#she’s just too pragmatic to place a bet on an uncertain hand

[eliotquillon]

what breaks my heart about the ending of wayward is the fact that ollivan had the evidence to prove his innocence all along. maybe he wouldn’t have been able to get hester to turn against fisk without the extra incentive of using it to emancipate cassia, but the evidence was always there. the eyewitnesses were always out there. fisk was weak and ollivan had enough dirt on him to bury him in it and might have been able to secure his old life back that way but instead of choosing revenge ollivan chose to help his sister. throughout wayward cassia calls him selfish and a lying narcissist but that’s his final narrative act. trading the proof of his innocence for cassia’s freedom.

[conretewings]

-A SMALL OBSTACLE-

**ATTENTION. THIS IS A RE-UPLOAD. I edited some things and added an epilogue. Please enjoy and reblog if you want**

(I'd like to dedicate this story to @mistwolf4, who's kindness, support, and discussions with me on it helped make it possible.)

When Salem had something to accomplish, she'd usually pick whoever's particular skills were most closely aligned to the task; when technological expertise or sly infiltration was in order, she called upon Watts. When wise diplomacy or intimidation, real or implied, was needed, she'd send Hazel. And when the seeds of chaos needed to be sown or a target taken care of, Tyrian was all too happy to serve.

Bearing this in mind, it wasn't often that all three men in the Grimm queen's inner circle were sent on a mission together; in fact this was only time in recent memory. All of their abilities, she had said, would be crucial. They had no idea about the small yet critical obstacle that lie ahead in their path...

Things started out just fine when they left Evernight in a 'borrowed' Mistral airship. They made it to the first rendezvous point, took care of that aspect of the mission-but when they returned to the vessel found themselves facing an unexpected issue.

Watts banged one fist on the control console after failing for nearly the seventh time to get the ship started, "What the hell is wrong with this heap of garbage?!"

Tyrian poked his head up from an access hatch in the floor, holding a wrench, "I tightened the bolts you pointed out...nothing?"

"Clearly not," the doctor replied with an eyeroll Tyrian didn't see, then leaned his head out the open window, "Is the power supply properly connected Hazel?"

The tall man nodded, closing a panel on the ship's side, "Everything looks fine."

Watts sighed, turning and going to the same access hatch Tyrian had vacated and was now crouching beside. Turning a couple of his rings, he swept a hand out, creating small hard-light platforms in front of his feet, using them as steps as he descended into the small main mechanical control room.

He began to fidget with several controls, muttering and cursing to himself as Hazel, having re-entered, and Tyrian stood nearby, unsure of how and if they could do anything. The scorpion Faunus caught Hazel's eye and gave a shrug before crawling onto the co-pilot's chair, and the taller man sighed, crossing his thick arms and leaning against the wall.

He knew if they couldn't get the thing started soon they'd be out of luck. Thus, ever the pragmatic one, he moved to kneel beside the hatch and said, "Arthur, if we can't get it going, we'll have to be stuck here for the night, or try and secure another mode of transportation. I suggest we head back into town and weigh our options."

A loud rattling and clang was heard from the dimly lit room below, coupled with Watts poking his head into view, "Absolutely not," he huffed, tossing a scorched, blackened piece of metal and wire onto the floor then ascending on more of his hard-light steps, brushing his clothes off, "I've located the issue. This," he picked the piece up, "Is one of the spark plugs for the main engine. We'll just grab a spare from the toolkit, install it and be on our way. Tyrian could you grab me the toolkit? It's the same one you grabbed the wrench from."

"There was nothing like that in there that I saw." Tyrian answered, cocking his head, long braid flopping over his shoulder.

Watts rolled his eyes again, striding to and flipping open a large steel box, "Rubbish. There has to be. There's always at...at least...oh for the brothers sake!"

He stood, pinching the bridge of his nose, "There isn't one."

"I told you, dear Arthur." Tyrian said with a sing-song tone, batting his eyes and earning himself a sideways, sour glance.

Hazel pushed himself to his feet, "We have two choices. One is to let her Grace know. The other is to head back into town to purchase the part we need. If we're quick option two is our best bet."

"No, no, you're right as usual my exceptionally tall fellow," Watts relented, giving his jacket another dusting for good measure and walking to the exit ramp, "I'll be back as soon as possible."

"I'm coming too," said Hazel as he too moved toward the door, "I'll grab a few other things in case we run into something like this again."

Tyrian leapt from the chair and swept up behind them, "Well, don't leave me out of the party! It's no fun being here all by myself!"

Watts waved a hand dismissively, "Fine fine! Let's just hurry and get this done."

An hour later, they had finally located a shop that carried the parts they needed. Watts was inside handling the purchase, Tyrian had joined him, and once Hazel had grabbed what he wanted he stepped outside to wait. The man leaned against the side of the store, slightly down the alley between it and the neighboring building minding his own business and trying to remain as inconspicuous as was feasible. It had clouded over in their walk here, and now the sky above was dark and heavy with the threat of rain.

As he stood, keeping an eye out for possible trouble as he always did, he suddenly felt a tugging at his pant leg and looked down to see...a small child gazing intently up at him. She looked to be about five years old, with dirt-streaked brown hair and an equally filthy dress. One hand clutched a stuffed toy with the other firmly knotted in the fabric of his pants, and she stared up at him fearlessly with bright blue eyes.

He resolved to ignore her, as she was likely simply seeking attention or to play a joke on him, neither of which he felt like dealing with. Thus he looked away again, crossing his arms and hoping she'd get bored and leave. After a minute or so of continued efforts, the tugging became more insistent and she spoke up, "'Scuse me mister!"

He sighed, relenting and making eye contact, "Yes?"

"Where's my mama?" she asked plaintively.

Hazel was momentarily taken aback. Of all the people around she had, for some reason, chosen him. Was she truly lost, or did she simply wander off and her mother was right nearby, frantically searching for her? No doubt it was the latter, and not having time to deal with lost waifs, yet unable to force himself to turn a blind eye-there were monsters other than Grimm about-he resolved to take care of this matter quickly. He carefully knelt, still towering above her but slightly less intimidating and asked, "When and where did you see her last?"

The child pursed her lips, looking away for a moment, "Umm...three days ago?"

Hazel felt his heart sink; three days meant it was the former situation after all.

Fishing in her pocket, the girl held out a piece of paper, "She gave me this but I can't read it..."

Taking it, Hazel unfolded it and quickly realized he was now entangled in a much darker, more complex situation. The note read, 'I can't take care of her anymore. Her aunt lives in Fellstone at 36 Walnut St. take her there.'

His brows knitted and he exhaled so lowly in his throat it was almost a growl. There had to be a police station nearby he could drop her off at, though he wondered why the child hadn't been taken there in the first place. Standing again, he stuffed the paper in a pocket and motioned for her to follow.

"Come on. I'll take you to someone who can help."

She gave a tiny gasp of delight, grinning ear-to-ear and reaching her hand up toward him. He paused, realizing she was trying to hold his as they walked, but pretended he didn't notice and kept on. They made their way through the muddy streets, Hazel taking frequent downward glances to make certain she was still there. His Scroll beeped, and taking a look saw the message from Watts: 'Where are you??' He quickly tapped out a reply; 'Had to take care of something be right back'

In only a few minutes they had reached a police outpost and though he was naturally wary of calling attention to himself, especially with law enforcement, he rapped his calloused knuckles on the door. It immediately flew open, a portly man doing a double-take at the figure in front of him.

"Oh-hello sir. What's the trouble?"

Hazel gestured to the small girl beside him, handing the officer the paper she'd had, "This child approached me...she was, apparently, abandoned by her mother. The note lists a relative."

The officer took the paper, looked from it to the girl, who waved at him, then shrugged, "Look, I know you mean well, but here's the thing; I know this kid. Her mom is a good-for-nothing drunk and is always in some sort of crisis. This isn't the first time she's ditched her and vanished. She'll probably be back soon. There's nothing we can do."

Hazel cocked an eyebrow, "I'm sorry?"

