#so if he starts mouthing off to everyone and sewing discord there's a very real chance of someone attempting to kill him

[multishipper-baby]

Also random thought about the AU but, since Owynn can't be too suspicious while he's with the group, that means he'll have to play nice with Freddy the whole killing game. Rip to him.

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs, “Comic-con.”

You guys wanted something fluffier and lighthearted, so I took a suggestion from a group of the Discord server, and did this with it I hope you guys like, and thank you for the suggestions.  “Where are you taking me? And why am I wearing this?”

Adam frowned at her, “Don’t be such a party pooper, I took you to watch MMA last week, and now its my turn to pick the fun activity.”

Sunny held up the glowing weapon --of facsimile of a weapon--, “What is this called again.”

“It’s an energy sword, from a really REALLY old video game.”

“And what are you supposed to be.”

Adam turned to look at her, shaking his head in disappointment, “Sometimes, I am sad for your lack of pop culture education.”

“And whose fault is it for my lack of pop culture education?”

He tapped his chin, “I suppose that is true.” 

“To be fair the pop culture you subscribe to is like two thousand years old.” She looked him up and down. He was wearing a spacesuit and a jetpack. This might have been normal for him were it not for the painstaking hours that he had spent painting the thing and applying decals.

Where the standard issue UNSC space - suit ranged anywhere from white to silver to dark blue, this one was in a gaudy combination of white with green and purple highlights with a blue decal on the front embossed with the outline of stylized white wings. Under that, he had taken the time to dye one of the old undersuits purple, and was now wearing the hood to complete ‘the affect’

“Seriously though. What are You?”

He turned to look at her grinning and patted her on the shoulder, “Just wait.”

She sighed and did as told following him out of the underground parking lot and up into the sun. She threw her hand over her face as they came up into the sun, and when she withdrew her hand, she found herself surrounded by hundreds of humans all walking towards the same destination, and all of them were dressed, strangely… she couldn’t tell which ones for sure, because humans always seemed to dress strangely, but something bout this gave her the feeling that these ones were doing it on purpose..

At her side, Adam was grinning.

Following the line of people her eyes traced up to the large, and spacious building just up ahead. The walls were made out of metal and glass paneling, and across their surface scrolling scenes from movies and comic strips flashed.

Off to her side, a man in a blue and red suit, with a big yellow S on the front went floating past, his hover boots giving him the effect as if he were flying, red cape billowing out behind him.

Someone else to their side was walking a rather large brown dog towards the building. It had a teel collar and a couple of painted on black spots, while he was wearing a  green shirt and brown pants. He looked like he really needed a haircut.

Sunny tilted her head to better read the letters on the building before her.

J. HAIL CONVENTION HALL 

They were just outside the doors when someone ran up to them. THey looked younger, maybe in their teens, dressed with an elaborately colored wig, and strange colorful clothes, “Holy Shit! Your costumes are awesome, Can I get a picture?”

“Hell yeah.” Adam motioned the kid closer, pulling Sunny down beside them so the kid could grab a picture and then turn to look at Sunny, “How did you make it look so real. You look just like the Drev from that movie.” 

She stared at him before looking down at herself.

Adam laughed, “It looks real because it IS real.”

The kid stared at them in disbelief, “No way.”

“Yeah she's a real life actual alien.”

Eyes went even wider, I...w...wow.” 

Sunny shrugged and waved one of her arms to the kid as Adam dragged her further up the line.

“Here, hold out your hand.” She did as told and he wrapped a small plastic bracelet around her wrist. The letters on the band read VIP

Walking over to the doors they were stopped by a group of people holding up their hands. One of them walked around them, and pointed at Adam’s jetpack, “YOu have a licence for that?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.” 

He reached into one of the pockets on his suit and pulled it out to show them. THey looked it over and then nodded, and he grinned. Tey read off some rules before they were suddenly interrupted.

Voices behind them, and Sunny turned.

A group of people walked up, one of them was dressed like a cowboy with a yellow shirt and blue pants, with a brown hat.

Another human in a blow up dinosaur costume pointed at Adam’s uniform,

“And what does that button do.”

Adam grinned, and Sunny watched him with a fond shake of her head as he approached them, putting on some sort of character voice.

“Ill show you.” Looking around to make sure that everyone was clear, he deployed the wings of the jetpack, striped in red and white.

The group oohed and ahhed.

THe cowboy moved forward, “Oh what, these are plastic, he can’t fly.”

“They are a trillium carbonic alloy and I CAN fly.”

“No you can’t”

“Yes I can.”

“Can’t.”

“CAN.”

“Can’t Can’t Can’t.”

“I could fly around this convention center with my eyes closed.”

Sunny just stood there watching them nervously shifting back and forth. She had a feeling that they were arguing, but it also felt very scripted, though how it could be scripted, she didn’t know. They had never seen these people as far as she was concerned.

The other man moved very close, “Ok then my light beer, prove it.”

“Alright then, I will.”

He held out his hands voice growing a bit more serious as he did, “Everyone step back.”

They did as told, and the cowboy was smiling now instead of frowning.

“Adam, is this legal.” Sunny wondered.

He turned to look at her, “Yes, the convention center has its own airspace just for this. I had to sign a waver.” He turned back to the others and ignited the engin on the jetpack kicking off the ground.

His flight was far more controlled than his original flight, and he flew in a fast circle around the area, dropping in with a flip to land before them to the cheering of an amassed crowd.

He pointed at the cowboy, “CAN.”

“That wasn’t flying, that was falling with style.” The man protested though he was grinning even as he walked over to take a picture with Adam.

“Pretty sure that made my day, your costume is awesome. Is this a real spacesuit.”

“You bet it is.”

“Where did you get your hands on one.”

“Oh I have my sources. Did you make your costume?”

“Sewed it myself. The hat and boots I bought though.”

They parted ways with Adam’s new friend and stepped inside the convention center scanning their bracelets as they went in.

“Welcome, Sunny to the biggest nerd convention ever conceived of by man...ComicCon.”

She turned in a wide circle eyes wide at thousands of booths, thousands of people all talking and laughing. He grabbed her hand and dragged hr further inside, “IF your good, I’ll buy you a sword.”

“Nerds want swords?”

He raised an eyebrow at her, “Of course nerds want swords. Here, lets start over there and movie this way, through the art section first.”

Sunny did as told, following after him.

She never knew Adam being one to spend a lot of money, he had no reason too, but after the first ten minutes she figured out that he was a little bit of a spender when it came to nerdy things. Posters and drawings and other related items.

However, she was surprised to find that they did have leather workers and blacksmiths as they were called, and she did…. In fact… get herself a sword which she recognized from the lord of the rings movie he had made her watch. It was a pretty good sword all things considered as if whoever made it actually knew how to make swords.

They were coming around a corner when they almost ran into another group of people. Adam dropped one of his bags and the other reached down to pick it up. When he stood, Sunny's eyes widened. Blond hair green eyes and an eyepatch, “Sweet Costume!”

She shook herself thinking she had bumped her head or something and was seeing double, but no, when she looked closer she realised that this person couldnt have been more than fifteen or sixteen…. And dressed like Adam.

She looked over at Adam who was standing mouth open eyes wide.

“Can I get a picture!”

Sunny just nodded her head as the kid jumped over next to her and had his friend take it before running off yelling back at her about her amazing costume.

Adam turned to look at Sunny, “Did I just>”

“I think you did.”

He shook himself, “Wow.”

She nodded 

After that it started happening more and more. 

Adam was everywhere, in all stages of life. They had recreated his uniforms, his flight suits, his space suits. They brought their dogs. There were even gender bent versions of him, blond women wearing eyepatches, brown jackets and jeans making it very clear who they were .

It got even more weird when Sunny started seeing herself.

Small children in costumes made of foam.

People wearing onesies that sort of looked like her, and even one costume that had a woman on stilts for her legs, and a complex system of homemade mechanics to allow her to move around.

Adam stood there mouth open just staring at them.

Sunny laughed at the irony.

He was here as a guest, and no one knew.

If only they had any idea that the real deal was here and dressed like a space ranger from a two thousand year old cartoon.

Sunny tilted her head listening to the announcements which said there would be a “Adam Vir look alike contest going on on the other side of the convention.

She turned to look at Adam and they  both began to laugh hysterically. She grabbed his arm. We have to see this.

They wandered over just as the others were filtering in. And there were TONS of them, all dressed like Adam. One stopped next to him, spiky blond hair, clearly dyed for the occasion, wearing a flight suit and aviators.

Adam Tried to avoid eye contact with anyone as they sat down to watch, however no one recognized him, not even close.

They sat, watching the judging.

An adorable little boy with blond hair and a NASA T-shirt won for the younger age bracket.

The jumpsuit wearing kid to their right won for his teenage years.

