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topguncortez · 1 year ago

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Court of Thieves || Chapter 2

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synopsis: The Lady Mitchell has traveled to Landing Center to meet her new husband. Prince Jake returns from war and comes face to face with his father's ailing condition

word count: 4.7k

warnings: mentions of death, language, era-related misogyny, talks of pregnancy, arranged marriage, mentions of infidelity.

You wanted to put up a fight. You wanted to scream and yell and throw things and curse at your father for signing you away before you even had a chance. From a young age, you knew that you wouldn’t have much say in the matter of who you married. Your father was part of the King’s guard, a trusted swordsman in his younger days. Whatever marriage you were to spawn was going to be for a political alliance, but your father promised you that it was going to be with your blessing.

“I hear that the Prince isn’t so bad,” Bradley said, interrupting your reading. You peered over your book at him and he just shrugged, “It could be worse.”

You closed your book. You had to travel through the night via ship to the mainland of Brinefell. Now you were in a carriage to take you to Landing Center, where the King resided. . . your new home, “How could it be worse? I am betrothed to a man who’s called the Crown Whore Prince.”

The rumors of the Prince of Brinefell’s escapades were vast. He surrounded himself with pretty women, tearing through them like a man on a hunt. He didn’t care that he sullied their maidenheads, and had no intention of wedding them. The Prince was a smooth talker and had a pretty face to back it up.

“Those are just stories, you know that,” Bradley said, reaching across the small carriage cabin to grab your hand.

“And my sister’s stories? Those are just rumors?”

Bradley sucked in a breath. Pete had sent his eldest daughter Allison to be a part of the Queen’s court. The Queen was friends with Pete’s late wife, Penelope, and did him a favor by inviting Allison. Allison was a beautiful young girl, with dark hair and striking green eyes. Her fair skin had many guards falling for her and pleading with Pete for his daughter’s hand in marriage. However, Pete turned them down, knowing that his wild daughter needed to calm down before she became a wife. What he didn’t know was that Allison had been caught entertaining the Prince in his chambers late at night.

“Try and think positive, ducky,” Bradley said, “You won’t have to do a single thing. No chores, no studies, no filling glasses of wine. You’ll be sitting at high tables with fancy cheeses and wines.”

That part of the deal did sound appealing to you. You had always envied the ladies of the Queen’s court when you’d go to balls with your father. They always had the fanciest dresses, their hair done in neat updos and stylings. You had heard a rumor that they have a feast every night of roasted pig and quail eggs. The King had hired a personal cook from France to make every meal for him and his family.

But even with all the good points Bradley was giving, you were thinking of at least two negatives to each one. The biggest one was losing the person who knew you best. You and Allison were never as close as you and Bradley are. You knew that the second the carriage stopped on the Castle grounds, Bradley would be stopped from following you. He would be pushed away and possibly into the arms of another.

You weren’t sure when the crush on Bradley had started, you think it was around the time that you became a woman. Bradley had always been a dashing man, and he grew into his looks as he got older. He now supported a beard, that helped define his prominent cheekbones. His hair color was lighter now that it was summer, a mix of different color brown curls. You loved his curls, they were always so soft. Your favorite thing was running your fingers through his hair as his head lay in your lap while you read him poetry under the sycamore tree.

And now, those days of laying in the sun with Bradley were gone.

Bradley liked this whole situation almost as much as you did, maybe even a little less. He knew you well enough that you wouldn’t put up a fight. You weren’t as strong-willed as Allison or your father, you were much like your mother. Quiet, and respectful, but could still stand up for yourself when needed. Bradley knew that Pete would try and marry you off if you weren’t already promised to another. He had asked your father for your hand on multiple occasions, telling him that there was no one better than himself to protect and care for you. Pete knew that Bradley was probably right, but he had already made the promise of your hand to the King.

“Bradley,” You said softly, “W-what if I can’t produce an heir?”

Bradley’s eyebrows furrowed at your question, “What do you mean? Don’t you cycle?”

You blushed and nodded, “Yes, but that doesn’t mean anything. What if I can not successfully give the King an heir? A son. . . What if he casts me aside like my poor cousins were by their King.”

You were broken when you received the news about your dear cousins and the fate of their marriage. The accusations of witchcraft, incest, and adultery made your stomach turn. Then knowing of the brutal end they both received, their heads separating from their bodies, kept you awake at night. Bradley had held you as you woke up screaming in terror as the replay of your cousin’s execution played over and over behind your eyes.

“I assure you, ducky, no one will let that happen to you,” Bradley said, squeezing your hand, “No queen has ever-”

“No queen had ever been put to death before Anne either,” You swallowed.

“Y/N,” Bradley said sternly, “The people of Brinefell are fair and just. They won’t allow the King to do something. . . so barbaric. Olivia the Great’s ghost would reign down on him if he did.”

You gave him a small smile as the carriage came to a stop. You felt bile rise in your throat as you peered out and saw the entrance of the Castle. Bradley got out of the carriage first and walked around to your side, opening the door and giving you his arm to help you out. You squeezed his hand as you walked towards the entrance. The castle in real life looked more magnificent than the paintings had depicted. Beautiful white limestone stood at least three stories tall, with black framed windows nearly every three feet. The points of the steeples ascended high into the sky.

A guard had led you and Bradley through the castle, and it was even more gorgeous on the inside. Marble floors where you swore you could see your reflection. High above you were candle chandeliers, the steel made into intricate patterns. Magnificent oil paintings of past rulers are on the wall. The most notable one was that of Queen Olivia, the Great. You felt as though her green eyes were following you as you walked by it. The large windows let in natural light, making the castle look even bigger on the inside.

The guard pushed open a set of doors to a rather large meeting room. You sucked in a breath as you came face to face with nobles, lords, and priests. Your hand squeezed Bradley’s, and he set his free hand on top of your hand. The two of you shared a brief look, and he smiled at you.

In the back of the room, stood two large thrones. You knew what the room was without having to be told. A gorgeous woman was sitting in one of the thrones, clad in the most beautiful purple dress that you had ever seen, and a beautiful crown sat upon her head. The seat next to her was empty, but you still felt the King’s presence in the room.

“Your Majesty, Lady Y/N Mitchell of North Island,” The guard said, introducing you.

You let go of Bradley’s arm and took a step forward, curtseying in front of the Queen, “Your Majesty.”

You kept your head down as you heard the Queen rise from her seat. She stepped down from the throne and walked up to you. You lifted your head and stood to your height. The Queen was even prettier in person; perfectly pale skin, big brown eyes, and dark brown hair that went straight down her back. Even though she was one of the most important women in Brinefell, all your fear had washed away as she smiled at you.

“Y/N,” The Queen said softly, “You are an image of your mother.”

“You knew my mother?”

The Queen gave a soft nod, “That I did. She was a dear friend of mine. The news of her passing upset me, I am so sorry.”

You hardly remembered your mother. She had died in childbirth when you were three. You weren’t sure if the memories you had of her were your own, or if they were adapted from the stories your father and grandparents had told you. But what you did know about your mother, Penelope, was that she was a vision.

Penelope had inherited a century-old gene with beautiful silver-like hair, light blue eyes, and skin that made her look sunkissed. Her beauty went further than just on the outside. She had a heart of gold, spending her time raising her children without the help of nannies (which was rather unheard of), studying philosophy, and writing poetry. Your father had gifted you a couple of her journals when you left for the Landing.

“But let us not dwell on sad times,” The Queen smiled, “We have much to celebrate,” She looked around the room, “Lady Y/N is engaged to my son, The Prince!” The room filled with cheers and applause as you blushed and nodded your head. The Queen held her arm out to you, and you took it, “Come now, child, we have much to discuss.”

You looked over your shoulder at Bradley, who gave you a small nod, “It is okay. I have an appointment with an old friend.”

The Queen looked between the two of you, “Join us for dinner tonight. . .”

“Oh, my regards, your majesty,” Bradley said and bowed to the Queen, “Sir Bradley Bradshaw, of the House Bradshaw.”

“I thought you looked familiar,” The Queen said, “Your father was a brave swordsman. Please, do us the honor and join us for dinner.”

“As the Queen insists. Farwell for now,” Bradley said and took his leave from the room.

You walked arm and arm with the Queen through the halls of the castle. You half listened as she rambled on about certain paintings, or gifts that lined the walls. She talked about her two daughters; Saera and Margeret. Jane was off studying in Earthmoor and Margeret had just had her first child. The Queen also explained a bit more about your impending wedding to her son.

