#still my only farmer to use the light rings

[coral-nerd]

Few things are as epic to me as a glowing Maya

[junicult]

contains ; tooth-rotting fluff. farmer referred to as “wife,” otherwise gender ambiguous. maybe a bit self-indulgent. old married couple activities. calling harvey “sexy” cus i have eyes. offhanded mentions of a daughter.

note ; it’s still fall (where i live) but in my mind december 14 is winter 14. sooo technically it’s harvey’s birthday & i thought this was pretty on the nose for my handsome man <3

this is always harvey’s favorite time of night.

it’s past eleven o’clock, you’re both tired which is why you’re sitting quietly with the television playing your current favorite series on low volume. you’ve put your daughter down to bed a couple hours ago, now it’s the time to peacefully bask in each others company.

you both have a wordless routine by now; one sits on the floor while the other pampers them for thirty minutes until you swap positions. whenever that timer goes up, it’s off to bed.

your time ended a few minutes ago, so now your husband sits happily on the cushiony pillow you left, while you sit on the couch behind him and rub his shoulders.

the requests always differ, it depends on the night. usually it’s a massage, sometimes you want him to play with your hair. he always loves a shoulder rub.

so you sit there, semi-lazily squeezing and kneading his neck and shoulders while the tv plays in front of you.

your fingers mindlessly comb through his hair every so often—you can’t help it, it’s always so soft.

“how much is left in this episode?” you murmur, scraping up the underside of his scalp, scratching the crown of his head and gently pulling the short strands until they disappear between your fingers, just to repeat it again. you know how much he likes that.

he reaches for the remote, tapping a button to get the popup. “about fifteen minutes.” he answers lowly, voice tired and scruffy.

you don’t answer, instead watching how your hands move through his hair instead of focusing on the show. you’ve seen this episode already, the new one doesn’t come out for a couple days.

you’ve always loved the smell of his shampoo and conditioner. kind-of piney, it’s the same soap he’s used since you first met. sometimes he smells like citrus, and that’s when you know he used your hair products.

he hasn’t cut his hair in a while, either. he used to go to the city for that until you once told him you weren’t too bad at cutting hair yourself. before you officially started dating years ago, you offered to cut his hair—at that point, it was the most intimate thing you’ve done together—and since then you’ve continued to cut it. however, with the baby and all, you’ve both lost the time to get those minor tasks done. you’ve actually grown a liking to it. not only has the hair on his head gotten longer, he’s packing a slightly thicker-than-normal scruff along his jaw that you’ve complimented one too many times for him to get around to shaving.

you’re just about to look back at the tv until one thing catches your eye, and suddenly you’re leaning in to get a closer look.

you use your fingers to part the thick tufts of hair, eventually using both hands to create a ring and separate the strands.

“hey,” you smile, “you’ve got a grey hair.”

“i do?” harvey’s hand immediately lifts to touch his head, and you lightly knock it away.

“yeah, right at the top of your head.”

he attempts to look up but your grip keeps him momentarily still while you run your thumb over the single strand. you’re staring so close you can practically see all the tones of the hair; light grey at the base, fading into a darker grey, and the tip remains his natural light brown.

flattening your palm over the spot to ruffle the hair back up again, you tease with a giggle, “you’re getting old.”

“where is it?” he asks, his voice a bit duller as his hand pats around the top of his head.

“don’t get rid of it!”

he turns to look up at you, small furrow of his eyebrows. “why not?”

“‘cus it’s sexy,” you shrug, as if it’s obvious, starting over your prior movements of soothing your fingers through his scalp. he turns back to the tv for you to repeat your ministrations.

“my single grey hair is sexy?” he asks, tone mild in disbelief.

“emphasis on yours.” you nod, searching for the strand once again with your eyes. “it just means you’re gonna have gorgeous salt and pepper hair. i can’t wait.”

he sits with a frown, fighting hard not to reach up and mess with his hair. he’s spent years of his life thinking about this inevitable moment, to think his wife was the one to find it first.

“then it’s gonna spread to your facial hair,” you continue, quietly sighing, “and you’re gonna be the most handsomest silver fox i’ve ever seen.”

your choice of words almost sound taunting, but your mind is only playing the images of your fantasy while you carry a big smile. he knows that for a certain.

truthfully, if he were to find a single grey hair while he was standing in his apartment all alone, he might’ve felt defeat. the constant reminder of the ticking time he has left looming over his head, and a grey hair is no diversion from that. there’s that clock counting down while he spent days upon days wondering when that melancholy feeling would go away, if it ever would.

however, it’s different now. because he’s not standing alone in his apartment, looking ahead at an unclear view of his life with sullen eyes.

you notice his silence immediately, pressing your hands to his shoulders and using them as leverage to lean over his side, your hair dangling like a curtain.

“are you alright?” you say softly, giving his shoulder a squeeze.

he holds your gaze, smile wrinkling his eyes, “yeah. it’s just a reminder i’m getting older.”

you press a kiss to his cheek. “we’re getting older. i’m not going anywhere.”

[heartfullofleeches]

Fletcher and foxboy malewife are my favorite but what if.... fletcher and naga malewife? I think that'd be interesting

Yan Farmer Flemish Rabbit Hybrid + Naga Reader

[No pronouns used for Reader but they are referred to as wife and intended to be male]

-

"Give it back...... Give it back...."

A stalking plague falls upon the sleepy town. Residents of a once a bustling burrow of rabbits now lock their doors soon as the sun sets over the mountains in fear of the shadow lurking down every barren alleyway. Hunger pains, yet it does not seek the flesh of these creature. It hunts each night - a restless search for the item able to free it from this place. Anger and fear rule its mind, teeth flared at any and all who answer their pleas incorrectly. Confusion replaces the fear dread in the hearts of its victims at the accusations of theft. Regardless, the beast points their claws at whomever crosses their path til what they have lost is rightfully returned.

"Give it back...."

"This what you're lookin' for?"

A chain dangles freely from the rabbit's finger - moonlight bouncing off the blood red gem tailored to the sliver band attached to the end of the chain. There's something odd about this rabbit. Why does this one smell so... familiar?

The barn.

Your sanctuary from the raging storm has been the crux of all your troubles from the very beginning. This rabbit must be is caretaker then. You've seen him in passing, but had no interest in him besides his herd so you never paid much attention to the details. One that goes without saying is how large the man is. Your tail gives you leverage now, but if you don't get your ring back soon then surely-

"It's rude to keep what isn't yours. Give it to me."

"Hey, now- I found this on my property fair and square. I even waited the first couple of nights for you to come back, but you never showed. I was starting to worry I'd never see you again."

Does he enjoy the sound of his own voice? Something catches your eye over the rabbit's shoulder. A glimmer of yellow breaking over the horizon. Panic sets in as a tingle runs through the nerves of your tail. It won't be long now. You needed to act fast. The rabbit looked to be aware of your peril as he takes several steps back into the growing sunlight. Your hand recoils as it creeps towards you.

"Been watching you for a long time now. Long enough to know a small bit about this whole... situation you got going on. I'll give you this ring back - for a price.~"

He's stalling. Sunlight blinds your sight as that accursed ball of light peeks over the buildings. Your body slowly begins to shrink - tail splitting in two as you topple over from the sudden shift in your shape. You crash to the ground - the bulk of your scales receding into your all too human flesh as you land. The rabbit whistles, turning a bashful eye away from your nude figure.

"If humiliating me is what you wanted, I'd say you got what you wished. Can I have my ring back now?"

A curse passed down generation by generation. By night, you are your true self. By day, you are forced to walk this earth on two legs like the rest of animal kin. The disadvantage it puts you at is steep. Smaller, weaker, pitiful. That ring has the power to return you to your proper state even now. You have to get it back.

The rabbit appears offended by your words.

"Humiliate you? Now why on earth would I want to humiliate my wife? You'll get this ring back on our wedding day. I'd love to get you something flashy myself, but it's nicer to keep things in the family. Sooner we get married, sooner you get this back - got it?."

He.... can't be serious. You still return to your true form by sunset. You may be able to overpower him then. As things stood now, you had no chance. Not only was he bigger than you, but in the scarce chance you obtain the upper hand now the town's people are sure to come to his rescue before you can grab what's yours and flee.

"Alright. I will become your wife in exchange for what's mine."

The rabbit grins. "That's the spirit. Name's Fletcher by the way, but most folks call me Fetch. Thought you might like to know since we'll be stuck together from now on."

Fletcher pulls something from his shoulders as he approaches. A fuzzy blanket which he drapes around you as he lifts you off the cold ground. The bastard really has been watching you- Shuddering from the cold, you seek the warmth from his fur as you place your head to his chest - heart beat gone sporadic as you nestle your face deeper into the fluff. If you are to be stuck with him for now, it's better to play along than give away your true intentions so soon.

"Heh, let's get you home before you freeze out here. I'll make you something to eat and we'll get to know each other better before we start planning our special day."

That sounds.... pleasant. The food that is. You can't recall the last time you'd eaten. Hooking your arms around the rabbits neck, he carries you off in the direction of his home as the sleepy town you once terrorized wakes once more.

[modern-inheritance]

Modern Inheritance: Vinr Älfakyn (Short) (Post Galbatorix death or something)