Again the officer shrugged, then coughed and handed the paper back, "I said there's nothing we can do. You can leave her here, or at the pub on Eighth, or Cherry and Pilwin. Those are her favorite haunts. Bye."

With that he shut the door practically in Hazel's face. His fists clenched, part of him wanting to punch a hole right through it. He wasn't naïve; the lines between good and evil in the world were, quite often, more blurry than most cared to believe or admit, however he still found himself entertaining the notion that at least some of those that were supposed to be in a position of protecting others would do just that.

He looked down at the child, whose wide eyes were wavering and uncertain, having clearly comprehended the adult's discussion. So she was truly on her own, with no one willing to lend a hand...except him. Despite his better judgement, in a flash of something deep and long-forgotten he sighed again and extended his hand to her, "If you still wish, I'll help you."

Her expression brightened, just a little, and she reached up, her tiny hand managing to wrap around several of his fingers.

"What's your name?" he asked as they made their way back toward the shop where his companions were, likely, impatiently awaiting his return.

"I'm Greta!" she proudly declared, then held up her toy, "And this is Stinky! What's yours?"

He inhaled sharply, stopping short. It wasn't her name, but it was close enough to send an aching stab through his chest. Drawing a deep breath to steady himself again, pushing the emotions and memories back into the corners of his mind where they usually were, he glanced at her and nodded.

"I'm Hazel. I'm going to take you to your family, Greta. I promise."

Watts paced briskly, hands tightly clasped behind his back and mouth pressed to a thin line. Tyrian stood much more casually, leaning against a tree at the edge of town where they'd decided to meet. His tail waved lazily and he watched the doctor's increasingly agitated state with amusement.

"Oh Watts you'll wear a rut in the ground at this pace," he said with a chuckle and stretched, "I'm certain our compatriot will be here any minute."

"Where IS that oaf?! This was HIS idea and now he's run off to who-knows-where!" he gestured to the sky with it's dark, roiling clouds, "It's going to downpour any moment and he can't even-finally!"

As he was ranting Hazel turned the corner of a nearby building and approached them. Watts raised his hands palms up in a sarcastic gesture, "Ah, at last, he returns. Now, let's get out of here. We-"

He froze mid-sentence, as now Greta peered out from behind Hazel's coat and gaped curiously at him and Tyrian. The scorpion Faunus perked up instantly, making a soft 'oooh' sound. Hazel moved his hand to indicate to her to stay back and at this Watts drew a sharp, deep breath, drawing himself up.

"Hazel. What. Is that?"

The large man glanced at Greta, then back to Watts. He had overheard how the doctor had referred to him and chose his response accordingly, "I believe this is what most would call a child."

"You know PERFECTLY well what I mean!" Watts barked, jabbing a finger in his direction, "Why is she with you?"

Hazel sighed, full well knowing this was going to be inordinately difficult no matter what, "She approached me seeking help, and I discovered her mother has abandoned her. She was kind enough at least to include a note listing a nearby relative. I'm taking her to them."

Watts rubbed his temples, his face reddened with frustration, "You can't possibly be serious..."

Tyrian snorted, "I don't recall Her Grace saying anything about babysitting stray children. Did you forget we have a job to accomplish?"

"Thank you dear Tyrian!" Watts quickly replied, then addressing Hazel pointed at Greta, "This is not your responsibility or problem. Put it back where you found it, and be quick we need to make headway before it rains or gets too dark."

Hazel said nothing for a moment. He knew this was exactly the response he would get, and had prepared for it.

"Fellstone, where her aunt lives, is right on our way. With the winds how they are, even with these two detours, we'll get to our next stop on time or ahead of schedule. And speaking of responsibility, if anything should go wrong I will shoulder it myself."

His teammates stared in defeated exasperation; they knew all too well that once he'd set his mind to something, there was no stopping him. Watts threw his hands in the air, grumbling and cursing and spun on his heel as he began the trek back to their ship. Hazel mumbled to Greta to stay close as he set off as well. The small girl clutched his coattails, having to trot to keep up. Tyrian slunk off the tree and took up the rear of the group, eyeing Greta now with curiosity...or how a snake does a mouse. He crept up closer, and finally the girl noticed. Her eyes widened and she tilted her head, watching his tail sway hypnotically.

"Do you like it?" he said in a sweetly venomous voice, "I certainly do...though many others don't..."

Hazel jerked his head to glower at the Faunus, "Leave her alone."

"Oh, but she's just curious! All I'm doing is providing some entertainment for her for the walk! Surely-"

"Leave. Her. Alone." he repeated, this time in a low threatening growl.

Chuckling, Tyrian raised his hands in a mock gesture of surrender and picked up the pace until he reached Watts, his tail gently resting on the doctor's back. He grinned and winked over his shoulder, and Greta held Hazel's coat a little tighter.

Slowly at first, then swiftly picking up into a steady rhythm, the rain finally came only minutes later. With a disgruntled shout of 'I told you' Watts unfurled his umbrella and took off towards the ship, which was now in sight, although still a ways off. Tyrian tried to shelter himself as much as possible with him, mockingly calling behind them to hurry.

Hazel picked up his pace; he had never minded the rain, but they did need to move quickly. Greta, still clinging to his coat, now struggled even more to keep up. She panted and moved her small legs as fast as she could, but between his naturally long strides and the wet ground she just couldn't-and tripped, tumbling to her knees. She knelt where she'd fallen, clutching her toy and started to cry. Hazel stopped a couple steps ahead and sighed.

"Come on, you need to get up."

"I caaaaan't!" she sniffled, "You're too fast and I'm getting tired!"

"You have to try."

"I can't!!" she repeated, then curled in on herself miserably.

He exhaled wearily. He had chosen to take charge of this situation, and now he needed to find ways to navigate it. They had to move, but she was clearly exhausted especially after everything she'd no doubt been through. An idea came to him...

"Greta."

She looked up at him from the muddy ground, her blue eyes clearly showing her weariness yet still holding that fearless fire. He knew she had a fighter's spirit, she must if she was able to survive on her own. He decided to nurture that, while also clearing up this obstacle.

"Sometimes, you'll be tired and hurting and want to give up. You can't. You have to try to push yourself just a little more to reach your goal. If you get up and walk to me I will carry you the rest of the way."

She regarded him solemnly, then wiping her face with one hand pushed herself to her feet and as confidently as she could muster, made her way to him, where she squared her shoulders as she looked up, "I did it."

"Good. Now then..."

He scooped her up with one arm, her slight weight nearly nothing to him, and started to walk. In moments he noticed the rain still pelting her, even worse now that it had picked up further. Yet another idea crossed his mind, one that would shelter her from the brunt of it and enable him to move faster. He loosened the belt overlaying his coat, tugging it aside enough to place her underneath, where she was now tucked against his chest and torso and re-cinched the belt, essentially turning it into a makeshift sling.

"Hold on." he said, and he felt her knot her hands in his shirt as he took off at a run.

Greta peered out as they moved, seeing the trees lining the road fly by. She held tight as he'd instructed, feeling his warmth and the strong, steady drumbeat of his heart. He had been so nice to her, even though he was big and looked kinda mean. Most people were actually mean. He reminded her of her papa...she barely remembered him, except that he was big and nice too. She smiled, nestling herself snugly against him and feeling happier than she had in a long time.

A couple minutes later Hazel made it inside the ship, taking a moment to rest from running in the now deluge outside. Watts and Tyrian were already hard at work on repairs, and Tyrian looked up at him with a fake pout.

"Oh, poor thing, you're soaked through!"

Hazel ignored him and went to his quarters, which normally on one of these ships was meant to sleep three people but was the only room big enough for him. Removing his charge from his coat and setting her on the unused bed, he then shed the garment entirely. Stepping into the tiny adjoining bathroom he grabbed a clean towel, coming back to her.

