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reunionatdawn · 9 months ago

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My Analysis of the Best Paired Endings in 3H (Part 18: AM Ingrid/Ashe)

Ingrid: …My father, too, brought up marriage proposals to ensure the family's survival numerous times. I had a fiancé when I was a child… But he passed away at a young age… Mercedes: If that fiancé were still alive… Would you have married him? Ingrid: Well… who knows? I can't even imagine it myself. But I do know that I admired him. A proud way of life as a knight serving the king. Even now, I've always wanted to be a knight like him. I want to live as a knight, not as a tool for the family's survival. Regardless of what my father says.

Ingrid was also a victim of Faerghus's patriarchal culture. She was sold by her father and engaged to Glenn the same year she was born in order to pass on her Crest. There's no question that she loved her fiancé dearly, but I suspect that her love was more like that of a sister toward a brother rather than actual romantic love. She wasn't sure if she would have married him if he had survived.

The Crest of Daphnel is associated with The Chariot arcana. The message is one of maintaining focus and confidence in the pursuit of your goals. It suggests that your strength and commitment is being tested by the universe, so don't give up or look for shortcuts. It also signifies the need to take action and move forward. Finally, it can represent a need to control your own destiny.

Dorothea: I could never hand over my lovely Ingrid to some jerk who only wants her for her Crest. Ingrid: Oh? Do I belong to you now, rather than to myself?

Ingrid's paralogue was about her and Dorothea's contrasting views of marriage. Ingrid was not looking for a provider. Even though she needed the funds, she wanted to belong to herself. Not her father, not her brothers, not a husband. She didn't want to marry a man she wasn't in love with for a dowry. Knighthood was the only way she could pledge her life to a man she chose for herself.

Ingrid: [W]e hardly ever played together. The age gap was just too great. My eldest brother in particular was incredibly strict with me. Whenever I would try to go horseback riding through the hills, he would say… "How dare you do something so dangerous! What if something happened to you?!" What's worse, my father agreed with him. It kept me from getting out on too many adventures as a child. Thinking back on it, I understand their concern. I was the only one in the family to bear a Crest, after all.

Ingrid was also not looking for a protector. She wanted to live an active adventurous lifestyle protecting those she cared for. Knighthood was also a way for her to hold onto her childhood happiness. A time where she was truly free.

Felix: House Fraldarius has been the king's lance and shield for generations. Ever since the time of Kyphon, sworn friend of the great King Loog. At times we've been sent to defeat the crown's enemies. At others, we've held back to defend the throne. I admit the style has its uses, idiotic history of blind faith aside.

Ingrid dreamt of obtaining knighthood and defending the king ever since she was a little girl. Growing up, she was obsessed with the book Sword of Kyphon which was about Loog's "sworn friend". The Aegis Shield is based on Greek Mythology. Rodrigue's middle name is "Achille". The writers were probably inspired by Achilles from the Iliad.

Ingrid: [Kyphon] was the very picture of the perfect knight. In my opinion, the best chapter is right around the middle of the book… Ashe: Ah, the part about the War of the Eagle and Lion? That's my favorite part! "In a flash, Kyphon's sword flew from its scabbard. The knight parried the assassin's blade mere inches from the spine of his king."

If so, Kyphon probably had feelings for Loog beyond just friendship. That may be why Ingrid identified with him. And it's also why she and Rodrigue (though he is the topic for a different post) idealized a knight's death so much. Ingrid didn't just want to serve her country. She wanted to serve as the lance and shield to a man she was in love with. And she was willing to make the ultimate sacrifice for him.

Ingrid: I want to serve as a knight and protect my homeland. I know this, through and through. It has been my truth for as long as I can remember. However, I feel that I should choose a path that would benefit my father. I was raised by him in a happy home, never wanting for anything, despite my family's meager finances. I owe it to him to choose a path he'd approve of.

AM!Ingrid was willing to completely give up on her dream and choose a path that would make her father happy. But she has an A+ Support conversation with Seteth that is exclusive to AM. He encourages her to talk with her father and he will respect her wishes.

Ingrid: But even if I do become a knight, I feel an unease deep within me. I fear I will never escape this guilt I carry. That I have shunned my duty as a noble. Byleth: Could you not find a way to do both? Ingrid: To follow both my dream and my duty? I…I had never considered that as an option. Perhaps there is a way.

The idea that she could be a wife and a knight never seemed to occur to her until Byleth suggested it. But that did seem to be the solution to her problems. She becomes a knight in every one of her AM endings, except when paired with Felix or Sylvain.

Ingrid: Oh, you mean the makeup? That's exaggerated. I just learned a bit from Annette. It's still trial and error… Hey Sylvain, do you think I've changed somehow?

In Ingrid's A+ Support with Sylvain, she was wearing makeup before heading to the training grounds. She didn't necessarily dislike looking her best, but she resented the social pressure to pretty herself up for men to "pounce" on. So, the fact that she was dolled up was uncharacteristic for her.

Sylvain: No, I'm not really flustered… I just got a little curious about the reason, is all. Ingrid: …The reason for the makeup, huh. What do you think it is? Sylvain: Well… Is it because of a guy? If we're talking about someone you might like, going by your past tendencies… Felix… No, His Highness also has a chance.

Sylvain was very flustered, suspecting it must be for a guy. His first assumption is Felix, due to her past history with Glenn. But Dimitri was another possibility.

Sylvain: It might also be because of the knights… Oh, wait, me!? Ingrid: I'll hit you. Sylvain: W-wait, I was just kidding! I'm against violence! Being too rough ruins a beauty, you know! ………… Uh, well. I-I mean, when I say "beauty," I'm not talking about flirting or anything, yeah! Ingrid: …Beauty, huh. Hehe.

He also suspected it might be for him, but Ingrid shut that down pretty fast. She was flattered by his compliment, but it was left very ambiguous whether she was wearing the makeup for him or not.

Ingrid: Usually, I wore men's clothing, ran around in the mountains with male friends, and played around. And then… After my fiancé's death, I definitely wanted to avoid anything feminine. Thinking, "There's no need to show it to him," and… I've been bound by something like guilt for a long time.

In the Japanese version of the Ingrid/Sylvain A+ Support, Ingrid mentioned that Annette had been helping her practice her makeup. Her Support with Annette was about how she felt guilty for looking feminine. The fact that she had finally changed her appearance implied that she was ready to move on from Glenn. So, I do believe that Sylvain was right, and she was wearing the makeup for a guy.

Dimitri: You displayed unwavering, excellent spear skills. Was there indeed some change in your state of mind? Ingrid: ...As I mentioned before, thanks to Your Highness, I can move forward.

In her A-Support with Dimitri, she said that she could finally move on from Glenn's death because of him. It even took place at the training grounds, the place she was headed to in her A+ Support with Sylvain.

Dimitri: Ah, yes, that's right. …What did that mean exactly? Ingrid: …I finally managed to accept the truth I've been avoiding for so long. Glenn must have felt deep regret. Yet, I myself didn't want to acknowledge it. I've been twisting his true nature, imposing my ideals, and averting my gaze… Dimitri: …I see.

The tagline for the game was, "Sweet memories twisted by time's cruel hand". Ingrid coped with grief by romanticizing the truth. She had to believe that Glenn died a picture-perfect death like the ones in her childhood storybooks, because the truth was just too horrible. Her Support chain with Dimitri was about realizing that she was projecting her own feelings onto Glenn.

Ingrid: …Your Highness. I won't sacrifice my life for anyone else. But, would you allow me to live for someone else, Your Highness? Not in the sense of throwing away my life—I want to dedicate my life to you. Dimitri: ...Hold on. How should I interpret that? Ingrid: …? However you please, Your Highness. Dimitri: Haha… "However I please," huh. …You win. Ingrid. Once this battle is over, I want you to… As a knight, I want you to support me. …I've been meaning to say that for a while now. We seem to get along well. Ingrid: …As a knight? Uh, um, no! It's nothing! Of course, even without being told, I was planning to fight for you… and, um, for my country.

Ingrid's offer to pledge her life to Dimitri as a knight was essentially a marriage proposal as well. She won't even make a wish with Byleth at the Goddess Tower. And this is actually the ONLY A-Support where her feelings are unambiguously romantic. She dreamt of being a knight to be close to him. If she married Dimitri, she knew she could fulfill both her dream and her duty to her father. Therefore, if you're playing AM, I believe that Ingrid was wearing the makeup for Dimitri.

While Ingrid's feelings were very clear, Dimitri's response to her "proposal" is a lot more ambiguous. He did not ask her to be his wife like she was hoping, only to become his knight. It could be interpreted as him just being shy. Or it could be interpreted as an awkward rejection. Based on Ingrid's sad expression, it did seem like she interpreted his response as him letting her down gently.

Felix: So… He's finally shown his true face. The same Dimitri I've seen once before—a beast who loves spilling blood. Ingrid: You're wrong! I'm sure of it. There has to be an explanation…

Ingrid probably did the same to Dimitri as she did to Glenn. She was holding onto an idealistic childhood fantasy and could only see him as he was when they were kids, even though he had changed. She was in complete denial of his boar side. Dimitri was willing to throw away his childhood friends' lives at Gronder Field, including hers. He did turn his life around thanks to Byleth, but it wasn't surprising to me that he didn't feel comfortable accepting her marriage proposal.

Dimitri: If you're willing, would you like to go together? Of course, if you still feel hesitant, I won't force you… Ingrid: …No! Please, let me accompany you. It's embarrassing, but I probably would have hesitated to go alone. But with you… I feel like I can take a step forward without fear. Dimitri: I see. Alright, let's not waste any time. Allow me to treat you today, Ingrid.

In Hopes, Dimitri was able to help Ingrid face the reality of Glenn's death sooner and move forward. We even learn that she wanted to go to the castle to support him after the Tragedy of Duscur, but her father wouldn't let her. Dimitri always did want a girlfriend and he actually seemed very interested in Ingrid in Hopes. She gladly accepted when he offered to treat her to a meal.

Sylvain: Alright, then. Let me help you out… let's have a meal. My treat, miss. Ingrid: Wait a minute. Are you trying to flirt with me? I thought you'd matured. Sylvain: Oh, come on… I'm just trying to be thoughtful. Don't turn down a kind gesture, or you'll regret it. Ingrid: …I suppose you're right. Thank you for your consideration, Sylvain.

It's worth noting that in their Hopes A-Support, Sylvain also offered to treat her to a meal. She was more than happy to eat on his coin, but only if it's not a date. While Sylvain is often viewed as the "canon" love interest for Ingrid, I didn't really see any evidence that her love for him was anything other than sisterly. She was so fed up with his sexism that she took her annoyance with him out on Claude.

They made the Ingrid/Sylvain A+ ambiguous enough for you to view Sylvain as her love interest if you want. But they also left it open for Dimitri and there's more evidence that he was the one Ingrid had romantic feelings for, even if she never thought marrying the king was possible. I think that in the Hopes timeline, they probably would have ended up together. But in Houses, Dimitri was just too different.

Ingrid: As you said, situations change whether we like it or not… Nobody can stay the same. Of course, neither you nor I are exceptions… It's just that, I feel a little lonely because of it.

In VW, Dimitri is assumed to be dead. However, a recruited Ingrid still runs away from home in order to become a knight. So, her childhood dream was not solely related to her feelings for Dimitri. She wanted to go back to the past.

Ingrid: My friends and I used to explore the countryside together when we were young. I dearly miss those days.

Ingrid was a tomboy who loved playing outside, getting dirty, and going on adventures. In Hopes, her central conflict was not just about marriage but also about the fact that she was inevitably going to lead House Galatea. She hated desk work and was dreading the changes that would inevitably come along with adulthood and becoming a count, doing mountains of paperwork.

Ingrid: Knights, I suppose. I do what I can to live like one. And I hope to die like one too…when the time comes.

If Shez takes Ingrid out on an expedition and asks her what she likes, her response is quite disturbing. Even though she had given up on her dream, she said that she was still planning to die like a knight, implying that she was hoping to die during the war. And in SB, she dies like a true knight, just as she hoped.

Dimitri: At the Tragedy of Duscur, I saw countless corpses. Of course, I saw his too…Glenn's. Ingrid, I doubt you would have been able to see him. They were unable to bring his body back, after all. He must have died an agonizing death, full of pain and regret. That is what I saw in his face. Ingrid: … Dimitri: In that wasteland, there were no beautiful, proud deaths that could have been written about in heroic tales. Not one. I do not want you to die a death like that. Not even for the sake of loyalty or duty.

Glenn was Dimitri's best friend and even he died with a heavy heart. But Ingrid actually was content to die protecting Dimitri. And I'm sure her romantic feelings for her king played a role. Symbolically, she dies at the Silver Maiden (named after a pure maiden that is hard to penetrate). But I cannot help but suspect that her romanticization of a knight's death was also influenced by the fact that she was not looking forward to her future as a tradwife and Count Galatea.

Gilbert: Once you don the armor, raise your shield, and level your lance… Why? What is it you wish to protect? Ashe: Protect? I, um… Well, whatever needs protecting, right? Gilbert: You must know exactly what you protect before you become a knight.

Like Ingrid, it was Ashe's dream to become a knight. He wanted to be like his adoptive father Lonato, who he thought was the very model of chivalry. And his character arc was about how to come to terms with Lonato's death.

Ashe: I don't think that friend who protected you threw his life away because he was a knight. He just wanted to save his best friend. Dimitri: Even if it meant destroying futures that might have come to pass had he but lived? Ashe: Look, I don't know if what he did was right. So if you're asking me not to throw my life away, I promise that I won't. But I don't think it's wrong to fight to the end for someone that you love.

Ashe gets some pretty interesting development in Hopes. He becomes a knight to House Blaiddyd, just like in his AM paired ending with Ingrid (it's actually the only ending where he becomes a royal knight). He has a rather naive and rosy view of chivalry, while Dimitri has a more cynical view. Ashe agrees with him, but he does respect the idea of fighting to the end for someone he loves.

Ashe: I'm glad Lonato made it out safely, but… But we killed Ingrid. I can't ever go back, can I? There's no place left for me in Faerghus. Whatever part of me that was a knight is dead.

And he clearly needs that kind of personal motivation. Outside of AG, Ashe is one of the only Lions who has the option to defect from Faerghus. In SB, he wanted to protect Lonato. But his primary motivation in GW was to save his own life. Becoming a knight was one thing, but it turns out living up the ideal was a lot harder. Ingrid is the one who takes his betrayal the most personally. And when she is killed, the part of Ashe that was a knight dies along with her.

Gilbert: Lord Lonato took up his sword for his son. Even if that meant turning his back on the goddess… As a father, I cannot condemn Lord Lonato for raising an army. Yet, perhaps he too lost sight of what should be protected. Just as I did. Ashe: I don't understand what you mean. What should Lonato have protected? Gilbert: You, Ashe. Because you are also his son. Ashe: You're right… I think I know what I need to protect now.

Ingrid didn't just want to follow orders. She wanted to protect those she loved. And Gilbert told Ashe that to he needed to know exactly what he was protecting when he became a knight. He needed something personal; the way Gilbert had his family. Ashe wanted Lonato to live on through him.

Ashe: Um, anyway, I just… wanted you to smile. Ingrid: …Thank you, Ashe. You're encouraging me. Certainly, living as a knight may not be an easy path. .…We may be forced to live while bearing great pain and regret. But… I want to continue pursuing that dream. Talking with you makes me feel that way. Besides, giving up easily isn't like me at all.

