#tattered cloak fanfic

[hitechlatte]

Tattered Cloak and Online Friends Update!

Sorry for going MIA, but I'm back and have updates!

Tattered Cloak's rough draft has now hit 30K words! I have also worked through a lot of plotholes, so should be able to power through some more writing soon due to outline fixes!

Tattered Cloak is also estimated to be around 18-19 chapters!!

Online Friends has also made some progress! I have a prototype of the Character Creator working! It's not in the demo, but I have a video to share:

Sorry again for being so silent, work and life have been CRAZY the past few months, but things are finally slowing down, so I should be able to get back to regular posting.

I'm gonna try and aim for weekly posts! Thank you all for your continued love and support I can't wait to share more with you all soon <3333

[dookins]

GUESS WHATS UP FOR SALE IN MY ETSY SHOP???

The Greatest Bounty Hunter in all of Botopia has you starring down the business end of a steel barrel. His rumpled hat darkening a no nonsense expression as the surrounding desert blasts the tattered lead lined cloak behind him. What will you do...?

Will you surrender?

Meet your untimely end?

Or hang him up on your wall?! :D

That's right! Bounty Hunter P03 prints are in ya'll! Whether you're an Inscryption Fan that just likes cowboys, a P03 fan, or a fellow reader to a certain fanfic on AO3, ( https://archiveofourown.org/works/48362074/chapters/121977016 ) consider hosting this piece on the walls you call home! Gift to a robot simp! Or just supporting my artistic endeavors.

As of right now since I opted for fancier cardstock, their are only 25 prints of this in stock right now, so they'll be going quickly!

Thank you~

[rohirric-hunter]

Angstober Day 01: Again

I wrote this on the first but decided to leave it to the weekend to edit. And then I had to shove a ton of context into it so it would make sense to people who aren't in a specific discord. Split down the middle because here's some more context in the author's note:

My first concept of LotRO fanfic came to me as I was exploring Angmar, and it was something something dealing with the remnants of Angmar post-war. Mostly just a loose idea, but one that stuck with me and slowly developed as my OCs developed. When LotRO released a quest pack dealing with that very thing, I was pleased to discover that it wanted very little adjusting to fit in with my own ideas. Basically, those adjustments are: the events of the Return to Carn Dum questpack take place over the course of several years, rather than the couple of weeks that it seems to take in canon, and without the intervention of any Player Characters. (The PC only got involved because of LotRO's improbable mail system anyway. Skyrim Courier eat your heart out.) As a result, certain things turn out differently, some worse and some better, and no one outside of Angmar really gets involved until around S.R 1425. This oneshot takes place early in the inevitable conflict. The remnants of the Angmarim garrison at the Ironspan aren't really representative of Ásachal and the other Angmarim still holding on to Carn Dûm, but they are empowered by knowing that Carn Dûm is still in Angmarim hands.

Warning for non-explicit mentions of torture.

~*~*~*~

Not again, you think.

You know very little of what happened to Lothrandir during his imprisonment in Isengard. If Léonys is recalcitrant about her time there, Lothrandir speaks of it both more and less. He mentions it often, but carefully skirts around any actual detail, a habit, you think, that tells a clearer tale than he would like.

Not that the little band of Angmarim remnants who inhabit the tower along the Forodwaith road a few leagues east of the Ironspan could hope to compare to a Wizard. Still, Lothrandir looks eerily similar to how he had in the flooded depths of Isengard, head bowed in exhaustion or pain, knees pulled to his chest, skin covered in bruises and lacerations. The little cave, or more accurately the crevice, that your rescue party had found and made camp in between two great sheets of stratified stone is warmer and homier and definitely safer than the caverns beneath Saruman's tower, but it feels all too similar, seeing him in drafty, damp half-light.

He looks up at your approach, and despite everything offers a thin smile — much as he had for Léonys when she had at last wrested the door open and run to his side, so many years ago. "Hathellang," he says. "I thought you told me you hated it this far north."

Aragorn steps past you and kneels beside Lothrandir, opposite Radanir, who holds Lothrandir's left hand with a grip that speaks of no intention to release any time soon. You can hardly wonder at that, for of your little group only Radanir had ventured into the tower through the gap in their defenses you had found in their primitive and ill-kept sewers and seen Lothrandir in his prison. Perhaps you might have been better suited to the job, for you are more skilled than Radanir at getting into places where you are not wanted and staying hidden, but after having witnessed Lothrandir captured on what should have been a routine patrol of the westernmost side of the Ironspan he would not be kept away from his kinsman for anything. And you had been of more service of a distraction, anyhow, for the scattered remnants of Angmar have not soon forgotten the names and faces of those who were most instrumental in bringing it down. In any event, what you can see of Lothrandir is bad enough, his clothes more tattered than they ought to be after little more than a week, and the worst of it likely hidden by the cloak wrapped about him. You hardly dare to think what Radanir saw. You have been in enough Angmarim dungeons to guess at it.

"Yes, well," you say. "Maybe there's a reason for that. It's always something up here."

You had planned on stuidously avoiding the topic of Isengard, but Lothrandir saves you the trouble by bringing it up himself. "Oh, come now," he says. "It's not so bad. They haven't even got a wizard here, and only one troll."

"No trolls, now," you say. Your gaze falls to the shackles around Lothrandir's ankles, and without thinking you kneel before him, hand fumbling in your pocket for your toolkit. "May I?" you ask, and Lothrandir hesitates the barest moment before nodding.

Like most Angmarim locks, it is not difficult to pick and requires no finesse. This one uses four pins instead of the usual three, but your biggest difficulty is in keeping yourself from disturbing the surrounding bruises and cuts on his legs and bare feet. But you are not unpracticed at this, and pin the shackle tightly between your right knee and the end of your right arm, pin the tension pick against the back of your elbow, and then with your left hand insert a serrated jiggling tool. It is only a few moments of jiggling before the lock pops open and one of Lothrandir's legs is freed.

As he stretches it out, Lothrandir speaks to you again. "I am glad you came," he says quietly. "You traveled far to help me."

You look up from where you are positioning yourself for the second shackle. Really, it would be easier if you would just use your right hand to pick it, but that would require getting into your bag and finding the tool you had made yourself for such purposes, attaching it to your arm, and then putting it away when you are done. It's not worth it, not for this lock.

Lothrandir is not looking at you. His head is turned downwards, as Aragorn runs his hands along Lothrandir's scalp, searching for head injuries, you assume. His face is obscured by hair pushed forward. You put your tools down and reach out, taking hos free hand in yours and offering an affectionate squeeze. "And I'll do it again," you say.

[aventurineswife]

Trick or treat :3

Trick-or-Treating Mishaps!

Summary: On a chilling Halloween night, you and Sebastian go trick-or-treating and discover a mysterious house offering enchanted candy. After indulging your curiosity, you unleash mischievous ghosts and a lurking specter. Together, you confront the supernatural chaos, forging a strong bond as you uncover the secrets of the night.

Tags: Halloween Special Fanfic, Human! Sebestian, Supernatural, Horror(kinda? I tried my best 😔), Adventure, Trick-or-Treating, Enchanted Candy, Ghosts(👻), Suspense, Platonic Relationship, Friendship, Human! Sebestian.

Warnings: Mild horror elements, Spooky themes, Paranormal activity, Intense situations, Human! Sebestian.

A/N: As someone who has never celebrated Halloween her whole life, I hope you enjoy this piece of fic 😇

The chill of Halloween night hung heavy in the air, the moon casting an eerie glow over the neighbour hood. Your heart raced with excitement as you adjusted your costume—a makeshift witch ensemble complete with a crooked hat. You turned to Sebastian, who was beside you, dressed in a simple black cloak. He had always had a serious demeanor, but tonight, something about the atmosphere made him appear more intense, as if he sensed the looming darkness around you.

“Are you ready to go?” he asked, his voice steady yet laced with an undercurrent of anticipation.

“Absolutely! Let’s get some candy!” you replied, your voice bright against the backdrop of creaking branches and rustling leaves.

The night was cloaked in darkness as you and Sebastian set out for a night of trick-or-treating. The crisp autumn air was alive with the sounds of laughter, distant music, and the rustle of leaves as other kids darted from house to house. Dressed in your costumes, you felt the thrill of Halloween, but the atmosphere had an underlying chill that sent shivers down your spine.

As you strolled through the neighbourhood, you admired the elaborate decorations—glowing jack-o’-lanterns, cobwebs clinging to trees, and ghosts hanging from porches. But as you turned onto a quieter street, the mood shifted. The lights flickered ominously, and an unsettling silence settled around you.

“Does it feel… off to you?” you asked Sebastian, glancing sideways at him. He nodded, his expression serious.

“Yeah. It’s too quiet here.” Just as you were about to suggest turning back, you spotted a house at the end of the street, adorned with an eerie glow and a sign that read,

“Magic Candy: Trick or Treat at Your Own Risk.” Intrigued, you exchanged glances with Sebastian, and he shrugged, a hint of curiosity in his eyes.

“Let’s check it out. It might be fun.” you said, excitement mingling with unease.

Approaching the house, you knocked on the door. It creaked open, revealing a shadowy figure in a tattered cloak. With a raspy voice, he offered you a bowl filled with strange, glittering candies.

“Take one, if you dare…” he rasped, his gaze penetrating. You hesitated, glancing at Sebastian, who stepped forward, a protective instinct flickering in his eyes.

“Do you really think we should?” he asked, his voice laced with caution. But your curiosity got the better of you, and you reached into the bowl, pulling out a shimmering piece of candy that seemed to pulse with a life of its own.

As you popped the candy into your mouth, an electrifying sensation coursed through you. The world around you twisted, colors blending and morphing, and suddenly, you were surrounded by ethereal, shimmering figures—ghosts that danced in the air, laughing and swirling around you.

“Whoa!” you gasped, your eyes wide with wonder and fear. “What’s happening?”

Sebastian’s face was pale as he took a step back, his instincts kicking in. “Stay close to me! We need to get out of here!”

But before you could respond, the ghosts turned their attention to you, their laughter echoing eerily. They moved closer, their translucent hands reaching out, and you felt a cold grip on your arm.

“Help!” you cried, panic rising in your throat. Sebastian immediately stepped in front of you, eyes narrowing as he faced the spectral figures.

“Get away from them!” he shouted, a surprising fierceness in his voice. The ghosts paused, their laughter fading into a low murmur, as if they were assessing him. A moment of tense silence hung in the air, and you could see confusion flicker across Sebastian’s face.

Just then, a larger specter emerged from the shadows, its eyes hollow and mouth twisted into a menacing grin. It reached toward you, and instinct kicked in.

You grabbed Sebastian’s arm, pulling him backward as you dashed for the nearest tree, pressing your backs against the rough bark, heart racing.

“What… what just happened back there?” you whispered, trying to keep your voice steady.

“I don’t know,” he replied, his brow furrowing as he peered around the tree. “That candy was definitely enchanted. I’ve never seen anything like those ghosts—or whatever was that thing.”

You shivered at the memory of the creature’s hollow eyes. “Why were they after the candy? And who was that man? He sounded… off.” Sebastian nodded, his expression serious.

“There’s a lot we don’t understand. That candy could have been a trap—something meant to lure unsuspecting trick-or-treaters into danger. I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s more going on in this neighbourhood than meets the eye.”

“But why now?” you asked, struggling to piece it all together. “Why do this on Halloween? Isn’t it supposed to be a fun night?”

“It might have something to do with the thinning of the veil between our world and the spirit world,” Sebastian speculated, his voice low as the specter’s form hovered dangerously close. “On Halloween, the supernatural often becomes more active, and it’s possible that the candy was some kind of conduit for those spirits to reach out.”

You frowned, the implications heavy on your mind. “So, this could happen… again?”

“Maybe,” he said, his gaze still fixed on the specter. “We need to be careful, especially if we encounter anything strange. And we should warn others.”

A chill ran down your spine at the thought of what might lie ahead, but there was a strange comfort in knowing you weren’t alone in this. “I’m glad I have you here,” you said softly, casting a sideways glance at him. “I don’t think I could face this kind of thing on my own.”

Sebastian gave you a quick, serious glance, and for a moment, his usual stoicism cracked, revealing a flicker of warmth. “I won’t let anything happen to you. We’ll figure this out together.”

As the specter finally moved away, the tension in the air began to lift. You felt your heart rate start to normalize, but the shadows still danced at the edges of your vision. The laughter of other trick-or-treaters rang hollow against the backdrop of your encounter, a reminder that not everything was as innocent as it seemed.

“Do you think this was just a random occurrence or perhaps a dream or something?” you asked quietly, still peering out from behind the tree.

“I can’t shake the feeling that it’s part of something bigger and something real,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “We need to keep our eyes open. Whatever is happening here might not be over yet.”

Together, you stepped out from behind the tree, the night still young and fraught with mysteries yet to unravel. With newfound resolve and the strength of your bond, you ventured back onto the path, ready to face whatever the Halloween night had in store.

Does anybody play DTI 😭? I NEED HELP IN CH2!! 😭

[beansprean]

“People Say Friends Don’t Destroy One Another” by LaCroixWitch (@fanfic-fugue)

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1. Nandor laying on his back on a pile of broken wood and rubble, a bent sword sticking blade-up through his abdomen, slick with blood. He is dressed in a black tee shirt and jeans under one of his usual cloaks, and his hair is down and laying tangled against the floor. He and his clothes are tattered, bloody, dirty, and scraped up after a long battle. Guillermo, dressed in a white button down, chinos, boots, and his slayer gloves, is holding himself up on all fours above Nandor, legs straddling his waist. He is equally mussed and dirty, shirt ripped at the shoulder and dribbling blood down his arm and an open wound on his head bleeding freely all down his face, dripping onto Nandor. One arm is locked straight down to press Nandor’s arm to the floor. Nandor’s free hand is reaching up to dazedly touch Guillermo’s cheek. Despite the violence of his position, Guillermo is crying, tears shedding as freely as the blood as he locks eyes with Nandor. In the foreground, his glasses lay with the lenses cracked into shards, distorting part of the picture behind it.

2. A close up of the same scene, Nandor using the last of his strength to grip the back of Guillermo’s shoulder and neck and pull himself up closer. Eyes closed and face screwed up in desperate passion, he touches his lips to Guillermo’s. Guillermo, tear pooling in his lashes as he closes his eyes, allows himself to be pulled and pushes weakly into the barely-there kiss. In the foreground is a postcard, splattered with blood and creased in two directions from being folded and unfolded countless times. The smudged ink reads: “Guillermo, I do not think you are getting my cards. Perhaps mail takes a very long time to get to wherever you are. I find myself in New Mexico, but there are no piñata farmers here. I am told there is an old Mexico. That must be where your family is from.” The following text is smaller, as if hesitant to be expressed: “I hope you will write me back, I am rather lonely on my journey. I think you would like these places. You could see them during the daytime and tell me all about it. I miss you.” The last line has been crossed out multiple times, but still legible. /end ID

[artemisiavulgaris1114]

So I've been sitting on this 30 page Gortash/Lilith pre/during/post-game fanfic outline (!!) for months. the first chapter isn't done yet :') I normally don't post unfinished, buuuut I'm happy with the first part and felt like it needed to be released into the world--give it a bit of external life to hopefully feed back into it for when I do have the bandwidth for more writing <3

As Dark Things Are Meant To Be Loved chapter: 0.1/? (not up on ao3 yet in case anyone is looking for it there) rating: M (canon-typical blood and gore) durgetash (gortash x durge tav) although this first bit has no durge in it, just one tired asshole who's too old for this shit

Gortash gazed sightlessly upon the statue of the gods. The tabernacle was shadowed and dormant in the small hours of the night, but for the soft flicker of the altar candles, and his mind was similarly far away. The unmistakable odour of the lower city managed to seep into the air here, winding its way through the din of incense and herbal offerings. Despite his recent more lavish trappings, Gortash still found himself spending far too much time in a place he missed and hated in equal measure.

And now, that time was being wasted. The steel toe of his jackboot tapped against the marble floor, a steady rhythm counting down the seconds. He had a habit of noting even the smallest grains of sand that slipped through his fingers, and for someone who slept as little as he did, he was still too irritated by the situation to try and make productive use of it.

There came a softer tapping that was outpaced by his own. Then, the scent of something even far less favourable suddenly overwhelmed him–raw, rancid meat, with a musty undercurrent of desiccated fabric and blood. Gortash could almost feel the nauseating cocktail crawling over his clothes and skin, and covered his mouth with the back of his hand. He turned around to find a small, stooped figure, hooded in a tattered antique cloak with its hands clasped behind its back.

