#the first winter council in like a week will be gathered

[dipperscavern]

answered a chunk of my more conversational asks so later tongiht we’re going to gather the council & have some…. different conversations. good tidings and great cheer to all!! (cregans a thigh man)

[misguidedasgardian]

Hour of the Wolf (7)

VII. Pestilence

MASTERLIST

Summary: Unbeatable, dangerous enemies make their way through the Red Keep

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Targaryen!Reader

Warnings: Cursing, war, death, mentions of killings, genocide and war, threats, arranged marriage, SPOILERS for ASOIAF, and Fire & Blood, also, might spoil House of the Dragon, SPOILERS IN WARNINGS, sickness, epidemic, people dying, angst

+18, MINORS DNI

Wordcount: 5 k

Notes: Alright, so there had been a few times skips through the chapters, since they got married it’s been like 2 months, and in here trough outs like another two. Sorry for any mistakes I wrote this in notes and barely choked it

“Anything else?”, you asked your council, “maybe something that you had been keeping from me?”, you were still punishing them with your tough words, even though it's been two weeks since the Iron Fleet situation

Tyland decided to chuckle, as to relieve the tension

“No your grace”

“There is something that had been brought to my attention, your grace”, muttered the Grand Maester, “concerning reports from the White Harbour”, Cregan raised his eyes, “just got the raven this morning… A strange disease has been spreading… people are getting shivers, fever, and then… perishing”

“How bad is it?”, you asked, then you looked at your husband

“The disease appeared first on the three sisters”, he said, “many are dead, half the population…”

“How come we haven’t heard of this before?”, you asked

“I do not know your grace, it appears the Vale wanted to keep it guarded, as they blame it on people from Ibbe, slaughtering the bunch, they did not want to raise alarms”

“For the gods”, you cursed, truly concerned, “I want you to keep communications open with theirs maesters, send them everything we might have on how to deal with this diseases, on the library, I will bet there is information”, you commanded, “also keep the line open with The Citadel, they must have even much information”

“Yes your grace”, said the maester, knowing that you did not said that lightly

“We will help as we can, but we cannot send help physically”, you observed

“Agreed, we need to discourage the spreading of the disease”, muttered Lord Celtigar, “In my travels, I witnesses many diseases, I shall help the maester on the gathering of information”

“That will be much appreciated”, you said, nodding your head at your maester of laws

“We must be careful of the ships and envoys that come from the Vale and from White Harbour, but at the same time, we must aid one of the most important trading points in the North”, determined Cregan

“I agree, with winter fast approaching, we cannot impair the North of their most important harbor”, you said, looking at the naked table in front of you, “how I wish we had the painted table in front of us”, you whispered

“I’ll arrange a well drawn map to be able to us here in the small council chamber”, muttered the Maester

“Thank you”, you said, relieved

“Lord Celtigar, I wish to know about Harrenhal”, you said, looking at your master of Laws

“I’m not gonna lie, events happened in that cursed place from which I have no explanation”, he muttered, “a man died in front of me, because the so-called Queen Witch of Harrenhal command it”, you frowned, thinking he was joking, but he was dead serious

“Some say it was a well time bolt that made that man’s head explode your grace, but, I did not see any arrows”

“What of her?”, you asked

“She presented me with a boy, with blonde hair, she claimed it is Aemond Targaryen’s son, and the rightful heir to the Iron Throne”

You chuckled darkly, the audacity of your uncle, of openly calling your brothers and you bastards, developing a hate that led him to kill your baby brother, only to bed none other than a Strong bastard, and siring a bastard himself, if he had lived, you would have killed him again.

Specially after what he did to you

“We surrounded the castle, took it by storm, killing all the traitors, but, when we storm what would be the royal apartments… she was gone, her and the child, we do not know were she is, or how she could have escaped”, he said, looking at your face for any indications of what you were thinking

“Be honest, should I be concerned?”, you asked then

“I do not think so, your grace, nobody would believe her, and even if they did… I don’t think so, you are well settled in your throne, and… even so… other than the Hightowers, nobody has real reason to raise against you”, you barely nodded, “nobody has the strength, the kingdoms are still healing, and will be so for at least the next five years”

“Raise alarms, in case she is spotted”, you said only, you wanted to eliminate all traces of your uncles, treachery, and war, “what else?”

“The Blackwoods request audience”, muttered Cregan, “Lord Blackwood’s eldest daughter Alyssane is seeking for a husband, let it be reminded the Blackwoods were great supporters of your mother during the war, thanks to them we defeated the Baratheon Army, eliminating Lord Borros, and… The Riverlands turned black because of them”

“And they are welcomed in my court, I shall receive them with open arms, and a banquet in their honor”, you commanded

“I’ll make the arrangements”, muttered Lord Redwyne

“The Iron Fleet, or what remains, the flagship has been spotted sailing here, to King’s landing”

“Have they made their intentions clear?”, you asked

“They wave white flags, request an audience”, you only scoffed, “they claim that, they want to gaze upon the Dragon Queen”

“Of course”, you muttered, “let’s welcome them then, we are home, they are but a few, we shouldn’t be concerned”

Nobody opposed the idea, so they barely nodded

“Of course prepare escorts, I would not let them be for a second while they are here, eyes on them at all times”

Gazing upon the face of the Red Kraken himself gave you a sensation of… disappointment

You were disappointed of him, from the tales, stories of men that had faced him in open sea and also in lands, were the tales of a man that didn’t belong to the land of the living, rather, he had come from the darkest parts of the ocean ready to reclaim land back to the depths

A ruthless men, bloodthirsty, with no remorse or fear of death

“Your grace”, he greeted, bowing theatrically 

“Lord Dalton”, you greeted seriously

“The songs do not do justice to your beauty”

“Is that so?”, you did not like his tone, not the mock in his voice and features of his face 

“You are more than they say”, he continued

“And what else do they say about me, Lord?”, you asked mockingly, Cregan, by your side, glanced at you, clearly asking you to not engage

“They say men rule in your stead”, he said, you only smiled

“As I have proven, that is not entering true”, you smirked, he chuckled darkly

“That is true”

“So you raided one of my seven kingdoms… to prove me, test me”, you said, now more serious

“I wanted to see who sat the Iron Throne”, he said, “a dragon, or wolves and lions”

You grew bored of this character quickly looking for help in your small council and other lords gathered there

“now it’s clear to me, so I’ve come to offer… other services”, your eyes went back to him

“Services?”, you asked, you did not like the smirk of his face, “such as?”

“Well I’d offer my hand in marriage but… I see I’m too late for that…”, Cregan took a step forwards, anger taking a hold on him, “but I don’t mind being the second”

“You are overstepping”, your husband grunted.

He was not going to allow some guy just coming here and shamelessly think he could just… have you

“All Kings and Queens have lovers”, he said dismissively, “you don’t have to be the exception”

“right…”, you mumbled looking for the eyes of your Queensguard, to ask him to remove him, “I thought you seek audience to reintegrate yourself and your people to the rest of the realms, for the common fool, but you had just come here to make a mockery out of diplomacy”

“your grace you misunderstood, it is costumers for us ironborns to have salt wives… and rock wives”, he said, entertained, by you, you were getting angry, “together, we could have children not only with fire in their veins, but in their head as well”, people laughed, but Cregan was not amused, “worthy of the throne”

“That is enough”, you demanded, “I only need but one husband”, you said, and the court chuckled, “if you are here to mend bonds with the realm you might stay, Lord Dalton, otherwise and although I thank yo Igor your offering, I kindly reject it”, people laughed again and that did not pleased the Kraken, soon, he left and if he had his armada on its entirety, you would be weary, but he didn’t, so you weren’t.

The mood swiftly changed when another introduction was made

“The Lady Alyssane of house Blackwood” presented a guard, you’d think she would have come with the rest of her family, but she presented herself alone in front of you

She was one of the most beautiful women you had ever seen, also, her reputation precedes her. She fought in the war, she led armies, she killed hundreds with bow and arrow.

She was someone to admire

She was the head of her house until her little brother came of age

“Your grace, it’s an honor, thank you for receiving me”, of course she ceased the first word

“Lady Alyssane you are most welcome, I hope you find what you are looking for, you are welcome to stay at court as much as you need to”, she only smiled, bowing perfectly, she also looked at your husband and hand, but… you didn’t like I one bit.

Having the Ironborns at court was one thing, having the Blackwoods was another, it changed the dynamic in the entire court

The former were constantly and daily have dinner with you, and lady Alyssane would sit beside Cregan, and they would chat all night…

You didn’t like it, not at all

But it would be childish of you to chide Cregan for something he didn’t have power over, right?

“But I find that hunting with a spear… is it too slow” the woman giggled, and you could see the conversation had sparked something in Cregan, he was entertained, he was speaking of something he enjoys, a rare thing to find with him

Is not like you did not trusted Cregan, but it was still painful to watch, so you retired early, as many of the other women at court, and left Cregan, the men, and the lady Alyssane, drinking and laughing like old mates.

You were not worried or concerned, only tired by the events of the day.

Cregan though, as soon as you left, was left himself with a sense of emptiness, he found the situation uncomfortable, and soon, followed you

Cregan was on his way to your now shared chambers when he encountered little Jahaera walking in the same direction, a small red blanket in her arm, rubbing her tired face with the other 

“Little one, where are you going?”, as soon as she saw him she whined, hugging onto the hand of the nanny that was taking her

“I’m very sorry my lord, she woke up, and wanted to see the Queen”

“Leave us, I’ll take her”, he said, and she, with reluctance, let go of her tiny hand and walked away

He kneeled on the floor just in front of her, with a soft expression on his face

“Why can’t you sleep, little dragonling?”

“I don’t want anyone else to go away”, she whined, her teary eyes make him sad, “If I sleep, she’ll go away”, she explained

“What do you mean?”, he asked softly

“At night… my brother went away… then I went to sleep, and my mommy went away, and then my papa, he went away, when he went to sleep…”, she whined, bitter tears falling from her beautiful eyes

Cregan’s heart broke

“I don’t want my aunty mommy to go away too”, she said

“She won’t, I promise you”, he said

“How do you know?”, she asked, rubbing her eyes

“Because I will protect her with my life, us Starks, we always keep our word, did you know?”, he asked softly

“You will take care of my new mama?”

“I promise you little one”, he said, “and you know, I’m married to your mama, so..”, she only smiled, and hugged him. He hugged her back, stading up and carrying her to the chambers. “one more night you can sleep with your new mommy alright?”, he asked

Jahaera barely nodded again his neck.

She was already sleeping by the time he entered the chambers to find you looking at him with the softest eyes, and the most beautiful smile he had seen.

That little girl and your brother where your family, and he had married you so, they became his family, he needed to step up, and help you with those children

He was determined, he thought the very next day, as he finished his short prayers in the Godswood, he wanted to go back to the Keep, to speak to Ser Arryk about prince Aegon’s training, or the start of.

That boy was too very sad… he needed to look forwards, you needed to fill his mind with something more… history, philosophy, training, to keep him mind fed and occupied with something else.

He walked trough the beautiful garden, thinking about inviting you to eat something outside, that would make you happy

“I must say I’m dissapointed”, Cregan raised his gaze to meet the beautiful Alyssane Blackwood

“The Capital is not to your liking?”, he asked

“Well, no if the betrothal I was hoping to get is… already married”, now that surprised him, looking at her

“My Lady”

“You are a price I was hoping to catch”, she continued, smirking

“Well, you are too late”, he said, trying to make it lighter, with a smile on his face, but she was not releasing her predatory stance 

“A pity”, she muttered, looking mindesly at the flowers of the garden, “we could have been great you know”

“Probably”, he muttered

“Are you really happy here in the capital?”, she asked, “wouldn’t you have prefered a wife? A lady of Winterfell?”

“I would prefer no one but the one I gave my word to”, he said, now all serious, he was not going to be polite anymore, “and you are out of line, my lady”

“Just playing with what could have been”, she said, not altered at all by his serious words

“I thought the idea was to look for a match”, they both turned to see you approaching them, “not get into one”, you said bitterly

“Your grace”, she said, now alarmed, as she saw you approaching

“I think you overstayed your welcome, Lady Blackwood, since you found no prospects on this week, you best try somewhere else”, you said simply, standing by Cregan’s side.

She barely nodded, and bowed lightly

“Thank you for your hospitality your grace, but you are right I must take my leave, and hunt in other woods”, she muttered and then she left quite quickly.

You watched her lean and tall figure leave, she was beautiful, her eyes as green as forests, and her hair long, black and lustrous

“It is a pity, if she had been here sooner… maybe she would have managed to hunt you”, you whispered, and then walked on the other direction.

Cregan called your name, but you didn’t turn back, you just kept walking

Cregan haden’t entertained her, but her words still lingered in your ears. You had make him marry you, perhaps he would have preferred a real wife, a lady, a partner for him to take North and be a mother to his child and give him more, that supports him in leading his people, not all the way around

But it was too late now. 

What was done was done, is not like you threatened with your dragon for him to marry you, but still, the inavility of managing a match for yourself is what chained him to a life he didn’t even want.

You had commissioned a pathway from the gardens to exit the castle by a stone hallway, that led to the cliffs sorrounding King’s Landing, were your dragon rested, you wanted to see her, maybe even take a little flight. 

This stone hallway was tall, windy, and open, much like the one leading to the castle in Dragonstone, Cregan followed you closely

“I didn’t entertain her…”, he explained

“I’m aware”, you answered, but not stopping your movements 

“Please”

“Cregan”, you stopped turning to look back at him, “I’m aware you didn’t entertain her, but she is right, I can’t help but think in the “what if”, you explained, “what if I didn’t make you marry me? you could have been back in Winterfell, with your child and your people”

“Yes maybe”, he growled, “but I married you”

“Because of a pact you made when my borthers were still alive”, you said simply, turning to keep walking, but he grabbed you

“Not only because of that”, he growled, looking into your eyes, “I wanted to marry you”, he said

“Why?”

“Why!?”

“Why? because of power?”, you asked

“Not only that”, he said, looking intently into your eyes

“Because I’m broken?”, you asked then, “because I’m a danger to the country?”

“No…”, he said, you both into eachtoher’s eyes, he moved slowly, like you were some wild animal, and he palced his hand on the side of your face. “Because to me you are the most beautiful woman in the seven Kingdoms, because I desired you, you are what I have been promised”, you didn’t know what to say, “I will have half a life with you, and half a life away, but… at least I have something of you”, he said

You kept quiet, the world seemed to stop for a second, and all around you, only the two of you existed.

“I have never been much of a poet”, he said, chuckling darkly, “and I only must say, nobody would have make me marry you if I didn’t want you”, he said this time more darkly, you leaned in kissing him, he kissed you back, trapping your lips on his greedily

“I wanted you too”, you said, “because you and I… were ment to be together”, you said certainly 

“Fire and Ice”, he said, “nobody make us marry, we chose it, because we knew, together we could have everything”, he said with a husky voice, “power, love, a family”

“Together”, you confirmed, sealing your words with another longing kiss, “We need to settle in our roles as husband and wife”, you whispered with an entertained voice

“I’ll settle you in our bed as of right now”, he growled, “But I will settle for having you here…”

“No!”, you giggled as he grabbed you pulling you towards the grass on the other side of the passage.

He layed you down in the open, where anybody could see

“The nerve of that woman”, he growled over you, “of ever thinking I could have chosen her, instead of you”

“the audacity”, you chuckled 

“Perhaps we should have her watch as I ravage you”, he said opening the top of your riding gear, his mouth on the skin of your neck and collarbones

“Cregan Stark!”, you shrieked, “I didn’t know this side of you”, you moaned, as you spread your legs to fit his form between them. 