And that's what A-Support with Ingrid was about. Lonato changed Ashe's life with a book. And Ingrid was encouraged to carry on her dream and Glenn's legacy thanks to the book Ashe gifted her. I also think he'd be able to help her move on from Dimitri, too. That's why I think these two characters complement each other's character arcs the best and are indispensable to each other as knights.

Ingrid & Ashe After the war, with a new king ascending the throne of Faerghus, Ingrid left House Galatea and joined the royal capital, Fhirdiad, to serve the royal family as a knight. Likewise, Ashe departed from his homeland of Gaspard and chose the path to become a knight of the royal family. Devoted to the future of the Kingdom, they took on any duty to protect the king. Eventually, they were praised as the "Twin Pillars of Knights" and left their mark in many tales of chivalry. In some stories, they are depicted as a loving couple. While the truth remains unknown, it is certain that they fought together until the end of their lives and were each other's inseparable companions.

In Ingrid's ending with Ashe, she lives out her childhood dream. She and Ashe even get a cool nickname similar to the Ferdibert ending. Ashe is known for his boundless courage and devotion. He is the picture-perfect knight from the story books, completely different from the cowardice he displayed in Hopes.

While the Japanese version does not mention marriage, it is implied that Ingrid and Ashe spent their loves together as lovers. Still, it is left up to interpretation. Outside AM, they explicitly fall in love and get married, so I have no reason to believe they weren't lovers in AM as well. But the point is that Ingrid went down in history for her own accomplishments, not just as someone's wife.

#fe3h #fe3h meta #ingrid brandl galatea #ashe duran #ashegrid

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cmcsmen · 2 years ago

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Dying With Dignity

By Bishop Joseph N Perry of Chicago

Dying with Dignity is a touchy phrase these days – often repeated but interpreted in radically different ways. For some, dying with dignity means to be able to die without any pain and not having to depend on anyone. Once you reach the point of not being able to take care of yourself or the point where, in your estimation, you are humbled, you should be able to die with dignity while remaining in control of your destiny and all things around you – if your mind is still ok – until you breathe your last. Dying with dignity means still to some others the personal choice to end one’s own life either by your own hand or with the help of someone else. The late Doctor Kevorkian’s assisted suicide to a number of people received huge headlines in past years and had become an explosive moral and civil law question.

The Church does not believe in assisted suicide. The Church does not see rhyme or reason to take one’s own life no matter how rough the pain of life might be. We all climb Mount Calvary in one way or another. And our Good Fridays vary with their pain, no doubt. Nevertheless, the Church and its members harbor great sympathy for those who go the way of suicide and the loved ones they leave behind while we beseech Almighty God for his mercy within the Church’s prayerfully-rich funeral rites. In every instance of a suicide a lot of questions are left unanswered. We see life as a precious gift of God that belongs to God and therefore has to be honored beginning with life in the womb up to and inclusive of senior age. To do anything directly to provoke death is nothing close to an honorable act, as the Church sees it. To inject a person with a substance that ends their life is wrong. The Church believes that is murder.

At the same time, the Church believes that we should allow ourselves and others to die when nature has taken its course. If machines are the only things keeping a heart beating or lungs breathing, the church believes that these extraordinary and often expensive means need not be used to keep a person pulsating indefinitely when it is medically confirmed that all brain activity has ceased. Extraordinary means this way can be chosen but need not be. When nature signals that it is time to die then we should allow a person to die. It is God’s Will that the person return to Him, why play a tug-a-war with God?

Sometimes, you have these situations where heaven is pulling in one direction and the family or medical personnel are pulling in the other, and so a person is suspended in limbo between heaven and earth, until and if someone recognizes the futility of the situation. In fact, you can sign to that effect before major medical procedures, to let me die naturally with dignity. If the brain and/or the heart or other vital organs simply stop working on their own, then by God, let God have me! The Church does not require us to bankrupt the family to keep loved ones alive when nature has signaled that we should return to God.

These things being the case, then Jesus did not die with dignity. In fact the scripture passages immediately leading up to the Feast of the Resurrection, events witnessed by the apostle John, indicate that there was very little dignity for Jesus in his last hours. He was taken, mistreated, his backsides ripped apart with whips having sharpened shrapnel at the ends, made to suffer humiliation and dragged through the streets carrying the instrument of his torture, spikes driven into his flesh and left to die by asphyxiation. Nothing could be farther from the dignity befitting a king. They did not break his legs, the Scripture tells us. This was a violent act to hasten the death of a person on a cross. When they came to Jesus they found that he was already dead so, as the apostle John witnessed again, an officer plunged a lance into his heart to make sure that he was dead and not simply in a coma. Thus, without knowing it, the scriptural passage that says, not a bone of his body would be broken, is thus fulfilled.

That was a brutal world with blood and gore and little respect for life, especially the lives of slaves and subjugated peoples. It is said that a recognized government has the right to issue the death penalty as a punishment for certain crimes. But, in this case, the victim was clearly innocent, having rather suffered a travesty of justice.

But, Jesus never denies who he is. He never stoops to lying or denying the work he has been about. He betrays no friends and never raises a hand to hurt someone else. He never does anything to run away from the suffering others want to inflict – the supreme irony – of the whole Passion narrative. Why does he submit while hardly opening up his mouth? Why does Jesus allow himself to be treated this way?

III

A theme of victimization consequently runs through the Christian story – our story. We are the doormats of the world. What we believe and stand for makes us the butt of jokes of late night TV shows and the subjects of ridicule and targets for the evil practices of the world. Hints as to the reasons for this script for Christians can be taken from the passage of Isaiah the prophet – the first scripture text of Good Friday Service. Faith does not really mitigate or dilute suffering. Suffering and even death are not the last word for the believer. Suffering can take away sin in our religious experience. Suffering can make up for a lot of things when it happens to come our way based on the sufferings of that first man, the God-Man, Jesus Christ. We thus have rich new ground with which to interpret our own agonies in life.

Suffering can be redemptive. Some of us are redeemers – saviors of some child, some spouse, saviors of some friend, some community or society or job, by what we suffer. The work of redemption continues in the bodily persons of us – Jesus’ disciples.

In midst of a dehumanizing passion, Jesus is the most humane person in this tragedy, not allowing himself to become the animal that others who want him dead have become. Good Friday in the Church calendar year is the feast of death with dignity. But it is not the meaning that the Kevorkians of the world propose. Jesus had the dignity to accept his suffering so that our suffering would be alleviated. We Christians can understand this kind of suffering – vicarious suffering, suffering so that another might live; suffering so that our children might have the things they need and grow to be the men and women of faith and responsibility we so sorely desire of them.

Perhaps, it is not suffering itself that needs to be feared and avoided at all costs. Some suffering is simply part of the human condition. Some parts of it we provoke in our making life miserable for another. Perhaps, what needs to be avoided is a death without dignity that pretends that suffering does not exist at all; a death without purpose. Jesus’ death is a sign that no suffering is meaningless when Jesus walks with us. No tears are wasted when Jesus walks with us. No pain is unnoticed by God when it is the pain of a believer.

#Passion Sunday #chicago #catholicism #male catholic spirituality #bishop joseph n perry

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chaemphler · 11 months ago

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Starborn pt1 - a first pass at writing a destiny love story

He wondered where they were going.

He had no clue. He simply sat in the back-seat, baby in his lap as she manoeuvred their way through the atmosphere. Through mountain ranges and over low underpasses; tresses of snow-capped valleys and swathes of static nimbi. Not that he had a perfect view; the ship was a two-seater, sure, but it was a linear two seater. Not a side-by-side pilot system, as that would be pointless for a guardian. Ghosts don't take up any space, and an wide ship doesn't have any advantages.

As clouds touched and shared their arc energy he felt the hair rise on the nape of his neck. He wasn't afraid; working in the tower had long since taught him that guardian ships where as sturdy as they were agile; capable of moves that would kill civilians and just as tough to boot. Guardian-rated fighters are made to handle the worst of the worst; the xeno and the dark, but in here she made it seem so safe.

Smoother than honey, fluid as silk. Her piloting had an almost laminar flow to it; conducting the orchestra of the ship's many systems through a calm and gentle stream of rising crests and banks as she brought us closer to our destination.

He still didn't know where they were going.

He supposed he would find out soon enough.

Lightning coursed through her eyes and sparks lanced between her hair and her chestplate, eyes turning to check on the bubba cooing in her husband's arms. The light in the arc energy must hav been resonating with her light, making it manifest outwardly he realised. She was completely unbothered, but it reminded him of just how powerful his wife was. Of course, the actual light caught the mother's instincts in plain sight on her face.

He supposed when you were a guardian, it was hard to come back and parent a baby. To swap from battle-born habits of twitchy, aggressive reactions to then try to be the exact opposite towards the one person they can't afford to treat wrong. Her saw her struggle, and he was going to let her figure it out.

She was going to have to if this was going to work.

Still, Mark appreciated the concern born from love in his wife's eyes as she took a moment to just make eyes to their baby. Guardian or not, this woman was so in love with this baby. Couldn't stop fawning over her.

Couldn't stop giving her all to this new one in her life.

He loved her for that.

He loved her as she brought the ship around the last of the path, if the map was to be believed. Over sets of mountain ranges and out to the desert. Due to the scouring of Earth during the fall, what were evince deserts far too hot or cold to ever be a pleasant stay, but not so much nowadays.

The drastic change in climate meant that the deserts where much warmer at night, as the traveller's work and subsequent destruction of Earth had messed with the equilibrium of the place.

"Landing now." Her ghost piped up, the little light bouncing into view as it prepared for transmat lock.

"When we transmat, close your eyes." She lowered the landing gear and flicked a few switches, preparing the final stages of a set down for her ghost to take over.

"Honey I don't like this, where are we?"

He knew he sounded tired, he knew he sounded distrusting, and to be fair, he was all these things. It had been a long few months.

She didn't respond immediately, but the tightening of her hand on the controls clued him in to her formulation for words.

"I wanted to spend some time away from the tower. I wanted to show you something" The ship came to a stop as the Hive-bane spoke without turning around.

"Please."

As the transmat began and all he saw was blue, he once again made his choice.

pt 2 soon ik it makes no sense i am working on it

#destiny 1 #fanfic #oc #momma guardian #guardian has family and now has to deal with it #my attempt at writing my hc

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caraspud · 4 months ago

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Rambly reply:

I think Merlin would be cautious around Mordred, since he becomes very paranoid and colder during the later seasons. Perhaps Mordred brings some of the older Merlin back (for the merdred).

Merlin wouldn’t want Mordred around Arthur, not just because paranoia, but because he can’t bear to see someone else be killed for magic. By keeping him away it reduces the chance of him being found out. Merlin in my head has lived in a magic fearing community all of his life (both in Ealdor and Camelot), so he has a lot of trauma and has learnt to keep himself hidden. This is hard to overcome.

I think Mordred would be the more optimistic of the two. Merlin, though he does believe in destiny, I think he starts to lose faith that it would ever happen. Maybe mordred is the one to reveal his Druid nature to Arthur, Merlin being scared clutching a jug but ready to defend if necessary. Protective merlin. Merlin knows Arthur wouldn’t hurt Mordred, but he knows Arthur will regret it if he said anything to hurt the young knight. Overall Merlin has been hiding for too long to flip a switch and suddenly be ok with a lot of people knowing he has magic.

Mordred helps Merlin connect more with magic, years of self suppression difficult to overcome. Maybe after Arthur learns of his magic but Merlin still doesn’t use it making Arthur/knights question how powerful Merlin presumably is. Mordred doesn’t like this, makes them know how much merlin has done for all of them. If lance still alive au, Lancelot is very proud to welcome Mordred into the Merlin protection squad.

Early on Mordred is still worship-y about Emrys, this makes merlin very uncomfortable. So Merlin is distant with him about this as well. Eventually Mordred sees Merlin as a man who has the burden of destiny on his shoulders.

I think Merlin would give in and start going into the woods or abandoned room in castle or even the dragon cave to start practicing, this makes Merlin start to remember a time when he did magic for the joy of it. Not to protect, not to kill, not for destiny.

Maybe a grand magic reveal, merlin being a bamf. Mordred and the knights blushing messes at the show of power, and Mordred realising that holy shit he is Emrys. But realising that he is also just Merlin.

If the prophecy is still a thing that they don’t know about, that would definitely be a tension if they later find out after they become friends. I think Merlin would start building those walls again, Mordred trying desperately to get him to stop. But Merlin is just trying to protect himself. Maybe they discuss it, and Mordred shows how he wasn’t solely responsible for Morgana even if he did play a role. And that there were different points destiny could of changed. That destiny is not set in stone. This would also have Merlin spiralling into a whole “will Arthur ever play his part in the destiny I’ve been holding for us”. Answer either “I do not know” or “Your destiny is stronger as it has been told unchanged for far longer than any other”.

There was this one fic I read that had Merlin talk to Mordred about losing his own love to Arthur’s hand, and talks about Freya. It doesn’t get rid of the pain but it helps Mordred see he is not so alone and also of he sacrifice Merlin has already made. Merlin also talks of the prophecy, he does it to try to curb the prophecy.

Overall I think it would take Merlin a while to take his walls down, especially if this is set in a time where Lancelot still dies.

I always see people discussing the prophecies in Merlin about Morgana and the one about Mordred.

But now, what if [specifically right now] the prophecy about Mordred does not exist?

Or if it does exist, what if Merlin did not know about it and never found out?

What do you think could have changed?

What would have happened?

And for my Merdred shippers, what if the tension between them was this time not because of the prophecy?

#bbc merlin #mordred #merlin thoughts #merlin x mordred #arthur pendragon #merdred #the knights of the round table #merlin fanfic ideas #merlin #emrys reveal #magic reveal #merlin is a mess #merlin fic idea

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the-king-and-the-druidess · 2 years ago

Text

💀 SWEET TREAT 🎃

ArMor, drabble, inspired by flufftober prompt, step siblings, Modern AU, slice of life

"Do you know what day it is today, Arthur?" Morgana asked, approaching Arthur, who was nervously walking around the room with the phone in his hands, trying to get through to his father.

Her tone was seductive, she put her hands on his shoulders and squeezed them slightly, feeling the tension under his skin.

Arthur stopped.

"What day?" he blinked and looked at her uncomprehendingly, however enjoying her touch. "Don't tell me I forgot about our anniversary or something."

Morgana rolled her eyes and snorted.

"Today is Samhain, silly." She declared it as a matter of course.

Arthur shrugged and chuckled.

"It's your medieval witchcraft stuff again. And what does that mean?"

"Let's go," Morgana pulled him by the hand and put him on the sofa, and then, under his displeased exclamation, took his smartphone from his hands. "Uther can wait. So, Samhain is a special night when the border between the worlds is thin and all the dark and light forces are released free..." She moved closer to him, playing with his blond hair and shirt collar.

"I know what Halloween is, thank you, Morgana. What exactly do you want from me? You only treat me so sweetly when you want something from me," he bent down to kiss her, but Morgana dodged with a smirk, putting her fingers on his lips.

It was true, Morgana often used the effect she had on Arthur to push him on the right path...But in fact she loved him more than he guessed or she wanted to show.

"You can't feel the magic in the air at all, Arthur. But I do want," she took her hand away, "To have a costume party tonight. I've already rented costumes for us. Text to Merlin, Gwen and Lance."