At the end it was up between two men, one in casual wearing and one in a uniform. The one wearing the uniform had a similar lopsided grin as Adam and she would have chosen him as a dead ringer, and was almost put off when they chose the other man, who was, on the other hand, roguishly handsome.

She snorted, “He looks nothing like you.”

“But he does look like Keith Jenning who played me, so I guess people sort of conflate us as being the same person.”

“This is so unreal.”

They laughed again as they walked away sunny pointing out he probably would have lost the contest if he had tried to enter, and he laughed along with her.

THey were perusing through a booth with a bunch of old vintage movies when another announcement came over the intercom, saying that the cast of Adam’s movie was going to be speaking.”

Adam’s eyes widened, and together they made their way wanting to see what all the fuss was about. There were hundreds of people packed into the large room, and they were only able to get space just along one wall.

Up at the table, he recognized Keith Jenning, Rita. Ortiz, and Adler Handen, the voice actor for Krill and the woman who played Sunny.

Adam leaned back against the wall to watch.

Keith didn’t look anything like Adam at this moment, his hair back to brown like it usually was.

Hands raised in the crowd as questions were shot out, “What was the hardest part of playing Adam Vir?”

Keith laughed and then paused, “I think it might have been the eyepatch. I stubbed my toe like…. What was it Rita, we kept track on set.”

“About 456 times during the course of filming.” She added, and the group of them laughed.

“How accurate is the story to what actually happened?” Someone called out

Adler Handen leaned forward, “You know it was actually pretty accurate because Adam Vir was actually consulting through the whole process, though I think it is glammed up to make him look maybe a little more….”

“Poised.” Rita added, “Ellis gave him a bit of an action hero spin.”

“What is he actually like?”

Keith smiled as did Rita, “He’s hilarious, and kind, and a bit of a clutz I would say.”

Rita laughed, “That is one part of the movie that is inaccurate. I think they should have put it in, but he was like the last man to step onto Proxima B, and when he did he says he actually fell out of the shuttle and landed on his face.”

There was laughter from the crowd.

“Honestly a really modest guy all told.

“He has the personality of a golden retriever…. In a good way obviously.” Rita said

Keith had stood up from his palace at the table and was looking around the crowd for more questions, when his eyes fell on Adam and Sunny not a few rows away leaning against the wall.

The recognition was instantaneous, despite them not having seen for a long time. He pointed his eyes wide, “Adam…. Adam is that you. Sunny?”

The entire crowd turned and thousands of eyes fell on them.

Adam was stuck like a deer in the headlights hands held up.

“No way It IS YOU. Someone grab a chair and get him up here.” 

Rita stood in her seat and waved.

Now people were standing to get a good look at them as two security people motioned them up.

Adam was bright red in the face as he was pushed to come on stage. The people looked confused, but when Adam pulled off his hood, and pulled on his eyepatch the entire convention center began cheering.

“Yeah give the man a round of applause.” Keith said pulling out a chair for him to sit on while Rita did the same for Sunny.

Adam shifted awkwardly in his seat.

“Nice costume, is that from Toy story?”

Adam shrugged, ‘Yeah, or the Tv show I guess.”

Someone hurried over with another microphone as the crowd below continued to babble and point.

Keith leaned forward, “Did I mention he was a raging nerd. Did you wear the costume to hide or….”

Adam shook his head, “No, I've been coming to the convention since I was a kid.”

There was cheering in the crowd.

Hands were raised high into the air for questions, and Adam blinked a bit red in the face still.

“Is it true what they said about Proxima B?”

Adam smiled, “uh yeah I fell flat on my face, right out the door. You see the movie had a ramp, but a ot of our ships don’t have ramps, they have doors because it would kind of be…. Impractical to have a whole ramp opening up into an airlock. So instead it had a door and stairs. And I got so excited that I missed the second stair and just fell.

“How accurate is the rest of the movie?”

He shrugged, still blushing, “They did make me look a little more… heroic, than I actually am. I mean there is a little known fact among members of the UNSC that doing a warp without a warp dampener like we did on the Enterprise was…. How shall we say… extremely hard on the body. About fifty percent of the men on the bridge peed themselves and passed out.”

There was laugher from the crowd.

“Were you part of the fifty percent?”

He snorted, “ I was nineteen of COURSE I was part of the fifty percent. Captain Kelly had a bladder of Iron though.”

More laughter.

“And when it came to meeting with aliens for the first time, I was so excited that I ran after them right….. Well as it turns out, to the aliens it looked really, really bad. Like they thought I was going to eat them.” More laughter, “We are still trying to repair human/Bran relations five years later because of me.”

More questions.

“What is your funniest story, something that didn’t appear in the movie?”

Adam had to think about it for a minute, “Did  I ever tell you about the first time we met Iotins or the Celzex.”

Cheering in the crowd,.

“Ok ok, so The one thing you need to know about Iotins is that they smell good, and I don’t mean your girl’s perfume good, I mean like continental breakfast with bacon and eggs and potatoes and I don’t know what else.” Sunny smiled as she listened to the sound of the crowd’s amusement, “This is the kind of smell that turns you into one of pavlov’s Dogs. Drooling all over yourself stomach grumbling the whole nine. So when we met them for the first time, it was during a GA convention and my men hadn’t eaten since breakfast. It was so bad, I drooled all over my uniform and we scared the Iotin council half to death.”

He smiled as the crowd encouraged him into more stories.

“Then of course there is the Celzex, a very war-like race, very honor bound and very easy to offend. And yet they are about a foot tall rainbow colored, fluffy and with  adorable pig ears. These guys were designed to be cuddled, and yet, not one human has ever done it for fear of pissing them off since they have weapons that could glass our entire planet.”

He was Animated as he told his stories, and the crowd was animated with him

“Sunny, i have a question.” She lifted her head in surprise, “Is it true you grew up in a stone hut/”

She hummed deep in her chest, “Yes, where else would I have grown up.”

“So you didn’t have electricity?”

She shook her head, “No, why would we need it?”

She answered a few more questions.

And then one young man stood.

“So, I was wondering, you supported the LFIL during their protests.”

Adam shifted nervously in his seat, “I did.”

“And it’s because of you that they are in a probationary state of legality.”

“Yes.”

.”“So I was wondering, considering all that and considering your relationship with Sunny. Have you tow ever thought about dating.” Adam blanched white and you could have heard a pin drop.

Sunny glanced quickly over at adam. A part of her really wanted him to admit it to people, but another part of her-- the bigger part-- knew that doing it here in front of thousands of people would be a disaster. He opened his mouth to stammer out a question but Sunny leaned forward towards her mic.

“You misunderstand Drev courting customs. He would have to be able to beat me in a fight first.

Factions of the room muttered, and Sunny quickly moved the conversation on to more Funny stories.

Adam turned his head towards her with a look of relief.

With her head turned form the cameras she gave him a brief wink before turning back.

They didn’t exactly get to see the rest of the convention as they were waylaid by people wanting autographs and to talk to him. He of course was good natured and answered all their questions with a smile and gave pictures with enthusiasm.

She smiled

He was kind like that.

Thought some worries gnawed at the back of her mind.

People were beginning to suspect, and that could be a big problem for Adam.

[splendidlyimperfect]

Gray's looking forward to his first winter holiday season with his boyfriends and grandparents, but his plans are disrupted by the baby dragon's curse.

Chapter Summary: Gray's grandparents arrive, and Gray's grandmother teaches him what their holiday is all about.

Chapters: 2/2 Fandom: Fairy Tail Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Rogue/Natsu/Sting/Gray, Laxus/Freed, Freed & Gray Series: Part 2 of discord & dragons

*see AO3 for notes

-----

The trip to the train station was surprisingly uneventful. Freed and Laxus stayed back at the house to finish cooking, so it was just Gray and the dragons. Natsu and Sting rode happily on his shoulders, while Rogue slept in his pocket. Soft flakes of snow drifted down around them, and Sting spent most of the trip trying to catch them in midair.

The train station was packed. Gray made sure to keep the dragons close as he nudged his way through the crowd, occasionally standing on his tiptoes to see over everyone’s heads.

“Nilaaqu!”

The familiar nickname broke through the noise and jumble, and Gray felt his heart lighten when he saw Anaa nudging her way through the crowd toward them. Ataa followed close behind with their wolfdog Qinmiq, who looked very unimpressed by her leash.

Continue reading on AO3

“Aulhit, Anaa,” Gray said, pulling his grandmother into a hug and kissing her cheek. She returned the gesture, laughing when Sting and Natsu both nuzzled her. “How was the trip?”

“Very fast!” Ataa said, moving in and grinning at Gray. He looked like he was about to say something else, but Qinmiq pushed past him, tail wagging frantically as she headbutted Gray’s legs. He laughed, crouching down and scratching behind her ears as she licked his cheeks.