Years ago, when the first battle of the Rebellion started, your father headed the King’s army out of North Island. He took his soldiers to Bearhaven to try and control the rebels. It was supposed to be an easy-fought battle, but the battle had quickly turned bloody. Desperate and out of options, your father wrote to the King begging for his intervention. Brinefell had been in a time of peace & serenity, The King wanted to keep the fighting out of his city as much as he could. Your father knew that writing him would only cause the rebellion to grow if the crown got involved, so your father offered the King your hand in return for help.

“Your wedding was supposed to happen long ago,” The Queen said, as you sat in her chambers, “But the rebellion has expanded and now Argerus is at odds with us.”

“But isn’t the Prince fighting in Argerus? How will he have time to come back and wed?” You asked.

The Queen’s smile fell as she looked down at the cup in her hand, “I’m afraid the rush of the marriage is because of my husband, The King. He is ill, and dying. Because Jake is so young, and because of the past history of young, unwed rulers, the council passed a law that the heir must be wed before they take the throne.”

You knew of the stories of the disastrous reign of King Francis, the current King’s older brother. The council had found King Francis incompetent in his job and removed him. King George was quickly instated and took over the ruling of Brinefell.

“I believe the King wanted to see you,” The Queen said, “He is usually awake at this time. Shall we go see?” You nodded and stood from your chair. The Queen, again, hooked her arm through yours and walked down the hall to the King’s chambers, “Do not let him alarm you, child, his sickness has taken over his body, but his mind is still intact.”

“Yes, your majesty,” You said.

The Queen pushed the door open to her husband’s chambers and the two of you walked inside. The King was laid in bed, a curtain of sheer white cloth surrounding the bed. You could remember that your mother’s bed looked like this only days before her death. It was traditional to have curtains covering the bed of a dying person. A physician had once told you, that dying was hard, brutal work. It wasn’t easy for family members to see their loved one dying, and they believed that the dying deserved some privacy.

“Your majesty,” A man bowed to the Queen as he stood from the side of the bed.

“Sir Cromwell,” The Queen greeted, “How is my dear husband?”

“Awake,” Sir Cromwell said, “He just received morphine, and will retire soon.”

“Is that-” A rumble of a voice sounded out from behind the curtain. Even ill, his voice was still strong and powerful.

You took a step forward and curtseyed for the King, though you knew he probably could not see you, “Your Majesty, it is I, the Lady Mitchell.”

The King let out a small gasp, followed by coughing. Sir Cromwell was right by his side, helping him sit up. He then drew back the white curtains, allowing you to see the King’s face for the first time. The King looked pale, his blonde hair was thin on top. But his eyes, oh those eyes, ever so powerful and green, just like Queen Olivia’s were in her painting.

“Please, Sir Cromwell, help me out of bed,” The King said. Both Sir Cromwell and the Queen rushed to his side. She grabbed her husband’s legs and helped swing them over the side of the bed, while Sir Cromwell helped the King sit up. You stood back and watched as they helped the ailing King stand to his feet. The Queen wrapped her arm around his waist and put one of his around her shoulders.

“Where to, my King?” The Queen asked.

“Anywhere you lead me, my love,” The King said to his wife. The Queen blushed and patted his chest, before leading him to a chair in the sitting area of his chambers. Once the King was sat in his chair, the Queen moved about, fixing his pillows and putting a blanket over his lap. She lifted his feet so Sir Cromwell could slide a footrest underneath them.

“My Queen, you do too much for me,” The King grabbed her hand to stop her fretting.

“My job is to serve you, my King,” The Queen kissed her husband’s forehead, before taking a step back and curtseying for him, “I will leave you to do your business, your majesty,” She stepped back, allowing you to take a step forward and sit in the chair beside the King.

The King shifted in his chair, and you turned your head towards him, “She worries too much.”

“A good wife ought to worry,” You said and the King nodded in agreement, “My mother used to worry for my father when he was away at battle. I remember her praying and writing all the time. She waited on him even on her death bed.”

“A wife’s job is never easy,” The King said, “I find her job more strenuous than mine. A King is nothing without his Queen. She is the true bearer of the Crown and its legacy. I can not continue on without her, and my son without you.”

You let the King’s words wash over you. The realization of what your role meant finally hit you. Your marriage to the Prince went further than just repaying a debt to the Crown. You were needed to create a legacy not only for the Prince but for your family as well. Your father had no sons, his legacy ends when he dies. A son would mean the house Mitchell lives on after your father dies. A son would mean the crown carries on.

“I understand, your majesty,” You said and took the King’s hand, “I promise I will do all I can to assure the Crown stays with your kin. I promise to do my role for you and your Prince, as well as my father.”

The King nodded his head, “I know you will, Princess.” A flash of pride filled your chest at the mention of your new title, “Now, I hear you are skilled with a bow and arrow, tell me about it.” You chuckled and started in on your training with the weapon.

— — —

Jake was tired. As soon as Master Brook left his tent the other night, he packed up his saddlebags and travel all the way back to Landing Center. He had hoped that he wasn’t too late, that his father hadn’t passed before he could come and speak to him. Jake felt relief when he rode into Landing Center and saw his father’s colors still flying in the wind.

When he arrived, he was met with his father’s most trusted confidants at the gate. Master Moore was his brother-in-law, the King’s hand, and Lord Floyd. Jake didn’t really care for Master Moore. The man had been trying to get Jake removed from the line of succession and reinstate his uncle, Francis instead.

“Robert!” Jake shouts as he dismounts his horse, “Oh how I missed you!” Bob rolls his eyes as he took a step forward and greeted the Prince, “Where is the cake and party? The Prince has returned!”

“Our apologies, your majesty,” Master Moore said, “Maybe if you weren’t returning to see your dying father, we would’ve had cake and whores.” Jake glared at the man as he took off his riding gloves and handed the reigns of his horse to one of the keepers. Bob could sense the tension between the two of them and stepped in the middle.

“Your mother would like to see you,” Bob said, “In her chambers.” Jake nodded and headed to her, but not before sending another glare toward Master Moore. The man returned Jake’s icy stare before turning to Lord Floyd.

Jake smiled politely at his mother’s ladies as he walked into her room. The Queen was by the fireplace, sewing probably a new shirt for the King. One of the ladies whispered in her ear, and she turned to see her only son standing in her room. She smiled and rose from her seat, going to hug him, but stopped short.

“My dear son,” The Queen frowned, licking her thumb and wiping away some dirt on Jake’s cheek, “Do you ever take a bath?”

Jake smirked, “Yes, but cleansing myself is not what I do in them.”

“Oh Gods,” The Queen shook her head. She walked back over to her chair by the fireplace and took a seat, Jake took one across from her. A servant placed a tray of fruits and cheeses in between them, as well as two cups of wine. The Queen thanked the servant and picked up one of the glasses, taking a sip of the red liquid. “Have you seen your father?”

“No,” Jake answered, “Was met at the gate by Robert and that cunt Moore-”

“Master,” The Queen corrected, “Master Moore.”

“He is a cunt,” Jake said, “He has only one loyalty and that is to the bastard Francis-”

“Prince!” The Queen corrected again, “Act as though you are the son of the King, please.”

Jake rolled his eyes, “Yes mother.”

“You must see him, but please, take a bath first, you smell of blood and shit,” The Queen cursed and Jake laughed. The only time he ever heard her curse was when he was with her. She held herself to the highest standard, being the Queen consort. It was refreshing to drop her facade and be herself with her children. Not many can say they’ve seen the Queen drunk and racing knights in the garden, “You also will be meeting your new wife tonight.”

“Ah, so it is true,” Jake sat back in his chair, spreading his legs. The Queen scoffed and kicked his knee. He laughed as he crossed his leg over the other, “Betrothed to Mistress Mitchell? Doesn’t she lay in bed with Lord Bradshaw.”

His mother gasped, “Jacob,” He shrugged and looked over at her, “It is unbecoming of a prince to talk about his future bride in such a way.”

“She will not be a true Queen if she comes from the bed of another man. All the heirs spawned will be true bas-” He was cut off by a sharp kick to his knee, “Ow!”

“You should be glad I didn’t strike you with my hand,” The Queen pointed. Jake suddenly remembered why they called her the ‘Fire Queen’. She could get quite the temper sometimes, “The Lady Mitchell is untouched and does not lay in the bed of another. You will marry her and make strong heirs to the throne.”