"You need to dry off. Here..." he carefully rubbed her head and she giggled, shaking out what he now realized was a soft auburn-brown hair. The rain had actually cleaned her up quite a bit. He then wrapped the towel snugly around her and told her to keep it on for a while. This done he sat heavily on his own bed across from her to plot his next move; he was loathe to admit he hadn't a clue what he was doing. Step one; get her off the street, sheltered, and on her way to her aunt, was complete. Now step two..?

He looked through the open door of the room, then back to her, sitting there swinging her legs and making her toy 'walk' across the blankets, "Are you hungry?"

Greta nodded, "I could eat a doughnut thiiiiiis big!" And spread her arms as far as she could.

"Then I'll get you something," he stood, not letting her see him wince. It was true he couldn't feel pain, but all the stiffness and joint damage he'd done to himself cropped up from time to time. "Stay here. I'll be right back."

He made his way to a small back area that served as a crude kitchenette, opening a cabinet to see what they had left. Some military rations left from Brothers-knew-when that they'd ignored, Watt's stash which was strictly off-limits, though for a moment Hazel considered it, some canned goods, and then a few of his own homemade protein bars and pre-packaged pastries. He took one of the protein bars and an apple danish and headed back. Upon entering he didn't see her, so he knelt to look under the beds and finding nothing, started to feel a ripple of concern.

"Greta?" he inquired.

His ears caught the softest rustle and giggle, and upon her bed saw the blanket move ever so much. He realized now where she was and stepped over to flip the blanket aside. Out popped a proudly grinning Greta, "BOO! You found me!"

"Good, I thought you'd wandered off."

"Awwww!" she pouted, "But I'm a scary ghost!"

"...Is the scary ghost still hungry?"

"YEAH!"

Greta jumped to her feet and upon spotting the danish, practically tried to climb him to get at it. He quickly handed it over and she plopped herself in the middle of the bed, tearing into the food with gusto, doing little bounces and hums of joy. He sat across from her, slowly eating the protein bar she'd rejected and wondering for probably the dozenth time what he'd gotten into.

Abruptly the vessel shuddered, and he could hear the engines roaring to life coupled with Watt's triumphant shout. The ship started to lift off, and Greta gasped, dropping the wrapper from her danish and scrambling to the window, seeing the ground move further away.

"Are we flying Mr. Hazel?!"

"Yes."

She began to bounce on the mattress, chanting and laughing "I'm flying I'm flying!" while flapping the towel she still wore like a pair of wings. Seeing her overjoyed by something to him so mundane, and often grim depending on the situation, plucked some long-dormant thread in his soul and he actually felt himself crack a small smile.

"I thought you were tired." he wondered.

"I-am-but-I'm-too-busy-flying-!" she answered in between bounces, then suddenly cried, "Oh no I've been attacked I'm falling catch meeeee!"

Crouching for extra power, Greta leapt and launched herself off the bed right at Hazel. Caught off guard, he nevertheless leaned forward and easily caught her, where she wriggled in his arms and laughed. He raised his eyebrow, again pondering why in the world she'd chosen him...but he was starting to be glad for it. After a minute she stopped and even started to slump against him. He pried her off and held her out to see her eyes slowly blinking, and she yawned loudly.

"I'm...sleepy...too much...flying. Had to make it to...the castle..."

"Then let's get you to bed."

He stepped across to her bed, fixing the blanket as much as possible before setting her down and pulling the covers over her. She suddenly bolted upright, lamenting, "Stinky?! Where's Stinky?"

Hazel bent and lifted the toy from the floor where it'd fallen during her aerial mishap, his best guess being it was a badger, and handed it over. Greta clutched the animal lovingly to her chest and Hazel stood.

"Be careful with your friends. Alright, I'll be right nearby if you wake up and need something. Goodnight, Greta."

"Wait!! Don't leave me! Mama left please don't leave me alone again!"

"I have to go keep watch so you're safe."

"Pleeeeeease?!" she pleaded, on the verge of tears.

He paused, seeing the genuine fear and longing for some sort of reassurance in her face, then sighed, sitting on her bed and scooting so his back was resting on the wall. He gestured and she scrambled into his arms, leaning against him as he held her to his torso, where she settled with a long, contented hum. He fully expected her to pass out at any moment.

But then, she craned her neck to gaze up at him, "Can I have a bedtime story?"

He pinched his brow; ah yes. He should have expected this. Though he did do plenty of reading and knew many tales, the bedtime story variety wasn't his forte. He thought for a moment, clearing his throat and Greta leaned forward with expectation.

"Once upon a time, a young girl took a ride on a flying ship. It was a beautiful day, and soon it was night, with lots of stars. She had had a long trip, and got tired. She went to sleep and had wonderful dreams and when she woke up, she was with her family. The end."

Greta stared blankly at him, then pouted, "That's not a real bedtime story!"

"If I tell you another do you promise to try and sleep?" he grumbled, but with a growing tone of affection.

"Pinky promise!" she declared, holding up her small hand.

He hesitated for a moment, but then finished the gesture with her...and a flash of memory he hadn't asked for came to him-

-"If I win this race, you have to do the dishes. If you win, I will!" said Gretchen with her usual bravado.

"Are you going to try and get out of it again?" Hazel replied with a sarcastic smile.

She held out her hand, "Nope! Not this time! I pinky promise!"-

He let his eyes fall shut, carefully refolding the memory and upon remembering another, one perfect for this moment, opened them again. This tale had always been her favorite.

"Very well. Let me tell you the story of The Brave Weaver Girl and the Golden Tree..."

The rain had let up considerably, now simply a gentle patter against the windows, and streaks of moonlight broke through the clouds. Greta was still curled in a ball in Hazel's lap as he continued to speak.

"...and at last, the brave weaver girl had defeated the shape-shifter, and taking some of the golden fruit of the tree to sell, went home to her family. The end."

He glanced down; her eyes were almost closed and her breathing slow and steady. Very carefully, he slid off the bed and turned, gingerly setting her on it and pulling the blanket over her. She hummed, pulling her stuffed toy closer and yawning again as she finally shut her eyes. He slowly started to back away, taking a pillow and a novel with him, hoping she wouldn't notice...and just barely caught her whisper-soft murmur as she said, "G'night papa..."

He stopped short, the shock hitting like he'd been kicked in the gut. ...Papa? His chest tightened uncomfortably and he swallowed hard, conflicting emotions he hadn't known he was still even capable of clawing at him. Exiting, he silently shut the door and turned so his back was against the wall, slumping down until he was sitting cross-legged on the floor to begin his vigil.

Her words kept echoing in his mind. Did she actually believe he was, and that's why she'd approached him? No, if she did she would have said so. It was most likely then she simply saw him as a father figure, a notion that sat heavily in his heart.

He was no type of man to be a father. The things he'd done, the pain he'd caused, all in the promise of a different, hopefully better future yes, but still...he didn't deserve such an honor. Briefly he looked back at his younger self and recalled the time he'd wanted a family of his own someday...a dream long dead.

Hearing footsteps approaching, he flicked his gaze upward to find Watts standing there, a mug of what smelled like coffee in one hand and his Scroll in the other. The doctor stared at him disparagingly for a moment before he spoke.

"May I inquire as to why you're sitting there?"

Hazel glanced around before quietly answering, "I don't trust him."

"Ah, yes, Tyrian did mention you'd ended up bringing your little pet along after all. Well, I'm still not a fan of the whole situation however I'm clearly outmuscled," he leaned against the wall opposite Hazel and took a sip of his drink, "I am curious though; why her? What compelled you to not turn her away?"

"She came to me. I..." he trailed off, having been forced for the first time to truly stop and consider it, "She was an innocent, alone. I know that fate all too well."

"Aaah, I see. Ironic, isn't it?" Watts sniffed, "I wonder how many people you've...dispatched, and here you are suddenly deciding this one life is worth saving. Curious."

Hazel felt his hands clench as they rested on his knees; he was well aware of the many lives he had taken and the, as Watts had put it, ironic nature of this venture. He also was in no mood to be reminded.

He looked Watts squarely in the eyes and said, in that tone denoting having had enough, "If you have nothing productive or helpful to say, I'd like some peace and quiet."