Gortash did not bother to tilt more than his eyes downward as he spoke, nor stop his lip from curling in disgust. “May I ask, did Lady Savienna fail to deliver the entirety of the sum I paid for this visit? Or were you really off squandering my precious evening, laying with long-butchered swine as your keen fetor suggests?”

The figure calmly folded back its hood to reveal what appeared to be an older, balding gnome with a thick silvered beard and many scars. Its eyes were beady, mischievous, and discriminating, which Gortash instantly clocked as owing to fey ancestry. Whatever this thing really was must have been almost too perverse to conceal.

“Oh, she did, my Lord. Yes, quite the substantial—and, dare I say, grandiose—donation,” the gnome twaddled, with a bow that was unreasonably low. “An adequate token of your respect.”

“Clearly not entirely adequate, seeing as it failed to guarantee something as simple as your punctuality,” Gortash’s jaw clicked. “Respect, indeed.”

“It is enough to guarantee you a chance to walk out of this meeting alive, my Lord, and nothing more,” the creature’s voice lilted with false deference, an almost mocking tone that bore no obvious threat.  “You see, when encountered, Banites are normally afforded the dignity and lesser mercy of a swift and relatively painless death—of which, I am certain you’re aware.” It added with a hint of amusement, “The ones that don’t go so quietly make for sacrifices that are most fruitful.”

Gortash’s gauntleted fist clenched reflexively as if it desired to crush something. He was already out of patience, but he refused to let himself be goaded. “Then consider them part of my ‘donation’, and stop wasting my time.”

The gnome cowered ever so slightly, but still, somehow Gortash had the distinct impression that it was nowhere near afraid of death.

“My proposal is thus,” Gortash began, his voice sharp and compelling even at normal speaking volume, “I will offer a doubling of your meeting fee in order to secure the particular assistance of one of your assassins in carrying out a targeted heist three tendays from now.”

“Oh, my, a down payment?”

“Depending on how we fare, there may be far more vested interest in it for you than the scope of this contract.”

“---and the potential for subsequent contracts. You make it sound like a most lucrative opportunity,” the gnome chuckled affably as it squinted up at him.

“I do not deal in any business that is not.”

“Yet, in this instance, you seek our help. It must be something terribly difficult to pull off, if someone such as you does not think himself solely capable.”

“I am more than capable,” Gortash flashed. “Trust that I would not have arranged this meeting had I not been given an unequivocal order to do so.”

“Interesting. It seems you are as ambivalent about this as we are,” the gnome grinned widely, showcasing a disarray of sharp, spoiled teeth. “In that case, I’ll humour you. Tell me, what is it that you’re planning to steal?”

“For now, I plan only to return something that was stolen from you.” The impish creature’s patronizing facade faltered, and it looked genuinely confused. “And what benefit is that of yours?”

“Nothing such that you’re entitled to hear,” Gortash replied dismissively, “but I will tell you why I require your services.”

He continued, keeping with an air of complete confidence and immaculate poise as he began to pace, all part of the hustle. 

“This job has particular challenges, and requires a particular approach sufficient to mitigate them, hence the long turnaround. What I seek from you is someone who is able to enact a series of seemingly unrelated murders, enough to alarm and distract the general populace, and more importantly, the Grand Duke, for the days leading up to the heist.” He stopped pacing and turned, pinning the gnome with a pointed look. “You know the one amongst your ranks of whom I speak.”

“Hmm, hmm. Yes, perhaps that does sound familiar,” the creature nodded along slowly, wringing its hands seemingly by rote. “Allegedly, one of ours made rather a name for themselves, nigh 15 years past. As they say, all those murders were the work of one very clever, exceptionally vicious Bhaalspawn, though they never did quite figure out who was responsible...” 

Gortash nodded. “A spotless record.”

The Bhaalist took a long, deep breath through its nostrils. 

“Keeps us respectable,” it said as it straightened its posture, cleared its throat and continued, “And, fortunately for you, I do happen to know the very one of which you speak. I also simply must profess that I have the unique privilege, and indeed, the requisite finesse, of serving them at a personal level...” and on it went, describing in exorbitant detail its distinguished affiliation and stewardship of its vile master, a decidedly sadistic and depraved individual, the leader of Bhaal’s contemporary cult–which really just made this whole idea all the less appealing from Gortash’s point of view. 

He had no idea what to expect. His dealings with Bhaalists had never been easy or pleasant, if such a thing was even possible. He preferred prudence and wit to mindless, unnecessary carnage from his underlings. Though he reasoned that their leader must have some modicum of each to keep them as organized and prolific as they were.

He had begun to pace again, this time in circles around the effusive creature as it rattled on. “Yes, yes—they sound simply delightful. Might they be persuaded to discuss this face to face?”

It pondered concernedly for a moment. “You see, this particular assassin that you’re referring to… they are one of our most accomplished, most venerated–”

“Your leader, yes. Which is precisely why I have sought them out.”

“You are well informed,” it admitted with an edge of spite. “But that does not gain you anything. They have a great deal of responsibilities, my Lord. Running the temple worship daily is no small feat, what with our cult now being so prosperous, so vital as it once was–”

“You will have your daily sacrifices,” Gortash interrupted. 

“Surely we have other suitable operatives of equivalent skill–”

“You do not. I will only work with another possessing capability and merits comparable to my own. As far as I’m aware, Bhaal only has one Chosen.” Gortash held his hands behind his back. “All I ask of them yet is a chance to meet and discuss my proposal properly and in detail.”

The gnome thought for another long moment before relenting with a grudging look. 

“Our Lord, pragmatic as ever, is receptive to any proposed Banite alliance, as long as you make it worth his while. Though…” and as it casually inspected the ragged fingernails on its hand, there was an especially sinister bent to its ever-present smile, “a Banite sacrifice is in most cases worth more than anything you could offer us otherwise,” it said before it looked Gortash in the eye. “Especially one of your status.”

“I look forward to making their acquaintance,” Gortash quipped back with a beleaguered smirk. “Now, shoo. And do pass along my invitation, will you? I shall await a response.” He swept past the decrepit thing without formality, glad to finally be rid of its air, and out into the azure cast of near-dawn.

[hanayori89]

Part of your Realm

🐺* Thank you to anyone who reads my work! I wrote this fanfic and it is rather long but as I continue to edit it, I’d like to share it on here. The full fic is uploaded on my Wattpad! * 🐺

Crepuscular

*Welcome to the Realm of Twilight*

"It is duly noted that the interlopers have more in common with the Realm of Light than we would think." Midna paced back and forth. She caressed the glass shard that adorned her neck. Her gaze looked far away. As though she had traversed through the Realm of Light once again. Even if it was just through her memories.

Students mouths hung unhinged from their jaws. All Twili were curious about the Realm of Light, especially since Midna's return. Oh, and of course, Zant's defeat. Midna decided that the Twili deserved to be educated about the "other side." The side of light. Just because we lived in the dark didn't mean we should be left, ignorant amongst it. Midna held monthly courses for fellow Twili who were interested in the structure of the Realm of Light.

Courses varied from mannerisms to architecture, culture, and, of course, history. Most Twili were in favor of Midna's radical movements about the Realm of Light. Midna believed she and Zelda were one and the same, just on opposite sides of the mirror. Her adoration for Princess Zelda paled in comparison to her adoration for the Hero of Twilight. Who helped return Midna as the rightful inheritor of the Twili throne. Any time she spoke of him, her face shifted into a forlorn shadow of its former self. She even renamed the main hall of our palace the "Hall of the Hero." Where we congregated monthly to listen to imparted wisdom regarding the Realm of Light.

Don't mistake Midna's ideals. It wasn't that she was trying to convert our brilliant umbrage to replicate the philosophies of the illuminated. She simply wanted us to live in an era of peace. She wanted us to hold ourselves accountable for our banishment from the light. Most of all, she wanted us to learn that we too, if we so chose, could rewrite history much like she had. We were not our ancestors. Under her reign, history would not repeat itself. Shadows are not evil, for even the beings of light cast shadows in their world. We must coexist.

Not all Twili felt the same. Some believed we should not be held accountable for the actions of the interlopers.  Who also just so happen to be our traitorous ancestors. Eons ago, they tried to aggrandize the power of the legendary Triforce. This unjust action caused us, the Twili, to be cast into the world of the crepuscular. You were in this category of Twili. You did not wish to be cast into this nomenclature when you personally had done nothing wrong. You felt like you were being charged for a crime you never committed. And just like a prisoner longed to break the chains of obscurity in which he was tried, you longed to break free from the Realm of Twilight.

*

You found Midna in her study. She picked up a book off the shelf, then sighed, returning the book to its original slot of dust.

"Midna?" Your tattered cloak trailed behind you as you swept into Midna's vision.

"Ah, Y/N. What brings you here? Do you wish to discuss more about today's class?" Midna took a seat on her foreboding iron throne. You always found it ironic that Midna chose to display the headdress of the imp. When Zant usurped the throne, he transmogrified Midna into an impish creature. Now it sat like a trophy, perched atop her throne. When she sat down, it appeared to float majestically on her head. She seemed to notice the bewilderment stamped on your face.

"You know, it must seem odd. Why keep this relic of a cursed form? But it reminds me of him."

"Who?" You asked in earnest. You knew who "him" was, however. It was impossible not to see the adoration etched on her features anytime she spoke of the hero. She talked about how emotions lorded power over the Realm of Light and its inhabitants. For the Twili, feelings were transitory, like blades of grass blowing in the wind. The wind could stop howling, and the blades could be blown in one direction or another. All of this unpredictability did not deserve a name in their world. And so Twili lived without ever really being educated about feelings. You couldn't help but wonder, what did Midna feel towards the Hero of Twilight? Did she herself even know?

"The hero," she said with a smile eclipsed by the surrounding shadows. "So, Y/N, tell me what plagues your mind."

It felt like someone had substantiated your chest with heavy chains. The weight of what you were about to ask crushed you. You felt imprisoned by a yearning you could no longer contain. "Midna, is it possible to travel to the Realm of Light?"

Little slivers of light filtered through her face in the dark. You could make out nothing but the burgundy gleam in her eyes. She gathered herself from her chair. You could vaguely make out her fidgeting with something behind her neck. Midna transported behind you, giving you a startle. In her hands was the shard of the Mirror of Twilight. She loosely looped it around your neck like an albatross.

"This piece of the Mirror of Twilight is the only remaining piece in existence. It has the potential to transport anyone to the light. However, should something happen to this remaining piece, you could no longer call the twilight your home. This makes the situation tricky; you know, we are not meant to be beings of the light. We don't speak the same language. Many of us don't speak much at all, though I would like to move that oppression. The pallor we possess could not withstand the strength known as the sun. Not to mention," she began to lift part of her cloak," we will always be tattooed by the Realm of the Twilight. We will never be able to escape who we are.

Midna gently followed the maze of markings that traveled up her arm with her fingertip. "I appreciate your avid interest in the Realm of Light, but my intention is to never make you lose sight of who you are. Who we are."

"How do we know who we are if we have never been given the opportunity? Like you have?" Midna bitterly laughed, "Opportunity you say? What opportunity was that? Being transformed into a hideous creature? Watching our innocent fellow Twili die? Having the throne usurped from me? Having to say goodbye to someone I loved..." Midna yanked the shard from your neck, crestfallen.

"We can never belong in their realm, Y/N." You could see Midna stalling to say more. As though she wanted you to convince her that her opinion was wrong. Maybe the interest in the Realm of Light had a more selfish connotation to it? You saw her hesitation as a chance to strike.

"Midna," you said, looking her square in the eyes, ready for debate. "Doesn't "twilight" have the word "light" in it? If the interlopers who are our ancestors are not much different than those of the light, how can you cast us as different? Aren't we all made of some type of light? Some type of light that leads to the same source?" You got down on one knee in reverence and bowed to her, for she was the princess of the twilight after all. "Midna, I recognize that what I called an opportunity may seem crass. But you have come back a stronger version of yourself. Look at the changes you are making within our realm. And..." you felt an unwelcome warmth permeate your cheeks. You weren't sure why. "I would like to know love. Like you have. It is all I dream of. If we never tried to steal the Triforce, could I be one among the light? A... Hylian?"

Midna released a conquered sigh. "Alright, Y/N. Because you are one of my best pupils. Because I think you are destined for greatness within our realm. I will award you a trip to the Realm of Light. Under one condition."

You could hardly contain the silly smile that pulled your cheeks tightly back on your face. You weren't sure what was making you react in such a way. Perhaps it was the permission to be part of the light? You read about happiness before. Was this it? So many things you've researched yet didn't experience to understand. Now you would know. Maybe you would be like Midna. You would meet someone like the Hero of Twilight and make the same face when you said his name.

"This will be a homework assignment. When you return you must tell me where the truth lies... within the shadows of darkness or within the illumination of the light."

You didn't realize the difficulty that this assignment would hold.

A/N: Edited 10/23/22

As I write this I am actively working on editing and tying up loose ends within the story. Thank you for being patient to whomever reads this!

Where do you think the truth lies? Within the light or the darkness? There is a theme I'm trying to implement in this story :)

Check out my other Zelda OOT work that is completed- No Woman Beyond

[pigerludio]

Emotions. Memories. Life. Fanfic. Undertale AU.

-Part 2-

Category: Gen, 16+ maybe?

Character: Frink, Mirror, AI Dream, Radiant, AI Nightmare, AI Blue

Warnings: Obscene language, Inhuman morality, OC, Mental disorders, Psychological traumas, Rating for profanity, Gray morality, OOC,

Other tags: AU, In one body, Drabble, Parallel Worlds, Under the same roof, A collection of drabbles, Elements of psychology, Elements of humor / Elements of banter.

- Created by the desire to ✨ create✨

- Tags will be added as they are written.

- Predominantly bone-shake, though it's not a fact that this will always be the case.

- EML is: Acute Incident stories, (sick)everyday life of HWS, spending time with the AI inhabitants, living the dead and not quite alternatives, and just the creeping of bone-gnaw in the knowledge of their mortal existence.

An alternate timeline where Frink and Mirror had a ... during a particularly intense fight from the remnant of a collapsing world and a high concentration of Frink and Mirror's magic in one place... This little guy.

Frink hand twitches, and Radiant eyes flutter shut, watching with bated breath as his Base gently brings his hand down on his head, and instead of the expected kick or shove, he feels the cloth surface of the glove and the bones whose touch feels like thin cuts in dusty paper.

It had been a long time since Rad had twitched at such displays of sudden tactile generosity as he used to. He would have been proud of what he had accomplished when Mirror had taught him how to deal with such sensations, but learning to accept physical contact calmly like this all at once was proving to be a difficult endeavor. For both teacher and student.

Frink smile faltered, and the perennial red symbols in his eye sockets changed to a hypnotically calm blue, and the arrogant expression on the other's face softened. The guardian still reeks of menace, and subconsciously Radiant tries to force himself to calm down, to muster the courage to look into the stranger's eyes. It takes him a few seconds to do so and smile back, immediately casting a quick glance with a mute question over Frink's shoulder at the figure dressed in blue-colored clothing and a tattered cloak behind him. He gets a nod and Radiant feels a little calmer, but not as much as he would if he saw Mirror there, smiling at him.

- It won't be long before you've developed your abilities to an acceptable level. - Frink continues to smile, staring off into the distance. With a hum, the guardian removes his hand from the stranger's head and the kid lets out a barely audible sigh of relief, briefly looking down at the floor and fighting the urge to scratch himself where he can still feel the rough surface of the touch, sighing deeply a few times. - I hope you haven't abandoned your training.

The brief glance, carelessly thrown straight into Radiant's soul, made his bones and teeth clatter, but he forced his jaw tightly shut and swallowed, shaking his head in denial and clenching his fists tighter. He would have to calm down and pull himself together like Nightmere had taught him. He needed to be able to deal with what he was feeling and understand what he was feeling.

Still, he's weaned from Frink, and he realized that now more than ever.

- It's a good thing you didn't lose you mind while being with that idiot in the madhouse.

Frink waved him aside dismissively, squinting, but then breaking into the same arrogant smile that Radiant rarely saw on his face when he was pleased. There was a stabbing pain in his chest that he couldn't explain, as if someone had stuck a shoemaker's needle into his chest and threaded all the parts of his soul with a thick steel thread, pressing them tightly together.

A little anger came from the unpleasant sensation, the name of which he didn't know. Rad wasn't a fan of when one of his Base insulted the other, and by fateful coincidence, Frink was a master at it. But he also didn't like the conflicts and fights that the bases almost regularly had with each other.