“We have the power, and our love… let’s make our family”, he whispered against your neck, “dark haired children worthy of the throne…” he mocked the words of Dalton

Cregan and you shared looks over the table, little smirks, you two were like two giggly lovers from the stories

“Concerns about the desease are increasing, despise out best efforts, it’s coming trough the port…”, muttered the Grand Maester, bringing the attention back to the situation at hand, “there is no control…”, he was interrupted when Tyland coughed, trying to hide it in a hankerchief, now you noticed that… he looked sickly

“Are you well, Tyland?”, you asked with concern, as the man looked possibly ghostly, pale, heavy sweat on his forehead

“Forgive me your grace”, he coughed, “I do not feel well”

Cregan stood from the table like a spring, and grabbed you, pushing you gently backwards towards the window

“Get away, hold your breath”, he commanded, all the men stood from the table, taking steps back from Tyland

“I’m well”, he tried to argue, but Arryk grabbed your other side, using his cape to cover your face, making you blind, but both men led you out of the room.

“Is this necessary?”, you asked, concerned

“Very”, growled Cregan, “the Winter fever has reached the Red Keep, take the necessary measures, nobody meets anyone, people should stay in their apartments”

“Yes M’Lord”, muttered Arryk

They finally released you in your rooms

“Wait!”, you called as they left you alone and were about to close the door, “what about Aegon and Jahaera?”

“We need to keep you separated”, he said firmly, “in case…”, your eyes filled with tears

“Yes I understand”, you murmured 

“We will keep them together”, he assured you, “nobody will see them…”

“Wait!”, you called as he was about to close the door, “stay here with me”

“Someone needs to organize this”, he said seriously

“Not you!”, you called

“I have to”, he said seriously, and he closed the doors, trapping you inside 

You were loosing your mind….

You had books, they brought you food and Cregan would come at the door and give you updates twice a day…

You had done all you could, you had commanded medicine to be send, as well as the knowledge to help the cities fight this, but they wouldn’t let you out, you hadn’t seen anyone in weeks. At least half the Kingdoms had fallen into madness and sickness

“Tyland… didn’t make it” Cregan whispered against the door, “10 servants didn’t either”, you shed bitter tears at the other side of the door

“Gods… Tyland”, you whined

“Alicent has fallen to the sickness as well”, he murmured, but you heard him alright

“What about Aegon and Jahaera?”

“They ask about you constantly, yet… they are in good spirits, with their Nannies who had also scaped this”

“Good”, you whispered, “please send word to Casterly Rock”

“Already did, those lucky bastards weren’t hit by the desease, neither has the Reach nor Dorne, it seemed it is stuck in the Crownlands, the Vale and the North"

"at least some of us are spared"

"its been a moon since Tyland was sick, we will get trough this", he said, "the worst is…", he got quiet, and you whined when you heard a cough

"Cregan?", you asked

"I'm fine, some dust sneaked his way to my throat", he said lightly

“Are you sure?”, you asked, grabbing the knob of the door

“Yes” he said, “A message has arrived from the Citadel from the maesters, I should tend to it” he said

“Please come back”, you begged

“Always”, he said, and left you

The next day… he didn’t came back

“His grace has taken abed your grace”, said Ser Arryk, “the maester is tending to him”. You opened the door, to his surprise

“Your grace”

“If the maester falls sick we are all dead, I’ll tend to him”

“No!” He said trying to grab you, but only one look and he desisted

You ran down the hallways and entered his rooms…

Cregan laid in his bed, pale, you could see the sweat on his forehead, and the shivers running up and down his arms and his whole body. You were by his side in a minute, grabbing his hand

“Cregan”, you called, but to no answer, his eyelids fluttered, he seemed like he was going to open his eyes, but he didn’t, instead he just mumbled something, sounded more like a grunt.

The Grand Maester didn’t lie to you…

Most… almost all of those who catched the fever perished…

You needed to prepare for the worst… and yet, your eyes filled with tears and a desperation consumed you, as you started crying silently

“Please don’t leave me”, you cried, “please”, you begged, grabbing onto his hand tightly, “I don’t know what I’m going to do without you”, you admitted, he squeezed your hand a little

“Rickon”, he whispered, in his feverish dreams, “my son”, you frowned, concerned, at the worry on his features even in his sleep

He was calling for his son, the son you had kept him from, the only son he had.

You placed your hand on your lower belly, then you placed his hand there

“You need to get better”, you begged, “your son needs you, the North needs you… our baby needs you… I need you”, you prayed, his naked chest was pearled with sweat he was burning up. You stood up removed your clothes and laid by his side grabbing into him, making sure your body stuck to his as much as you could, so you’ll lower his body temperature with yours, after giving him the medicine indicated by the doctor.

It all depends on him, and the gods.

Taglist.

@lyannesworld @tremendouswolfsaladranch @unlesshouse @mimsie95 @ostricx @amelia262006 @marihoneywk @ahristata @happinessinthebeing @dd122004dd

@lyannesworld @aestmilky @lightdragonrayne @delaynew @mxtokko @stargaryenx @lightdragonrayne @delaynew @mxtokko @good-night-starlight @yentroucnagol @beebeechaos @brakingboundaries @duds31

[callsign-rogueone]

fireproof - b.s.

cadet!Brennan Sorrengail x cadet!reader (young Brennan and Duchess!) words: 1.4k 🏷: no book spoilers because this happens before the events of fourth wing hehe. more of bb bren and bb duchess. set soon after the events of allies, so read that first! near-death situation / mortal peril, but no actual injury happens. I promise these two will communicate their feelings soon lol

You come to a stop in front of Brennan’s door, heart pounding. You hadn’t thought about this part, and you’re not sure what to do; you don’t want to knock, don’t want to wake up any of the other cadets -- it’s still very much four in the morning, and you’re not supposed to be out of your room.

You’re not supposed to be talking to a second dragon, either, but here you are.

Brennan pulls the door open, sparing you the decision -- Marbh must have woken him up. He’s quick to usher you inside, scanning you for injury. 

“This is going to sound absolutely insane,” you breathe, “but Marbh is in my head right now.”

He blinks the sleep from his eyes, still not fully awake. “What?”

“Marbh is talking to me. I have no idea why or how, and for some reason, I can’t reach Ban to ask.”

You both hear the orange daggertail’s response at once. “She is otherwise occupied, so she sent me.”

“That’s not vague at all,” Brennan says aloud, exasperated.

“If you must know, she is defending herself to the Empyrean right now.”

Your eyes widen. “The dragon council? Why?”

“That is for her to explain to you.”

Brennan notices you’re fully dressed, your longsword sheathed across your back and a thick cloak covering your shoulders. “If you’re going to find her, I’m coming too.”

He turns to open the closet, digging through it for a clean pair of flight leathers.

Your eyes catch the dark orange of the relic spanning his back, your cheeks warming as you realize he isn’t wearing a shirt. You whirl around, averting your eyes, but the sight is already burned into your brain.

You’d never realized how toned he is.

Focus, you tell yourself, shaking the thought from your head. Ban could be in mortal danger right now. 

“Ready,” Brennan says, shouldering his sword.

It’s absolutely freezing out, still the thick of winter, though there’s been a break in the snow this week, so you don’t need to worry about leaving footprints as you cross the courtyard.

Brennan leads the way, taking a shortcut through a door you’ve never even noticed before. 

Making it out of the fortress is the easy part. You step into the wet grass, and you realize you have no idea where to go.

“Marbh?” 

Silence. Literal crickets. Great.

You gather the slack of the black string connecting you to Ban and pull gently, seeing where it leads. Northeast, to the flight field and the vale. You make the climb silently, worried that if you speak, you’ll somehow alert whoever is threatening Ban to your presence, or that you won’t hear them coming.

You’ve never been out here, never been allowed to -- you still aren’t, and you probably never will be, but you push the thought aside as you continue. It’s surprisingly deserted out here, which is as equally concerning as it is relieving.

It’s so dark out that you almost mistake the orange daggertail ahead of you for Marbh. Almost. 

Marbh isn’t missing an eye; this is Melgren’s dragon, Solas.

His jaws open, and you know there’s no time to run, to fight, to beg for your life.

You yank Brennan behind you, praying to whatever gods will answer that your body will be enough to shield him from the fire.

It is.

You hear the roar, feel the heat, see the grass on either side of you catch, but you’re protected by an invisible wall that extends from your outstretched hands, keeping back the flame.

You plant your feet, fighting to stay upright and to keep doing whatever this is. It feels like you’re pushing a thousand pounds uphill, but if you stop, if you falter for even a second, or it will cost both you and Brennan your lives.

The blast stops, leaving a wall of flickering orange fire in front of you that fades after a split second.

You nearly collapse as you step backward. You’re exhausted, soaked in sweat and overheated despite the chill of the night air, your heart pounding and lungs burning like you’ve been running for miles.

Brennan holds you up, undoing the clasp of your cloak to help cool you off.

The ground shakes with the landing of multiple dragons. If they’re as mad as Solas is, you’re absolutely cooked. You have no idea how to do that again, or if you even can.

You want to tell him how sorry you are that you’d dragged him into this, that you shouldn’t have knocked on his door to tell him, you should have just gone alone, that when you die together, you'll spend the rest of your afterlife making it up to him, that your biggest regret in life will be not telling him how you felt about him, that you--

“Sorry I’m late, noble one.”

You whip your head up to see a black leg next to you. Ban. She’s brought company — Marbh, and a giant brown swordtail that you’ve never seen before. Brennan’s eyes widen in shock, but he stays silent, his arms still wrapped around you.

Marbh does not greet you, instead stalking past you toward the other orange dragon and baring his teeth in warning.

Oh, gods, are they going to fight? If Solas kills Marbh, it’ll kill Brennan too.

The brown steps forward, cutting Marbh off and stepping dangerously close to Solas. They lock eyes for a moment, and Solas backs up, but the other takes a step forward, forcing him to retreat. Solas quits while he’s behind, taking flight and disappearing over the ridge.

The brown dragon looks back at you, satisfied with his work.

“Thank you,” you whisper to him, still terrified. If he could scare off Solas, he must be even nastier — or he must have said something to him that made a difference.

He nods his head at you in acknowledgment before he takes off.

The sun is starting to rise over the mountains, casting the scorched ground in gold. 

Brennan’s hands are on you instantly, checking you over for injury, but you’re more focused on the perfect half-circle of green grass beneath you that hadn’t been burned.

“You’re a fire wielder,” Ban answers, sensing your confusion. 

You breathe a sigh of relief. Finally.

It had taken Brennan just over two weeks to discover that he was a mender, the rest of your class following suit quickly. You're the only first-year who is yet to attend Professor Carr’s lectures. 

You were beginning to think you might not have been going to get a signet at all.

“We never doubted you for a second,” another voice purrs -- not Ban or Marbh.

You startle. “What?”

A different one replies, a gruff male who sounds absolutely terrifying. “We’ve been watching you with great interest. I now understand what she saw in you on conscription day.”

This has to be a dream. There’s no way that four dragons are in your head right now.

“You’ll get used to it,” yet another adds. Five? 

“How many of you are there?” you ask aloud, eyes widening.

Another answers. “A dozen, for now. I am sure that many others will come to accept you in time.”

“Accept me? What?”

“As a human ambassador,” Marbh replies, as if it’s obvious. “We haven’t had one in nearly a century. It was about time.”

You notice a new string now sits beside the one you share with Ban, multiple threads of different colors twisted together into a thick rope.

You laugh in shock, processing. “But why me?”

“Because of this,” Brennan says softly, touching your forehead, “and this,” he rests his fingertips against your chest, keeping them there.

Your eyes meet, and you feel that magnetism you’d felt the day he’d first spoken to you. Your heart races under his hand.

“The boy is correct. You are the first in two human generations with this deep of a respect for our kind.”

You’re still looking at Brennan. You bring a hand up to grasp his, completely forgetting about the soot coating your fingers. It smears against his skin, leaving streaks of black across his knuckles, but neither of you seem to mind.

“Now would be an excellent time,” Ban prods.

You part your lips, working up the courage, but someone else speaks first; a human, that Brennan hears too, and the both of you freeze, turning toward the voice.

“Of all the students that I’d think to find sneaking out, you two were certainly not on the list.”

Professor Kaori. He looks thoroughly unamused, eyeing the four of you and the burned patches on the ground with suspicion.

Brennan looks back to you, and you nod in permission — there’s no lying your way out of this, not when the whole riot will know of the night’s events in a matter of minutes.

“You’re gonna want to hear her out, Professor.”

[gazs-blue-hat]

Chapter 3 of my King Johnny MacTavish x Siren Reader!

Warnings: mild mentions of a brewing conflict. Political strife. (If I missed anything, please let me know)

AN: Dedicated once more to @sprout-fics who enables all my winding Johnny thoughts.

Word count: 2,170

The winter months had parted ways for spring a few weeks after Johnny had gone out on the water alone. The icicles on the castle had started to thaw, filling the air with the soft sounds of dripping water and the occasional crack of ice giving way. The people in the town below had started their springtime gardens, working the soil with their tools to plant seeds that would eventually grow to nourish their families come fall. The children had started running about outside once more, their squeals and laughter flowing like a joyous river through the valley.

Johnny wasn’t able to enjoy the spring. He wasn’t able to feel the warm sun on his face, or listen to the children that were playing. He wasn’t able to even watch the icicles dripping outside his windows. He was stuck sitting in some delegation meeting with his council. He sat restlessly in his chair, feeling the plush blue fabric under his fingers crease as he tightened his grip on the armrest. He wasn’t built for this! He wasn’t meant to sit in on political affairs like trade negotiations and which of his neighbors wanted more land or…

“Your highness? Are you feeling alright?” His spymaster had paused her briefing to look at him, eyebrows furrowed. He perked up, straightening his posture that had been distinctly unkingly. He cleared his throat and nodded, looking down at the map before him. He recognized the kingdoms before him, and he frowned as he saw the lines that had been drawn on the parchment.

The skirmishes in the south have been steadily growing more and more intense. That particular nation had always been hungry for conflict, and they above all else desired the small nation that Johnny had found himself king of. The spymaster had been giving him a report on the subtle events occurring in the courts to the South and he had spent it daydreaming.

“I’m alright Kate. Please continue.” He watched as Kate nodded and began to gesture once more at the map, speaking on the recent union between two families in the southern court. Johnny did his best to pay attention, even going so far as grabbing a piece of parchment to write notes on. He did well, at first, listing a few ideas he had to perhaps smooth things over. He knew that the southern lands were locked from the sea, perhaps he could open his ports and allow them to launch ships from his territories on the sea.

“What if we opened the river to them? Allowed their trade ships to exit there and to the ocean?” His statement caused the people gathered at the table to freeze and look at him. Kate straightened for a moment and looked down at the map, nodding to herself. His military officer, a man named John Price, shifted in his seat, his plate armor clicking softly as he puffed on the cigar in his mouth. “I don’t see why not. We have outposts on the rivers near the largest settlements. If anything happened, we’d know about it in minutes.” The gruff man looked at Johnny and nodded his approval.

Johnny smiled to himself, pleased that he had come up with a solution to a possible problem. He wasn’t not intelligent. He knew the seas as well as the fish themselves, and could maneuver a massive ship in the middle of a firefight. He could muster a crew so fearless that they were willing to face the coldest and most dangerous seas with him. He was intelligent, just not…politically intelligent.

Johnny picked up his pencil again, the tip dulling from the notes he had been scribbling. He picked up a knife and sharpened the tip, not really paying attention to what was being said until there was a quiet mention of her. He coughed and the tip of the knife slipped, catching against the callused end of his thumb. He cursed and shook the appendage, slipping a handkerchief from his pocket and pressing it to the wound. It was only then that he noticed all eyes were on him.

“Alright there Johnny?” His knight captain, the perpetually helmed giant of a man leaned forward, head tilting to the side as he inspected his king. Johnny nodded, grumbling under his breath. “I’m fine, I’m fine. What was that you were just mentioning?”