With the faintest eye roll, Watts pushed himself off the wall and turned on his heel towards the front of the ship, saying over his shoulder, "We'll be passing through Fellstone in the morning. Goodnight Mr. Rainart."

Hazel unclenched his fists and let his shoulders relax, having not realized just how much he'd had them tensed. Watt's words had struck a chord, leaving him now with a bitter taste in his throat and dark thoughts he'd hoped to avoid for at least one night. He glanced at the door behind him, through which slept one tiny girl, one that in the brief time she'd been with him, had brought him trouble he hadn't planned on...but also a slight, fragile sliver of joy and even healing. Soon he'd be sending her on her way, but that was good. That was what she needed. For the second time that day, he felt himself forming a small, wistful smile.

Leaning back with the pillow behind his head, he opened his book and settled in for a long, sleepless night...

He sat up with a start, nearly banging his head on the wall. It was much brighter around, and he realized it must be morning. Turning he saw the door was ajar, and with a groan from stiff joints and passing out in an awkward position, he stood and opened the door a little further, stepping in the room. He called her, but got no answer, and assuming it may will be another case of hide-and-seek pulled back the covers of her bed and even the others–but found no sign of her. Fighting back the panic starting to brew, he stepped back into the hall area and called her. It was then he heard her giggling coming from the front control area of the ship and he immediately made his way there-where he froze.

Tyrian sat crouched on a pilot's chair, his tail wrapped around Greta's waist as he rocked her gently back and forth like a swing.

In two long strides Hazel made it over and scooped the small girl up to hold her on his shoulder, cold fury in his eyes, "What are you doing?" he all but growled.

Tyrian stood and wisely sidled around the large man, grinning ear-to-ear, "Ah! Good morning! As I said before, I simply wish to entertain our young guest! She was all alone, poor dear, so Uncle Tyrian came to the rescue! Didn't I, little one?"

"Get out." Hazel stated in a tone that did not invite any further discussion, and Tyrian backed out of the area and out of sight, his smile no less taunting.

It was about an hour later that Watts announced they were near Fellstone and he was going to land the ship a safe distance away. From putting the address into his Scroll, Hazel had realized her aunt's place was a small farm toward the edge of town which was perfect; the less people saw them the better. The thick fog that had settled over the land after last night's rain would further disguise them.

With what time the pair had left, Hazel spent much of it telling her stories and she spun her own yarns, though they were generally much more disjointed.

"Are you gonna stay with us?" she asked at one point as she traced invisible patterns on his arm.

"No. I can't, I have places I need to go. I'm sorry."

"Oh..." she said with disappointment, pressing herself into him a little more, "Okay...hey!" She brightened and clapped her hands, "Maybe you can come visit!"

He felt his stomach knot up. No. He knew what he was, what he'd still have to do, how death and danger were always nipping his heels. The moment she found out who he truly was she'd rightfully despise him-as well as be in grave danger herself. No...it was safest for her if she never saw him again. "Perhaps. We'll have to wait and see..."

Finally, Watts called to him that he was going to land as close as he could, and that they had to make it quick in order to stay on schedule. Hazel sighed and gently picked her up, making her make sure she had Stinky, and they made their way to the outside hatch and down the ramp.

It was damp, and the fog was so dense it obscured the small farmhouse only a short ways off, and thankfully the airship behind them. Through the mist however, Hazel could see lights on in the house and could hear sounds of life. Greta gasped, chattering about the times she'd been here before and all the fun things she'd done. He listened to her well, taking a mental snapshot of this moment to tuck away for when times were harder, to have a small bright spot to look upon and hope everything he did was worth it in the end.

When they had gotten as close as he dared without him possibly being seen, he set her down, making sure the note she had had with her when he found her was still in the pocket of her dress. He then knelt, also as he had done just the day before.

"Now," he said kindly but sternly, "I held up my end of our deal. I got you to your family, now do you remember your part?"

She saluted, "Be strong, be brave, be good, and don't be a Huntress!"

"Very good. Now then..." he stood, "Go on."

She didn't move, just stared at him with those bright blue eyes. He raised his eyebrow, "Yes?"

She held her arms up, and he realized what she wanted. Lifting her he gave her one more hug, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, whispering, "Thank you Mr. Hazel...I'll never forget you. Thank you for being my Papa for a while."

He again felt that kick in his gut but kept himself steady, telling her it had been his honor, and he set her back down. Without another word she turned and ran toward the house shouting happily. He watched her go with a silent prayer, taking a small piece of what was left of his heart with her. A door flew open and a woman came out, calling her in confusion. The woman scooped her up and held her while crying joyfully; clearly this was indeed her relative. Hazel exhaled with a rare feeling of contentment; she was home.

"Greta! My goodness how did you get here?!" her aunt exclaimed in astonishment.

The girl turned and pointed, "The big nice man rescued me! ...mister?"

But by that time Hazel had turned and left, vanishing into the fog...

-EPILOGUE-

Hazel stood in the woods, the fading sunlight shimmering in golden beams through the thick trees, the air beginning to cool. He felt the weight of his axe across his shoulders and could hear the soft calls of birds and the distant bark of a fox.

Where in the world...?

His nose caught a faint whiff of wood smoke and some sort of food, and he looked around to see a small cluster of houses on the gently sloping hillside near him, with many more in the valley below. One house, set just apart from the others, had wisps of smoke coming from it's chimney, and he could now also hear faint voices.

Oh. Yes. Of course. He was heading home after a day at the lumber mill. It was a good job, and payed well. Dinner would probably be ready soon, unless the kids were especially a handful today. He started toward the house, seeing now signs of movement through the windows. One face appeared and moments later vanished, reappearing as they threw open the front door and started running towards him.

"Papa!! Papa's home!" they called, and two more small figures tumbled out the door as well, all happily calling him. He grinned and knelt, setting the axe down and opening his arms as he braced for impact. Moments later three children collided with him in a flurry of hugs, all excitedly talking over each other as they greeted him and described their day. He chuckled, telling them he'd missed them too and stood, hoisting one under each arm as the third clung to him piggy-back and finished the walk into the house.

Still carrying the kids, Hazel strode into the kitchen area, setting them down in their respective chairs. A tall woman with chestnut hair turned and smiled warmly as she grabbed several plates, "Hey you. Glad you're home."

"Hey..." he returned the smile, stepping up to and gently kissing her, earning a collective 'eww!' from the children. He tried to take the plates from her, offering to set the table, but she yanked them back, asking if he'd washed his hands. He coughed and turned to the sink, and she sighed affectionately.

After dinner, the kids were seated at the large oak dining table, one that Hazel had made himself, with their various craft projects, chatting among themselves while the adults played chess in the living room and enjoyed the cheerful, crackling fire in their fireplace.

"You've been staring at the board for a while. You stumped?"

Hazel shook his head, chin resting on his calloused knuckles, "Not yet."

His wife leaned back with a smug grin, "You're getting much better. Maybe someday you'll win, but-"

He reached and moved a piece a couple places, "I believe that's check."

"Wait how-?!" she scanned the board, then wagged a finger at him with a grin, "Oh ho, I see what you did. Very clever."

He looked up at her, deep brown eyes filled with that challenge and fire he fell headlong into love with what now seemed like ages ago.

"You'll probably still win this game, but you won my heart a million times already."

She paused with her hand above the board and met his gaze in appreciative confusion. Smiling softly with a blush she replied, "Of all the times to say something so romantic...trying to distract me?"

"No. Just being honest."

Her expression softened, smile widening a little, and she leaned across to kiss him tenderly, "I love you too...so much. You just surprised me is all."

"Speaking of surprises," he shifted to place his large hand over her smaller one that was unconsciously resting on her stomach, "When are we going to tell them they'll have a new sibling soon?"

She chuckled, "I guess...now is as good a time as any," turning she called, "Hey! Munchkins! Come here please..."