And after that, Mirror still called him his friend?

- What's with the sour look? - Frink snorted, and his pupils flickered with purple and green squiggles, the meanings of which Rad often forgot, and found no point in memorizing. - We'll spend the whole week together. I can finally teach you something! Or aren't you excited?

Frink frowned, and the very thought of it seemed to hurt his ego. Rad didn't like what he was saying, but he nodded modestly, knowing full well that he had no choice in the matter and only a little annoyed at how quickly he'd agreed to this venture, when Mirror had told him that Frink's abilities were better developed by him and that this way he'd really understand what he needed in this life.

Not that any of that wasn't true, on the contrary, he seemed to enjoy throwing ink and watching his Base master the magic of its transformation, but he definitely thought Mirror was wrong about a lot of things, and strangely enough, he was wrong about Frink, even if sometimes his mouth was really prophetic.

And Rad liked fire, too - he was unconsciously drawn to it, having once seen his own ink burning with magic, after so many unsuccessful attempts to set it on fire. It seemed that he had burned two rooms that time, but Nightmare had surprisingly not scolded him, and had reassured him that those rooms had long ago spoiled his entire layout. Of course Radiant didn't believe him. But he didn't believe him NOW, and back then, scared and cornered, he was ready to believe anything, if only he could stop huddling guiltily against the wall and throwing weak magical attacks around uncontrollably.

Smiling as plausibly as possible, and as it seemed to himself - too dramatically changed in his face, Radiant covered his eyes, nodding to his thoughts, and after a moment's hesitation to answer the monster:

- I'm very glad you took the time.

Rad raised his voice, turning his head away to where his Basis had been looking earlier. Hard. Talking to Frink was hard after a while. - Just missed you.

Burying his nose deeper into his clothes, Rad breathed in the familiar smell of coffee and chocolate, smiling a little more confidently. The kid could tell that he was glad when Frink could talk to him quietly, like this.

The guardian was like an older brother to him, the same one who in silence experiences everything that is most terrible and unpleasant, and then exposes his prickles when you try to help him. Like a hedgehog snorting and curling up in a kind of prickly cocoon, sensing some kind of danger, albeit imaginary, he continues to snort and grumble stubbornly without saying anything useful. At least that's how Mirror compared him, and Rad saw no reason not to trust his experience in comparisons.

Except that Nightmare had once compared Frink to a Harpy, and smiled, saying that Dream couldn't stand the likes of them, and yet the two continued to play cat and mouse. Radiant didn't understand what cats had to do with mice, but he hoped the cat could win. He liked cats better than mice, if only because the stripes on his cheeks resembled a cat's whiskers.

Still, Radiant was curious about what lay beneath Frink's prickles, which he sometimes wanted to rip out with his own hands, despite the pain and a hundred percent step into the arms of death. Just to make sure that he really felt nothing for his named "Brother" and really, just as Frink had said, would be able to kill the indecision in him. At times like this, as he realized himself, he becomes uncontrollable and starts to break a lot, and then he forgets everything that has happened to him lately.

Time. What a useless phenomenon, Rad thought, tentatively tugging at the hem of the poncho on which his own hands had embroidered the stars. Three so far. He'd never kept time and considered it a complete pointless nonsense that made those around him feel inferior and forced himself into various ridiculous confines, like a sleep regimen or a daily routine.

Sighing heavily, the kid cast one last sad glance at the place where his nervous uncle was still waiting, stomping his foot in frustration and glancing around. Waving goodbye before taking Frink's hand, his last thought was one of regret.

He had forgotten his doll, after all, and she would surely be lonely without her friend, while he himself worried that Flatch might do anything to his dear Rose.

It had been an eventful day, though, and he couldn't think about his friend while he was with Frink.

The boy was once again plunged into the role of protector of worlds, swimming in its sources but refusing to dissolve into it, watching as his conscience, deaf to his questions, faded and life came to the fore. Not a man or a monster, no. Something more. Something that Frink so desperately protects from everyone at once, proudly sticking out his chest and striking the ground with the sharp end of his hand.

And Radiant had decided for himself at the time that he would never be the next guardian of this infinite space they call the Multiverse.

______

End :)

[evedaser]

sometimes when i work on my poetry and research for my (final year high school) extension ii english, i feel like such a fraud and a failure. i write naturally and i write for fun, and especially recently getting extremely addicted to fanfiction the stuff im reading and influencing myself with is easy and simple, maybe not in plot but in its use of language. its not dense and fanciful like the classics, its not teeming with extended metaphors and symbolism to shatter your mind and link with postmodernism and contextual concerns

it’s just writing.

i write poorly and worry it’s not good enough for my teacher, for the markers who will put a number on my page. they who have been studying literature and language for years, decades, judging the work of i who have not yet reached one score in age.

i feel like i’m being asked to reinvent the wheel, when all i really want to do is ride in the cart

and maybe it’s all right to say fuck it and just hop on. writing is FUN. if it makes people feel things i’ve already won. my work doesn’t need to be dissected and broken down and analysed as perfection. it’s not fair.

fanfiction has helped me realise that I think. i never used to read it, some sort of dignity thing. even now i have to fight the shame when i tell people im reading fanfic, but at the end of the day this writing has so much heart. it makes me excited to write, it makes me so excited to READ. it traps me in its joyful escapism like any book could. I read the whole lotr in less than three weeks, i read a fanfic 100,000 words longer in three *days*. this kind of reading is FUN. sharing stories should be FUN!!

anyways, here’s my most favourite poem of all those i’ve ever written. it has no deliberate techniques, it does not follow a particular form, its rhythm is wobbly as best, its concepts are not earthshakingly deep. it’s about wanting to run away and be a pirate, just because it’s fun.

and fuck if it’s not better than those i wrote to be scrutinised. it has more of my soul than i fear those ever will. does that make me a bad writer? i hope not, but maybe id be ok with being bad if it meant i never had to give up the fun of it.

Dear Pirates,

Way out on the wide blue sea

Deep and dark beyond belief

You are all the things I long to be

O pirates on the great blue sea

From shore to town to shore once more

You pillage and plunder and break down the doors

You run and you sail away from the moors

O pirates with ships filled with treasure galore

Your tables are stained with blood and with beer

And though you are hunted there’s no time to fear!

You’ve places to be, not too far or near

O pirates, I dream that your ships will dock here

Great waves part around you, except when they don’t

And people surround you! Except when they won’t

All creatures, they run from your tattered black cloaks

O pirates, you run right on back to your boats

You sail straight off from all that is right

You look out for towns that gleam in the night

Where’s mischief, there’s money, and money you like

O pirates, for money you’ll put up a fight

And glory you love! And name-making too,

And name-taking just spells out more fun for you

So tell me you’re looking for somebody new

O pirates, let me be your newest recruit

And in spite of all the wet clothes that you’re wringing

You leap down! Your ropes fly, your cutlasses swinging!

Both quiet and loud, your sea-shanty singing,

And back to your ships your men keep on bringing

Great piles and rucksacks and chests filled with gold

And stories of danger, of recklessness bold

Your name piles with legends, with glory untold!

O pirates, does glory keep you from the cold?

If I were a pirate, I’d be ever so brave

And with crewmates and treasure there’s something to save

So even when pirates seem ever so grave

There’s safety and welcome, a home on the waves

anyway the actual point of fandom is to inspire each other. reading each other's fics and admiring each other's art and saying wow i love this and i feel something and i want to invoke this in other people, i want to write a sentence that feels like a meteor shower, i want to paint a kiss with such tenderness it makes you ache, i want to create something that someone else somewhere will see it and think oh, i need to do that too, right now. i am embracing being a corny cunt on main to say inspiring each other is one of the things humanity is best at and one of the things fandom is built for and i think that's beautiful

[thesoulspulse]

Regarding The Ancients (Part 2)

I think this screenshot says it all. In the last post I talked about the Ancients in general and there are a lot of great candidates for who they were in the Danny Phantom cast. After all, villains could count among them too because all Skulker said was that “...a group of powerful ancient ghosts banded together in a last ditch effort to defeat the King�� which when you think about it doesn’t necessarily mean they were all ‘good’ ghosts. They probably had no choice but to become allies to take down someone who threatened the balance of both worlds...

Part 1: https://thesoulspulse.tumblr.com/post/698786699553177600/regarding-the-ancients-part-1

Still, I like to think of most of them as the good guys so we’ll start with them.

Clockwork is obviously the most logical choice because not only is he already wearing a purple cloak that’s extremely similar to the Ancients in the flashback, but he also has statues of the Grim Reaper, aka Death, all over his tower along with lots of scythes. But it makes sense given how he’s probably old enough to have known Death personally. Bonus points if they were brothers since time and death go hand in hand.

Sorjourn is another mysterious figure we know very little about but it would make sense for him to be one of the Ancients too, perhaps even their leader. In fact, before they defeated Pariah he probably had to make himself scarce since he didn’t want his vast knowledge of the Ghost Zone to be abused. Especially since he’s the only ghost rumored to have found a path to the Elsewhereness, aka their version of paradise or heaven. My personal headcanon is that he CREATED the Infimap and then entrusted it to Frostbite who we’ll get to in a second.

Frostbite is definitely up there too just like @ecto-stone​ pointed out since he’s implied to be old enough to have been around with his tribe during Pariah Dark’s original reign of terror. His cloak may be tattered, but he’s wearing one too which is a good sign in my book.

Nocturne is definitely another prime candidate and ironically, I wrote in one of my fanfics that he DID help trap Pariah Dark in an eternal but dreamless sleep so he couldn’t plot anything while imprisoned. Obviously he’s not wearing a cloak but since Nocturne is literally shrouded in shadows its pretty much the same thing. I like to think he didn’t used to be all that evil, he just got tired of having to live off of the ‘scraps’ of human dreams and later on decided to take matters into his own hands and put them to sleep by force to harvest a lot more energy at once.

As much as I like Undergrowth, personally I can’t see him as an Ancient only because from what I can tell he’s been dormant on Earth for a long time and even Frostbite is wary of him when he mentioned him to Danny, implying that he’s never met him but knows how dangerous an enemy he is. I can’t see him working with anyone since his priorities seem to lie with protecting plant life from foolish humans which are mostly found on Earth anyway so I doubt the political affairs of the Ghost Zone back then concerned him much.

That, or as a plot twist maybe he could have been one of Pariah’s allies.

“I have heard tell of this Undergrowth. A powerful ghost he is. Capable of regenerating himself and producing numerous killer offspring. Nearly impossible to defeat.”

~ Frostbite, Danny Phantom Season 3, Urban Jungle.

In exchange for Undergrowth, I think Pandora is a great fit since she already created Pandora’s Box to contain the greatest evil so wouldn’t it stand to reason she could use her skills to build the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep too? Plus, there’s more skeleton symbolism at the altar her box is kept. Greeks had Sarcophagus’s too, but theirs were literally more like ornate coffins or ironically boxes.

Then again, the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep looks more Egyptian than Greek. So maybe an unknown Egyptian ghost was one of the Ancients instead?

The Observants obviously care a lot about maintaining balance but they even say all they can do is watch so I kinda doubt they had an active role in defeating Pariah apart from giving council. Honestly, that’s probably why Clockwork detests them so much because they're all talk while HE and the other Ancients actually did something proactive to stop Pariah.

So anyways, long story short I think Clockwork, Sorjourn, Frostbite, and Nocturne are pretty much locked in as Ancients in my eyes which only leaves the remaining three. Pandora might be one along with an Egyptian spirit like Anubis which I would absolutely love since he’s a god of the dead. I only say A god because I think a lot of different religious figures are real in the world of Danny Phantom and are more likely to be ancient god-like spirits.

Lastly, to go along with Anubis, it’s possible that Death takes on many different forms so they could be the same entity or entirely separate ones. If it’s the latter, then it makes perfect sense that the classic Grim Reaper would be one of the Ancients.

And that makes seven.

In the end though, these are just my personal thoughts and there is no right answer since there’s just not enough information to go off of. It’s all pure guess work which is both a blessing and a curse in the phandom. Still, I hope you enjoyed hearing my thoughts and I’d love to hear more of yours too!

Ah, and before I forget, here’s a bonus idea. I have a personal headcanon that some of Aragon and Dora’s ancestors fought against Pariah and lost, hence why he has skeleton dragons in his army.

[thephantomcasebook]

Oh, so Daeron's your boy?

This is yo'boi?

Okay then, "Author", introduce me to ya'boi ...

Show out and roll out ...

How would you introduce him into the show? And since you won't shut up about it, go ahead and throw in some that Alicole aesthetic shit while you're at it.

Go on, "Fanfic Writer", impress us.

Okay, sure, let's introduce Daeron, bitch.

Alright, we'll take what we know of the character with what we hear about the leaks, and the added prerequisite of " That Alicole Shit" as a factor. Which I assume means ambiguity of who his father is - Viserys or Criston.

Right, so

Late-Teens/Early-Twenties

Tall

Has Alicent's coloring

looks like Alicent

A cunning warrior

expert strategist

really good with a sword

Basically Alicent if she were a guy

Got it.

Remember you wanted this ...

So, we open up on a ship sailing to a large city. We get a tracking shot of the vessel as a battered and battle damaged galley from Evening Fall Isle - Ancestral Seat of House Tarth. We close in on the busy and bustling port of Lys. Merchants loading down ships, while others are being unloaded with wounded and dead corsairs and privateers. Some of the crews of the barely held together pirate ships watch in weary contempt at the docking of the Westrosi galley.

We cut to the dock where a Lys official meets the captain of the Westros ship. We see from their conversation that ship is filled with Free City Noblemen captured on the Stepstones whose families have agreed to pay their ransom. The Lys inspector looks over the manifest - is dubious - but agrees. We then see Baratheon men-at-arms start herding out filthy foreign men in stricken armor and ragged clothes, some of them wounded.

Then, as more men are being led out, we follow a figure in a weathered and tattered hooded cloak from behind as he paces across the deck toward the captives and men-at-arms. We see that on his back is a pack of supple brown leather. Attached to the side of the pack is a long sword with a hilt design that resembles the High Tower of Old Town with it's flame. And attached to the pack's clap is a dented and scared - extremely battle tested - wooden shield with the black dots and burnt orange field of the sigil of House Cole.

The mysterious hooded figure paces to one of the Baratheon sergeants and places some gold dragons in his hand. The sergeant looks up at the mysterious figure and simply nods - turning around. When he does, a long haired and slender looking man - very attractive - is stopped in the line of captives when the hooded figure places a padded fingerless gauntlet hand on his shoulder. The man looks aside and then sighs knowingly.

Cut to another show plot.

We return to see the hooded knight and the Lys captive walking down the crowded streets. We hear them talking. We learn that the Knight was one of Lord Corlys Velaryon's crew and that he had saved Lord Corlys when he got his throat slashed and fell into the sea during the battle in which the Knight captured the Lys corsair. After Lord Velaryon's wounding, the knight - rather than return to Driftmark with the crew - parted ways with the wounded Sea Snake fore he had "other business" to attend to in Lys.

The captive admonishes the hooded figure that with the wealth he already collected from captured corsair treasure from the battles on the Stepstones, that he could buy Pentos. To which the knight agrees - he sure could ... if he wanted too. To this, the captive is frustrated. Denouncing that the knight is crazy, that no one - no one - would dare what he plans to do. That not with all the riches of Old Town, Lannisport, and Driftmark could he 'buy" what he was here to take by force. But the knight says cheerily and confidently that if that's the case then they'll have the element of surprise, won't they?

Around them some people stop in their tracks as in the distance we hear just the faintest sound of ... a dragon roar.

Cut to another plot in the show.

We now return to a giant, multi-story, brothel at the heart of Lys. The captive smiles, tells the Knight to take a deep whiff. The hooded figure tells him that it smells like infected fish ... to which the captive agrees ... saying fondly that it smells like home.

We learn that the captive is a former pillow slave and turned famed male courtesan. But that the wife of his lover - one of the richest men in Pentos - got jealous and had him kidnapped and sold to pirates who raped and abused him. In hindsight Lord Velaryon and the hooded knight actually did the man a favor by killing the corsair captain and capturing him on the Stepstones.

The knight - clearly disturbed by the story - shrugs the captive's hand off his shoulder and tells him not to mention it ... 'ever'. But the captive only smirks as they enter the pleasure house. When they get in, the Captive starts getting chatty with the girls - and a few of the boys - while the knight walks up to the manager and hands her a note. The woman reads it, looks up at him, and then at the captive.