Jake grumbled and picked up a cherry, biting it off the stem and popping it in his mouth, “I have something I must admit though,” He said, a smirk on his lips as he sat up, sticking the stem in his mouth, “I know her sister.”

The Queen narrowed her eyes at her son, “In what regards?”

“Intimately,” He pulled the now-knotted cherry stem out of his mouth.

“Oh Gods,” The Queen shook her head. She stood up from her chair and grabbed her bible. She didn’t say another word as she left her chambers but Jake knew she was more than likely going to the chapel to pray.

— — —

Jake had listened to his mother and took a bath as she had asked. It felt good to finally bathe in warm water instead of having to find a creak. He washed his hair with sweet-smelling soaps and oils. He made sure to scrub his hands, getting all traces of blood off of them. In battle, Jake tried his best to not get his hands bloody, but sometimes it was inevitable.

His green eyes trained on the reddened skin as memories of battle flooded his mind. The screams of brave men, scared women and terrified children filtered into his mind. He told his men to try and leave the women and children unharmed, but occasionally they would get in the way. Jake had held one too many wives back as their husband’s heads were cut off for disobeying the crown.

Leaning back in the bathtub, Jake looked at the ceiling. Could he even be a good husband with all the things he had seen? His father had never been to war, he had never seen the terrors that were out there. Could Jake be the husband that he was supposed to be when he has killed? Could someone even look at him and want to lay in bed with him? Jake was a murderer, he was not a good man. How was he supposed to raise sons to be good men?

“Your grace,” His servant called for him. Jake looked over the side of the tub, “It is time to dress you.” Jake sighed and nodded, climbing out of the tub.

He got dressed in his traditional evening dinner wear; a black and gold tunic, black pants, and boots. He made sure to shave his face, knowing how his mother hated facial hair. Jake chuckled to himself as he shaved in the mirror his servant held.

“First rule I am making as King; I get to have a beard,” Jake said, rinsing the shaving blade.

“Yes, your grace,” The servant said.

When Jake was shaved, dressed and the formal crown had been placed on his head, he grabbed his sword and headed to his father’s chambers. Various lords, ladies, and noblemen bowed to him as he passed through the halls. The great hall was going to be full as a crowd was gathering to celebrate the Prince’s new engagement. Jake would much rather slice his own throat than have to dance in front of people he didn’t even know.

“He is unruly,” Jake heard his mother’s voice as he approached his father’s chambers. He furrowed his eyebrows and everso quietly stepped into the room. He hid behind a drape, as his mother kneeled before his father who sat in a chair, “I worry how he will treat her.”

Jake looked down at his shoes, feeling a pang of hurt in his heart. He knew he wasn’t always the nicest, or the most thoughtful, but he believed he would make a good husband. He could be respectful when he needed to be. He knew that this whole marriage was nothing more than a business transaction. Jake could turn on his flirtatious side, send this girl a few smiles, and make her feel good in bed so she could carry his heirs.

“He is my son,” Jake lifted his head up at the sound of his father’s weak voice. He had only been gone a month, and his father had deteriorated so quickly, “He will treat her well.” Jake cleared his throat, as he stepped around the drape he was hiding behind. The King’s face lit up as he walked in. Jake bowed to his father and mother, before taking the chair next to him.

“How was Argerus?”

“Brutal,” Jake answered, “Not sure if Mother wants to hear of my conquests.”

“No, she does not,” The Queen stood up, “I shall see you at dinner. My King,” The Queen curtseyed before them both and left the room.

Jake sighs and looks at his dad. The King was sick before he sent Jake to fight in Argerus, now, it was amazing that he was even still alive. His color was gone, he looked like a gust of wind could break his bones, and his eyes were half open. Suddenly, Jake felt sick as he realized he was about to take over for his father ruling the country. There was still so much that he didn’t know.

“I can hear your thoughts,” The King said barely above a whisper, gaining his son’s attention, “Speak them.”

“I don’t know if I am ready,” Jake mumbled, “There are lots I do not know yet. You have more to teach-”

The King held his hand up, “My job has been done, Jacob. You know all you need.” Jake scoffed, shaking his head. He went to stand up, but the King reached his hand out. Jake took it without hesitation, “You know more. . . than you know. . . You need. . . trust.”

“If you say in Master-”

“In her.”

“Her?”

“Your Queen.”

Jake furrowed his eyebrows and opened to ask his father what he means, but the King fell into a fit of coughs. Jake’s heart started racing as he stood from his chair and helped his father lean forward. He rubbed the King’s back as he continued coughing, grimacing as he noticed pink droplets landing on the white blanket in front of him. Sir Cromwell entered the room and walked to the King.

“Your majesty, we must get you to bed,” Sir Cromwell said. The King didn’t put up a fight as servants flanked his side to help him up. Jake watched helplessly as they carried the man that was once larger than life to bed. He waited until they had him tucked into bed, looking even smaller and frailer than he did earlier.

Jake walked to his bedside, running his hand over his father’s hair, “Thank you, my King,” He pressed a kiss to his father’s forehead, before leaving his father to rest.

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buriedpentacles · 3 months ago

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Messages Sent on my Walk

Following on from my post How to Discern Sign from Coincidence, I thought I'd talk about some signs/messages I was sent on my walk the other day and how I've interpreted them!!

A White Feather Caught between a Nettle and Thistle

I spotted this out of the corner of my eye and the imagery was quite jarring to me, it really pulled me in.

The feather was clearly a contour feather; these help create the bird's structure and keep them aerodynamic. It was caught between a common nettle and blue-globed thistle (not native so odd to see wild where I live). Though it may be hard to see in the photo, there is a spiderweb just in front of the feather and a small cranefly on the feather - though these aspects didn't seem as important or significant.

I confirmed it's meaning later with tarot- it was a message regarding myself and the plunge I have taken in my spiritual practice.

A Shadowy Friend

In the corner of my eye, I could see a shadowy figure follow me for a while. He left after I noticed a small tennis ball tucked under a bush and moved it to a more visible spot by the gate for any dogs and their owners passing by. Clearly, that act satisfied him and he disappeared, I'm used to spirits dawdling by me and that specific area - for some reason, spirits congregate there and I think it's because it's a literal and metaphorical crossroads (a point between nature and man-made, water and earth etc).

I confirmed later with tarot what it was and that my act satisfied the lingering spirit.

Blocked Stream

I glanced down at the stream running next to me, to the specific area where I had previously performed a small spell and saw leaves and sticks blocking the area completely - perhaps put there by someone, or blown there by the recent storms. I felt a pull to it, a voice in my mind telling me that this was a sign relating to my spell. I felt a slight bit of sadness as I thought perhaps it was a symbol that the spell had failed but the falling sticks and leaves belonged to a Sycamore tree who loomed over the water - Sycamore's are protectors, wise and old trees that offer guidance and shelter. After I stood and moved from that spot, a white and tawny cat hopped over the same spot and through a gap in the bush ahead.

I confirmed later, with tarot and meditation, that it was indeed a messgae that challenges would lay in between me and my spell's outcome, but that these challenges will be overcome.

Non-Signs that I Saw

Along this work, I also spotted a periwinkle, a flower that reminds me of my childhood, a young purple snapdragon - I was very excited to see a few of these, and hope they grow strong. I also saw the bindweed and brambles commonly found in the area, though many of the blackberries were ripening now. I spotted lavender, a Buddleja bush and a Hairy Willowherb. None of these carried messages, nor were they signs, but I enjoyed seeing them still and found peace and meaning in each of their presences.

#buriedpentacles #queue-tie pie #witch #witchcraft #witch community #nature #pagan #witchblr #paganism #mother nature

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paws-writes-aot · 4 months ago

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Of Devils and Monsters: Chapter One

Summary:

Fate brings two old friends together again and sets them on the path to truth. In a last ditch effort to save her own skin, Lozen Daniella Pierce reaches out to an old friend in hopes of gaining her freedom. In doing so, she and Erwin Smith find themselves thrust on a path to truth- the truth behind the walls, behind secret organizations, and the truth of who they turned into

Content tags:

Graphic Depictions of Violence; Major Character Death; Canon-Typical Violence; Denial of Feelings; Feelings Realization; Childhood Friends; Snippets of Erwin's time in the cadets; OC is Messy and Complicated; Pre-Canon Canon; Love Triangle Adjacent; Smut; Fluff and Angst; Dominant Erwin Smith; Protective Erwin Smith; Shift in POV; mentions of residential schools; OC is indigenous-coded; more tags to be added

Words Count for Chapter: 4,782

Cross-posted from Ao3

And once the storm is over you won't remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won't even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won't be the same person who walked in. That's what this storm's all about.” - Haruki Murakami, "Kafka on the Shore"

“What are you doing out here?”