-He awoke with a choking gasp, bolting upright and sweating, for a few moments throughly bewildered; where was he? Where was his wife, their children? This wasn't his home it was-

Gradually, the fog of sleep seeped away and reality's unwelcome claws sunk their way back into his mind. All of it, the love, the happiness, the peace and sense of normalcy was nothing but the crumbling wishes of his subconscious, no doubt brought on by the previous day's and this morning's detour with Greta. Evidently, the girl must have reignited some embers deep within he had long since assumed to be burned to ash. Now however, alone in the icy moonlight, all of it quickly faded again, along with the faces and laughter of his non-existent family. He didn't bother to hold on to them.

There was no point in mouring that which you've never had and never will, after all.

[bi-naesala]

Clearing his head

After being recruited (forced) back to Ike's side, Shinon takes some time alone to think. (Also on AO3)

Sometimes, Shinon hates his mind.

Maybe that’s not true, but he sure hates the direction his thoughts take when he gets into these kinds of moods.

No matter how hard he tries not to, he seems to be stuck in the past, unable to move on. He can’t help but to think of how things would be different if Greil were still alive.

He’s willing to bet his next pay that things would be better with him still in command, because he would actually know what he’s doing, instead of just being lucky.

He wasn’t like any person Shinon had ever met. A great warrior and chief, pragmatic, but also a genuinely good person; even though Shinon never liked the idea of working for free or for a diminished pay, he was still able to respect his decision to put helping others before his own needs, something that he would never be able to do. It’s also true that, despite this policy, they never suffered hunger, because Greil always made sure to provide for their needs, even with the kids in tow.

He was respected and beloved by everyone, and as for Shinon, well… he truly loved Greil.

How could he not? He was perfect, and now he’s been taken away from him. Well, he was never his to begin with, but at least he was allowed to admire him from afar, even dream about how things could’ve been different when he felt particularly weak, but now he won’t be able to do that anymore.

It’s all that little twerp’s fault.

Shinon takes another gulp of liquor, savoring its bitter taste. And to think that he’s back with these people again…

He’s a pragmatist, so he’s not foolish enough to believe there were any other options that would’ve ended with him alive, but in all honesty he wouldn’t have minded if the kid had had enough courage to actually strike him down. At least he would’ve demonstrated to be able to make hard choices.

Ah, but who cares, right? ‘Cause in the end, it always works out well for him, lucky bastard.

He even had the courage to come bother him while he was sulking on his own. He has such a nerve…

At least he’s had enough sense to leave him alone shortly after that. After all, they both don’t like each other, so why stick around? It would be counterproductive.

Shinon sighs, raising the bottle in his hand to take another sip of liquor… only to find it empty, damn it! He throws the bottle away in frustration, but he winches at noise it makes when it shatters against the rocks. So loud…

He could get up and get something, but he doesn’t feel like moving, not when he’s found the perfect place to spend some time alone - just outside the camp. If he goes back, he’ll be forced to interact with people, which he doesn’t want to.

Not that there aren’t some familiar faces that he could stomach talking to for a while, but at the moment he wants to be completely alone.

Besides, it’s not like Gatrie won’t come looking for him shortly, because he’ll surely be in need of something, and when he needs something he always goes to find him

Yes, of course Gatrie’s here too. It seems that no matter where Shinon goes, he’s cursed to having to endure his presence. Nevermind how much it hurt when he left… No, it didn’t hurt. If the fool wanted to run after the first woman he found, then Shinon wasn’t going to stop him. Served him right when he was going to get rejected. If anything, Shinon felt annoyed because he had gotten used to the commodity of having another person that could help around, but it was something he got over quickly.

So no, it didn’t hurt. He’s never felt so alone in his life, but it didn’t hurt. Shinon doesn’t hurt. Full stop.

Life has thrown too many curved balls at him for him to hurt anymore. He’s learned since a young age that allowing yourself to be vulnerable is the worse thing he could ever do. Nothing can hurt him anymore.

It’s all bullshit.

Losing Greil hurt him, splitting up from Gatrie hurt. Hell, even returning to this army hurt.

Still, Shinon will not succumb to it. As always, he will ignore it.

… He really needs a drink.

Another person he doesn’t mind being close to is Titania. Well, not exactly close, because he doesn’t want to be close to anybody, but he respects her.

The two of them always had a silent agreement: it was obvious to both that they had the same feelings for the same, unreachable person. If, on one hand, that didn’t change anything, on the other, it brought them together in a way they never thought it would; how many sleepless nights have they spent in each other’s silent company, drinking away their thoughts - Titania with moderation while Shinon, well… not quite - that, even though they never voiced them, were obvious to the other?

“Don’t you hate it?” Shinon asked once, “Because I do.” Indeed he hated this helpless sensation he was feeling all the time.

He expected Titania to disagree with him, because there was almost nothing they really agreed upon, but he was still surprised by her reply. “No,” she said in fact. “I’d rather feel this than nothing at all.”

This was something that Shinon couldn’t understand: he never liked to be reminded of his weaknesses, having them exposed in such a raw manner that they seemed to be carved out of him while he was left bleeding on the ground, and yet he couldn’t change it, no matter how hard he tried. It left him aching and exposed, and everybody smart enough to know how the world works could guess that it wasn’t an ideal situation, but here Titania was, saying those words to him.

I’d rather feel this than nothing at all.

Is she dumb? Why should she want to live like this, hurting?

Shinon couldn’t understand.

“Hey.”

Shinon doesn’t even move his gaze from where he’s staring - just an indefinite space in the void - because he recognizes who that voice belongs to.

Without even saying anything himself, he nods at her, and Titania takes it as a permission to sit by him, not that she wouldn’t have done it either way…

They both remain silent.

Funny, in a way this isn’t that different from how things used to be. If Shinon pretends hard enough, he could even believe that this has been just a bad dream, that here they are moping for the umpteenth time about how impossible it is that their love for Greil will ever be reciprocated but not because he’s dead, but simply because it’s obvious that his heart still belongs to Elena.

Yes, he could certainly do that…

“I’m glad you’re back with us.”

Shinon’s neck almost snaps for how fast he turns towards Titania, uncertain on whether she’s actually broken the silence, or if he imagined it. Did she really say that?

Knowing her, yes, she must’ve said that. She has a tendency to get sentimental when she lets her guard down, something that never fails to annoy Shinon… And yet, this time, he doesn’t know how to take it.

He doesn’t have any energy in him to be mad, or to say something rude, so he just shrugs. “Thanks,” he says, voice neutral.

He hasn’t exactly told her off, but it’s not even an invitation to continue, and in fact Titania doesn’t add anything for a long time.

She waits until the sky gets darker before speaking again.

“We should get back,” she says, voice gentle but firm, not wanting to get on Shinon’s nerves, but also not giving any room to object. She gets up, without waiting for Shinon’s answer, and then she stretches a hand towards him.

Does hewant to get back? Not really, but what choice does he have? He’s part of this army, after all, so he can’t decide to do things on his own, despite how much he’d want to.

Besides, it’s just him or it’s getting colder by the second? With that in mind, going back to camp might be the wise choice after all, and he’s not saying that because maybe, and just maybe, he’s missed the people he had left. It’s not true, of course, but if it were - which again, it isn’t - it would be very deep down, deeper than the deepest thought, very very deep down, so deep that nobody would be able to see it.

He looks at the hand offered towards him, then at Titania, then back at the hand.

A huff escapes his lips and he lightly shakes his head, and yet, he accepts the hand.

[queenofpurgatoryx]

PART TWO (Sinan x Osman) 

part one

things escaletes a little.

.

For awhile nothing happened, nothing that indicated that night where Osman tended Sinan's wounds on the bench was real.

There had been a few occurances where his gaze lingered a little too long Sinan's recovering hands and maybe Sinan seemed less like a jerk who only opposed his ideas. He still talked back and called Osman's pragmatic plans out but his tone was gentler, maybe. Maybe Osman imagined a faint smile when he helped Sinan get up from the ground, holding on to his hands and feeling the scar tissue for a moment. It might all be in his head or it might mean nothing but the sense of belonging to somewhere kept increasing as the gang got closer and Osman paid no attention to him.He tried not to pay attention to him but his mind was spirilling, really.