The tradmaster sighed and crossed his arms, looking a bit concerned but also irritated. “Ships, MacTavish! Ships. Smaller trading vessels belonging to the eastern kingdoms have been going missing! Shipments of luxury goods haven’t been making it to their destinations and the magisters wanted to know if the same thing was happening to us.” Johnny never liked that man, his face always twisted in a scowl.

“I would have assumed you would know about this already, seeing as you can’t tear your gaze away from the sea for ten bloody minutes.” Johnny turned and gently whacked his other advisor, Kyle Garrick, on the arm.

“Shut yer mouth! You know as well as I do the stories about the sea! If ye don't-“ Kyle interrupted him by waving away his comment, a smile on his face. “I know, I know. But it does draw into question a few things. Who’s out there hunting ships? It sure as hell isn’t us, and the most aggressive state is landlocked.” Kyle leaned back and looked at Kate, who shrugged and looked at Price, who then exhaled a plume of smoke and looked at the surgeon. The surgeon shrugged and looked over at Johnny who was doodling on the paper before him.

“Johnny? Are you paying attention?” The words of the surgeon snapped him out of his drawing and he looked up, blushing slightly. Price sighed softly and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’ve got to get a grip on this obsession son. You haven’t been sleeping and your attention span is out the window.” Price sighed heavily and stood, chair groaning against the wooden floor as he pushed back.

“We can implement the shipping idea that his majesty gave us. That should buy us enough time to figure out more of a permanent solution to the conflict and the sinking ships.” Price’s words were strong in the chamber, spurring the others into action. Kate gathered the maps with the help of Kyle, the Knight Captain and the Surgeon snuffed the candles while Johnny stood and gathered his notes. As people filed out, Johnny nodded and mumbled his thanks for their patience and his assurance that he would be back to normal soon.

Soon it was just himself and Price sitting in the dimly lit room, a single candle illuminating their faces. Johnny rested his head in his hands, shaking it gently. “That was a shite meeting and you know it.” Price’s grumbling baritone echoed off the stone walls, filling Johnny with more shame than he already felt.

“Aye…I know. I just…” he looked up, a pleading expression on his face. “Can’t you do this? Take the crown and rule in my stead? I don’t mind abdication, in fact I’m all for it! I ju-“ Price cut him off by exhaling deeply, a cough settling in his chest.

“You know I can’t. You know the laws of the land, your birthright-“

“I dinnae care about that! I just want to see the sea again! I never wanted this life and you know it! You were with me on that fuckin’ ship! You know what happened and what I had to-“ Price slammed his hands down on the table, interrupting Johnny’s train of thought.

“It doesn’t bloody well matter what you wanted! You’re here now and no amount of bitching and moaning will get you anywhere!” Price stood, pushing in his chair and stalking over to the seated king. He leaned close to Johnny’s ear, his fingers plucking the cigar out of his mouth so he could speak unobstructed. “You need to get your head on straight Johnny, before someone comes up here and takes it from you.”

Price stood, gripped Johnny’s shoulder tightly and then exited the room, leaving Johnny alone with his thoughts. With a heavy sigh he reached into his pocket and pulled the pouch of scales from inside. He removed one and rubbed it between his fingers, feeling the tension leave his shoulders almost immediately. The scale seemed to glimmer from an internal light, something he was desperately missing in his life.

Johnny stood up himself, heading to the balcony that had been left open during the meeting. The salty sea breeze flowed into the room, tousling his hair and almost pulling him to the slickened stone. He stepped out into the cobbles, resting his forearms on the salted stones. The ocean was particularly boisterous today, acting almost playful as the wind pushed the waves into breaking over the rocky surf.

He thought back to what Price had said and he frowned. His old friend was right. He needed to let go of the past and start living in the present. He placed the small scale back in the pouch and sinched it closed. He then drew back his arm and tossed the bag as hard as he possibly could, watching it soar through the air like a bird set free from her cage. The bag arced beautifully through the air before landing in the surf, sinking like a stone.

Johnny sighed softly to himself and turned to head back inside when he felt something wet and heavy slap against the back of his head. He turned quickly, drawing his saber once more before looking down at the projectile. It was the pouch! The pouch full of scales had been returned to him.

With a scoff and a shake of his head, he launched it again, further than before and watched it sink below the waves. He kept his eye on the waves this time, watching a figure hoist the bag and then launch it back at him. He caught the projectile as it hit against his hand, water splashing across his face. The figure didn’t disappear beneath the waves, staying up and…coming closer.

The siren from before drew closer, her scales glimmering in the setting sunlight and form shimmering under the golden waves. She bared her teeth at him but didn’t hiss, treading water and staring up at him with her impossibly beautiful eyes. He dropped the pouch again, watching as she caught it. She opened the bag and looked at the scales inside. Johnny’s heart pounded like a war drum in his chest as she furrowed her eyebrows and shook her head, emptying the bag of scales into the sea. Was she disappointed he kept them? Was she angry?

He felt a lump swell up in his throat as he watched her pluck a few loose scales from her tail and hips, placing the shiniest and largest ones in the bag. She gently closed the bag, pressing her teeth against the top to really be sure it was closed. She then angled herself so Johnny could see her magnificent tail. It was still a bit tattered but it had clearly been healing from the damage it had sustained in the storm. She set the bag on the flukes and then with a mighty shove, she flipped the bag into the air and into his awaiting hands.

When he looked back into the water, she had gone, but he had this new batch of scales to tide him over until he saw her next. His siren…

He returned to the drawing room, a new determination settling in his soul. He would be a good king. He had to be a good king. If not for his people, then for her. He’d protect her from conflict, he’d protect her from seeing warships in her oceans. He pushed the doors to the castle open exiting the room and causing a breeze to lift the notes he had taken into the air and over to the balcony.

The sea breeze ruffled the edges of said papers until they gracefully lifted up and fluttered over the side of the parapets. The twisted and turned in the air, being buffeted by gales of fated wind. The papers floated down and danced in the sky until they settled into the water and the awaiting hands of…you.

You, the siren who washed up on his beach during the storm of the century. You, who had gifted him riches and bared your teeth at his presence. You, who played catch with him and gifted him some of your scales. You looked down at what once had been notes on the meeting but now had become drawings of ships and strange figures distorted by what looked to be sketched water.

You turned it in your hands, the water ruining the paper and lifting the charcoal off the face of it. Before the sea could remove all trace or Johnny MacTavish from the paper, you caught a glimpse of yourself. He had sketched your face so clearly and you couldn’t help but bare your teeth in a smile.

Until next time, my Captain.

[dalliansss]

Yule

Finwë Ñoldoran is somber as he departs Tirion two weeks earlier than intended. There is supposed to be the traditional Yule Festival which he has been holding for the Ñoldor ever since the Eldar came to the shores of Aman – a festival that brought people together to share the prosperity of their households by exchanging gifts, singing hymns and songs about the peace they now enjoy. Everyone was supposed to be in their best moods and clothes— everything best , as Yule first and foremost was a thanksgiving to the Valar and Ilúvatar that the Great Journey has been done with; that nothing shall threaten the Eldar anymore in Aman.

For many years, Finwë and Míriel – and eventually, Finwë and Indis – held a feast of epic proportions coinciding with the Winter Festival at the Royal Palace. It was a time for the  families of his sons and his grown daughters to gather and celebrate with him. There was even a traditional contest every year where each family or group was mandated to give their very best in a performance of song or theater, and the winning group would be entitled to ask anything of the King, and it would be given. For the longest time it had been a great time of contentment, and so the traditional prize had been that the winning group be entitled to raid Finwë’s treasury instead.

What had started it…?

Ah, yes. Council…the rare times when Fëanáro could be bothered to attend council, and of course, Ñolofinwë had been there – has always been there, and tension escalated in an all-time high because Fëanáro found out that the people of Tirion gravitate more toward his half-brother, and Ñolofinwë, instead of properly helping his elder brother understand this, could not help but gloat. Fëanáro had always been…easy to provoke, and when provoked, got defensive like a wounded animal cornered and ready to bite, and…and Arafinwë just sitting there, doing nothing , not even to pacify either brother or at least attempt to –

Finwë sighs as he watches the scenery pass by outside his carriage. There is no Yule Festival this year; no Winter Feast at the royal palace, for the first time in Ages since the Eldar arrived in Valinor. He did not wish to deprive his people and his family, but Finwë needed to breathe, and Alqualondë – the sound of the sea, the cheerful singing of the Teleri and the memory of Elwë (Elwë, left behind and lost) were his only comforts.

[available on AO3]

[patrickmdunn]

every simpsons ever: the simpsons christmas special, or, not quite episode one

If you’re a person of a certain age—cough 43—this was probably your initiation into the wild, wonderful world of Springfield. Everyone watched it. And by everyone, I mean my entire second-grade class. The day after it aired, we gathered like a council of cartoon critics in the school cafeteria during indoor recess. Because, naturally, in cold New England, that’s where we burned off our winter wiggles, and dissected this bizarre new show. Back then, we didn’t realize it was the start of a series; we all just assumed it was some weird one-off fever dream. I mean, I was way too young to even know what The Tracey Ullman Show was, so these wacky yellow characters were completely foreign to me.

But there was one thing we all agreed on: we all wanted to be Bart Simpson. This kid was the ultimate rebel—edgy, cool, and completely fearless. I mean, he got a tattoo at the mall and dropped the iconic line, "I'm Bart Simpson, who the hell are you?" It was like watching the '90s version of Dennis the Menace, only way more badass. And, mind you, the '90s were still a few weeks away. Bart was already ahead of the curve, showing us how to stick it to the man before we even knew who "the man" was.

The plot centered on the holiday struggles of the Simpson family—middle class, just like most of us. They relied on the classic financial strategy of saving up cash in a giant glass pickle jar to fuel the annual ritual of worshiping at the altar of commercialism on Jesus' birthday. You know, like any sensible family. But, in a twist that only Bart could pull off, he decided to get a tattoo. And, of course, Marge, the level-headed matriarch, had to drain the entire jar to get it laser removed.

Luckily for Marge, Homer still had his Christmas bonus to save the day—except, plot twist, he didn’t. Turns out, Mr. Burns decided to cancel that festive perk, leaving Homer scrambling to save their so-called "Best Christmas Ever." His solution? A part-time gig as a mall Santa, because nothing oozes "holiday spirit" like an underpaid dad in a rented beard. But after taxes, union dues, and whatever mysterious fees they slap on fake Santas, Homer walks away with a grand total of about thirteen bucks and some change. Naturally, the next logical step is to head straight to the dog track, hoping to turn that into a holiday jackpot. Spoiler alert: he doesn’t. Instead of cash, the family ends up with a scrappy, loveable greyhound named Santa’s Little Helper.

The structure is simple and linear, setting the tone for future episodes. Homer is portrayed as well-meaning but deeply flawed, overwhelmed by the weight of being the family’s breadwinner; but he hasn’t yet fully devolved into the bumbling fool we’d later know him as. Marge is competent and loving, the glue holding the family together. Lisa is already wise beyond her years, but still very much a kid. And Maggie? Well, she's just doing baby things, like sucking on her pacifier and occasionally making you wonder if she knows more than she lets on.

Ned Flanders makes his first appearance too, though he’s a much milder version of the religious zealot he’ll evolve into. Only one of his kids shows up—Rod or Todd, who knows? But Ned’s just the annoyingly perfect neighbor Homer struggles to keep up with, not yet the hyper-holy thorn in his side. And it works. Patty and Selma are also here in all their cynical glory, questioning, as they always will, why Marge chose Homer over literally any other man on the planet. 

The humor in this episode is gentler than what The Simpsons would later become known for, leaning on situational comedy to tell the story. The satire is toned down, but it does manage to poke fun at the rampant commercialism of Christmas. It’s simple yet elegant, reminding us that Christmas isn’t really about maxing out your credit cards—it’s about family and togetherness. And it manages to deliver that message without drowning in the sugary sentimentality that is seen on most holiday specials.

Homer’s journey from despair to redemption works because it’s relatable. There’s no magical windfall, no unexpected Christmas miracle. Instead, Homer just ends up with a dog no one wanted, and somehow, that brings the family joy. It’s the perfect mix of grounded realism and heartwarming charm. While it may not be the flashiest or most sophisticated episode in Simpsons history, it’s undeniably crucial in shaping the show’s identity and securing its place among holiday TV classics.

Four out of five squeaky porkchop dog toys

[waltwhitmansbeard]

go on, claim my heart: epilogue

see my masterpost for what came before this. thank you for going on this journey with me. i hope it's been a good one.

Things begin to move very quickly. Keyleth remains stoic through her father's funeral, a joyous affair of music and flowers and colors befitting a man of his temperament. She saves the falling apart for when she is back in the cottage, with only her husband and her daughter to witness her shattered pieces. Vax holds her as she weeps into the night, for her father, for her mother, for her child, for her people. She sleeps when she can, though often the sorrow pulls her from her slumber, awakening her in the darkest hours with tears already streaming down her cheeks.

During the days, a new government is born. From sunrise to sunset, what was once the Ashari Council meets to establish what the new city-state of Zephrah will look like, how it will run, by what method its citizens will elect their representatives. Within the first week, the leaders of the other Ashari cities arrive—including Duchess Uvenda, who, as it turns out, made a full recovery once her worm of a grandson left and a skilled cleric arrived—and they, too, begin to see the vision of what their cities' futures might look like. Keyleth, who occupies the role of sovereign until a formal declaration can be made, urges the Archdukes and Archduchess to follow her lead in allowing the citizens to decide their own futures, but she sees reluctance in particular in Duchess Uvenda and Duke Patisse's eyes, which, she supposes, is their business. She is no longer in control of their destinies.

It takes about a month, but Zephrah decides on a High Council with five elected positions—Development, Commerce, Arcana, Divinity, and Defense—with elections to be held every three years, the first to be held in one year's time. Also on this High Council will sit four appointed positions, one ambassador from each of the other city-states in the newly founded Ashari Confederacy. Keyleth is to serve on this council as well in an advisory capacity for the next five years, long enough to transition Zephrah into its new future, and then she and her little family will be citizens, no more or less than any of their neighbors.

Keyleth makes the announcement on a frigid winter morning, bundled up against the icy winds in the center of town. She is surrounded by the new High Council and the visiting nobles, as well as her husband, who stands just behind her, looking every inch the valiant guard she fell in love with. The people of Zephrah react with confusion, uproar, anger, unrest, but after they are given some time to converse among themselves, to gather as neighbors and dream of what their futures might look like, Keyleth is unsurprised to learn that the Zephrans come to look forward to what they might do with the newfound power placed in their hands.

Despite this dawning era of hope and change, a nasty, twisted gnawing at her stomach rarely lets her know peace. She keeps it to herself, not even divulging her worries to Vax, because if anyone knew of her doubts, her fears, her uncertainty, she knows that this unprecedented thing they are trying to do will collapse. Even though her each and every quiet moment is deafened by peppering questions—is this the right thing, what if it doesn't work, has the nation been made more vulnerable, what would Korrin say—she must not let them spill out, lest her plan be foiled by her own insecurities.

So on a spring morning, when Vax sleeps in with the baby and the morning fog has yet to roll off of the hills, Keyleth goes to the place she's been avoiding since her return to Zephrah: her father's chambers. Percy locked the doors and gave her the key, and it has taken her this long to summon the courage to go in. Her hand trembles on the key as she unlocks it.

The first thing that nearly sends her to her knees is how much the room still smells like him. Her father always had a woodsy, smoky scent, given his proclivity for staying up late into the evening reading by firelight, and thought it has been several months now, that scent still lingers. She forces her legs to continue in, closing the door behind her. His dressing gown is still draped over the back of the chaise by the hearth, as if at any moment he might stride in and throw it on. There is a writing desk near the window, smaller than the one in his study yet still littered with all the accoutrements of the station he'd held. The bed, never turned down for the night again, has a fine layer of dust atop the duvet. Keyleth presses her hand onto the mattress. If she closes her eyes, she can feel the early sunlight of mornings in this bed as a child, climbing up between her parents and giggling as they pretended not to notice her less than stealthy arrival.