The boy startled at the edge of a lake, not realizing until that moment he was being watched. With the heel of his left palm, he wiped away the rogue tears before looking over his shoulder at the newcomer.

Peering out from behind the trunk of a large sycamore tree was a girl, around his age, studying him with predatory eyes that picked up on every twitch and tick. Accusatory and suspicious eyes that shifted to curiosity as he met her gaze. Her head cocked slightly to the right.

“You’re crying.” It wasn’t a question, and despite the raspy tone, gruff in its use, there was no malice or judgment in the statement. Just a childlike inquisitiveness that provided insight into how his peers must see him. The boy’s face felt hot, being caught in what was meant to be a private moment of grief, vulnerable and raw. He’d come out to the spot his father had taken him to camp a few times- away from prying eyes and ears- for that very reason.

He snapped his attention back to the lake, its surface rippling in the autumn breeze, swaying the reflection of the forest canopy. His hands balled into fists at his sides as he hiccuped.

“I’m not-”

“Are you okay?” The girl was at his side, staring out at the water. How did she move so silently so quickly?

All protests that licked his tongue faded at the slight shift in her tone. It reminded him of nights spent by the fire, listening to the stories his father would read to him out of old books- ones that weren’t shared with other school children-those were the times his imagination would run wild with possibilities to create his own stories, beyond the walls. Grief came flooding back to him, an anchor tied to his shoulders with the realization those nights were gone.

“My father. He-” a sniffle and another hiccup caught his speech, “he’s dead.” He tore his attention from their reflection on the lake and towards his shoes, not wanting to see her reaction as the confession seemed to take a life of its own. “He was killed.”

New reality took shape, finally vocalized, and any semblance of control he had was gone. That tether had snapped after hours of tension and force as he went to school in his new normal, where a stranger was at the front of the class, reading verbatim from the textbook. One where he had to use all of his stamina to pretend it was a regular day and not the first on his own. His eyes burned as his vision began to swim.

“Why?”

Tears broke the precipice and began flowing freely as a sob left him and he collapsed back to his knees. Sorrow stole the reins from him as words continued to spill out. “I- he- I told my class about his theories- challenged our history. How pieces were missing and how pieces didn’t line up.” Even now, as he yelled internally at himself to shut up, it was impossible to stay quiet. “It was all my fault! I should’ve known better and kept my big mouth shut and let people pretend to believe in some fake narrative designed to keep us contained and happy behind the walls.” The boy cradled his face in his hands, trembling. “I should’ve known better-”

“Well, duh!” The girl was kneeling beside him now, hugging her legs, and despite the glare leveled at her from beet red eyes, she continued, “They forbid old books for a reason, you know. Can’t have people dreaming of what could be and ruin peace behind the walls.”

She drew out an arrow from the quiver slung across her back and began making nonsensical symbols in the dirt at their feet.

To his surprise, the tears stopped, as if they, too, were shocked not only by her honesty but that she hadn’t mocked him, like the other kids had. Surely, he was dreaming… The world was too cruel to grant him some respite when he had done nothing to earn it. “You know about it too?”

Her laughter jolted him more than the hand she placed on his shoulder, certain to leave a dirt imprint on his white school shirt. He kept his eyes focused on the dirt beneath her fingernails as the girl replied, “Yeah, my entire Circle knows about the lies, and,” that word was so pointed and emphasized it was abrasive, “we also know not to talk about it in public spaces, you idiot.”

When he met the girl’s eyes, there was no malice or pity held there. Just understanding, as though she knew his pain intimately through experience.

“You didn’t kill your father. Cowards did,” she jumped to her feet, kicking the mud off the tip of the arrow with her shoe as she held his gaze. “If there’s any blame to be placed, it’s on them.” The girl returned the arrow to its home and dusted her hands on her trousers before extending one out to him. “C’mon. It’s going to be dark soon. Let’s find you a place to rest for the night, at least. Can’t have the bears or wolves getting you.”

As soon as his right hand, soft and smooth, found her rough one, he was being pulled along an unmarked path to a place she only referred to as home, or the Circle. Branches seemed to part ways as they continued at a steady pace, leaping onto rocks over a swiftly flowing creek until she finally slowed their pace.

The Circle, as the boy realized upon his arrival, was an apt description of what would otherwise be considered a town. At the look of wonder on his face as they crossed over the boundary from the forest into the semi-open space, she explained, “This is one of 3 within the walls. We’re little communities, I guess you could say, of a mix of first inhabitants of outside lands. The king gifted us this space on the island when we fled our homelands in exchange for aid in the war.”

His eyes widened as he passed open stalls and tents set up in the space between and in front of the houses that lined the perimeter, where furs and hides of animals were stretched out to be processed and tanned on frames. She chuckled as she saw him take in the space around him, mind transported away for a moment from troubles as she continued her explanation. “He amazingly kept his word when the Walls were built, albeit loosely considering the encroachment on designated lands…” She trailed off, a faraway and sorrowful look in her eyes lingered for a moment before fading away as she began pointing at different locations they passed, listing off names and occupations of the inhabitants.

At the center of the circular community sat a large fire pit surrounded by tables and chairs, spaced out haphazardly as people dressed in clothes similar to the handcrafted outfit the girl wore seemed to be setting up for dinner. Children of all ages ran between houses, bringing out different meals for the adults to arrange on the tables. As the pair passed by, the inhabitants nearby offered a small wave, some wearing puzzled looks while others merely rolled their eyes and shook their heads in amusement, as though the sight of the girl dragging a strange boy along was not entirely unexpected.

They marched towards the northernmost part of the Circle to a cabin with a roof steeper than the rest and through the heavy oak door where she finally came to a halt. Despite reaching the intended destination, the girl kept a tight hold of his hand, as though the boy would bolt the moment she let go. And, if he was honest with himself, he wasn’t quite sure what he would do when that happened, feeling both apprehension and curiosity tugging at opposite ends of his mind.

“Dad! Nevin! I’m back,” she yelled into the empty space, her voice, no doubt, carrying to the rooms concealed behind the doors that connected the rest of the home to the living room and kitchen area.

A small fire gathered strength in the hearth on the far off wall, warding away the chill that began to settle with dusk. Books with well-worn spines spanned an entire wall to his right, its uniformity interrupted only by a small reading nook in the center against a window that looked out into the forest. The sun had begun to sink lower in the horizon, casting long shadows in the waning golden light. Woven pine baskets, quilts of colorful stars, paintings of dreamlike landscapes- all gave the space life and warmth, owed to a space clearly well-loved.

“Just a minute, Dani. I will be right out,” A deep baritone answered, strained in effort from a room off to the far left. “I thought you were out with your Auntie Rita gathering herbs to send with the hunters.”

By the blush coloring her honeyed cheeks and the way she worried at her bottom lip, it was all too clear to the boy that some level of deceit had led her to cross his path.

She dropped his hand as she flung her leather pack to the ground and dashed for the sofa. With quick movements, fluid with the ease that could only come from practice, the girl, Dani, tucked her quiver and boy beneath the couch, leaving only seconds to spare before the door creaked open.

A tall man, two long braids of raven hair cascading over both of his shoulder, stepped out of the room. His eyes landed on the boy, widening for a moment, a bushy eyebrow raised in surprise before the surprised expression morphed into a large toothy grin.

”Pardon me, I didn’t realize we were expecting guests!” The man wiped his hands with a white cloth as he threw a pointed look towards the girl that had his same eyes and high cheekbones. Dani scuttled forward and returned to the boy’s side once more, her smile belying the anxiety that radiated off of her body.

“Dad, this is….” She trailed off, realizing neither had exchanged names. Dani nudged him with a jab of her elbow to say his name.

”Erwin, Sir. Erwin Smith,” the words stumbled out as he jerked up his right hand, recalling the manners his own father instilled in him. The thought made his vision swim, but he held the man’s gaze.

The anxiety ebbed as a smile stretched across her lips. He hadn’t fled. “Erwin, this is my father, Manny, but everyone calls him Chief. It’s a cooler name.”

Seconds of silence ticked by as Chief’s eyes flicked between the two children before a small rumble of laughter reverberated from his chest as a hand, calloused and worn from years of labor and subs eclipsed Erwin’s.