"Seriously? Have you already ordered costumes without telling me?" Arthur was surprised, but did not object to the idea of having fan on Halloween eve. Morgana's love of cosplay amused him. "And who are you going to dress me up in this time?" He remembered how he was the most pathetic Dracula on earth, and she was his innocent victim. He is still embarrassed to look at these photos on her instagram although they have got many likes.

Morgana's eyes twinkled.

"Oh, the theme of the evening will be King Arthur's Court. And you will be him."

Arthur winced slightly.

"The King Arthur? It's banal choice, Morgana, plus I don't like all this duty and destiny stuff. I'm not thrilled with the idea."

Morgana chuckled.

"Your father wouldn't really like these words about duty if he heard them."

"Okay, okay, and who will you be?" asked Arthur, putting his arm around her waist and relaxing, "Queen Guinevere, I hope?"

"Of course not, I'll be the Witch Morgana, your evil sister who loved you so much..." Morgana pulled him closer to her and kissed him.

"Hmm, the plot like this..." Arthur muttered, blushing and tearing himself away from her. "And besides, didn't Lady Morgana want to kill King Arthur?"

"The one does not hinder the other, does it?. I know you'll like it," Morgana winked at him and put his phone in his hands again. "Settle everything with Uther and Mom, tell we are not coming out with them tonight, just come up with something."

She got up, intending to go to her room and order food and drinks for the evening from her favorite restaurant. "And text to Merlin, Gwen, and Lance," she repeated as she left the living room.

"I obey, my lady," Arthur replied, grinning after her. How could he refuse her anything?

#drabble #a work of mine again #arthur x morgana

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bitsandbobsofwriting · 3 years ago

Note

I love your writing and I am SO SO SO SO SO excited for Merlin is a badass part three!!!!!!!!

(Referencing This Series)

Thank you anon!!! I love you!!!

It's being written currently, though I'm focusing on Control Part 4 at the moment (that will be out sometime at the beginning of next week I'd imagine) then it's back to Badass!Merlin Part 3!!

To keep you going, here are some sneak peeks!!

Control Part 4:

“I don’t give a fuck about destiny or Albion right now, Merlin. I just want you to be happy and healthy because you’re my friend, and I love you. You are more than your fate, more than the strings that the Gods so cruelly wound around you; if you told me that you wanted to abandon it all right now and never look back, then I’d never look back with you.” Merlin finally turns to look at him, and Lancelot reminisces about the time when he wasn’t grateful to see tears in his eyes. His voice is barely a whisper, and if the knight thought his heart couldn’t crack any further... well, he was wrong: “I am alone in this world, this universe. You should go home, Lance. I know how much you want to. Just... leave.” The knight shakes his head and, without letting go of Merlin’s hand, leans over him to press their foreheads together. He decides that he will hold on to the spark of warmth that jumps from Merlin’s skin to his own in his memories forever: “You will never be alone, I won’t let you, and neither will Arthur, or Gwen, or Gaius, or Morgana. Neither will Gwaine, or Leon, or Percival, or Elyan. Not Freya, not Kilgharrah, not Aithusa. Not your people, nor your family, nor your friends. I won’t ever say I understand, none of us will, but we will never leave you. The world could burn, indeed you could be the one to burn it, and we would still stay with you. There’s nowhere I’d rather be than at your side. I love you, Merlin, you are my best friend, my brother; will you let me stay with you?” Merlin stills, and Lancelot worries momentarily that perhaps he’d stopped breathing again, but he shivers to life quickly, turning his hand over in Lancelot’s so he can grip back as he nods his head slightly: “Stay. Please.��

Badass!Merlin Part 3:

He (Merlin) lifts a hand to Mordred’s pale, sweaty cheek, lifting his head slightly: “Mor?-” He turns around to land a piercing stare on Lancelot, a hard edge to his voice: “-What’s wrong with him?” Lancelot nods once again, this time down towards Mordred’s wrists, still bound to the chair. Merlin frowns, glancing down at them with a clinical analysis; he lifts his other hand slowly, tilting his head as he assesses the runes etched into the metal. He only touches it briefly, but he quickly pulls his hand away as he hisses through his teeth. He looks over to Morgana, a desperate gleam in his eye, but she smiles and shakes her head. Merlin stands, but doesn't move away as he softly speaks: "Should’ve left the bastard alive a little longer.-" He says it to himself, but everyone hears and recoils slightly.

Hope y’all are excited!!! I know I certainly am!!! Control Part 4 is getting happier by the line, I promise, and I’ve got some really cool ideas about the coming parts of Badass!Merlin :D

#bbc merlin #sneak peeks #control #badass merlin #bamf merlin #merthur angst #update #i love you #send requests #send asks #asks #requests

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teamxdark · 4 years ago

Text

Mirror, Mirror

Based off of this little interaction between @damnitd and @silvermun a long time ago. It’s basically unedited, but the story I’ll end up putting on AO3/FFnet another day won’t be much different from this one here.

What can one do, when the heart is split in two? Where does one end, and the other begin? Where is the line drawn?

Or should it be drawn at all…?

Sonic stared at the twisted heap of metal on the kitchen counter, bisected by a sword, and tried his hardest not to scream.

“Lancelot,” he said, struggling to keep his voice even, “that was a toaster.”

The knight in question wrenched his sword from the mess, causing sparks to fly and little bits and bobs, both mechanical and breadlike, to scatter across the counter and fall to the floor. “It was burning up,” he explained gravely, “achieving heats far too intense for today’s weather. I could not trust it, and when it let out a scream, I had to act.”

“That ‘scream’ was an alarm,” Sonic snapped, too tired and hungry to deal with this nonsense. “That means that the toast is done and we can eat. Which we can’t now. Because you attacked the toaster.”

The dark hedgehog turned his sword over in his hands, and Sonic braced himself for his rebuttal, and then they would argue over who was in the right, but the knight uttered a soft, “I simply wished to protect you. I am still getting used to the complex machines of this era, and I cannot bring myself to trust them. I realize that this is… unbecoming of me, and an irritation to you. I apologize, and I will try my best to keep my impulses under control.”

Sonic let out his breath in a loud exhale. It was so easy to forget, still, that this wasn’t Shadow in front of him.

No one could quite explain how the switch had come to pass; one day, Shadow and he had parted ways, the sensation that there were still words left unspoken between them that would be better saved for another time, and the next day, Lancelot had been found in his place.

The knight was having trouble adjusting, to put it lightly. It had been weeks, but the advanced technology of contemporary times drove him to paranoia, and Sonic had seen many a monitor, vehicle, and appliance fall victim to Arondight’s wrath, much to Tails’ chagrin.

Worse, still, was that Lancelot refused to stay anywhere aside from Sonic’s home. The knight graciously declined Shadow’s place, leaving Rouge and Omega down one roommate, staying instead in any spare room he could find, so long as it was where Sonic was staying as well. Rouge had laughed it off, waving the knight away with a taunt that he was ‘Sonic’s problem now’, but the hero had seen the flash of hurt and worry in her eyes.

No one knew where Shadow was, or if he was ever coming back.

And now incidents such as these, with another appliance in pieces, were commonplace.

Sonic rubbed at his forehead, trying to put his buzzing thoughts together in his head before he spoke. “Lance, I get that you’re trying to protect me from my evil cookware and all that, but I don’t get why.”

The knight started, one ear tilting to the side in confusion. “Why would I not? I swore to do so, did I not?”

“No,” Sonic deadpanned. “You didn’t.”

That seemed to offend Lancelot, who let go of his sword for a moment to cross his arms. “I do not wish to speak out of line,” he said, sounding like he was struggling to remain calm, “but you are mistaken. A knight is loyal to the sovereign who knights him, until the last of his days.”

“But I didn’t knight you!” Sonic protested, at the end of his rope. “I’m not your king!”

In response, Lancelot pushed up his visor, and Sonic took in the set jaw, the way his pointed white teeth bared themselves in a snarl, by all means, the spitting image of Shadow, with just the smallest thing here and there that harshly reminded Sonic that the one standing before him was not the one he had spent so many years with. He saw it in the same set jaw, as it trembled with the effort to keep everything held back. He saw it in the snarl, which was more dismayed than hostile. Most of all, he saw it in Lancelot’s eyes, red and wide and so very expressive without the visor to shield them away.

Sonic was so used to seeing those eyes guarded, cut off from him, with only the smallest of opportunities to peek inside before they closed him out again.

Lancelot reached out, holding one of Sonic’s hands in both of his, delicately, like he was something infinitely valuable and the knight was afraid of sullying him with his hands. Sonic had only blinked when Lancelot dropped to his knees, his head bowed forward, and he heard him clear his throat before he spoke.

“You are him. You may not believe me, but I know it to be true. You are Arthur, my king, in this life and all others.”

Sonic sighed, unwilling to let this go but also not wanting to keep on this path of conversation, especially on an empty stomach. He tried to wrench away his hand, but Lancelot held tight, lifting his head, eyes ablaze with passionate certainty that made Sonic freeze in place.

He had never been looked at like that before…

"Every piece of you is the same,” Lancelot declared, his eyes unwavering, drawing in the hero and refusing to release him. “It is not only in image, either. I see it, I hear it, I feel it... It's more than just the body, the vision I see before me. You have his soul, free and unbound and hungry for adventure. You have his heart, strong and kind and noble. I see it in your eyes, you are him, you are who he would be if he were not burdened by his destiny! Don't you understand, Sonic? The only difference between you and Arthur are the memories you keep! You are him! You are him, and that's why I will follow you and protect you with my life. I gave you my vow, and I will not break it. No matter the time, no matter the life... I will stand by you until any and every version of us ceases to exist. That is my promise to you, as your knight!"

He said it so resolutely, so earnestly, that Sonic couldn’t find the words, nor the will to argue against him. In all his life, in all his wildest fantasies, Sonic could never have imagined those words, coming from that mouth, spoken in that voice… It was enough to get his heart pounding, that was for sure.

Sonic closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, but Lancelot’s hands clasped around his kept him anchored in this strange reality he was in. He didn’t like it; it had taken so long to get to where he had gotten with Shadow, so much time and effort and tenacity to get every last crumb from him, but Sonic had been adamant. He had wanted to break Shadow’s walls, to reach through, to understand him and be someone trusted and cared for. He had tried so hard, made so much progress… and now Shadow was gone, and in his place, Lancelot knelt before him, eagerly baring his soul for him without so much as a command.

Sonic would have been a liar if he said he didn’t like what he saw in Lancelot, either, but after all he had done for Shadow… it felt… wrong? Bad? In poor taste? Off, to be feeling similar flutters in the chest for a man who shared his face but not his past, nor his experiences.

Yet, as he opened his eyes and saw Lancelot still staring resolutely at him, as though desperate for him to understand, Sonic had to wonder if the knight had a point; Shadow had had amnesia twice, now. His memories had reset, but he had still been Shadow at his core. Sonic had never doubted that.

Did memories truly make a person who they were? And if so… were Lancelot and Shadow truly two different people?

Are you him? Sonic wanted to ask as he was burned alive by those eyes, crimson and intense, focused on him and him alone. Are you who he could have been if things had been different?

He wasn’t sure, but at least he could kind of understand where Lancelot was coming from.

Sonic heaved out an exhale, using both hands to pull Lancelot to his feet. “Okay,” he conceded. “Okay… but no more protecting me from my house or my friends. I’ll let you know when we’re in danger, okay?”

And Lancelot beamed, overjoyed, his teeth poking out through his lips and his eyes crinkling with happiness, and Sonic would be an even bigger liar if he denied that it was one of the most gorgeous sights he had ever seen.

Lancelot… I think I want to know you, too.

...

The sound of his pen scratching along the page was the only sound in the room. King Arthur sat back in his chair, stretching out his fingers, his eyes seeking out the room’s only other occupant, who was standing by with his back against the wall, looking displeased.

Shadow was silent, as always.

Arthur let out a breath, drumming a couple of fingers against his desk. “I cannot solve anything if you do not speak,” he finally remarked, much to the displeasure of the other.

“I don’t want to be out there with the others. This is the only room where no one barges in. That’s all.”

“Hm. Quite.”

It was mostly true, he supposed. Sometimes an advisor would poke their head in, but usually those weren’t the people Shadow was hiding from.

Arthur had started hearing the rumors a while ago; Sir Lancelot, his greatest and closest knight, and his longtime friend, was deeply in love with him. The rumors had followed him every day, and plagued him by night, as he wondered if they could be real, and wondered what he would do if they were real.

He had started to see and feel it, too. Lancelot’s habit of looking his way, his gaze, hidden behind his visor, lingering just a moment too long before he looked away again. The way his knight’s hand would remain on his person, his touch still warming him even after he drew his hand away. These moments had grown in number in the latest months, though their time together had remained fleeting, as the life of a king and the life of a knight were wrought with busy schedules and hardly enough time for a ‘hello’ to be exchanged.

For a while, Arthur had felt that something unsaid but reciprocated was between them, but Lancelot was gone, now, and Shadow had taken his place, and now the knights and the maids and the servants all looked at Shadow in the same way they had done to Lancelot, and the whispers and giggles followed the dark hedgehog until he ran into Arthur’s study and shut them all out behind him.

He made for some rather unsettling company, this sullen, tense man who shared his face with that of his closest friend.

Arthur missed him. Arthur missed him so much it hurt, and every day that passed he wished for the man who had stood by him from the very beginning to still be there, by his side, in a world that demanded the most he would be able to give as the bare minimum, but that didn’t mean he was allowed to take it out on Shadow. Nor was he about to dismiss the fact that Shadow was in a strange new world, and likely every bit as confused, disturbed, and frightened as he was.

“Would you like me to speak with them?” Arthur offered, figuring it was worth a try.

Yet Shadow huffed in response, the proposal seeming to offend him, and Arthur wondered why. “Don’t bother, I can handle my own problems.”

That was the other thing about Shadow: he had never, at any point, treated Arthur like he was royalty.

“It’s considered bad form to refuse the offer of a king,” Arthur pointed out, partly as a piece of advice; though he didn’t mind it himself, he knew Sir Gawain would throw a fit upon hearing that Shadow had shown such dismissal.

And the other part of him wanted to push Shadow just a little more. To get more of that strangely satisfying feeling of being treated like a man instead of a crown.

“I don’t care,” came the instant reply, and Arthur had to fight back a smile. “There are no kings where I come from, so your title means nothing to me, and even if it did, I won’t bow to you, or to anyone.”

The ‘not again’ went unsaid, but Arthur could hear it in Shadow’s voice, could read it in his body language. Arthur was always rather adept at deciphering Lancelot’s small cues and gestures, though Lancelot kept many of them hidden behind a wall of steel, but with Shadow, who bared his face and his body for the world to see, nothing could be hidden from Arthur’s discerning gaze. It was fascinating, truly, to be able to read someone new so well and so easily. Shadow was a puzzle with clear edges, but with many, many pieces that Arthur still had to search for.

All in all… a refreshing individual, despite the circumstances.

“Okay,” Arthur relented, and the sight of Shadow’s eyes narrowing in confusion only served to make fighting back his smile impossible. “In that case, I shall leave it to you.”

With that, he picked back up his pen, continuing to draft the latest ordinance on adjusting the limits of imported goods past Avalonian borders. The work was tedious, boring, dull, and even though he had just taken a break, Arthur felt his hand start to cramp with just a few words jotted down. The king sighed, rolling his wrist a few times, before getting back to work.