More and more lately he had started to wake up earlier. He would peel some carrots, prepare some cucumbers with salt, dried fruits as snacks. Because he noticed everything, and he noticed the way Eda was not eating much, especially anything that was unhealthy. Well, besides alcohol of course. It was less complicated then Sinan because Eda only insisted on not eating a couple of times before caving and grabbing a few pieces of carrots.These kind of small things pushed Osman through. He loved being in control and he loved being able to make himself useful.Sinan on the other hand, was obsessed with not accepting any help from others. When Osman played the nurse and patched Kerem and Sinan up for the first time, it had taken the rest of the gang to beg him to let Osman do it. He had only caved after Osman had helped Kerem, maybe he had felt like it was normal for their group of friends.

Until the night where Sinan had called him and everything had went out of control, Osman was always tentative when it came helping Sinan. He made the spare sandwiches but never gave them directly to Sinan. Sometimes he had to put ingridients that he knew Sinan wouldn't like, just to give the impression that it was not meant for him.That night did change somethings after all. Osman got bold and made the sandwich just as the way Sinan liked it. Offered to take of his bandages the next day and cleaned them out gently.

He even went as far out to grab Sinan's bottle to take a swing while they were chatting after school. Sinan was not a person that would deny a request to share his drink but Osman hadn't asked, just taking the bottle and starting drinking in mid conversation. He held on to it for couple of minutes and when he gave it back, it was almost empty.Sinan glared at him and pulled the bottle back into his pocket. From the way he had tensed, Osman could guess his next move so he slided his hand over the bench and placed it on his knee, pushing down a little.

"Don't go," he said simply, his voice was overshawdowed by Işık'a and Kerem's heated voices.

Sinan was holding the edge of the bench, his fingers curling around the hard wood until his knuckles were white. For a moment, Osman waited for Sinan to get up and leave and tell him to fuck off, ran towards the nearest shop to refresh his bottle. Yet, Sinan stayed and Osman's hand lingered on his knee for a bit longer than intented. 

He was playing a dangerous game and but it was too much fun. For someone who was mixed with gambling and the joys of betting, he had never truly understood the appeal until now. He had no interest in thing that were uncertain, yet, he kind of saw the appeal of the danger, the nervousness that came with a good game.

.

After that it was small gestures.

Brushing Sinan’s hair back in the school garden or sitting a bit too close on the couch, helping each other to get up from the ground with a hand. Simple things that nobody would pay attention to but Osman did. First, because it was Osman and he noticed every little detail. Second, it was Sinan and every detail meant something when it came to him. Osman did not understand the nature of this game and he couldn’t estimate the outcome- it was very stressfull. However he was playing a little less attention to his businesses. He was feeling a little more motivated to go to school. He helped his parents with house work a little more often.It was because of the gang. And maybe, because of the game too.

.

Yet the game did not escalated for a while. That was until one day, he was chased by a group of highschoolers.

It was an ordinary friday where he skipped the 5th class that was before the lunch break because he simply hated chemistry and took a walk to the grocery store near by. Picking some fresh fruits according to everyone's favorites (Eda had called him a freak for remembering this small detail but she was smiling bright as she munched on her cherries the first time he had done it.)

He got a little from everything and ignored the shop keepers’ curious glance, smiling to himself as he moved on to green apples. He hated them, too sour for his taste, he had a sweet tooth but he grabbed a few for Sinan. How fitting, his favorite fruits were all the ones that made you grimace at the first bite but a lot of people couldn't stop eating.There was a faint smile on his lips and he was whistling a familiar melody as he was walking back to school with his hands full with bags. It was nearly the end of season for strawberries and it was a shame. Osman loved the summer and loved strawberries- they were Kerem’s favorite too.

The last days of tshirt wheatwer was kind to his skin and he was happy without a reason. Thus, he was careless and it was too late when he spotted them in the distance, recognizing them from right away though.

“We want our money back.” There were four of them and the tallest one of the group was speaking.

Osman stopped immidietly and placed a fake yet polite smile on his face. “As it was established, the game was not rigged. However, I do believe that we can come to-“

“Are we gonna let this one talk our ears off again?” One of them spat and he looked angry. Well, this was an unpleasant situation.

“We want our money back, now,” the first boy muttered with more confidence now.

Osman trusted his ability talk his way out of things but he was not too prideful to accept defeat and flee the scene. His pride came from the way he trusted the ability to act rationally and his instincts told him start running. It also told him to drop the bags as they were slowing him down but momentarily, he wanted to trust his luck, maybe he could get away with the fruits.

Osman had never been a lucky person though, that's why he was logical. He tripped and almost hit his head on the ground. The last minute he was able to protect his face with his hands and he quickly got up, fruits were scattered all around the street and he had smashed the cherries with his torso. He got up quickly and sprinted, thank God he had freakishly long legs and didn't spare a glance to the people that were chasing him.

He saw the school's entrance and almost smiled, he was so tired but with the last ounce of strenght in his muscles he held on to the bars, pulled himself up, prying that those idiots were not idiots enough to follow him into the school ground and he jumped.

His balance was off and he yelped in pain as he landed the ground with a thud and fell forward. It was almost the end of 5th period and he tried to pull himself together without a teacher catching him but as he got up, he grimicad with the sharp pain coming from his left anckle and he grimiced as he pushed himself forward.He almost hopped, rather slowly towards their usual hide out at the backyard away from prying eyes but students were starting to come out the second the bell had rang. He bit his lip and ignored curious glances, it was until he heard his name being called.

"Osman, oh my God! What happened?" Işık was running towards him with full force with wide eyes, always so dramatic.

Osman understood the severity of the situation when even Kerem almost sprinted towards him with worry on his face. He glanced down and saw the red stain on his usually perfectly white shirt and sighed. Before he could clearify, the whole gang was by his side, Sinan was the last on to arrive but he was the first one to push them aside and hold on to him by the arms.

 "Where is the wound? Can you walk? Do you-"

"Hey, hey! Slow down. I'm okay, its just a stain from the cheeries," he shrugged off.

Eda inhaled sharply. "Goddammit, he is delusional."

Osman let out a chuckle and tried to reassure them standing tall, putting his weight on his right and showed his torso by untucking his partly messed up shirt. "See? I'm fine. I just ran for five minutes straight let me sit down first to tell the story before any teachers come around and asks questions."

Everyone seemed relieved after that but Işık was still eying him suspiciously. He took a step forward with confidence but his limping was clear as the day even if the way his face twisted was not.Sinan was by his side in no time, wrapping an arm around his waist and encouraging him to loop an arm around his shoulder to help him up. Osman tilted his head to catch his eye but Sinan was not looking at him, he was able to smell the booze coming out of him though.

They started to walk away and people stopped giving them stares since Kerem was there to stare right back at them. Osman gasped with pain several times and everytime he did, Sinan's fingers dug into his skin as if he wanted to hold him tighter. "Aren't you going to carry me? Bridal style? I deserve a piggy back ride at least," he muttered once the others decided get food, water and some medical supplies to patch him up.They were almost there and Sinan huffed, tilting his head to spare a glance. 

"You are bit too heavy for that, princess."Osman chuckled, he was a bit too tired for banter and he couldn't help but hiss as he sat down, leaning back against the cold concreate. His mind was racing with several different thoughts all at once, chasing each other and tangling into a bigger mess than his life was with questions to be answered and plans to be made.

He came to his senses when Sinan brushed the back of his hand against his. He turned his head towards him and almost liked the worry in his stare. He always liked when Sinan's face held some type of emotion other than disinterest. He looked calmer now though, his hair was a bit messier than usual perhaps.Sinan grabbed his hands and rotated it to examine, turned his palm upwards at the end and stared at the cuts. Osman hadn't even realized them, he must've had them when he fell down.

"You're not gonna play the nurse, are you? Because I don't want to burst your buble but I kind of do not trust you to attend to my wounds."