“Did my Dani drag you all the way here without a proper introduction?” Erwin’s silence was enough confirmation. Chief shook his head, a deep crease wrinkling his brow as he leveled a look at Dani, who took sudden interest in removing small bits of twigs and leaves from her chunky braid. “Lozen Daniella Pierce, was this what you were doing instead of helping Rita? Kidnapping strangers?”

Gold-flecked eyes shot back to Chief, glaring. “I didn’t kidnap him, Dad,” Her hands flew to her hips as she pursed her lips in defiance, “he came willingly. I found him by the lake east of here and he’s all alone.”

”And what were you doing out there, if you were supposed to be south helping Auntie Rita?”

Dani walked right into the trap, shifting her weight back and forth before evading the inevitable confession. “But Dad, they killed Erwin’s father because he believed what we do! What was I supposed to do? Say,” she puffed out her chest to make herself bigger and dropped her voice to mimic Chief’s, “‘whoops that’s sad’ and then leave him to fend for himself through the night?”

The stinging sensation returned, but Erwin had no more strength left to stop the tears. He was tired. He was alone in this cruel world that punished dreamers and free thinkers.

The flowing tears were enough to verify Dani’s words, and while Chief would have to have a serious chat with his daughter about duty, the boy- Erwin- didn’t need to be used as his daughter’s shield in diverting responsibility. His sorrow needed tending to.

The wrinkles creasing his forehead smoothed as he sighed, releasing the frustration he held with Dani to allow space for a kindred soul, where hospitality and generosity were called for.

“You must be exhausted and hungry. Come, let’s get you fed.” Chief ushered the boy towards the threshold of the house. “Dani, prepare Nevin’s room for our guest. He will stay with us tonight before we escort him back to his home in the morning. Once you’re done here, you may join us for food.”

And before his daughter could take a chance to argue further with him, he led Erwin to the Circle’s inhabitants gathered around the fire to share a meal.

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

Three days.

It had been three grueling days of unending silence and solitude in that underground cell. Three days of neglected wounds that were growing angry, throbbing with every beat of her heart- of no food and barely enough water… Three fucking days since she sent a servant off with the hastily written letter she penned before being hauled off to this shithole in the first place.

So, when faint footsteps echoed down the hallway, Lozen Daniella Pierce stifled the hope that bubbled up in her chest, telling herself she was hallucinating. The trial was tomorrow. If her call for help was going to be answered, it would’ve been done sooner. No one would be coming. And despite that mantra she told herself over and over, the sounds of a single pair of footsteps became two sets, growing louder and closer to her corner cell.

It wasn’t until the flicking torchlight became eclipsed with a pair of shadows did she allow herself to believe that this was reality. People were actually here- maybe Rita had managed to convince the guards to allow a visit from an aunt. She looked up, her fingers braiding her hair paused for a fraction of a second- the only indication of surprise she would allow- before resuming their taming of greasy, matted hair.

“You actually came?” Her throat burned as she spoke, her own voice sounding unfamiliar as its hoarseness broke the silence. “I figured you had written me off at this point.” Lozen met the sky blue gaze from her cot in the far back corner of her cell, refusing to move to allow the shadows hide the worst of her appearance.

Erwin remained stoic as he pulled a chair from the wall opposite her cell. It wasn’t until he crossed his left foot to rest just over his right knee, Lozen allowed a glance over at the second visitor- another Scout, apparently- who was leaning against the wall, looking back at her in what she could only describe as bored interest. And even though she was shrouded in darkness, she could still feel those steel gray eyes examine each of the cuts and bruises on her face.

Finally, Erwin answered her, apparently comfortable enough to continue the conversation. “I will admit, curiosity got the better of me-“

”So you believed my letter?”

Her eyes snapped back to him, wide with surprise as she leapt up to her feet. For a moment, the world around her spun, heart racing to support the sudden exertion. Lozen rested a hand on the cold wall, allowing its solidness to tether her as she regained her balance. Once she was certain the ground wouldn’t be ripped from under her, she took a hesitant step to allow some of her features to reach the light.

For a fraction of a second, a look of horror mixed with surprise flashed in Erwin’s eyes, telling her he hadn’t expected the extent of her injuries. Why would he? Newspapers and gossip had been making her out to be some monster who greedily killed her own husband for inheritance money and a title. It was simple, easy to swallow. No, showing the violence flowed both ways in this particular case would be far too humanizing for her peers to digest.

As Lozen considered the look reflected at her through her old friend’s eyes, she wondered if pity was worse than simplicity, but as quickly as it registered on his face, it eased away as Erwin chuckled. Any pity she might’ve read into was gone.

”Believed? That’s to be seen…” He leaned forward, raising a furry eyebrow- at least that hadn’t changed since the last time she saw him. “You could be lying about the information, or -at the very least- overestimating its value to me.”

“So, why waste your time on a trip out here, Section Leader Smith? The Scouts aren’t keeping you busy enough?” Based on the quick side-glance she leveled at the raven-haired companion, he seemed to have the same question for the man.

“I needed to see if my old friend, who had been such a fiercely loving and protective person, still existed.”

Lozen felt her stomach drop, the confession far from expected and close enough to cut. Anything but that answer. An admission that echoed a question she’d faced for the past year and a half: In seeking protection and safety for not just herself, but her community, did she lose the very core of her being?

She turned her attention back to the final section of her twin braids, hands resuming their busy work as she forced out the question, “And does she?”

”Why did you kill him?”

”If you believe I actually had a reason, then know it was a good one.”

The sigh she received told her he was no doubt pinching the bridge of his nose, just like he did when they were young and he was frustrated. “Dani,” he paused, as if he shared her own surprise at her nickname, “I can’t act off of blind faith. Not when there are too many unknowns.”

The sadness in his voice brought Lozen’s attention back to Erwin, who was rubbing his palms up and down his face. An older, long tucked away part of her ached, knowing she was the cause of his distress, caught between duty and chivalry with no current way to rectify the former with the latter.

“Oi, Shorty,” She tore her attention away from her old friend and towards the quiet observer. “What’s your name?” Walls, she hoped he could be her excuse to continue to withhold information, to retain leverage for her own protection. If not, if this stranger did play ball with her, she knew there could be no reason to continue justifying her aloofness as fear and mistrust.

Amber clashed with ice as she held the Scout’s glare, unwavering and full of cold-blooded assessment, as he, no doubt, tried to get a read on her.

“What’s it matter to you? Far as I’m concerned, this is a conversation between you and the Scout’s golden boy over here.” His eyes narrowed at the sickeningly sweet smile she gave him.

”Usually, I like to get to know someone before airing all of my dirty little secrets,” Lozen folded her arms over her chest, wincing as the open wounds on her back pulled away from crusting fabric. “But seeing as we’re on a bit of a time crunch, and that Erwin brought you along- which, might I say, is an accolade all to itself- a name will have to do for now.”

Three heartbeats passed as both she and Erwin awaited his response, unsure of whether he would comply or tell her to fuck off. Honestly, both seemed equally plausible, so Lozen was surprised when he answered gruffly, “Levi.”

“Now tell me, Levi, may I borrow your knife for a moment?”

“You’re joking.”

The deadpan look thrown her way didn’t phase her. Shrugging, she merely replied, “Not at all.” Lozen threw her hands up at the pair of accusatory looks that she was receiving. “What? I’m not going to attack you, or even myself for that matter.” She tugged down her tattered blouse and wrapped her arms around her as she realized her injuries were becoming more visible with each overly dramatic gesture she made. “Not when the great Section Leader Erwin Smith is here.”

It may have been a jab at her former friend, but the pity he’d shown twice now, the second being the reason she realized her wounds were visible. However brief each moment might’ve been, it frayed her nerves to nubs.

Before Levi could give her an answer, Erwin held out his own knife, only for Lozen to push it away with a glare that would’ve made any other man shrink. Eyes like golden embers blazed and clashed with the serene depths starting back at her.

“Not yours, Erwin. His.”

Understanding seemed to settle in as Erwin leaned back in his chair, the unaffected mask now in place once more. A display and test of trust.

Levi examined her face, swollen and marked up, searching for any sign of deceit only to find passivity amidst the strong features- a resolve to accept whatever happened, it would seem.

With fluid and assured movement, he flipped the blade out of its sheath, catching it by the tip before holding the handle out to her. As Lozen reached for the hilt, he yanked the knife just out of reach and leveled her with a look of warning so deadly and certain that she knew he wouldn’t hesitate to put her down if she tried anything.

A look that made Lozen roll her eyes as he allowed her to take the knife from her.