Just grin and bear it, he thought to himself as an involuntary noise of discomfort escaped him as his hand twinged again. You’ve done it before and you will always be able to do it. A king cannot show weakness. A king may not make excuses for poor judgement. Everyone is counting on me to do the best I can.

The thoughts only served to worsen the sense of anxiety that always seemed to cloud his mind, and Arthur grimaced, dropping his pen, holding his head in his hands and wishing for comfort for a man who was no longer with him.

His ears perked up as he heard a noise, something akin to a footstep taken in his direction, and when the king lifted his head, he noticed that Shadow no longer had his back flush against the wall. The dark hedgehog was doing his best to mask his emotions, but Arthur could still peel back every layer he put up, seeing the concern and the discomfort in the smallest things, from the slight narrowing of his eyes to the light raising of his spines. Shadow’s body language was silently screaming in empathy, something Arthur wasn’t used to receiving from others, and it intrigued him more than it should have.

“I’ll be fine,” he assured Shadow, not waiting to be prompted; he doubted the other would have asked, anyhow. “It’s simply sobering, sometimes, to remember that I have a kingdom’s worth of expectations to meet.” The king looked back down at the piles of papers on his desk; it was the same work, day in and day out, with decisions ranging from laughably easy to crushingly difficult. Yet, he had to make them all. Without thinking, he murmured aloud, “A single mistake could cost me everything I’ve done up to this moment. All the good I’ve done, all the efforts I’ve made, all the reputation that I’ve struggled to build up… it could all go up in smoke in a second, and I would be back at the beginning, needing to prove myself over and over again to people who expect everything from me.”

It was a moment of weakness, of cowardice, wherein Arthur was so tired from years of work and the loss of his most precious ally, for whom he still had almost no time to mourn. His eyes flicked back up to Shadow, and he prepared to apologize and ask that he forget all that he had just divulged 一 it was hardly fair on his guest, after all 一 but then he saw Shadow’s face, stunned and amazed, his red eyes wide and fixed on him, welling with a look that Arthur almost never saw on another person; understanding.

Shadow was looking at him with such mind-blowingly clear understanding and empathy that Arthur’s breath was taken away.

For a few more charged, heart-pounding moments, all they could do was stare, the sensation of something new connecting them becoming stronger and stronger with every passing second.

Then Shadow tore his gaze away and flung open the door, stepping outside and closing it behind him, leaving Arthur alone in his study.

As the king sat back in his chair, he stared into space as he tried to make sense of what had just happened, and what that might have meant for Shadow.

He was certain that, even though his dear friend’s face was too often hidden from view, that Lancelot had never once looked at him like that.

Shadow… what is your story, I wonder?

…

Just when Lancelot thought he couldn’t hate the odd technology of Sonic’s world any more, it came to a sudden and violent peak as the blue hero was called into action as a swarm of machines called ‘robots’ began invading Station Square. To make matters worse, they were created by some sort of mad doctor, and upon seeing an image of the man in question, Lancelot had to restrain himself from running the monitor through with his sword.

This mad doctor held a horrible resemblance to a certain ‘emperor’ that had caused Arthur far too much trouble, back at home in Avalon, and it made Lancelot desire nothing less than for this man’s complete and utter demise at his hands.

According to Sonic, these attacks weren’t anything new to him and his team, and though he knew it was a distraction or a trap, they didn’t have any options aside from stopping them quickly and efficiently, for the sake of everyone who lived in the city. He rallied his team effortlessly, leading the chase down to the battle, not bothering to bark orders because of the trust he carried in his followers…

Lancelot’s heart swam with affection. Sonic truly was Arthur, whether he believed it or not, and it showed in everything he did. He was a leader who cared not for the title, a man who cared for even the smallest life under his protection, and his bravery was unmatched, inspiring, and absolute. Someone of such immeasurable importance that needed to be protected at all costs.

So what else could Lancelot do but run to shield him when, during the battle, he saw a robot take aim at Sonic’s back?

His ears registered the sound of Sonic moving, then stumbling, but he only paid attention to the blast that came his way, soaking up the impact with his legendary strength, but he was not indestructible. Blood began dripping from a wound on his arm, and the scent of singed hair prickled in his nose in the most unpleasant way. Lancelot hissed in pain, his mind threatening to cloud with this new kind of pain, like fire but so much more unnatural, but he took pride in knowing that he had done his job. Sonic was safe. Sonic was safe and…

And he was dragging Lancelot to the side?

“What the hell was that, Lance?” Sonic demanded, panic and fury coloring his tone, and Lancelot’s feet almost froze in shock. Why was Sonic so frightened? Why did he sound so angry?

Had he done something wrong?

In a space several yards away from the battle zone, Sonic sat Lancelot down, and swore under his breath when he saw his battle wound. “Damn it Lance, I knew that robot was there! Why didn’t you just let me dodge? Oh Chaos, you’re bleeding, why did you run in like that?!”

Lancelot only gaped at him, his mind struggling to make sense of his leader’s words as Sonic inspected his arm and fretted over how it wasn’t healing.

Was he supposed to heal quicker than the average being? Lancelot supposed that maybe, with the help of his mother or Merlina, that could be possible, but the young girl who appeared to be his mother’s counterpart appeared more of a fighter than a healer, and he had not yet seen a counterpart to the royal wizard.

Lancelot wanted to ask these questions, to get some answers, but the near furious look on Sonic’s face made him hold his tongue. Such a look on someone he admired and loved so strongly… it was enough to make him feel like the scum of the earth.

The knight sat out the rest of the battle, staying in place even as Sonic left to finish the job, and the humiliating feeling of utter shame managed to overpower even his need to ensure his leader’s safety. Every time he felt the urge to stand up regardless, to charge into the battle even while wounded, and fight by his leader’s side as his sword and shield, the image of Sonic’s distraught face would flash before his eyes again, and he would remember his words, sharper and more painful than any sword, demanding why he had interfered.

Why had he failed his job as a knight?

What good was he, if he couldn’t even fulfil his one objective?

Lancelot’s head remained bowed in shame, even as he heard rapid footsteps coming his way. It remained bowed, even as he felt steady hands clean his wound and wrap a bandage around it.

It was only when Sonic lifted his chin and forced his visor up did Lancelot finally manage to look him in the eye.

“Why did you step in front of me like that?” Sonic asked, his voice calm again, though it did nothing to soothe Lancelot’s inner turmoil. The knight wanted nothing more than to no longer speak, to be swallowed by the ground and forgotten, the pathetic knight who couldn’t do his job when it mattered.

But he couldn’t refuse his leader, and so he forced himself to talk.

“It was the promise I made to you,” he said, and he struggled to keep his dismay in check as Sonic immediately looked displeased at his answer. “I am… protective by nature, and even moreso as a knight. I swore to protect Arthur, and I must protect you, too, even if that comes with my own life as a cost. That is something I must do, for I--”

“Oh stop it!” Sonic interrupted, once again looking angry and upset, and Lancelot bit back his speech, both ashamed and relieved. Had he gone even further, he might have lost control of his emotions and revealed just how deeply his affections for the blue hedgehog lied.

And then, Sonic asked something very, very strange.

“Isn’t there more to being a knight than serving a king?”

Lancelot, who up to that point had felt so certain of his standing, of his mission, of who Sonic was and what he represented, felt his heart break in two as cold reality settled over him.

“No,” he whispered in response, having never felt further away from the other than he did in that moment.

Sonic was not his king. Sonic was Arthur, but he was not his king. Sonic had no want for a knight, no desire to act as a king.

But if that were the case, what was Lancelot to do?

“Lancelot.”

Sonic’s voice was firm, and Lancelot braced himself for some hard truths.

“I’m not a king, Lance. I’m a hero, I guess. That’s what people call me, anyways. But the point is, I’m a free hedgehog. I’m not here to give orders or have people die for me, I’m just around to have a good time, to go where the wind takes me, and if I have to save a few people from some robots in the meantime, I will. I just gotta do what I gotta do… and I can’t do that if all you can do is try to protect me.”

Even with his face raised, chin still supported by his leader-- no, by Sonic’s hand, Lancelot tried his best to look away. His eyes watered treacherously, threatening to spill over. Being a knight was Lancelot’s life, his identity, the air that he breathed, the reality he lived in. It was everything he knew, but… but now it was…

The hand disappeared from his face, and then Sonic was reaching for his own hand on his uninjured arm, and Lancelot was pulled to his feet. Sonic looked him full in the eyes, their pull hypnotic, and even as Lancelot tried to choke back his tears, he felt his breath catch in his lungs.

“Hey… I need you to trust me with my own life, okay?”

Lancelot blinked, and the smallest of tears managed to escape him. Sonic didn’t think he trusted him.

In a sense, Lancelot supposed that he didn’t.

Yet when he reopened his eyes, he saw the look the other hedgehog was sending him, a look he had seen in Arthur’s eyes many times, mixed with a sense of sad resignation. Lancelot had never been able to read it perfectly, a fact which had always frustrated him to no end, for all he wanted was to be Arthur’s closest, to be the one who knew him at a level that no one else could hope to achieve.

But in Sonic’s eyes, the message was plain and clear.

He wanted to be seen as an equal, not someone above him, unattainable, on a pedestal. No, it wasn’t just that… Sonic looked determined to pull them both onto equal ground, to the same level, and the thought made Lancelot’s head spin.

“Lance… I know it’s scary, but you can choose how you want to live your life now, and trust me, it’s a good thing.”

And Lancelot, who knew nothing aside from being a knight, felt the crushing weight of the world in front of him, dark and untamed, when before he had Arthur’s light to follow. Paths were branching in front of him, too many to count and too many to walk down individually and explore. His head spun with possibility, and fright gripped at him, tempting him to deny, to refuse, to hide his face, or perhaps, to die as a knight in a world that refused to house him as he was.

Then he felt Sonic’s hand, still holding his, warm and comforting and safe, and somehow, in the midst of his existential turmoil, Lancelot felt a warm glimmer of hope.

“Okay,” he murmured in response, and Sonic’s brilliant grin soothed and delighted him more than he could properly understand.

Sonic… I shall do my best. For you… and for me, as well.

…

It hit too close to home, in this place that was about as far from home as Shadow could get.

Every day, whether he looked for him or not, Shadow saw King Arthur struggle silently. He saw him work day in and day out, endlessly trying to prove that he was worthy of being king, of being in everyone’s good graces and that he wasn’t just entitled to be there, but that he was supposed to be in his position. Even while all around him there sat obstacles and red tape and tough decisions and divides and people who were just never satisfied and…

And…

Shadow closed his eyes, recalling every debriefing he had had in G.U.N.’s headquarters. He remembered feeling as though he was on a leash, that every mission, every move he made had to be executed perfectly, otherwise he would lose his right to exist as a free being.

No… Shadow had never been free. Not since the day he was created, with the power to hurt and to heal, and every day he had to face the consequences of actions he had committed years prior. Shadow remembered the feeling of the imaginary leash shortening, tightening around his throat, reminding him that no matter what he did, it would never be enough.

Shadow would never be considered a true person by the people who saw him as a weapon.

And Arthur… Arthur seemed to be considered in the same way by the people who saw him as a king.

Shadow’s heart ached, and the dark hedgehog grit his teeth as he recalled all the times he had caught the other wincing and massaging his hand while drafting laws and messages, how he plastered a smile on his face as he met people and made addresses when he clearly would rather be anywhere else, and how he kept his voice even as he ordered his knights around, even though he obviously didn’t want to be giving orders, he just wanted to be looked at as an equal, but he was so ingrained in this life that he felt resigned, and so he stopped trying to fight where the fight could not be won. Shadow knew all these feelings, all the sensations of being worked to the bone, of putting on an act to protect himself, of accepting that there were some things that, like it or not, would simply never change…

But Arthur, unlike him, was not the Ultimate Lifeform. This man was not made of infinite power and energy, was not capable of rapid healing or boosting himself in body and mind with his own energies whenever it suited him. Arthur was a remarkable but regular hedgehog, who had been working off of nothing but his own willpower and strength of mind, and that knowledge hurt perhaps the most of all.

Arthur and himself… they both pulled a painfully similar weight, a weight that, even on his worst days, Shadow had never wished upon another person.

So what else could Shadow do but grab Arthur’s hand and run him out of there, out of the castle, yelling vague excuses at anyone who tried to stop them?

Arthur followed easily behind him, not asking a single question as Shadow ran, ran away from suffocating walls and legal obligations and the knowledge that it was never, ever enough.

Shadow was used to Sonic keeping up with him. They had always been on equal grounds, and Shadow knew it, even at the beginning stages of their rivalry when they both had asserted that they were the stronger, the faster, the more incredible hedgehog. With time, that knowledge became easier to swallow, as their rivalry held a friendlier edge to it, and especially so when their friendship and partnership had become more undeniable, and when those dumb, weird feelings started springing forward and…

And…

But with Arthur and his frightfully similar situation, Shadow’s empathy had hit him like a truck, and seeing him in so much concealed pain every day had turned into something too much to bear, and so, just for this one, Shadow decided he would be the man’s savior, even for just one evening.

They stopped in a meadow, far beyond the castle and away from the treeline where the forests began, and Shadow avoided looking at the exhausted king, unsure how to express what was in his head, in his heart, in his soul.

How was he supposed to tell him that watching him take all this weight, all this responsibility, was too much for him?

How was he supposed to say that he had similar issues, with G.U.N. and the people of the United Federation breathing down his neck and observing his every move, and that perfection was the bare minimum?

How could he express that they both deserved to live their lives without earning the right to exist without constant scrutiny, where one slip up meant everything falling apart, absolute ruin, the end of the world…

Shadow took in a deep breath, his mind spinning with thoughts and feelings he wasn’t sure he could put into words, but when he finally looked over to Arthur, the breath left him and wouldn’t return.

Arthur didn’t look angry or annoyed or anxious, even though Shadow had ripped him from his work that he couldn’t afford to fall behind on. Arthur didn’t look upset at all.

He looked grateful.

He looked serene.

Arthur looked directly into Shadow’s eyes, his own green ones reflecting the stars up above, and Shadow wanted to tell him everything, even though his body refused to breathe and his tongue refused to move.

The hand in his hold shifted, and Shadow felt Arthur squeeze his hand softly, just once.

He understood.

Chaos above, Arthur understood, and Shadow didn’t even need to say it.

Shadow swallowed, feeling overwhelmed, and Arthur seemed to understand that, too. Wordlessly, the blue hedgehog moved closer, his hand never leaving Shadow’s, and he leaned his body against Shadow’s, answering an unspoken need for comfort without smothering him, without trapping him in place with a hug or an embrace.

Shadow closed his eyes, hating how the gesture reminded him of one time Sonic had done something similar, a small shoulder check that had lingered a moment too long, and at his side, he felt Arthur breathe in deeply and hold it in, as though he were resisting the urge to sigh.

Shadow knew he was probably thinking about Lancelot.

Their hands both squeezed at the same time, and they both knew.

It was a strange feeling, as though both of them had lost a large piece of their lives, only to gain another to take its place. It was something that felt like infidelity, even though nothing warranting such a thing had been established with the other person on their minds.

Yet this closeness… this was something that Shadow had wanted for a long time, but had never been able to truly obtain. Shadow didn’t always know how to use his words, how to explain what he wanted or what he needed or what he was going through, and now here he was, with Arthur, a man who understood him without words. A man who he understood, who brought out his empathy to an almost painful degree, and Shadow wanted in that moment for nothing more than for them both to be happy.