“I missed you too,” he reassured her. Sting made a pleased sound, clambering down Gray’s shoulder and over Qinmiq’s head, which was nearly twice the size of him. He settled down on her back, kneading her scruff happily as he started to purr. “And Sting missed you, too.”

Qinmiq gave Gray a soft woof, seemingly unperturbed by the sudden passenger on her back.

“Trouble again,” Ataa said, holding out his hand to Natsu, who chittered and rubbed his head against Ataa’s fingers. “You are being good?”

Natsu cocked his head to the side, eyes wide and innocent, and Gray rolled his eyes. “They haven’t broken anything yet,” he said in Isvanian. “But it’s only been one day. Bad timing, I guess.”

Ataa shook his head, holding out his hand for Natsu to clamber onto. “He is trouble,” Ataa admitted as Natsu scrambled up into his hood. “But cute trouble.” He raised his eyebrows at Gray and gave him a conspiratorial smile. “Both the dragon and the boy, yes?”

Gray felt his cheeks flush pink and he quickly turned away from his grandfather.

“Come on,” he said, taking Anaa’s arm and gesturing to the station exit. “Let’s go home.” 

~

As soon as they returned to the house, Natsu and Rogue jumped down and bolted toward the living room.

“Stay out of the tree!” Gray shouted as he kicked off his boots and reached out to take Ataa and Anaa’s coats. The lack of jingling ornaments or rustling branches in the living room was reassuring.

Sting, who had fallen asleep on Qinmiq’s back, yawned and stretched out his front legs, kneading her fur and then hopping down to the ground. He nipped at her front paw and scrambled backward, tail flicking back and forth.

“Not in the house, love,” Gray said regretfully, nudging Sting with his foot. Sting sat on his haunches and stared up at Gray with wide, sad eyes. “Don’t look at me like that. Qinmiq’s too big.” Sting whined and pawed at Gray’s leg.

Qinmiq walked over to Sting and, very gently, picked him up in her mouth by his scruff. He made an indignant sound but didn’t struggle as she carried him into the living room.

“Hau’utan!” Anaa’s face brightened into a smile when Freed stepped out of the kitchen, wiping their hands on their apron. Gray smiled at the affectionate name – Ataa had told him that it translated loosely to ‘one adopted into the family.’  

“Aulhit,” Freed said in perfectly accented Isvanian as Anaa pulled them into a hug. “Ut Aulanmuuq.”

“You learn so fast,” Anaa replied, pulling back and smiling as she took both of Freed’s hands. “What are you making?” Before Freed could answer, Anaa gestured to Gray and Ataa and added, “I will help – those two are no good. Come.”

Freed laughed and shrugged at Gray as they followed Anaa back into the kitchen. Gray rolled his eyes, gesturing for Ataa to come into the living room. Natsu, Laxus and Rogue were playing under the tree while Qinmiq was curled up in front of the fireplace with Sting tucked between her front paws. He appeared to have accepted the lack of playtime and was snuggled up against her instead.

“This is for what?” Ataa asked in heavily accented Fioran. He was pointing to a set of three small glass dishes that sat on the mantle above the fireplace. Each had a flame in the center that seemed to burn with no fuel.

“It’s for Nev’dya,” Gray explained. “Like Aulanmuuq. But for the dragons.” He switched to Isvanian. “They’re supposed to burn for three nights, to represent the three months of…” He hesitated, unsure of the word for ‘hibernation.’ “Dragons sleep for the winter, for three moons.”

Ataa nodded, staring at the magical flames, then turned and pointed to the tree. “This, too?”

Gray shook his head. “No, that’s for Winter Veil.” Ataa raised an eyebrow and Gray laughed. “It’s Fioran. A winter celebration – like Aulanmuuq, too.”

“There are many celebrations,” Ataa said as he settled down on the couch. Rogue, who had taken over a corner of the sofa, squeaked indignantly when Gray picked him up and took his place. His huffing was easily soothed by a gentle finger running along his muzzle, and his disgruntled sounds soon turned to a quiet purr.

“Do you remember Aulanmuuq?” Ataa asked.

Gray tipped his head back and forth. “A little. Amaamak made utqaa.” He gestured to the wreaths of holly and iceberries that were set along the coffee table. “I remember visiting you. Paappak cooked a… sweet bread? And there were lights.”

Ataa nodded, a warm smile crossing his wrinkled face at the mention of his son and daughter-in-law. “Yes, all of those,” he said. “But the most important thing about Aulanmuuq is stories.”

Gray was about to ask him what he meant when Natsu poked his head out from under the tree. Something bright green was held in his teeth, and it took Gray a second to realize that it was one of the bulbs from the string of lights.

“Natsu, drop it.”  

Natsu stared at Gray, flicking his tail so it hit the tree branches and knocked pine needles to the ground. He kept the light in his mouth, growling around it at Laxus as he approached.

“I said drop it,” Gray said, giving Natsu a stern look. “What did I say about being good?”

Natsu’s gaze moved over to Ataa, then back to Laxus, who was still approaching slowly. Sting popped his head up from his spot between Qinmiq’s paws, watching Laxus and Natsu curiously.

Before the three of them could start a fight over the bulb, Gray reached back behind the couch and pulled out a small basket. It was filled with brightly-colored toys, and he dug around in it until he found what he was looking for – a small rubber toy in the shape of a fish.

“Trade you,” he offered, holding out the toy. Natsu’s eyes lit up and he scampered across the room, dropping the light and grabbing the fish from Gray’s hand. “Good boy,” Gray said, scratching Natsu’s head as he grabbed the bulb.

“They play much,” Ataa said as the other dragons immediately hopped up onto Gray and started sniffing the basket. “The toys keep them busy.”

“For a while,” Gray agreed, nudging the dragons away and searching through the basket for their favorite toys. He and Freed had taken up sewing a few months ago after too many pairs of socks were destroyed by the dragons, and the toys had proved surprisingly effective in keeping them out of trouble.

He pulled out a small plastic ball and shook it, handing it to Laxus once the lights in it started blinking. Rogue happily took a plush toy in the shape of a coffee mug that was stuffed with real coffee beans – Gray had been relieved that it was enough to mostly keep him away from the coffee machine.

Sting waited patiently, tail wagging back and forth, and made a pleased sound when Gray found his favorite toy. He took the small stuffed bumblebee gently in his teeth, immediately curling up on Gray’s lap next to Rogue with it tucked under his chin.

“At least you don’t destroy things,” Gray said, scratching behind Sting’s ears and setting the basket on the floor. “Unlike somebody.” He looked over at Natsu, who was lying on his back and happily kicking at the rubber fish. All the stuffed toys they’d made for him had ended up ripped to pieces, and Gray had eventually switched to something sturdier.

Laxus approached the couch with the ball in his mouth, looking between Gray and Ataa before dropping it at Ataa’s feet.

“It wants what?” Ataa asked as Laxus looked at him expectantly.

“Throw it.”

Ataa leaned down to pick up the ball, studying it for a moment before tossing it gently across the floor. Laxus darted after it, batting it around a few times before picking it up in his teeth and bringing it back to Ataa. He hopped up onto the couch and dropped it in Ataa’s lap, wagging his tail until Ataa threw it for him again.

Rogue and Sting cuddled together on Gray’s lap, both happily chewing on their toys as they watched Ataa and Laxus play fetch. The weight of them against Gray was comforting – he could feel their heartbeats fluttering under his fingertips as he petted them, and the rise and fall of their backs with each soft breath.

“So,” Ataa said as he watched Laxus scramble under the Christmas tree. “Tell me of Winter Veil.”

~

The rest of the afternoon went by peacefully. Natsu attempted to climb the tree at one point, but a stern look from Ataa managed to convince him to come down and cuddle instead. Qinmiq played gently with Sting, letting him gnaw on the end of the rope that Ataa had brought for her.

Eventually Gray and Ataa were called to set the table, which Freed and Anaa quickly filled with food. There was honey spice bread, roast pheasant with wild mushrooms, black beans and rice, and the iceberry wine that Anaa and Ataa had brought from Isvan. The dragons weren’t allowed on the table, so they settled down underneath it instead, and Gray caught Ataa sneaking pieces of meat to them when he thought nobody was looking.

“This one is a good cook,” Anaa said to Gray, gesturing to Freed as they passed her the bread. “You can learn from them. No more eating qu’ahq.” Gray raised an eyebrow at the unfamiliar word. “Not good food,” Anaa explained. “Garbage.”

Gray laughed, thinking of her horror when she and Ataa has first visited and found his kitchen full of dry noodles and frozen vegetables.

“I’ll try, Anaa,” he promised.

“You keep him honest,” Anaa said to Freed, who nodded. “You will tell me if he eats bad food.”