Within moments of accepting both the visibly sharp blade and the trust placed in her hands, the two long braids that rested over both her shoulders fell to the ground, leaving her dark auburn hair fringed and falling just below her jaw line. As quickly as she took the blade, she handed it back to Levi without another glance in his direction.

”You truly do mourn the man you killed?” Erwin broke the tense and stifling silence, understanding the unspoken intention behind the act that confused Levi and only served to annoy him further, apparently, as his brow furrowed as he pulled out a handkerchief to clean off the blade.

She had loved. She had married. She had lost. All for a reason.

”When did you get married?”

She knew it would be a question she would have to answer, but what Lozen didn’t expect was the way he asked it that instead turned the question into, ‘why didn’t you tell me?’ The knife embedded in her heart twisted deeper. “A little over a year and a half ago, when Chief got worse.”

A little after Erwin had visited for the first time in years. When she offered up vital intel as an olive branch for disappearing after graduation night. When they mended the gap between them that now seemed to stretch further than before. That same night, after Chief’s episode, when she realized she would have to marry Lord Vincent Moreno- a man she begrudgingly allowed herself to love but never intended on marrying originally.

Avoiding his unspoken question, Lozen offered up the logic for the why of it, “Chief needed more intensive medical care and supervision than Rita or I could give, so I did what I had to do to take care of him and the Circle.”

”And you killed Vincent to what- ensure that security forever?”

A harsh bark of laughter escaped her before she could stop it, bringing with it stinging tears that made her close her eyes as she tilted her head back. She would not cry. Not in front of them. Not even as she came to accept that Erwin saw her for the monster she was, if that question was any indication.

Lozen had hoped- no, prayed- that her unlikely bet was right. That he still fancied himself a savior-type. A truth seeker that would do anything for the people he cared for. That the kid with rose-colored glasses would see his childhood friend come upon hard times and need to be rescued- had already paid more than enough to warrant his support without the promised information. But it seemed the years had removed those tinted glasses and helped him to see everyone for what they truly were.

Softly, in a voice just above a whisper, “Erwin, I am tired.” Her soul felt heavy, her mind sluggish as all of the emotions she’d staved off for the past week condensed onto her bones, as if she had been hiking for days on end carrying a pack two times her size. “Let me take a break. Go check on Chief for me- I didn’t get a chance to arrange care for him. When you get back, I will give you the information I have.”

”You’re seriously asking for an additional favor?”

Fire clashed once more with ice, and for the first time since he’d arrived, Erwin saw the Lozen he knew glaring back at Levi, only for it to fade at the sound of his voice. “It’s fine, Levi.” Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see Levi huff as he turned his attention back to cleaning the knife. “You give me your word you have information the Scouts can use to continue its operations?”

Erwin watched her shoulders droop and round as remorse seemed to pull her inwards, grief and quiet guilt glistening in her as her gaze remained transfixed on the grimey floor. It was subtle, but it was enough to confirm the weight of whatever she was hiding. Worry, or fear, had etched a crease between her brows.

“Thank you, Erwin, for checking on him. Auntie Rita is a distance away- I don’t know if news reached her yet. He’s all alone while I’m here.” Shining eyes met his own. “I will help you, answer your questions, your follow up questions, anything, I just-” a mangled sob escaped and tugged at the Section Leader’s heart. Even Levi had stilled at the sudden crack in her composure as her own carefully crafted mask crumbled before their eyes. “I just need to know he’s okay. I haven’t been able to ask the MPs. You two are the first people I’ve seen since getting tossed in here.”

Pieces fell into place. Her once tanned skin, sunkissed and freckles seemed drained of all color, save the purple yellow and red from the cuts and bruises that seemed to mar every inch of visible skin. No, the injuries that kept her from standing tall without wincing hadn’t occurred in the cell- the most recent wounds seemed to be at least three days old. She seemed to be fading from existence, and the glassy look in her eyes told him she knew and was powerless to stop it.

“A medic hasn’t seen to you?” Rage bubbled up in his chest, simmering at the surface as Lozen shook her head. With a pointed look, Levi understood the unspoken command, nodding once before leaving Erwin’s side.

He rose to his feet and neared Lozen’s cell, allowing a tender expression to escape his own carefully cultivated mask of stoicism as he looked at his old friend. How had it come to this?

As soon as he met her gaze, Lozen averted her eyes, cheeks reddening as she hugged herself tighter in an attempt to cover more of her inflamed skin that peaked through the ruined ruffled blouse. Quickly, he put the mask on once more, summoning up that stern persona that commanded so much respect as he realized she didn’t want his pity or concern. Lozen and her stubborn pride- at least that part of her remained the same. A starting point. He could work with that.

“A medic will see to you shortly.” As he turned on his heel to leave, he spared a final glance over his shoulder with a last reassurance, “I will return in the evening once I’ve checked in on Chief. You have my word, Dani.”

A soft thank you followed him out of the cell block, so faint it could’ve been his mind telling him what he hoped to hear. At the top of the landing, he nodded at the medic, who hurried down in the opposite direction.

#aot fanfiction #erwin smith x oc #erwin smith fanfiction #attack on titan fanfiction #erwin smith x reader #fic: odam #oc: lozen #aot oc #aot canon x oc

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swede1952 · 1 month ago

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Foraging Downy

Here is a male downy woodpecker (Dryobates pubescens) foraging on the side of a crepe myrtle tree. The woodpecker appears to have its eyes closed.

"The active little Downy Woodpecker is a familiar sight at backyard feeders and in parks and woodlots, where it joins flocks of chickadees and nuthatches, barely outsizing them. An often acrobatic forager, this black-and-white woodpecker is at home on tiny branches or balancing on slender plant galls, sycamore seed balls, and suet feeders. Downies and their larger lookalike, the Hairy Woodpecker, are one of the first identification challenges that beginning bird watchers master." - allaboutbirds.org

Take a look at my photo gallery at:

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ohmypawsandwhiskers · 9 months ago

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WIP whenever!

Time has no meaning while I'm in between jobs, so I missed Wednesday by a lot... But I want to share a lil snippet of what I have been writing on my attack on titan fanfiction I plan on starting to post soon

Have a flashback snippet!

“What are you doing out here?”

He snapped his attention back to the lake, its surface rippling in the autumn breeze, swaying the reflection of the forest canopy. His hands balled into fists at his sides as he hiccuped.

“I’m not-”

“Are you okay?” The girl was at his side, staring out at the water. How did she move so silently so quickly?

“Why?”

Tears broke over the precipice and began flowing freely as a sob left him and he collapsed back to his knees. Sorrow stole the reins from him as words continued to spill out. “I- he- I told my class about his theories- challenged our history. How pieces were missing and how pieces didn’t line up.” Even now, as he yelled internally at himself to shut up, it was impossible to stay quiet. “It was all my fault! I should’ve known better and kept my big mouth shut and let people pretend to believe in some fake narrative designed to keep us contained and happy behind the walls.” The boy cradled his face in his hands, trembling. “I should’ve known better-”

She drew out an arrow from the quiver slung across her back and began making nonsensical symbols in the dirt at their feet.

When he met the girl’s eyes, there was no malice or pity held there. Just understanding, as though she knew his pain intimately through experience.

#paws writes #my wips #wip whenever #aot fanfiction #aot oc #aot erwin #snk #snk fanfiction #erwin x oc #erwin smith #commander erwin #yall my oc is a blunt brat with a heart of gold and i love her

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strelles-universe · 2 years ago

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...quietly sends every type of tree that I can remember: Apple, Aspen, Beech, Birch, Cedar, Chestnut, Cinnamon, Cypress, Hickory, Juniper, Pear, Plum, Myrtle, Bay/Laurel, Elm, Sycamore, Poplar, Maple, Cherry, Hawthorn, Oak, Fir, Spruce, Sequoia, Cinnamon, Camphor, Pecan, Walnut, Nutmeg, Redwood, Locust (but srsy thnx for the tree translations <3)

Alright this took a while XD Some of these plants ended up having very interesting names given that their English entomology is vague, muddled or doesn't apply to this world. I put most of these under the cut because there are a lot of trees.