As he felt the warmth of Arthur’s body and the beautiful comfort of being understood, even in a world that wasn’t his own, Shadow figured he might be on the right track.

Arthur… I don’t know how to thank you.

…

When Sonic first kissed Lancelot, it was after another battle, in which neither escaped without injury. Sonic could see Lancelot try his hardest to hold back his instinctive reactions, struggling to trust him and not place the blame on his shoulders, and Sonic looked out the window, knowing that life was short and uncertain and that any day might be his last.

He also did it knowing that waiting for Shadow was not going to help either of them at all.

He felt Lancelot tense up in shock, then relax, lifting his hands up to his head and burying them in his spines. Lancelot was pilant, willing, eager to receive whatever Sonic wanted to give him, and Sonic responded with his best efforts to make the kiss special, the sort of kiss that Lancelot deserved, after so many years of putting himself second. Whenever Lancelot made a noise that suggested he enjoyed what Sonic was doing, Sonic resolved himself to keep going, to deliver the indulgence that Lancelot had always been denied of.

It was completely different to how he always imagined kissing Shadow would be like. He had always imagined a competition, with both of them trying to one-up each other like they always did, but Lancelot’s sweet eagerness as their lips met again and again pushed all thoughts of Shadow from Sonic’s mind, and as they finally parted for air, it was Sonic’s name that escaped from Lancelot’s mouth.

…

When Arthur first kissed Shadow, it felt like a long time coming. The king knew he would need to take the initiative, with Shadow struggling to come to terms with his own feelings, and he felt the striped hedgehog become rigid in shock when Arthur’s hands landed lightly on his arms and he pressed their lips together.

He also did it with the knowledge that he might never see Lancelot again, and if that were the case, that Shadow was someone he couldn’t bear to let slip through his fingers as well.

When Shadow recovered from the shock, he kissed back, roughly and intensely, and Arthur found himself being pushed to keep up. It was like a battle, fueled by unspoken, deeply internalized feelings, finally being let loose until their heads swam with a lack of air and an overflow of emotion and the immeasurable feeling of connection without words.

Kissing Shadow lit a fire in Arthur’s soul, even as he felt Shadow start to calm down, finding enjoyment at being able to be vulnerable without pain for once in his life. Arthur could feel the heat flush off of the other’s face in waves, and when they finally parted, gasping for air, he was so, so glad that there was no visor or helmet to create a barrier between him and those eyes, softer than he had ever seen them, that he could read like a book.

#Smash speaks.#Avalon Series.#Stories From Avalon.#Lansoni.#Arthadow.#I wrote 80% of this today after months of barely touching it.#Hope you all enjoy!#I'm going to bed.

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givemearmstopraywith · 4 years ago

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I’m a little new to understanding and enjoying religious themes, what are the 5 holy wounds? Why are they important? Just a little basic rundown would be appreciated!! I love your blog btw, have a great day/night!

the five holy wounds of christ are the wounds that he was given at his crucifixion: the wounds from nails in his hands (1+2), those in his feet, (3+4), and the wound in his side, which was pierced by a spear (sometimes called the spear of destiny or the holy lance) and flowed with blood and water (5). sometimes these wounds appear mystically on saints or penitents- notably francis of assisi and catherine of siena, among many others- and are known as stigmata (iirc blood flowing into or from the eyes is also classified as stigmata, although the crown of thorns is not considered to be one of the holy wounds).

the question of why they’re important is an interesting one- obviously they’re theologically and ecumenically important, since the basis for christianity is christ’s death and resurrection, and those wounds symbolize his last moments of life, the culmination of humanity into a single moment of divine suffering, and ergo his resurrection. when christ returns from the dead, his form is changed and mary magdalene, as well as the disciples on the road to emmaus, do not recognize him- but curiously, he retains his wounds. and i think that is the real importance to me. the wounds are a sign of trauma. christ dies. he comes back. he remembers his death. he remembers that torture and what he saw in death- which, according to legend, is three days in the abyss. at the very least the realm of the dead. christ symbolically achieves victory over the ultimate enemy, death, but that victory doesn’t heal him. it doesn’t fix the trauma he’s physically suffered in order to achieve that victory. he’s given humanity the chance to be utterly reunited with God again, to achieve eternal life- adam and eve were cast of eden to ensure they did not achieve it- he has crushed the head of death under his heel as it was foretold. but he’s still wounded. and for me that’s a beautiful thing. he’s wounded, but he’s still complete and perfect. still God’s son. still a saviour. the wounds take nothing away from him: they are merely a symbol of his humanity. and i think that’s why they’re important. but they mean so many different things to different people.

#replies #yeah im passionate about jesus' holes and this made me want to cry. don't talk to me #Anonymous

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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 4 years ago

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"I'm truly sorry, but I don't think we've ever met." memory loss angst? 👉👈🥺

anon... fam, this turned into an emotional rollercoaster and totally stole my braincell.

3.8k words. angst with a happy ending.

tw: memory loss, minor anxiety, repressed memories, idiots to lovers, whump, angst with a happy ending, angst with a fluffy ending

---

It’s been three hours, five minutes, and forty-two seconds since the frigid breeze whipped Geralt’s angry words at him, shattering his fragile, stupid heart to pieces. Every syllable rings through Jaskier’s head over and over, slamming into him from all directions and crippling him with a bone-deep pain far worse than anything he’s ever felt before. The ache ebbs and flows, lancing through him with every step. Not even Geralt’s first frustrated blow to his abdomen had been this terrible.

Geralt… That’s the problem, isn’t it? He hadn’t been smart enough to get out of the gorgeous Witcher’s long, silvery hair soon enough. He’d overstayed his welcome, fallen in love in the meantime, and is now very out of sorts (and also alone in unfamiliar territory). The bard laughs but it’s a hollow sound. Jaskier has reached the edge of hysteria, his intelligent blue eyes now vacant and unseeing. Even as he stumbles through the underbrush, all he can picture is the snarl on Geralt’s face as the Witcher yells at Destiny to take Jaskier off his hands.

Jaskier’s own hands are covered in sap and splinters from pushing tree branches away from his face as he traverses the darkening forest. His hair is full of debris and his clothes are torn and dirty; Geralt has all of his emergency supplies, still. Jaskier is pretty sure that his lute is still strapped over his shoulder but he realizes, with no small amount of surprise, that he doesn’t actually care.

He doesn’t have the capacity anymore.

He can’t care… caring hurts too much.

If only Destiny had taken him off Geralt’s hands. Maybe then it would be okay. Maybe then, if Geralt was well and truly free of him and his irritating presence, the Witcher could be happy. He and Yennefer will surely come back around, they always seem to, and Ciri will be joining them soon enough it seems.

There’s no need - no room - for a humble bard anymore.

Only five hours, thirty minutes, and twelve seconds after Geralt’s outburst at the top of the mountain, Jaskier’s delicate human body succumbs to the stress of the day.

He drops to the forest floor without a sound, grateful for the darkness.

---

Yennefer finds the bard in a heap a few miles away from the previous night’s elevated campsite. When she presses the back of her hand to his forehead she yanks it away almost immediately; he’s burning up, and his skin is clammy and sticky with sweat. The feathery bangs he flicks about and preens so much are stuck to his forehead and temples. He’s on the verge of shaking apart and Yennefer tosses her head imperiously, swearing.

“Damnit, Geralt. You and your incredibly foolish need to be alone all the time so you can brood and self-flagellate. Me, an ageless sorceress from one of the greatest magic schools on the Continent? I can handle a thorough tongue lashing. Fuck, I’m older than you and I’ve seen far worse but this… oh, you great lummox. You absolute bastard…” Yennefer mutters to herself as she assesses the bard’s deteriorating state of health, ranting to an invisible Geralt all the while. “You’re absolutely going to be hearing from me about this, Wolf.”

--- Three days, one hour, and fifteen minutes after Geralt dismissed him forever, Jaskier wakes up with a loud gasp and a violent shudder. He blinks slowly, allowing his eyes to adjust to the bright light streaming in through a window. Whatever he’s lying on is comfortable and the sheets smell fresh and bright, like lilac and freesia. A hint of gooseberry lies beneath it all, delicate and sweet. He glances around the space and finds it to be relatively bare; a guest room, perhaps. Maybe he’s a servant at some noble house?

Jaskier only really knows that his name is Jaskier and that he plays music. He’s also rather talented with floral arrangements.

Shortly after he’s finished purveying his (borrowed?) chamber, the very image of grace, beauty, and terror enters the room. The woman, whose coppery skin and enchanting violet eyes practically glow in the midafternoon sun, smiles down at him in a way that toes the line between Motherly and Shark-like.

“How are you feeling, Jaskier?”

“I’m alright. And you?”

“Just fine. Geralt really did a number on us, huh?” she asks, a playful grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. He has the feeling that something isn’t right; she shouldn’t be looking at him so kindly.

Her expression changes from friendly to horrified to confused in an instant, as soon as Jaskier manages to ask: “Who’s Geralt? And, pardon me, but I feel as if something is rather amiss. Who are you, my Lady?”

Whoever the gorgeous and terrifying woman is, she grimaces briefly. Then, as if by magic, the comforting smile returns. “I’m Yennefer, of course. I saved your life a few years ago, remember?”

Jaskier wracks his brain but cannot call the occasion to mind. “Unfortunately no, I don’t remember your no doubt heroic deed. Although I suppose that means I’m in your debt, doesn’t it? Do I work for you? Is that why I’m here?”

The woman blinks a few times, slowly, and then nods. “You’re my gardener and personal musician.”

Jaskier brightens, happy to have found himself in a safe environment.

“But you’ve had a nasty illness and your mind is clearly fatigued. Rest another day or two and then we can see about getting you back into the fresh air.”

“Thank you, my Lady,” Jaskier nods.

“Yen is fine.”

“Thank you, Yen. I don’t know where I’d be without you,” he grins.

---

Yennefer turns away to hide her pained expression. You’d probably still be with your beloved Witcher.

She makes her way to the kitchen to fix Jaskier something to eat. He must be hungry after spending three days in a deep, healing sleep. She hadn’t been expecting the amnesia, though; it was an unexpected but not unsurprising turn of events. Heartbreak had done stranger things than a little bit of fever-induced memory loss. When she’d delved briefly into his mind she hadn’t seen any sign of Geralt. His face was absent from the bard’s consciousness; she would have needed to dig to unearth those memories. Whatever the Witcher had done was grievous, especially if Jaskier’s mind compensated with something as dramatic as burying Geralt completely to save itself from further harm.

No matter, she decides, the bard can stay here as long as he likes. It’s the least I can do for all the upset Geralt and I have caused him. Where is that idiot Witcher, anyway?

The sorceress quickly clears her agenda and her mind before returning to her guest room with a large tray of food, a bottle of Toussainti red under her arm. “Jaskier, darling, let’s get your convalescence started in style!”

---

2 months later

---

Jaskier watches a strange man ride up the long path to Yennefer’s manor, the hilts of his twin swords glinting in the sun where they’re slung over his shoulder. He has long white hair and the most devastating jawline the bard/gardener (or ‘bardener’ as he says to irritate his darling employer) has ever laid eyes on. He’s clad all in black, from his plain linen shirt to his tight leather trousers; Jaskier thinks he’d also look rather lovely in dark blue or perhaps forest green.

In front of him, wrapped securely against his chest by one strong arm, sits a little girl with ashen hair and frightened eyes. Haunted eyes. Jaskier’s mind fills with ballads, some familiar and some oddly dreamlike, their lyrics half-obscured and hazy. Ciri, he thinks for no reason. Her name is Ciri. And she is a Princess.

The brunette scurries from the garden alongside the house to the kitchen, searching for the familiar cloud of Yennefer’s strong perfume. “My Lady?”

“Darling?” the sorceress replies, coming around the corner. She raises her perfectly maintained eyebrows and her lips quirk up into a smirk. “Did you sprint all the way from the west lawn?”

“There’s a- strange man- on the- drive!” he huffs. “White hair- horse!”

“Oh,” her eyes go wide with surprise. Then, in a split second, they narrow to slits. “Oh.”

“Do you, uhm, know him?” Jaskier asks, twiddling his fingers. “He’s rather handsome, Yen. Is he a former lover?”

“Unfortunately,” she growls. “I can’t believe it’s taken him two fucking months to get here. He’d better have a damned good excuse.”

By now Jaskier can breathe normally again and he straightens up, shaking his long, shaggy hair from his eyes. “He had a child with him. She looked scared, Yen.”

“Cirilla!”

Yennefer dashes for the front door and Jaskier follows instinctually. They’re always together and he can’t bear to let her confront this man alone. He’s spent every waking moment with Yen since he awoke that first day and she has grown to be his dearest friend; he’ll protect her even unto death. “Yenna, what’s wrong? Who is he!?”

“Geralt of Rivia,” she snarls. The name seems familiar; maybe from a ballad or story? Perhaps Yen has mentioned him before?

“What about Geralt of Rivia?” a low, rumbling bass asks from the front hallway. Jaskier and Yennefer arrive in the doorway together and the man, Geralt apparently, takes a shaky step back. He recoils a bit, as if he’s been slapped, and Yennefer’s smile grows cruel. His voice, still incredibly low but now with a slight tremor to it, stutters out; “Wha- Yen, what is he- Jaskier? I only came to ask for help with Ciri, I didn’t know- I didn’t-”

Geralt’s stammered speech tapers off into silence and Yennefer’s brow furrows a second time. When the sorceress sets eyes on the child, who cannot be more than twelve years old, her expression softens again. Jaskier watches the most imposing woman in the world kneel, taking one small, pale hand in both of her own. “My name is Yennever of Vengerberg, former Sorceress of Aretuza. I am honored to meet you, Princess Cirilla. Geralt has come seeking protection, no doubt, and it is easily granted. I will do everything I can to help you.”

“Thank you, Lady Yennefer. And, uhm… Ciri’s fine,” the girl replies. Her voice is high and reedy, shot through with anxiety. She’s so young, Jaskier frowns. And yet she seems to have weathered an incredible storm.

“Ciri,” the bard bows from the doorway, low and dramatic. He sweeps his arm out to the side and bends his knees as awkwardly as possible, “I am Jaskier, private troubadour and gardener extraordinaire, under the employ of the magnanimous and dangerous Lady Yennefer, here. It is my greatest honor to make your very mighty and very royal acquaintance.”

“You’re silly, Master Jaskier,” the child giggles, hiding her mouth behind her hands. Geralt’s eyes grow wide and dart between Jaskier and the girl. Yennefer makes meaningful eye contact before nodding toward the door. Jaskier looks down at Ciri again when she asks: “Do you grow lots of flowers in Lady Yennefer’s garden, or just herbs and things for magic?”

“I grow lots of things all over the property,” the brunette man steps forward and offers Ciri his hand, gesturing towards the front door with the other. “Would you like to come and take a look? I know all the scientific names, you can even quiz me if you like.”

“I know some,” she smiles shyly, accepting the offered hand. “May I go take a look at the gardens, Geralt?”

“Go ahead,” the Witcher nods dumbly. “Jaskier will take good care of you.”

“That I will. Now, let’s take a look at the flowers and let these silly adults have a chat,” Jaskier grins. He winks at Yennefer and disappears out the door, exiled Princess in tow.