'Follow me ...' She says.

We hold on a shot of the captive walking two fingers down an older woman's cleavage when a gloved hand grabs him by the back of his armor and drags him away as he makes frustrated sobs, complaining that the last six months he's only got one end stuck by the pirates, and he'd like to be the one sticking for once.

cut to another plot point in the show.

We return to a sumptuous and palatial room made of silks and gold. Incense is being wafted while the chamber is hung with erotic art - even a tapestry just like the ones that used to hang in Alicent's bedroom. That tapestry in particular is the one the hooded knight is staring at when the door opens.

We focus on a beautiful and richly dressed older woman - her skin fair, her hair dark, and her eyes cat like in observation. This is Johanna Swann - "The Black Swan". The captive Lady Swann whose uncle refused to pay her ransom during the first Stepstone war and was sold as a sex slave. Now she runs the largest brothel in Lys, with powerful friends throughout Essos.

We learn that Johanna has paid the ransom of the captive cause she wants to entice him to work for her as a high end male escort. The knight immediately responses 'I'm no slave trader'. To which Johanna responds that the captive will be well paid for his services ... as will the knight - Johanna 'thoughtlessly' bares a shoulder. The knight is unmoved by it.

'I'm no one's whore' He responds coldly and righteously.

To this Johanna smiles and says that she's heard and that his price for the delivery of her 'prized cock' is steeper than even he is worth. But that she can't help him.

What he wants is impossible.

We learn that the Knight has come to rescue a woman. A Lady Aelyssa Dayne - wife of Lord Dustin of the North. She had been traveling home from Starfall when she was waylaid by corsairs from the Stepstones. She had been kidnapped and sold as a sex slave in Lys. She was now the favored concubine of Harla Houta - one of the most powerful underworld figures in Lys. Once the daughter of Harlen Houta she took over her father's criminal organization 30 years ago. Then there had been six families of the Lysene underworld, now there are two due to the ruthlessness of the "Old Hog" herself.

The Black Swan has considerable power and influence in Lys, but not enough to openly slight "The Old Hog". There wasn't enough money in the world to entice her to do so ... especially not at the behest of a "Hedge Knight", even one as skilled as he was. Her advise was to take what she offers him and leave Lady Dustin to her bed of silks and gilded chains that clasp to the old woman's headboard.

To this, the knight wordlessly removes his boot to the confusion of the captive and the amusement of Johanna. He turns over the other end of till something drops out and into his hand. Then, after putting his boot back on, he hands the item to The Black Swan.

She smirks and takes it, studying it. At first she sighs in disinterest - she's seen more opulent jewelry. But slowly, the woman grows more serious, giving a double take at the ring in her hand ... at the marking of it. With wider eyes she slowly looks up at the hooded figure.

It is then that he slowly draws down his hood and we see the face of the knight. He has grown out and tussled copper hair that is perfectly styled - in likeness to Criston Cole's own when he was younger. The youth is unmistakably the near spitting image to Queen Alicent Hightower of the Seven Kingdoms. And if his look did not give him away than Queen Alicent's ring with her own personal sigil would've done the trick.

We are introduced to Prince Daeron Targaryen, youngest child of the late King Viserys and Dowager Queen Alicent.

'On second thought, I might have a few ... suggestions, My Prince.' The Black Swan smiles conspiratorially clenching up the ring in a fist and tilting her head.

Cut to another plot point in the show.

We return to a steaming Lysene bathhouse where shirtless Unsullied guards in golden pointed helmets and silk pantaloons stands guard of a grizzled and fat old woman that is relaxing and lounging in the water. She has an eye patch and three scars across her other eye. Beside her an older man - younger than her - is having sex with a woman wearing a collar similar to the ones worn in Slaver's Bay.

The uneven rhythm and splashing causes the old woman to remove a warm cloth from her good eye and yell at her 'good for nothing' son next to her. Angrily she lectures him on how he's supposed to fuck a woman - must she teach him even that?! Then, after explaining it to him, she grabs a naked woman off screen by the arm and tells her to 'come here, let's show them.'

The woman is pale and dark haired, in her mid-30's to early 40's, beautiful, and completely removed from reality. Her gaze is distant and her actions dreamlike. The old woman aggressively forces the younger against the wall of the tub, getting behind her while grasping her shoulder. But then an unsullied guard announces the arrival of "The Black Swan"

Johanna sweeps into the bathing room in a silk robe. She is followed by the captive in a loin cloth, and finally by Daeron in worn green doublet, patched black trousers, and supple black boots that are falling apart. At his side is the same long sword with Hightower design on the pommel. Immediately Daeron notices the dark haired woman who glances up at him - a spark of recognition from both of them as from Westros.

The Black Swan asks if she might join them, immediately disrobing to the awe of both mother and son, then, gently she removes the former captive's loin cloth and they walk into the water together. Daeron remains standing, staring at the unsullied who are measuring him up as well.

Johanna and "The Old Hog" discuss business, how the perpetual war for the Stepstones was making the smiths and ship builders rich, while the merchants couldn't give away their stores. However the slave market has never been better. To this - in a subtle que - the Black Swan asks who the 'lovely one' is, motioning to the dark haired beauty. To this Houta grabs Lady Dustin by the ass and replies that it was some "Westrosi bitch" that tastes like a noble and cost her a king's ransom ...

And if that "Hedge Knight" doesn't stop staring at her, she's gonna gouge his eyes out.

Immediately, Daeron places his hand on his sword and the Unsullied grip their spears. But Johanna only laughs, saying that he's no Hedge Knight ... at least not anymore. Now, he's a rich man, absurdly rich - with connections in Westros - and he was in the market to do business. Then, sliding closer - breasts on full display to entice the room - Johanna asks coyly, what if she told Houta that the "Hedge Knight" had the ability to give her shipments to Dunskendale and Lannisport the royal seal of approval to get past Velaryon patrols?

The old woman's eye nearly bulges out of it's socket as she looks up at the ragged and battle worn handsome youth who was glaring at her. The old woman asks off guard what he wanted in return. To this both Daeron and Johanna glance at the dark haired woman. For the first time in years, just the spark of hope flashes in the noble woman's eyes. To this, the Old Hog snarls and pulls the woman against her possessively.

'Do you know what it cost me to get Westerosi cunt? Do you know how rare it is? Now imagine how rarer it is to get Noble Westerosi Cunt!'

'Yes, I believe I do.' Johanna responds unironically - darkly.

'He's a knight of the Seven Kingdoms - wearing the Queen's Green - let him go buy his own Great Lady with his stores of gold.' she dismisses him.

'He'll make it worth your wile ...' Johanna responds.

'How?'

It was then that with a flicking toss, the youth threw her Alicent's ring.

The old woman - showing dangerous fast reflexes - caught it with one hand. She studies it a moment with her one good eye. Before her mistress has said a word, a look of shock and wonder came over the dark haired sex slave who gazed at the youth who was staring at her. But their shared moment is cut off by an obnoxious and fake laughter from the old woman while she hands her fat son the ring.

With mockery did she behold the young dragon.

'Well, well, well, if it isn't Ser Daeron Targaryen ... Hero of the Stepstones, Champion of Old Town ... and Prince of the High Tower.' She jests in mockery. 'The queen's favorite little secret.' she laughs. 'My darling girl-toy ..." She pulls the dark haired woman close as if about to tell her a joke - the funniest she knows. 'Did you ever hear the one about the Prince of the High Tower?' she asked pointing at the angering young man.

'Did you ever hear about the Targaryen without silver hair? How when Lucerys Velaryon was born - with dark hair and dark eyes - how Princess Rhaeynra, in a blind panic of revelations of her own behavior, accused her bother Daeron of being a bastard?' She laughed cruelly, pulling the naked slave girl against her. 'It's true!' she nodded. "She accused Queen Alicent of stealing nights with one of the Kingsguard ... but-she-never-said-who!" The malice in her voice was dripping with hate.

'Princess Rhaenyra was so vehement, so public, in her accusations of the queen, and to King VIserys in private ... that the King began to eye, even begrudge, his youngest boy. Began to believe what his daughter was swearing to him. For you see, your knight in shinning armor, my poor delicious confection, had a dragon egg that never hatched. Dark hair, a carbon copy of the queen, no Targaryen traits whatsoever ... and no dragon. What was his grace supposed to think?' She egged on.

'So, one day, when the king was at council, a small boy steals into his father's room. He takes his toy knights and starts playing with them on the model the king was sculpting. When the king returned, he saw the boy had unintentionally broke a model dragon. Immediately, in anger - perhaps in resentment - perhaps believing that this was prophetic - that he was no dragon ... but the breaker of them - the king slaps the boy across the face. Ah, but he doesn't land another blow. Fore you see, on duty that day was Ser Criston Cole - the handsome and famed knight of the Kingsguard ... the queen's sworn protector. It is his hand that catches the King's from giving a follow up, his eyes that look wrathfully into the old man's daring him to strike that boy - his boy? - again ...' the old woman trails off as the entire room stares at the young prince.

'That next week, the Queen and Prince Aemond accompany the boy to Old Town. And they say that in bitter tears did Queen Alicent leave the youngest prince behind with his grandfather - the old Hand. That after that day she was never the same, that she swore to hate the Princess Rhaenyra forever, to never let her rest for taking away her beloved little baby. And ever since, all of Westeros wonders, questions ... is there really a prince in the High Tower of Old Town? Or is he just one more secret of the realm hidden in within its vaults?' she snarles hatefully, gleeful in her ill-intent.

'Think nothing of it, my delicious cake ...' She tilted the beauty's head up to look at her with a finger to her chin. 'You have all the comforts of a queen, everything that befits your status. Silks for your gowns, oils and creams to be lathered over your yummy body, and pleasures you never dreamed of in my bed ...' Her eye fell on the dark look of Daeron.

'Don't worry, my love ...' she assured her bed slave. 'I'll protect you from the bastard who comes to steal you away to a life of poverty and mockery.' She stroked her hair lovingly.

Then, snatching Alicent's ring from her son's slave girl, the old woman disrespectfully throws it back at Daeron who catches it with one hand.

'Go back to your pious and self-righteous mother, cur! Maybe - with her tight green frocks and repressed sinful nature - Queen Alicent will rapturously give up her plump royal arse to you, now that Viserys is dead and Ser Criston Cole - I mean your father - has higher ambitions these days.' she mocked.

The ring of steel echoed as from Daeron's side there was drawn a smokey glitter of Valyrian steel from "Vigilance" House Hightower's ancestral blade. With a snap and plant the Unsullied guards get into defensive postures, their tall spears resting on their gilded buckler shields.

'Enough!' The Black Swan glides across the bath, pointing to the young knight. 'There will be no bloodshed here, mark my words!' the veil dropped and the hateful and deadly rivalry was shown between the two women vying for ultimate power in Lys.

'Nor is there a need for it ...' the Old Hog sighed. 'The Prince of the High Tower can see himself out.' She makes a dismissive shooing motion with her fingers. 'Unless ...' she slowly slid her hand down the belly of the dark haired beauty, reaching to touch her between her legs. There is helpless resignation in the former Lady Dustin's eyes as she retreats into herself again.

'You'd like to stay and watch ...'

With the sound of sheathing steel, Daeron turns and storms away. In the background the Unsullied return to resting position as a booming and cruel cackle follows him down the hall.

However, in the same shot, from around his neck, we see a pearly ornate whistle like ancient instrument in the shape of a dragon that he pulls out from under shirt and doublet. Daeron takes it in hand and blows into it - making no sound. The shot ends with the door to the bathing room shutting with a loud clank.

We cut to an overhead shot of the Free City of Lys by night ... however, as we pan over it, we see a forming shadow across the rooftops of a dragon in flight.

Cut to Credits with the sound of Tessarion's answering call to the ancient Valyrian whistle.

[hitechlatte]

Tattered Cloak Updates

Hey everyone! Thanks for your patience while I write this fic!! I have some fun updates to share with you all!

We're at nearly 15K words and 5 Chapters written.

Updated Outline is Estimating 15 Chapters, so we're about a 3rd of the way there!

Although I'm not cranking out huge word counts yet, the pace should pick up soon. I am fixing a TON of issues like plot holes, poor pacing in plot/character development, inconsistent direction, etc. So in the future writing should go much faster once I fix these and nail down the story's direction!

THIS IS SO ANGSTY AND I AM SORRY IN ADVANCE. I mean you all asked for it, so I won't apologize that much but I'M STILL SORRY! LIKE WHEN YALL SEE THE TAGS I DON'T THINK YOU'LL BE READY

I will spoil one tiny thing if you're interested, regarding which side characters this fic will be focused around and I'll put it below the read more line if you don't want to be spoiled

I'm hoping to ACTUALLY have an estimate for release in the next few weeks. Meant to sooner, but plot holes and other issues threw me for a loop.

LASTLY THANK YOU ALL AGAIN FOR YOUR PATIENCE WHILE I WRITE I AM SO EXCITED FOR WHEN THIS IS FINALLY DONE

Also here is the super mild spoiler:

This main side character in the fic will be Leo, so he'll be like the Irma or April of this story.

Oh and OBVIOUSLY a lot of Shelldon time, like even more so than Purple Hoodie, but Shelldon is always best character and deserves all the spotlight lol.

Thanks for your continued support and just be mindful about posting this info in the comments a lot incase people want to be surprised.

[glassprism]

I have a follow up to the post about Christine returning to the Phantom. Disregarding LND and fanfic, if Christine indeed HAD come back to stay with the Phantom, how do you think that would have worked? They weren't gonna be able to stay there with the mob coming after them and his secret found out, so I assume they would just kind of book it out of there? And also do you think Raoul would put up a fight or respect her decision?

I tried answering this seriously when I first saw this, but whenever I reached the bit about the Phantom and Christine escaping my brain would turn into this:

PHANTOM (grabbing Christine's hand): "Quick, Christine, we must flee before the mob comes for both of us!" CHRISTINE: "Oh! How shall we escape?" PHANTOM (sits on his throne): "Luckily, I have an escape route built into my throne!" CHRISTINE: "Do we both fit in it?" (Christine plops herself into the Phantom's lap.) CHRISTINE: "Is that a mask in your pocket, or are you happy to see me?" PHANTOM (in a strangled sort of voice): "Both??" (He tosses the cloak over them a la this gif. 'Beneath a Moonless Sky' begins to play.)

Anyway, I imagine this is why scenarios where Christine returns to the Phantom sometimes have Christine return after the Phantom's escape. While the two of them literally fleeing the lair can lend itself to some angst, and romance thereof (Oh no! Christine has been shot and is near death! Oh, this is all the Phantom's fault, how could he so monstrously have forced her to join him in the life of a fugitive etc. etc.), having them come together in a quieter moment lends itself better to extended romance (and smut) scenes. And it allows for an introspective interlude where Christine figures out her feelings for both men. But yeah, if Christine does decide to return to the Phantom immediately after the kiss, I'd imagine the two of them would be getting the heck out of dodge first and talking about their feelings later.

As for Raoul, unless he literally does not give a crap about Christine, it's difficult for me to imagine him not putting up some kind of protest or fight. Remember, from his perspective, the Phantom is the guy who's murdered two people, terrorized and then kidnapped his girlfriend (remember how Christine was in both the rooftop scene and 'Twisted Every Way'), and then threatened to kill him (Raoul) to force Christine into marrying him (the Phantom). Even the Phantom's redemptive moment might not come off that way to Raoul; instead, he's likely thinking, "The madman has had a brief moment of mercy, let's flee before he changes his mind again." Heck, I wouldn't blame him for being a bit insulted if he realizes Christine is returning to the Phantom of her own free will - this man just tried to murder him, Christine's fiancé, and she's going back to him?

Given that Raoul has also seen Christine entranced by the man in 'Wandering Child', it's likely too that he would think Christine has been hypnotized into doing the Phantom's will. While he might not be aware of the exact concept, he may also be thinking that Christine is suffering from some kind of Stockholm syndrome, or traumatic bonding, or is just too darn compassionate for her own good. He may even be thinking (this applies especially to those Raouls that shout, "Christine, no!" during the kiss) that Christine kissed the Phantom to save Raoul, and since Raoul is now free, that she is returning to uphold her end of the bargain, not out of love. With all this in mind, Raoul might think that Christine needs to be convinced, argued out of, or even saved from her decision.