(A/N: Jesus fucking christ I think this is Roran's first ever official appearance in MIC. 2024 is the year of firsts. Oh no I made an accidental smut joke there oh no okay just take this short and go away.)

~~~

“Roran!” He turned at the hoarse call of his name. Arya slowed her jog to a stop beside him, one hand landing on his shoulder as if to steady herself. “Sorry, you’re…a hard man to find in this mess. I thought I missed you.” The elf took a moment to catch her breath. If he hadn’t seen the same action done by half the injured elven warriors he passed in the last hour, he would have thought it was impossible. “Katrina? And Ismira?”

The names of his family softened the set of Roran’s jaw. “They’re safe. We just sent word to them that we won.” He tilted his head forward, shaggy hair falling into his eyes. The image of Barst swinging that damn mace of his like it was no more than a toy played in his mind. “Your mother?”

“Alive.” The word came as a cough. In the far distance, Roran saw Saphira’s wings sweep up in preparation for flight. Arya must have dashed the entire length of the sprawling camp, dodging wounded and worried alike just to reach him, Stronghammer, of all people. “Alive! In no small part thanks to your intervention.”

Arya drew herself up then, taking two steadying breaths. “I’ve been named Queen Regent until Islanzadí is back to full health.” She stumbled on the word full, falling silent for a brief moment.

“Congratulations.” Roran offered in the quiet between words. The sentiment was hollow, the former farmer knowing full well that Arya would have taken any job other than Queen of anything in less than a heartbeat. “That’s a step up, even temporarily.”

Arya let out a crack of a laugh, picking up on his tone. “I already hate it. But it does allow me the honor of this.” She reached into one of the pouches arrayed on her blood splattered combat belt. “It’s not up to the proper craftsmanship, and I’ll get you one made right when it’s not chaos. But…skipping the formal stuff that we’ll probably have to put a show on for later…”

Arya took both Roran’s calloused hands in one of her own rough palms and, in a voice ringing with power despite the exhaustion at the edges, proclaimed, “By my power as Queen of the Elves, I bestow on you this ring. Your actions and strength have done a great deed here today, for all of the Älfakyn, and for that, and for the help you gave in Queen Islanzadí’s hour of greatest need, I name you, Roran Stronghammer, son of Garrow, Vinr Älfakyn, an elf friend. You may use this ring to access all the benefits and honors that title carries.”

When she pulled away, Roran opened his hands to reveal a burnished gold and titanium signet ring. Stamped in the metal at the top was a familiar symbol, one burned into his memory from flashing at Brom’s finger countless nights of stories and shared meals.

“This…” Roran slipped the cool band around his finger. He lifted his hand to the half light of smoke-hazed dusk and watched the weak sun reflect in the metal. “This means a lot to you and yours, doesn’t it?” 

He lowered his arm. The weight of the ring was miniscule, but all at once the true meaning of the gesture and the bestowment dawned on him.

Him. A farmer’s son. Roran, Roran Stronghammer. Was now at the same standing with the elves as one of the Dragon Riders of old. The same standing as Brom, the living legend. 

The normal life in Palancar Valley suddenly felt so very far away indeed.

“Yeah.” The still somewhat out of breath grin would have caught Roran off guard if he had the energy for surprise anymore. “If you, Katrina or Ismira need help at any point, find an elf and show this to them. They’ll help you, no questions asked and no complaints. Unless it’s something heinous, I guess.”

Roran had only half a breath to flick his gaze to Arya’s face before the woman suddenly pulled him into a fierce hug that made his tired bones creak. 

“Thank you.” Arya murmured in his ear. “Thank you.”

[looby1302]

Part 4 of guilty conscience

Hope you all enjoy.

Smut and angst warning.

This is Jackies POV

As she hung up on Cole, tears formed in Her eyes, not only was she in shock with the words that he had began to mutter. She was also homesick. she felt like she just found her new family, only to leave them without warning. she may have not liked Colorado when she first arrived, however, this countrified little town she grew to love. This family had accepted her, as she is, no questions asked.

George and Catherine’s presence, The Brothers bickering, Parkers ball hitting the house, even the dogs bark. She missed it all. The thought of Alex, not knowing what happened, why she left, and why she wasn’t answering haunted her. She needed to call and explain herself. but she would give Herself tonight, to try and find the right words. To tell this boy that she had began to grow attached to that he wasn’t the one that she truthfully desired.

She fell into a light slumber, awakening all through the night by the sound of traffic, people, arguing, music in the distance. The morning came around quickly as sleep eluded her. She entered in the living room she glanced suspiciously at Danny pacing the room, getting ready for Juilliard. “ you will be great today I have no doubt”. He looked at her, with relief. like that’s exactly what he needed to hear. “ thanks Jackie, I hope you have a great day at your internship as well, I’ll see you tonight.” With that Danny left making his way to the front door. The apartment was quiet, uncle Richard Had left for business in the early hours. He would be back tomorrow morning.

She got her bag ready, fixed Her hair, chose the right outfit, and yet she still had an hour to spare. She decided to have that dreaded phone call. the One she had been avoiding. She unlocks her phone, scrolls through the contacts until she sees the name, Alex, Walter and she hits the call button. Her heart starts beating uncontrollably.

He answers on the fifth ring. Frantically he starts talking “ hey what’s up? where are you? Why haven’t I heard from you? Are you ok?”. Jackie takes a deep breath. “ hey Alex, I’m so sorry that I left without saying goodbye, I’ve got the internship. I found out in the morning and they needed me right away. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone, I just thought that would be better for me, just to leave, I’m in New York with Danny”.

Alex continued talking, he couldn’t quite fathom the reason why she didn’t wake anyone. Why she couldn’t say goodbye to her boyfriend. why she just upped and left. he barely let her speak. With that, she cut him off. “ look Alex, I know that you’re going to camp today and obviously I’m in New York to do my internship, I think we should hit the pause button on us, I’m sorry, it’s just not working.”. She said sympathetically.. “ what do you mean pause button on us? we were together. I told you I loved you, you said nothing back, I wake up to find you gone, the teapot the one that Parker broke in your bedroom all fixed. I don’t buy it. I know that this is something to do with Cole. what did he do?”.

She takes deep breath, obviously she’s not going to confess everything that happened. That would cause more hostility in the house. “ Cole hasn’t done anything, he gave me the teapot, as a thank you, for helping him get back on the right path, he also knew how much it meant to me, I’m sorry I’m doing this over the phone but I’ll see you when your back from camp and maybe we can talk about it then”. with that Alex replied “sure”. He hung up on her.

Jackie felt a huge relief, maybe not About the cheating part. But in general she had put a stop to the relationship at least for now. She had only just got over the hottest make out session of her life.

Jackie had made it to her internship, she had began doing office work and organising which is something she love to do. She had no complaints, as she finally took her lunch break. She could see, this farmer looking Young man staring at her through the window. She started to think that she was going crazy. there’s no way that Cole walter is in New York. as he gets closer and closer. she still can’t believe her eyes.

As he enters and uses those famous words. “ Hey New York” she quivers. Not thinking, instinctively she rises from her chair. heads over to him. She forcefully grabs him by the neck and presses her lips against his. The kiss intensifies as he pulls her in closer and her legs start to buckle at the sensation.

The bag strap falls from his shoulder. hits the ground with a massive thud. She suddenly snaps back into reality and steps backwards. “Jackie, you’ll be the death of me” He mutters breathlessly, his eyes still fixed on hers. After finally getting her breath back. “ I can’t believe I just did that, what are you doing here?”. He smiles at her. “ I came here for you“.

She can hear voices in the distance growing closer and closer she chooses to step back again to create some more distance. “ Miss Howard, Louise has asked me if you could have those numbers done by tonight at the latest please”. This raven haired, businesswoman asks “ sure, no problem” Jackie replies. as the woman turns and walks away. Jackie turns to Cole. “ we will talk tonight, do you have anywhere to stay? or do you wanna stay at Uncle Richards?”.

As she holds her posture. “ I didn’t really think that far ahead, would it be okay if I stay at Richards?” he says, not, even blinking once, eyes transfixed on her. “ of course. I’ve got to get back to work but I’ll text you the address. Nobody should be there at the moment, Richard is on business, Danny is at Juilliard, so let yourself in, please make yourself at home”. She says handing him a key from her bag.

Cole leans down and picks up his bag “sure New York, thanks”. He heads towards the door, Of course not without giving her one last look up and down. she starts to feel Fire burning throughout her whole body, watching him leave through the window.

Jackie hurries to Richard’s apartment once she has finished her work and told she can leave. She enters the front door and heads inside looking for Cole. She finds him in the living room sat on the couch watching football waiting for her, When he finally spots her “hey we need to talk”. He says gulping at her beauty, she heads toward him, she drops her bag off of her back mid stride as it hits the floor. She places one leg over his waist and begins to straddle him.

He’s taken back a bit, this is not what he was expecting at all. He looks up into her eyes as she hovers above him. They are blown wide, pupils dilated. This time it’s his turn. He grabs the back of her head pulling her down. Lips crashing, hands moving all over each other, Moans and grunts escaping uncontrollably. His hand is lowering as her dress is rising up. She knows she wants him more than anything. They both stop dead where they hear a cough emerge from the other end of the living room, they both turn to see Danny stood there with a horrifying look on his face.

PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU LIKE THIS!

Once again I am not much of a writer but hope you all enjoyed.

[timespaceandfilm]

Reinventing the Wheel - Ch 28: Raven's Descent

Author: timespaceandfilm

Fic Rating: E - this fic has some NSFW content in other chapters, 18+ only

Chapter Rating: E - There be Smut under the cut!

Pairings: Sebastian x Female Farmer

Notes: This chapter has one little section of Seb's POV

Chapter Word Count: 14.6 k

Chapter Warnings: panic attacks, alcoholism, some pretty unhealthy self-image/self esteem stuff

Chapter Summary: Charlie's past continues to haunt her as her birthday draws nearer and nearer. Sebastian can tell something is up. So why isn't she saying anything?

Blurb:

Sunday brings one of those damp days where the mist rolls off the hillsides and pours down into every crevice of the valley. Luckily, the rain is much more tolerable, coming down in a drizzle far gentler than Thursday’s relentless downpour. Still, I strap a tarp over my wagon to keep the hardwood inside dry as I escort it up the mountain trail. To the untrained eye, it would seem like I’m pulling it normally. In reality, my right hand is hovering a few centimeters above the handle, as I use my magnet ring to guide it along. I want to save as much physical energy as possible for tonight so I can finally catch those last two fish.

Robin is literally twiddling her thumbs when I make it through her doorway.

“Future daughter-in-law!” She gasps. She stands up so quickly that I hear the stool under her clatter to the ground.

I remove my bucket hat so Robin gets a clear view of my deadpan expression. “I can leave and go turn this hardwood into fencing.”

Robin just laughs as she steps out from behind the counter. “And miss out on all this cash?” She waves an envelope at me. “That seems so unlike you.”

Once we get my wagon unloaded, Robin insists I stay for lunch and coffee. We chat about my plans for upgrading the coop and possibly getting a shed built so I can expand my keg operation. Then we get on the topic of the upcoming fair and the smile on Robin’s face becomes slanted.

“I wish I could’ve seen Grandpa’s display,” I sigh. “But I never got to experience fall in the valley til this year.”

Robin sighs too. Gets this far-off look in her eyes. “Henry’s entry was always the best, even when he didn’t win first prize. Pierre’s looks good, but it’s pretty much the same every year. Your grandfather always had something new in his display. And he had more variety. Gemstones from the mines, mushrooms foraged in the woods, and the very best animal products and artisan goods O’Brien farm produced each year. Henry knew how to flaunt his abilities. And your grandmother’s of course. Her cooking was often the highlight of their entry.”

It should be nice, in a bittersweet, sentimental way, hearing Robin wax poetic about my grandparents and how talented and successful they were. It’s clear that she loved them as much as the rest of the valley did. But, all it does is cause an anxious murmur among the bots. Not only do I have Pierre to compete with, but I also have a legacy to live up to. And I have just over a week to do it.

“Well, hopefully I can give Pierre a run for his money this year.” I get up and grab our dishes so I can wash them. “Any idea if Seb’s up yet?”

There’s a long silence before Robin responds. “Not sure. I know he had a late night working.”

I opt to ignore her careful gaze on me. “Yeah, that’s what he told me. I think I’ll tempt fate and see about waking him.” There’s coffee left in the pot so I grab Seb’s “Just Don’t” mug from the cabinet and fill it up. “Thanks for lunch, Robin! It was great to catch up with you.”

It’s no surprise that I’m met with a weary groan when I knock on Seb’s door. “Special delivery,” I sing, before trying the door. It opens and I’m hit with a wave of deja vu as the light pours into Seb’s dark room in a line.

Sebastian squints up at me from where he’s lying under the covers. His left arm is folded under his head and his hair is a sight. When his eyes adjust, he sits up, grabs his phone, and a few seconds later, the lights come on, glowing warm and dim. I close the door behind me, dropping my bag on the couch before I bring the coffee over.

“I hope it’s still warm enough.” I sit on the edge of the bed, not even pretending not to ogle him as he takes a sip.

Seb downs half the mug, then places it on his bedside table. “Actual angel,” he rasps, leaning over to kiss my cheek.

I laugh and roll my eyes, trying to keep the incoming blush at bay. “How’d you sleep?”

“Awful,” Seb groans. “I had everything done but when I went to do a test run the whole thing crashed. It’s gonna take me all day to comb through and figure out what the issue is.” He looks at me with a guilty frown. “I might be here late again but project’s due at midnight so I should make it home tonight.”

My eyebrow twitches as those last few words catch in my head and ping-pong around. Seb just yawns and swings his legs over the edge of the bed, completely oblivious to what he just said.

“That’s fine,” I finally respond. “I’ll be out late catching the walleye anyway. You might even make it home before I do.”

He gets up, sporting nothing but a pair of boxer briefs, and stretches. Mmm-mm.

“Maybe. Are you hanging out, or just performing drive-by miracles?”

I check the time on my phone. “I have a few hours before eel time. Was gonna go for a nap since I’ll be up so late, but I could be convinced to stay.”

Seb picks the mug back up and turns to peer at me over the rim. “Could you now?”

My lips curl into a smirk as I let my eyes rove up and down his form. “Yeah,” I nod. “Definitely.”

“Good. Why don’t you get undressed for me while I freshen up? I’d like breakfast in bed to go with this coffee.”

It takes me less than a minute to strip down, so rather than give my mind the opportunity to wander, I grab something random off Seb’s bookshelf. Cave Saga X. Looks interesting enough. I recline on Sebastian’s bed with my legs crossed and the book propped up on my tits and start reading.

By the time Seb emerges from the bathroom, I’ve actually become pretty engrossed in the plot. I don’t even bother looking up until I hear him chuckle.

“Nice pick. That’s a good one.”

I frown when I see that he’s got a pair of sweats on now. When I begin to put the book aside, Seb protests.

“No, no. Don’t let me interrupt you.”

Well alright then. I guess I can finish this chapter before-

A cold hand on my ankle pulls a gasp from me. I tip the book down so I can watch Seb uncross my legs. 

“Keep reading, darling.” He drops to his knees and a shiver runs through me.

“There gonna be a quiz on this?” I quip breathlessly.

“Maybe.” Seb wraps his arms under my thighs and over my hips, tugging me to the edge of the bed. “You’d better study, just in case.” Then he’s lifting my legs over his shoulders. The feeling of his warm breath fanning over my core has my hips rocking up. Seb just hums and places an arm over my belly.

At first I try to play along. I actually make it through another page as Sebastian begins kissing up each thigh. My concentration begins to dwindle, though, and I’m forced to reread the section I’m on every time he pauses to suck a bit of skin between his teeth. By the time Seb’s tongue starts to run over the tendons at the crease of each thigh, my mind is blank and the book is nothing more than a prop.

When he begins to administer soft, careful licks to my outer labia, I press the book flat over my bare chest. Seb chuckles and pauses to look up at me.

“Tired of reading, angel?”

I nod, closing the book and setting it aside. “Turns out I’m illiterate.”

“It’s a comic book, there’s barely any words.”

“I think I’m blind too- oh fuck!” My head tips back as Seb places an open-mouthed kiss right over where I’m soaked for him.

“Your eyesight seems fine to me.” He does it again. And again and again. Practically making out with my slit without actually delving in where I need him to be.

“Fuck, Seb! I thought you had work to do.” My hips are twitching with the desire to grind against that wicked tongue.

“I do.” Another kiss. “Doesn’t mean I can’t make space for my favorite pastime.” I roll my eyes, but the feeling of his fingers finally spreading my labia apart recaptures my attention. “Just maintaining some work-life balance, y’know?”

Read the Full Chapter on AO3

[baileys-writing-desk]

Reunion

Ten years after the events of LU, the Thunder Dragon is met with his beloved Hylian friend one more time.