"Shut up," was the only response he got.He didn't say anything while Sinan poured a bottle of water on his hands to clean them, the cuts were not deep anyway. "I can pour some alcohol on them. They could get infected."

Osman didn't say anything, while Sinan opened the bottle and poured a little, pain jolted in his body and he gasped. Sinan held on to his hand and didn't yield even though Osman had yanked them back instinctively. "Its okay, its over now," he said softly and did the other hand.

The pain went as fast as it came, it stunk a little but he felt fresher. His hand throbbed with the aftermath and his ankle ached a bit but he was okay. His shoulders relaxed and he slid a bit down on the bench, closing his eyes as he rested. "I could get used to not being the nurse for once."

"Well, I liked the previous arrangement better," Sinan stated and Osman opened his eyes. Before he could remark Sinan was continiuning to speak. "A lot of people become doctors because they have a God complex. They want to be the saviour, to have that kind of power. But seeing people in pain even when you're helping is agonizing."

Osman was waiting for a punchline, for Sinan'a little pep talks to circle back to something cynical. It didn't and Sinan avoided his gaze.

"I'm sorry," Sinan said. Osman was too confused to react, he almost shivered when Sinan touched his hand, turning it upwards to take a closer look. "Maybe I should use your methodology and-"

"What are you sorry-"

They both had to stop talking as the others came back. The warmth he was feeling on his left side was gone and that's when he realized they were sitting close in the first place. The warmth in his face remained.

"Here, my spare shirt," Kerem pushed a wrinkled shirt into his hands.

"Why do you have a spare shirt? I thought only goody goods had spare uniforms in their lockers."

"Hey, there is nothing wrong being prepared," Işık stated and Eda rolled her eyes.

“My case stands.”

"I mess a shirt up every week or so," Kerem clerified.

Osman had always been the caregiver. He was the one that remembered little details and paied attention and took care of others. Yet, he did like the recieving end of stuff as he ate the sandwich that Eda had brought. Işık had bandaged his ankle and he was laughing as he wore Kerem's shirt, complaining about the wrinkles as he straightened his tie back.

"Remember that bet I had a week ago and the guys were insistent that the game was rigged-"He told the story and he felt okay, he couldn't help but feel a little warmer everytime Sinan touched him casually though, stroking his knee, touching his arm, brushing past his hand... Two could play this game.

.

i think there will be one more part where we finally get whats going on with sinan and his actions will make sense. or i am delusional and there will be two more, i’m not sure yet. funfact for the 3 people that are reading: my grandfather was hit by a car and it was very harmless but he had been carrying cheeries. his shirt was tainted and it looked like blood, causing everyone around to panic lol , the idea came to out of nowehre to be written into a random fic. let me know what you think!

[arysthaeniru]

What if Clara was a midwife?

“The midwife is a relic of barbarism. In civilized countries the midwife is wrong, has always been wrong. The greatest bar to human progress has been compromise, and the midwife demands a compromise between right and wrong. All admit that the midwife is wrong.” - Dr Joseph DeLee, 1915 being completely wrong. 

Listen, I love Clara so much. She’s so weird, and everybody kind of hates her, and her weird double is so trippy, and I adore her sass. And everyone knows that Ice Pick Lodge didn’t quite have enough time/resources to shore up her route in Pathologic 1. And I just keep thinking: I do love Clara as she is, but imagine if she was a adolescent midwife, instead of a weird healer child! Imagine how much more thematically cohesive everything would be!

Clara’s story route is all about how old and new CAN coexist together, but it requires maintained, thoughtful sacrifice, to create that peace. That essence of sacrifice is what every midwife goes through all the times. What can pragmatically be sacrificed? Whose life is more important? How do you deal with the tensions and demands of the old and the new, and who bears the knowledge of that sacrifice? Clara facilitating the birth of something new in the the Town-upon-Gorkhon just becomes so much more interesting with her as a midwife, instead of a saviour figure. 

I also think it would lead better into the idea of doctors who aren’t really seen as doctors solving this plague best. Artemy’s steppe knowledge and Clara’s midwife knowledge would have equally been seen as complete nonsense by people like Daniil, who don’t understand the importance behind those kinds of cures, and the sorts of relationships that have to be maintained for it. 

And why the age-up? I think it just works so much better! Part of being an adolescent negotiating your future and the rest of your life, is that constant diplomacy and sacrifice between old and new. I think it also allows for Clara to have really interesting relationships with the rest of the town’s leadership, because of how being a teenager is such a transition phase.

So imagine with me, if you will, a new Clara and a new route. 

Clara isn’t actually an outsider to the town in this version: she’s Katerina’s bastard daughter. Everybody knows the her secret identity, but she doesn’t really live with the Saburovs anyway, she has her own place, a small but well-maintained house to do her work out of. 

Alexander still trusts Clara, but he resents her now, because she’s a reminder that the lack of children between he and Katerina is not a mutual thing, but specifically his own lack of potency. I bet that would make his ego really dented, and make him even more of an asshole. 

Clara still wakes up in a grave at the beginning of the story, but this time, it’s because she actually really died. When she walks around town, her reputation drops because the dead aren’t supposed to come back to life, and most people are horrified by your existence. 

Clara, upon initially coming back, is told by the Tragedians that she has to save people with her hands--she takes this to mean she continues doing her damn job. But to do that, she needs people to trust her again, and for that she needs Isidor’s approval. Too bad he’s dead now.

Sidenote: Clara’s midwifery job sometimes meant cutting the baby out of the mother. But she can’t legally cut flesh out of anybody, so she’d call Isidor up. She never much liked his necessity, but she and him got along fairly well.

But some of the Kin say that Artemy is a menkhu like his father, so maybe she should run after him to re-establish herself? Too bad Alexander is convinced he killed Isidor, and has already killed three people in town already. Alexander’s death warrant for him means he’s already gone into hiding. She can’t convince him to change his mind about Artemy 

Katerina doesn’t trust Clara anymore: she says her real daughter is dead, and that Clara is here as a horrible monster to lead her and the town astray. She wonders if this is the morphine addling her mind, but then she meets the Rat Prophet and everything makes sense. Also it’s implied the doppleganger is coming around whenever Clara’s not there to intimidate Katerina. 

When Clara goes to sleep, exhausted, confused, and nowhere closer to regaining her job or position in the town, she realizes she’s inherited the visions which she couldn’t see before she died. She’s a Mistress now. 

Capella, who used to be her friend, and Maria with whom she used to be amicable, are unimpressed, and don’t believe in her visions too much. They’re all arguing about the role of the Mistresses in town, and now Klara’s joining the midst, it’s becoming uncomfortable. Klara’s task is to try and convince them of her own validity and her own importance to the future of the town. Capella, especially, is easier to convince, but the weird friendship that used to exist before Clara’s death, is very tenuous, and Artemy can easily fuck it up. 

Speaking of Artemy, when Clara does eventually find him, he’s not actually a menkhu yet, so he’s completely useless on that front. But also, the Plague is happening, and he’s useful there, and he’s getting the trust of his father’s people. You get him to vouch for you, and it temporarily helps, but most people are still too freaked out by you. Clara and Artemy still don’t get along, though, Artemy’s way too condescending of Clara and they bristle against each other, uneasily. 

Daniil, on the other hand, is actually impressed by Clara when they first encounter each other. After all, beating death was the dream, and Clara did it! But Clara doesn’t like how he talks about her work, and also has no idea how she survived her brush with death, so the initial interest fades off, quickly. Daniil and Clara are still prickly with each other, but the threats of violence are less frequent, because a teenaged girl is harder to threaten to spank.  

Notkin, who Clara also used to be friends with, now thinks she’s just a half soul. He’s impressed by that, though, not scared, and all of his kids trade with her. But the Soul and a Halves generally insult Clara before doing anything.  

Khan’s Doghead clan respect Clara, because of her survival, but Khan maintains that the Polyhedron rejects her because she’s too old. Cara can prove him wrong by seeing all of the beautiful mirages of the Polyedron, but also telling him they’re all lies. This can make Khan made and lock off the Polyhedron, but the dogheads will still trade. 

