, but now she was forced back into their care.

The villagers scurried away from her like mice. They had begun to speak in hushed tones about their fear of her presence and said she brought death wherever she went. When the Abbess demanded she return with them to the convent so they could find her a new place to live, she didn’t fight.

But when the grey rats came riding up to the abbey with their crosses and their anger, a fear struck into her that she hadn’t felt since the day Sven had put a knife in her gut. She tried to escape through a back door, but sister Mildreth sneered and refused to let her pass.

“We knew you were a foul beast the moment we met you, but we were deceived by your appearance and your countenance,” the Abbess huffed as the monks had dragged her from the convent screaming, the other sisters looking on impassively.

She was overwhelmed with memories of being taken by Kjartan as they rode. The similarities brought a sharp pain to her chest when she thought about losing her nan and Gunda. But she knew there would be no moments of reprieve or friendship to save her mind this time.

The monastery where the monks took her was only a day's ride from the convent. Her captors sneered at her and called her impure, and unclean; but it was their eyes that were glued to her and their hands that skimmed her. They called her a demon of lust as they scrubbed at her exposed skin in attempt to remove the markings that adorned her. When the marks refused to dull, they called her a whore and forced her to bathe in their rituals and repent for filling them with desire for her, a godless heathen, when they had taken vows of chastity. When she told them she was blessed by Frigg and Freyja for her beauty and to apologize would be spitting on the gifts they bestowed her, the monk in a small, wheeled chair deemed her possessed by the demon Lilith and told her she would be assessed by their leader, a priest.

A day later, the sour-faced priest arrived, dripping in finery. “We must test her wickedness,” he said, “We must strip her and gaze upon her naked form, and if I, the most devout among you, feel the unholy stirrings of lust, then it will be confirmed she is surely a demon sent to tempt us to sin and ruin with her heathen ways.”

She was horrified; not even Kjartan had stripped her and left her to be leered at by his men. Røskva spit curses at them from dusk to dawn that day until two monks, the one in the wheeled chair and the other with lustful eyes, came bearing her meal; a simple broth and water.

At the first sip of the water she knew they were attempting to silence her. The burn in her throat was crippling and persistent. The lukewarm broth was no better. The acrid taste and the burning had her overturning the tray and screaming for help, but found she could no longer make a sound beyond a whisper. She recognized the effects — they had poisoned her food and water with cuckoo-pint.

The next morning, the priest appeared with a sharp smile as she glared and spit at him, “the demon is rendered voiceless and powerless after drinking holy water! We must now see if her wickedness pervades even while rendered silent.”

She wanted nothing more than to scream at them that she’d been poisoned, but the ability to speak was still evading her. That morning they stripped her bare and stood her on a platform, hands tied above her head. By luncheon she was found guilty of demonry and sentenced to death by hanging. A stern faced monk escorted her back to her cell to wait until nightfall when she would be executed.

As soon as the monk disappeared from view, she fell to her knees and searched the floor for the shards of pottery that the remains of her bowl had left and grabbed the candle off the table. She wasted no time, slicing into her skin and letting the blood pool on the surface before drawing runes on the floor. Once again, time crashed over her like a wave and she felt 10 winters old again. It was as if no time had passed at all. Here she was again, pleading to the Gods for her life as she paid in blood and with the small bits she could find on the floor. A stray piece of straw, a holly berry, a strip of fabric from her torn dress, and when she could find nothing else, she dropped her own blood onto the flame and begged any Gods who would listen to free her from suffering.

Her jailer came at sunset, bearing a simple, scratchy frock and a cross for her to wear around her neck. She refused to take the cross, throwing it across the room without remorse. While the monk went scrambling for the necklace, she pocketed the sharp piece of pottery. She hoped it would be enough to grant her entrance to Valhalla; she figured the Gods wouldn’t look down on her choice of weapon.

Røskva walked to the makeshift gallows with her head held high. She couldn’t resist the urge to slash out at the priest with the shard, snarling and smiling as he cried out in pain.

“The demon is trying to take us! Don’t get too close!” He bellowed, clutching his bleeding arm to his chest as she was hoisted to stand on a barrel and the noose was tightened around her neck.

Røskva felt the shard dig into her hand as she gripped it tighter, whispering a curse to Hel upon every accursed monk and priest in the courtyard. She felt at peace as the order was given, and the barrel was pushed out from under her feet. She was too caught in her thoughts to notice the rope going slack as she lost her footing.

6. Finan

Finan was tired. Tired of travelling, tired of Alfred, tired of Uhtred running them ragged to avoid his own misery, tired of Sihtric’s silence, tired of Osferth’s fretting. He longed for his bed in Coccham and the sight of a woman naked in his bed.

Finan wanted nothing more than to knock the sense into all of them so they could return to their own blessed homes. But he knew the emptiness of Coccham haunted Uhtred, just as Sihtric was haunted by the oath he could not keep to his little witch, especially with the weeks they were spending in Dunholm. Finan had his own oaths he failed to keep, but they were a lifetime away from him now.

Uhtred had received a summons from Alfred while they were in Dunholm with Ragnar and Brida. Finan had been grateful that Alfred hadn’t demanded their presence back in Witancaester in the 9 months since Gisela’s death, he merely sent messages and missives through Steapa who had gotten adept at finding them on the road. But Steapa said there was discord in Wessex; a Dane by the name of Bloodhair was raiding and raping in the villages across Northumbria, Wessex, and Mercia, terrorizing the small folk.