AO3

Reunion

In the decade since Link returned from his second adventure, the Thunder Dragon has made an effort to connect with the Hylians on the Surface. He visits newly built neighborhoods occasionally, dropping Rupees into the fields and singing for farmers to keep them entertained as they work. After so many years spent in near-isolation, it is relieving to become more involved in the bustle of others’ everyday lives.

And so, he doesn’t think much of it when a Hylian bursts into his clearing, gazing up at him in astonishment. Rather, what makes him pause is the newness of this person. A man approaching middle age, with pale skin, curly brown hair, and dressed in a simple chestnut tunic and trousers.

He doesn’t remember seeing this man anywhere, on Skyloft or the Surface…

“Lanayru!”

His eyes widen in surprise. “How did you know my name?”

“You’re here!” the man continues, ignoring the dragon’s question. “It’s really you, I can’t believe it!” He sprints across the clearing to get closer to Lanayru. “Oh…I missed you so much!!”

“Woah, woah, slow down. Do I know you?”

He certainly knows me.

And the man does look slightly familiar…

“Don’t say you don’t remember me!” He slows to a stop, gazing up at Lanayru with hazel eyes. “Here, maybe this will ring a bell? My name is Link.”

“Really? Hmm…how interesting, I’m afraid I don’t know another Li–”

He gasps.

The fluffy brown hair, the unmistakable eyes and composure of a hero, the sweet smile that has persisted with age…

It’s him.

A name escapes Lanayru’s mouth, one he hasn’t uttered in so many years.

“...Rulie??”

The man nods.

Holy fucking shit!!

“Yes, I’m the Hero of Hyrule. I was worried you wouldn’t recognize me, old man!”

“Wha–? Why–how did you–?” In a frenzy, Lanayru stumbles over his words. “How–are you here?”

Rulie chuckles. “Portal.”

The Thunder Dragon frowns. The only portals he knows of, besides the Gate of Time, are the dark magic ones the Shadow created…

“But…your quest is over. Has another one started?”

“No, quite the opposite. This one wasn’t dark magic at all, it was white and gold. I felt calm as I walked through. And it just led me straight here. I think that…the Goddesses wanted us to meet again.”

Lanayru’s heart races in his chest. This is a dream. It has to be a dream, right? Because Rulie is standing right in front of him. The one who left forever a decade ago. If not a dream, an absolute miracle.

“Well, they waited an awfully long time!” he exclaims. Why? Why not earlier…? “You have more wisdom in your eyes, boy. May I ask, how old are you now?”

“I’m thirty.”

The old dragon raises an eyebrow. Rulie was twenty when he left.

“Ah, I see.” Lanayru replies, nodding his head. “It’s been ten years for me, too. You know…I still think about you after all this time, I am beyond relieved to know you are alive and well. You have no idea how happy this makes me–”

“Oh, I do. I can see it in your face.” Hyrule grins, in exactly the same way he used to do, the only difference being the slight marks around his features from aging. “And you’re really lighting up!”

The Thunder Dragon briefly glances down, watching the line of blue light travel from his tail up to his chest. Faster and brighter than usual, for sure. The sparks of electricity from his horns are most likely a bit more frequent too. Changes that are seen as subtle by most others, but Rulie…he remembers.

He lets out a hearty laugh as he turns back to the hero. “I guess I am, boy.” Hmm… should he still be calling Rulie ‘boy’? “Here, if you don’t mind…can I–”

The hero responds right as he begins to lower his hand.

“You don’t need to ask for that one. Just grab me!”

“…Oh?”

Many Hylians are wary of touching Lanayru, due to the electricity he emits, even though the only real way to be harmed is to touch his horns. Nobody just lets him pick them up like this.

Except for Rulie.

It’s more proof that this man is indeed Hyrule, and not some Surface man who looks just like him, pretending to be the hero in some awful prank.

“Go on, old man, what are you waiting for?”

The old dragon gently wraps his fingers around Rulie’s body and lifts his hand up toward his face, placing the man into the palm of his other hand. “Alright, lemme take a look at you…”

With one finger he strokes through the wild mess of hair, smoothing it down, just like he used to do. The hero sits down in his palm and runs a hand along the soft but scaly texture.

“My friend, you…you’re really here,” Lanayru breathes out.

His eyes fill with tears.

“Hard to believe, isn’t it?” Rulie chuckles. “So…how are you?? How’s Faron and Eldin? And Link! Is he okay?”

“Yes, they’re all good. I just helped Link and Zelda welcome their second child. And Faron—well, she’s a bratty little thing as usual…” He pauses to let out a sniffle. “I’m still causing mischief around here. Eldin once said I’m ‘stubborn and wily’.”

“He’s not wrong. All three of you, total brats.” The hero is clearly teasing, and Lanayru smiles behind his fluffy beard. “Ah, I had a feeling Sky would become a dad. He’s a good one, I’m sure. Can we see him?”

“I’ll take you soon, yes.” Lanayru replies. “Anywhere you want to go, boy. Just not to…Lake Floria—“

Before he knows it, a single tear runs down his cheek. Oh, sweet Hylia.

“Lanayru? Are you…crying?”

“No,” he shoots back, wiping his face quickly. He hasn’t cried since….well, since Rulie left.

“Nuh-uh. I can see it.” Rulie grins. “Stubborn little shit.”

…Fuck.

“Fine, you got me…” He lets out a sigh. “I just—I never thought I would actually see you again.”

Another tear comes, but he doesn’t try to hide it this time. He carefully moves his hand up to his beard, and Rulie leans up against the cloud-like fluff.

“…A true blessing, I believe,” the hero replies. “Maybe I’ll get to see all my brothers again too…that would be amazing. Oh, Wind’s probably changed so much!”

“I bet he has.” Lanayru doesn’t elaborate; he barely remembers who this ‘Wind’ person was. Instead he focuses on Rulie, who is scanning the clearing from his perch. The traveler gasps.

“Is that…” Rulie points down toward their left, at the small four-poster bed. The one that had been his back then. “…is that my bed? Did you keep it??”

“Surprisingly, yes.” Lanayru sniffles, trying to regain his composure. “I nearly destroyed it after you left, but…something inside told me not to. It’s my reminder of you, boy.”

“Aw, Lanayru! I’m honored. Although…it looks like someone else has it now, huh?”

The Thunder Dragon takes a closer look at the bed. Sure enough, one of his LD-301 robots is lying there, snuggled in the pillow and blanket.

He giggles, nearly snorting from the tears. “Ah yes, my little friends have taken quite a liking for it.”

It is difficult to tell from this distance, but Lanayru can just make out the features of LD-301S Scrapper. The one Link had frustratingly handed back to him after the first adventure, tired of the small creature’s rude insults. And the one whom the dragon jokingly calls ‘Scrapper the Napper’ now.

Rulie strokes Lanayru’s beard with his hands, grinning. “I remember those little guys. Do you…think they’ll remember me too?”

“Well, maybe. LD-301’s have limited capacity for memories like that. But a few might recognize your name. I was able to teach them ‘Rulie.’ Of course…now they’ve just been calling each other Rulie. So I don’t think they really get it.”

“Awww! Little rascals!” the traveler exclaims. “Wow…I really missed them. I missed all of this! You especially, old man…and all my brothers, my family. It was kinda nice, having a family.”

Lanayru touches Rulie’s hair with a finger again, keeping the hero secure in his other palm. The poor man had been through far too much, at far too young. He deserved to have a real childhood, a chance at a happy life from the start.

“Rulie…you deserve so much better, you know that right? It made our farewell a thousand times more difficult. Because your life has not been easy. And I had to let you go right back to a world that is so cruel to you.” Another tear trickles down his face as he speaks.

The hero doesn’t answer right away, just stares out into the expansion of forest ahead of them.

“I’ve managed,” he replies eventually. “Zelda’s helped me a lot. And remembering you all too…I’ve been using what you and my brothers have taught me.”

Lanayru raises an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Like…different sword fighting skills, self-defense, how to swear at people who fucking piss me off…”

“Ahh, Rulie.” He cackles at the hero’s foul language. “I suppose I was a bad influence on you after all.”

“Nah, that was mostly from Legend. My predecessor.” The traveler pauses to take a breath. “But really, I gained confidence in myself. I’ve kicked some ass out there, old man, you would be impressed.”

“I bet you have.” The old dragon heaves a sigh, remembering the last time he gazed into Rulie’s eyes, and utters the words he has always longed to say. “…I’m so proud of you, boy. You know that, right?”

Hyrule slowly nods, lifting himself out from Lanayru’s beard and looking up at him.

“…Yeah.”

“When we last saw each other, I didn’t get to say that to you one more time. I didn’t tell you how incredible you are and how much you’d grown…even since we first met. And I felt an overwhelming shame.”

“Oh, Lanayru…”

“It’s true. You are a skilled warrior, a loyal friend, you’re truly a gift, Rulie.” He blinks through still-watery eyes and gives the traveler a soft smile. “I hope I made that clear enough ten years ago, and if I didn’t, my sincerest apologies.”

There. You did it.

For a moment, he can almost see Rulie in his green hero’s tunic, sword on his back and a fierce but playful glimmer in his eyes, twenty again. Their last meeting. And if Lanayru had known for sure it was the last one, he would have given a proper farewell.

But when the traveler walked through the dark magic portal, the dragon’s heart ached from bittersweet memories and words left unsaid.

“Don’t be sorry, old man.” Hyrule replies, bringing the dragon out of his thoughts. “I’ve always known how proud you are. You did more than enough.”

“Really? Are you sure?”

“Of course you silly goose, I’m sure! What, you think I’m lying?”

Lanayru chuckles, another tear running down his face. “No…you’re right. I trust you.”

Rulie sighs in what seems to be relief, briefly turning to glance at the clearing’s entrance. And the Thunder Dragon remembers: he needs to take the hero to Link and Zelda, to their two children, and to Skyloft…there is so much to catch up on.

“Good, I’m glad that hasn’t changed.” Hyrule smiles playfully, booping Lanayru’s beard with his finger. It seems his childhood mannerisms have not quite left with age. “Because I’m not leaving your side until I have to go back!”

The dragon wipes his eyes gently, attempting to collect himself before his flight. He doesn’t want to show up at Link’s house looking like this, after all.

“Sounds like a good plan,” he tells the hero.

And somewhere up in the heavens, a Goddess smiles.

[solarphase1]

In which I invite you to join me in my fall to madness as I unravel the deep occult roots of stardew valley-

What we know:

Yoba created the world from light by turning the light into soil the eye of the vortex into a seed which was then sewn and fruited. The world was the fruit which Yoba picked and peeled from its tough rind.

An item containing an inverted Symbol of the Vessel can grant invulnerability, but at the cost of mortality (turns you undead)

The anglo-saxon Ear rune attributed to Yoba (the sign of the vessel) means both “earth” and “grave”

Sign of the vessel is found in domestic rooms, places of worship, and gravestones

Gravestone decorated with the Symbol of the Vessel is displayed during hallows eve festival.

Yoba is believed to be a protector from dark energy

George says he is not religious, but still visits the shrine every Sunday

Robin is religious

So is Demetrius, but perhaps not as strictly

Emily is very religious

Caroline and Pierre are not religious and did not build the altar room. It was built by a previous owner, but they leave it for the townsfolk to use.

Jodi is religious, maybe out of desperation

Krobus is heavily religious. While a friendly monster, he also considers hostile monsters friends.

Monsters can worship Yoba

Krobus will sell you a Symbol of the Vessel totem, but once obtained no one will buy it back from you.

If you place this totem by a fish pond, it will track the type and number of fish within

Yoba can grant magical powers (such as teleportation) through prayer and may grant immunity against monsters ONLY through a holy ring. The lower your health, the more likely Yoba is to shield you

Shane is an atheist

Clara was religious. (“do not worry, I am with Yoba now” letter)

The only remains of holy text are only “highlights” from the original Yoba text

The original "Book of Yoba" is missing, hidden, or stolen

A Symbol of the Vessel shirt may be crafted with solar essence, presumably essence from the original light which created the universe in The Beginning.

Monsters produce solar essence

Everyone in the village dislikes solar essence as a gift EXCEPT the wizard who loves it

Mystery notes appear in the farm mailbox which encourage the farmer to trek deeper and deeper into the mines

[sunshiline-writes]

COLORS OF THE END #1: Blue of the Sky

Synopsis: Sky blue never looked so beautiful. An introduction to the world of Oesha

CW: Child soldiers, burning, alcohol mention, war, graphic descriptions of violence, graphic descriptions of death, Main character death except it's not actually the main character, I have probably missed some so let me know what I missed lol.

Masterlist | Next

word count: 2k

“Hey, you got a light?” 

Julius turned back to the other man who asked, leaning against the wall. The breeze of the early evening was a nice contrast to the heat of the day. Julius pulled out his lighter, flicking it on. Holding it out to him. The man grinned, walking forward and lighting his cigarette on the small fire. He stuck it in his teeth and took a drag. 

“Shit, thanks. Needed that. Want one?” “No thanks, I’m good,” Julius said with a small smile, flipping off the lighter and stuffing it back in his pocket. 

“You’re a little young for the militia, aren’t you?” he asked, leaning on the railing. They were in a watch tower. Overlooking the world it seemed. But it wasn’t the world, it was just a bunch of pine trees. Distantly, they could hear the train whistle blow. They couldn’t see it, the treeline was too thick. 

“Well.. I’m not that young. I’m nineteen,” Julius said, shifting the strap that let him hold the gun. The gun wasn’t powered on, that only happened when his hand was in the groove that contained the trigger. A safety measure. The gun had been charging in the sun all day, ready to convert the energy into the plasma beams that could cut through solid metal.  

The man clicked his tongue, sighing. “Nineteen is still too young in my opinion.” 

“Who are you anyway?” Asked Julius, glancing at him once again. 

“Ah, no one important,” said the man, turning sideways to look at Julius properly, “I’m supposed to take over your watch shift. The name’s Victor.” 

“Julius,” said the younger boy, nodding in acknowledgement. He smiled, starting to walk past him. 

“You don’t have to go. I don’t mind the company. Plus the tents are boring. All everyone does is play card games or try to do target practice with stun guns,” Victor said, laughing slightly, he pulled out a flask. Offering it to Julius. Julius took it, taking a sip. It burned on the way down. He laughed, handing the flask back to Victor. 

“You know,” Julius said, leaning forward over the railing as well, “I hear they use children. Like actual kids. With powers.” 

“Yeah, I heard that too,” Victor said, taking another drag, letting out through his nose, “I think I saw them once. Out when I was in the Mountain Militia. They razed a whole town. Fire everywhere. People screaming, everything.”  

“Really? That bad?” 

Victor sighed, “Yeah.” 

There was an uneasy silence before Victor flung the cigarette down into the tree’s below. Licking his lips. Julius stared at the tree line, watching as the breeze made them move. The world was always moving. This was a small moment of respite. It didn’t matter that it was with a stranger. But perhaps, Julius should make the stranger less of a stranger. 

“Why’d you join the militia?” he asked, tapping his fingers against the railing. 

Victor laughed, bright and airy, “Man what is this? 21 questions?” 

“Maybe. Are you gonna answer?” 

“Yeah yeah. I had a kid,” Victor started, and Julius winced. 

“Oh sorry, I didn’t mean to-” “Are you going to let me finish?” Julius closed his mouth and nodded. “Good. Okay so I had a kid. Well.. he wasn’t my kid, but he was my cousin. I took care of him for a while. He was living with me while my cousin got sorted. Anyway,” he took a deep breath, “we were out farming. I was a farmer, you believe that? Yeah. I was a farmer. But me and the kid were out in the field, seeding. And the bells started ringing.” 

Julius frowned, he was aware that some towns had warning bells. Ones that they rang to hide the children. Almost every town had them now. If the bells rang, you were either dead, or going to be. They had a bell in the watchtowers too. Just in case. The bell behind them in the little room seemed to loom larger over their heads as he spoke. 

“I picked him up like a football. Grabbed him up. And I started running. I didn’t even look back. I didn’t even try. I just took Cecil and I ran. We hid in the caves,” he paused, deeming it necessary to fully explain, “we had these caves back home. We weren’t exactly on the mountain, but we were close to it. So there were these caves, a little dip and I threw ourselves in there, covered his mouth to keep him from crying.” 

Victor's eyes seemed haunted suddenly and he bit his lip. Most people didn’t survive the attacks. Especially if they were people that ran or fought back. Hiding could get a person hurt, but as far as Julius knew, towns either got razed, or their children simply stolen. If you were lucky enough to be powerless, then you were safe. If not, those children were never seen again. Not in the same way at least. 

“We heard screaming, and I was keeping him quiet, I think they were fighting back, the town. We could smell smoke and.. I don’t remember much to be honest,” Victor said, running a hand over the top of his head. “We didn’t come out until the next day, when we couldn’t hear anything anymore. Everyone was dead. I ran.. I don’t remember a lot. But.. I got Cecil back home and I joined up the next month. My friends, family.. People I liked, they all died. So.. I didn’t want anyone to go through that either.” 

Julius nodded. How noble. It was a noble reason. There was respect in it. 

“What about you?” 

Julius flushed and shrugged, tapping again on the railing. “I don’t really know. I didn’t have anywhere else to go I guess. It just happened.” 

Victor laughed and shook his head. 

“Hey, nothing to be embarrassed about. Not all of us got sob stories. You’re all good kid,” Victor laughed slightly. “Actually, that’s a good thing.”

“Yeah?? You think so?” 

“Yeah. Yeah I think so. So, you got any family–” 

The ground beneath them fell through. Julius grabbed onto the railing with one hand, his other hand grabbed Victors. His arms burned and he groaned. Then the building leaned to the left, and Victors eyes widened. 