Daayadubel | Aspen, Poplar

(n.) A rapid growing, deciduous tree with soft, light wood; a commonly used tree for claw-carving; a poplar, aspen (lit. cotton bark)

Tayaho | Bay, Laurel

(n.) A little evergreen tree with small yellow flowers, fruits that are ovoid blackish berries most commonly found on the Coastal Stretches and around the Moon's Sea (lit. coast-tree)

Rurfraaya | Beech

(n.) Any of the deciduous trees with smooth, gray bark, oval leaves and 3 sided nuts cased in burrs; a beech (lit. feeding tree)

Tanaŕa | Birch

(n.) A tall deciduous tree known for it;’s flaky white bark (lit. white wood)

Keder | Cedar

(n.) Any of the massive, slow-growing hard wooded conifer trees; a cedar

Keŕuvos | Cherry

(n.) Any of the various trees and shrubs of the rose family, a fragrant smelling tree; cherry (coll n.) The fruit of the cherry tree, usually red or black in color

Senseŕokyu | Cypress

(n.) Any of the various evergreen trees and shrubs that have opposite, scalelike leaves and globose woody cones (lit. strong scented bark)

Virmra | Elm

(n.) a tall graceful tree with beautifully spreading branches

Novifi | Fir, Pine

(n.) Any of the tall trees that have flattish leaves, circular leaf scars, and erect female cones and are valued for their wood (coll n.) A catch-all term for firs, pines and spruce trees altogether

Hievra | Hawthorne, Mayhaw

(n.) Any of the spiny shrubs or small trees with glossy and often lobed leaves, white or pink fragrant flowers, and small red fruits (lit. border plant)

Senatuŕu | Locust, Acacia

(n.) A large northern tree with extremely durable wood that produces large, nice spelling flowers that are wrapped with defensive thorns. Also known as the Acacia. (lit. spiny-bark)

Veŕaper | Myrtle, Periwinkle

(n.) A small evergreen plant with fragrant white flowers (lit. curved branch)

Kiishonkyu | Nutmeg

(n.) An evergreen plant found exclusively in the creeping foreset with pale yellow flowers growing only in tropical areas, it possesses a fragrant fruit often traded through the kingdoms for it's seasoning. (lit. sharp smell)

... | Sycamore

(n.) tall brown barked tree; when you peel off the brown bark you get a lighter inner bark, spiny balled seeds

Datayiŕa | Redwood

(n.) Among the tallest trees in the world, seeming to only grow in the Creeping Forest and around the eastern mountains with vibrant red wood behind the bark, a redwood

Dinesalokya, Senlokya | Walnut, Hickory

(n.) A slightly smaller deciduous tree that produces a fleshy fruit with a hardened nut in the center

---

Fun Facts:

-> Because English "birch" probably comes from the latin words for "bright/white/to shine," I'm choosing to make a variety of birch that actually glows. Tanaŕa Hassku (shining white-bark/shining birch)

-> Creating the word for beech resulted in me creating the word for "to feed." It's named for its nuts that are so popular as prey-lures and livestock treats

-> Not sure I want laurels to have the same meanings of victory but it could be interesting; give the trees more meanings you me to mess around with for loners too

->Redwoods were straightforward

-> So. A lot of these very hella complicated hella fast. In Summary:

Apple - used to refer to all fruits, only became specific recently Spruce - apparently named for being from Prussia Sequoia - appears to be a made up word?? Like the tree is real but no entomology?? Camphors and Cinnamon plants are both not native to Europe or the Americas Oak - old english word just became the word for "tree" Cherry and plum are both Anatolian in original apparently

-> There are two variants of locust, the spiny version (Senatuŕu) and the harmless version (Senatuŕu Dakra). The spiny version is vastly more common than the bald/spineless version.

-> Apparently myrtles are a kind of periwinkle? Who knew

#answering asks #a proper anon #strelles translations

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heavymetalmuppet · 1 month ago

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sycamore girl || chapter 6: warriors

THE TZEDAKAH CHALLENGE: every time i post a chapter, if you have $5 or more to spare, donate it to life for gaza, a campaign by the municipality of gaza to restore the city’s infrastructure. leave a comment with how much you donate for me to tally! ONLY 1 DAY LEFT FOR THE LIFE FOR GAZA CAMPAIGN. LET'S MAKE IT COUNT! once life for gaza concludes, the tzedakah challenge will continue with another fundraiser to send aid to palestinians amid the ongoing genocide.

sooo i am just gonna get as much out before veilguard as i can but i finally now have a few chapters lined up so expect a lot more in the coming days. take the chance with lots of new chapters to donate too! ;)

word count: 2406 < prev || chapter masterlist || next (coming soon)

also available on ao3

—

Vivienne’s voice rang clear through the general chaos of the training ground: “Faster now. Start.”

Adahlee kept her breaths full and deep, an anchor as she, once again, slowly formed a ball of energy in her palms. She pulled the magic through the Veil gently, letting it fill and swirl like tendrils of wind between her hands, expanding and shrinking it.

“Stop.”

Adahlee brought her palms together, letting the magic swirl back behind the Veil once more, leaving her hands empty.

“Good—but faster. Start.”

And again. Adahlee filled her lungs as she expanded her hands, now trying to pull the energy in an oblong shape. She narrowed her eyes in concentration, feeling out the balance between flow and control.

“Stop.”

The shape was bigger, but Adahlee collapsed it quicker, directing it to whisk away between her fingers.

“Better.” Vivienne was a stern tutor, much like Solas, but far from unkind. She studied Adahlee. “Interesting creative flair; and it looked quite measured. Did the magic try to push outside your boundaries at all?”

Adahlee shook her head. “It doesn’t go wild if you just sort of… move with it. I think… I think control is less about power over the magic—” She made an open-handed gesture of her palm coming down— “and more about…” Her hand swayed gracefully instead. “Being with it. So you’re one. If you treat it like something to be caged, of course it’ll try to burst out. Where else would it have to go?” She frowned, and shook her head again. “That’s why I knew it was only a matter of time, before, when I was told to just… hide it.”

Vivienne nodded slowly. “Quite right. You have strong intuition, darling—a good skill to have, in an art like ours. Keep nurturing it.”

She was skilled. Adahlee’s expression brightened. “Thank you!”

Vivienne smiled softly. “Control is essential when working with a conduit like a staff. You are a quick learner indeed—in no small part because of your will to apply yourself. I’m confident in your ability to adapt to your staff, even so early in your training.” Vivienne took up her own, a graceful stave of swirling Serault infused glass, from where it was leaned against a wall of rock. “Come, let’s practice.”

Adahlee grabbed her own staff from where it rested next to Vivienne’s. “I’ll do right by you, Mir Thamadahl,” she murmured.

“Pardon?”

Oh. “Um…” Adahlee looked sheepishly off to the side, nervously wringing her hands around the haft. “Many mages name their staves, don’t they? Or… do they?”

Vivienne chuckled a little—amused, but not mocking. Adahlee peeked back up at her to see her smiling kindly. “Some do. What have you named yours, darling?”

“... Mir Thamadahl. It’s Elvish. It means ‘my branch.’ My name means ‘tree,’ and Solas said a staff is an extension of yourself,” she shyly tumbled out the explanation, “so… um… yeah. That’s not stupid, is it?”

“Hardly. Chin up.”

Adahlee stood straighter, summing up the will to hold herself up. Satisfied, Vivienne continued: “A name like that puts respect on the tools you use to further your magic—and thus, that respect falls back onto you, your skill, and your beingness.” As she said this, Adahlee thought Vivienne a figure to admire: a powerful, dignified enchanter. She was unapologetic in the space she took up. “That is not ‘stupid,’ and anyone who might claim such is a fool.”

Was Adahlee allowed to declare such respect for herself? Whose permission would you need? She could sum up no answer to that. Besides, she had already declared it without much thought, hadn’t she? Perhaps—perhaps self-respect could be as easy as breathing. And if it was hard to learn, well… she was a quick learner.

Finally, Adahlee nodded. “I understand, Vivienne. I… I do have another concern, though.”

“Yes? I’m here to help you, my dear.”

Adahlee shifted nervously from foot to foot. She took in Mir Thamadahl, the natural points where the magic wanted to come out. “I’m… I’m scared to hurt people. I know I need to defend myself, I just…”

“It is more than a need,” Vivienne asserted. Adahlee glanced back to her; her eyes were hard and focused. “It is your right. You have a right to your life. Come, stand next to me, and follow my lead.”

Adahlee stood side-by-side with Vivienne. She took up a stance with her staff; Adahlee copied her, just being with Mir Thamadahl and its magic, finding a rhythm with it as they transitioned to the next stance.

“Know this: no one has permission to hurt you. Anyone who would act as though they do, deserves however you bite back.” Vivienne twirled her staff slowly around her, so that Adahlee could follow, but still ended the position with the head of it decisively pointed forward. Move with it. Adahlee faced where she pointed her staff. “And make them feel your teeth, my dear.”