She goes to the desk and begins to sort through his many papers and ledgers. She should have done this earlier; she's sure there is information in here that is crucial to any number of projects the Ashari Nation had been working on before its grand transformation.

Half-tucked under a report from Pyrah regarding the near-completed reconstruction efforts, she finds a page covered in her father's familiar looping script. She pulls it out, her breath escaping in a quiet gasp when she begins to read.

My darling daughter,

I wish I had the words to attest to the depths of the despair I feel as I write. Your mother was always the wordsmith, not I. Like you, she was far more fit to rule this nation than I will ever be. But let me make myself clear: my despair derives not from your absence, but from my granddaughter's. I failed you, Keyleth, by not ensuring that the home I gifted you was impervious to any and all harm. I see now that I left you and your family vulnerable, and for that, I beg for your forgiveness.

I know all too well about parental imperfection, because I know that I spent your childhood so preoccupied with the welfare of our people that I neglected the welfare of the one person I cared for most in this great world. I imagine that your days were often long and lonely, my dearest, and all I can say is that my gratitude for those who remedied my mistake—Vax'ildan, Percival, Pike—will forever be as ceaseless as the stars above. I doubt nothing less than whether you will be a better parent to Vilya than I was to you. I only hope that I can be there for her in all the ways that I was not there for you, that under your guidance, the family that was shattered the day your mother died might once again be made whole.

I do not begrudge you a single decision you make in pursuit of returning your child home. Having just led our great nation through a terrible war, I know that dreadful decisions must be made to achieve peace, and know that you have my support in whatever decisions you make in your quest. You inherited your mother's wit, wisdom, and grace, but I like to think you inherited my unwavering devotion to the things that matter to me, and I know that will serve you in your aims.

I will be awaiting your successful return with bated breath, my darling daughter. Know that my nights will be sleepless and my days long until my family is together again. I love you, Keyleth, and I hope

By the time she gets to the point the unfinished letter ends, she can hardly read through the wall of tears. She holds in her hands her father's unwitting last words to her, and each one of them breaks her heart more than the last. She collapses into a heap on the stone floor, sobbing into her hands; her father did not die thinking her a disappointment. He loved her, fiercely, unequivocally, imperfectly. There will be so many years without him now, so many moments where his absence will loom in the background, a specter always in the corner of her eye. He will miss spring days beneath the flowering cherry tree and winter nights before the fire, huddled close and warm with wine. The years will press on, obstinate and heartless, and she wishes she didn't already know how the ache will dull over time, how the pain will become something she learns to live with, the one villain she will never vanquish.

It takes an hour, maybe longer, but she scrapes herself up off the floor and makes her way back to the cottage, where Vax is awake now and clearly trying not to worry. He has always seen through each and every veneer she has attempted to put between herself and the world, so she doesn't even make the attempt. She takes the baby from her cradle and feeds her as Vax reads the letter, and when he is done, his own eyes red and swollen, he curls over top her, presses an endless procession of kisses into her hair, and whispers his love for her, over and over and over.

Keyleth had hoped that the abrogation of the Ashari Nation would result in fewer decisions on her part, but at least in this short term, as new laws are written and new agreements between the constituent city-states organized, it seems all she does these days is make choices. Luckily, she rarely has to make them alone, relying on the newly-established High Council more than ever, but there is one that everyone, frustratingly, has left in her hands and her hands alone: the fate of Duke Vallen. Keyleth begged Duchess Uvenda to take responsibility for him, to drag him back to Vesrah and dole out whatever punishment she saw fit, but the Archduchess refused, claiming that Vallen's greatest crime was regicide, the punishment for which must be decided by the would-be next sovereign.

So Keyleth lays awake, night after night, imagining the face of the man who killed her parents, who arranged for the abduction of her daughter, who murdered his own family to achieve a throne that no longer exists. She thinks of all the ways she could have him dealt with—hanged from the branches of her mother's tree, beheaded in sight of the Seat of the Ashari that would never be his, drawn and quartered under the judgmental eyes of the citizens he betrayed for his own selfish gain, locked up forever in a cell the size of his shriveled heart, lower than the rats who would come to feast upon his flesh. None of them feel right, satisfactory, just. There is no suffering she can heap upon him that will ever equate to the torment that she will carry with her for the rest of her days.

The solution comes to her slowly, then all at once, a long-simmering ember stoked into a raging inferno in her belly. On a cold night, with the hope of spring just around the corner, Vallen is dragged from his cell, half-starved and filthy, and brought out deep into the wood surrounding Zephrah, far from prying eyes. There is a little clearing, one that, come spring, will likely be beautiful, serene, but now is barren and dull. A wooden post has been spiked into the hard earth, thanks to Grog's inimitable strength, and Vallen is lashed to it, gasping and panicked.

Keyleth arrives when the moon is high, Vax never more than an inch or two from her side. She pulls back the hood of her cloak to look Vallen in his bruised, swollen, fearful eyes. His mouth is gagged, and he struggles to plead for his life through it, but all the honeyed, desperate words in the world couldn't make Keyleth regret this choice. She steps as close to Vallen as she dares, feeling the nervous tension of Vax just behind her—she does not need to see him to know that one hand grips a dagger, the other halfway up to snatch her cloak and drag her back—and whispers, "The world will know the atrocities you committed. They will know my parents were murdered, that the Vesran noble line was betrayed by one of its own." She draws herself up to her full height, her circlet gleaming in the silvery moonlight. "But no one will ever know it was you. When I am gone, when all those who currently know of your crimes have been returned to the earth, there will be no one alive to remember you, to speak your name with scorn or disgust. You will be forgotten, not even a footnote in your own family's story. I do not know what awaits you in the next life, but in this one?" She lifts one hand, summoning the mysterious tongues of flame that do not burn her, and from the sides, two of the guards tasked with bringing Vallen here douse the man in oil. "In this one, you will never be anything more than ash." She gently brings her finger to touch his forehead, and he instantly bursts into flames, the oil catching quick and hot. Keyleth takes a step back, and, after shaking her hand to dispel the fire, laces her fingers with Vax's. She does not blink, though her eyes burn from the smoke and light, as she watches this man crackle and burn, his choked screams eventually fading as the life is torched from his body.

It is a new dawn for Zephrah, for the Ashari people, for Keyleth and her family, but this is still night, and the moon is high and the dark of winter has not yet given way to the light of spring. Whether this is justice or vengeance is of little concern to her; there is one less great evil in this world, this world that is now a shade safer for her daughter.

When Vallen has gasped his last breath, when the flames shrink from the blackened corpse, Keyleth turns to leave, but she is stopped when Vax instead steps forward toward the pyre. He bows his head, just inches from the cracked, charred flesh, and murmurs, "May the Matron usher you swiftly into the afterlife you have earned." He then returns to Keyleth's side, and for the first time that night, tears spring to her eyes. She lets him wrap an arm around her shoulders, just now realizing how cold she is, and guide her back to the cottage where Nel waits with their sleeping daughter, whom Keyleth will lift gently from her cradle so as not to wake her and, kissing her closed eyelids, one then the other, hold until the sun breaks, warm and hopeful, over the snowy horizon.

.

These days, it feels as though Percy's attention is constantly being drawn in a thousand directions at once. His days are largely dominated by the construction of a new government, his largest development project to date, and any free moment he has is spent in correspondence with Chancellor Desnay and other resistance leaders remaining in Whitestone. Legally, the title of Lord of Whitestone belongs to him, has done so since the night his parents and siblings were slaughtered in cold blood, and now all of the choices that must be made for the betterment of the city that the Briarwoods let fall to ruin rest on his shoulders.

The one person who would be his greatest ally in this time, unfortunately, is also the one person he has most trouble speaking to on the matter. Cassandra has become something of a phantom in the castle in Zephrah, appearing and disappearing as randomly and silently as a ghoul haunting the halls. She hardly speaks, hardly eats, hardly sleeps, if the fact that she keeps being found wandering the grounds in the middle of the night is any indication, and Percy is at a loss for how to help. He has not known her since she was four years old, though he has missed her keenly every day in the intervening years. They are, for all intents and purposes, strangers.

So Percy goes to Keyleth, who dealt with a very similar specter all those years ago, when he, too, arrived suddenly in Zephrah, shaken and silent. Keyleth has been extraordinarily kind to open her home to yet another Whitestone refugee, and with all the grief and responsibility she wields these days, he is loath to add another concern to her plate, but he is at his wit's end with his own inability to help his little sister.

Keyleth, being Keyleth, rolls her eyes at his emotional ineptitude. She reminds him of just how long it took her to crack open the shell in which he'd encased himself, how many days of sitting in silence beside him in the library or in the gardens or in the small spaces he'd managed to find away from the others at court. Keyleth points out that his failure to find a way to speak to her likely stems from his attempts to speak at all.

So he finds Cassandra on a chilly morning, sitting on the floor in the empty music room between the harpsichord and the dulcimer, knees tucked to her chest. He smiles apologetically when she startles at his entrance, but instead of asking her if she is alright, as is his wont, he takes a seat just a few feet in front of her, his back resting against one of the legs of the harpsichord. They sit in silence, brother and sister, for an indeterminable amount of time, no sound except their asynchronous breathing and vague footfalls from the hall outside, until Cassandra murmurs, almost too low for him to hear, "Did you know I thought you were the lucky one?"

Percy tips his head to the side, giving her the space to continue.

"All these years...I thought you got to die outside, in the fresh air, under the stars. Not like the rest of them. Not like me."

Percy nods. The anguish threatens to choke him, to suck the air from his lungs until he gasps his last breath. "Sometimes it felt like I did."

And so, day by day, week by week, the de Rolos who should have died over a decade ago begin to build a life together, breakfasts and walks through the garden and quiet words whispered in grand halls. Cassandra makes it clear that she has no intention of returning Whitestone, that she has little love left for the place that kept her in the care of the monsters who butchered her family.

Which is how Percy gets the idea. He cannot hope to serve his home of Whitestone and the newly formed High Council at the same time, not with a child on the way. And Cassandra, though still reserved and apprehensive, clearly has a de Rolo's head on her shoulders, given her newfound proclivity for offering suggestions to his dilemmas whenever he shares them with her. She may not possess any desire to live in Whitestone again, but she is still of Whitestone, and is, in Percy's mind, the only logical choice to be the city-state's ambassador to the High Council.

Cassandra balks, of course, at the audacity of the suggestion, and Percy has to admit that, yes, placing a sixteen-year-old into an extremely important position of a fledgling government is perhaps not the wisest choice, so instead he asks her to stay in Zephrah and serve as an apprentice to Chancellor—now Ambassador—Desnay.

"You are too smart to let your brilliant ideas go to waste," he tells her, "and too opinionated to keep them to yourself."

The bruising pinch she gives him is worth her dubious agreement to his proposal.

There is another proposal that Percy must also make, one that somehow terrifies him far more than suggesting the baby sister he is only now getting know become the mouthpiece for the city he once fled from as a boy. It is not his request for Vex's hand in marriage; that question is asked a mere two weeks after Sovereign Korrin's funeral, which Percy endures through a clenched jaw and sheer force of will. He takes her on an early morning horse ride through the fields on the outskirts of Zephrah, and when the pink sky starts to give way to icy blue, he asks her, no ring, no knee, just a question for her and the wind and the songbirds. She asks if he only wishes to marry her for the child's sake, and he can only hope she believes him when he says that he has thought about marrying her every day since the attack in Syngorn, when all he could think about was how he was about to die without her knowing just how precious and revered she was to him.

No, the proposal Percy dreads making is one he fears she will reject outright. He asks her on a night when he slinks into bed long after dark, when she should be asleep and not waiting for him to finish whatever work has kept him from her for so long. He pulls her in close, palm pressed to the negligible swell of her belly, and rests his forehead to her ear. "Would you come to Whitestone with me?"

The question is quiet, timorous, because the only thing he fears more than letting his people down is disappointing her. She turns her head to look at him, brow furrowed in confusion. "Darling...where else would we be going?"

Oh, he loves her. He loves her, he loves her, he loves her. He captures her lips, relishing in the sound of her laugh, and then he spends what little energy remains in him reminding her of all the ways he hopes to worship her in their many years to come.

.

Vex is used to keeping secrets. Protection of sensitive information is par for the course when one is Captain of the Royal Guard, to say nothing of the silence she held when her brother decided to take up a romance with a literal princess. Her adolescence was pockmarked with little secrets kept from her father, more to irritate him than for any other reason. She herself has never been particularly adept at letting people in, at pulling back the curtain of confidence and cheek she has long set between herself and the world—the obvious exception to this, of course, being her brother, with whom she has always shared her innermost thoughts freely, easily, even when perhaps she shouldn't.

But this secret, this hidden truth, belongs to her and Percy, and that delicate fact feels so very precious. In the first weeks after the group's return from Whitestone, after the death of the sovereign, after Keyleth has announced the end of a nation, Vex returns to her duties, her condition kept from everyone except the tight-lipped Mistress of Divinity. She trains the guards and maintains their schedules and confers with the new High Council about what security will look like in this new age for Zephrah, and when she is done for the day she goes back to the chambers she shares with Percy, who she can tell is cracking under the pressure. Like Vex, he has grown up sharing so much of himself with Keyleth, and she knows that keeping such a large secret from her is killing him.

So she relents in the spring, when her uniform is fitting more snugly than she'd like and Keyleth's grief is not so overwhelming as to be visibly drowning her. Vex and Percy go to the cottage beside the cherry tree and once Vex has swept her baby niece, babbling and joyous, into her arms, she says bluntly, "I'm pregnant."

Unfortunately, at the exact same time, Percy bursts out with, "We're going to Whitestone," so there is quite a long series of confused clarifications before Keyleth is shrieking, throwing her arms around Percy's neck and congratulating and admonishing him at the same time. She's mostly crying, so it is difficult for Vex to make out the specific words, but she comes to understand that Keyleth is more or less happy for them.

Vax, who had been frying up sausages for dinner, sets the skillet aside and bounds across the cottage to scoop Vex and Vilya up in a hug. "Are you happy, Stubby?" he whispers in her ear, and she merely nods, her throat too thick for her to speak.

When he sets her down, he turns on Percy, who, despite having half a head on Vax, shrinks a bit at the scrutinizing glare Vax gives him. There is a beat of tension, and then Vax cracks a grin, wrapping his arms around him, too. Vex grins as her oldest friend and her greatest love embrace, and for the first time since they left Byroden, she realizes that she's managed to build for herself the family she never thought she would achieve.

The night is spent reminiscing and planning for the future. Keyleth laments needing to find a new Master of Development, though Percy points out that the predicament is the perfect opportunity for Zephrah to test its new democratic elections. Keyleth begins scribbling a list of all kinds of tonics and tinctures she wants to send with Vex, for the nausea and the food aversion and the stretching skin and all the other ailments that Vex dreads about the next few months. Percy asks Keyleth to watch out for Cassandra the way her father did for him, and Keyleth swears that, if Cassandra would like, she will be family, just as Percy became all those years ago. When Vex yawns and Percy insists he get her to bed, Vax first pulls her aside as Keyleth and Percy peek in on the baby in her cradle.

"You know how proud I am of you, Stubby?" he says quietly, the shadows cast by the fireplace dancing across his face.

"Big changes for us both," she replies with a nervous laugh. "Will you survive here without me?"

He kisses her forehead. "I wish I didn't have to. But Whitestone deserves the wisdom and guidance that you and Percy will bring, and I am so glad to watch you build a home of your own, a family of your own."