“Fuck–” 

Julius’ hand slipped and they fell together as the rest of the tower came down. His chest hit something, his head slammed against the ground and his world went black. 

__ 

When Julius opened his eyes again, he groaned. Pushing himself up but there was a weight on his back. Victor was nowhere to be seen. But the bells were ringing. Oh god. The Bells were ringing. The Oculi were here and he didn’t even see them. Was that why the tower fell? He tried to push himself up again, more desperate this time. There was a wooden beam across his back, the weight was crushing him. But he didn’t dare speak. He didn’t call for help. It was better if he just got it off himself. That way, he still had time to run. Julius made his hands press underneath him, and push upwards, the beam creaked with the pressure. He pulled himself forward and turned himself. Please, please let me get out of here, he begged silently. Julius dragged himself forward with another groan, sobbing softly. He continued pulling until his body was freed from under the beam. The weight off him let him take a deep breath that rattled in his chest. He coughed and blood splattered on the ground. His ribs, he was certainly bleeding on the inside. 

Where was Victor? He couldn’t see past the debris that surrounded him. Julius pulled himself to his knees, then shakily got to his feet. His body burned alight with pain as he forced himself to move forward through the rubble. He ended up crawling again, shaking as he fit himself through a particularly tight spot and landed on the outside of the tower. Or what was left of the tower. His eyes looked at the sky, still a brilliant blue. His breathing was wracking his chest, rumbling in a way that he knew that his lung had probably been punctured. 

He forced himself to focus on his surroundings. Turning over on his stomach, he saw the world on fire. Lightning struck a tent to his left, making it burst into flames. The force from the explosion could almost be mistaken for a breeze. To his right, a man was lifted in the air and thrown into the flames. The smell of burnt flesh and smoke filled his lungs. Making him retch forward. More blood dribbling from his lips. Julius fell to his side, half slumped against the wall. Watching in mute horror as beams of energy shot out at an invisible enemy. 

There was no preparing for this. He’d been told that they used children to fight their battles, but no one ever prepared you for seeing it. Watching the eldest boy's eyes lit up with a manic rage as he lifted people into the air with his mind. Or watching the girl's head twist with curiosity as a whole squadron of men tried to tear out their own eyes, seeing something invisible to him. 

What they really didn’t prepare you for was the young face of a boy no older than fifteen, stalking toward him with a blank look in his eyes. How was he supposed to fight this? Did he even know what he was doing? The hair on his body stood up. Static filled the air. 

The boy's hands lit up a brilliant blue. 

This was where he died wasn’t it?

Julius’ vision went black again. 

___ 

When he opened his eyes again, there was a different child above him. His hair was buzzed to the scalp, one eye was a brilliant blue and the other a dark brown. It contrasted against his dark skin. His eyes were curious and he leaned down closer. 

“You should be dead but you’re not,” he said, almost curious. “You’re not dead, that means you must want to live very badly.” 

The boy turned his head, there was a scar on his chin, one that went beneath his grey shirt over his collarbone. So it was true, all those rumors about child soldiers. This kid couldn’t have been older than fourteen. Julius groaned and pain lit up his chest and back like white knives. A cough rattled in his chest. 

“Jem! Are you almost done? You checked everywhere right? Zach said no survivors. He doesn’t want anyone telling any crazy stories,” the voice from earlier said. 

The boy moved to stand and Julius grabbed his wrist, “Please,” he begged softly, coughing again. 

The kid's eyes widened and pulled his hand away, his breathing was fast. Julius could see the cogs turning in his head. Shaking his head slowly and stepping backwards. Julius reached up to him again, desperate and blood bubbling from his lips. 

Julius’ gaze went up to the sky again, staring up at the bright blue. Not a cloud in sight. He never imagined that his end would be blue. He always thought it was going to end on a real battlefield, he thought his end would be red. Bright red and bloody. Or maybe a soft grey as he died of old age. A guy could dream right? His cheek was wet, so he went to wipe it away. His fingers came back red. Oh.. perhaps his ending would be red after all. 

His eyes traveled back to the kid standing over him. Eyes blank but he called out to his friend, the oldest boy.  

“Yeah Ben. No survivors.” 

Static filled the air again, bright blue emitting from the kids' hands. 

Julius didn’t even feel pain as he died. It was just a blip. In fact, he just pretended that the bright blue was the same blue as the sky. 

There were no survivors. __ Taglist: @coyotehusk

[pyrrhia-times]

Chapter 1 - Swaying Kelp

Croak shot up from his bed and hit his head on the ceiling of his sleeping nook. He let out a groan and lifted up his talons to cradle his head. A couple pieces of kelp fell from the nook where he had been curled up to sleep. He pressed a talon on the tender part of his head and winced. Ouch. He could already feel it turning into a headache.

Not sure what had startled him awake, he looked around his room anxiously, heart hammering in his chest. He took his shaking talons from his head and bent down to pick up the fallen fronds of kelp. Every slow moment that passed, he expected a murderous dragon to leap out from the darkness and attack him. He blinked a couple times and his eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness. The shadows crept back, and no murderous dragons were anywhere to be seen.

The kelp safely returned to his bed, he slipped down from the ledge and made his way to the small window cut into the wall of his room. The moon glowed fiercely high up in the sky. Great. It’s the middle of the night and I’m wide awake. He let out a deep breath, trying to dispel the rest of the anxiety still lingering in his chest.

The night breeze drifted into his window and tickled his nose. The air was familiar, and the night's peaceful sounds soothed Croak back into a state of calm. He concluded that it was probably a noisy seagull landing on his roof that had woken him up yet again. His home had sturdy curving walls made from clay and dead coral, and a roof made of dried palm leaves layered thickly to keep the bad weather out, though it failed miserably at keeping the noise of his feathered roommates out. His house was not far off from the water on the rocky northern shore of an island in the very outer ring of the Bay of a Thousand Scales. The island mostly had bare cliffs and rocky beaches, making it an undesirable place to live. Farmers and hunters made up most of the island's residents, selling their produce to wealthier SeaWings and traders who lived on the islands of the Sea Palace. Some of the residents stayed in underwater homes, some stayed in houses like Croak along the shores of the Island.

Well, I might as well get started on drying my seaweed. He thought. That would leave him the rest of the day to spend squid hunting.

Croak had a small seaweed farm in the shallow waters near his home. He used the dry seaweed leaves, ground down into a fine powder, and the dark ink of a species of small squid that were annoyingly hard to catch to make a deep green water proof ink. He sold his ink to SeaWings who liked to write poems, or to parents with dragonets in school learning to write. His best client was a giant of a dragon, Slag, who frequently bought his ink in bulk. Slag was a hybrid between a MudWing and a SkyWing. His scales were mostly dark, like hardened lava with red scales that shone brightly in the sun, and he was huge in size – Croak’s head only reaching the top of his shoulder. He had massive wings that stretched out further than any dragon he had ever seen, and a wide chest and large muscular arms...

Croak shook his head to clear the image of the dragon out of his head. He was supposed to be getting a head start on his day. He left the windows side and grabbed his cloth bag, slinging it over his head and under an arm, where it looped down below his shoulder. Passing through the kitchen, he pushed the wooden door open and left his house. SeaWings had great night vision to see in the darkness of the ocean, so he didn’t have to worry about needing light to work.

He rubbed his head to try and chase off the stabbing headache that was forming, but only succeeded in making it feel worse. Hopefully the cool ocean water would help soothe it.

He extended his wings and took flight, circling around to fly down the rocky slope towards his patch of seaweed. He brought his wings in closer to his body and dove into the water, thousands of bubbles sizzling past him. A couple of startled fish bolted out of Croak’s way, he snapped his teeth after them hoping for an easy breakfast.

Just my luck. He blew frustrated bubbles into the water as the fish disappeared behind some kelp.

His seaweed patch had eight evenly spaced out squares of the algae at different stages of growth, so the crop could recover before he harvested it again. He swam up to the tallest patch, which had grown several feet tall and reached for the sun just above the surface. Grabbing the plant from the bottom, he used his talon to slice it, leaving just a few inches of the stem behind. He wrapped the long plant around his wrist, looping it until he reached the end. Then he slipped it off his wrist into his bag.

He had a feeling that Slag would visit him soon to stock up on ink, and he didn’t want him to buy up his entire stock like last time, so he collected a dozen more bundles of seaweed just to be sure. The reason Slag needed so much ink was because he was part of a group called Pyrrhia Times, who wrote about what was happening all over Pyrrhia. They printed hundreds of copies of each issue of their newspaper and many of the Queens disliked the newspaper, but they still managed to get all over the continent.

It wasn’t uncommon to come across a dragon in a town square, or in a tavern reading the newspaper out loud. Most dragons could read, but not all dragons could find, or afford, their own copies of the newspaper. Slag often complained about the re-sellers to Croak, “the newspaper is supposed to be free. Every dragon should be able to know about what’s happening where they live.” Many dragons took the opportunity to collect as many copies as they could and sell them for profit. The group wasn’t sure what to do about the problem, other than make as many copies as they possibly could.

Slag worked in Sanctuary with his other team members, but was rarely ever there because he traveled all over Pyrrhia following even the faintest smell of a juicy story. He took notes and dropped them off to his coworkers, only to take off again after another story. The members all had permanent dark-greenish stains on their claws from using the ink so often.

All of the seaweed bundles safely secured in his bag, he took some extra time to inspect the rest of his patches to make sure they were still all growing healthily. After he was satisfied that none of his crop was being eaten by pests, and that the soil was still giving them enough nutrients, he started swimming back to the direction of the shore.

His powerful tail propelled him in the water and he kept his wings tight to his body. Once he neared the rocky cliffs below his home he swept his wings and tail in unison to launch himself back out of the water. He rose up into the sky with another few quick beats of his wings and landed outside his home.

He had a couple very large flat stones he had dragged back to his house that he used to dry out the seaweed with the sun. Once the sun had done its job, he gathered it up and brought it inside where he ground it up with a stone into a powder. Then, once it was mixed with squid ink, it turned into a dark green liquid great for writing. In the Sea Kingdom it was important for scrolls to be waterproof since so many of the Kingdom’s schools were built underwater.

Croak unrolled the seaweed bundles one by one, and placed them flat onto the stones. When he was done he gazed up at the calm and cloudless night sky. Perfect, it should be nice and sunny today.

His farming chores done for the day, Croak decided to pass some time reading until the sun rose. He glanced back down at the strands of seaweed to make sure they were all placed properly and made his way back inside. Past the door was his kitchen, that also doubled as his workshop. Deep wooden bowls sat on the counter stained nearly black, and rows of bottles were arranged on the wooden shelves waiting to be filled with ink, some already filled.

Past his kitchen was a small living space with a doorway leading to his bedroom. He glanced at the scrolls in his bookshelf at the back wall. Most of them were copies of The Pyrrhia Times that Slag had brought him. Whenever Slag visited, he always brought the latest copy of his newspaper with him, and of course he would tell Croak all of the behind the scenes details. Like how he almost lost a talon to frostbite in the Ice Kingdom, or how a SandWing made threats against his life for prying for too much detail. Or being physically thrown out of crime scenes by annoyed soldiers.

Croak picked up one of the scrolls and traced his talons along the dark-greenish letters. He imagined himself being there with Slag, seeing the stories unfold in front of him. Quietly observing a festival, writing about the dragons who were there, the history behind the celebration. Running away from angry soldiers, laughing with locals. He quickly put the scroll back onto the shelf.

He often daydreamed about a more exciting life. He didn’t hate living here, it was just that he never really left the island. When he would travel to the Sea Palace, for special market events, he never got much attention. Most of the dragons avoided his stand and he knew it was because most dragons thought he had rolled around in mud, and then forgot to wash it off. When he was still in school, the other dragonets passed around a rumour that his dad was a MudWing. He knew dragons still thought this, but they kept it to themselves at least.

He picked up one of his favourite scrolls, a copy of The Puddle that Dreamed of Becoming an Ocean that he had stolen from his classroom’s library. Like most of Queen Coral’s scrolls it was a required reading, but Croak loved the story. His teacher, who was surely guilty about his near constant bullying, never brought up the missing copy of the scroll with Croak and he had read the scroll so many times since that the paper was worn and soft on the edges.

He started reading it, and desperately tried to concentrate on the familiar tale, but his mind kept swaying back to Slag and his stories.

<|>

Read it on Archives of Our Own

[impawsiblecat]

100 Days of Deathduo!

End of the world

Tw: Angst, sadness, major character death and accepting death, please take care of yourselves <3

In a broken down room in an abandoned apartment complex, there is a blanket fort. The outside of it is made with old chairs with scratches on them, and the sheets and covers used have a few holes, but the fort holds steady. A guitar sits on one of the chairs, and it is much more taken care of than the rest of the items in this house. A beam of light shines through the blankets, the only light showing for miles around, other than the stars.

Inside the blanket fort, there sits two people, with layers of clothes on and blankets wrapped around them tightly. Neither of them looks surprised at the fact that the flashlight between them is the only thing glowing, but rather resigned.

"So that's it then?" The person speaking lets out a shiver, cuddling further into their blue coat.

"That's it, Icee. The scientists said we would only have a couple hours left, at most, from what I remember. But then again, it's been so long since I had a TV to check." The other girl says, resigned. The death of the sun had been expected for a while now, after all.

"It's weird, Clover. In another world, I would have been in school at around this time, figuring out what I want to do with my life. I kind of miss it, if I could be honest. I liked to read." Icee says, staring at the ceiling of the blanket fort.

"Yeah, I would have been drawing maybe, or painting. Maybe writing." Clover quietly sighs.

The silence drags on, though not uncomfortable. The temperature is steadily, quickly dropping, but both people ignore it. "In another world, I think I would have been a wheat farmer." Clover breaks the silence. "It would be calming, I think. Just rows and rows of endless wheat, going on and on."

"Well, in that world, I think I would own a pizza shop. And also a bunch of animals. And I would keep them safe, and warm, and protected. I would help you with your wheat field."

"Maybe we could start a country together, Icee. That would be fun, and we could build a castle! I think there would be a lot of greenery, and waterfalls. And maybe fish."

"Let's make it floating!" Icee interrupts.

"What?" Clover says, looking over, a smile on her face. The air is biting now, cold seeping in the cracks of the house.

"If we could make a world, I think we should make a floating country." Icee says, teeth chattering. "In order to get to it we could do parkour, or something!"

"Well, what would happen to the fish, then?" Cliver rubs her arms, trying to let as little heat out as possible. "The fish would fall, that wouldn't be good."

"Ah, the fish would be fine, we would build it over the ocean, so that no one would fall!"

"Hmm, I still think it would be a bad idea, but maybe it would work! I think we would have a great time in the floating castle country." Clover laughs, coughs, continues. "What if there was a world where I was a bread maker? And you could be some, I don't know, royalty or something. It would be a medieval story, or something."

"Well, if I were royalty, I would come and sneak out to see you every day. You can't get rid of me that easily!" Icees voice grows quieter. "I think we would be friends in all of the universes. Maybe there is another where we become superheros, or vigilantes, or aliens."

Clover's voice is also quiet, but the chattering has stopped, at least. "Aliens? I think I would be human. You can be the alien. And then you could befriend. Uh, you could befriend me."

Another silence breaks out for a few seconds, and then a voice rings out softly. It's not hard to hear, in the silence of the room. "Clover?"

"Hmm?"

"I don't. I don't feel cold anymore. I feel really hot, actually."

It takes a couple seconds to respond, but eventually Clover replies. "Me either Icee. The scientists said this would happen, remember? It's alright."

"Clover?" Icee sniffles. "I'm glad you are my friend." Clover slowly looks over to Icee once again and finds them staring straight at her. A frozen teardrop is on their cheek, and distantly Clover can feel some on her own.

"Me too Icee. In another universe, we are alive, and happy, alright?" The words are sluggish, but Clover can bring themself to care.