So yeah, I imagine Raoul is more likely to be aghast and fight Christine's decision, not stand back and go, "Oh sure Christine, I respect your horrible choices and wish you well." Even if he is somehow convinced of the Phantom's change in character, he might still be worried about what kind of life Christine will have on the run and possibly with her reputation in tatters. I don't think he'd ever go full-blown villainous breakdown like some stories have him ("If I can't have you, no one will!"), but I do think it'll take a lot of instances of him actually seeing Christine happy and healthy and with a morally upstanding Phantom, before he'll be convinced.

[na-na-namine]

This took me an ungodly amount of time to write. It was originally going to be a much shorter one-shot, using an unfinished LWA fanfic I had saved, but I just kept adding to it. So it’s going to be a two chapter story now. Special thanks to my brother, @megamanofnumbers for the title!

This chapter is primarily from Amity’s POV. The second chapter will be from Luz’s.

Content warning: Contains blood and graphic descriptions of suffering.

If you want to read here on tumblr, keep reading below.

---

Unspoken: "She can be so stupid, which I love."

"It's Amity," Luz admitted to her friends, smiling sheepishly. "We're going out."

No one said anything as six pairs of stunned eyes were cast on Luz. Willow in particular looked ecstatic from the revelation, while Gus simply raised his hand. But before the illusionist could say anything, a flustered Amity spoke up first.

"We are!?"

"Huh?" Luz turned to Amity and spread her arms out. "Of course we are! We've, like, held hands and cuddled a bunch of times, right?"

Amity's jaw dropped. "Luz, you do that with literally everyone!"

"I do?"

"Yes! You do!"

Luz gave Amity a confused look. "Well, what about all the dates we've gone on, hmm?"

"Da- dates!? " Amity spluttered. "What, the book club? You never said they were dates!"

"Secret book club."

"Luz!"

"Oh, um..." Luz retracted her thoughts in a blur. "But if they weren't dates, what do you call it when you hang out with your girlfriend?"

"Girlfre- you never even confessed to me!"

"I... didn't?"

Amity continued to stare at Luz, utterly flabbergasted. Luz herself was uncharacteristically contemplative for a moment.

"...Oh!" Luz perked up in realization before dropping back down. "I guess I didn't."

"Luz..." Willow narrowed her eyes in disappointment.

Gus shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. "Man, that's Luz for you."

Luz shrunk back a bit, anxiously fidgeting with her fingers. "Sooo... I'm guessing what happened on Grom Night wasn't some... unspoken thing?"

Amity sighed buried her face in her hands. She couldn't tell if her ears were burning from embarrassment or frustration. Maybe it was both.

'Unspoken thing?' I can't believe it.

Except Amity could believe it, and that was the worst part. All of that angst. All that worrying over whether Luz felt the same way or not, and it turned out that she did but chose not to say it.

"Amity, I'm so sorry," Luz frantically apologized. "But, um, does this mean we're... not girlfriends?" Luz's lips pursed into a pitiful frown.

Amity felt her frustration melting away, and confidence took its place. She couldn't help but marvel at how adorably stupid the human looked.

"I never said that you dummy." And with that, the witchling leaned in and kissed her silly. It might've not been the exact circumstance she was hoping for, but when Luz kissed her back, she found it hard to care about any of that.

---

Indulgence: "As long as it's a secret club."

Ideally, the library should've been completely barren after closing time, and yet two witches could be heard giggling away deep within Amity's secret hideaway, although ever since Luz came along, it slowly became one she shared with the human-now-turned-girlfriend. Just the thought was enough to send butterflies through Amity's belly.

"Foolish child!" Luz slid menacingly across the floorboards, her hands bent in snake-like motions. "I could swallow you whole!" Across from her was Amity, who was dramatically posed in a heroic stance.

"Do not underestimate me, Gildersnake, for I am the Good Witch Azura, warrior of peace!" The witchling smirked mischievously before raising a pillow over her head. "Now eat this, sucka!" She lunged forward and smushed the pillow on Luz's face, earning a yelp from the human.

"No! My only weakness - cuddles!" Luz sneered on the last word, swiftly wrapping her arms around Amity's waist.

"Wah! No fair, Luz!" Amity retorted bashfully, despite her widening smile. Luz matched it, briefly lifting her girlfriend with her weak nerd arms before falling onto some nearby bean bags. The two witches burst into a fit of laughter and cuddles, basking in their shared warmth and the feeling of comfort.

Minutes of laughter gave way to serenity as the two witches gazed blissfully at one another. A part of Amity felt silly from getting lost in those beautiful hazel-browns, but, thankfully, a much bigger part of herself relished in how happy and secure it made her feel. It was such a refreshing feeling from acting studious all the time. Her reputation and family name often required she keep up appearances, but with Luz, it was impossible to keep a straight face, figuratively and literally.

 "Amity..." Luz whispered in such a way that Amity felt her insides turn to mush.

If her heart sac could pound any harder, Amity swore Luz would hear it. Was it too soon to call this feeling love?

"...I love you."

Wait. Amity's heart skipped. What!? Her eyes widened as she gawked at the now panicking human.

"Ohmygosh, I'm so sorry! It just kinda slipped out and I didn't mean to-" Luz hid her face with her hands and turned away in embarrassment. "It's only been a couple of months, I shouldn't have said that someone please kill me..."

"Luz, it's okay!" Amity brought her face close to the human. "It's okay." Her hands gently pried away Luz's, and aside from how flushed her girlfriend was, she noticed in her eyes a glint of yearning that wasn't there before. The witchling bit her lip. She's so cute!

"I love you, too." Just saying those words lit a spark in her chest, and when Luz kissed her fiercely, that spark burst forth like a thousand fire glyphs.

The moment they part, all the human could utter was "Wow."

"Yeah. Wow."

Amity was certain from how those hazel-browns sparkled that Luz was feeling the same way.

---

Nightmares: "I'll be your fearless champion!"

Amity ran as fast she could, trying to ignore the sheer exhaustion wearing away at her body. By the time she had finally caught up, she could already taste blood in her mouth and the salt of her tears.

"Luz!"

Luz was standing before the portal to the human realm. Flinching from the sound her name, the human slowly turned around, sadness written over her face.

"Amity..."

Amity ran up and wrapped her arms around Luz in a tight hug. "Please don't leave. Stay here with me."

Luz stiffened, her fingers gripping the front of Amity's shirt. Her lips part, a soft intake of air, before meeting her girlfriend's eyes. "I can’t."

"Why? I don't want a life without you. I want you here." Amity begged desperately as she rested her forehead against Luz's. "Please, I need you."

Luz shakes her head. "I'm sorry."

"But-"

"You can move on, Amity. You have to.”

"I can't, Luz, I-"

In an instant, Luz faded through Amity's arms and into the portal, disappearing without a trace. The witchling reached out uselessly, crying out into the darkness.

"No, don’t go! Please! Don’t leave me here don’t leave me don’t-"

Amity wakes up drenched in sweat. She could barely make out the tattered roof of Luz's bedroom through her tears and the moonlight.

"Amity!"

She heard Luz call out her name beside her, browns filled with concern and worry. The human was snuggling close enough that Amity could hear her breathe. She felt the sting of her tears, her heart sac pounding, and remembered - Luz was still here.

"Luz," her voice trembled as she buried herself into her girlfriend's chest. "Luz!"

"Shh, it's okay," Luz soothed. She held Amity close and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I'm still here, it was just a nightmare."

"Don't go," Amity sobbed, clutching onto Luz's shirt as her tears soaked into it. "Don't leave me all alone."

"I won't. I'm your fearless champion, remember?" Luz kissed away Amity's tears, her voice filled with sincerity and warmth like always.

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

---

Dying: "I'm sorry, Luz! I should have fought my own battle!"

It hurt to breathe. Luz figured she might have a broken rib or two. When she looked down, however, she noticed the front of her uniform was drenched in blood. And it was spreading.

Oh... that can't be good...

Although her mind was hazy, she could barely make out muffled sounds before her.

"...Lu...z...!"

She knew this voice.

Amity?

"Luz!" Amity cried out, crouched next to Luz.

Luz was dying, gasping weakly with her eyes squeezed shut from the excruciating pain. Amity had already cast a healing spell, but her inexperience with such magic was limiting its effect.

"Luz, I need you to stay with me. Say something!"

Luz's only response was a silent cry of agony. Amity took off her cloak and pressed it against the bleeding wound on Luz's abdomen. Luz's condition was worsening by the second, her pulse rapidly drumming beneath the witchling's palms.

She's bleeding so much. Why do humans have so much blood? If only I knew more healing spells!

"Ami... ty…" Luz huffed, her eyes barely opening. They were glazed with pain and fear. Amity felt hot tears spilling down her cheeks, desperate for the magic to heal quicker.

"Yes, Luz, I'm here!" Amity reassured. "You're going to be okay, I promise. Just focus on my voice. Focus on me, okay?"

"A... mi..." Luz struggled to speak again. Her pupils barely flickering with the shine Amity had spent ages getting lost in.

The healing magic isn't working. "I'm here, Luz." Keeping one hand pressed on her cloak, Amity reached down to cup Luz's cheek, shivering at how cold it felt. That terrified her. Luz was never cold, only warm and bright, and full of love. "I'm not going anywhere. You're going to be okay, just..." her voice trembled, panic seizing her with all the signs that Luz wasn't okay.

Luz opened her mouth but didn't have the strength to respond. Her pulse, no longer erratic, was slowing with every beat. 

"Just... don't leave me, okay?" Amity caressed Luz's cheek as her body became wracked with sobs. "I love you, Luz. Please don't leave me..."

She almost didn't notice Luz's faint tugging at her shirt.

"L-Luz?"

Amity glanced down to see Luz scribble something in the dirt. A glyph? It only took another second before she realized what it was. "The healing glyph!?"

Luz nodded weakly as her eyes closed.

Amity fumbled for Luz's torn up notepad that laid in arm's reach. The pen was nowhere to be seen, so she used faint fire magic to copy the glyph onto the paper, taking care not to burn up the notepad. She tore out the page as soon as it was done and pressed it against Luz's chest.

"Please work," she pleaded, silently praying to the Titan for strength. "Come back, Luz, please..."

For a moment, nothing happened. Suddenly, incredible magic was surging through the glyph, as though it were responding to Amity's feelings, enveloping Luz's body with a powerful blue aura. The magic worked its course, stopping the bleeding and immediately healing the wound on her abdomen.

Amity was in awe at the miracle before her. She could feel Luz's warmth returning along with the quickening pulse of her once-fading heartbeats. "Luz...?" she begged quietly.

Luz gasped loudly, which was followed by rapid and shallower breaths as her body began replenishing what it needed to survive. She clutched onto Amity's arms as her breaths evened out, the pain slowly subsiding from her body. At last, her eyes opened to meet Amity's; hazel-browns meeting amber, shining brightly like they always have.

"L-Luz! Luz!" Amity cried out in relief, throwing herself over Luz and pulled her into a desperate, yet, comforting hug.

"Amity..." Luz's voice was unsteady yet reassuring. She returns the embrace, her arms clumsily wrapping themselves around the small of Amity's back.

Amity sobbed into Luz's shoulder, basking in her familiar warmth; the feeling of her chest rising and falling against her own;  all of those signs that Luz was still here and alive. Her Luz was alive, and she would not let her go until she was sure it stayed that way.

"Thank you, Amity. I love you."

Amity gasped, easing back enough to meet Luz's eyes. Despite her fatigue, the human gave her a smile that melted her heart, as though all was right in the world again, and the witchling couldn't stop herself from smiling back.

"You're such an idiot."

[inmyownlittlecorner5]

libera nos a malo chapter 8: ultimatum

A fanfic Novel by la-topolina Rated for Mature Audiences Warnings: Language, Violence, Sexual Content Chapter 8/20

libera nos a malo masterpost+ Unstoppable Force/Immovable Object masterpost+

<< Chapter Seven+

Chapter Nine+>>

Severus’s world might have ended the night before, and his head might feel like an overripe watermelon liable to split open at the slightest provocation, and he might be operating on a single hour of broken sleep, but none of this changed the fact that he was expected in the Great Hall at ten o’clock in the morning to baby-sit a group of inept teenagers attempting to bungle their way through an Apparition lesson. Every step he took as he slunk up the winding staircase from his pit of despair sent a fresh jolt of pain lashing through his already pounding skull. His stomach was roiling from the quantity of gin he’d fed it during the small hours of the morning, (gin was now on the list of liquor he would never touch again, right under pálinka) along with the Hang Over Potion and black coffee he’d forced on it this morning (how could Miranda stand to drink coffee every day?)

The internal critique of Miranda’s drinking habits was quickly replaced by the memory of how wide her eyes had been when he’d cut her to the quick less than twelve hours prior, and his stomach dropped violently as he once again replayed the whole wretched scene. Humiliation and guilt wrapped themselves around his heart, strangling him with their familiar fingers. A new throbbing from a fresh and dripping wound joined them; for surely if he ever saw Miranda again, it would only be to formally end their volatile association. He knew what came of offering apologies to furious women.

As he gained the top of the staircase, a snarl of angry voices derailed his brooding. It did no favors for his headache or his nerves, but his smarting conscience was eager for any distraction, however unpleasant. A tangle of students had formed around the quarreling parties, and as he cut through them, he was unsurprised to see Draco Malfoy sneering at a red-faced Harry Potter. Did the brats never tire of baiting one another?

“…were you doing on the seventh floor Malfoy,” Harry spat, his glasses slipping down to the end of his nose.

“I don’t know who died and made you the keeper of the school,” Draco replied. His voice was cool, but Severus could hear the edge in it, and he knew that the boy was close to losing his temper. “Are you keen for Filch’s job when you graduate? Maybe you can be his assistant, I hear you’re already a master at scrubbing bedpans.”

Severus was within arm’s reach of the boys, neither of whom seemed to notice his approach. Harry was in the midst of some retort that had both adversaries reaching for their wands; but Severus could not make out what it was the infant was saying. At that moment Harry’s eyes were flashing like Lily’s often had when she’d been in a high temper. Severus was frozen by them, unable to cope with the fresh flood of grief that washed over him.

For the last fifteen years, the sole purpose of his life had been to ensure that the Boy Who Lived continued to do so. Now he knew that this had been yet one more wasted purpose, for in a cruel twist of fate it seemed he was only meant to keep the boy alive in order to present the child for sacrifice at the proper moment. Albus’s dupe once more, Severus stood face to face with his failure now, this boy who wore Lily’s eyes, and felt the earth shift beneath his feet. Students buzzed around him like so many flies, eager to see the altercation escalate to a brawl, and as he fought to maintain control of his countenance a deep, cold anger coiled itself around his grief. He felt his lip curl, and he opened his mouth to vent some of his unbearable anguish on the students before him, when a mousey Slytherin darted out of the shadows to defuse the situation.

“Draco!” said Cassandra Borgin as she inserted herself between the warring factions. “I’m so glad I caught you. I have a question about Professor Slughorn’s assignment and I was hoping you could explain it to me before the lesson starts.”

Draco and Harry continued to glare at each other, even as Cassandra took Draco’s arm and began pulling him inside the Great Hall—but the spell was broken. The rest of the students broke off into their own conversations, and Harry and Severus were swept into the room with the rest of the group. Severus’s attention was fixed on Harry, who shot daggers at his professor with those cursed green eyes until the Weasley boy and the Granger girl pulled him away to a trio of empty hoops in the far corner, whispering furiously as they did. Severus stalked to the front of the room to take his place beside the other heads of house, and the bland ministry worker tasked with training this year’s Apparition aspirants, feeling quite ready to be ill all over the stone floor. As the ministry worker launched into a review of the last lesson (why bother reviewing—the lessons were all the same, and talking about Apparition never made it any easier) Severus attempted to compensate for his suddenly precarious balance by leaning against the wall without appearing to do so. Minerva’s sharp eyes were not fooled by his feigned nonchalance, and she edged close enough to him for a whispered conversation.

“Is something amiss?” asked Minerva, her eyes firmly on the students.

“Nothing that need concern you,” he replied. Merlin, how he would like to enlighten Minerva as to the Potter boy’s fate, and set her on Albus like an avenging angel of doom.

“Somehow I do not find that reassuring.”

“It wasn’t meant to be.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” She gave him a sidelong look, but changed the subject without pressing for further information. “Albus wished for me to pass on his request for your help this week. It concerns Remus Lupin and the American witch Miranda Rose.”

His stomach lurched again, and he vowed that the instant this lesson was over, he would be taking himself to Albus’s office to demand that they find a better way, both for the Potter problem and for the werewolf disaster waiting to happen. Surely between his brains and Albus’s experience they could come up with some other option.