Curse these tears, sudden and hot. "You'll always be my family, brother. You and Keyleth and Vilya. Our being in Whitestone doesn't change that."

"Oh, Vex'ahlia..." He pulls her into his arms. "Nothing ever could. You're not getting rid of me, sister, even if you move halfway across the continent to try."

She laughs. "And you'll come visit? With Keyleth's strange tree powers?"

"As often as you like. You couldn't keep Keyleth from the birth with the strength of a thousand men. And the gods themselves couldn't keep me from my niece or nephew, you know that."

Within a week, Vex and Percy have said their goodbyes and packed their belongings, the bulk of which they send via road toward Whitestone. As for them, they gather at the cherry tree, where they exchange teary farewells with their family and friends before Keyleth tears open a door in the trunk that spills them out into the center of Whitestone, which is mercifully free of shambling undead. The city is still piecing itself back together after its lengthy occupation, and as Percy steps into the role of caretaker of his ancestral home, Vex devotes herself to scrubbing the castle of any and all remnants of the monsters who lived there for so many years. Along with a team of volunteers from the city, those who survived under the Briarwoods' oppression and wish to see their beloved home returned to its former glory, Vex slowly begins to rid Whitestone of the lingering reminders of its tormentors, and after some time, the gloomy cloud of misery that hung about the castle and the town starts to dissipate.

She is blessed with a pregnancy that progresses much more smoothly than Keyleth's had, and even though it is strange for a little life to be quickening inside of her, she finds herself anticipating her child's arrival with anxious fervor. After the nightmare that Vilya endured, Vex sets up a corner of their chambers as the child's nursery, not willing to have their baby sleep so far as another room. Percy obliges her, filling the space with all of the things that remind them of their families: cherry blossoms from Zephrah, raven feathers from Vax, Ludwig's stuffed wolf, the picture books Cassandra loved as a child, a blanket Vex's mother knitted in Byroden, one of the only things Vex brought with her to Syngorn and beyond.

Keyleth and Vax pull away from their important work in Zephrah just a week before Vex goes into labor. Little Vilya toddles around with her father as Percy, Keyleth, and a midwife from town help bring a healthy, screaming baby girl into the world. They name her Vesper Elaina, and Vax cries as he kisses his niece's forehead for the first time.

They wait for the wedding. Repairing Whitestone requires so much of Percy's time and energy, and Vex's days are spent in awe with the new life the two of them have brought into the world. When they do wed, they do so in the center of Whitestone, beneath the infinite branches of the Sun Tree. The ceremony is not merely a union between two souls, but a rebirth, a return of the de Rolo name to the world stage. Each and every citizen of Whitestone is invited, as are leaders and representatives from across the continent, including Devana and Velora, who offer their unsurprising regrets at Syldor's last-minute scheduling conflict. Cassandra still cannot set foot in the castle, not after her lifetime of misery in it, but she holds her niece at Percy's side with Keyleth, Vax and Vilya standing beside Vex, as Pike guides them through their vows. They are short and sweet, neither one particularly fond of grand public declarations of love, though they are fond of grand public declarations of merriment, which is why the center of Whitestone is quickly transformed from a place of ceremony into something of a festival, with music and food and dancing and much revelry and hope for the future of Whitestone and the happy couple.

And that night, when they have retired to their chambers and are happily sore and spent, Percy leaves their bed just long enough to bring their sleeping daughter into it. Vex curls herself into his side, watches the slow rise and fall of her chest in his arms. After a minute, Percy murmurs, "Are you happy, my love?"

Vax was always the one with the silver tongue. Vex lacks the poetry her heart yearns to give him, so she must settle for a quiet, "No one, darling, has ever been happier." And it's true, her happiness, and it is a secret she no longer must keep from anyone.

.

As Keyleth throws herself into the exhausting work of creating a new government from scratch, Vax devotes all his days to his daughter. He does his best to keep his little family together, following Keyleth from meeting to meeting with Vilya in his arms, on his hip, strapped to his back. He won't admit it, but when they are not both in his immediate eyeline, he feels an itch, a nervous rippling under his skin that makes sitting still difficult. He is aware that his presence is often questioned, particularly by the delegates from the other Ashari cities, but he doesn't care; how many times must his family be taken from him before he learns his lesson?

Keyleth, for her part, encourages him to resume his studies with Pike, to take time for himself during the day, to leave the baby with Nel and the veritable battalion of guards that now accompanies Vilya wherever she goes, but he waves her off. He trusts Nel, trusts his sister's guards to prevent Vilya from being taken again, of course he does. It's just the itch.

The nights are their own struggle. It takes Vilya weeks to sleep through the night again, and Vax can only imagine what dreams haunt his baby girl in the dark. So he holds her, pacing large circles around the cottage so Keyleth can sleep, whispering his endless apologies and promises for the future in the dark and quiet. Vax sleeps only a few hours each night, which results in long, exhausted days, days in which Keyleth begs him to go rest, but he only does so during the increasingly brief windows of Vilya's own naps.

So he redoubles his efforts, tries harder to keep his neuroses from Keyleth, who is busy enough with her own work. She is writing laws and establishing norms and conveying power into the hands of her people; she doesn't need to add worries about him onto her plate. He stretches himself thin, flattens himself out until he is invisible, until his every waking moment is spent with his daughter or wife or both, and he can be so consumed with their needs that his own fade away, thunder in the distance.

But the thunder heralds a storm, and the storm must eventually break. On a night, when Vilya begins to stir and Vax scoops her from her bed before she can wake her mother, he takes her out into the dark common room, where he sits before the cold hearth and bounces her, now sitting up all on her own, on his knee. He looks at her, her mother's hair and her mother's eyes and her grandmother's nose and her five-tooth smile, and he sees all that he nearly lost, all of the precious things his carelessness nearly stole from him. Her small, chubby hands reach up for his face, and when her fingers brush against his cheek, the dam he'd constructed for himself crumbles to dust. He begins to sob, quietly at first, then louder as his control over his own faculties ebbs away. He watches his daughter's face twist in infantile confusion, and he brings her to his chest, hugs her tight as he falls apart around her.

As if she can feel the lightning in the air, Keyleth stirs in the bedroom. He hears her get up, open the door, listen for a moment before calling, "Vax?"

There is no pretending, not anymore. He holds their child and weeps as Keyleth comes over to wrap her arms around him. He sobs into her shoulder, weeks of tension and guilt and anger draining from his muscles. Vilya's little fists are curled into his sleepshirt, one right above his heart, and he can only hope that she can feel its beating, that she knows its thundering is for her.

After some time, when he is exhausted and thirsty, he sits up, lets Keyleth dry his tears with the sleeve of her nightdress. "I'm sorry." The words are hoarse, hollow.

"Please don't," Keyleth begs, taking his face in her hands. "I don't ever want your apologies for this."

"No, I mean..." He shifts Vilya, who has since fallen back asleep against his chest, and looks down at her. "I'm sorry for not protecting her better. For not protecting our family. The most important thing in this wide world, and I couldn't keep it safe."

"Vax." She forces his head up to meet her eyes. "Is this what you've been hiding from me all these weeks? Why you've been running yourself ragged, never sleeping? Do you truly imagine there is a world in which I hold you responsible for what we have endured, all of us, as a family? I told you in Whitestone—"

"I know what you said," he whispers. "I know that you meant it. But it doesn't change the fact that I failed in my duty to protect you both."

"No." She stands, fists balled at her side, and Vax is once again reminded that whatever government Zephrah finds itself under today, he married a queen. She keeps her voice low enough not to wake the baby, but he hears the force behind it, how it would echo among the mountains if she shouted. "I will not allow you to take responsibility for the actions of evil men. I will not permit the waiving of their guilt so that you may sit in your own. All of us failed to properly secure this home—you, me, your sister, Derrig, the guards, my...my father." Her jaw clenches tight. "But choices were made outside these walls by villains with blackened hearts. They have answered for those choices, and they alone must bear the eternal weight of their sins. You do not get to alleviate that burden from their souls, wherever they may be rotting."

She stares at him, unblinking, waiting for a response. He stands, presses a kiss to the crown of Vilya's head. "I don't know how to trust myself," he murmurs, "to be what my family needs."

She carefully pries Vilya from him, mindful not to rouse her, and carries her into the nursery, where Vilya has not slept since her return. Her cradle has been replaced with a larger crib, as soon Vilya will have grown too big for the gift from Syngorn. Vax watches through the door as Keyleth lays her down inside, tucks a blanket all around her sleeping form, and returns, shutting the door behind her. She then takes Vax by the hand and leads him back into their bedroom. She pushes him to sit on the edge of the bed and stands before him, running her fingers through his hair.

"There has not been a minute, since you came to me in the dark and kissed away my nightmares, in which my trust in you has wavered, even for a moment." She rests her hand on his cheek, and she is so warm, so soft, here in this darkest hour. "I cannot repair your broken faith in yourself. But I can show you that my faith in you, the only divinity to which I have ever pledged myself, heathen that I am, remains intact."

With that, she gently shoves his shoulders back onto the mattress, and until the inky black of the sky gives way to the pinks and oranges of day, she reminds him that every minute he has spent loving her these past few years, she has loved him just as fiercely.

Vax struggles with the darkness he carries with him wherever he goes, but light, tenacious and inevitable, always finds its way in. He is to be an uncle. His sister is to have a home of her own, in a castle, no less. His daughter, who has had so much taken from her before she even knew she had it, is to have a family, people other than her parents who will watch her grow and remind her every day that she is loved, that she is never alone in this world.

It is difficult, to be sure, to have his sister so far from him, even though he and Keyleth steal away with Vilya as often as they can, using the cherry tree as easily as one might step through a door into the forest surrounding Castle Whitestone. It takes a few visits for Vax to be there without his hackles raised, to be able to allow Vilya to toddle around the grounds and the marbled halls without his hand always hovering just a few inches away. But when his sister brings his squalling, exquisite niece into the world, when Percy shifts her gently into his arms, he knows what it looks like for something beautiful to be built on the bones of ruins. Soon, these grand halls will once more echo with the delighted shrieks of children, and this family, where once there was just a brother and a sister, will sprawl out, fingers of hope reaching far into the future.

As time wears on, and a new normal is forged for Zephrah and for the little family in the cottage on the edge of the castle that now serves as a hall of government, two surprises yet await Vax. The first comes shortly before the inaugural elections of the High Council, in which all of the previous Masters are expected to win their seats with ease, facing little challenge from the generally content populace of Zephrah—that is, until Pike comes to him on a cold winter's morning and tells him that she and Scanlan have decided to take a break from public service, to travel the world and see what other adventures might await them.

Vax, who has grown even more fond of the Mistress of Divinity in her time helping him develop his relationship with the Matron of Ravens, says, "Well, I'll miss you, Pickle, but...why are you telling just me, and not Keyleth and I together?"

She sips from the tea he'd made when she arrived at the cottage. "Because I want you to take my place on the Council."

Vax chokes on his own breath. "I—certainly you don't—what?"

Pike shrugs, as if her suggestion were the most obvious one in the world. "The people know you, they trust you, they know you command respect within the castle and without. You have learned enough in our studies for me to be confident that you can lead Zephrah forward on its path of divinity, at least until I get bored and drag Scanlan back from his debaucherous exploits." She grins conspiratorially.

Vax spins his teacup round and round between his fingers. "Surely I would not be elected over any of the holy people from the temples in town."

"None have yet to throw their names into the ring, though of course, perhaps they believe themselves incapable of beating me, which, fair enough."

"You are well-loved, Pickle."

"I am. Which is why I am confident that an endorsement from me will seal the deal for you."

Keyleth, Pike, Vex, Percy—they all have such steadfast faith in him. Perhaps it is time that he believed them. "Alright. I'll do it."

The second surprise comes a few weeks later, after he has won his election, after the home he chose has chosen him back, when he returns to the little cottage after a long day of meetings with the High Council. Keyleth, who now only attends those meetings when specifically requested, is just opening the door when he arrives, saying her goodbyes to one of the new Mistress of Development's secretaries. When they are inside and alone, Vax, watching Vilya tumble about with her favorite stuffed bear, a gift from her auntie Vex, asks, "What was that all about? With the Development secretary?"

Keyleth is at the kitchen counter, peeling potatoes and carrots for dinner, but he can see by the uneven rise and fall of her shoulders that there is something great weighing on her mind. "Oh. Yes. That. Well." She attempts to peel a potato, misses, then misses again, then sighs, tossing the vegetable and knife onto the cutting board. She turns to face him with a curious look on her face. "We were discussing...modifications to the cottage."

Vax is confused. The cottage is perfect, no leaks, no cracked floorboards, just exactly what their little family needs. "What sort of modifications?"

"Well..." She chews on her lip, fighting a burgeoning smile. "I rather think it will be too small for us as is, soon enough."

The realization comes faster this time. He shoves himself off of the floor, snatches Vilya up in one arm—"Papa up!"—and bounds over to Keyleth to wrap her in the other. He kisses her, hard, grinning, ignoring his daughter's delighted rapping of her fist against his face, before murmuring against her lips, "Are you sure?"

She nods. "Nel confirmed it this morning. She's already working on the proper preparations to make sure things a bit easier this time." She scrunches her nose and kisses Vilya's chubby cheek.

Vax rests his hand along the column of her throat, inspects her face closely. "How do you feel? Not just physically, but..."

She brings her hand atop his. "Happy. A little nauseated. Scared. Sad, that my father won't be here." She tilts her head forward slightly, an invitation for him to knock his forehead against hers, which he obliges happily. "Hopeful. More than anything, I have hope."

Vax pulls his family in tight, smiling at Vilya's grumbled, "Papa, down!" He acquiesces, allowing her to toddle off while he kisses his wife once more.

"Only you," he whispers, breathing in the scent of her hair and the warming vegetables and the winter air. "No one else in this world I'd rather be on this adventure with."

She folds into him, this queen who gave up her crown for a quiet life with him, this miracle for which the gods can never be properly thanked. He does not know what awaits them around this next bend in the road, but he knows that they walk this path together, and that comfort, her hand in his and her shoulder beside him, is more than a thief and bastard could ever have imagined in his wildest dreams.

.

Time moves differently for the cherry tree, which marks its passage through seasons, the growing and shedding of its leaves, the falling of snow and the melting of it, hot days and cold nights. As the seasons come, one after the next, the tree watches the little family grow, entering a new season of its own. The woman spends her time mostly in the gardens, her belly swelling with the lengthening days, her chattering toddler stumbling after her or exploring the small hill she has always called home. The man comes back each evening, tired and happy, peppers each of their faces with kisses, and then presses one final one to his wife's stretching stomach. Spring brings excitement, summer joy, and autumn impatient anticipation.

The tree does not so much mind being used as a door, these many visits between the little family here and the little one in a city far, far away. It is a magic the tree does not pretend to understand, just as it does not understand the magic of the two now buried beneath its twisting roots, the two who, though dead to this world, live on in the next, whatever that may look like. On occasion, people will spill through its cracked bark, and the cottage, now slightly bigger than it had been previously, will house guests, its walls full to bursting with laughter and cheer—or, alternatively, the little family will disappear through the tree, and it will stand a lone sentinel for some time, guarding the house on the hill as best it can until they return, happy but eager for home.

When the nights grow longer and the cherry tree's branches are nearly bare, the midwife is summoned, and the wind seems to hang silent as the world awaits its newest arrival. Pained cries give way to cacophonous squalls, and the tree must wait through the long night for the little family, no longer quite so little, to come outside in the morning, the young girl running to the base of the tree while the man and the woman each carry a small bundle in the cradles of their arms. They are tired, these parents, but each wears a contented smile that makes this autumn feel like high summer.

They approach the tree, and the woman speaks up to the branches, "Mama, Papa, we'd like to introduce our twins. This is Korrin." She smiles down at the tiny boy in her arms.