"Yeah. Yeah, we are, I'm sure. I. I'm gonna go to sleep now, ok? I'm really tired. I love you." Icee says, the words nearly silent.

"I love you too, Icee. I'll be right behind you, alright? Just dream of those other universes." Clover can also hardly get the words out. The last thing she sees is Icee's eyes close, before her own shuts.

The last thoughts they both have are of other universes, and the earth becomes silent.

[recurringwriter]

15 Lines of Dialogue

Rules: Share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture the character/personality/vibe of the OC. Bonus points for just using the dialogue without other details about the scene, but you're free to include those as well!

tagged by @omgkalyppso! thank you! i will see about doing this for mia and felicity! Apologies for not linking individual fics, and also for the Mystery chapters. Almost all can be found somewhere on my ao3. I gathered all these quotes from my big scriv file which is shall we say not organized. for all I know some titles might not match up perfectly with what ended up being posted but if anyone wants a link to a specific fic that isn't redacted and you don't want to go searching for, please just send an ask and i'll happily round it up.

Will tag @umbralstars and @blaiddydboyfriend if you'd like to do this!

Mia

"I don't know," she admitted. "I just like it? For some stupid reason? It's fun to sing along to, I don't know. It doesn't matter." Hate to let you down chapter 1

"Like I live vicariously through other people's melodrama." Hate to let you down chapter 1

"Hey, I was still big enough to haul your ass back to my hoard," the woman/dragon protested. "Maybe don't be so rude when even your guns and pirate friends couldn't stop me." The differences between pirates and dragons are few chapter 2

"Well, as long as the odds may be, I'm going to try and make a good impression," Aeramia said. Dark sails and shining wings chapter 1

"Yeah, I can see that he'd pull out all the stops for you," Miss Cecile mused, in that innocent way that belied her true ability for innuendo. i need you to soothe my head/turn my blue heart to red

"Oh, is that what you were doing?" Mia asked. "Because it didn't look like you were exchanging business cards." nothing is like it was, there's nobody here but us

"Yes, and thank you--Felix will be just as worried about Annette, he'll be very happy to know that you'll help us get word to her." I thought this love would always burn like a wildfire chapter [?]

"I see," Mia said, nodding. She looked at the envelope in her hands. "She reminds me of this one cat we have on our farm--oh! That's probably terribly rude," she said, ruefully. "Pretend I didn't say that." I thought this love would always burn like a wildfire chapter [?]

"Like I said, I'm just a farmer. There was no way I had a Crest," Mia explained. "And--Professor Hanneman scared me. I was too shy and I didn't think there was a point, anyway, so I just let myself be forgotten. Only I see he didn't forget," she added ruefully. I thought this love would always burn like a wildfire chapter 51

"I'll help you," Mia said, walking slowly. The Beast pulled itself forward, leaving gouges in the dirt with its claws. Its wings and left leg trailed, leaving a path of blood in its wake. Mia stepped back. "I'm not going to hurt you." from up in lights to up in smoke, we just can't let this go chapter [?]

"She's just teasing--right? And if she wants to tell him that you've got a friend, that's okay with me," Mia said. Rodina fic #1

"See and then you say something like that and it makes me think maybe a collar and leash would indeed help fix whatever is going on with you." [Redacted]

"Rodrigue won't like that, but he's not here," Mia said. from up in lights to up in smoke, we just can't let this go unposted scene

"Oh, are you sure? I don't usually wear a ring on that side. I never do, otherw--wait." She looked up at Felix's face, urgently. Her cheeks were getting rosy. "You--you mean. That's intentional." Unpublished chapter of hate to let you down

"I always thought--someday I'd figure out how to be--be a woman or that I'd wake up and see her in the mirror--and sometimes I do. And I think maybe if I tried harder I'd be able to do it all the time, but I don't--I don't," Mia spoke into Felix's chest, softly, "I don't want to." Hate to let you down chapter [?]

Felicity

"You're pathetic," Felicity said. "Sleep in the parlour. If I hear the door open I will cast bolting and ask questions later." What if there was still a reason not to go

"It is brighter than Faerghus," she said. "In the summer along the roadsides there are all kinds of wildflower, clouds of them--yellow like the flag, but also pink and green, and this one kind of flower that's as blue as your eyes." An ember's brief warmth chapter 1

"You're sweet. And you're kind to me. And I love you." She ended off very quietly. For ever after you will be my home

"Then you do it very well, and should stop worrying, and if you say that your duty is to worry I will leave you here while I have a very large glass of wine," Felicity said, before he could interrupt. A fire stoked high

"What about my happiness? What I want?" Felicity asked, her voice feeling thick. The shadow of every spark chapter 7

Felicity glared over her shoulder. "Do not think you can dictate with whom I'm upset! There was no reason for you to speak to him like you did." We're not gonna slow you down, we're not gonna hold you to it

"I am stupid," Felicity snapped. "I'm stupid for thinking that nothing would happen, that my children would be safe, that I let them become knights as though it were a game and not real life." I thought this love would always burn like a wildfire chapter 1

"I miss him," Felicity whispered. "And when he was here I just missed what we were before this." I thought this love would always burn like a wildfire chapter [?]

"It will be dangerous," Felicity said. "I don't wish for anything to happen to any of you. But you can trust in the Ithan Guard, and they can count on you in return, as they have these past two years. If the danger ever becomes too great, see to your own safety, first." From up in lights to up in smoke we just can't let this go chapter [?]

"You know very well I can take care of myself," Felicity said, while Rufus froze. "This one is fun. If you'd like to join us and he's willing, you're welcome to." i looked down into the depths when i met you (i couldn't measure it)

"I can practically taste your blood through your skin," she hissed. "How long has it been? I'd almost forgotten such unspeakable pleasures." A pagan of the good times

"I would not need to be here to bring you to ruin, I can assure you. Besides, how would it reflect on you to turn out your own sister, and her Crest-bearing son--after they fled the unrest in the Kingdom?" Divorce au chapter [?]

"You put yourself in danger on my behalf. It is no small thing," Felicity said. "If--if you wish it, I will award you however you would like. A fine mount from the Royal stables, a quality bow or sword, wealth from the Asbes--anything. I am indebted to you." [Redacted] *emma leroy voice* that's you on the make? No wonder I don't have grandkids

"I watched you perform with--a friend of mine, seven years ago in Enbarr. You were incredible. And you look just as alluring now as then," she added, feeling like an idiot Divorce au chapter [?]

"I suppose I should apologize, too, for leaping to the wrong conclusion." There's beauty buried deep inside

[greyskywrites]

Brother of the Moon XII.

Hearth and Home

6.4k | kofi | ao3 | tag

Eadwin

They arrive at Oxbow just after last light, in spite of their hard pace. Lucian draws his hood over his head to disguise his short hair while Eadwin gets down to bargain with the gatekeeper. This one imagines himself to be a stickler for the rules, which will make this a great deal more tedious than it needs to be. He makes a show of arguing for a while before her gestures back at Lucian. “Please, my wife and I are traveling alone, coming back from a pilgrimage. She’s with child, what kind of husband will I be if I can’t find a roof for her to sleep under?”

This finally seems to move the gatekeeper who (begrudgingly, and with complaint) says they ought to plan their travel better to get lodgings before sundown. And don’t pilgrims know they ought to be on foot?

As he rides past, Lucian puts on his softest voice, the most placating one Eadwin has heard him use. “Thank you for your kindness.” The gatekeeper seems suitably abashed.

They take a room at a tavern that is small, but clean. They see to their horses and eat a dinner that is slightly better than mediocre, largely because it is hot. In their room, Lucian stretches out on the bed with a groan, hair fanning out on the pillow. Eadwin lays beside him, tracing the line of Lucian’s jaw. “I missed the way you carry yourself when you aren’t trying to be a lady.”

Lucian turns his head and smiles. “It feels incredible.”

There’s a satisfaction in the familiarity growing between them, the knowing just how to touch Lucian to make him greedy. Lucian clutches him close and Eadwin winds him tight until Lucian curses and digs his fingernails into Eadwin’s shoulder.

“Oh,” Lucian sighs, drawing his hand down Eadwin’s cheek. “Oh, my priest. My blackbird.” He draws Eadwin down for a kiss. “My husband.”

Lucian touches the chain still around his neck, with the moonstone and the ring. “I wondered if you wanted these back.”

Eadwin traces his finger along the chain, warm against Lucian’s skin. “I want you to keep the moonstone,” he says. “I gave it to you for luck. To keep you safe.”

Lucian gazes at him a moment and pulls the clasp around to unhook the chain and slide the ring free. “Give me your hand.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Give me your hand,” Lucian says again, more insistently. “You gave this to me to say you were coming back.” He slides the ring into place on Eadwin’s finger. “Now I’ll pray that you never have to give it to me again.” He pulls Eadwin’s hand up, kisses his fingers.

Eadwin stirs twice in the night, glad to find Lucian still beside him. He kisses the back of Lucian’s shoulder, sliding an arm around him. He wakes early, the east-facing window putting the sunlight directly into his eyes.

They eat some of what Mother Robina sent with them and ride out just as the day is beginning to warm. With his bow over his shoulder Lucian really does look like a brigand, only missing a feather in his cap, and if it means other travelers avoid them Eadwin won’t complain of it.

In the morning there are thunderheads on the horizon, and by late afternoon the storm comes crashing down on them, pursuing them into the first village they come across. Eadwin might have pushed on for the next town, but it would be reckless and stupid to ride in this weather, and Lucian makes no complaint about trading a few coins to spend the night in a sheep farmer’s barn. They’re fed on lamb stew and make a bed by throwing a coarse blanket down on the hay while the wind rattles the timbers and the thunder booms overhead, their horses shifting nervously.

Lucian lays with his arms behind his head, watching the lightning flash between the gaps in the barn walls. “When I was a child and frightened of storms, Felix told me it was only the angels sparring in heaven, sparks flying off their swords.”

Eadwin laughs softly. “My mother said the Queen of Heaven was moving her furniture.”

Perhaps for the first time, when Lucian reaches for him it’s only to sleep. He’s not completely immune to the pace of their travel, then. Eadwin holds an arm around his shoulders while the storm rages on. At least no one can follow them in this weather.

In the morning the sheep farmer rouses them when he comes out to milk the cow. He brings them raspberries gathered by his children and boiled eggs and a cut of bread from his wife. He refuses to accept any more payment, so Lucian slips a silver coin into the chicken house before they leave, among the eggs. He’s in a remarkably good mood for someone who slept in a barn, singing to himself and watching the sky as they ride.

Lucian extends an arm to point to the northwest. “Hawks,” he says. “Looks like a mated pair.”

#.

Their third night away from Grenacre they spend at a tavern in a town near Wolfwater. Eadwin thinks the pace must be beginning to wear on Lucian, but he won’t utter a word of complaint. He only grows quieter, slouches a bit more when they sit down to eat. Sleeps heavier.

He perks up when instruments come out and music starts up. Eadwin remembers something Lucian said when they first met, that he loved to dance but was seldom able to. Eadwin leans over to tell him that a woman at the bar has been looking their way, and Lucian should ask her to dance. Lucian looks at him in surprise and confusion. “What about you?”

“Don’t worry about me. Go on and dance.”

After a little hesitation, Lucian seems to slip quite naturally into the role, sliding over to the woman with that crooked grin and speaking to her a moment before they both go to dance. Watching them, Eadwin can’t really fathom that Lucian insisted on marrying him, on staying with him. There are so many other paths that could have opened up for Lucian if he had chosen differently.

Could still open up to him, if he changes his mind.

After a time, Lucian leaves his dancing partner by kissing her hand and making her turn red to the tips of her ears. He comes back to the table for a drink and says, “You have to dance with me, next time.”

“She’s going to think you’re quite the scoundrel,” Eadwin says.

“You think so?” Lucian asks, grinning. “I thought for sure she’d figure me out.”

“She might have. That might be why she can’t stop looking at you.” Lucian still believes everyone thinks like the people that raised him.

Lucian looks thoughtful, settling back into his seat. “I don’t know anything about the world from this viewpoint,” he says, finally. “I thought—” He looks embarrassed. “I thought no one would really want me if I was like—this.”

“Even me?”

“Well. You knew me before.”

Eadwin touches Lucian’s hand. “Very little here works the way it does in the noble houses.”

Lucian considers him, slides his fingers through Eadwin’s. “So we needn’t hide our attachment?”

“No.”

“And what I am—isn’t particularly remarkable?”

“You’ll always be remarkable,” Eadwin says with a faint smile. Lucian makes a face at him, his cheeks turning pink. “So are you too embarrassed to dance? Is that it?”

“It shows that you have training,” Eadwin says, “and it will absolutely show that I do not.”

“Oh, don’t say it like that,” Lucian says. “Then I might have to teach you.”

#.

Lucian

It’s different when he goes to bed with Eadwin now. He’s different in how he reaches for Eadwin.

He had worried that being stripped down would remind him too much of what he had been, that he wouldn’t be able to help slipping back into Margaret’s skin—but that doesn’t seem to be the case. If anything, he feels even less like her when he’s naked. He moves differently, wants more boldly, and evidently it has some effect on Eadwin because the way he handles Lucian now reminds him of that first kiss in the hospital, when it seemed as if some fire roared up in Eadwin. As if some restraint has come off of him. It’s the animal way they went together in the village before they reached Eagletop, but without the desperation, only the wanting.

The riding is hard. It’s miserably hard, nothing at all like a long day’s hunting. The next day—and Lucian is keenly aware that Felix’s promised reprieve is running out, if they even made it that far without Harry discovering his escape—he has to stop just after noon, to sit in the shade because the heat is too much. He knows Eadwin is worried about him, and he hates to be the subject of worry.

He lets his head fall back against the trunk of the alder tree, listening to the stream burbling past them. “I wish we could have left in the spring.”

Eadwin strokes Lucian’s hair. “Then it’d be the rain.”

They wait out the heat of the day, and just barely make it to Wolfwater before they lose light. Lucian keeps to their room, brooding. Harry will know soon, if he doesn’t already, and he will send whatever men he has crawling all over the kingdom looking for any rumor of his errant sister. If there’s even a chance that someone has recognized him in the last few days, Harry will know what direction they went in.

Eadwin lays down beside him and Lucian curls into his side. “It was Lady Catherine that sent you to Grenacre, wasn’t it?”

“It was.”

“I ought to write her a letter of thanks.”

Eadwin laughs softly, pulls an arm around Lucian’s shoulders. “I suspect she’d like her name left out of it.” Lucian props himself up, tracing a hand across Eadwin’s chest. “Tell me about when you were a boy.” He’s been avoiding the subject every time Lucian asks.

Eadwin lets out a long, low breath. He runs a hand down Lucian’s back. “Had we had a church,” he says, “it probably would have been a better place to hide than the woods.” He grimaces and says, “I probably know the nature of a forest as well as you do, but for worse reasons. Gave up on running to my mother’s family, my father would always track me down there.”

He talks about his father, and as ugly as it is Lucian suspects Eadwin is still sparing him the details. The thing that worries him the most, Eadwin says, is that he doesn’t know what his family is like now, and he doesn’t know how they will be received turning up at the door unannounced after so many years.

Lucian strokes Eadwin’s hair, running his fingers through the softening edges where it’s growing longer. He thinks it will soften the severity of Eadwin’s face if it grows too much longer. “I suppose we’ll have to find out.” He bends, kissing Eadwin’s temple.

They are three days out of Wolfwater when they hear the news from some wool traders that—quite unexpectedly—Margaret Beckett has died. There are plenty of rumors as to what, or who might have killed her. That it was by her own hand is a favorite theory, or that she threw herself from the church spire when she found out her lover had either died or abandoned her. At that one, Lucian gets up from the table at the tavern and walks outside into the dark. He can’t tell if he’s laughing or sobbing.

Eadwin follows him out. “Are you alright?”

“I suppose they’re not coming after me,” Lucian says, wiping at his face. “Saints, what a thing to do. I suppose it lets him save face.” A dead disgraced sister is better than a vanished one who ran off with her lover right from under his nose. Lucian lets out a slow breath, feeling at once terribly sad and as though some chain has slipped from his shoulders.

Maybe they’re right, that Margaret is dead. He hasn’t felt the need to wear her name since he took this one. It doesn’t seem right to think of her that way, though. “Go back inside,” he says to Eadwin, “I’ll be alright, I just need a moment.”

Eadwin seems hesitant, but he kisses Lucian’s temple and goes inside. Lucian places both his hands on top of his head, looking up at the dark sky twinkling with stars. Lady Margaret killed her betrothed and then threw herself from the church tower for the loss of her disgraced monk lover, how sad. How romantic. If that rumor grows large enough, someone will write a song about her. A warning tale for girls who don’t want to accept their marriages.

He shakes his head. “Oh, Heavenly Mother, if only they knew,” he murmurs. He lets out a sigh and grasps the moonstone. At least a dead woman can’t be hunted down.