Grace is probably Clara’s only real friend, and even she is being intimidated by Clara’s double. Grace is very convinced by her ability to speak to the dead, and Clara believes her, but also believes it’s dangerous. 

Clara and Andrei almost throw hands on the regular, one, because he thinks she’s presumptuous and very creepy towards her brother, but two, because she also stopped a lot of Herb Brides from coming to Andrei’s establishment, because they were all getting thrush from the twyrine. 

Clara still gets the daily missions to go and verify whether people are responsible for the plague, but this time, it’s because Alexander believes that Clara has inroads with all of them, because of previous midwifey encounters with them. This is true, but most of them don’t trust Clara anymore, so she has to do a bunch of errands around town to improve her reputation and prove she remembers her midwife skills. This can be helped by visions, or by rumours. Soon, Clara starts to build a lot of reputation amongst drunks and believers of her magical miracles (mst of the violent miracles done by her doppleganger) 

Clara’s double is still around, and is still the manifestation of the plague. At several points, people will suggest that Clara’s reincarnation is why the plague is happening and it’s uncertain if this is true or not. A lot of Clara’s missions are finding the double and asking her why she’s doing what she’s doing. 

Her relationship to Bounds, I think, would also be a way to explore their sins more. I think for a mature game, Pathologic doesn’t often discuss the relationships of sex and love to death very much, and I think there are some complex things to say about love, and children, and “sin” that could be really explored through a route with a midwife main character, who’s supposed to be investigating the sins and crimes of Anna, Yulia, Lara, Grief, Oyun, Big Vlad, Rubin and the Saburovs. I think dealing compassionately with the ideas of cheating, STDs, abortions and all the stuff around sexual health/freedom of women that nobody really wants to talk about could be an interesting way of how Clara reconciles the old and the new: by revealing secrets and letting them not be foul anymore. 

[geraltcirilla]

acorn hall flirtations;

One thing that you really need context for to understand the full gravity of the statement is, “A nice oak tree.”

Before I read the books, I saw many people quote that statement for their Gendrya edits and didn’t think much of it. All Gendry did was say Arya looked nice. How could that be explicitly romantic? It’s a cute quote, was all I thought, but proves nothing about Gendry’s feelings for her. Plus, wasn’t it teasing anyways?

And then I began read the books and finally understood Gendry’s character and what that statement meant coming from him.

(More under the cut.)

Gendry strong, loyal pragmatic, a survivor, and stubborn. A little bit arrogant when it comes to himself, which comes off more as funny than annoying. He’s a good looking guy and he knows it, he’s big and strong and he knows it, he’s smarter than most people and he knows it.

“Want to fight?” she asked the Bull. She wanted to hit something.

He blinked at her, startled. Strands of thick black hair, still wet from the bathhouse, fell across his deep blue eyes. “I’d hurt you.”

“You would not.”

“You don’t know how strong I am.”

[...]

“Arya froze in her steps. “I’m not a girl!”

“Yes you are. Do you think I’m as stupid as they are?”

[...]

“You’re the eunuch.”

“You know I’m not.” Gendry smiled. “You want me to take out my cock and prove it? I don’t have anything to hide.”

But he’s also bashful, shy, and awkward. Especially when it comes to women.

When Gendry finds out Arya is a highborn lady, he’s genuinely frazzled. In the show they played it off as more mocking, but Gendry was genuinely distraught. He was raised to be respectful of highborns and know his place.

“Arya.” She raised her eyes to his. “My name is Arya. Of House Stark.”

“Of House . . .” It took him a moment before he said, “The King’s Hand was named Stark. The one they killed for a traitor.”

“He was never a traitor. He was my father.”

Gendry’s eyes widened. “So that’s why you thought . . .”

She nodded. “Yoren was taking me home to Winterfell.”

“I . . . you’re highborn then, a . . . you’ll be a lady . . .”

Arya looked down at her ragged clothes and bare feet, all cracked and callused. She saw the dirt under her nails, the scabs on her elbows, the scratches on her hands. Septa Mordane wouldn’t even know me, I bet. Sansa might, but she’d pretend not to. “My mother’s a lady, and my sister, but I never was.”

“Yes you were. You were a lord’s daughter and you lived in a castle, didn’t you? And you . . . gods be good, I never . . .” All of a sudden Gendry seemed uncertain, almost afraid. “All that about cocks, I never should have said that. And I been pissing in front of you and everything, I . . . I beg your pardon, m’lady.”

“Stop that!” Arya hissed. Was he mocking her?

“I know my courtesies, m’lady,” Gendry said, stubborn as ever. “Whenever highborn girls came into the shop with their fathers, my master told me I was to bend the knee, and speak only when they spoke to me, and call them m’lady.”

Of course, he gets over it pretty fast because at this point he knows Arya quite well, and she’s not some stranger highborn lady, she’s Arry. They’ve survived certain death together. She’s saved his life, he’s saved her life. But even then he’s concerned:

When she glanced back over her shoulder, he was watching her with that pained look on his face that meant he was thinking. He’s probably thinking that he shouldn’t be letting m’lady go stealing food. Arya just knew he was going to be stupid now.

Gendry is also a good looking guy, and that is not lost on women. 

He’s described by Ned Stark as looking just like Robert Baratheon, who Ned himself described as being a “maiden’s fantasy” in his prime. Bella, a tavern wench, (and another one of Robert’s bastards, although Gendry at this point had no way of knowing she was his half-sister) approached Gendry in ASoS attempting to seduce him, and he rebuffed her rather rudely.

“I’m named Bella,” the girl told Gendry. “For the battle. I bet I could ring your bell, too. You want to?”

“No,” he said gruffly.

“I bet you do.” She ran a hand along his arm. “I don’t cost nothing to friends of Thoros and the lightning lord.”

“No, I said.” Gendry rose abruptly and stalked away from the table out into the night.

Bella turned to Arya. “Don’t he like girls?”

Arya shrugged. “He’s just stupid. He likes to polish helmets and beat on swords with hammers.”

So basically, although Gendry could have his pick of women if he desired, he isn’t interested. Flirtation visibly upsets him. Gendry can be awkward and weird around women, which can come off as rude. Gendry in general can be “bull-headed”, as Arya describes him. Tossing around insults (at Lommy, Hot Pie, Edric Dayne, etc). And he rarely compliments a person, if ever. Certainly not girls.

So him calling Arya a “Nice oak tree” isn’t just a toss-away statement. Gendry doesn’t freely hand out compliments. Although Gendry has been known to tease Arya, historically he doesn’t do that with fake compliments. It’s not his style. So that comment was a real, genuine thought.

“I look like an oak tree, with all these stupid acorns.”

“Nice, though. A nice oak tree.” He stepped closer, and sniffed at her. “You even smell nice for a change.”

Arya obviously picks a fight with him and wrestles him to the ground after he says this, because she assumes any nice thing said about her is a tease, and even if she did believe him she was too awkward to know how to accept a compliment. Later on Lem starts scolding Gendry for picking on someone half his size, and Arya comes to his defense saying:

“I started it,” said Arya. “Gendry was just talking.”

So it could be she did believe he was being genuine, as she took full responsibility for the fight. If she thought he was trying to be mean she wouldn’t jump to his defense.

So awkward, grumpy, sour Gendry said something nice to Arya. A huge step for this boy. And returning to the dining hall where Tom is singing Featherbed (a song about a wild, free women and her lover) is a giant blinking neon light for anyone who missed the subtly of his statement. And if you still couldn’t tell that the song Featherbed was about Gendry and Arya, Tom winks at Arya before continuing the song. And later, Lady Smallwood (their host at Acorn Hall) tells Arya:

“I have no gowns of leaves,” said Lady Smallwood with a small fond smile.

Which is a direct line from the song. (“I’ll wear a gown of golden leaves,”)

Acorn Hall is the beginning of the love story between Gendry and Arya, and Gendry’s compliment “A nice oak tree” was flirtation.