"And this is Elaina." The man grins, a devilish light in his eye as he regards his new daughter. "My sister will accuse me of thievery, but it's fine. She never was good at sharing."

"I wish you could meet them," she says quietly. The little girl runs up to cling onto her mother's leg. "I wish my children could grow under your watchful eyes. But...I'm happy." The man kisses her cheek. "We all are. And I rest easy knowing that, wherever you are, you have found peace with each other, as I have found here with Vax."

The winds shift, and the little boy she holds gurgles. The man balances the girl in one arm as he reaches a knuckle over to stroke his rounded cheek. "We cannot escape the horrors of our past, the things we have done and the things that have been done to us. But know that we will do everything in our power to make a better, more just world for our children, and for theirs, and so on, so that each new day is brighter than the last."

She rests her head on his shoulder, the autumn breeze tossing her hair as the little girl scrambles about, a stuffed bear in her hands, and the final blossoms remaining on the tree fall, all at once, a brief shower of white in a world of golds and reds. The woman smiles, and closes her eyes, and for a moment, the early morning sun behind her head could be a crown.

[immigration-canada7]

Canadian permanent residency

At Esse India, we understand that experiencing your first fall in Canada is an exciting moment. As temperatures cool, leaves change color, and beloved holidays arrive, it’s the perfect season to explore what this beautiful country has to offer.

Here’s everything you need to know to make the most of fall in Canada.

When Does Fall Start in Canada?

Fall in Canada typically runs from September to December, but the official start, as defined by the National Research Council Canada, is the autumnal equinox. In 2024, fall begins on September 22, when the sun is directly over the equator.

What to Expect During Fall in Canada

Shorter Days and the End of Daylight Saving Time

As the season progresses, expect shorter days and longer nights. Fall also marks the end of Daylight Saving Time, an eight-month period when clocks are set one hour ahead to maximize daylight. This year, Daylight Saving Time ends on November 3, 2024, giving you an extra hour of sleep that night! However, expect earlier sunsets in the days that follow.

Changing Weather

Fall is a season of transition, so be prepared for unpredictable weather. Depending on where you are in Canada, temperatures can vary greatly:

British Columbia tends to be milder and wetter.

In the Northwest Territories, temperatures can drop significantly as winter approaches.

In many regions, expect cool mornings and evenings, with warmer afternoons. Layering is key, and fall jackets are recommended. It's not unusual to see early snowfall as soon as October, especially in northern areas. Keep an eye on weather apps, as some regions may experience hurricanes during this season.

Things to Do During Fall in Canada

Enjoy the Fall Foliage

One of the best parts of fall in Canada is the stunning display of fall foliage. Popular spots to see vibrant leaves include:

Algonquin Park in Ontario

Parc national du Mont-Tremblant in Montreal

Stanley Park in Vancouver

Many provinces even offer fall foliage trackers to help you plan your outdoor adventures.

Fun Outdoor Activities

Fall is perfect for outdoor activities like hikes and treks. Farms across Canada host fun events like:

Corn mazes

Hayrides

Apple and pumpkin picking

Spending a weekend at a cottage with loved ones in rural Canada is another popular fall activity, offering a cozy retreat surrounded by nature.

Savour Fall Flavours

Autumn brings with it a host of comforting flavors. Pumpkin and apple pies are fall favorites, and you’ll find seasonal offerings like pumpkin spice lattes in cafes across the country. Be sure to enjoy these limited-time fall treats!

Festivals During Fall in Canada

Halloween

Halloween is a major celebration in Canada, falling on October 31 each year. In the weeks leading up to Halloween, you’ll find spooky activities like scary movie marathons and pumpkin carving. On the big day, children go trick-or-treating, collecting candy from their neighbors in costumes, while adults enjoy costume parties and visit haunted houses.

Thanksgiving

Canadian Thanksgiving is celebrated on the second Monday of October, making it about six weeks earlier than its U.S. counterpart. It’s a time to gather with friends and family over a hearty meal, with turkey, stuffing, and vegetables as traditional fare. In 2024, Thanksgiving falls on October 14.

Black Friday and Cyber Monday

After Thanksgiving, Canadians enjoy the shopping frenzy of Black Friday, which takes place on the first Friday after U.S. Thanksgiving. Retailers offer significant discounts, marking the start of the holiday shopping season. Cyber Monday, held the following Monday, focuses on online sales, allowing shoppers to snag deals from the comfort of their homes.

Make the most of your first fall in Canada by embracing all that the season has to offer! From colorful leaves to cozy holiday celebrations, this time of year is truly magical. At Esse India, we’re here to help you navigate your new life in Canada, ensuring you make the most of every moment. @immigrationvisa4uk-blog @immigrationvisa @immigrationvisaaustralia @immigrationvisa4-blog @immigrationnewsdigest @canadavisawithease-blog @canadavisaconsultantsinhyde-blog @canadavisaguide @canadavisapoint-blog

[xtruss]

Why Sending Leopard 2 & M1 Abrams Tanks to Ukraine is NATO's Grave Mistake

© AP Photo/Michael Sohn

Berlin has green-lighted the delivery of Germany's main battle tank (MBT) Leopard 2s to Kiev both from its own stockpiles and those of its allies. For its part, Washington has signaled its own readiness to provide the Ukrainian military with its M1 Abrams equivalent.

"Chancellor Scholz made clear that Germany would not authorize the shipment of German Leopard 2 tanks to Ukraine unless the US first authorized the shipment of M-1A1 Abrams tanks," David T. Pyne, an EMP Task Force scholar and former US Department of Defense officer, told Sputnik.

Then, on January 24, "the Biden administration finally relented and announced they would send about thirty-one M-1A1 Abrams tanks (which I was trained to fight in as a US Army armor officer back in 1993) to Ukraine."

Clearly, the US and Germany came to an agreement that if Berlin would approve the shipment of Leopard tanks to Ukraine, then the US would follow suit by sending Abrams tanks as well. Accordingly, that is the reason that Scholz finally relented and agreed to send them. I believe that this latest NATO escalation of its proxy war in Ukraine will continue the downward trend in EU-Russia relations to an all-time low — David T. Pyne, EMP Task Force scholar and former US Department of Defense officer

The decision to deliver the tanks came on the heels of a Ramstein gathering of the Ukraine Contact Group which failed to find common ground on sending Leopard 2s to Kiev. Reportedly, 12 European nations are expected to provide the Ukrainian military with roughly 100 Leopards; Berlin is due to send 14 MBTs.

Leopard 2 Tanks: Armored Beasts Berlin Decides to Send to Ukraine. Germany has confirmed its intention to deliver 14 Leopard 2 tanks to Ukraine. The announcement came after weeks of heated debates between Berlin and its NATO colleagues over tank supplies to Kiev.

"This western decision to send tanks to Ukraine followed a meeting of the Director of the CIA William Burns with President Zelensky who, for the past few weeks, has been sounding the alarm about an imminent major Russian winter offensive," observed Pyne. "Most likely, Burns helped identify shortcomings in the Ukrainian Armed Forces’ ability to defend Ukraine against such an offensive, causing the US and EU to reconsider their reluctance to provide tanks to Ukraine."

The Russian military thwarted plans for the offensive of the Armed Forces of Ukraine in the Zaporozhye region, Vladimir Rogov, a member of the main council of the regional administration, told Russian journalists on January 25. According to him, the Kiev regime's plans to launch a broad offensive against the liberated part of the Zaporozhye region in order to reach the coast of the Sea of Azov had failed.

Meanwhile, Russian troops cut the highway connecting Artemovsk (Bakhmut) with Seversk, thus thwarting the ability of the Armed Forces of Ukraine - which are still holding the key city-turned-meat grinder - to get reinforcements. Having taken Soledar, the Russian forces are attacking Artemovsk from the northwest and are moving in the direction of Razdolovka to the north; Blagodatny to the west; and Krasnaya Gora to the southwest, according to Russian military observers.

"I believe that the US and EU have decided to ramp up military assistance to Ukraine because they share Ukraine’s concern that the Russian winter offensive will succeed in recapturing a large amount of Ukrainian territory and they do not want to see Ukraine’s military collapse with Ukraine forced to accept Russia’s peace terms, which they would view as a major defeat, not only for Ukraine, but for NATO itself," suggested the former Pentagon officer.

Berlin's Decision to Send Leopard 2s to Ukraine 'Historically Wrong', German MP Says. On Wednesday, German Defense Minister Boris Pistorius made it clear that Ukraine will get the Leopard 2 tanks not earlier than in three-four months. German lawmaker Sevim Dagdelen has lashed out at Berlin over its move to provide Kiev with the country's Leopard 2 main battle tanks. "We are now in a very bad situation, because I think it’s a historic wrong [sic] decision, for it’s against the majority of the population in Germany. According to new polls, the majority in Germany is against sending battle tanks to Ukraine. The majority is in favor for more diplomacy, for a negotiated peace in Ukraine," Dagdelen, who is member of the Left party, told a German news outlet on Thursday. “It’s the interest of an elite, of neocons in the United States, who are having the position that Europe is like Latin America for the United States in the '70s, and a continent where you can do what you please. And that's really a problem,” the German lawmaker noted.”

Why Sending Tanks to Ukraine is a Bad Idea

Pyne believes that Berlin and Washington's decision to raise the stakes by sending their main battle tanks to Kiev is a mistake.

First of all, the Russian military has "tens - if not hundreds - of thousands" of rockets, missiles, and other munitions that it can use to blow NATO's MBTs up.

"I believe sending Abrams tanks to Ukraine will serve to quickly pierce the myth of their invulnerability as the Russian military will make them high priority targets as it has tens of thousands, if not hundreds of thousands, of missiles, rockets and munitions [Russians] could use to destroy them," the EMP Task Force scholar said. "I think the propaganda value for Russia of publishing pictures in the Russian media of burnt up western tanks will likely be substantial."

Several years ago, Leopard 2A4 tanks lost their veneer of invincibility after engaging in fierce firefights against Kurdish and Daesh (ISIS)* fighters in 2016 and 2018. Approximately a dozen or more Leopard 2s were destroyed by IEDs, suicide car bombs, and anti-tank guided missiles. To cap it off neither Leopard 2s nor Abrams M1 have fought so far against a worthy conventional foe which has heavy artillery and air support.

Second, neither 100+ Leopard 2s, nor 30+ M1 Abrams is likely to dramatically reverse the situation on the battlefield.

“Of course, [these tanks] will complicate the actions of our troops. But this is not a game changer. We have the T-90 Proryv (Breakthrough) main battle tanks. There are [Russian] anti-tank weapons, there are special combat helicopters working in the conflict zone. Therefore, we are by no means a poor, frightened army that fears these Leopards and Abrams. It will be harder than usual, but [these tanks] won't change the situation on the ground.” — Leonid Reshetnikov, Retired lieutenant general of Russia's Foreign Intelligence Service (SVR) and director of the Russian Institute for Strategic Studies

Prior to the conflict, Pyne calculated that Russia had a 5-to-1 advantage in terms of the number of tanks they possessed over and above European NATO (excluding Turkey). He believes that advantage in main battle tanks will likely prove decisive for Russia during its special military operation in Ukraine.

"The US and EU would have to provide Ukraine with several times more tanks for it to constitute a game-changer for Kiev," Pyne highlighted.

Third, "it will take months for the US and other NATO countries to train the Ukrainian military to operate US M-1A1 Abrams, German Leopard 2 and British Challenger 2 tanks before they can be deployed to Ukraine," according to the former DoD officer.

Sending tanks provides no immediate relief for Ukraine, echoed Larry Johnson, a veteran of the CIA and the State Department’s Office of Counter Terrorism, which provided training to the US Military’s Special Operations task force for 24 years.

"Once they are delivered they will require months of training for the crews who plan to operate them," Johnson told Sputnik. "The decision of NATO to send different brands of tanks further complicates the training and the logistics supply chain required to keep those tanks running (…) None of these tanks are likely to be operating on the battlefield for at least four months. Ukraine will be pushed to the west of the Dniepr River and may no longer exist as a country."

The NATO allies waging a proxy war against Russia in Ukraine have rushed in recent weeks to send their most potent weapons yet to the battlefields in the Donbass: armored fighting vehicles and main battle tanks. After reports appeared in US media on Tuesday that the White House was preparing to send dozens of M1 Abrams main battle tanks (MBTs) to Kiev, the Pentagon said it was aware of the reports but had nothing to announce. US Army leaders have warned Ukrainians forces are ill-equipped to operate and maintain the advanced armored vehicles, making such a venture both costly and unproductive. However, it seems more likely than ever that Germany will allow Poland to send its Leopard 2 MBTs to Ukraine, and it’s unclear how that development will influence Washington’s thinking. © Photo: Joseph A. Lambach, U.S. Marine Corps/Wikipedia

Fourth, since the Ukrainian military won't be able to operate the M1 Abrams and Leopard 2s without proper training, it cannot be ruled out that the machines will initially be staffed by NATO crews, as Johnson noted in his recent blog post.

NATO battle tanks driven by NATO soldiers in Ukraine would elevate tensions between Moscow and the transatlantic bloc to a new level, according to the security expert. This would rubbish Joe Biden's claims that the US' actions don't constitute a direct threat to Russia.

Fifth, announcing an escalation like this allows Russia to do the necessary planning to counter the threat and destroy it, according to Johnson. The security expert expressed bewilderment about NATO's open discussions of Ukraine matters in his blog. According to him, "the NATO crowd" appears to be focused on playing "the public relations game."

"It is an unwise escalation and creates a legitimate reason for Russia to take action to prevent the delivery," said the CIA veteran. "This is an act of war. Most are just too polite to say so."

Russia Won't Back Down, Peace Deal is Way Out

By increasingly providing Ukraine with lethal weapons, NATO fits into the definition of an "aggressor" under international humanitarian law, according to Fahri Erenel, retired brigadier general of the Turkish Armed Forces, professor, and head of the Center for Strategic Studies on Security and Defense at Istinye University.

First, the West supplied Ukraine with light weapons, then medium-range missile systems, and now, having failed to achieve any results, they have begun to increase the capacity of weapons and equipment — Fahri Erenel, Retired brigadier general of the Turkish Armed Forces, professor, and head of the Center for Strategic Studies on Security and Defense at Istinye University

What’s worse, Berlin's decision to send Leopard 2s to the conflict zone sends a signal that Germany is no longer pushing for peace talks, according to the retired brigadier general.

Russia Rolls Out Combat Robot to 'Detect and Destroy' Leopard 2, Abrams Tanks Sent to Ukraine

"Western leaders fail to understand that there is literally no possibility of Ukrainian victory or Russian defeat given Russia’s overwhelming advantage over Ukraine in terms of military, industrial and economic strength," argued Pyne. "Furthermore, US national security interests are not at issue in Russia’s ongoing border dispute with Ukraine, as even the most diehard proponents of the war in Ukraine like Robert Kagan, a senior fellow at the Brookings Institution, have conceded while the roll-back of Ukraine’s de facto NATO membership constitutes a vital national security interest for the Russian Federation."

According to the ex-DoD officer, the West should not expect Russia to back down in Ukraine given that Moscow's national interests are at stake. At the same time, the US and NATO's defeat in Ukraine would mean significant reputational damage for the western bloc.

As a result, the more the West escalates its proxy war in Ukraine, the more Russia will escalate its military actions in response, warned Pyne.

"That is why it is imperative for the Biden administration to suspend all lethal military assistance to Ukraine and mediate an immediate cease-fire in Ukraine, as I have been calling for the past four months, to avert the dangerous prospects of further escalation of the conflict," Pyne concluded.

— Sputnik International | January 26, 2023 | Ekaterina Blinova

[lubdubsworld]

Blackberry Winters.

Part 1

Namjoon Werewolf Au !