Stepping back inside to the light and warmth of the tavern, he finds Eadwin speaking now to pilgrims. He glances up, some tension going out of his shoulders when he sees Lucian.

Lucian goes over to him, sliding a hand across Eadwin’s shoulder and whispering into his ear, “I’m going to bed. Come up, when you can.”

If this is his afterlife, he will make it into a paradise.

#.

They take a gentler pace now, not riding out quite so early or for so long. They follow the water and wait out the heat of the day on riverbanks and by streams, listening to the birds and the insects and the water rushing over stones. Because he can’t stand to wear a hat unless the sun is in his eyes, streaks of pale gold are appearing on the top layers of Lucian’s hair. Less attractively, the tips of his ears have burned as red as the rest of it.

Eadwin stops when they come upon the place where the water they’ve been following joins a larger river, wide and dark and green even under the cloudless sky. “This is the Penbreak,” he says, “it comes down from the Black Lake in the mountains.” He points downriver, to the northwest. “And that way is home.” He lets out a breath, watching the water.

Lucian reaches out to catch his hand. “Then take me home.”

It takes them another day and a half, riding along the river and following its bends and curves. They camp the night under the shelter of a fallen tree supported by its neighbor. The river grows flatter, muddier, more placid the closer they draw to the end of their journey. Lucian thinks he will not like the fish in this stretch of river very much. The waters in Grenacre were always clear, running through coarse yellow sand.

He has to persuade Eadwin to let him go hunting the morning before they would arrive. “We’re turning up like this, we ought to bring something,” Lucian says. He means: I ought to be able to prove that I’m worth something.

“It’s the chase I don’t like,” Eadwin says. “Or that you’ll get down with a stag who isn’t dead yet and could still hurt you.” It’s the wrong season for taking does, they would have fawns hidden away in the brush.

“I don’t think I’m going to get anything quite so impressive as I did in Eagletop,” Lucian says. “I’ll be careful, I promise. You’ll be with me.”

It’s a long morning following deer trails through the forest. They encounter two small does and pass them by, and Eadwin is trying to persuade Lucian to turn back when they chance across a two point stag. He goes down without much trouble, and Lucian makes no effort to hide how pleased with himself he is. Only when the stag is across the back of his horse do they start toward village.

Eadwin seems uncertain at first, scanning the muddy paths that pass for streets. He points out the burial ground, where indeed the new church is standing. It isn’t large, but on the old mound it stands on it’s quite prominent. He says the place has grown since he left, and it takes him a moment to orient before they start toward the place where his home was.

They draw more than a few eyes. The gazes are wary, suspicious of strangers.

Eadwin stops and gets out of the saddle when he sees the place, so Lucian follows suit. They walk the horses up to the small old house. There’s a fenced in yard, where a handful of scrawny chickens are scratching at the dirt, and a small garden. An tall older woman with long thin arms sits in the yard in a chair, shelling peas into a bowl in her lap, and she looks up as Eadwin stops in front of the gate. Her hands stop.

“I can take the horse,” Lucian says, soft.

Eadwin hands him the reins and opens the gate. “Hello, Mother.” The woman turns in her chair to shout toward the house. “Fortune! Fortune, come out here!”

The woman who appears in the door could be Eadwin’s twin, if Lucian didn’t know better. She looks at her brother for a long moment, and then comes storming down to the gate. She slaps Eadwin across the face and Lucian thinks: even I didn’t hit him that hard. “How many years?” Fortune demands. “How many damned years, Eadwin?”

Eadwin draws in a breath and lets it out. “Thirty-five.”

“Thirty-five years,” Fortune repeats, “and the next I hear you’re disgraced, maybe dead, all because of—” Her eyes slide off Eadwin’s shoulder to Lucian and it looks for a moment as if she’s stuck a lemon between her teeth. “Is that her?”

“He—” Eadwin begins, and then hesitates, looking back at Lucian. Lucian meets Fortune’s unyielding gaze. “I was, once. I’m told she’s dead now.”

Fortune doesn’t seem to quite know what to make of that, and her confusion takes the wind out of her anger.

“Could we stay?” Eadwin asks. “We have nowhere else to go.”

Fortune looks at the stag on the back of the horse. “Bring your horses around to the shed. I’ll have my son put something up so you can deal with that deer.”

Lucian meets most of the members of the house while he’s elbow deep in the deer carcass. Fortune’s son, Will, is named for his late father—Fortune’s second husband. He has three sisters, two older and one younger: Bree, Joan, and Sky. Hanne, Prue’s daughter, has a husband and a son of her own. It’s a house packed to bursting with people already, and Lucian isn’t certain how they can squeeze any more in.

At least they’re all enthusiastic about the prospect of fresh venison. It helps to smooth over the fact that they don’t know what to make of him.

Fortune never stops moving, there’s always something she thinks needs doing and often it means she does not have to be out with the rest of them. Eadwin is telling his mother yes, we plan to stay. He doesn’t know what to say Lucian is to him, when she asks.

“We were married in my home church,” Lucian says, cutting away the last attachments of the hide. “What that makes me we haven’t quite figured out yet.” He looks at Will. “Do you have a scraper for the hide?”

“No,” Will says, even more perplexed by Lucian, “but I can run it over to the Tanners. They’ll buy it fresh.”

“Best hurry then,” Lucian says, folding the hide. “In this heat it’ll rot before you can blink.”

They don’t have the means to store the meat, so Fortune sends out the girls and Hanne’s husband to tell their neighbors to come and eat. Any discussion of Lucian and Eadwin will be put off until afterward. Eadwin helps to cut the carcass into pieces that will roast over a small fire, or fit in Fortune’s soup pot. He does know his way around with a butcher’s knife, but it’s also clear that he’s out of practice. There’s time for that to change, Lucian supposes.

“How are you?” Eadwin asks, quiet.

Lucian sluices blood off his arms with a bucket of water from the well. “Feels like I ought to be asking you that.”

Bits of fat and flesh that are too small to make use of are tossed to the chickens, who snatch them up greedily.

Fortune and Abigayle set to making flatbread, which they pat out and fry in melted deer fat at a remarkable speed. The bustling activity stirs a memory in Lucian, Felix talking about the end of the war, while the kings were busy making treaties and their camps were uneasy, bristling with tension from having recently been fighting each other. It wasn’t until they ate together that they felt they could all go home with respect for their kings’ new treaty, until the next time they went to war. “It’s harder to have an enemy on a belly full of hot food,” Felix said.

Too many people come to that house for Lucian to have any hope of remembering their names. Some bring their own bread, vegetables, sweets. Fortune puts out beer. There is eating and talking and a great many people seem to recognize Eadwin and are pleased to see him back, though when they ask how that came about all he says is that he left the abbey. When they ask who Lucian is, and Eadwin hesitates, Lucian supplies—“The reason he left.” It makes his new neighbors laugh. They can make their own assumptions about what that means.

The stag is stripped down to the bones, which are cracked for their marrow. One man takes a few for his dogs, the rest will go in the river “for the mermaids to chew on.” Every last speck of that stag disappears down someone’s throat, and the horses are marveled at, and Lucian hears someone congratulating Fortune on having a hunter in the house, now. The visitors linger a long time, and Lucian feels so tired. He had imagined that their arrival would let them rest.

Fortune doesn’t speak to him until after dark, when the last of their visitors have gone home and they are clearing everything and a space is being made for Eadwin and Lucian to sleep in. “My brother says it was your idea to bring the stag. Says you killed it.”

Lucian nods. “I didn’t want to come here as a beggar.”

Fortune considers him, making an expression as though there’s something stuck in her teeth that she’s trying to get out. “What’s somebody like you doing coming here with him?”

“I wanted it more than the alternative.”

“What, silks and jewels and servants to wait on you hand and foot?” Fortune asks, incredulous.

“Dying in the birthing bed with a child by a man who hated me, or taking my own life, whichever came first.” Lucian smiles thinly, his patience frayed by weariness. “Never mind that I could have gotten Eadwin killed, too.” Sometimes, when he closes his eyes at night, he sees that murderous look in Wulfric’s eyes again. If Margaret had killed Wulfric, he wonders, would he be locked away for it? Perhaps it would have been less sympathetic, if he killed Wulfric himself after the affair was discovered.

Fortune sighs through her nose, scrubbing the pan she has in the washbasin. “He also says you’re going to have a baby.”

“If everything goes well.” It doesn’t seem to have come unstuck after all that riding.

“You mean to keep this up, then?” Fortune asks. “This walking around as a man.”

“Yes.”

“Hm.” Fortune picks up the pan to dry it and hang it back on the wall. “We could use a hunter in the family. Your belly gets much bigger, though, that’ll be trouble.”

“If we build a smokehouse, we can keep the meat longer.” Smoke is cheaper than salt, and Lucian has never had much taste for pickled meats.

“You know how to do that?”

“I know what they look like.”

“Mm. I asked Walter to bring some feed for your horses, since he and all his sons were here.”

Lucian doesn’t remember who Walter is.

Fortune snaps the rag she was using to dry, tosses it over her shoulder. “Be trouble to keep them over the winter if nobody can use them.”

“Plenty of time for the others to learn how to ride, then.”

Fortune pauses, looking at him with raised brows.

“If someone needs help from a midwife or otherwise, then it would be good if more of the house were able to ride out and get it.” Lucian shrugs his shoulders. “Would justify keeping the both of them. A good horse is too useful to waste.” And either of those horses would be wasted at the plow, which surely has to have crossed Fortune’s mind.

“I suppose it would,” she mutters. She looks at Lucian with that frown again. “I can’t figure you out.”

“How so?”

“I don’t understand why you’d come here instead of staying in some convent.”

“The sisters wouldn’t have been agreeable to me dressing like this and keeping Eadwin in my bed,” Lucian replies.

“Hm,” Fortune says. “At some more decent hour you’ll have to tell me how it is you died.”

She shows him to the narrow room that, for now at least, is the space where he and Eadwin will sleep. Hardly big enough for the makeshift bed, let alone the scant few possessions they brought. It’s near the kitchen, though, so it’s a touch warmer for its proximity to the hearth. Eadwin comes in just after, looking as tired as Lucian feels. They curl up together under the heavy wool blanket, and Lucian tucks his head under Eadwin’s chin. “How are you?”

“Tired.” He strokes a hand down Lucian’s back. “You?”

“Tired.”

#.

Eadwin

The following morning, while Lucian is out tending to the horses, Fortune sits down with him at the kitchen table. “You could have come when Prue died.”

“I should have.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I was told I was needed where I was.” Because Wulfwyn had not yet come into the world, and Wulfric was hopeful he would have a legitimate son. He wanted someone on hand to bless the child right away. Wulfric had sulked for days when she came out a daughter. Lady Anna had pleaded with him to say something that would soothe Wulfric’s mood, to reassure him that they would still have a son.

“Were you?”

“Not as much as they would have had me believe.” He sighs, scrubs his face with a hand.

“Would you ever have come back, if it weren’t for him?”

“I don’t know, Fortune.” He doesn’t know what other paths might have opened before him. He knows that he hadn’t had any plans to part with Eagletop until it became a necessity.

His sister rubs at her wrists, which pain her. “I’ll show you where Prue’s buried.” Her eyes settle on his face. “Do you think he’ll stay, when he realizes how hard it can be?”

“I don’t know,” Eadwin says. Then, “I don’t know that he has any other choice.” Lady Margaret is dead, they say of a broken heart. “I do know it was hard getting here, and he never once complained, except about the heat. And I know that when he had every reason to back down from Wulfric, he wouldn’t stop fighting.”

“Is it true he killed the lord?”

Eadwin shakes his head. “No. He seemed to be trying not to.” They haven’t spoken about that day, about why Lucian went for the shoulder, and not the gut. Maybe, for all that he hated Wulfric and had every reason to, he just didn’t have it in him to kill a person. Maybe he hadn’t been pushed far enough.

“You love him?” Fortune asks.

“So much it steals my wits.”

“You never had much of those to begin with,” Fortune says, standing up. Even when she was a child she could never bear to sit still for long. “At least he’s sensible enough to show up here with good meat.”

Eadwin smiles faintly.

“What?” Fortune asks.

“Only that I had a feeling you’d like him better than me.”

#.

Lucian wants to go up to the church to light a candle in thanks for their safe journey. The church is populated with sisters from a handful of different orders, who apparently made some kind of cooperative agreement to build a church here. The priestess they chose is from the Order of the Fields, dressed in pale green habit. Mother Agnes is near sixty, and of a warm disposition.

The plaster statue is small, but nearly everything in this church is small. It’s still a great deal more than they had. The Queen of Heaven is shown as a young woman, one hand stretching up to guide the sun through the heavens, the other reaching down to pull life up from the land, the broken body of Her husband. Her hair streams out behind Her, dark as rich earth. The Maker of the World, in Her act of creation.

The candles are tallow. They each light one, and stand a moment at the altar to pray. Eadwin gives thanks to the Queen and to St. Luce for showing him the way. He begs the angels to keep his family safe. Whatever Lucian prays for, he keeps to himself.

They go out through the burial ground afterward. Eadwin finds his feet can take him to Charlie Rees’ grave without much trouble, the wooden post bearing his name beginning to show its age. After that, he finds Prue’s. How many people, he wonders, are rotting away in the sides of these mounds while the old kings these hills were dug for have long since turned to dust. From the corpse of the Slain Lord and back into it, until your flesh is returned to the grass that feeds the sheep whose wool will clothe and whose flesh will feed your grandchildren’s children. You were made from death, one of the old poets said, and you will walk hand in hand with it until you become part of it once more.

“You look deep in thought,” Lucian murmurs, sliding a hand across Eadwin’s back.

“Now that I’m not trying to get somewhere else,” he says, “I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself if I’m not getting up every morning for prayers and teaching someone else’s children how to read and say their prayers.”

Lucian laughs softly. “You’ve gotten up early every morning to pray since we left Grenacre. Even I don’t pray that much.”

“Old habits.”

“You’ll have a new child to teach soon enough,” Lucian says. “In the meantime, I suspect Fortune could make and sell her beer for better prices if there were someone to keep books for her.”

He could do that, he supposes. And he can help to build a smokehouse.

#.

Summer eases onward. Lucian goes out nearly every day and fills the table with duck and rabbit. By the time the first chill seeps into the morning air, everyone in the house has rabbit fur to line their shoes.

Eadwin starts a ledger for the brewing, finds his calm in the ordering of numbers. He argues for better prices on the barley and hops, and he argues with Fortune until she agrees to raise the price for the beer. She does not like to be told what to do, particularly not by him. She becomes more amenable after he argues with Lord Andrew’s tax collector, who he is sure has been robbing the house for years. They begin, by starts and stops, to do a little better.

In the tiny room he shares with Lucian, he puts in a shelf for their books, under the black stag hide. They are the only people in the house with any books. One night as Lucian sits by the window and watches the fading light, he says to Eadwin, “For a while I wondered if they weren’t right that Margaret was dead. I didn’t feel like her at all. But I think she’s still there, just—tired, from all that time she had no choice but to carry everything.” He looks at Eadwin and says, “I want you to call me Margaret, tonight.”

He is the only one who calls her Margaret, now. Only when they’re alone, only when she asks for it.

The rest of the time, Lucian is what he is. His middle swells, and those that didn’t guess what he was when they met him are flummoxed by it, but since no one knows how to ask, they don’t ask at all. Though Eadwin doesn’t half wonder how much of that is that they’re afraid of crossing Fortune, who belligerently corrects anyone who calls Lucian she. He heard her ask the barleyman if he’d left his wits out in the field, that he couldn’t see what was before his own eyes.

Fortune says it’s because they haven’t forgotten how much Eadwin used to fight. Former monk or no, they still see him at sixteen with bloodied and bruised knuckles.

They teach the others how to ride and handle the horses. Hanne and Joan take to it the most naturally, Fortune refuses to go near the beasts. Their mother watches from the garden, shelling her peas and beans and clucking her tongue when Will falls out of the saddle again.

He finds that his mother is gentler, without his father. She smiles more, and she seems especially fond of Lucian, who brings her flowers from the meadows and mushrooms from the forest. They eat well. Fortune sews Lucian a winter cloak.

With autumn come the frosts, and after a fierce argument in which it becomes apparent that he cannot stop Lucian, only ride with him, Eadwin follows Lucian out into the woods to take another deer to put away for the winter.

They come back with two old does and fill up their smokehouse. “Now I won’t need to hunt until well after the child is born,” Lucian says, in an annoyed I already told you this voice.

That night Eadwin draws him near and says, “You don’t know how terrified I am that something will happen to you and I’d never know.”

Lucian strokes his cheek. “Fool. I know exactly how terrified you are.”