The two lively companions have toured through all the medicinal herbs and are halfway through Yennefer’s large collection of rose variations when the two other members of the party approach. Geralt looks sheepish, his eyes downcast. Yennefer looks triumphant; she is radiant in her victory as always.

Geralt steps forward, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “Jaskier, I’ve come to apologize for what happened when we parted.”

“Excuse me?” the bard chuckles, raising an eyebrow. "I don’t know what you’re apologizing for, exactly.”

“When I yelled at you after the dragon hunt. It was only two months ago, Jaskier, surely you remember?”

Jaskier blushes, glancing anxiously between Geralt and his friend, whose violet eyes are stormy with emotion, “I'm truly sorry, but I don't think we've ever met."

Geralt gasps sharply and takes a step back, as he did in the entryway. Jaskier winces, seemingly on instinct, and shies away from the larger man. “You don’t remember me?”

“No…” Jaskier sighs. “I really don't. Should I?”

“You don’t… You don’t even remember Toss a Coin?”

“Oh, that ditty from town?” Jaskier perks up. “I know that song! It always gets stuck in my head.”

“You… You wrote that song,” Geralt’s face crumples. “About our first adventure together outside of Posada. With the elves and the sylvan...”

“I’ve never been to Posada,” Jaskier laughs, waving his hand dismissively. “They hate bards. They prefer troupes of traveling play-actors. Posada is far too serious for my tastes.”

Geralt seems to be in agony. His chest rises and falls unevenly, as if he’s on the verge of tears but unable to shed them. Can Witchers cry?

How does he know that Geralt is a Witcher? Is it the two swords, the scars, or the strange eyes? How does he know that those are common Witcher traits?

His stomach lurches and he turns away from the group in case he needs to be sick. The ground spins and shivers in little ripples around him, unstable and impermanent beneath his feet. Yennefer is calling his name from somewhere far away and a pair of warm, strong arms are looped around his waist. Still, he can’t seem to breathe. Or focus.

There’s something missing.

He starts to hum, trying to remember the words of that damned song.

The rest of the world fades in and out around him, finally disappearing altogether.

---

He’s gorgeous.

Jaskier shoves another roll into his pocket. His eyes are focused on the man in the corner. He has long, snow-white hair and his shoulders are hunched forward protectively, as if he can hold the world out by sitting by himself. He’s glaring the table into submission, one fist clenched around his tankard.

I want to write him a thousand ballads. I want to know what his hair looks like when he wakes up in the morning, before he brushes it out again. I want to know if he snores. I want… he stops himself.

He makes his way across the room with eyes only for the stranger. “I love the way you just sit in the corner and brood.”

The man looks away and Jaskier notices that his irises are gold. “I’m here to drink alone.”

Gods, his fucking voice… Velvet and gravel all at once. Melitele, does Jaskier want. “Good, yeah. Good. No one else hesitated to comment on the quality of my performance… except for you.”

The man, the Witcher, Jaskier realizes, rolls his eyes.

“Come on,” he wheedles, sitting down across from the gorgeous stranger. “You don’t want to keep a man with bread in his pants waiting. You must have some review for me, three words or less.”

The man’s face stays stoic, expressionless. “They don’t exist.”

He realizes shortly thereafter that this man is not just any Witcher but the infamous Butcher of Blaviken, Geralt of Rivia. He could try to disengage himself from such a daunting character; he could easily make some kind of excuse and disappear back to the troubadour’s path, heading towards civilization, but it’s already too late. He doesn’t want to leave Geralt’s side ever again; he wants to write all those ballads he was thinking about earlier, when he glanced across the room.

Jaskier has fallen head over heels in love. ---

Geralt cradles Jaskier against his chest and presses his nose deep into those chestnut brown waves. “Wake up, Jaskier. Come back to me, bard, it’s been too long.”

“Don’t you usually go all winter without seeing him?” Yennefer asks from the doorway.

“It’s hell,” he replies easily. There’s no point in hiding his feelings from her. “I miss him every minute of every day.”

“Verbose this evening,” she remarks, taking a seat by the fire. “He’s dreaming, you know. He’s remembering you.”

“He’d forgotten?”

“He’d repressed it all,” she shrugs. “When I found him that day, feverish and nearly dead on the side of that godsforsaken mountain, he was barely coherent enough to open his eyes. He just kept asking for you, Geralt. Over and over he called for you, reaching his arms up, weak as they were. Gods, it was pitiful to watch.”

Geralt swallows.

“I thought you were going to come back sooner. I was surprised when his memories didn’t resurface after two or three weeks. Short-term memory loss after a fever isn’t uncommon but repressing twenty years worth of feelings and experiences-” she whistles lowly “-it was impressive and tragic, all at once.”

“He forgot me?”

“Entirely.”

Geralt glances down, shame-faced. He adjusts Jaskier in his arms, holding him close and pillowing the bard’s head against his shoulder. “I deserve it, Yen.”

“He’s remembering now, though. He’ll probably be a little less than pleased to see you when he wakes up, but he knows who you are.”

“When will he wake?”

“Can’t say,” she shrugs again. “After I brought him back from the mountain it took three days for him to wake up. The first day was magically induced but after that it was just him… exhausted and heartbroken to the point of self-induced amnesia.”

“Fuck, Yen,” Geralt groaned, pressing his forehead into the soft warmth of Jaskier’s cheek. “How can I make it up to him?”

“Stay.”

“Hmm?”

“When he wakes up and he’s angry and upset, stay. Don’t stomp off or blow up or freak out,” she instructs. “If he asks you to leave, go, but otherwise… prove yourself, Geralt of Rivia. You wanted to be a knight once, didn’t you? Now’s your chance to play Prince Charming. Get down on your lovely knees and beg and apologize.”

“Hmm. How’s Ciri?”

“Fed, bathed, and put to bed. I’ll take care of her for as long as it takes you two morons to make nice again. Good luck, Geralt, I’m sure he’ll forgive you too easily for my tastes.”

She stands from her seat and leaves just as efficiently as she entered, carefully closing the door behind her. Geralt lays Jaskier back on the bed and takes a seat beside him on the mattress, kneeling just within touching distance, should Jaskier reach out for reassurance in his sleep. Geralt closes his eyes and slips easily into meditation.

The Witcher is pulled from his trance a few hours later when Jaskier makes a startled sound and tries to sit up. Geralt opens his eyes and splays one warm, broad hand against Jaskier’s chest, forcing him back against the goose down pillows. “Stay still, Jaskier. You’re feverish and weak.”

“I’m still dreaming,” the bard grumbles, reaching to rub at his eyes with the heels of his hands. It’s adorable and Geralt grins widely, warmth spilling into his chest from some newly discovered fount of happiness. “You’re being too nice to me, Witcher.”

“I’m so sorry, Jaskier, for everything.”

“What’s everything, Geralt?”

“I’m sorry for pushing you away when I was angry and confused instead of communicating with you. I’m sorry for hurting you with my brash words and foolish actions; you have always deserved so much better and I’m so afraid that I can never give that to you. I take the wrong step at every turn, it seems, and yet you stay by my side. I didn’t want to risk hurting you the way I’ve already hurt Yen and Ciri, by tying us together against your will.”

“Darling Geralt,” the bard sighs. The Witcher scoots slightly closer and Jaskier lays a gentle hand atop his thigh. “It has always been my greatest pleasure to travel the Path with you and write of our adventures. I appreciate your concern for my agency and wellbeing, dear heart, but I am quite happy spending my entire human life in your presence.”

“Hmm,” the Witcher frowns. “You’re going to die someday.”

“And? So are you. So shall Yennefer, maybe.”

“Not likely,” Geralt jokes. Jaskier grins and the sight of it is so heartwarming that the Witcher wishes he could break down into tears. At least then Jaskier could see just how deeply his feelings ran. “I’m sorry, Jaskier, for blaming you for things that I brought upon myself. I love you dearly, and I hope that someday you can choose to travel with me again.”

“Excuse me?”

“I hope that you’ll-”

“No, the other bit.”

“I love you?”

“Yeah, that one.”

“Oh. Yes, I-” Geralt clears his throat and looks Jaskier in the eyes, gold and blue locked together, “I love you very much, Jaskier.”

“Fuck.”

“May I kiss you, Jaskier?”

“Yes,” the bard breathes.

And then Geralt is lifting him up into his lap, one hand cradling Jaskier’s skull so so fucking carefully. Geralt’s other arm supports his waist, holding him steady. Their lips come together softly, carefully, and Jaskier’s soul spirals up to the ceiling with joy, his body abandoned. He is merely a vessel for the happiness that comes with kissing his Witcher. When they pull apart, both men are grinning like fools. “Oh, dear heart.”

“Yes, my love?”

“Never stop calling me that.”

“I swear I won’t, my love.”

From downstairs, Geralt hears Yennefer mutter, “Fucking finally.”

It takes twenty-two years, seven months, and one day, but Geralt and Jaskier manage to figure things out.

#bounceacoinoffyouranons #geraskier #amnesia #amensiac jaskier #memory loss #rare species fix it #the witcher netflix #the witcher ficlet #geraskier fluff #angst with a happy ending #fluff and angst #whump with a happy ending #jaskier whump #yennefer #yen and jaskier are bitchy theatre bffs #and you can't stop me #anon you really got me fucked up

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khaleesiofalicante · 2 years ago

Note

IALS NEW CHAPTER

I just love the way they don't actually have much money or anything, they don't like their jobs, shit is complicated but they are still so in love and happy with each other you know??

Like, what else do you want in life??🥺🥺🥺

David didn’t mind. He grew up with a monster. All he cared about was that he got to live with Max. Can you hear me screaming??? Bc my family sure as hell does!!!

David be like: yeah, we talked about it last night, what do you mean we weren't doing this today?

I don't think there is a universe where they make a big wedding or anything and that is so sexy of them😍

The fucking vows 😭😭 and they didn't plan them!!! Now imagine if they did... Wow

Some of my fave:

“And then I met you,” David chuckled. “And you took everything I had to give you. And you wanted more. I couldn’t believe it, you know? You saw everything that I am, and you still wanted more of me. You saved me, Max.”

....

“You gave me my fairytale. You saved my life,” David said. He took the man’s hand to his lips and kissed it softly. “My knight in shining armor. I love you.”

....

“And then I met you,” Max let out a hoarse laugh. David wanted to drown in it. “And you made me believe in destiny. You made me believe that I deserve good things. That I am a good thing. You saw everything I am not. You saw everything I wanted to be. You saw me even when I couldn’t see myself.”

....

“You didn’t give me a fairytale, David. You are my fairytale,” Max said softly and kissed his hand. “My prince charming. I love you.”

Just... AHHHHH😭😭 I CANT WITH THEM!!!

Lady, just leat me enjoy this in peace 😭

Huh. So that's how they met Elyaas... I am love it💙💙

You like him Jackson and you know it!!!!

Like, why David?? What was the need to hurt him asking him about your wedding???

Arthur is the cutest lil shit🥺 he and Lance own my heart and I have no regrets

For some random reason, I love that you used purple 🥺🥺

And one of my fave things is also the softness and domestic fluff of them and how normal their lives are (IN THE PAST LOL).

A song rec that reminds me of their lazy Sunday afternoons: Nothing by Bruno Major

I can imagine David learning how to play it on the piano for Max. I can also see him singing it to the kids too because it has such a soft feel to it 😭😭😭

#IALS

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luminousrider · 2 years ago

Text

Sharing my interview because, for the first time ever, I actually don’t hate it sdfjdhkfsd

Altena stands outside the gates of Garreg Mach Monastery and looks over at her wyvern with a nervous smile. Butterflies flutter in her stomach as she looks up at the grand cathedral in front of her and she wonders if she would have been enrolled in a fancy school like this growing up if her life had taken a different turn.

Her mind hasn't stopped turning since she met Leif and learned about her biological family. Suddenly things began to click into place. The feeling of being out of place that loomed over her growing up. The way no one seemed to have any stories about her when she was a baby. Why she was given the Gae Bolg instead of Arion.

She hoped that knowing the truth of her heritage would shake away any doubt she held about who she was. That she would find herself in the knowledge that she is Njorun's scion. But it only forms new questions.

Altena doesn't know who she is. She's a princess, a lancer, an heiress. But whose? Her love of Thracia, of the land she grew up in and its people, and her very blood clash within her. The peninsula is being united and rebuilt but can Njorun and Dainn unite in her heart?

That's why she's here. She's stepped away from Thracia to clear her mind and discover who Altena truly is. With the stubbornness she's inherited from her mother and the skill with a lance she's developed from her fathers, Altena embarks on a journey.

This time, the story will follow her own path. She's in control of her destiny now.

After leaving Peaches–she knows the name sounds awfully silly now that she's no longer a child–in the stables with the other wyverns, Altena makes her way to meet with her interviewer. She sits across from a monk who smiles and opens a notebook.

"Altena, right?" the monk asks. "Is there a surname?"

"No," she answers but fumbles her way through an amendment. "Um, actually, it's Claus. Altena…Claus." That name feels foreign in her mouth. It's as though it should belong to someone else. But it's her name. It's the name she was given when she was born and now it's hers again.

"Alright, Altena, I just have a couple of questions for you. Don't worry, it isn't graded or anything. Just a way for us to get to know you a little bit better. It's more like a thought exercise. So, what would you say are your greatest strengths?"

This isn't really what she expected but it's simple enough. She was raised in the sky with a lance in her hand. Her strengths are the same as any proud Thracian’s.

“I am the wielder of the holy lance Gae Bolg. It’s been my destiny since I was just a girl. I’m a wyvern knight of Thracia and I have experience leading my own battalion to protect my homeland.” Altena smiles as she speaks of Thracia, of her home. It’s a land and a people that she loves. Even after everything she’s learned Travant has done to her, she still holds his love for their country close in her heart. “Thracia deserves the very best and I hope that by studying here, I can come one step closer to being that for her.”

“Wonderfully put!” Altena notices that the monk interviewing her is quite cheerful and she finds herself smiling along with them. It’s impressive that they are able to summon this amount of pep and cheer so early in the morning. “And the foil to that, how about your greatest weaknesses?”

She blinks. It’s such an odd question. A weakness is something to hide lest it be exploited. In a fight, a weakness is looked for to take advantage of and overwhelm a foe. Arion knew her weakness and used it to stop her from killing Fa–Travant.

“I have been told I am not ruthless enough. And Father was always scolding me for being too stubborn. We butt heads quite a bit.” She doesn’t notice that she’s just called Travant Father. It’s a habit she has been trying to break but it’s much harder than she anticipated. She owes it to Leif to try her best. Leif brought her the truth. As much as it hurt and as much as it turned her life upside-down, she’s glad to know it.

“Excellent! Welcome to the Golden Deer House, Altena!”

Altena opens the door to the outside and a new page in her story turns. She’s no longer a pawn for ambition–for either half of the Thracian peninsula. She is simply Altena.

All that’s left is figuring out exactly what that means.

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kingreywrites · 4 years ago

Text

So Pardon The Dust

Fandom: Tangled

Word Count: 2493

Summary: When they arrive in the Dark Kingdom, the king has been dead for years.

Note: this is bittersweet, but the idea couldn’t leave me alone, and i had to write it out! so yeah, edmund’s death is heavily talked about, be careful if that’s not your thing! I just love Destinies Collide, and love what-ifs, so this story was born from there asghdh

Read on ao3

When they arrive in the Dark Kingdom, the king has been dead for years.