Gray and Ataa cleaned the kitchen after supper while Anaa and Freed braided the last of the holly and iceberry strands into the utqaa. When Gray and Ataa were done the dishes and returned to the living room, Freed was stoking the fire with Natsu sitting by their side. Natsu watched the flames, occasionally snapping at a wayward spark and eagerly swallowing it down.

“Come,” Anaa said to Gray, gesturing to the floor in front of the couch. She had pushed the coffee table out of the way and set up an unfamiliar, complicated wooden contraption in its place. Gray settled down cross-legged across from Anaa, frowning at the device. Anaa opened a cloth sack full of skeins of dyed wool and the dragons were immediately at her side, curiously nosing at the bag.

“Shoo,” she said, nudging them away. “This is not for you.” Then she turned back to Gray. “This is a loom,” she said, gesturing to the wooden device. “And we are making a story.”

He recalled Ataa’s earlier words about Aulanmuuq, but none of this seemed familiar.

“A story?”

“Yes.”

Before Gray could ask what she meant, she reached across the loom and took both of his hands in her own. The dragons watched curiously as she guided Gray’s fingers to the cords that were strung across the frame.

“Stories can be told in many ways,” Anaa said, squeezing his hands. “Aulanmuuq is about telling those stories. Some of them must be kept, some must be let go, but all of them must be shared.” She let go of his hands and took the bag from her lap, holding it open for him. “You choose.”

He stared at the strands of dyed wool. The bright red was nearly the same color as Natsu, and it seemed to shimmer in the light of the fire. One skein was a soft mix of black and white, and another a bright blue. Gray frowned, reaching out and running his fingers over the wool until he found one in a soft, pale blue. The color of the sky in winter.

“This is your story,” Anaa said as she took the wool and began to show Gray how to weave it into the loom. “Tell me where it begins.”

~

They wove late into the night. At first Gray’s fingers felt clumsy next to Anaa’s, but after a while Ataa joined them, helping Gray thread the wool and pull it into patterns. They changed colors whenever Gray felt like it, switching back and forth between nearly every color in the bag.

Freed brought out tea at one point that tasted like cinnamon and honey, and Anaa gestured for them to join Gray as well. Gray somehow knew which threads to pass to Freed, which belonged to Anaa, and which went to Ataa. Qinmiq moved closer and all of the dragons curled up against her, uncharacteristically quiet as they watched the tapestry unfold.

They were halfway through a skein of rich, green wool when Gray knew it was finished. Anaa smiled at him, taking the wool and cutting it off before weaving in the ends.

“What do you think?” she asked once the tapestry was off the loom and in Gray’s hands.

He stared at it, running his fingers across the colors as a warm, content sensation swelled in his chest. It was his story. It started with the winter sky, with white and gold and a soft pink for his childhood. The colors changed abruptly to a mix of deep red and black, an angry mess with several snags. Then white again, then pink – nearly the color of Natsu’s hair. The white and black came later, then green for the northern lights, and a soft, warm orange for Anaa and Ataa and Qinmiq.

The dragons, who had fallen asleep on Qinmiq by this point, stretched and blinked awake. They meandered over to Gray, sniffing the fabric curiously.

“That’s you,” Gray said to Sting, running his fingers over the soft white. Sting rubbed his face against it, then curled up in Gray’s lap and started to purr. Natsu and Rogue continued to sniff it, somehow finding their own colors and copying Sting’s gesture.

“They are smart,” Ataa said from his spot on the couch. Freed was next to him, fast asleep against the pillows with Laxus curled up on their chest. “They know stories.”

“Thank you,” Gray said quietly, looking up at Anaa. She held out her arms to him and he leaned into the embrace, feeling content in a way that he hadn’t since he was small.

“There is nothing to thank me for,” Anaa said. She kissed Gray’s forehead and touched his tapestry with loving fingers. “This was all you. Your story has been long and difficult, but you are here now.” She tapped the deep green at the end. “This is for growth. For new possibilities and beginnings, for being open to love and change. For family.”

Gray ran his fingers over the colors. He didn’t have to search anymore. The piece of him that had always longed for more, that missed his mother and father, that felt broken and alone – it was whole again. He would never forget his parents, would always love them fiercely, but the deep wound he’d carried for so many years was slowly fading to a shallow, soft pain that he could easily carry.

Gray looked around the room – at Laxus sleeping on Freed, at Ataa’s warm smile, at the dragons in his own lap and Anaa’s soft hands on his. They were all bathed in the warm glow of the fire and the Winter Veil lights from the tree, surrounded by the Aulanmuuq utqaa, full of the Nev’dya food prepared with care and love.

“You have many celebrations,” Anaa said. “And many things to love.”

Gray nodded as the soft warm spread through him – a deep sense of belonging, a certainty that this was love. This was home. It was messy and chaotic, and wild and unpredictable, but he wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world

“Yeah,” Gray said as he rested his head against his grandmother’s shoulder and watched his family. “Yeah, I do.”  

[thewritewolf]

Rekindle Chapter 1: No Powers

Hello! In this story that I’ll be telling over the next month, Adrien and Marinette haven’t seen each other since graduation, which was several years ago. One chance meeting during an akuma battle has Adrien thinking about his old friend, but after everything that’s happened, he’s sure that she doesn’t want to see Adrien Agreste anytime soon... Chat Noir, however...

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Enjoy!

Read on Ao3

Ducking an errant beam, Adrien swung his baton into Mega Drain. Behind him, he heard it hit a car, killing the engine inside. “You feline up for a fight, metal head?”

The name was fitting since today’s akuma looked like a poorly put together metal robot slightly bigger than Adrien was, moving on treads. With how slowly it moved and how short its arms were, Adrien was feeling confident even though Ladybug hadn’t arrived yet. And why shouldn’t he? Nearly a decade of being Chat Noir had honed his reflexes and combat power to a fine point.

“CHAT NOIR WILL SUBMIT HIS MIRACULOUS TO MEGA DRAIN.”

Adrien winced at the volume. His enhanced senses could be both a blessing and a curse sometimes. “Tell you what.” He paused for dramatic effect. “No.”

That didn’t seem to be the right choice since Mega Drain began rapid firing beams at him. So far, he’d only seen it hit electronics, but every time they’d immediately shut down. That alone was enough reason for him to avoid getting hit, even if he wasn’t sure that he would actually be affected by the beams. If nothing else, Mega Drain seemed to think something would happen.

It wasn’t actually that hard to avoid the rays, but it stopped him from getting close to the akuma. Ah well. At least that means he’d get to see Ladybug, itself an increasingly rare event. He suspected that she was going to university, but who knows? He was just glad she hadn’t left Paris and given her miraculous to someone else. Despite all the rejections, he couldn’t bring himself to stop loving her.

A flash of black hair caught his attention. A sly greeting died on his lips when he realized it wasn’t Ladybug he’d seen but someone he hadn’t laid on eyes on in a couple years - Marinette Dupain-Cheng. His elation at seeing a childhood friend was matched only by the pang of sorrow he felt at what had happened the last time they’d seen each other. They tried to keep in touch, but after their talk on graduation day, life had gotten in the way of their friendship. It really was a shame. He missed having her in his life.

He ducked under another beam, but his wandering mind had made him less aware of his surroundings. The beam reflected off a metallic object and right back at him. He felt his strength leave his muscles and his limbs become more sluggish. Just as his senses deadened, he realized what had happened - the power his miraculous granted him had been drained- Oh. OH. That’s why he called himself Mega Drain.

Feeling almost as upset with himself taking that long to realize the meaning of his name as he was mad at getting hit, he ducked into an alleyway. All he had to do was shake off the akuma and he could - theoretically - detransform and recharge. He was thankful that Plagg was able to hold on and keep the Chat Noir suit on. Recharging was easy, but losing his secret identity would be irrecoverable.

His plan to escape wasn’t going well. Mega Drain was right behind him and the alley reached a dead end. Drawing his baton, he turned to face the akuma, locking his eyes on the single red lensed camera on the akuma’s face.

“YOUR MIRACULOUS IS MINE.” The akuma charged up his beam and Adrien tensed, ready to jump out of the way. He may not have superhuman reflexes, but he still had his training. He just had to wait for…

...A trash can to be shoved roughly onto its head from behind, apparently. Blinking in surprise, he looked past the flailing akuma to see Marinette motioning at him wildly. He took the opportunity for what it was and rushed over to her side, only for her to grab his arm and start running. They’d gotten a fair distance away before they heard a metallic roar. Marinette quickly unlocked the door to an office building and locked the door behind them.

Hands on her knees, she took a few deep breaths. “That… was a close one.”

“I’ll say.” Adrien took his tail in one hand and began idly twirling it. “What were you doing out during an akuma attack? You don’t strike me as the reporter type.”