He is still glad to wake every morning and find Lucian there beside him. Less glad, perhaps, when Fortune looks at him one morning and says, “After about midnight, I start wishing you two liked each other less.”

The rains start. The Penbreak begins to run fuller, closer to the tops of its banks. Lucian grows restless because he can’t go out in the woods. He spends more time taking care of the horses and going up to the church, talking to the Rose midwife there. They can feel the child when it moves, now. It seems stubbornly committed to life, in spite of everything.

They trade some of their venison for salt pork and mutton. Lucian lets out the sides of his shirts. They eat well.

Eadwin starts to know his nieces and nephew. Will is amiable and tries to keep everyone happy. Hanne is like Prue was, shy and thoughtful, prone to moodiness. Bree takes after Fortune so much it’s hard to believe she had a father at all, though she has a better sense of humor than her mother. She works just as hard. Joan has a restless and flighty personality, Fortune fears that she’ll take off with the first man to ask for her hand. Sky wants to learn to read, so she can be educated. He teaches her in the evenings, after the day’s work is done.

Hanne’s husband, Tom, is the loudest person in the house. It would be bothersome, but he and Lucian take to each other immediately for reasons Eadwin can’t entirely fathom. They act as though they’ve known each other their whole lives.

It isn’t the quiet life he had at the abbey, even with consideration for his involvement in Wulfric’s house. This house is noisy, bursting at the seams, and it is… home. Still, his hope is that they can do well enough for themselves to build a bigger house.

At night Lucian ruminates about Grenacre, about his brothers, about Felix. He talks about Felix teaching him to ride, to shoot.

He starts to complain of his back, and it being more difficult to sleep. Eadwin sits up with him one night in the kitchen, while Lucian writes to Felix and waits for the baby to settle. He sends the letter out quietly the next day on a river barge, on a route that will take it through a dozen hands and mean it doesn’t arrive until spring. Lucian doesn’t want Felix to be able to track him down on a whim.

With winter comes the snow, and ice forming along the slower spots in the river. Lucian hardly leaves the house except for mass, because his feet ache. “Heaven help me if I ever let you put me in this position again,” he grumbles. Fortune insists they take her room, which has a proper bed.

Midwinter is celebrated in much the same way it was when he was a boy, only now there’s a church to provide its center. Mother Agnes performs a midwinter mass, and everyone has brought what food and drink they can spare, to be shared around a bonfire in the burial ground, with the moon shining full and fat in the gaps between the clouds. There’s music and singing and dancing, and Lucian is smiling like it’s all the best thing he’s ever seen. When they go home, Eadwin curls around Lucian’s back and holds him close.

The snow deepens, the river begins to freeze over. The moon wanes and waxes again. They eat well.

[forthesanityofstorytellers]

Footsteps of a Stranger

Written in 2019 to be part of an anthology that I don't think ever quite got off the ground. Spawned a good character, tho. Short story that I broke up into chunks for Tumblr. Inspired by the Noir Princesses art by Ástor Alexander.

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

WC Total: 6289 -Part 1, 628 -Part 2, 1276 -Part 3, 1163 -Part 4, 686 -Part 5, 1851 -Part 6, 685

Warnings: Guns

Summary: A resolution is reached.

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

Rain. It always seemed to soothe me in one way or another−little drops of starlight falling, glistening in the dull glow of the moonlight like tiny angels, plummeting towards the earth.

I stood under a sheltering cluster of branches, in a tiny bit of nature away from the city. It was far enough away, the light in the distance like a foggy memory of hope. Hope for anything new. But nothing was really new these days, was it? Memories haunted the foggy rain as I stared at the ground, where a small ring of rocks marked the grave of the tortured earth sprite. The gunshot still pounded my ears, the echo of a decision I made daily to exist in one world over the other.

The exceptions were on slow days like today. Today I was forced into a corner. Forced to reconsider my efforts. To live as a human knowing it might come at the expense of the sprites. To live as a sprite knowing my world was constantly shrinking...and one day may be gone.

I stood in the small corner of nature, standing long enough to grow roots. Didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Only listened and thought of my mother.

Something in the trees moved. I tensed, shifting my stance enough to look over my shoulder. Thomas emerged with a small smile and an umbrella. He stood next to me and extended the plastic shelter, letting the downpour fill our silence.

“Ratcliffe,” I finally said, hands in pockets and staring at the grave. “Did he confess?”

Thomas shook his head. “Of course not. But the evidence did enough talking for the police.”

I glanced at his shoulder, captured against his body by a white sling. “Sorry.”

He shook his head again, droplets flicking out of the brown mess of his hair. “Don’t worry about it, Miss Becka. It was a one-in-a-million shot you tried to pull, and this,” he shuffled his arm, “helps tell the story that Ratcliffe shot me.”

“True. But I wish for her sake we could snag him for dumping poison in the forests.”

Thomas smiled. “Don’t count me out yet, Miss.” I shot him a suspicious look, to which he smiled wider. “I may or may not have found out who he’s been hiring to dump the waste for him. And I bet once we link his assaulting farmers to the land-buying and dumping, he’ll be sorry he ever set his sights on this forest.”

“It won’t change the damage he’s already done,” I sighed. “Or bring any peace back to the sprite he shot.”

“Maybe not, Miss Becka,” Thomas answered, looking back to the grave. “Maybe not. But maybe these events will get ripple beyond what we can see. Death isn’t always the end, not when it can bring about change for the better.”

I nodded, glancing up at him. “I suppose that’s true. As long as we make sure it's a change for the better.”

“I have every confidence in you, Miss Becka.”

We stood there a moment longer, listening to the rain, watching as it struck the ground. The strong smell of fresh earth wafted into the air. As we watched, a small piece of earth twitched in the center of the grave. My hand went to my pistol, but there was no need. In the very center of the sprite’s resting spot, something began to emerge. A single twig poked its head from the ground, unfolding in the damp of the night into a strong sapling.

I let out a small laugh. “The last of her magic,” I muttered.

“What?”

“An old myth my father told me once: ‘Bury an earth sprite in the ground, respectfully mark it with rocks around, the last of their magic is new life found.’ He used to tell me every time we visited my mother’s grave. I never knew what to make of it, but…” I shook my head. Looked up at my assistant. “Nevermind. Let’s go, Mr. Bayle; we’ve got work to do.” Turning towards the distant halo of street lamps, I walked out into the night fog.

[reneesbooks]

The Knight of Lacuna Lake - Part 4

summary: as winter descends on Morbhard, the past haunts Keelan and her family's secrets haunt Maura (4.7k words)

intro post, part one, part two, part three

taglist (ask to be added! <3): @serenanymph @lyssa-ink @oh-no-another-idea @lena-rambles @ashen-crest @tragicbackstoryenjoyer @serpentarii

{*}

Keelan gets every Camhaoir off, so on the anniversary of the night Leyne burned, he is sitting on the floor in the chapel, lighting candle after candle. He can't remember every name and face, but he lights one for each one he remembers. His parents, Old Haidi, his friend Ollie, the other farmers. The other children. The baker who'd always made extra sweet buns on the night of the full blue moon. The priestess who was prone to long-winded lectures that Keelan could never pay attention to. The barkeep who always shouted nasty things at the playing children if they got too close to his garden.

He's surrounded by candles when the door on the east side of the chapel opens. He looks up at the sound of the creaking old hinges. Maura lifts the hem of her dressing gown, stepping carefully out of her shoes before making her way towards Keelan. He watches her approach from behind his wall of candles. She stops at the edge of his pool of light.

“Princess,” he says quietly. “I apologize. It's my night off, but if you—”

“No,” she interrupts. She shrugs off the dressing gown and Keelan looks away, his eyes burning. She lifts the much shorter hem of her foamy nightgown and steps cautiously over the candles. She settles down next to him and pulls her knees up to her chest. “I couldn't sleep and saw the light. I thought you might enjoy the company.”

Keelan lights another candle. Shira, he miller's daughter. Maura says nothing more, just sits beside him while he continues to light the candles. Too soon, he runs out of names. He sets the matches down and shuts his eyes.

“I've never been a very devout person,” he says, his voice echoing in the empty chapel. “But my parents taught me the funeral prayers. And the memorial ones. I've said them for as many...as many people as I can remember.”

“Do you want me to say them with you?” Maura asks softly. He shakes his head.

“There are too many names.” He opens his eyes. “I wish I remembered more.”

“I'll say the prayers, then.” Her hand slides into his. “And you just say the names.”

He swallows and nods.

Her voice rings in the dark chapel. “May the souls of the remembered find the strength to visit those who remember them tonight. May the souls of the forgotten enjoy the eternal rest of the gods. May Tidon judge them fairly, may Hatha welcome them with warm arms. We ask the gods to allow them to join us tonight, as another year passes since they left.”

Keelan clears his throat. He always starts with his parents, but with Maura's hand in his, the syllables feel even heavier on his tongue. “Saoirse. Padraigh.” Maura's fingers squeeze his. “Haidi. Ollie, Shira, Tommy.”

His mouth is dry and he dreads the years to come, as memory fades and Leyne is no longer real, until it is nothing but a story and a song and a few stones in a field. They'd had a fountain in the town square, a windmill, a chapel with only one stained glass window. He never paid attention during lecture days, so he remembers every detail of that window—the beautiful segments of glass set into intricately wrought iron, depicting the spirit of Leyna, who was said to have created Leyne's vineyards from a strand of her hair. He remembers the shattered glass glistening in the ashes of the chapel, reflecting back the fires as the sacred grove burned.

The tears come easily, and Maura rests her head on his shoulder. He tells her as many stories as he can remember, about Leyne's people, Leyne's history, Leyne's legends. Someday he and his home will be dust but for now he is alive and Leyne is still real.

He runs out of stories long before he runs out of tears. Maura is steady as stone, but her touch is velvet in his hair. She kisses the side of his head and he lets her hold him until he has the strength to stand. The candles are burning low, the time for the spirits waning as the wax drips away. Maura stands with him and he imagines what the chapel could look like if it were really filled with spirits—all the people of Leyne, surrounding him like the candles. Would they look the way they had when they'd died, burned and bloody? Or the way they existed in the world beyond?

It doesn't matter. Leyne is gone.

Maura whispers something and the candles flare up, casting the shadows of dozens of people across the walls and sloped ceilings of the chapel. Keelan takes a step back, a dry sob catching in his throat. The candlelight dies down, a few of the candles flickering out from the strain. The shadows fade.

“I don't know if the priestesses are right about the world beyond,” Maura says quietly. “But I know enough magic to feel its presence. Leyne is not gone; it lives in you.”

Keelan closes his eyes. “And when I am gone?”

She inhales sharply, her fingers curling around his. “I don't know.”

They stand there until the rest of the candles burn out. Keelan steps over the candles and picks up Maura's dressing gown. She joins him and he drapes the gown over her shoulders. She pulls it around herself and he walks her to the chapel doors.

“I'll see you tomorrow,” he says, avoiding her gaze. She stands on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek and he sighs, letting himself relax at the touch. His hands brush her waist as she pulls away and he craves a touch from her that lingers.

“Until tomorrow,” she says, and disappears with the scent of her sweet-pea perfume.

{*}

They are still in the garden when the silver moon peeks over the wall of the castle. Maura and Birdie are laughing, drawing shapes in the thin film of snow that covers the grass. Birdie's laughter ends abruptly and she turns to face the silver moon. Her pupils shrink until her eyes are two more silver moons. She starts to recite her prophecy. Maura drops her stick and Keelan leaps up from his seat under the twisty tree.

He scoops Birdie up, cradling her gently as he and Maura hurry towards the castle. He has a headache from the bright light of Birdie's hair, but he just squints and keeps going. Birdie is starting the second recitation when they make it inside. Keelan sets her down on the nearest cushioned bench and she sits unnaturally still as she continues to chant in her haunting, tripled voice. As the third recitation starts, a drop of blood slides out of Birdie's nose, then another. Maura turns her face into Keelan's shoulder.

The prophecy's end is followed by a thick silence. Then Birdie's little voice breaks it— “Keys?” The word trembles with tears. “My nose.”

“It's okay, duckling,” Maura says. She crouches down next to Birdie and wipes the blood away with her handkerchief. “Sometimes that happens when it's cold out. That's how you know it's time to come inside.”

Birdie sniffs. “I don't like it.”

“Me neither, princess,” Keelan says, offering her his hand. “But it's over now, see?”

She takes his hand and they start off in the direction of her chambers. Maura walks silently beside them, lost in her own thoughts. Birdie swings Keelan's hand, humming to herself. They're nearly to her room when she speaks again. “I like snow,” she says decisively. Keelan laughs.

“Why is that, princess?

“Because it's sparkly.” She jumps down the step into her bedroom. “And it makes Sissy's hair look like Momma's brace-lets. Sparkly.”

Keelan waits outside the door while Maura tucks Birdie in. He can just barely hear them through the door, Birdie's little chime of a voice and Maura's soft replies. The sweet notes of Birdie's favorite lullaby reach him, but he can't make out the words.

Maura steps out of the bedroom and stands in the corridor for a moment, staring at the wall opposite. “That's never happened before,” she says quietly.

“I know,” Keelan says. He steps forward to take her hand. “Are you okay?”

“No.” She lets go of his hand and presses hers to her face. “I need to speak with Levi. Or my mother.”

“Where would they be at this hour? Levi isn't in the library at night and your mother likely already turned in.”

“I don't know.” She starts walking towards her mother's chambers. “I just...there has to be something we can do for Birdie.”

Keelan follows her, keeping pace despite how quickly she's walking. “She's going to be okay.”

“You don't know that.”

“No,” he says, reaching forward to catch her hand. He pulls her to a stop and she looks up at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears. He cups her face in his hands. “I don't know that. But I know that you will do everything you can to make sure that she is okay. And I know that you always get what you want.” He lets the corner of his mouth quirk up. “Eventually.”

She closes her eyes, a tear slipping out. “I'm so afraid, Keys.”

“I know.” He presses a kiss to her forehead. “It will be okay.”

She takes a moment to compose herself before continuing down the corridor. Keelan stays at her side as she checks her mother's chambers. The ladies' maids tell them, giggling, that the queen hasn't turned in for the night yet. Maura's frown deepens and Keelan watches the maids out of the corner of his eyes as they leave, seeing them whispering behind their hands.

“She's probably with my father,” Maura says, rolling her eyes as they round the next corner. “The maids are so immature.” She bites her lip, the worry seeping back in. “I don't know where Levi's chambers are.”

Keelan tries to think if he's ever been to them, but he can't remember. “I'm sorry, Maura. We'll find them in the morning.”

She nods, but doesn't turn to go towards her chambers—instead, she takes the side passage to the library. Keelan doesn't need to ask why.

When they reach the top of the stairs, Maura summons a ball of golden light, pushing the doors open. Keelan blinks, startled by the sudden flood of light. The chandeliers are still lit and Maura's light fizzles out. He rests his hand on the hilt of his sword, squinting at the interior of the library. Nobody is ever up here this late except Maura, and the coincidence is not lost on him.

Maura takes a step forward before he can stop her, but her eyes are fixed on something that he hasn't seen yet. Her voice trembles and breaks— “Momma?”

Keelan blinks again, his eyes finally adjusting to the light. Maura is staring at Rosaleen, who is pushed up against one of the bookshelves, her dressing gown falling off one of her shoulders. Her red hair is falling out of her braid as she gasps at the sight of the two of them in the doorway, pushing Levi away from her. Keelan's eyes are the size of saucers and all he can pay attention to for a second is the way Levi's shirt is unbuttoned nearly to his hips.

“Maura, sweet pea,” Rosaleen says, pulling up her dressing gown. Her eyes dart between Maura and Keelan. “Oh, darling, this is...we need to talk.”

Levi steps forward, his fingers sparking with blue magic. “Rosaleen, they don't need to know about this—”

“No,” Rosaleen says, catching his wrist. “No more memory spells, no more hiding.”

A tear slides out of Maura's eye. “Memory spells?”

“Listen, Maura,” Rosaleen says, walking towards them with hands out placatingly. “Let me explain.”

Maura steps back, running into Keelan. He wraps an arm around her protectively, feeling her tremble, and draws his sword with his other hand. He aims it at Levi. “Stay away from the princess.”

“There's a lot going on here that you don't understand, Keelan,” Levi warns, blue sparks still flying off his fingers. “Don't be foolish.”

Keelan glances back. The doors are still open. He could get Maura out quickly, if it came to that.

“Levi, that's enough,” Rosaleen snaps. The blue sparks fade from Levi's fingers and he crosses his arms over his chest. Rosaleen inhales slowly, pulling her fiery braid over one shoulder and her dressing gown tight around her waist. “This is not how I wanted it to happen, but I should have told you this a long time ago, sweet pea.”

Maura clutches Keelan's arm around her. “Told me what, Momma?”