Alpha werewolf!

Heavy angst.! Pregnancy, unrequited love, hate to love, prejudice, mental health issues.

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

There is a tide in the affairs of men, which , taken at the flood leads on to fortune. Opportunities had to be seized and made use of and you had to be bold and confident in order to lead your people to fortune.

Namjoon, as the head alpha of the Kim clan, knew this better than anyone else. Which was why he was here, in a meeting with alphas from the three neighbouring clans lining his boundary lines, hoping to get permission to access the seven or so aquifers that lay to the east of the packhouse.

The rains had been kind to them, the reservoirs were full but he wanted to make sure they had a backup plan just in case things went south in some way. His father had taught him that. Being prepared for the worst was second nature to him now. The land around the aquifers was rich and fertile and Jungkook had already let him plant tangerines and apples in the area for the little ones. The harvest was generally shared between the two clans and Namjoon was grateful for the easy camaraderie that the alpha of the land offered him.

The land belonged to alpha Jeon , a dear friend by all means and he knew that Jungkook would grant him permission as he always did . But still it was never a certainty. The council members had the final say and many of them held a grudge when he refused to marry Jungkook's sister last spring. That had been a no brainer for him. Junghee was beautiful but also like a sister to him, besides being incredibly intelligent. He didn't need a wife like that. And that was why he had picked, Jiah.

Sighing, Namjoon glanced back at the campsite where the women were gathered, sitting in small groups and laughing around a blazing fire while a few alphas hung about roasting meat and passing out moats of wine around . His eyes fell on his wife, timid and shy , sitting away from the rest and regret churned. He had been impulsive. She was ill suited to be his wife , and the last three months had been a bitter wake up call. Namjoon was well read, eloquent and bold. His wife was barely illiterate, with a stutter and shifty eyes that never met anyone's gaze head on.

He had chosen her because she had seemed docile and pliant and while she was definitely that, she was also ....at the risk of sounding rude and unkind, very very boring.

A simpleton. She seemed to know nothing about anything, content to disappear into the shadows, to hide and hang back and practically become one with the upholstery when he asked her to sit next to him.

It had been three months and they had barely spoken beyond a dozen words. It was awkward and stilted and just plain uncomfortable, sleeping with her. Sex was supposed to fun and passionate and filled with excitement and desire but with her , it was a chore he couldn't wait to cross off his list.

Leaning back against one of the poles holding up the makeshift tent, he watched her as she scooted away from one of the older omegas in the Jeon clan, the lady looking startled at the reaction. He shook his head in despair. He hadn't even wanted to bring her along but his mother had insisted. Something about her being young and innocent, too shy to stay behind with strangers for two whole weeks while he traveled to the Jeon's .

How was he supposed to explain that they were strangers as well ? That despite the label of mates, despite the fact that he had been the one to choose her, he felt nothing for her? Not even the idle curiosity one felt for strangers?

It was partly her demeanour, but mostly her appearance. She wasn't well groomed and it always made him frown. He had hoped that she would at least keep herself presentable, maybe hire the weavers to make her a few new tunics .

Something colorful and patterned like the ones the other omegas wore during festivities. The Kim clan had a lucrative fabric trade with the Min pack , and Yoongi and Hoseok always kept the most luxurious and vibrant silks and fabrics for him.

Jiah had shown a brief and fleeting interest in the luxurious threads, when his mother had brought her along to the tailor to get her wedding trousseau done....but the moment the young beta had asked her questions about her likes and dislikes, she had recoiled and went back into her shell. Namjoon had watched the whole scene, annoyance growing with every passing second. He wanted her to be pliant but also independent. Low maintenance . But apparently he would have to hold her hand through everything.

And that's when he'd begun to actively distance himself from his wife. He didn't have the time nor inclination to help her navigate her new life. He was busy, what with autumn coming to an end and the first chills of winter already beginning to permeate the air. The betas and alphas in the pack were already occupied with hunting enough meat to last them the winter, the women busy with curing the meat with spices and salt.....

He should have left her behind with them.

" A coin for your thoughts, Alpha Kim?"

Kim Jisoo came to stand by him, her scent of floral dust and vanilla cloyingly sweet on his senses. She had helped him with many a rut and he had always nurtured a sweet spot for the omega who was well versed in many languages. She was also one of the courtesans they had brought along for the evening entertainment. Jisoo slipped her hands through his arm and he smiled, letting her brush close to his torso.

His gaze went to his wife, who was staring at him, eyes blank and lips parted softly. She looked a little upset.

Which was understandable but still annoying. They weren't in love or anything and he wasn't cheating on her. Jisoo was a friend. He was allowed to have those. Jiah had no right to look at him with suspicion or with entitlement. He didn't owe her all her time. He wondered if she would react if he were to confront her now. As it is , he let himself stare right at her, half wishing that she would talk back to him.

But the moment their eyes met, Jiah looked away, entire body shifting as though in embarassment. He frowned , but lightly patted the soft fingers curled on his arm. He turned to Jisoo with a smile, taking in the pretty elfin features. The perfectly curled hair , threaded with gold and jeweler pins fell in soft ropes around her face, her lips tinted red and her cheeks brushed rose. She looked enchanting and unreal and he felt his blood stir in arousal, the need to feel her under him suddenly overwhelming.

He glanced back at Jiah and she looked a little green , her face ashen. His eyes narrowed when she shifted and looked around in a mild panic. Oh God, what was it now?

Irritable, he gently pulled away from the beautiful omega next to him.

" Excuse me, dear. I need to check on my wife." He said apologetically and she frowned staring at where he was looking.

"What's wrong?" Jisoo asked sharply but he ignored her, already moving to his mate.

Which was just as well, because the moment he reached her, her eyes rolled back and she toppled right into his arms.

She had fainted .

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

" I'm sorry we had to cut this short but I hope your mate feels better soon, hyung." Jungkook's voice was laced with genuine concern and Namjoon nodded, hugging the younger alpha tight.

Junghee looked just as sympathetic, next to him.

" She'll be fine . I tried to get her to stay but she's been panicking a lot and refuses to let any of the healers here examine her. I think she'll be more comfortable with your pack healer. " She said gently.

Namjoon nodded, glancing back at Jiah who sat side-saddle on one of the smaller ponies, her eyes wide and face still ashen. He had tried to tell her it would be okay , but she had insisted on going home. The stark terror on her face had unsettled him deeply. He didn't know why she was so scared of the Jeon healer? Could it be because he was a man? Whatever the reason she hadn't let him examine her and because he couldn't ask her to just forget about the whole thing ( he was still head alpha , he still had to set an example as a caring mate. ) Namjoon had been forced to arrange for their return back home.

He had left Seokjin and Taehyung behind to carry the talks on his behalf, and Jisoo stood a few dozen feet away looking annoyed as he gave her

an apologetic smile.

The journey back to the Main village would be a couple of days and he had packed enough food for the both of them.

As he turned back to mount his stallion, he caught a glimpse of her face as she stared at him.

She looked lost , apologetic and clearly upset.

And he wondered if he would have to spend the rest of his life reading her face, trying to figure her out.

He has no interest in either.

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

The journey became incredibly tiring, especially when the skies opened up on them. Rain Lashed the ground , intent on soaking the earth and Namjoon watched her shiver, trembling as they all huddled beneath the shade of some trees, blankets wrapped tight around her thin torso. Why was she so thin? Why did she look at food like it was poisoned?

They were only a mile from home but had to stop, the deluge was far too strong for the animals to see ahead of them.

Namjoon himself sat next to an omega from the clan. He recognised her as one of the maids his mother had given to Jiah.

" Is your mistress doing well?" He asked gruffly and the omega startled, bowing twice in respect before answering.

"I...she ... She doesn't say much, alpha." The girl blushed under his gaze, looking away nervously and he frowned, glancing back at Jiah.

So it wasn't just him, then. She didn't trust anyone. He stared at her till she felt the heat of his gaze and looked up, eyes wide like a startled bird, like one of the starlings that nested in the wooden beams of his hut. She looked surprised, then terrified, eyes darting away at once and he tried not to growl in sheer frustration.

He wondered if it was because of his face.

Namjoon had no large feelings about his looks but he knew he was far from beautiful. ( A/N : A whole lie , I know but please bear with me for the story :*) it was one of the reasons he had wanted a plain looking bride. But perhaps his own chosen mate had , had dreams of marrying a very handsome man? Perhaps she had been infatuated with someone like that , from the clan?

It wasn't a far fetched idea. But still, she had been free to refuse his proposal. When he had first met the clan's watchkeeper, old man Gong in the humble hut on the outer borders of the pack land, he had made it clear that it wasn't some kind of order. She was free to refuse.

But she hadn't.

She had merely bowed and agreed and promptly appeared with a satchel full of her things and followed him back to his own home.

So why did she continue to act like she was here against her will?

It irked him no end.

As the skies cleared, they began their trek again and Namjoon pushed thoughts of her out of his mind. He had to plan for the winter, make sure there was enough food and also make sure they had enough herbs and liniments and oils in the apothecary. Mind drifting off to the countless things he was responsible for, Namjoon forgot all about his awkward mate and the reason they were going back home in the first place.

Which is why, when they reached home and he took his bath, cleaning himself up and finally settling down to some delicious food from the kitchens , his mother's words made him drop the chopsticks in shock.

" She is with child."

Namjoon stared at his mother in complete shock.

Fuck.

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

Authors Note : I had this idea and just had to write it. Hope you guys enjoyed it.

[dwellordream]

“It is unlikely that any king ever received more valuable assistance from his mother than did Richard from Eleanor. The new English monarch empowered her to hold England until he could arrive to take charge himself, and as a crowned queen she symbolized lawful royal authority in the kingdom until his arrival for his coronation. With her strong personality, she could dominate royal officials and assure administrative continuity. Although official records fail to reflect Eleanor’s efforts on Richard’s behalf, contemporary writers vividly depict her exertions. 

One chronicler wrote, “Queen Eleanor, who for many years had been under close guard, was entrusted with the power of acting as regent by her son. Indeed, he issued instructions to the princes of the realm, almost in the style of a general edict, that the queen’s word should be law in all matters.” He concluded, “To make up for his many excesses, [Richard] took care to show his mother all the honor that he could, that by obedience to his mother he should atone for the offenses committed against his father.” Although Eleanor’s position in England’s government was not comparable to that of Philip II’s mother in France, who was proclaimed official regent while her son was away on crusade, she swiftly exerted herself on Richard’s behalf, securing the kingdom for him and remedying the late king’s abuses. 

Representing royal power, she gave legitimacy to the authority of the experienced and capable chief justiciar Ranulf de Glanvill, and his writs sometimes stated their authorization “by the queen’s precept.” The respect given Eleanor as queen-mother would give her a prominent part in English politics during the turbulent years of 1190–94, when the kingdom was threatened by her younger son John, count of Mortain, and by the Capetian king. She was a prominent force in England, enforcing royal directives, prohibiting a papal legate from entering the kingdom, attesting royal charters, and attending gatherings of the king’s great council.

…A chronicler described Eleanor after her release from captivity: “Circulating with a queenly court, she set out from city to city and castle to castle just as it pleased her.” The chronicler must have chosen the uncommon term “queenly court” instead of “royal court” purposely to draw attention to the extraordinary sight of a female exercising royal authority. The queen sent representatives to all the counties of England to take free men’s oaths of fidelity to their new king. These royal agents were ordered to release captives imprisoned by the king’s will alone, not by the law of the realm, and also those held for offences against the arbitrary forest law, while those lawfully imprisoned were to be released once they found sureties for their appearance at trial. 

The chronicler continued, commenting, “In her own person she demonstrated how grievous unjust imprisonment was for men, and how release aroused in them joyful revival of spirits.” He added that Eleanor freed prisoners because her own experience had taught her that “confinement is distasteful to mankind, and that it is a most delightful refreshment to the spirits to be liberated therefrom.” Certainly Eleanor could feel for those arbitrarily imprisoned by her late husband, but her proclamation was not a general amnesty emptying the jails, for conditions for prisoners’ release were specific and consistent with legal principles and practices. The monastic writer William of Newburgh, nonetheless, was disgusted that freeing them had unleashed “these pests” back onto society only to terrorize decent subjects more confidently in the future. 

Another chronicler commented more favorably, recognizing her action as redressing Henry II’s despotic deeds. She curbed “the depredations of those . . . charged with the care of the forests, intimidating them with the threat of severe penalties”; he also hails her ending of Henry’s habit of housing his horses in the stables of abbeys, remarking that she “distributed them with pious liberality.” Although Eleanor’s first concern in the weeks after Henry’s death was assisting Richard’s smooth accession to England’s throne, she did not forget a widow’s duty to provide prayers for her departed husband’s soul. She assigned income of the vacant bishopric of Winchester as alms on Henry’s behalf and also made grants to the nuns of Amesbury and to the Carthusian brothers for his soul.

In old age, Eleanor was finally fulfilling the role that her English subjects considered proper for their queens, tempering the king’s harsh rule with mercy and busying herself with spiritual matters. Eleanor met Richard at Winchester soon after his landing at Portsmouth on 13 August 1189 to join his entourage. When he learned that English castles on the southern frontier of Wales were being attacked by the Welsh, his first impulse was to march immediately to their relief, but heeding his mother’s counsel, he continued on his way to Westminster for his coronation. In preparation for the queen-mother’s participation in the coronation festivities, over £100 was spent on clothing, furs, horses and their harness, and other items to ensure that she and her entourage made an appropriately splendid impression. 

Her household now included a number of noble maidens in her care, among them Alix of France, Richard’s long-suffering fiancée and victim of Henry II’s lust; Count John’s betrothed, Isabelle, daughter of the deceased earl of Gloucester; and Denise of Déols, heir to the lordship of Berry and soon to be the bride of Andrew of Chauvigny, one of Richard’s Poitevin stalwarts. Andrew had ties of kinship with Eleanor through her Châtellerault ancestors, and his kinsmen had supplied officials for the counts of Poitou. Bernard de Chauvigny had served as the queen’s chamberlain during her first years in England, and Richard as count of Poitou had made Geoffrey de Chauvigny his chamberlain.

Eleanor acknowledged her ties to both Andrew and Denise by attending their wedding at Salisbury. Richard took care to ensure that his mother had adequate wealth for maintaining a standard of living appropriate for a great queen, although as duchess of Aquitaine she was already rich and powerful in her own right. The division of the duchy’s resources between Richard and his mother is unclear, but Eleanor evidently felt no constraint on making grants from Poitou’s revenues. As duke of Normandy, Richard granted his mother income from some Norman administrative agencies.

…In spring 1190, after Richard had crossed to Normandy, he summoned his mother, his brother John, his illegitimate brother Geoffrey Plantagenet, and several bishops to a great council at Nonancourt. This council’s purpose was to lay out plans for governing the new king’s lands during his expedition to the Holy Land, and he provided funds for his mother’s travel. Richard had taken the cross in 1187, and it is his leadership of the Third Crusade, 1190–92, that makes him the best known of all medieval English monarchs. 

During Eleanor’s voyage across the Channel her mind must have turned to her own hardships endured on the Second Crusade more than forty years earlier, and her memories would have aroused fears for her son’s safety. Making the crossing with Eleanor were noble maidens in her entourage, among them her granddaughter Eleanor of Brittany, the unfortunate Alix of France, and the daughter of the countess of Eu. Also traveling with her was a great lady, Hawise, countess of Aumale, Normandy, lady of Skipton and Holderness in northern England, and the widow of the earl of Essex. A strong-willed lady similar to the queen-mother, a contemporary described her as “a woman who was almost a man, lacking nothing virile except the virile organs.” 