She stood up straight, her breathing now under control. Adrien let himself be impressed - blindsiding akumas and making mad dashes through the streets can be exhausting. She’d kept herself in shape over the years. Crossing her arms, she glared up at him, “You’re welcome, you ungrateful cat.”

That got a laugh out of him. He didn’t remember her being so spunky, but then again, he knows why she was never herself around him, doesn’t he? “Sorry, sorry.” Bowing deeply, one arm held out, he added, “My deepest gratitude. Saving the feline in distress was very noble of you.” She snorted and rolled her eyes, but he pressed on. “And while I do very much appreciate what you’ve done so far, I have one more favor to ask.”

That got her curiosity. “And what’s that?”

“Go away.” He grinned at her shocked expression. His voice softened a little as he added, “Find somewhere safe to hide. I need to recharge and I can’t have you peeking at my secret identity. Besides, I’d feel better knowing such a kind civilian were out of harm’s way.”

She nodded and pointed behind him. “There are bathrooms over there that lock from the inside. I’m going to uh, sneak out the back way.” She started jogging away, and yelled back at him over her shoulder, “Good luck!”

He watched her go until she darted down a hallway. He knew there were more pressing things to be thinking about, but he felt a pang of remorse. Maybe if their last meeting hadn’t gone the way it did, they’d have worked harder to keep in touch. A warning beep sounded from his miraculous, shaking him out of his thoughts. No use dwelling on what might have been. He ran towards the bathrooms Marinette had pointed out, eager to recharge and get back in the fight.

-------------------------------

Adrien landed in his room with the sun setting behind him. It was a smaller space than his childhood home, but he had to make some concessions if he wanted to be living on his own. Father wouldn’t rent or let him rent his own mansion and Adrien wouldn’t want to even if he did. He’d had more than enough of large, empty spaces for one lifetime already. At least now the empty spaces were smaller.

“Claws in.”

Plagg emerged from the ring and crash landed on top of his private refrigerator. “Geez, kid. You’re overworking me here! And could you at least tryto not eyeball every pretty civilian you come across? Unless this is some weird way of moving on from Ladybug.”

Adrien pinched the bridge of his nose will Plagg opened up his fridge. “First off, I don’t oogle random people. That was Marinette. You know? We went to school together.”

“Yeah, yeah, I remember Pigtails alright. Even if the name doesn't match anymore. Real awkward parting words at your graduation.”

His heart was heavy for a moment as he remembered her confession… and how he had to gently reject her. It was the last time they’d seen each other face to face, and he hated the hurt he’d seen in her eyes. But what else could he do? Which brought him to...

“Second - you know I can’t just move on from Ladybug. I’ve tried, you know it as well as I do, but…”

“Blah blah heart blah blah the pain of unrequited love. Yeah, you’ve mentioned it a few hundred times before.” He shoved a wedge of cheese in his mouth and talked around it. “At least you have something in common with Pigtails.”

“I guess we do,” Adrien replied in a sad whisper.

While they were never the closest of friends, Adrien keenly felt Marinette’s absence in his life. The energy she always had, the confidence she had not only in herself, but in everyone around her. Just being near her was usually enough to get people motivated - something she often took advantage of as class president. The certainty she had in what she wanted to be was something he could really use some of right now. He felt like his life was in a holding pattern, just working for his father while being groomed to take up the management portion of the Agreste business.

But what could he do? While they made a slight effort to keep in touch, he had no idea how she would react to seeing him again, face to face. Has she moved on from him? Did she come to resent him? Who knows? Somehow he doubted that she’d appreciate him showing up on her doorstep.

While watching Plagg do his absolute best to scarf down an entire wheel of camembert, a smile dawned on his face. While Adrien might not be met eagerly, who wouldn’t love a visit from the local superhero?

“Finish up quick, Plagg. We’re going out tonight.”

While his kwami complained, Adrien pulled up the discord channel the four of them had made to keep in touch. Wading through the conversations - mainly between Alya and Marinette - he eventually found what he was looking for: An address.

-----------------------------------

Half an hour later, Adrien landed on a balcony that he hoped was Marinette’s. He’d made a detour to buy some sweets to bring over. After all, it was rude to show up unannounced and empty handed.

The lights were on. He breathed a sigh of relief - that was a good sign. It had become painfully obvious to him that he didn’t know much about how her life was going now when he didn’t even know where she was working, let alone her hours. He peeked into the window to check if she was actually home.

The room seemed to be some combination of a work space and living room. There was a TV turned down as it played some show that she only glanced at occasionally. A familiar, old chaise, a couch and a couple armchairs, but there was also mannequins, reams of fabrics, and a table littered with pins, sketchbooks, and a sewing machine. Working at the sewing machine was Marinette herself, only occasionally glancing up at the TV from a jacket she was working on.

Satisfied that she was at least present, he tapped at the glass. Softly at first, but becoming more insistent when it became clear that she was too focused on her work to hear him. Even then it took her a few moments to realize just where the tapping was coming from. It was all worth it though when he saw how her eyes went wide at seeing him at the window. He grinned as she rushed over to the window.

“What are you doing here?! Do you realize how late it is?” She hissed at him. His smile faltered. This wasn’t the reaction he had been expecting.

“Well, I was in a rush earlier, so I couldn’t thank you properly for your help today.” Seeing her dubious expression, he pulled out the big guns and moved his basket of snacks in front of him. “I brought chocolate croissants?”

She glanced between the basket and him, torn. Just before she was about to speak, her stomach growled. Blushing, she opened the window wide and said, “Quick, get in before I change my mind.”

Adrien didn’t need to be told twice. Slipping inside, he took another look at the room around him, now using all his senses. It was messy, with several projects in various levels of completion scattered around the room. There were a few pictures on the walls, mostly of her and Alya, plus a few older ones from lycee and one from graduation. But nothing recent. His heightened smell backed him up - the only scent he could pick up was Marinette’s. Did she not get visitors?

“Sorry I haven’t cleaned up recently. I wasn’t expecting guests.” She rubbed one arm, embarrassed at the state of her apartment.

His cheeks heated up. It hadn’t been his intention to show up just to gawk at her living space. “No, no! Its fine.”

A few more moments of awkward silence passed. Why did he think this was a good idea again?

“Uh, Chat?”

“Yes?” He replied quickly, eager for any conversation starter.

“The basket…?”

“Oh! Sorry, here you go.” The goodies changed hands and Marinette took a look at them, inhaling the scent of the baked goods with a blissful smile. While she was busy, he pressed on. “So… anyway. I wanted to say I really appreciated the help. It was very brave of you to get involved like that. That could very well have been the end of me as Chat Noir.”

She smirked as she looked back up at him. “Yeah, then Paris would have to get a new Chat Noir and a new Ladybug and it would just be a mess. I figured I might as well save us the trouble.”

“Well, a new Chat Noir definitely, but why would we need a new Ladybug? I’m sure she would have been fine handling Mega Drain on her own.” Which was true. A lot of the time he felt like he was more a bodyguard for Ladybug, or sometimes emotional support.

“Do you really think Ladybug would want to go on without you?” She raised an eyebrow and smiled at him, a smile that quickly vanished when he said:

“Yes, no question. It might be rough for her at first, but there’s no doubt in my mind she’d be able to move on.” He shrugged. “And who knows? Maybe the next one would be better at this than I am.”

She stared at him, shaking her head. “But they wouldn’t be you.”

Laughing, he replied, “Yeah, that’s the point.”

Silence stretched between them again as Adrien stared at nothing in particular and Marinette fidgeted with the basket in her hands. Just as he was about to say his goodbyes, she spoke up.

“You know, you really shouldn’t have gotten this many. I don’t think I should eat them all on my own.”

“Oh?” That sounded like an invitation, but he didn’t want to make assumptions.

“Do you want to stick around? I could put a new movie on. It always helps me be productive.”

It was at this point that Adrien realized he hadn’t actually known what to expect when he came over here. But right now, spending time with a friend sounded much better than sitting at home alone.

“Sure, I think I can do that. So long as you don’t mind me commenting during the movie.”

Shaking her head with a smile, she said, “I should’ve guessed the famous Chat Noir is a movie talker.”

-----------------

One movie had turned into two, then three. Granted, they weren’t particularly long movies, but it was well past midnight by the time Adrien began making his way for his window escape. Despite how tired he felt, even now he was leaving reluctantly. He’d had a great time laughing and eating and talking, and he from how often he’d coaxed laughter out of Marinette, he thought she was enjoying herself too.

It made leaving feel bittersweet. A taste of the friendship he’d never gotten to have. And now he had to go back into his strict, regimented life as if he hadn’t just had the most fun in ages.

“Hey, Chat?”

“Yes, purrincess?” He grinned at her eye roll. The nickname had stuck while they were watching the Princess Bride, much to her feigned displeasure.