Ragnar and Brida had warned them that Bloodhair was a shade less than sane, and a coward to boot. And the rumour was that he was in possession of a witch who killed men for fun. Finan was already dreading having to deal with them, but he was grateful to be headed back toward Wessex. The longer they lingered in Northumbria, the more unsettled he felt, and setting off toward home, Finan felt a knot in his chest he hadn’t realized was there, loosened.

But the dark cloud Finan attributed to Dunholm hung over them still as they set out at first light the next morning. Sihtric remained sullen, Uhtred remained melancholy, and Finan remained annoyed.

“Sihtric, ride ahead and find a place for us to stop tonight. Be cautious of the Christians in the area; they will not take kindly to a heathen staying on their land, even if we are in service of Alfred,” Uhtred sighed.

Sihtric gave only a nod in return before galloping away. Finan shot Osferth a look which had the monk falling back in the line silently.

“Lord, is it not good tidings to be returning to Wessex and Mercia, where they cheer for the Great Dane-Slayer, Uhtred of Bebbanburg?” Finan smirked at his friend, who shot him an unimpressed look. Finan sighed letting the joking tone go, “Uhtred, I am your friend. I know returning is not… ideal. But your children, your sister, our home? They’re all in Wessex. You got a lad you have barely seen, lord and I know…” he rambled, taking a deep breath before continuing. “I know Lady Gisela would have your arse if she was here.”

Uhtred’s eyes watered as he stared into the distance ahead of them. “I know you are right, my friend. But I do not know how to face this without her. Our children preferred her to me, as did Alfred, and I know you have been known to take her side over mine. I just… I am not sure how I am to be the Lord of Coccham without her.”

Finan smiled at his friend sadly, “Aye. She was a good woman, better than any of our sorry arses deserved to spend a minute with. But you and I both know she would beat your arse bloody if she knew you were out here hiding from your life.”

Uhtred laughed, eyes crinkling into a genuine smile and Finan felt the knot of fear loosen yet again. “You are right again, Finan,” Uhtred nodded, sighing. “Did Hild tell you what Gisela said as she faded?”

“No, lord.”

“She told her to help me find happiness, and to keep living while she awaits me in Valhalla,” Uhtred said softly.

“She was the best of us, my friend, and we will never forget her,” Finan said solemnly, making sure to look Uhtred in the eyes so he could understand the sincerity of his words. “It will be good to return, Lord. Even if it is just to collect your wee ones and take them back to Coccham with us after we deal with this hairy bloodsore.”

Uhtred’s bright laugh rang out into the silence. “His name is Bloodhair, Finan,” Osferth called from behind them.

“Aye, baby monk! I’m just makin’ a guess on what this big ugly Dane is like based on the name,” Finan called back, earning another laugh from Uhtred.

But Sihtric riding hard back toward them had the jovial mood dropping quickly as Uhtred sat higher in his saddle. “Sihtric! What is it?”

“Lord! There is a church ahead, all monks—”

“A monastery,” Osferth supplied off-handedly.

“—And they’re going to hang a woman at sundown! They have a gallows set up,” Sihtric said, eyes panicked. “Some of the village folk said she's a healer.”

“Why would they hang a woman, and a healer no less? Osferth, have you heard of this?” Uhtred asked the baby monk, eyes narrowed.

The younger man frowned, “No, lord.”

Finan watched the determination set across his friend's face, and he couldn't help but feel relieved; “Then we go and see what this is about. Alfred will want to know of a woman being executed in the Christian name,” Uhtred decided.

The ride was short, yet Finan felt like it dragged on for months. The thought of a woman being hung, Dane or not, in the name of God turned his stomach.

Finan could see the fires burning around the monastery walls as they made their way up the road. He shared nervous glances with Uhtred and Sihtric as they came to a stop in a dense thicket of trees just before the clearing. He could see the lone noose hanging from the branch of a tree swinging ominously in the light of the setting sun.

“We will wait to see what they charge her with. When they drop her, I will cut the rope, while Sihtric and Finan distract them. Osferth, you will wait until I am back on my horse with the girl and you will give the signal to the others. I will go directly south from here, and meet you in Eoferwic tomorrow,” Uhtred ordered.

Finan smirked and nodded, sharing a smirk and knowing look with Sihtric before splitting away from Osferth and Uhtred.

He and Sihtric skirted around the monastery easily, settling on the vacant side hidden by trees and overgrown bushes. “So… What are we setting on fire?”

Sihtric scoffed and shook his head, “You are as bad as Uhtred, my friend.” Finan laughed, grinning at the younger Dane. It was easy enough to decide what to sacrifice, a small field with little chance of the fires spreading. He watched and waited, perched in the tall grass at the edge of the field, as the monks began spilling out into the courtyard. They seemed far too excited, like Danes at the first sight of blood.

Finan didn’t see her at first; he only noticed her arrival when the monks started falling over themselves, screaming about a witch and a demon. But then he saw her — dark hair spilling down to her waist, walking toward her death with her head held high. He could not deny he was impressed by her; even more so when she slashed the arm of a priest, a wicked smile set on her face as she was hoisted off the ground, noose tied around her throat.

He found he could not look away from her as she stared ahead, eyes blazing in the fires set up in the square. Something about her was magnetic and otherworldly. Finan had to tear himself from her gaze for long enough to toss a lit branch into the field as the priest read off her list of crimes.

The first cry of alarm couldn’t have been better timed, ringing out into the night as the barrel she stood on was tipped. He saw the glint of a sword and the woman disappeared.

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