“Did he?” he said in a carefully neutral tone. “I shall go up and ask him about it after lesson.”

Minerva pursed her lips. “Don’t bother. He’s gone off again, and he didn’t say when he’d be back. I don’t suppose you have any idea where he keeps going?”

Damn him. “No. Not in the least.”

“Mark my words, Severus, this chronic secrecy is going to be the death of us.”

He had no desire to contemplate how prescient he suspected her prophesy was, and he closed his eyes briefly as a chill melancholy set in.

“I am at your disposal, Minerva,” he said, making no effort to hide the bitterness in his voice. “Simply ask and I will be there.”

A shrill cry rent the tension in the air, and Severus’s taut reflexes sent him across the room before the first shriek could die away. Lavender Brown was swaying dizzily inside her hoop, looking round stupidly for her pinky finger, and screaming in terror. Severus snatched up the finger and began chanting the spell to reattach it. The entire operation took less than a minute, and it took ten times as long to quiet the overwrought Gryffindor.

If only he might reassemble his own life mangled life half so easily.

*****

Miranda approached Number Twelve Grimmauld Place late on Wednesday, cloaked in righteous anger and more than a little buzzed from an evening at Prospero’s night club. The dancing, darts, and drinking had done nothing to sooth her fury or her pain on this evening—or any other evening since Severus’s decision to rip her still-beating heart out of her chest—but she continued to attend the den of questionable repute with the devotion of a convert. She was like a shark, constantly moving out of necessity rather than desire; and like a shark, she was more than ready to bite.

“Filth! Impurity!” cried the matron in the portrait guarding the front door to the tattered building.

“Shut up,” Miranda replied, blowing a line of smoke into the painted face as she went by.

“Why, I never…” the portrait coughed, but Miranda didn’t wait to hear anymore complaints.

She let her steps fall loudly on the stairs as she went down into the basement kitchen, pausing only to crush one cigarette butt beneath the heel of her boot and light another before entering the fire-lit glow of the Order’s makeshift headquarters. Auror Moody was deep in conversation with Minerva, but his enchanted eye whirred around to take note of Miranda’s presence (and, she suspected, scan her for unexpected surprises). An ill-looking Remus and a morose Tonks sat across from each other at the rough table, talking quietly, even as they pointedly avoided each other’s eyes. Remus glanced up at Miranda, and she took this for invitation to join the conversation (or perhaps to rescue him from it).

As she slid into the empty seat at the head of the table, she realized that the Order member she’d vainly hoped to avoid was present, lurking in a shadowy corner with his arms crossed. She felt his black eyes on her before she saw him, and though her face flushed from anger and frustration, she refused to give him the pleasure of acknowledging his pointed stare. Remus’s nose twitched as she exhaled a cloud of smoke, and he stifled a cough.

“Must you smoke down here?” he grumbled.

“Tonight?” Miranda replied. “I’m afraid so. How are you Auror Tonks?”

“Fine,” Tonks said with a half-hearted shrug.

“Happy to hear it. How goes the patrol at the school?”

“Fine. Things have been quiet.”

Tonks’s reply was cagey enough to catch Miranda’s attention, and if she’d been more sober, or less angry, she might have taken the time to suss out why. Minerva took charge of the room before the American could gather the will to delve into someone else’s problems.

“That will be all Alastor,” Minerva said. “Thank you.”

“Watch this one, Minerva,” Alastor said, his eye still fixed on Miranda. “She’s a slippery witch if ever I saw one.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing, Auror Moody,” Miranda said, tapping the end of her cigarette and letting the ash fall haphazardly on the table.

“No, it’s a useful thing, so long as it’s being used for your side. Good night.”

Alastor tromped out of the room, his uneven gait echoing on the stairs after him. Minerva gazed calmly at the remaining group, ensuring she had everyone’s attention before she continued speaking; the consummate professor. Remus and Tonks sat up straighter as her eyes passed over them, and Miranda sank back in her chair in defiance. Severus kept to his place in the corner, one hand resting on a counter and his fingers tapping restlessly, betraying his discomfort. Good. He deserved to feel uncomfortable—and worse.

“Thank you for taking the time to be here tonight, I realize that each of you is carrying a heavy load,” Minerva began, “and so I will be brief.”

“That’s appreciated. I’m supposed to go on shift in an hour,” Miranda said.

“It will go more quickly the less you interrupt,” Minerva replied.

“Right, right,” Miranda muttered.

“I’ve asked you here to request your participation in a test mission on Saturday evening. You will be relieved of any other duties that may conflict with this, on Albus’s orders,” Minerva explained.

“What sort of test?” Miranda asked.

“Miranda, let her talk,” Remus said.

“I’m not stopping her,” Miranda protested.

“Miranda, please,” Minerva chided.

Miranda glared, but bit her tongue. Severus had yet to say a single word, and his enigmatic gaze was driving her insane.

“For those of you who may not be aware, Saturday is the full moon,” Minerva continued. “It is Albus’s plan for Miranda and Remus to spend Saturday night testing their ability to work together as wolf and animagus.”

“How nice for them,” Tonks said irritably.

Minerva ignored her. “Severus, Tonks: Albus would like for you both to be on hand that night, to help ensure Miranda’s safety.”

“There’s no need to waste everyone’s time like this,” Miranda said. “I’m ready, I don’t need to be baby-sat.”

“If you weren’t ready, we wouldn’t be discussing this at all,” Minerva replied.

“I’m sure that Auror Tonks and Professor Snape have better things they could be doing,” Miranda argued. “There’s no need to put that many cooks in the kitchen.”

“You might not see a need, but I do,” Remus said. “I don’t expect there to be any trouble, but if there is, I don’t need eating you to be on my conscience. Besides, you’d probably give me indigestion.”

Miranda snorted. “That’s for certain. Fine. Whatever. Do what you want.”

“How kind of you to give us your permission,” Minerva said.

“Just tell me when and where, so I can get going,” Miranda said.

“You’ll be starting at the Shrieking Shack in Hogsmeade. Be there an hour before sundown,” Minerva replied.

“We’re going to be stuck indoors all night? That sounds like a recipe for disaster,” Miranda objected.

“When and if Tonks and I have discerned that the situation is under control, we will release you to the Forbidden Forest,” Severus said.

His voice sent a chill down her spine, and whether it was from pleasure or pain she could not tell. She held his gaze in silence for a long moment, and then ground out her cigarette on the table top.

“Peachy,” she said, rising from her chair. “I’ll be there. Is there anything else?”

“Not at the moment,” Minerva replied. “And Miranda, don’t be late.”

“I hear you. Goodnight.”

Miranda started for the exit and heard Minerva fall into conversation with Remus and Tonks. When Severus did not appear to join them, she took the stairs two at a time, fleeing from him even before she could confirm that he was planning to follow her. By the time she hit the street outside the house, she was running shamelessly, heading for the alley. As she rounded the corner, she caught a flash of a black cloak and heard her name spoken by a silky voice, but she vanished—hurling herself into the blackness of Apparition and escape.

*****

Miranda spent the night at the Lee’s flat at Aaron’s insistence. She had yet to share any of the recent events regarding Severus with her old friend, but he knew her well enough to see that she was skirting the line between recklessness and insanity a little too closely for prudence. She slept late, and though she was groggy in the morning, she was pleased to have escaped the headache that often accompanied too many nights of hard living. Rachel made her green tea and buttered toast, and talked of family affairs and Onymoji history. When Maggie woke from her morning nap, the three of them went down to the subterranean play park a few floors beneath Aaron’s office.

It was a slow day at the park, and Maggie was soon toddling between charmed toadstools that blew bubbles and giggled as she passed. Rachel and Miranda claimed a bench nearby, watching as Maggie popped bubbles and drummed on the toadstools to her heart’s content.

“I’m not trying to mother you, but Aaron wanted me to ask if everything was alright,” Rachel said when they were settled. “I think he was worried that something happened back home that you haven’t mentioned yet.”

“No, everyone’s fine, as far as I know,” Miranda replied lightly.

“I’m glad. I told him he didn’t need to fret.”

Miranda gave a mechanical laugh. “I hope he listened. Fussiness doesn’t suit him.”

“I wouldn’t call him fussy,” Rachel countered. “I think he’s just realized that no one lives forever. Something about becoming a father put things in a new perspective for him.”

“I’m sure that happens to a lot of men.”

Maggie toddled over with a fist full of daisies, and Miranda started braiding them together to keep her trembling hands busy. Usually she could keep Isaac’s memory locked in the back of her mind and never think of him, but since Severus had thrust the child mercilessly back into her awareness, she’d been unable to push the thoughts of her boy aside.

“Did you and Severus do anything special for Valentine’s Day?” asked Rachel innocently.

Miranda ripped the head off of one of the daisies, crushing it in her fist without thinking. “You could say that.”

Rachel’s smile fell from her face. “Uh oh. Do you want to talk about what happened?”

“Not really.”

“Do you need to talk about what happened?”

“No.”

“What did he do?”

Miranda threw the crushed flower on the dirt floor and sucked in the dry air like a drowning woman.

“When I was in Romania, I wound up telling Catalina a little about Isaac. Just when he was born and his name. I didn’t tell her anything else about him, and she apparently assumed that he was alive somewhere.” Miranda’s words rushed out with dispassionate haste, as though she were describing something that had happened a lifetime ago to someone else entirely.

“That was brave of you,” Rachel said kindly.

“It was stupid of me,” Miranda countered. “She told Severus about Isaac. I don’t know when, and I don’t know what all she said, but he’s been sitting there for months, thinking that I have a kid back in the States that not only have I been hiding from him, but that I’ve also not seen for the nearly two years I’ve been here.”

“Oh dear.”

“I mean, what kind of shit mother did he think I was? And how dare he sit there judging me because of some story he’d made up in his head that isn’t even true?”

She punched the park bench and one of her knuckles split just as Maggie teetered off the top of a toadstool and started to wail. Rachel hopped off the bench and scooped up her little one, bringing her back to nurse and comfort. By the time mother and child were in order, Miranda felt she’d regained control of at least her voice, if not her temper.

“He shouldn’t have made up stories about you,” Rachel said. “That was very wrong.”

“It was surreal,” Miranda replied. “I thought he’d come over to talk to me about some meeting with Albus that had gone sour, and instead he was there to accuse me of lying to him and being the most heartless mother ever to walk the face of the earth.”

“That’s horrible.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever forget the tone of his voice when he said it. Why didn’t you tell me? It was a real shit-show.”

“Did he apologize? Not that it would make it right, but it might mitigate the revenge I’ll have to extract as your friend.”

“No, I didn’t let him. I threw him out, and I’ve been avoiding him since then.”

Soothed from her misadventure, Maggie let go of her mother’s breast and squirmed down to go in search of more bubbles to pop. Rachel took a moment to put her clothing back in order before she spoke again.

“You mentioned that Severus had just come from a bad meeting with Albus,” Rachel began carefully.

“Oh, so now you’re taking his side?” Miranda snapped.

“No, I’m not. I’m just trying to understand what happened.”

Miranda closed her eyes, still struggling to breathe around the anger and pain that choked her. “Yes, Albus did him dirty right before he came over. I’m finding that Albus is one of those employers that you have to watch your back around.”

“I’m sorry to hear that; I know the type. But being upset doesn’t give Severus the excuse to take it out on you, especially in a way he must have known was likely to hurt you.”

“I don’t think he cares who he hurts.”

“I don’t know if that’s true, and I’m not saying that you have to forgive him. But—when you’re ready—I think you should give him the chance to apologize. If only to give you some closure.”

“I’ll think about it.”

Rachel reached across the bench and very gently took Miranda’s hand in hers. The kindness of the gesture cut Miranda to her heart, almost as painfully as Severus’s cruel words had.

“I’m also wondering—and forgive me if it’s none of my business—but why didn’t you tell him before?”

“What do you mean?” She knew exactly what Rachel meant, but God she didn’t want to go down this road with her.

“About Isaac. It was awful what happened to him and to you, but it’s one of the major events of your life. You’ve been close with Severus for a year and a half now. I guess I’m a little surprised that you never talked about it with him before now.”

Miranda snatched her hand out of Rachel’s like she was snatching it out of a fire.

“We don’t talk about things like that. Never have,” she shrugged.

“What do you talk about?”

Rachel was the only person of Miranda’s acquaintance who could have asked that question without sounding accusatory.

“Everything else. Books. Music. The exceptions to Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration. If it’s possible to actively choose to be a nihilist. I’ve told him lots of funny stories about school and growing up, and he’s told me a few of his own that were obviously curated not to make him look like an idiot. I mean, I did enough investigating when I met him to put together a decent timeline of his life, and I’m sure he’s done the same to me, but we’ve never actually talked about any of it.”

“Spying on each other, how romantic.”

“Well, maybe it is.”

“I wasn’t judging. How do you manage to keep up a relationship if you don’t talk about anything personal?”

Miranda bristled. “Not everyone is perfect like you and Aaron. Some of us have been through a lot of shit and we don’t want to talk about it.”

Rachel absorbed the blow stoically. “Talking about things is part of how you heal from them. I know, because Aaron and I aren’t perfect, and we’ve been through our share of shit too.”

“I’m sorry, that wasn’t fair of me to say.”

“It’s okay, I understand.”

“I just don’t know if I can stand to talk about any of this with Severus. I can’t even talk about it with you, and you’re the nicest person in the world.”

“I don’t know about that," Rachel laughed. "I’m not going to tell you what you have to do, but I don’t see how you can stay with Severus if you don’t talk at least a little about important things like this.”

“Maybe I don’t want to. I was doing fine on my own.”

“You were in a lot of ways.”

“Why am I sensing a but at the end of that statement?”

“Because you’re prescient. I guess I got the impression that lately you seemed a little more stable than you used to.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean that after David and Isaac passed, you seemed a little out of control. Almost like you didn’t care what happened to you—or maybe you even wanted to die. There was a wildness that was even more reckless than your usual wonderful, impulsive self. But since I’ve seen you with Severus, it’s seemed, to me at least, that you didn’t need to push yourself to cope anymore. You didn’t need to stay out all night for weeks on end, or chase danger constantly. There was an alertness about you, like you were waking up for the first time in a long while.”

“I don’t know if I want to wake up,” Miranda admitted quietly.

“I don’t blame you, it’s scary. But think about it before you make any final decisions.”

Miranda put her head in her hands and blew out the breath she’d been holding. “Why do you always have to make so much sense?”

“It’s a personal failing. I’m not saying that you have to stay with him, and I’ll support you either way. I just want you to be sure, whatever you choose.”

Maggie’s shrieks of laughter reached them, and they looked up to see her splashing into the fishpond, clothing and all. Rachel darted off the bench after her, and Miranda slumped back listlessly, wrung out by the warring emotions that were fighting for her soul. She supposed that she would eventually listen to whatever Severus had to say for himself.  But she had no idea where to go from there, and it scared her. Losing David and Isaac had nearly killed her, and she’d promised that she would never put herself in that sort of vulnerable position again. And yet, here she was, in love with an ass of an Englishman who was in danger up to his eyeballs.

God, what an idiot she was.

*****

In spite of Minerva’s orders, as sundown approached on the night of the full moon, Severus, Tonks, and Remus were missing one American witch. The three of them were gathered in one of the decaying bedrooms of the Shrieking Shack, and Severus was doing his best to ignore the montage of vile memories that simply standing in the cursed place brought to the fore of his mind. Remus was pacing like the caged wolf that he was, while Tonks looked on, her hair flashing from mousey brown to a dull red as her temper grew thin.

“Looks like the Yank got cold feet,” Tonks said irritably.

“She’ll show,” Remus replied. “You don’t know her.”

“And you do?”

“Well enough to know that she’ll show.”

“Well, if she doesn’t…”

“That’s enough, Tonks.”

Tonk’s hair flamed bright red for an instant at the rebuke, but as the door clanged open to admit the American in question, she crossed her arms and checked her retort.

“Sorry. Something came up,” Miranda said as she came into the room.

“Do I need to know about it?” Remus asked.

Miranda shook her head. “No, just another customer who thinks his time is more important than mine. What’s the plan?”

“You shift to animagus. Severus and Tonks put themselves out of reach, but not too far, and we hold our breath,” Remus explained.

Miranda’s eyes darted briefly to meet Severus’s, and he wondered if she’d delayed her arrival to avoid speaking with him yet again.

“Thrilling.” Miranda gave Severus and Tonks a mocking salute, and as her arm came down her body contorted and shrank until she’d become a bobcat before their eyes.

“It’s time, I can feel it coming,” Remus said.