They don't know that. What they do know is that once their travel in a shaky gondola over an immense rift ends, everything seems too easy. The kingdom is dark, cold, smells of dust and rust permeating the air, and it makes it hard to imagine that anyone has ever lived in such a place. But Rapunzel's hair pushes her forward, and they don't spend any more time thinking about it.

They enter the equally dark and cold castle, searching for the moonstone.

Desperate for a flicker of warmth, Lance lights a fire in a lifeless living room with no windows. Eugene's gaze is drawn to a painting, throning above the fireplace and depicting a man and a woman he presumes to be the king and queen.

He cannot explain the deep uneasiness he feels at the sight, or even why he can hardly tear his eyes away from the picture. His heart is racing, and he explains it by blaming it on his concern for Rapunzel.

The queen's smile remains etched in his mind as he moves forward.

The king has been dead for years. They don't know it, but Eugene finds a room filled with overhanging statues and, sitting in front of a gigantic door, is a tiny skeleton covered in too big clothes and dust. A dark crown still hangs grotesquely on its head, but the first thing Eugene sees is the purple gem necklace between the fingers of its single hand. The same as the queen's in the painting.

Eugene has a bitter taste in his mouth. Rapunzel holds his hand, also upset, and he remembers that they are here for her, and for her destiny. He holds her fingers tighter between his, and they move toward the door.

The ghosts are… certainly a surprise.

Death is not something new to Eugene, yet he can't help but feel nauseous when the king's ghost appears so close to his own skeleton, eyes full of a melancholy and anger that only he understands.

He doesn't seem to be capable of speech. He just groans and attacks, mindlessly guarding the stone that cost him his life. When Adira arrives to help them, she calls him Edmund, a soft grief in her voice, and Eugene keeps the name in a corner of his head. Edmund. Not a ghost, not a skeleton, but Edmund, who protected his kingdom until he died trapped within it.

Finally, Eugene is the one who destroys his statue. He cuts off its head, and tries to forget how a few seconds before, it was his own that could have been lost, if the king's axe had not struck beside it. Luck saved his life this time.

Adira asks Rapunzel to enter the moonstone chamber by herself. She says that it's her destiny, and hers alone. Eugene wants to protest, worry burning in his heart, but he doesn't even have the time - Rapunzel looks at Cassandra, and announces that the three of them will go inside. He should be relieved, but he can't help but take another look at the king's- Edmund's body. Many people have died for this stone, and the more time passes, the more terrified he is of what awaits them on the other side. He knows death, more than any other member of this group probably; he's been around it personally. He promised himself when he came back to life, that he would never let Rapunzel die the way he did, slowly and violently, when she has so much to live for.

He doesn't know where this promise will lead him.

When they arrive in the Dark Kingdom, the king is dead. They enter easily, and though the ghosts of past rulers stand in their way, the path to the moonstone is far from the most difficult adventure he has ever experienced. Eugene is worried, of course he is - he's afraid of the conclusion of their journey, afraid of what he cannot predict. Rapunzel tells him she loves him, and he almost wants to throw up, because they're in the middle of a kingdom murdered by that exact stone Rapunzel intends to grab. I love you too, he thinks, but can't manage to say, because the words sound like a goodbye, and he's not ready for that. He'd die one thousand times for her, if she asked him to. He'd die for her against her will too, if necessary, but he knows he can't get in the way today. As desperate as he is to protect her, he knows how much she values being able to draw her own path.

He wants to grab the moonstone first because he loves her, and because he loves her, he stays back.

That's not the case for everyone. He notices too late Cass running for it, and Demanitus' warning echoes once again in his ears, mocking now that the only thing he can do is try to pull Rapunzel to safety as the world explodes in colours. The king is dead, and their friendship with Cassandra is too, the shadow of Gothel haunting Rapunzel once again despite how much she deserves to be free from it. Cassandra flees, Eugene hurts his arm when she pushes him away, and Rapunzel runs after her, desperate to salvage what can be.

It doesn't amount to much, in the end.

Things settle down, as much as they can while Rapunzel still sits listlessly near the broken bridge Cassandra left behind, and Eugene goes in the castle again, in search of bandages this time. His left arm hurts.

He doesn't expect to find Adira, standing silently in front of... Edmund. Her back is rigid, her mouth in a straight line, but when he calls her name, he sees a foreign melancholy in her eyes. He doesn't know her that well, but there's a lot Eugene can understand from looking into somebody's eyes.

Adira sighs, shoulders lowering, and he's sure she hears his unsaid question. "I shouldn't be surprised," she says, but it's clear that in a way, she is. "I… knew, that King Edmund was not well, when we left. I often considered that he might very well be…" she trails off, her eyes falling on his body again.

"It's different to be sure," Eugene responds softly, his voice loud in the silence of this immense room. Watching them - Adira, and this skeleton, barely hanging together enough to recognise a human shape - it was difficult to conceive that once upon a time, they had stood here together, alive and happy, perhaps. He can't imagine what it feels like to see an old friend this way, with no warning. "Adira…"

"It's okay, Fishskin," she smiles, and in her voice, he could hear the echoes of all the time Rapunzel told him she was fine, because she didn't know how to act when she was not.

He barely knows Adira. Both because he didn't ask, and because she didn't want him, or anyone, to know her. But he can guess easily that her life had never been one of peace, not even before leaving the Dark Kingdom, and losing contact with the other members of the Brotherhood. He doesn't think she's unhappy, per se, but he- he knows, they all know, especially now after everything that happened, that anger and fear and grief are not emotions that should be let to fester until they explode. Maybe it's his worry for Rapunzel speaking; maybe he's confusing everything, and Adira is simply dealing with the situation the way she wants to, but before he can think better of it, Eugene takes a step forward, and asks her if she wants to bury the king's body.

"To- To give him a better resting place," he explains awkwardly, her eyes piercing right through him. He's ready to say sorry and hope she doesn't kill him for overstepping her boundaries, but, to his surprise, she softens, a genuine if sad smile on her lips.

"Actually Fishskin, that's… a great idea."

And so they do it. Adira finds a bear hood that the King used to wear - Dabney, she says reverently - and they place his bones in it, carefully moving everything in tandem. They don't really talk while doing it. There's not much to be said. Eugene thinks of this king, who was so desperate to save his kingdom that he doomed it, and he thinks about death, too. About how lonely it is.

Adira leads them down a few corridors, and they emerge in a small, grey looking garden. They walk until they find an unmarked tombstone.

"The queen," Adira announces shortly, and Eugene wonders if she helped bury her too.

It's not the first time Eugene digs a grave for someone. He remembers starkly getting out of the tower with Rapunzel, both of them entirely different people than who they were before, and finding a cloak and ashes at the bottom of it. He remembers how quietly distraught Rapunzel had been, and how he had proposed to bury what was left of Gothel.

Shaking his head, he tries to think about something else, but it's hard given the situation. His arm aches at each of his movements. Surprisingly, Adira breaks the silence, and that's enough to distract him.

"I often disagreed with King Edmund," she says, without looking at him. "He was a good king, but his duty to the moonstone blinded him to the bigger picture, and I was afraid that it would lead him, and us, to lose everything. I was right, as I often am," she chuckles, but there's no mirth behind it. Simply grief. Something that can't be quite put into words.

"How did he lose his arm?" Eugene asks, voice low as they finally lower the bones into the ground. His eyes catch the sight of the necklace falling aside, and when they're done, he picks it up, thumb running over the smooth surface of the gem.

"The queen died," Adira whispers. She's looking at the necklace too, when he raises his head. "Edmund's grief led him to act on the anger he had been repressing for too long, but the moonstone was much more powerful than he imagined. Its retaliation costs him everything he held dear."

Gently, Adira takes the necklace from him, and Eugene can't explain the impulse that makes him want to hold onto it for a little while longer.

He's sentimental, he reasons. There's something deeply touching about this man dying while looking at the last thing connecting him to his late wife. These are good explanations, but neither of them addresses the unease and bitterness rising in Eugene's throat. He doesn't understand it himself.

Adira looks at the necklace for a long time, emotions he can't name in her expression. Memories she will not share make her frown, and Eugene feels more and more like he doesn't belong in this moment.

"Should we… bury that with him?" he asks awkwardly. Adira bites her lips, and finally shakes her head.

"This necklace was special for the queen. I know she intended to pass it down to her children."

A terrible voice in Eugene's mind reminds him that it's too late - they both died, and that necklace, that tradition, died with them too. He's hit by the tragedy of it all again, relentlessly reminded that the king passed away long before anyone could try to save him. And they would have, Rapunzel would have convinced him to let her through, she would have given him faith, Eugene is sure of that. He thinks that's why he's angry, too. The king has been dead for years, maybe, alone and desperate until his very last moments. And Eugene, Eugene wishes to go back in time, and give him another chance, get him the help he needed before it was too late.

He has never been good at accepting unhappy endings.

"When… When King Edmund banished us from the Dark Kingdom," Adira continues, "he also made another sacrifice. He sent his son away, when he was barely a baby, to be raised far from the moonstone and its dangers."

Son. A baby, sole survivor of the royal family, who probably doesn't know he is. A baby, who isn't one anymore now, but who is probably alive, and the thought is enough for Eugene to feel something new - he'd call this hope, but he's not sure that it fits. Closure, perhaps.

"You want to give their son the necklace," he smiles shakily.

"That's what needs to be done," Adira agrees, before putting away the necklace in her pocket. The gem catches the moonlight one last time, shining brighter than before, and it's easier for Eugene to let go, this time. "However, I did not keep track of the prince. I don't know what became of him, after we left, but I will keep searching until I find him."

"Hey," Eugene grins, wanting to lighten the atmosphere a little, "you searched for the mystical and maybe non-existent sundrop, and you found it, so I'm sure a prince will be no trouble. And if you need anything, we'll be happy to help," he adds, more earnest this time.

There's a newfound warmth in her eyes, and she inclines her head, acknowledging his words. The situation feels easier, somewhat. They finish replacing the dirt on top of the king's body, and Adira places a little stone to mark the emplacement.

The king is dead, and Cassandra is gone, but Eugene wants to believe that they all can find their own healing in time.

One wrong move reawakens the pain in his arm, and Adira gauges him when he flinches. She tells him that if there are any medical supplies around there, they're probably in the King's personal quarters.

With her instructions, it's not too hard to find them. The bedroom he finds is enormous, which only heightens how empty and dark it feels. Blindly, Eugene makes his way to a window, and pushes the heavy curtains away, letting the moonlight flood the room, and reveal the ambient dust like as many little stars in the night sky.

One side of the bed is unmade. Next to the other, there is an empty crib.

His heart is racing, and he can't explain it. He turns to the bedside table, and does find what appear to be bandages, next to a pile of papers, so close to the bed that it is easy to guess that the king often looked at them.

Eugene approaches. He tells himself, without much conviction, that he should not look. That even in death the king deserves to keep his privacy. Whatever these papers are, they must have meant a lot to him, keeping him company in his darkest hours, and Eugene doesn't belong in this story.

It only takes him a step, and a second, to recognize his old wanted posters.

#tangled #tangled the series #Eugene Fitzherbert #King Edmund #Adira #Rapunzel

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bellamyblakru · 4 years ago

Note

You caught me doing something dangerous and flipped out (lancelot / merlin)

EKKK I FINISHED THIS OMGGG. thank you so so much for sending this prompt in mor sksksksksk this was so much fun to write and im so happy to get back into writing (for a minute at least 😂). my mercelot heart loved every second of this, so i hope you enjoy it as well🥺💖💖it is very merlin-centric but i hope that doesn’t ruin the experience!! thank you again🥺💖

you can read it here or on ao3!!💖

Merlin stumbled up the stairs into the castle, scarcely aware of his panting echoing loudly in the empty corridor. He knew that he should be throwing himself into Gaius’s room, shutting the door, and sleeping this off, but he couldn’t make it that far. He needed somewhere to go—and fast. He felt the wound pull with each step, the blood soaking his shirt and pants enough that he couldn’t remember what color they originally were.

Lancelot is going to be furious with him.

——————that morning——————

No one was smiling this morning as Merlin made his way to the throne room. A sort of silence had fallen around the castle like a leaden blanket, and Merlin feared that it did not bode well for anyone.

Things have been fine lately, happy almost. Of course that couldn’t last—when could they ever just be at peace?

He pushed open the throne room doors as quietly as he could, peering inside to see most of the knights already assembled staring at the map with matching frowns.

As he walked closer, Eylan and Leon looked up briefly to smile and nod at him before returning to the map, and he realized Gwaine, Percy, and Lancelot were nowhere to be found. Going to his place behind Arthur, who stared at the map with such heat that Merlin was surprised it didn’t burn up immediately, he asked quietly, “Where are the others?”

Arthur jerked up and spun around toward him, surprised evident on his face, “When did you get here?”

Merlin let out a small laugh, “I told you I can be quiet when I want to be, sire.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes and huffed, “And you never want to be quiet during hunts? Even when I ask nicely?”

Merlin gaped, “When do you ever ask nicely?”

Arthur smirked, “Fair enough.” he sobered up before continuing, “The others are coming back from a quick patrol I sent them on this morning. When you were collecting herbs for Gaius, a citizen from an outlying village came sobbing about rampant magic wielders killing everyone they come across in the name of freedom.” He shook his head in disgust, “I sent Percival, Gwaine, and Lance to escort the villager home to retrieve his family and friends to bring them into Camelot for safety. They should be back soon with news.”

Merlin swallowed hard at the thought of more magic being used for evil, for destruction. How can he ever show his friends, especially Arthur, how good magic can be if they only ever see it used for pain?

He nodded sharply in reply, masking his face of any sign of distraught, and calmly walked back to the pillar he normally leans against during audience and council meetings.

Moments like these were the hardest. Where his lies buried themselves so deep in his soul that he could feel himself failing to reach the surface for air. He will dream of the pyre tonight, he knew, and will be forced awake with the sound of his own choking from asphyxiation. He will stay awake for hours after, staring into darkness, wondering how much more of his own kin he will have to slaughter before they can claim true liberation. How much blood on his hands will he need to be considered the monster everyone believes him to be with this power?

He felt himself tremble with the thoughts. Looking around the room flooded with the late sunlight, he narrowed his stare at his friends discussing plans around the table, and begrudgingly felt his panic kick in. The trapping feeling suffocating any breath he had—he was trapped, and it was a cage of destiny’s own making.

His eyes darted from door to door, the urge to run, fast and far away, becoming almost unbearable and inescapable. He was considering excusing himself with some bad reason when the door slammed open—knights and the villager in tow.

Lancelot’s eyes immediately snapped to his, and Merlin knew then that he couldn’t, wouldn’t, run—not when Lancelot’s first look towards him was filled with such a deep understanding and sympathy.

Lance knew everything and didn’t think him a monster, and that is what kept him from darting every time Arthur called him useless, or dumb, or threw something at him. He wondered then if Lancelot would run away with him if he asked. Would the knight’s loyalty be tested or would he simply stand by his King without batting an eye? He would never ask Lance to make such a decision, though.

The knight was his closest friend, his most trusted confidante, and every day Merlin ached with the knowledge that Lancelot bared his secrets alongside him. If Merlin was to burn, Lance would be on the next prye.

Merlin refused to let that happen.