“I was just going to say… tonight was nice. If you wanted to come over more often, I’d appreciate the company.”

“You sure I wasn’t too distracting?”

“Are you kidding? I made more progress on my pieces today than I have in the last two days combined. Something about an empty space drains motivation, you know?”

Smiling back at her, he replied, “Yeah, I think I get what you mean. I’ll come visit again soon. I promise… purrincess.”

He leaped out of the window and made his way home, smiling all the while.

[sweetteaanddragons]

Implausible Character Interpretations: Maglor’s Wife

You might be wondering how it’s possible to have an implausible interpretation of her since literally all we know about her is that at some point in her life, she considered it a good idea to marry Maglor. Just about anything short of her being Sauron in disguise is plausible.

Except . . .

What if the wife of the greatest musician of the Noldor was tone deaf?

I don’t even know if elves can be tone deaf, but the idea interested me, so I ran with it.

A couple of notes: I am not tone deaf, and my knowledge of the subject consists of some quick research. It’s entirely possible I got some things wrong in this fic. It’s also important to note that as I wrote this, it occurred to me that in a world literally brought into being by music where evil was introduced by discord in that music, being tone deaf might be made into a much bigger deal than it is in our culture. Consequently, some characters direct a lot of negativity towards her and her disability in this fic and make some inaccurate assumptions about just what the problem is.

Sometimes Aranel wished she’d been born with a horrible facial deformity. If she’d been born like that, everyone would have sorted out their feelings about it by the time she was old enough to care, and every time she met someone new, everything would be in the open right away. There would be no hopeful, lingering days and months where she tried to hide it before the rumors inevitably hit them.

But she looked perfectly normal. Better than normal even, the sort of looks that meant she’d overheard more than one person say, “Such a shame that such a pretty girl should . . . Well, you know.”

The worst times were when the other person didn’t know, and she got to hear the whole thing poured out all over again.

The first hint that something was wrong was when her older sister tried to teach her children’s songs. She’d copied the hand motions enthusiastically and repeated back the words. The childish stumbling over some of those words wasn’t the problem. 

Her complete failure to be anything approaching in tune was.

Not much of a problem. Not yet. She was still such a small child, after all, and even among elves, not everyone sang all that well, comparatively. 

But the older she got, the more obvious it was. Not only could she not sing well, she couldn’t hear where she was going wrong. Or, in many cases, what the big fuss was over a piece of music in the first place.

The lyrics were pretty, but the rest . . . Well, there was no accounting for taste, she supposed, but apparently that wasn’t the problem.

She was.

Her parents dragged her to healer after healer, but there was nothing anything of them could do.

“There’s nothing wrong with her ears,” the last one said. “If there was, perhaps I could do more. The problem lies either in the mind or - “ He cut himself off.

Her mother’s brow wrinkled. “Or where?”

Her father had already caught on. “Or her fëa,” he said grimly.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” her mother snapped and turned to the healer for confirmation.

The healer looked away.

If Aranel was at first confused about what her fëa had to do with anything, the other children were happy to tell her, just as their parents were happy to whisper when they thought Aranel couldn’t hear. 

Eru Iluvatar had sung three great themes, and Melkor had sewn discord by disrupting them. Music had sung the universe into existence; by music their people still shaped the world. 

But she couldn’t hear the music. When she sang, all she ever produced was an inharmonious discord.

Any elf could sing disunity, but only she seemed destined to it.

It would be one thing if she was fully deaf. There were a few elves like that, who had suffered injury across the great sea before they came and had found no healing even here. To lose a sense entirely was unfortunate, but it was no real reflection on your character.

But to be able to hear everything else - gossip and taunts and every cruel name - to be able to say anything else - anything but the greatest and holiest of sounds -

That was a deeper flaw. Her parents never said it, but she could see it in their faces. Besides, what need was there for them to say it when everyone else already had?

Everyone but her sister. Thiriel said that it wasn’t her fault. Thiriel said that it was pretty obviously not Aranel’s character that was being shown to be flawed here. Thiriel said she would box the ears of the next person who said anything so hard that they wouldn’t be hearing anything but ringing for weeks.

Thiriel said she was moving to Tirion now that she was through apprenticing to be a seamstress, and did Aranel want to come with her?

In Tirion, no one would know. In Tirion, maybe she could hide it. In Tirion -

No one had wanted to let Aranel apprentice under them. She declared herself Thiriel’s assistant and went.

Thiriel needed a few more years of experience before she could take on an official apprentice, but Aranel learned under her anyway. Sewing was purely visual. Sewing let her make something beautiful. 

Sewing was much better than singing in her firm opinion. She liked all of it - plotting out a project, making up a set of clothes, embroidering designs - but her favorite part was working on a project with her sister, no words between them needed, as they made something beautiful together, no discord in sight.

Making clothes for one of Prince Macalaure’s performances at a festival was a great honor. Thiriel was thrilled.

For her sister’s sake, Aranel tried to be.

It wasn’t that she didn’t like the prince. He was perfectly courteous and charming every time he came in, from the initial order to the final fitting.

It was just that in quiet moments he liked to hum or sing a snatch of a song to himself, and Thiriel and their new shop assistant always complimented him afterward and she . . . Well, it was probably better that she keep her mouth shut because she lied terribly, and the best she could honestly say was that it was nice, probably.

Everyone said he was the greatest singer of the Noldor and possibly the greatest elvish singer in Aman. She had no idea if that was objectively true or because he was a prince, though judging by some of the more gushing things the new assistant had said, he was at least very good.

Or maybe the gushing was just because he was handsome.

Because he was. Handsome, that is. He was definitely that.

Particularly when he smiled. 

So she kept her mouth shut about his singing, but he didn’t seem to mind. He was perfectly happy to talk about her work instead, or, when she prompted him, the more visual aspects of his performance.

She made the mistake of telling him that it sounded wonderful, and that she was sure his performance would go very well. Surely, she had thought, she couldn’t go wrong with that.

Except she did, because he then promptly invited to her and her sister to some special box that was set aside as thanks for all the work they’d done, and he smiled when he said he couldn’t wait to see what she thought after the performance.

Her smile was frozen as she agreed.

She got through it. Somehow. Mainly by giving genuine compliments on the way he’d sung the flowered vines twined around the columns on the stage through the stages of life and then by giving paraphrased compliments she’d overheard other people saying in the interlude between the performance and him managing to make his way up to the box.

Unfortunately, that started a pattern. He’d liked their work, apparently, so he started coming to them for all his performances and then, in addition to their payment, getting them seats.

It wasn’t the work that was the problem. It wasn’t even Macalaure that was the real problem. He was sweet and funny and generous and never at all concerned with their rare mistakes. And his smile . . .

Well, if his music was half as good as his smile, she could see why everyone liked it so much.

It was just after the performances. He wanted her opinion. Every time. Specifically hers, not just Thiriel’s. 

If he had just been fishing for compliments, it would have been one thing. A slightly vain thing, admittedly, but something she could bluff her way through.

But he always pressed her for her genuine opinion. Did she like this piece better or that one? Was there too much emotional whiplash between the two songs he’d put back to back? Next time he performed the new song he’d written, should he try it like this instead?

It was flattering that he cared for her opinion. She just didn’t think he wanted to hear the truth of what it all sounded like to her.

So she focused on the lyrics and the visuals when she could, relied on Thiriel’s hasty whispers when she couldn’t, and on the occasions when Thiriel wasn’t there and she was on her own, bluffed like crazy for the rest.

It might have worked indefinitely if three of his brothers hadn’t returned to the city, and he hadn’t given her a seat in the same box as those brothers at one of the performances. 

He introduced her to them before the show, giving them a very significant warning look as he did so. She wasn’t entirely sure what that was for, though given the stories she’d heard him tell about what they’d gotten up to as children, she might could guess.

“Aranel,” Curufinwe said thoughtfully. “I’ve heard that name before.”

“In a letter perhaps?” One half of the Ambarussa asked dryly.

“Or ten?” The other suggested brightly. 

Maglor glared. Aranel blinked.

Curufinwe waved this away. “Aside from there. With the slight familiarity of the face . . . I think I might have met your parents on the return journey. You aren’t Engol’s daughter by any chance, are you?”

Aranel felt the blood drain from her face. She could lie, she thought frantically, except - 

Except Macalaure already knew full well that she was. She’d introduced herself properly the first time he’d walked into the shop.

“We’re not . . . often in touch,” she said. He might not know. He might really only have noticed the resemblance. He might -

“Curufinwe,” Maglor warned.

He had the grace to look apologetic. “Family troubles are difficult. You have my sympathies. Still, it speaks well of your fondness for my brother that you keep coming to these anyway.”

“Curufinwe.”