Perhaps this, too, was self-respect. They went through another motion, flowing like the magic, to end with the sharp end of their staves angled in the air. An extension of the self. “Make them feel your teeth,” she agreed.

—

The main problem with the Storm Coast, Adahlee decided—darkspawn and cultists aside—is that it was simply too wet. The constant rain soaked everyone and everything to the bone, making it near impossible just to start a damn campfire. Adahlee, at least, got a practical magic lesson out of it; under Vivienne’s careful instruction, she learned how to conjure and control a flame hot enough to still burn through damp firewood. She’d trusted Adahlee to tend to it until dinner; I won’t let you down! Adahlee had promised brightly.

“Impressive,” Bull complimented from the side. “You’ve got good form, for a new mage.”

Adahlee tilted her head, curious. “You would know?”

“Fought a lot of Vints, in my time. Got me wise to how mages do their thing.”

“Oh. That makes sense. And thanks!” She added quickly, not wanting to seem rude. She gestured to the fire. “Wanna sit? I could use the company.”

“Sure, thanks.” Bull plonked down opposite to her. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m alright. Just…” Adahlee made a face, and shook out her half-damp curls, gone frizzy in the moisture. “Soggy.”

Bull laughed at that, a rumbly sound that Adahlee could now say from experience sounded like a bear. “Yeah, no kidding. Darkspawn didn’t shake you up?”

Adahlee pursed her lips, considering. She had never seen darkspawn before, until arriving at the Coast. They reminded her a bit of her nightmares, all sickened deadness and teeth, and their unearthly screeches weren’t unlike those of demons. But she’d kept well back from them with Sera, and they still fell to Mir Thamadahl. “They’re scary,” she decided, “but… I don’t know. Demons are easier to face than people—I’m starting to think darkspawn are, too. Their blood worries me more than anything.”

“You’ve got more guts than most, then.”

She blinked. “You think?”

Bull offered her a wry, friendly smile. “You know anyone else who complained more about the rain after their first encounter with darkspawn?”

“I… I guess not.” She chuckled, a bit bashful. “Varric does tell me I should give myself more credit.”

“From what you’ve survived? Yeah, I’d agree with him.” Bull sat forward. “Listen—it’s my job to protect you out here, but that means more than just standing between you and darkspawn. World’s a fucking mess, and you’re young to be thrown in the middle of it. If you’re ever scared, lonely, hurt, whatever—if you need anything—I’ve got you, and so do my boys. So don’t be afraid to come to any one of us. Okay?”

Bull was honest; she could tell. A smile slowly spread across Adahlee’s face. “Okay. Thanks, Bull—I appreciate it.”

“No problem.” He relaxed again, leaning back on one hand. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you seem like the nervous sort. Didn’t think you’d take so well to having someone like me around.”

“Sorry,” Adahlee murmured shyly, glancing away.

“What are you apologizing for?”

There was a quiet pause. Adahlee glanced back up; by the look on Bull’s face, his question wasn’t rhetorical. He wasn’t demanding, either—just asking. And waiting patiently.

Adahlee thought on it. “For… being… nervous?” She said it like every word revealed the most nonsense train of thought she’d ever had. It was the only answer she could find, but it just made her more confused than anything.

Bull’s smile was kind. “No need to be sorry for that, right? You’ve just got feelings. So does everyone else.”

“... Yeah. You’re right. Thanks.” She puffed out a sheepish laugh. “Anyway… what do you mean, ‘someone like you?’”

He counted on his fingers: “Giant, ax-wielding, likes hitting things…”

“But you’re on my side.” Adahlee smiled, and shrugged. “You’re scary to the right people, and nice to the right people, too. You care about your Chargers. You’re a forthright spy, which means you must be very good at your job—but you haven’t lied to me. You haven’t given me reason to be nervous.”

Bull offered her another wry smile. “You know I haven’t lied to you?”

“I can tell.” Adahlee playfully blew a raspberry at him. “And you know I know.”

Bull laughed again, and Adahlee giggled with him. The fire danced and sizzled around raindrops, casting wavering shadows over them both. “You’re observant.”

Adahlee was about to second guess him, but remembered what Varric said. “... I guess,” she relented. “So are you.”

He gave a one-shoulder shrug, as if to say, yeah, it’s whatever. “You would make a good spy.”

She hummed, considering. “I think I would be too typical. Most people might expect someone like me—it would take some cleverness to expect someone like you.” She studied him from across the fire, and grinned. “And you play into that, huh?”

Bull made the rumbly bear chuckle. “You would make a really good spy.”

Adahlee breathed another breath of magic into the fire, helping it burn just so. She smiled into it. “I think I like where I am now. I’ve had quite enough of mind games, if I’ll be honest with you.” She turned the smile up to him. “And it’s your honesty that I like, too.”

He returned the smile. “Good thing I intended to stay honest, then.”

—

“Maker, look at it,” Blackwall breathed. He stared up at the Breach, and Adahlee found herself staring too, swinging her feet idly from where she sat atop a crate. The clanging of the smithy seemed to fade in the background, as she watched how the clouds gently swirled, and her mind wandered. Still as it was, and though it hung above them every day, Adahlee had to admit—the Breach was still a sight to behold.

“So much easier to ignore when it’s far away,” Blackwall murmured. Then, he looked to Adahlee. “And to actually walk out of it, to be that close…”

Adahlee briefly closed her eyes, remembering the taste of soot and the sting of scratches on her cheek. When she opened them again, Blackwall's brows were furrowed in concern.

She offered him a small, somewhat tired smile. “I didn’t know what was going on, in the moment. Just that I had to run,” she recalled softly. “I almost couldn’t believe what they told me when I woke up. If I hadn’t been saved by Inquisition soldiers, I don’t know what would've happened.”

“Inquisition soldiers?” Blackwall echoed. “That’s not what I’ve heard.”

Adahlee couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “Andraste?” She guessed.

Blackwall snorted at her reaction. “You don’t believe so?”

“There was a woman—or a light, a spirit, maybe—she guided me out of the Fade. But I don’t know who she was, and I doubt it was Andraste.” Adahlee made a look of distaste. “I don’t believe in the Maker, anyway. That’s partly why some elves have been calling me a different name.”

“What was it again?”

“Tisulan. The Healer. We have this concept in our cultures—tisun’olam, repair of the world. It’s a call to personal responsibility, to do our part as denizens of the world to make it better, whatever shape that may take. My old hahren said I’m healing the world in a very literal sense.” She laughed softly. “I heal the Veil.”

“I rather like that. And it’s certainly a more practical name, than slapping Andraste on it.” Blackwall chuckled.

Adahlee grinned. “You get it.”

Blackwall’s mustache twitched up, amused. Then he leaned against the stone fence, a far off look in his eyes. “In the end, titles are just titles; what people call you is secondary. It’s what you do, and how you do it, that’s important.”

“Exactly. That’s tisun’olam.” Hesitant but playful, she teased gently: “You’ve got your head on pretty right, for a human.”

Blackwall laughed genuinely at that. “I try to be—right, that is. At least I get it some of the time.” He smiled, almost rueful. Then, he looked more present again. “Just one question, then. How do you think you fit in with all this?”

Adahlee tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

Blackwall seemed to mull over his words. “Well… you've been thrown into quite a situation,” he elaborated. “Where do you want to go, from your present place on? Any idea what you'll do with the cards you've been dealt?”

“You know, those are really good questions,” she murmured, miring over her answers. “I guess I haven’t thought much about it. I feel like everything has been about surviving, so far. Trying to figure all of this out. Not just the Breach, and my mark, but…” Adahlee trailed off. She shook her head, and swung her feet again, contemplative. “The future seems so uncertain. Though… I think I know what I'd like from it.”

“And what’s that?” Blackwall asked, curious.

Adahlee looked up at him with a smile so small, but soft. “I want to be happy. I want to be at peace. I want to help others find their peace, too. I choose to be in the Inquisition, because I think that’s how I can best do tisun’olam.”

The corners of Blackwall’s eyes crinkled as he returned the smile. “I’m glad to hear it.”

Adahlee giggled. “And you’re here to do your part too, right?” She imitated his gruff voice: “Save the fucking world, if pressed?”

Blackwall laughed again, full and loud from his belly. “Maker, is that what I sound like?”

#let adahlee say fuck #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dai #sycamore girl #adahlee #writing

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