He snapped himself out of the daze he fell into, eyes refocusing on the knights speaking with the King. Merlin watched how Lance’s glance kept flicking his way, and when Merlin met the barely concealed worry within them, he tried to give a reassuring smile. However, Lance’s frown deepened—Merlin sighed, And here I thought I was good at this facade.

“..gathered all the others and placed them in a large tavern in the lower town. They should be safe there,” Percy told Arthur, who nodded in response.

The villager was shaking, Merlin belatedly realized, as he looked at Arthur’s chest to speak next, “M-my family appreciates your efforts, s-sire.”

Arthur grimaced, “No need to thank me. I wouldn’t want any more of my people hurt from these maniacs.” He stepped forwards, placing a hand on the man’s shoulder, “Go now. Rest with your family, I will make sure you are all seen to, properly.”

The man sputtered his thanks and dropped into a clumsy bow before turning around. Merlin, unable to stop his feet from moving, quickly walked forwards to catch the man before he disappeared, “Sir?”

The man froze, still shaking, as he looked up to Merlin with confusion. Merlin continued, “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

The man gave him a gentle smile, seeming to relax with Merlin’s presence, “I’m alright, young man, thank you. I appreciate your concern.”

Merlin gave a tentative smile, aiming for charming and warming, “If you ever need any assistance, I live with the Court Physician. Ask for Gaius or myself, and we will be there.”

The man clasped arms with him, a crooked smile forming, “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you again—thank you all.”

Merlin watched him go, unease in his gut. He didn’t know what it was about the man that made him uneasy, but it simmered long after the villager left them alone in the throne room.

Merlin turned around to see the others talking amongst each other and he made it to Lancelot’s side just as Gwaine began talking.

“Princess, I’m telling you: no one seemed scared! Only that man’s family seemed a little unsettled, and even then, it seems suspicious to me.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, “Do you expect them all to be sobbing and cowering? Of course they are putting up strong fronts! If my home was under attack, I know I wouldn’t want to show fear. I would rather be fighting against the attackers than hiding away in some strange town.”

Gwaine didn’t reply, but Merlin knew that Arthur’s answer wasn’t enough for the knight. Merlin stayed quiet, though, already calculating when he should go out to take care of this. Arthur ruined his calculations with his next proclaiment, however.

While rubbing the bridge of his nose, the King sighed out, “We will go as a group tomorrow to face them. Gather the provisions tonight, prepare the horses with any protection we can gather in the short amount of time. We will meet in front of the stables at first light.”

And with a ‘Yes, sire’ muttered by everyone, Arthur dismissed them.

Merlin didn’t hesitate to beeline for the door and escape before Arthur ordered him to do anything—he needed to think of something, and rather fast at that.

Merlin found himself on top of the battlements, staring at the horizon that seemed too far and much too close all at once. He usually found himself here to clear his mind. The view made him feel alive, more connected to the world, and, most importantly, he didn’t have to hold such a tight grip on his magic this far above.

No one ever came here besides him.

With a sigh, Merlin loosened his hold and let his magic out through his nose with his breathing. His skin seemed to stop crawling from the inside out, the sky looked more blue, and the air felt sweeter in his lungs. It had been too long since he could let go and he knew part of his trapped feeling had to do with his magic being stifled within his veins for too long. He took a deep breath, willing his magic back in slightly, and he laid down looking up towards the sky.

The sun will be going down soon, and Merlin figured he will be leaving after dinner to approach these rouges himself to handle them before it got the knights killed. He glared at the sky when he realized he couldn’t ask Lancelot to come with him—not again. He has endangered that man’s life quite enough just by breathing, and with his hope to keep Lancelot safe for as long as possible, he just couldn’t bring himself to ask. Lance would say yes, like always, but Merlin cannot—will not—actively put him in harm's way.

Merlin shuddered thinking of a life without Lancelot in it, and, well, it was simply unfathomable.

Lance was his rock, his reason to keep fighting when shit hits the fan, the only person who constantly sees Merlin for who he is and does not cower from it. Lancelot embraces every part of Merlin, flaw and all, and Merlin would be completely lost without him in his life. Lance swears that Merlin is the bravest man he ever met, but was it out of bravery or selfishness that Merlin faced all these threats alone? Merlin didn’t know, and he didn’t want to think too much about it in fear of the true answer (even though, deep down, he knew his answer was one he didn’t like).

So, the plan was rather simple: leave Camelot at dusk, talk or fight with the rouges, and make it back before sunrise.

It sounds easy enough.

A few hours later, after successfully avoiding Lancelot’s knowing gaze and delivering the King’s dinner, Merlin set out to the nearby town. He knew it was only an hour or two away from Camelot, so he snuck out of Camelot, grabbed his mare Honey, and set off briskly. His mare knew the drill by now and obliged easily, especially with Merlin’s magic soothing her with each gallop.

Soon, Merlin entered a clearing close to the town’s borders. He tied Honey a good distance away, leaving her some food, and took a deep breath before walking into the field. That uneasy feeling returned in gut and he knew this wouldn’t end well.

Just as he thought that, five hooded people walked out to meet him in the middle of the large clearing.

“Emrys, it’s good to see you again.”

Merlin squinted in the dark, “Again?”

The man laughed, throwing his hood back, “We met a few hours ago. I hope I left a good enough impression to be remembered.”

Merlin rolled his eyes, “Of course it’s you,” he scowled at the villager he met earlier today, “Why would it be anyone else? Why did you seek aid with King Arthur if you are part of the problem?”

Merlin was fairly certain he knew the answer already, but he needed time to access the power of each person here. The one on the left held the most potential, magic coming off her in waves, but the rest were mediocre at best, if the last person had anything at all but small tricks up his sleeve.

The man was in the middle of explaining what Merlin was sure to be an “ingenious” plan to get close to King Arthur when he interrupted, “How did you hide your magic from me? You know I’m Emrys and all, so you must realize I can read you magical abilities by proximity, but I didn’t sense it on you originally. So, how?”

The man blinked, and then glared at Merlin for his interruption, “I have a pendant that covers my magical scent. It’s been passed down through generations. My mother gave it to me to get close to the King…”

Merlin tuned him out again, pondering such an artifact. It would be useful to him against more powerful creatures, but he wondered if it hurt at all or if he could use that instead of shoving his magic deep down everyday.

When all the sorcerers looked at him expectantly, Merlin frowned, “Did you ask something?”

The powerful one spoke up this time, her voice much stronger than her peer, “We asked for you to join us, Emrys, to bring peace to our lands once more. To restore magic, free our people, make you the rightful King.”

Merlin flinched slightly, “Rightful King? I am no King. Arthur is the once and future King, the rightful heir to the throne and the only man I will serve. But I had a feeling you knew my answer already, so why try this?”

The woman shrugged, a small wicked smile on her lips, “Proving your loyalty in the flesh is a nice incentive to make it easier to kill you—the most powerful warlock or not, you are still a traitor.”

Merlin rolled his shoulders, “Let’s dance, then, shall we?”

It was brutal, to say the least, as Merlin limped back to Honey trying to ignore the blackened, scorched earth and bloodied bodies scattered about. He looked down at the wound in his abdomen and debated whether he should just stay over night or make it to Camelot before light. He completed the first two steps of his plan, he might as well continue with it. So with a painful moan, Merlin hoisted himself on top of his mare, who neighed upset at the smell of bad copper, and willed her to go back home. He didn’t have the strength to hold the reins, not when both hands were being used to staunch the blood flow.

He swayed with the frantic galloping, trying to forget the pure malice on the villager's face when he stabbed him when Merlin was off guard for a second. The villager had taunted to kill Merlin’s knight when he was done with him after he managed to stick the knife and that’s when Merlin’s magic exploded out of him. His magic responded with his emotions—and when Lance was threatened, his heart stopped beating for a second before the world exploded in a blinding white light. No one survived after that blow.

Merlin was barely conscious when he made it back to the stables, but he was able to sneak back in the way he came out—completely unnoticed by the guards, even with his blood loss, Merlin knew how to get in and out of Camelot quietly and quickly.

Lancelot will freak out when he sees him, but Merlin had no other choice. Limping, he blindly remembered the route to Lancelot’s room as he clung onto consciousness with every fiber of his being.

Just a few more steps. Lance will keep you safe—he always keeps you safe.

With his vision narrowing with the blackness crawling in, Merlin quickened his steps and landed in front of Lance’s room. He collapsed, hitting the door with his body, and the last thing he saw was Lance’s terrified expression before he welcomed unconsciousness with a sigh of relief.

——————

Merlin woke up, wincing from the ache in his body, and blinked a couple times at the ceiling before he remembered what happened. He quickly sat up, and then immediately regretted the action when the room started swaying.

When he managed to calm his breathing and dizziness, he leaned against the headboard of the bed and his eyes found a still awake Lancelot, who was staring blankly at the roaring fire.

“Lance?” Merlin croaked out, his voice dry and scratchy like he had been screaming for hours.

The knight slowly looked up from the fireplace, and Merlin saw how red-rimmed his eyes were.

“Lance, I’m—“

He threw his hand up, stopping Merlin, and stood up to start pacing in front of the bed. Merlin watched, heart aching, as Lance tried to work his breathing into something less panicked, less terrified.

He stopped abruptly, spinning to look at Merlin. They held the stare for a moment before Lance started glowering at him, “Merlin.”

Usually, the way Lance says his name gives him butterflies, not that he ever admitted that to anyone, but this time made him look down in shame and he started absentmindedly picking a loose thread in the knight’s blanket. Merlin realized then that he was completely cleaned, in Lance’s small clothes, and there was a glass of water next to the bed. Merlin’s heart warmed at the actions, but when he looked back up to see a still fuming Lance, Merlin scooted forwards to try and grab the man’s hand.

Lance let himself be grabbed, and Merlin pulled him onto the bed in front of him as whispered brokenly, “I’m sorry I scared you.”

Lance huffed, his anger still not dissipated, “Merlin,” and said warlock looked up to see waring emotions in the knight’s eyes, “I was more than scared. I was...terrified.” He shook his head, using his free hand to wipe down his face, “I couldn’t find you after the meeting, so I searched the entire castle for you. I knew you were planning on doing something idiotic, but I didn’t realize you would do it so soon.”

Merlin heard Lancelot’s breathing hitch before he continued, “I thought maybe you went out for more herbs, or that Arthur had you working overtime and that's why I couldn’t find you. I-I couldn’t sleep when I figured out that you must have gone without me. And I know you can handle yourself—Gods!” He stood up again, anger and fear and pain in every movement, “I was so scared, Merlin! Do you know what it’s like to know your best friend left you behind on some self-sacrificing quest for some reason? Is it because you don’t want my help? You would rather risk your life over and over again without me at your side as backup? Am I that horrible?”

At Lance’s frantic questions, Merlin felt the tears falling down his face as he vehemently shook his head no.

Lance saw this, stopped moving, and whispered, “My heart completely stopped for a moment when I saw the state you were in. Merlin,” he let out a small, broken gasp of air, “I thought this time that I-that I would lose you. And I can’t—“ he covered his mouth when a strangled sort of sob escaped him, the anger bleeding out to utter exhaustion.

Merlin blindly reached out for Lancelot’s hand again, pulling him back down to him, and they stayed like that, intertwined, for a few moments before Merlin had regained enough strength to talk.

While rubbing Lance’s knuckles with his thumb, Merlin quietly spoke, “Lancelot,” he waited until the man’s beautiful brown eyes met his, “I cannot lose you.”

And when Lance opened his mouth to say something, Merlin plowed on, “I should’ve told you that a long time ago. You-you keep me centered. You make me want to live, Lance. Not survive, not exist. Live.

I never had someone who looks at me the way you do, who knows all the dark shit about me and continues to look at me the same way. I make mistakes, constantly. I hurt people, Lance, and it kills me a little more each time. I hurt my own kin to keep Camelot safe, to keep you safe, and I ache knowing that I damned you with me. That’s the worst pain of all. I was born damned, but you? I dragged you into it, and I will not allow you to be set aflame alongside me. I refuse.

You deserve a life without this extra burden I force upon you. I am cursed with this life, but you have the ability to turn a blind eye, to not be feared for simply breathing.”

Merlin felt the bed shift, and his brief thought that he finally drove his only true friend in his life away was squashed when Lance sat next to him, pulling him underneath his arm. Merlin’s tears came back when curled into Lance’s side, his hand on the knight’s chest feeling his heart beating steadily.

Lance stroked through Merlin’s hair softly, “Merlin,” and there were those damn butterflies again, “I choose to stay at your side. You are the best person I know. And before you deny it, I know you are forced to make hard decisions every other day, and I know you are the most powerful warlock to ever exist, and, in spite of those facts, who you are, at your core, never changes.

You can burn cities down with a flick of your wrist, you can harm anything or anyone with barely a thought, you can overthrow Arthur at any moment, but you know why you don’t? Because, in your heart and in your soul, you are a good, beautiful person. You see the light when others only see the dark, you defend those who cannot fight for themselves, you love so deeply and unconditionally that everyone you meet can’t help but adore you.

So, no, I will not let you pick for me who I chose to love. I picked you to stand by, with your magic and all, and I will always pick you. If you wanted to leave Camelot tonight, I would pack my bags without hesitation. You did not damn or burden me, love. You are all that I believe in, and I will never turn my back on you.

I will be by your side, for as long as you want me, to whatever end. If we burn tomorrow, then we burn together. I’ve made peace with my decision a long time ago.”

He kissed the top of Merlin’s head when he finished, pulling him closer to let him cry onto his chest while rubbing the warlock’s back. With his free hand, he wiped away his own tears before grabbing Merlin’s loose hand.

“So...” Lancelot said, trying to lighten the mood a bit, “if you leave on some self-sacrificing mission without letting me help you again, I will tell Gaius on you.”

Merlin gasped dramatically, leaning up on Lance’s chest to look him in the eyes, “You wouldn’t dare!”

Lance smirked, “Oh, I would.”

Merlin gaped, the smile breaking through betraying his false exasperation, “Fine. I’ll bring you with me next time, but promise me one thing?”

Lance softened, nodding, and Merlin laid back down listening to the knight’s heart beat as he spoke, “If I tell you to run, you will run without hesitation.”

There was silence for a moment before Lance responded, “I cannot promise that, Merlin.”

Merlin frowned, looking back up to see Lance’s eyes already on him, “I cannot promise that because I would rather die than leave you alone during a battle. Even if the odds are stacked against us, I will never leave you behind. If I run, you run. If you fight, I fight. We are in this together, Merls.”

Merlin couldn’t stop the tears from falling again as words sank in fully, “To whatever end, huh?”

Lance smiled softly, nodding, “Let’s get some rest. After almost scaring me to death, I am completely spent.”

Merlin went still, preparing himself to leave the warmth of Lancelot’s body, but Lance tilted his chin up as he asked, “Stay the night?”

Merlin beamed, wrapping himself completely with his knight. He fit into Lance’s side perfectly, like it was always meant to be the two of them against the world.

And when Merlin drifted off to sleep, with Lance’s hands still rubbing his back, he felt lighter than he had in years. And for the first time in a long time, no nightmares plagued his dreams.

#ashley answers #ashley writes #merlin fanfiction #merlin fanfic #mercelot #merlin x lancelot #bbc merlin #THANK YOU LOVELY 🥺💖💖💖💖i adore uuuu #my first time in mercelot territory....hopefully it doesn’t suck LOL #mercelot fanfic #also lol at me basically writing it all in one sitting 💀

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