One of the twins, curse them, asked, “What makes you say that?”

Curufinwe raised an eyebrow. “Well, I can’t imagine you see much other appeal in a musical performance,” he directed towards her. “Seeing as you can’t - “

In the split second she had left, Aranel pictured the look on Macalaure’s face when he learned how she’d deceived him. What would the greatest singer of the Noldor think when he learned she was incapable of grasping his music at all? 

She didn’t wait for Curufinwe to finish. She interrupted, so that at least she could be the one to spit out the hateful words. “Properly hear a single note due to some flaw in my fëa, yes. Excuse me.”

With all the dignity she could manage, she turned and marched out. 

As soon as she was out of the box, she broke into a dead run. 

Someone called after her.

She was not about to slow down.

It had been a night performance, so she was confident the shop would hold only her late working sister when she reached it. She slammed the door shut behind her and slid down to the ground as soon as she reached the shop. “I think I just lost us the prince’s custom.”

Thiriel was beside her side in an instant. “What happened? Did he try something?”

Try something? For a moment startled out of her misery, she could only blink up at her sister before shaking her head dismissively. “No, of course not, he - Well, I interrupted one of the other princes.”

“Given some of the stories he’s shared, I very much doubt he cares,” Thiriel said slowly.

The dreadful truth finally came out. “He knows,” she blurted out. “That I’m marred.”

Thiriel wrapped an arm tightly around her. “You are not marred,” she said firmly. “So what if you can’t sing? I can’t dance. Mother couldn’t sew. Father couldn’t tell a joke to save his life. We all have things we can’t do, and yours is no more important than any other.”

“But it’s music.”

“I don’t care,” Thiriel said. “And if Prince Macalaure is worth two thimbles, he won’t either.”

Aranel resisted the urge to remind her that by that estimation, there were very few people worth two thimbles in their lives.

The shop had barely opened the next morning when Macalaure walked in. Aranel resisted the urge to run to the backroom and instead just gripped the table she was sitting behind for support.

He looked uncertain. “About last night,” he began. 

“If it’s going to be a problem, I can assure you that Thiriel - “

“It’s not a problem,” he said immediately before smiling ruefully. “Well, it is a problem, but mainly because my entire courtship strategy revolved around impressing you with my music, and I’m still not quite sure what I have left to impress you with now that that’s out, but that speaks to my deficiencies, not yours.”

“Courtship?” she said blankly.

He saw the look on her face and groaned. “Yes,” he said. “And apparently without the music my strategy’s been even more lacking than I thought if that comes as a surprise to you. I’m sorry. I’d thought to impress you, and apparently I’ve just been proving myself an oblivious idiot instead.”

“The shows were impressive,” she protested. “You always - there’s always a visual element. I like that. And your lyrics are beautiful.”

He perked up. “Really?”

Her brain started working again. “But - courtship?” If she hadn’t already been sitting down, she would have had to then. “You can’t - I’m . . .  marred.”

His face softened. “They say that about my father too, you know. Because of - “ He looked away.

His grandmother. All of Tirion knew, and no one dared speak of it except in whispers. 

“Curufinwe would tell you he isn’t, but I say - So what if he is marred? So what if that makes us marred right along with him? So what if you are? The whole of Arda’s marred they say, so that means us right along with it. We get along as best we can anyway.” 

As best we can anyway. She liked that.

“So,” he said hesitantly. “If you’ll allow me to try again. My mother is displaying several new sculptures soon. Would you like to see them?”

“I would,” she said, smiling brightly as an almost painful relief mixing with joy. “I’d still like to come watch you perform though. I really did like them except for having to hide what I could hear.”

His answering smile was more beautiful than ever. “It would be my pleasure.”

[swaddlen64-blog]

Prologue/Introduction

Blood spilled out of the body hanging upside down from the flag post in the town square. Throat cut, skin white and cold, the smell permeated around the dimly lit platform. Thick and pungent, blood and death. The body, naked and hairless, was male. His eyes stared out, sightless, though his face appeared calm. A stray observer would think, in other circumstances, surely, that the man died a peaceful death. Upon closer inspection, a smiling gash sunk deep into the man's throat. His head lulled inches above the ground, attached only by a slight chunk of flesh on the back of his neck. The pool of blood beneath him spread and spread.

A shout woke the otherwise quiet village, three hours before the rooster's caw would have. Old Hoyle, one of the most senior of the town councilmen, out on one of his regular insomnia-laced walks, had limped, cane, bum leg, and all, into the town square. Not an ounce innocent to the spoils and terror of war, Hoyle's heart nevertheless skipped a beat as his old eyes passed over the blood-drained body.

Hobbling as quickly as his pained legs would carry him, Hoyle pounded the Sheriff's door with the top of his cane. A murder! Just across the square from the sheriff's own home.

Another rap of the cane on the door. A crow fluttered down out of the night sky, as if appearing out of nowhere. Black on black, the bird perched itself a top the flag post, creaking its head quizzically at the dripping body down below.

A loud shuffle from inside the sheriff's house signified Hoyle had succeeded in waking the big oaf. Thank the Sun he got up. Likely spent the night guzzling ale at Tarran's. Probably just got home and passed out.

The door creaked open and Sheriff Burke, face flushed and hair matted to his forehead with sweat, gruffly berated Hoyle: "whaddya want, old man?"

"Sheriff, by the Sun, get dressed. There's been a murder."

Despite his annoyance at being awoken at this early an hour, Burke flashed a hand across his face, wiping away the sleep, and for once, he listened to the elder councilman.

A murder? In our town?

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Less than twenty minutes later, a large crowd had grown in the town square. Mayor Sem stood in the center, conversing hastily with Hoyle, with Burke, with the other councilmen. Villagers, awoken by the hustle and bustle, made their way out of their sleepy houses and gathered round the flagpole. Around the body. Women cried; children screamed, whether from the terror of seeing death for the first time or simply from being woken too early in the night was unknown. Men, many feigning bravery, stood resolute next to their wives, their families, begging their children to quiet. Assuring the lot of them that they'd be safe.

Out in the harvesting fields, cows mooed. More crows gathered, perched a top the houses and markets, looking over the grisly scene.

Garus, the town's Sun priest, waddled through the crowd in his bright white robes. When he saw the bloodied body, he gasped and, covering his mouth, began to recite the prayer of the Sun. The Moon priest, Balyr, had not yet shown up.

Mayor Sem, looking up from his conversation with the council, appeared to finally take notice of the large crowd that had gathered. The murmuring, the worry, the unknowing. Now was the time to step up, he knew. Only a mere three months into his mayorship, now was the time to truly start to lead. He turned to face the crowd, holding his hands out as he'd imagined a king or a prince might.

"My friends, I'm sorry that we have gathered for such a grim occasion--"

"Grim 'occasion'?" Someone shouted, interrupting, "A man’s been killed!"

More shouts, concurrences. The crowd became unruly. Screams, angry cries, children's fear.

"Friends, please calm down, please --" Sem tried to assuage the terror but the pandemonium had already set in. Shouts echoed over the crowd, each person frightened and trying to speak over one another.

"A killer is loose!"

"Are they among us?"

"Anyone seen Fred lately? He and Brant had that row a few days back. Fred says Brant stole a barrel of corn from him..."

"Agh! Fred couldn't do nothing like this. The old bastard can barely manage to wipe himself properly!"

"Monsters!"

"It's blood magic!" A group of teens laughed.

The sound of a punch, a gasp as someone tried to catch their breath after having the wind knocked out of them. Raucous discord as several folks in the crowd bickered and wrestled.

"You shut up with that bloody witchcraft! We need none of that here!"

"Oh the smell, the bloody smell!"

Someone vomited.

Too many voices at once, too much to handle. Sem was not prepared. He didn't know what to do, how to manage this. He was not ready, was not prepared. Suddenly, Old Hoyle stepped in front of the young mayor, placing a soft, yet firm hand on his shoulder.

"Silence!" the old man shouted and everyone quieted.

Hoyle peered over the crowd. Nearly everyone in the town, as far as he could tell, had assembled in the square. "Now, does anybody recognize this man?" He turned, his hand outstretched towards the hanging body as if displaying a hunting prize he'd just slaughtered and was attempting to sell. Recognizing the bad optics, Hoyle swiftly returned his hand to his side.

The crowd was silent. Except for the random fluttering of crows wings and the flickering of torch flames, there were no other sounds.

"Nobody? No one knows this man?"

Still, nothing but silence and the night.

"Then he did not come from our village." Hoyle said, stepping down from the raised platform the flagpole stood upon in the center of town. He paced in front of the crowd. "Someone brought the body here."

Murmurs, gasps, turmoil. The crowd, of course, was frightened and confused. Who could do such a thing? This little, quiet, riverside town did nothing but farm and fish and sew and mind it's own business. Who could have something, anything, against them?