“I love you,” Rosaleen says, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “But I don't love your father. You know...you know our marriage was arranged after your grandparents died. We never planned it to be a love match.”

Keelan keeps his eye on Levi, not trusting the way the witch's fingers are hidden from sight. His mind is spinning, piecing together information faster than he can process it, but the warmth of Maura in his arms keeps him grounded.

“Levi and I...we fell in love.” Rosaleen hesitates when she reaches the tip of Keelan's sword, but he lowers it and lets her come closer. “Darling, you must know that I never wanted to hurt you by keeping this from you.”

Maura's fingers dig into Keelan's arm. “Birdie's nose started to bleed.”

Rosaleen presses her hand to her mouth and Levi lets out a short cry. Keelan's knuckles whiten around the hilt of his sword, his attention caught on the familiar upward turn of Levi's eyes. The slightest upward tilt that he's seen a hundred times, but in a different face.

“Birdie's nose started to bleed,” Maura says, her voice trembling with something that is inching closer and closer to anger. “She was having one of her prophecy trances and this time it gave her a nosebleed and where the hell were you?”

“Maura—”

“How much blood?” Levi demands, his eyes wide and panicked. “Just a little, or a lot?”

Keelan's blood boils, his spinning thoughts settling into a sickening conclusion. “That doesn't sound like the curiosity of a librarian. Could your concern stem from something more personal?”

Rosaleen flinches. Maura turns her face into Keelan's arm. He feels the tears wetting his shirt and regrets his words, if only because they upset her. Levi's eyes dart between Keelan and the queen, as if he is trying to weigh something.

“How could you keep something like this from me?” Maura whispers against Keelan's arm. It echoes through the library anyway, and he sees with some satisfaction that fear is creeping into Levi's expression. “She's not my true sister, is she? She's his daughter.”

“Maura,” Rosaleen says, reaching out to touch Maura's face. Maura jerks away and Keelan pulls the two of them back another step, until they are almost out of the library again. “Maura, baby, she is still your sister. You are my daughters.”

Maura shakes her head. “You're both liars. You're all liars.” She tucks her face against Keelan's chest. “Take me home, Keys.”

“Yes, princess,” he says. He sheathes his sword and swings her up into his arms, carrying her back down the stairs and far away from the library.

{*}

Maura's bedroom door flies open at eight exactly and she steps out looking as if she slept on a cloud, attended by faeries, and not like she'd fallen asleep with her head in Keelan's lap after crying herself dry. He wonders if there is magic involved but resolves not to ask.

“Good morning, princess,” he says, bowing. “What would you like to do today?”

“I don't think I want to study today,” she says, the scratch in her voice the only remnant of the wracking sobs that had shaken her the night before. “I think I wish to take a trip into the city today. The market in Ivy Reach does have the most beautiful books.”

“I will inform the stables and have them prepare your horse.” Keelan follows her as she sets off towards the kitchens. “I heard Stiofán made eggs in a basket for breakfast today.”

“You haven't eaten yet?”

“I wanted to make sure you ate first.”

She slips her hand into his. “Thank you.”

Stiofán doesn't question either of them, just gives them breakfast and packs a satchel with wrapped sandwiches for lunch. Keelan straps the satchel to his horse, gives Maura a boost onto hers, and swings himself up.

“Shall we go to the Grand Market, princess?” The usual guard detail is trailing behind them, but Keelan finds it easy to ignore them when Maura's riding skirts hike up to her knees as she adjusts her saddle. “I don't know about books, but there is a wine merchant with some of the finest vintages in Raedora. I could recommend a few for you.”

Her smile is small, but the victory is sweet. “We'll go there first, then.”

The Grand Market is bustling despite the early hour. Keelan leads the way to the wine merchant's stall and dismounts, helping Maura off her own horse. He is loathe to let any of the other soldiers put their hands on her. Her hand lingers on his arm.

“Your Highness,” the merchant says, bowing deeply. “You do me a great honor.”

Maura smiles politely. “I have heard excellent things about your offerings. I would like to sample a few.”

The merchant keeps bowing. “Any vintage you would like.”

Maura loops her arm through Keelan's and leads him to the table, resting her fingers on the stained tablecloth. “Sir Keelan. You are the expert here.”

Keelan considers the bottles laid out on the table. “This one, here. Good red grapes from the west. The climate there gives them a distinct sweetness that you don't get from other wines.”

“Three casks of that one,” Maura says to the merchant. He immediately scrambles to start writing out a receipt. She turns back to Keelan, her smile beginning to reach her eyes. “Tell me more.”

He manages to tear his eyes away from that smile and looks back at the bottles. “Do you prefer red wines or white, princess?”

She hums. “I don't know. I haven't had enough to have a preference.” She lets out a short laugh. “I'll have to try quite a few to find out which I like best.”

The merchant's eyes are hungry but he wisely keeps his mouth shut and motions for his assistant to begin helping. Keelan surveys the selection of red wines. “If you like dry wine, this might work.” He picks up a bottle with a sketched label that he recognizes. “It's from the east of Raedora, near the Guildin border. Much drier climate with a taste to match.”

Maura laughs again and he can feel the tension beginning to drain from her muscles as she shifts her grip on his arm. “How can a liquid be dry?”

“A taste, princess,” the merchant says, plucking the bottle out of Keelan's hands. The assistant holds out a glass and the merchant pours, offering it to Maura. “Free of charge.”

Maura takes the glass with a polite nod and sips. She makes a face. “It's sour.”

Keelan laughs, hearing his father's voice in the back of his head. “Always dry, never sour.” She raises an eyebrow at him. “It's something my father used to say. 'Sour sounds bad—it's what happens to old milk and old ladies. Dry is a contradiction, so it makes the customer curious. A curious customer is a paying customer.'” He shrugs. “I didn't get it; I never liked dry wines either.”

Maura hands the glass back to the merchant. “Not that one.”

“Of course, princess.” He bows and throws the glass to the ground. Keelan nearly laughs at the shatter but instead gestures at another bottle.

“You'll want something more like this, then. Also from the east, so not as naturally sweet as western wines, but the winemaker's specialty is how he brews his wine before ageing it. He visited Leyne once when I was a child to barter for grapevine clippings with my father.”

“Five casks,” Maura says to the merchant. “What about these?” She gestures to a group of three bottles set slightly behind the red wines.

“Those are pink wines, princess.”

“I do love the color pink,” she says, delighted. Are they made from mixing red and white wines together?”

Keelan laughs. “No, princess, only from pink grapes. They’re not common in Raedora as pink grapes grow in much hotter climates. Only a few vineyards in Raedora are able to produce quality pink wines. I myself have never had much so I can’t speak to those three.”

“A cask of each, then,” Maura says. “And we’ll come to a decision later.” She turns to the white wines. “There are still so many to consider.”

“Many of these are dry, princess,” Keelan says. “That will narrow it down significantly.” He inspects the labels and picks up one bottle. “This one should be to your liking. From the southwestern coast. The grapes that grow on the cliffs are some of the sweetest I’ve ever tasted.”

“Five casks.” The assistant is puffing from exertion, hauling cask after cask onto the cart that the soldiers have managed to procure. Maura runs her fingers over the label on the bottle. “There’s no writing. How can you tell the difference so preciscely?”

“All Raedoran winemakers have their own sigil. The grapes on the sailing ship, the wheat, the unicorn. Most vineyards perfect one kind of grape and make one kind of wine, or only one of each kind. There’s no need for writing and most of us can’t read anyway.” Keelan’s fingers freeze over a label that is etched into his mind and the leather satchel that he brought with him from Leyne.

“Keelan?” Maura's voice breaks through the rush in his ears. “What's that one?”

The spirit of Leyna mocks him, smiling up at him from the bottle. The basket of grapes resting on her hip, the long flowing hair that becomes grapevines where it hits the ground. A near-perfect recreation of the stained glass window that had once graced Leyne's chapel.

“This one,” he says, his voice hoarse. He raises his gaze to the wine merchant, who goes deathly pale at whatever he sees on Keelan's face. “Where did you get this?”

“A rare vintage,” the man stammers. “I bought a large quantity a while back that did not all sell.”

Maura's hand tightens on Keelan's arm. “Keys? What is it?”

“This is a strong, sweet wine from the west,” he says, rubbing off a stain of dirt on the bottle. “Made with the finest white grapes grown in Raedora, blessed by the gods themselves.”

He holds the bottle out to her and watches her trace Leyna's face. “Sweet, light, with the faintest kiss of wild cherry.” He swallows, feeling the tears building up behind his eyes. “This is from Leyne. This is my father's wine.”

Maura says nothing for a minute. The wine merchant is frozen, his eyes ticking back and forth between the two of them. Finally, Maura looks up at the merchant. “How many casks of this wine do you have?”

“Fifteen, princess.”

“Are you sure?” There is an edge to her voice.

His face drains of all remaining color. “I will check, princess.” He disappears behind the stall for a moment and Keelan can hear him swearing at his assistant, a few casks crashing to the ground. He returns after a moment. “My deepest apologies; I have seventeen, princess. Two are very old, but the wine should—”

“I'll take all of them,” Maura interrupts. The merchant bows and starts in on another long-winded speech about the honor she does him, but she waves her hand and says, “Any bottle that you have, as well. That will be all. Thank you.”

She gives the bottle in her hand to the nearest soldier and spends a moment discussing transportation with the soldiers by the cart. She turns back to Keelan after a moment and he inhales slowly, composing himself. “What now, princess?”

“We have wine to entertain ourselves with, so next we need books.” She walks back over to her horse and he boosts her into the saddle. “I've been to every book merchant in the Grand Market, but I hear the Ivy Reach market has the best illuminated manuscripts in all of Morbhard.”

“Then we shall go there next.” Keelan swings himself up onto his horse. “Do you want to wait for the rest of the guard detail to finish here?”

“No,” Maura says. “I trust that you will be able to protect me yourself.”

She sets the pace, riding through the Morbhard streets with him at her side. The common folk shout blessings and a few even throw roses, but Maura's eyes are fixed on the horizon, her mind clearly elsewhere. Ivy Reach houses many of the nobility of the city, so the streets grow cleaner and less crowded the further north they go. Soon, the only people out and about are ladies attended by maids and footmen, a few nobles on horses, and servants rushing to run errands and finish chores. The local market is much smaller the Grand Market, but many of the stalls are nicer, with embroidered tablecloths and freshly-painted signs.

Maura stops in front of a booth whose sign shows a dragon holding a book. Keelan jumps off his horse and lifts her down. She lingers close to him this time, slipping her arm through his. “Do you want anything?”

“I'm hardly the expert on books that you are, princess,” he says. “But I enjoyed the stories of Raedora's history.”

“Let's see if we can find you something, then,” she says. The merchant is already bowing and scraping, but their voice fades into the background. Maura runs her fingers over the spine of the first book on the table. Keelan squints at the lettering, trying to decipher it.

“Thee...thee his-history of Gilduh.”

“The History of Guildi,” Maura says. “My father's country.”

“I never knew much about Guildi growing up,” Keelan says. “Fierodia was closer, so we had people come through from there all the time,”

“This one,” Maura says to the merchant. She picks up another book. “Songs and Stories of the Northern Coast. Have you ever been?”

“No,” Keelan says. “But I've had some of their wine.”

She hums and sets the book down. Keelan loses track of time easily, listening to her describe each book in turn. She flips through the pages, tracing illustrations with her fingertips and daring him to try to pronounce random words. His saddlebags fill quickly and the soldiers must still be wrestling with the wine because none come to help. The two of them are left in a peaceful bubble as the sun rises over the lake and the morning chill dissipates. He can hear the bells tolling noon when Maura finally grabs her horse's reins. “Sir Keelan. Shall we return to the castle?”

“If it pleases you, princess.”

Her eyes stray to the towers visible over the grand houses of Ivy Reach. “I don't...I don't think I want to go inside just yet.”

“There are always the gardens,” he offers.

“No,” she says quickly. “No.” She strokes her horse when it fusses. “Birdie's governess usually takes her out into the gardens in the afternoons.”

Keelan steps closer to her, close enough to brush his hand along her waist. “We could always ride out of the city. Spend time in the countryside.”

She hums thoughtfully, still stroking her horse. “There is an abandoned farmhouse just outside the city limits. It could be worth exploring.”

“Princess!” A soldier comes running up to them, his armor clanking loudly. Keelan quickly steps away from Maura. “Your father requests that you return to the castle.”

Maura sucks her bottom lip between her teeth. “Thank you. Inform him that I am on my way.”

“Yes, princess.” The soldier disappears back into the crowd and Maura turns around to face Keelan. He fixes his sight over her shoulder, the bookseller's gaze suddenly feeling scorching hot on the back of his neck.

“Is there anything else that you need, Your Highness?” Keelan asks. He sees her hand twitch towards his before she turns back to her horse.

“A boost up, Sir Keelan. We shouldn't make my father wait.”

[the-potionist-skeksis]

After your many travels you arrive, tired and famished, to a cave in the woods. It has a long entrance made of mud and it seems to go on into the hill. Just as you're about to call out for the dwellers, a bony, firm hand clasps your shoulder from behind, a hand with sharp talons at its fingers' end.

You cannot turn around.

Behind you a low growl makes itself present and a wet breathing arrives at your ears, sniffing you intensely. With the corner of your vision you see a sharp beak with a ring dangling from a nostril and old scars marking its old bone.

"Well well, you're a new one" a soft, raspy voice says, like a whisper, an old dusty wind breathed through layers of ancient cobwebs. It said so in the old Skeksis tongue and yet, you understood it.

The bony hand clothed in a black lace glove finally lets you go and you see it.

It's a Skeksis.

She stands tall in the meadow, fierce in her pose, and she addresses you directly: "are you in need of help?" she says, still in her whispery tone, pointing her finger at you; she sounds mechanical, like this is a behaviour she isn't very used to. You nod, unsure and a little afraid of the towering figure.

She moves past you, her step determined and quick, but you notice she leans foward with her head and hands, fingers twitching. She stops right out of the hut: "Enter", she says, dry and to the point, but not commanding; she parts the foliage at the entrance with a hand, making a friendly gesture with the other.

You enter the hut, it's completely dark except for some skylights on the muddy ceiling for ventilating the air and you have some troubles making out the shapes of the objects. When you've adjusted to the dim lighting you notice that the hut is kept very neat, the raw ground is kept level and clear of clutter and all the utensils are on the sides of the home. And what appliances there are! You see cabinets full of jars, some with strange substances, others with various herbs and mushrooms. Near the entrance of the hut there's a section with a bed near a large window and close to it items of the medical kind, by the wall a tub and clean medical instruments on a shelf lay ready for use. Going through the long shape of the home you see the resting place of the Skeksis: a large bed near a wall, strangely much larger than she would need it to be; next to the bed lay neatly a mining pick, a hoe and a rack, still with dirt on it. The Skeksis makes sign for you to sit on a rug in the middle of the long cavern and hands you a wooden bowl with herbs and dry Nebrie meat inside. She points at the bowl and nods: "Eat" only that word and she sits next to you, waiting. You eat the meal, the dry meat is tasty and the herbs are freshly picked, it's not the grandest meal, but it helps you to replenish your strenght.

Just about when you're finished you hear heavy, slow footsteps making their way towards the hut, rustling the grass.

The Skeksis grunts, unamused, and takes your bowl to clean it with fresh water, in the tub. A head pokes into the entrance: "Hello, skekNyx, I smell we have...a guest!" says a deep, jovial voice in the Skeksis tongue, the creature comes foward and you see it in all its massive glory: it's one of the reclusive Mystics! He has long hair that even covers his eyes and lots of leaves and small branches woven in his long mane. He comes towards you, and with a hand reaching he almost touches you but then backs away. You take his hand, its heavy and gritty, a hand of a hard worker, with its palm hard and coarse, but also gentle and warm. The urRu smiles calmly: "I am urYen...the Farmer and...this one...here...is my...companion...skekNyx...the Potionist" he speaks slowly, but at the same time seems excited to get as many words as he's able out to you; "are you...in need...of any help? We...will try...to aid.........as much as we can" he finishes, letting out a potent sigh and smiles. SkekNyx puts a hand on his shoulder and looks at you: "Now tell us of your travels" she says.

The Farmer coughs softly.

"...please" she adds, stiffening up and flicking urYen's head softly, while the Farmer chuckles in his warm voice.

The Farmer and The Potionist sit down on the rug while outside the window the Third Brother sets behind the trees and the first firebugs rise from the bushes, making their way into the home, and illuminating your sight with a faint, mystical glow. You look at the two creatures, one of sharp edges and the other of warm sounds and you wonder what tales they would have of their long lives, what perils, what wondrous experiences they must have lived! And you can't wait to hear them all.

You feel welcome.