“Dare I ask if you’ve remembered to take your Wolfsbane Potion?” Severus asked.

“Why do you think you’re both here?” Remus replied.

“Come on, Snape,” Tonks said, heading for the door.

Miranda the bobcat was prowling the floor, and Severus watched her until Remus started to groan with the pain of the impending transformation. With a frustrated snarl, he followed Tonks out of the room, throwing the door shut behind him and reinforcing it with a shield charm. When the barricade was ready, he pulled a Graeae’s Eye from his robes and began to thread it through the crack between the top of the door and the doorframe. It was a tedious job, requiring more than a little coaxing lest the cornea tear and render the thing useless. Remus’s howls had taken on a distinctly lupine tenor by the time he managed complete his task.  

“Are they alright?” demanded Tonks, hovering around his elbow and trying to share the end of the optic fiber (never mind that these contraptions were only designed for one person to use at a time).

“Nothing has happened yet,” Severus replied, resisting the urge to shove the witch out of his space, but only just.

The inhuman baying from the locked room finally ceased, overtaken by a deadly silence. Severus muttered a curse, as they had neglected to leave a single candle burning in the room, and the uncooperative moon was at the wrong angle to shed much light on whatever was happening within.

“Well?” Tonks said.

“Silence,” Severus ordered.

“You don’t have to be an arse about it. Give me a turn with the Eye and I won't have to keep asking you.”

“Precisely nothing is happening. Now be quiet.”

There was a scratching of claws across the wooden floor, and Miranda crept out of the shadows towards Remus. He snarled at her and snapped his teeth, and she arched her back, hissing and spitting. Severus’s wand was in his hand, and he was about to fling open the door, when Remus lowered his head to the ground. Miranda padded over to him, rubbing her forehead against his, and Severus let out the breath he’d been holding.

“Snape!” Tonks said.

“It would appear that Lupin has decided not to devour Miss Rose,” Severus replied. “At least, not at the moment.”

“We should let them out then, before he gets too agitated.”

Severus was dreading this part of the evening, but there was no avoiding it now. “Indeed.”

“Don’t look so glum, Snape,” Tonks said as she took up her broom and started down the corridor. “It’ll be fun.”

“I don’t have fun.”

Tonks’s mocking laugh followed her down the stairs and out of the Shack. Severus began counting the seconds until he might be reasonably sure that the Metamorph was in place. The werewolf and the animagus were beginning to prowl about the room irritably, but they thankfully made no move to vent this irritation on each other. Yet.

“Merlin, watch over her,” he murmured, and flicked his wand to open the window inside the room.

The captives bounded out to freedom almost the instant he’d opened the way. Heart pounding, he hastily wound up the Eye, unbarred the door, and dashed to the window. Remus and Miranda were loping towards the forest at break-neck speed, with Tonks keeping pace overhead on her broom. He swung out of the window and onto his own broom, which he gripped nervously in his white-knuckled fists. Flying on a broom was awkward and unwieldy; nothing at all like the thrill of unsupported flight. Unfortunately, unsupported flight was far too draining to use for an entire night’s watch. Especially if he might be called upon to subdue a werewolf.

He caught up to Tonks and the lunatics below as they entered the edge of the Forest. Remus and Miranda were bounding around like playful puppies, chasing each other through the underbrush and over the fallen trees. Tonks was watching them with an oddly benevolent expression on her face, and she even smiled at Severus when he drew his broom up next to hers.

“It’s nice to see him happy,” she said. “Being alone during the change is so hard on him.”

“If he takes it in his head to eat Miss Rose, I shall think his happiness comes at too dear a price,” he replied.

Tonks bristled. “That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?”

“If he’d taken the Wolfsbane, then it wouldn’t be an issue. But, then, he’s always been careless about such minor details as endangering the lives of others.”

“For someone who’s as familiar with the Wolfsbane Potion as you are, I would think that you’d understand that the side effects of it are nothing to scoff at. If I were in Remus’s shoes, I wouldn’t be so quick to swallow it either.”

With this she shot off into the forest, and he swung his broom in a wide path around her, fuming at her foolish words. He was well aware of the drawbacks of the potion—nausea, weakness, confusion—and he knew that taking it made experiencing the transformation to wolf all the more painful. But allowing a werewolf to romp freely, devouring people who wandered into his path was simply not acceptable.

It was a long and tedious night—though thankfully, an uneventful one. The greatest excitement came when Remus and Miranda felled a deer to feast upon. It was freezing and Severus spent many hours numb from the cold and the effort of maintaining his seat on his broom. Tonks refused to speak to him, for which he was grateful.

Dawn came darkly in the forest, its rosy hue obscured by the dense tree branches overhead. The first indication that they had of its approach was Remus’s whimpering. Miranda scampered to his side, and he snapped at her at last, missing her leg by a whisker. Severus was on the ground in an instant, and only the knowledge that Tonks was watching kept him from sending a hex in retaliation. A potent brew of fury was bubbling up through his veins, fed by innumerable slights and hurts—but he restrained himself to casting a Shield Charm strong enough to shove the werewolf back. Miranda hissed at him, but he ignored her, outwardly calm and immovable as a statue, whatever the turmoil of his heart.

Within seconds, Remus was contorting back into human form, and Severus lowered the now unnecessary Charm. Tonks landed lightly beside him, and for once the werewolf did not protest her affections as she helped him gather himself back to some semblance of order. Miranda shifted up to her natural form behind Severus, only to fall back heavily against a wide tree trunk, gasping from the long night’s effort.

“See,” she said between pants, “everything was right as rain.”

“You did well,” Remus agreed, his eyes glinting at her across the forest path. “I think you’re ready.”

“I told you I was. Now go get some rest.”

He gave a weary laugh. “Yes, mother. Let’s go Tonks.”

Tonks gave Severus and Miranda a parting glare as she and Remus vanished with a loud crack that startled the birds from their nests. Severus and Miranda were alone at last for the first time since his horrific blunder, and for a moment he was unsure what to do with the boon.

“I’m not afraid of you, you know,” Miranda said, breaking the uneasy silence.

He turned slowly to face her and felt his lip curve into a bitter smirk. “Obviously.”

When she did not attempt to stand, he hesitantly came to her and knelt by her side. Her gray eyes were hard with anger, but he did not look away from them. He pulled a chilled vial from his robes, and held it out to her, a peace offering, if a paltry one.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“A variant on the Strengthening Solution. Minerva mentioned that staying so long in the animagus form would be taxing for the first few times you attempted it. This should mitigate most of that trouble,” he replied.

She stared at him silently for so long that he began to believe that she was going to refuse his efforts, and he tried unsuccessfully to swallow this rejection. But then she reached out and took it, drinking the amber liquid without further question. He knew that within minutes she would be well enough to flee from him. It was time to say whatever he had to say to her lest the opportunity never pass his way again.

“Miranda, I wish to tell you how deeply I regret what passed between us at your cabin a week ago,” he said, his words raw with forcing them through his clenched throat.

“That’s nice,” she replied. “Seems to me that if you regret it so much, you might have avoided doing it in the first place.”

He bent his head, accepting the words as a blow. “I am aware of that. I find it mortifying to have made such an amateurish mistake as believing Dragnea’s words without investigation. If I had performed even a cursory search, I might have spared us both much grief."

This appeared to be the wrong thing to say.

“That’s it? You’re sorry because you’re embarrassed? You’re a real peace of work, Severus.”

“No!” he protested quickly. “I’m sorry because I hurt you. I…ought not to have done it.”

She blinked at him, stunned. “Did you just apologize?”

“I believe that is what it is called in the vernacular.” The bite of sarcasm was creeping back into his voice, his only shield against his impending doom.

“No, shh,” she said, laying a finger over his lips. “Don’t say anymore, you’ll ruin it.”

He hadn’t realized until this moment how starved he was for her touch, and when she pulled her hand away from his mouth it took every ounce of his will to restrain himself from leaning towards her in an attempt to maintain contact.

“I accept your apology. I forgive you, even. But that doesn’t change the fact that it happened.” Her eyes dropped to the empty vial in her hand, and when she looked back at him, they were full of sorrow. “The truth is, we have some serious problems. And I don’t know if they’re worth fixing.”

“I see.” Dread was opening its loathsome maw beneath him, and he was in free fall.

“I’m not sure you do.” She handed him back the vial, and he closed his fingers mechanically around it. “I need some more time to think. I’m leaving for a gig in Ireland on Monday. When I get back, we can talk and decide what we’re going to do.”

“I don’t like it.”

“I didn’t expect you to. We don’t have to talk about it at all; I’m not going to force you. I’m just telling you what I need.”

Part of him wished to tell her to go to the devil to spare himself the agony of waiting; but his desire to cling to whatever scraps of their association she might deign to give him was stronger still. He was trapped, and he knew it.

“As you like.”

“Thanks, I know that probably wasn’t easy for you to say. I’ll see you when I get back.”

“Yes, you will.”

Her face softened briefly, and then she closed her eyes and vanished like the morning mist that burns away under the harsh light of day. Severus knelt on the forest floor for a long time after she was gone, his body far too heavy to move. The worst of it was, he’d dug this grave with his own two hands.

He had no one but himself to blame.

*****

libera nos a malo masterpost+ Unstoppable Force/Immovable Object masterpost+

<< Chapter Seven+

Chapter Nine+ >>

[violaswimmer]

Apologies - A Witcher Fanfic

Jaskier, having been told to never appear in front of Geralt of Rivia again, tries to distract himself from losing a decade long friendship. But as Jaskier vows to avoid Geralt as he requested, destiny has other plans.

"You can't keep doing this, Jaskier." Calpurnia said for the third time that week. Or was it the fourth? It was hard to keep track after so many ales. 

Jaskier nursed his fifth ale as he stared past Calpurnia's left ear. It wasn't his fault that he couldn't look into her eyes, she had far too many of them. Her green eyes danced away from his vision as her duplicates swirled around her. Her curly brown hair blended in with her pale complexion which was covered in freckles. Her white shirt left little to the imagination, not that Jaskier complained, she liked to look that way and he liked to look.

"I can do whatever I please, Callie." Jaskier stated and he hoped it sounded more convincing but was surely slurred. The look on Calpurnia's face suggested the latter. Especially realizing that he had said that to her chest. Calpurnia snorted at him as she tried to hide a laugh behind her hand. 

Jaskier went to roll his eyes but it caused the world to spin too much and he promptly laid his head on to his arm to make it stop. Normally Jaskier could hold his liquor better than men twice his size, despite his small stature. Years of drinking can give you that kind of ability (whether impressive or sad, that's up to you) but drinking pretty much nothing but ale for a week was causing some ill desired consequences. He groaned into his arm, the ale left the most terrible sour taste in his mouth. 

Calpurnia, bless her, placed a comforting hand on his back, rubbing it up and down. It made the world a bit more solid and a bit more gentle. 

"Come now, my dear and very drunk bard. Let me help you to your room." She said gently, already placing her arms around him to help him stand. 

Jaskier did his best to stand but noticed he wasn't doing a great job as Calpurnia kept a very steady grip around his shoulders. She had always been the strong one between the two of them so it wasn’t really a problem. The world could be very cruel to women, but Calpurnia refused to let it be cruel to her, her strength went far beyond the physical and Jaskier knew that well. 

The two of them made their way through the bar to a small set of stairs. The tavern was noticeably less full now, as it was quite early in the morning. The stairs were considerably more difficult as Jaskier’s spinning head did no favors to navigate them. Calpurnia made up for the lack of mobile ability but accidentally jammed one of Jaskier’s toes which he couldn’t feel anyway.

“Oops.” Calpurnia hissed, “Up you go.” She continued, guiding Jaskier up the final step as they entered the small, cramped hallway of the inn. 

Calpurnia fished through Jaskier’s jack pocket as he did his best not to fall over, retrieving the key to his room and unlocking it. She hefted his weight across the small chamber, the back of his knees hitting that bed as his body suddenly became horizontal which caused his stomach to protest quite violently. He had not laid down for more than a couple of seconds before he surged into a sitting position. Calpurnia shiftly produced the chamber pot which he promptly vomited into. Well there goes his dinner. 

After Jaskier’s stomach finally stopped it’s dry heaving, he sat back against the headboard with a moan. Calpurnia placed some pillows behind him and brushed some hair from his forehead, her touch was soothing and he leaned into it.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered. She continued to gently pet his hair. 

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, we all have our moments.” She assured.

“Not a weeks worth, not a months worth. I’m a mess.” Jaskier sighed, opening his eyes to look at her. 

She still spun, but her green eyes were in focus. He loved her eyes, like grass in the height of summer with little flecks of gold in the center. He loved her little freckles too, like little stars across her skin. She wasn’t the most beautiful woman Jaskier had met. She had too many muscles, too many scars, her hair was never brushed, her lips a bit too small and her nose a bit too big. But she was beautiful, sincere, kind and strong in ways that Jaskier rarely saw in others. 

“You’ve been hurt, you’re in pain, it’s a normal reaction considering the circumstances.” She reasoned.

“Right, having a man tell me to fuck off is enough reason for this behavior. I’m acting like a spoiled child…” He complained, pushing himself into a better sitting position. Calpurnia’s hand hovered a moment before dropping back into her lap. She eyebrows furrowed together.

“It wasn’t nothing Jaskier! You and Geralt have been friends for over a decade, you two were very close…” She reasoned.

“He didn’t think that, apparently.” Jaskier grumbled.

“You were! You always said that Geralt wasn’t good with his words. It would stand to reason that he would be bad at navigating relationships too.” Calpurnia continued, her hand reached out and grabbed Jaskier’s hand and held it lightly. 

“I don’t think he meant what he said. But either way what he said to you was wrong. You didn’t just cause him grief Jaskier, you aren’t to blame for the things that cause him plight.” She reasoned. 

Jaskier looked at their hands. Calpurnia was good at this bit, comforting people, reasoning with them when they were being unreasonable. She hadn’t always been, and he had done his fair share of comforting her in the past. Part of him wanted to give into the fantasy that Geralt would come to him one day and say he was sorry, that it was all a mistake. But she didn’t know the White Wolf, or the way he had looked at Jaskier that day. 

If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!

Even though it had been so long, a month almost, the words still stung every bit as when they were first said. Jaskier really had thought all this time that Geralt viewed him as a friend, but perhaps he only saw him as a nuisance. Perhaps Jaskier was the one who was mistaken. 

Jaskier smiled sadly as his vision got a bit too hazy, don’t cry! Calpurnia squeezed his hand.

“I wish that were true, Callie. I really do. But I think maybe I was mistaken. Maybe I thought we were friends, or companions or whatever you want to call it. I thought we were and apparently we weren’t.” He confessed softly, his voice a little shaky. 

“Oh Dandelion, I’m sorry.” Calpurnia whispered.

There was a pause as Jaskier registered what she said. He snorted, wiping his nose and looked at Calpurnia’s face who grinned. 

“Here I am, vulnerable, broken, depressed and you pull out that horrendous nickname! Ugh can we stop? It was one time!” Jaskier begged.

“One time is enough, my flower. I can’t believe you thought that eating a whole bucket would make your skin better.” She said with a laugh.

“Hey! There are benefits to dandelions in skin care! I was a teenager and desperate!” Jaskier protested.

“Yes when you put them in an oil. But when you eat them they are a laxative.” Calpurnia clarified, “You were chained to the privy for days it was all the temple talked about for weeks!” She giggled.

Jaskier opened his mouth to protest, or say a joke about how he probably lost five pounds due to the incident but Calpurnia continued to giggle and he ended up just watching her with a smile. When she gained control of herself she smiled at him too.

“It’s okay, whether or not it was a funny incident, I think dandelions suit you. They’re a bright yellow like the sun, and when their time is done their seeds are spread through the wind. Much like your stories, they live on and never truly die.” Calpurnia said, giving his hand a squeeze. 

And that of course caused his tears to return. 

“Seeds? I thought instead of stories you were going to talk about all my illegitimate children.” Jaskier laughed, though it was undermined by the tears going down his face.

Calpurnia snorted and smiled sadly as she wiped one of them away. 

“Alright, enough of that. Time to sleep, I’ll send up some water for you.” She said, pushing him onto the bed and promptly taking off his booths to tuck him in. She placed a kiss on his forehead, it reminded him of what a mother would do. His never did, but this was better.

“I love you, you know. I don’t know how you put up with me.” Jaskier said as she still leaned over him. She kneeled next to him for a moment to look him in the eyes and smiled. 