Sheriff Burke, wrapping up his discussion with the other townguards made his way down the platform steps to join Hoyle. Though calling them townguards was a bit of a stretch. The group was made up of two drunkards, like Burke himself, and two young men, barely into the throes of puberty, probably with just the lightest sprigs of hair on their balls. Nothing to truly entrust the safety of a whole town with. But, it was what they had. It'd have to do.

Burke spoke up, "there was no trail of blood leading into the square." More murmuring. "whoever did this, muddy have slit the poor man's throat right here."

"Or whatever did this!" A man shouted from the crowd.

"Quiet!" Hoyle shouted. A crow cawed out, as if in response.

"I've spoken with the other townguards." The Sheriff said. "We will post up for the rest of the night, two at each entrance to the village. We'll make sure nothing enters our town. At first light we, and any able-bodied man who can, will travel out and search nearby in the river lands."

The crowd, unsatisfied, continued to surge with doubt and with fear.

"What if the killer is hiding here, hiding amongst us?"

"What if he's escaped while we all gather here?"

"Who says it's a 'he'?"

"A woman couldn't do something as gruesome as this!"

"Oh fuck off, I've seen monstrous women in my day!"

"Quiet!" Hoyle shouted again. Nearly forty years in service as a councilman of this quiet town. He'd seen nothing like this before, and was entirely unprepared to deal with it. But, it was moments like these that one must truly step up as a leader. And clearly Mayor Sem was unable to do so.

The Mayor, still up on the platform, willed himself to not look at the gruesome body hanging upside down next to him. The dripping blood had stopped, thank the sun and the moon, but still. The dead exert a certain depressive aura that makes a man almost want to join them.

Hoyle, through all his years in this town, had not seen anything quite like this. A dead cow attacked by wolves, sure. Maybe a sick horse that needed to be put down by its owner, yes. But a grisly murder like this? In their very own streets? Impossible.

A deep sense of foreboding swept across Hoyle as he stood in front of the crowd. The only way he knew to muster the strength to make himself feel better was to tell the people what they wanted to hear. Make them feel safe and he'd have done his job.

"Our sheriff and our guards will protect us through the night. They will hunt whatever did this tomorrow morning. There's no use searching now; it's still too dark." Hoyle encouraged. "Whoever did this may have escaped but they can't have gone far. It rained just a few hours ago. Their tracks in the mud will be preserved in the mud around our village."

The crowd didn't seem to accept this, but without other answers or explanations they remained silent. The Sheriff turned, nodding to the old men and the young pre-teens, who gripped their dull swords just a bit tighter and rushed off in opposite directions to stand guard at the two village entrances.

Meanwhile, someone again shouted out, incredulously: "if it's blood magic, we'll never find them!"

Another retorted: "Shove that blasphemy up your ass! Blood magic's not real, you know that!"

"You lot best stop talking bout magic at all, lest we get the Knights of the Phoenix patrolling through our Village! Or worse, those bloody Three Fingered Men..."

Hoyle's stomach felt queasy. And it wasn't just the mention of blood magic, or the thought of the Three Fingered Men paying the townsfolk a visit. He needed to do something. Needed to stop the rumors, the wild speculation amongst the crowd.

A cool breeze passed through the crowd and with it, any hope of quelling the spreading rumors in the town.

A deep, raspy voice called throughout the square, chilling everyone present to the very bone.

"The blood of the fallen shall haunt the living."

If Hoyle's heart, still beating, hadn't stopped at the first sight of the hanging body, it should have stopped now.

"Who said that?" whispered Mayor Sem.

All was quiet. Except for the ruffling of crow feathers, and the large assembled crowd, of course, it was as if tonight were no different from any other night. Then, the raspy voice spoke again:

"Your Sun and your Moon cannot save you from the Hell that swiftly comes tonight."

It was then that Hoyle noticed the faces of those in the crowd, staring rapt in horror past him and towards the center of the square. He whirled around so fast it made his old bones ache.

The body, now completely drained of blood and cooling, was...twirling slowly in the air. Suspended, somehow, by nothing. The eyes, the sightless dead eyes, were now glowing a deep crimson. The dead man's mouth was agape, a dark cavern from which the horrible voice escaped.

It repeated itself again, those same words, and with them panic and terror woke the crowd from its horrified stupor. Screams and shouts echoed throughout the town square. Hoyle was shoved to the ground as two of the other councilmen ran into the crowd to their wives. Children crying, crows cawing, chaos reigning. There was nothing the council could do now to calm the crowd. Everybody wanted to get as far away from the twirling dead man as they could.

Mayor Sem had fallen to his feet, just a few meters from where Hoyle lay. He whimpered, scared and confused. His youth now very apparent, Hoyle pitied the young mayor, the boy who never chose this leadership role, who had probably never even seen death first hand. Hoyle crawled, his bad hip burning with pain, to Sem's side. "Get up, boy! We need to move."

The sheriff and the other town guards had returned from their posts. They made their way to the Mayor and Hoyle, helping the old man to his feet.

Burke was the first to speak, shouting over the screams of the chaotic crowd, "Sir, what shall we do?"

"We need to quiet the townsfolk," Hoyle replied. Sem was shaking in Hoyle's arms. They watched the crowd running back and forth, mothers trying to find their children who'd been lost in the madness. Fathers desperately trying to traverse the crowd and get to their homes, whether to grab their own weapons or just to shack up and hide.

"They're not going to calm down," Burke said, solemnly. Nothing like this had ever happened in their quiet town. He hadn't seen this much pandemonium since the Battle of Brystell, years earlier. He'd moved here to seek a quiet life of drinking, gambling, and more drinking. It was looking like that quiet life had run its course. Burke turned and looked at the twisting body. The crimson glow of its eyes made his balls jump back inside the sheriff's body. He felt queasy, uncertain. Damn it, he was scared.

"Garus!" Hoyle called out, seeking the Sun Priest. The man, dressed in a billowy white robe emblazoned with the red and yellow symbol of the sun, had bowed his head in prayer. Garus stood in front of the rotating corpse, his long white hair falling over the rest of his face. Muttering under his breath.

Great good prayer will do for us right now, Hoyle thought. "Garus! Where is Balyr?"

The Sun Priest did not respond, acting as if he'd heard nothing. How could one hear nothing at a time like this? The town was alive with fear and death and anybody paying attention could notice nothing else.

Balyr, the Moon Priest, still nowhere to be found. "He's probably at that brothel in Mendellwood," Burke supposed. "Bastard always had a thing for the women up there."

"And the men," snorted another town guard. Burke smacked the man in his chest.

Suddenly, Hoyle's unease subsided, not into a good feeling, but into one he'd not felt for many, many moons. Dread. His heart, his mind, his very soul filled with dread.

The chaos and screaming had ceased, almost as quickly as it had begun. Replacing it were not shouts joy and happiness, no. The crows, all of which appeared throughout the night, gathering one by one like the crowd of townsfolk below, had perched themselves in rows along the tops of the buildings. They looked down over the square below, watching. Waiting.

In unison, the birds' heads turned upwards to the black sky, their beaks opening as if of one mind. A terrible shriek pierced the night, emanating from each crow, the sounds enveloping and multiplying into one murderous screech.

Children ducked, clutching at their mothers' robes, covering their ears with their little hands. Fathers paused where they were, looking up at the line of crows above them. Hoyle stared in awe, dumbstruck, worried. Tears burst from Mayor Sem's eyes. Burke had no idea what to think: was this really happening? Or a drunken nightmare he'd soon wake up from?

"It is time." The raspy voice called, escaping out of the swirling corpse's gaping mouth. The crows' shrieks immediately stopped when the voice spoke, though their heads remained pointed up at the sky.

Then, the man's white body, once suspended demonically in the air slumped to the ground with a sickening, wet crunch. The moment it fell prostrate onto the bloody stone below the crows heads whipped down from the sky, eyeing the crowd of townspeople who had stopped their chaotic running in an attempt to fathom what was happening in their once quiet town.

Moving as if like one solitary form, the crows black wings lifted them from their perches on the buildings and they each dove, faster than anyone could imagine a crow could dive, into the crowd. The massacre was quick, and certainly not painless.

Beaks pierced through thick jugular veins, ripping out throats. Talons tore into chests, wings beating, feathers flying. The villagers' screams filled the night air, mixing with the fluttering of wings, the cawing of the birds, the wet crunches as bodies fell and eyes were dug out by bloodied beaks.

It lasted only a few minutes, but soon everything went quiet. The birds, having done what they were summoned to do, flew off as quietly as they had arrived.

The bloody scene would not be discovered for four more hours, when a passing merchant arrived at the town's gates, curious as to why he had not been greeted as usual by Old Man Hoyle.

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