“I don’t put up with you, Jaskier. I love you, and I always will. Now, sleep, my flower.” She whispered. She brought the blanket up to his chin, blew out the candle on the nightstand and left the room. 

Jaskier closed his eyes, and for once his mind was not filled with Geralt’s voice but rather Calpurnia’s laughter. Even if he couldn’t see Geralt of Rivia again, at least he had Calpurnia and that was enough for him.

________________________________________________________________

When Geralt entered the tavern, it was approaching noon. He and Ciri were in desperate need of supplies, the journey to Kaer Morhen was long and the two of them needed to stock up before the rest of the journey there. Geralt came into the tavern with Ciri in tow, it was a dank place of wood and stone. A few patrons here and there, some of them stared, some of them didn’t. 

Geralt sat the two of them at a table, finishing out some coin. It had been awhile since he took a job, the coin would be enough for supplies but he wasn’t sure if he had enough to get a room for the night. He looked at Ciri with her new brown cloak, replacing the tattered blue one she had been traveling in before. She looked cold and exhausted, like she could really use a bed before they only camped for weeks. Geralt considered the options as two plates of food were placed in front of himself and Ciri. 

A woman with curly brown hair, light green eyes and freckled pale skin stood before them with a smile. She wore no armor, or so it appeared. But her corset was reinforced with hardened, studded leather, her pants had similar qualities. She carried two daggers and a long sword at her side. Notably, one of the daggers she carried was made of silver. Interesting, Geralt thought.

“We didn’t order this.” Geralt said. 

“I know.” The woman replied, pushing the plates to the two of them. Geralt halted Ciri’s eager hand as she went for the spoon.

“Ah, suspicious I see. Here, allow me then.” The woman said, reaching for the spoon in Ciri’s bowl, taking a taste of the beef stew in it. She swallowed, and seemed to be fine. She did the same with Geralt’s. She then gestured to the two of them, taking a seat on the opposite side of the table. Ciri looked at Geralt and once he nodded, dug into her food. 

Geralt on the other hand, didn’t proceed as eagerly, though he had a bite or two. The woman remained seated, watching them.

“And who am I to thank for a free meal?” Geralt asked.

“Calpurnia.” She answered simply, “Though it is hardly free.” Calpurnia clarified. Geralt smiled ruefully.

“It rarely is.” He replied. 

Calpurnia smiled as well, on closer inspection of her, Geralt noticed that she had an air of confidence. It wasn’t undeserved, even her long sleeves couldn’t hide the fact that she was well built. Her outfit and weapons were subtle enough that people would overlook her; yet they looked well used which suggested that she was not an opponent you would want in a fight.

“I’m here to ask for your help. You are Geralt of Rivia, yes?” She said.

“I’m not currently taking jobs.” Geralt clarified. She continued like he hadn’t spoken.

“It’s about a bard you were once traveling with…” She continued.

“I am not traveling with Jaskier anymore.” Geralt said. 

“For a witcher you’re quite chatty. Do you intend to continue to interrupt me? Or am I allowed to speak?” Calpurnia said sharply, like a mother scolding her son. There was a pause. Even Ciri stopped eating for a moment. Geralt pressed his lips into a hard line before grinding out.

“Please. Continue.” He growled. 

“Thank you.” She said with a smile before continuing, “Like I said, I’m here to speak to you about Jaskier. I’m a friend of his, and he’s in a bad way at the moment.” She said.

Geralt looked at her sharply.

“Is he hurt?” He asked, his voice not as calm as he would have hoped. Calpurnia shook her head.

“No, he’s fine. Well not exactly fine, he’s probably very hung-over.” Calpurnia said.

Geralt relaxed, and Calpurnia seemed to study his reaction. He shifted uncomfortably, trying to look nonchalant. 

“Well then he seems fine.” Geralt said, looking at the table instead of the woman across from him.

“Fine is a relative term. He’s been drinking himself to death since a certain someone said some choice words to him a month ago.” Calpurnia said sharply. 

Geralt’s eye twitched at her tone, it was angry with a hint of venom. This Calpurnia seemed to care for Jaskier very much, enough to confront a witcher she doesn’t know. 

“And what is it exactly that you want me to do about it? I’m a bit busy at the moment.” Geralt said, gesturing to Ciri next to him who was now cleaning her plate with a hard piece of bread.

Calpurnia bristled and leaned across the table, her green eyes grabbing his attention as they were lit on fire. 

“Listen here, Geralt of Rivia, you clearly care about Jaskier. That much was obvious when you thought he was injured and everytime I say his name you get a pained expression on your face. Now you aren’t the first witcher I’ve met, and you won’t be the last. I know perfectly well that witchers aren't stone cold monsters that people think they are. You feel just as much as everyone else, what you lack is a way to control it. So you hide behind a stone face and a cold exterior until all those feelings build up and explode at the first person you see when you’re hurt. This time it was Jaskier.” Calpurnia spat, her voice was low.

Ciri’s eyes were large orbs as she watched this woman, considerably smaller than Geralt give him a talking to. Geralt bit the inside of his mouth as he felt his own anger rise. But none of what she said was wrong, so he remained silent. 

“Now,” Calpurnia said, leaning back from the table, “What I want you to do is sit here and wait for poor hung over Jaskier to make his appearance.” She said, taking a swig of her ale. 

“He’s here?” Geralt asked quietly. 

“Yes, sleeping it off upstairs. Stay here, I’ll pay for as much food and drink as you and your companion would like. Just stay here, and talk to him when he comes down.” Calpurnia commanded.

“What… what if he doesn’t want to talk to me?” Geralt muttered. 

Calpurnia looked at him for a moment and smiled sadly. 

“Oh Geralt, Jaskier isn’t the type to be angry at you.” She said softly, “When a relationship falls apart, Jaskier always assumes he’s the one at fault. Even if he isn’t. Just wait for him, please.” She begged softly. 

Geralt looked at her and nodded. She smiled and stood going to the bar and placing down some coin. He heard her say that she’ll pay for whatever the two of them wanted before she left the establishment. Geralt watched her go, feeling strange, nervous and shocked at the conversation he had just had with a complete stranger. He was only pulled back into reality when Ciri tapped his arm. 

“Are you going to eat that?” She asked sincerely as she pointed to his food. 

He thought it over for a moment. 

“No.” He said, pushing the now lukewarm plate over to her. She ate it eagerly, though Geralt didn’t notice her, keeping a close eye on his pensive face, wondering who this Jaskier was.

________________________________________________________________

It was nearly an hour later when Jaskier finally made his appearance. When Calpurnia said he was in a bad way, she had not been exaggerating. His brown hair, which he normally kept clean and styled was a mess, sticking to his forehead in places and standing straight up in others. He was normally pale but seemed almost translucent in the early afternoon light which emphasized his unshaved face. He had dark circles under his eyes as they squinted in the general direction of the bar. His clothes were rumpled, and to Geralt’s surprise he was still wearing the red outfit he had seen him in last. Jaskier had more clothing changes than Geralt had horses, which was saying something. So to see him in the same outfit a month later was as concerning as the rest of his appearance. 

Jaskier walked to the bar, taking no notice of Geralt, sitting down as he requested a drink and some food. He laid his head against his arms as he waited. Geralt swallowed, turning to Ciri who held a cup of water between her hands.

“I’ll be right back.” He said. Ciri nodded and watched him go to Jaskier at the bar.

He stepped up behind him, Jaskier was quiet and unmoving. Geralt cleared his throat. Jaskier sighed, raising his head.

“Look, I’m hungover, I’ll sing for you in the ev-” Jaskier’s voice cut off in the middle of his sentence as he focused on Geralt’s face. There was a moment of complete silence between the two of them as they just stared at each other.

“Geralt.” Jaskier whispered. 

“Jaskier.” Geralt said, unsure of how to continue this conversation.

“I-I’m sorry, I should go and leave you to whatever business you have here.” Jaskier said quickly, standing quite abruptly.

“What?” Geralt said, “Wait, Jaskier.” Geralt begged as Jaskier continued towards the stairs, although he paused a moment.

“You made it quite clear that I was never to show myself to you again.” Jaskier clarified, continuing up a step, “I’ll just gather my things and leave you to- Shit!” He cried as he stubbed the same toe on the same step as last night. He really felt it this time. He placed a hand on the railing as he bent over his foot in a bit too much pain to move. 

Geralt hastily crossed the room so he was at the bottom of the stairs. 

“I- are you alright?” He asked.

“Yeah I’m fine, just give me a moment.” Jaskier sighed. There was a pause as Jaskier straightened but before he could continue up the steps Geralt spoke.

“I came to talk to you.” Geralt admitted, “I came to apologize.” He said softly. 

For several seconds there was silence, just Geralt staring at Jaskier’s back as he said nothing. Suddenly he turned around, looking at Geralt with a strange expression on his face. 

“Really?” Jaskier asked. 

“Really.” Geralt said, scratching his neck, “Would you like to join us? We can talk over there.” Geralt said, pointing to the table were Ciri sat. She waved. 

“Us?” Jaskier asked, looking at Ciri and whispered, “Is that the child of surprise?!” He hissed. 

“Yes!” Geralt hissed back, “Just, will you come please?” Geralt asked. 

“I- Um, yes. Please, lets.” Jaskier said, trying to regain his composure. The two of them went to the table and sat, Jaskier smiling at Ciri as he took the place that Calpurnia had sat not long ago. 

“Hello.” Jaskier greeted. 

“Hello, I’m um, Fiona.” Ciri said with a small smile of her own. 

Jaskier raised a brow at Geralt who gave a shrug as if to say, just go with it.

“Hello, Fiona. I’m Jaskier, it’s good to meet you.” He said sincerely, glad that she was with Geralt and not dead in Cintra as he had feared when he had heard of the fall. 

“Same to you.” She answered, taking a drink from her water glass. 

There was a pause until Geralt cleared his throat. 

“So um- I wanted to say that I was sorry for the things I said to you on the mountain. I didn’t mean it, I was frustrated and upset that Yennefer left and you were the first person I saw. So I just, let all my frustration out on you.” Geralt said, “But either way, it wasn’t right. I should have found you sooner to properly apologize, but I had to see to Fiona’s safety.” He clarified. Jaskier nodded.

“I understand, I mean it wasn’t like what you said wasn’t entirely valid. I had dragged you to that banquet and interrupted your djinn quest…” Jaskier said with a sigh.

“It doesn’t make what I said right. You didn’t cause what happened after, to happen. That was all my own decision, I was the one who invoked the Law of Surprise. It was I who made the wish, you did none of those things. It was wrong of me to blame you for it. I’m sorry.” Geralt said sincerely if sounding a bit unsure. It had been a long time since Geralt of Rivia apologized for anything.

Jaskier was silent for a moment before he smiled.

“I accept your apology.” He said. Geralt’s shoulders visibly sagged as the tension rushed out of him, he too smiled at his old friend. 

“How did you end up finding me anyway?” Jaskier asked, as the food he was ordered was placed in front of him as well as his drink. He thanked the barmaid as she left.

“I didn’t, we stopped for supplies and came into the inn for a meal when your friend Calpurnia approached us.” Geralt said, raising his hand at the barmaid and pointing to Jaskier’s plate. She nodded and returned to the kitchen to fetch Geralt some food as well.

“Calpurnia was here?” Jaskier asked between bites, “I thought she had already left for the day…” He wondered. 

“Yes, she said she’d pay for our food and drink if I agreed to wait for you and talk to you. I thought you’d be angry with me as well, so I hesitated to speak with you. Calpurnia convinced me otherwise. She left not an hour before you came down.” Geralt said, taking a swig from his drink.

Jaskier laughed.

“That does sound like her, I hope she didn’t leave town today. I should thank her before she leaves again.” He mused, continuing to eat. 

Geralt watched him a moment before he spoke, curiosity getting the better of him.

“You know her well, right? She mentioned I wasn’t the first witcher she’s met, she also carried a silver dagger.” Geralt asked. 

Jaskier smirked at him between bites.

“I thought Yennefer was your one true love?” Jaskier teased. Geralt glared at him, “Alright! I’m just kidding.” He laughed as he took another bite before continuing. 

“Calpurnia and I went to temple school together, she and I became fast friends. We parted when we graduated, I went on to University and she traveled for awhile. As I understand it, she met a witcher in her travels. The two of them were quite close and he gave her the dagger. Eventually they had to go their separate ways, but he promised to meet her again after a job in Temeria. He never returned.” Jaskier said sadly, “I was there with her, we met up in a tavern like this one. She waited and waited, for weeks. He never showed up. She was heartbroken. I think his name was Remus.” Jaskier finished. 

Remus, Temeria, Geralt thought before he remembered. The witcher who took the coin for the striga, Princess Adda and never came back. The one that Triss spread the rumor that he had ran off with the coin. Geralt closed his eyes briefly, feeling for Calpurnia in a way he wouldn’t have understood unless he was experiencing it himself. Yennefer was still missing, and it tore him to pieces. He couldn’t imagine going years without knowing what had happened to someone you cared about. When he opened them again Jaskier continued. 

“After that we traveled together, I tried to keep her mind off of it. We separated when I found you again. Honestly when I don’t travel with you, I’m traveling with her. She’s good company.” Jaskier said with a smile. 

As if destiny was playing a funny game, the door opened and Calpurnia stepped in. The tavern had a few more patrons present so it took a moment before she spotted the two of them, Jaskier waving her over. She grinned upon seeing them at the same table and made her way over quickly to meet them. 

“I hope everything is well?” Calpurnia said, eyeing Geralt. 

“Why yes it is!” Jaskier exclaimed, “I hear you have something to do with that?” He asked. 

“Nonsense, I just simply pointed Geralt in the right direction.” Calpurnia said with a smile. 

Geralt snorted, taking a swig of his drink. 

“I’ll need to repay you for the food.” Geralt said.

“No need, it’s a gift from a friend.” Calpurnia said. Geralt paused at the sentiment, but saw a genuine look in Calpurnia’s eyes. Jaskier watched the two of them as Geralt rummaged through his sack. 

“Then maybe this will do.” He said, producing the wolf medallion of Remus. He was going to return it to Kaer Morhen but perhaps it was meant to go to someone else. 

Calpurnia stared at the medallion, taking a rather rough seat on a stool by the table. Jaskier watched as a single tear came down her face.

“Callie?” He asked with concern.

She didn’t answer but reached out for the medallion as Geralt placed it into her open palms. 

“Where did you get this?” She whispered turning it over in her hands. Each medallion was nearly identical except for the back, which had carved into it the chosen name of the witcher. Calpurnia traced Remus’s name with her finger. 

“Temeria. I’m sorry to say that he died trying to save some workers from a striga. Though he didn’t know it was a striga at the time.” He paused, “Jaskier told me about Remus when I asked why you carried a silver dagger. When he mentioned it, I remembered that I still had the medallion. It’s yours. I’m sure he would want you to have it.” Geralt said softly. 

She pressed it between her palms, and held it over her heart. 

“Thank you. I never thought I would see it again. I never thought I would hear what had happened to him. So, thank you.” She said, green eyes glassy. She scrubbed her eyes and face with the back of her sleeve and smiled sincerely. She took the medallion and wore it, placing it underneath her shirt just over her heart. 

Geralt smiled at her as well, and Jaskier watched with a smile. There was a moment of silence before it was Ciri who spoke.

“I’m sorry Miss Calpurnia, but if you feel up to it… I’d love to hear how you and Remus met. Geralt never tells me about his work as a witcher.” She said. 

Jaskier looked like he was about to say something when Calpurnia interrupted. 

“I would love to tell you, Miss?” Calpurnia asked.

“Fiona.” Ciri answered

“Fiona, Remus and I met in a small village. He was a dark haired, handsome witcher with a gruff personality and a smoking pipe. And I was young and completely smittened. Earlier that week, a terrible monster had attacked the village. It liked to hunt things and seemed to be hunting a specific person. That person was me. You see I had been in the woods…” Calpurnia began, her tale spun of just enough imagination to make it exciting but enough truth to be believed, a skill she no doubt picked up from Jaskier. 

Food was brought for Geralt, and drinks were had. Jaskier watched Calpurnia as she told the tale to young Ciri, a tale he had never heard before. When Remus had disappeared so had his story, Calpurnia refused to speak of him, his disappearance too painful. But with the mystery solved, it seemed like Calpurnia couldn’t tell his story fast enough. Jaskier’s eyes were drawn to Geralt as he watched Ciri, who was enthralled by the story. He had a soft smile on his face, which he gave to Jaskier when he noticed him staring at him. Jaskier smiled back. 

He could make a ballad out of this. 

    - FIN -