Richard aimed to give her in marriage to William de Forz, one of his faithful knights in Poitou and a descendant of functionaries in the service of Eleanor and her predecessors. At the Nonancourt council, the new king made provision for his sole surviving brother during his absence on crusade. He handed over to John control of six shires in England and the county of Mortain in Normandy, and he confirmed his title of lord of Ireland, making him a dangerously overmighty subject in the British isles. Richard’s generosity to John in his strongly governed kingdom and his wealthiest French province gave his brother scope for causing trouble, although the king apparently felt confident that his weak character left him incapable of causing serious mischief. 

Establishing the new count of Mortain in so powerful a position led some of Richard’s subjects to surmise that he did not expect to return from his crusade, and they feared that if he did, “His brother, already no less powerful than he and eager to rule, would defeat him and drive him out of the kingdom.” Richard’s lavish grants to John seemed an implicit declaration of his intent that John should be his heir in case of his death overseas. He saw that an explicit statement, however, would have encouraged the count’s bad behavior, as Henry II’s unhappy experience with Young King Henry had shown. 

The Lionheart perhaps expected that two checks would discourage his brother from doing harm. One was their mother Eleanor’s influence, and the other was John’s oath to remain outside England during his brother’s absence from the kingdom, but neither worked as expected. First, Eleanor was away from England for several months in 1190–91, accompanying Richard as far as Chinon in Anjou, then crossing Aquitaine to Spain and across the Midi to conduct Richard’s bride to his camp at Messina in Sicily, where he was wintering before sailing to the Holy Land. 

The second precaution, Count John’s promise at Nonancourt not to return to England for three years, was soon undone apparently through Eleanor’s pressing Richard to free him from his oath. She hardly knew her youngest son, who had grown up during her long captivity, and like Richard, she underestimated his capacity for trouble-making, or perhaps she expected that John’s awareness of his advantage as Richard’s presumed heir would induce him to behave himself. In fact, John surfaced “in active mischief” once his mother was far from England on her long journey to Spain and Sicily, although open moves against the regency government would begin only after he heard of his brother’s formal declaration of young Arthur of Brittany as heir late in 1190.

Once the queen-mother returned to the Anglo-Norman realm in 1191 she exerted her maternal pressure on her last-born son, succeeding in preventing him from rushing off to join Philip II following the French king’s premature return from the crusade in anger and frustration at Richard. At Nonancourt, the Lionheart named two chief justiciars to govern England jointly in his absence, but this scheme promptly collapsed on the death of one of them, William de Mandeville, earl of Essex. The king then began tinkering with his plan that ultimately would leave one of the co-justiciars, William Longchamp, bishop of Ely, solely in charge of the kingdom. Longchamp’s power rested on his control over the royal seal as royal chancellor, a sign of Richard’s confidence that in effect handed over to him the administration of the realm. 

By limiting authority of the other co-justiciar, the bishop of Durham, to the north of England, Richard had given Longchamp an excuse to exclude him from Westminster, the center for royal administration. Finally in June 1190, Richard acknowledged Longchamp’s supremacy, declaring him chief justiciar of all England. On the same day that the king’s letter arrived, news came that the pope had conferred on Longchamp spiritual authority over the Church in the island kingdom as papal legate. One chronicler’s claims that Longchamp had “three titles and three heads” and that he had become “Caesar and more than Caesar” ring true.

Apparently Richard’s trust either created or encouraged an arrogance and ambition within his chancellor that would ultimately bring him to ruin. The issue of Richard’s marriage was doubtless a topic for discussion during the Nonancourt conference. It may have been at that time that he revealed to his mother his plan to marry Berengaria of Navarre, and he requested her to travel to Spain and bring his bride to him in Sicily. Among Eleanor’s weightiest concerns was the Lionheart’s marriage and the birth of a son and heir that would ensure dynastic continuity and preserve the unity of the Plantagenet holdings. She knew well the many dangers that lay ahead for a crusader king. 

Years earlier, Richard had been betrothed to Alix, daughter of Louis VII and half-sister of Philip II, but he had always balked at wedding the Capetian princess, probably because of his belief that his own father had seduced her. Despite Eleanor’s anxieties, Richard himself showed few worries about the succession, confident that he would survive the dangers of an expedition to the Levant and live long enough to sire heirs. His mother was wary of the potential heirs to Richard—his sole surviving brother, John, count of Mortain in Normandy; her grandson Arthur of Brittany; and Richard’s half-brother Geoffrey Plantagenet, a cleric in minor orders. 

At Messina in Sicily, before sailing for the Holy Land, the Lionheart would name his nephew, Arthur of Brittany as his heir. Eleanor considered the child Arthur unacceptable because of the ferocious hostility of his Breton mother toward her Plantagenet in-laws. Eleanor can hardly have had much sympathy for Geoffrey, her late husband’s beloved bastard son, and she opposed Richard’s honoring his father’s wishes by naming him archbishop of York. Before Geoffrey could be consecrated, he had to take priestly vows, making him less credible as a potential king, and like John, he was barred from entering the kingdom for three years. 

Notwithstanding any doubts that Eleanor harbored about her youngest son’s character, she apparently viewed him as the sole suitable successor to the English throne should Richard die without direct heir, and possibly her insistence that Richard release John from his obligation of remaining outside the kingdom reflects her concern for his succession. A chronicle from the crusader kingdom maintains that Eleanor was the instigator of Richard’s marriage to Berengaria because her hatred and resentment of the king of France and his offspring led her to prevent at any price her son’s marriage to a daughter of Louis VII. This work is a continuation of William of Tyre’s chronicle that had recorded the Antioch affair that had brought public attention to Eleanor’s troubles with her first husband. 

It is unlikely, however, that Richard Lionheart was “bullied into marriage by his formidable mother” or that she can be credited with negotiating his marriage to Berengaria of Navarre. Despite Eleanor’s feelings about Richard’s choice of a bride or her fears for the succession, her son’s marriage to a princess from the Pyrenean kingdom must be seen as his own plan.  Allying himself with Berengaria’s father, King Sancho VI (d.1194), and her brother, the future Sancho VII, formed part of a program for stabilizing Gascony. Richard saw the match as “an ingenious diplomatic device . . . in order to cut his way through a thicket of political problems,” probably proposed by him as early as February 1190 at a great council of the Gascon nobility at La Réole.”

- Ralph V. Turner, “The Queen-Mother: Richard’s Reign, 1189–1199.” in Eleanor of Aquitaine: Queen of France, Queen of England

[chironshorseass]

part 1 read on ao3

“So you’re telling me that you haven’t Iris Messaged Annabeth in a month?”

“She was with her cousin, Ma.”

His mother stopped the car right next to Goode—the high school he would (hopefully) be attending in August.

She turned to look at him, that motherly stern look that always came up when she knew he wasn’t telling her everything.

“What?”

She shrugged. “Whatever you say. But physically, you haven’t seen her since last January! I’m just worried that—”

“We emailed each other, though—”

“Yes, but it’s not the same.” At Percy’s roll of the eyes, she held her hands up in surrender. “All I’m saying is to…see if there’s anything wrong. I have a feeling she didn’t want to IM you for some other reason. And I know you, Perce. You have the same feeling as I do.”

He did, but that wasn’t the point. So he kissed his mom on the cheek and stepped out of the car.

“Good luck on your date! And with, um, school!”

He threw her a thumbs up and shouldered his backpack.

Too bad that luck wasn’t on his side that day.

She saw him before he saw her.

He’s grown, was the first thing that came to Annabeth’s mind.

His clothing peppered in burn holes, the smoke wafting further back, and the pretty girl chasing him was registered later.

She saw him before he saw her, and so Percy bumped into her in the alleyway. Her hands went to his shoulders, steadying him.

“Whoah!” she said, laughing. “Watch where you’re going, Seaweed Brain!”

Maybe he thought he’d be late for our date. That’s why he’s in such a hurry.

It didn’t matter. Because he was here, and he was just a bit taller than her—his hair was longer than she remembered, but his green eyes were the same, beautiful color, and...

Then she caught his panicked look. Then she caught the girl behind him and the smoke and his burnt clothing.

“What happened?”

Before he could reply, the redhead called out, “Percy! Wait up!”

Her flip-flops echoed across the relatively quiet street, interrupting Annabeth’s thought process.

“And who‘s she?”

Percy turned to the other girl and waited until she arrived next to them. He glanced at Annabeth, wincing. “It’s uh…it’s a long story.”

“You promised to explain,” the girl insisted, breathless. “About the monsters and the gods and everything.”

“Wait,” Annabeth said. “She’s a demigod?”

“No.”

At the same time, the girl tilted her head and said, “So you’re one of them, too, huh?”

Annabeth felt her mouth fall open in disbelief. She met Percy’s eyes. “You told some mortal about us?”

“My name’s Rachel.”

And my name’s I-don’t-give-a-fuck.

“She can see through the mist,” is all he said.

She shook her head. Out of everything that could happen today…and this was what Fate had decided on.

“Come on.” She tugged on Percy’s arm. “We’re leaving before whatever attacked you comes back.”

He followed her, but not without gazing back at Rachel as though he wanted to stay with her. As though it were easier than being with Annabeth. There was something bubbling in her stomach at that, something that boiled her insides.

“Wait!” Rachel shouted. “You promised to explain!”

She sprinted toward them and took out a sharpie marker she’d sprung out from thin air. Annabeth rolled her eyes. Rachel grasped Percy’s arm and began writing something that looked like numbers.

She wasn’t rolling her eyes anymore.

“My phone number,” Rachel explained. Then she winked at him. “Whenever you can, call me.”

.

“What was all that about?” Annabeth said. She’d already stormed ahead, taking the lead.

He tried to explain. He’d gone to Goode’s orientation tour, just like she knew he would. There, he’d been attacked by empousa cheerleaders, and thanks to Rachel’s Sight, he’d survived.

“I’d be dead if it weren’t for her,” he said, eyeing his marked arm. “I have to repay her in some way.”

“So now you have her phone number,” she said lightly.

“Uh…yeah.”

“She’s really cute.”

Percy stopped in his tracks. She stopped as well and looked back, realizing that he was staring at her exasperatedly.

“Aw, come on, Annabeth. You and I are literally dating, and I just saw her today—well, except for last year—”

“You’ve met her before?”

He scratched his head, shifting from one foot to the other. “I, uh…yeah. Last year at Hoover Dam.”

Right. When he was looking for me.

She kept walking again.

“Are you seriously upset because of her?” He tried to grab her hand, but she pulled away. “‘Beth, I never—”

“Anyway, I don’t think we can go on our date anymore.” Her tone was scathing, like sharp, twisted knives. But she didn’t care. The gods hated her, apparently, because she and Percy could never be a normal teenage couple.

“Oh, so now you can get all angry with me when we couldn’t even call properly because of your cousin? Not even a single call?”

“That empousai said that the camp would go up in flames, we need to—”

“Don’t change the subject.” He ran up to her and placed a hand on her shoulder, making her halt. The few baby fat he’d still preserved back in winter was gone, replaced with the hints of someone older; with a harshness akin to his father, the Sea God. “How much time did you actually spend with your cousin? Honestly. He couldn’t have been with you all the time, and I tried to be nice and understanding, but did you really—”

“If what that empousa warned you about is true, then we need to head to camp. Right now.”

She left before he could talk about anything else involving her pathetic lies. Left before he could see her blinking back tears. She ran directly into Argus’ van, and once Percy had closed the door, she told the bodyguard to drive directly to camp. No detours.

They didn’t talk on the way there. She stared out the window, watching the passing farms and the cotton sky.

Her first meeting with Percy after months apart and it couldn’t have gone better.

.

The thing is: Annabeth had changed her mind about camp. In her plans, she’d stay in San Francisco for longer than usual, just to be as far away from Camp Half-Blood as possible. Then, she’d go to New York City, and her and Percy would be taken to camp by Argus.

But plans changed.

Her mother had come, weeks before Annabeth would leave as initially intended. For some strange reason, she’d knocked on her door like Luke all those months ago.

A spluttering Frederick had answered this time. Annabeth trailed behind him, cautious for anything.

Cautious for anything didn’t mean she’d thought Athena would ever consider stopping by.

“Mom?” she’d said, eyes wide.

After greetings were made, Athena had insisted she go to camp immediately. “They are counting on you to be there, Annabeth. You must go. Before it’s too late.”

Annabeth recalled what she’d told Luke:

“People are counting on you—on me”

But hearing it from her mother, seeing her so insistent—enough so that she’d come, personally, to her porch steps—made Annabeth reconsider.

Anyway, this was Athena. Her mother. Who was she to displease her?

So she buried all her worries about Luke and Percy and followed her; in the blink of an eye, she’d arrived at camp, Athena nowhere to be seen. Annabeth hadn’t even had the chance to ask her about why she’d decided to help, out of the blue.

But Athena was right; camp needed her. Apparently, Clarisse’s top-secret quest from last winter had to do with venturing into the Labyrinth. She and Chiron had rescued Chris Rodriguez, an ex-camper who was scouting it in the hopes of finding an entrance to camp for Luke’s army. He’d fallen victim to madness in those dark, underground walls. No one knew why—only that he needed help.

Not only that, but throughout those few weeks, she’d felt as if her mother’s face was implanted in her mind like a brand; she swore she saw those grey eyes everywhere. While she got familiar with Quintus and Mrs. O’Leary. While planning with Clarisse and Chiron. While hanging out with Silena. While scouring the forest with Grover and his new girlfriend, Juniper—searching for an entrance to the Labyrinth.

It got to the point where she lit a match and watched as dozens of olives burst into flames, in the hopes that Athena would respond.

“What do you want from me?”

“Please answer.”

“What do you know that we don’t?”

Everything.

That’s what she’d say, probably. But Annabeth would never know, because Athena never answered. She nearly burned down cabin seven because of this. In her frustration, she scooped up the remaining olives, stomped across camp, and threw them into the sea.

“Thanks for everything,” she muttered, watching the waves greedily drag the olives away.

She didn’t feel eyes burning into her neck after that, but coming back with Percy restarted the process all over again.

An owl was perched on Thalia’s tree. She ignored it, only for it to come back while her and Percy both sat to hear what the Council of Cloven Elders had to say about Grover’s search for Pan.

.

“Mom. What do you want?”

“Lovely way of greeting your visiting mother, I see.”

Annabeth sighed.

After reasurances to Grover that, ‘Everything will be alright. Don’t worry. I know you’ll find Pan before the Council’s deadline,’ she’d taken to the trees. To where that grey owl was perched.

The owl disappeared, however. Replaced by the goddess of wisdom. So now both mother and daughter stood, a few feet apart, while everyone else gathered on the other side. No one noticed the secret meeting.

“You prayed to me,” Athena said. “Of course I would answer. Even if you did throw the offerings away.”

To where Annabeth threw them away was left unsaid; Athena knew. She knew, and she’d likely come because of it.

Annabeth shrugged.

“You’re angry with me,” Athena observed. “Anger must be controlled, or else unwise decisions happen. Like throwing a prized possession into the sea.”

“Well, Mother,” Annabeth said, jaw tense. “You haven’t exactly been clear about why you’re following me around. Or about why you wanted me to go to camp early in the first place.”

Athena was rarely quick to anger. She calculated everything, patient and firm, just like now.

“Knowing the intentions of the divine can either be a blessing or a curse.”

“But you’re about to tell me something. About to answer me. Am I cursed, then?”

Athena cocked her head, considering.

“No,” she finally said.

There was a glint in her eyes, something that told Annabeth that she was holding back.

“Well, then...I am asking again: why are you here?”

“Because I foresee that you shall lead a quest.”

A pause. Her comment was precise, abrupt as a frigid wind. Annabeth felt herself gaping like a fish. Quickly, she clamped her mouth shut. That was all she wanted, wasn’t it? To lead a quest? But then why did she feel such a profound sense of dread?

“I came to warn you. It won’t be easy.”

She restrained the urge to roll her eyes. “Quests aren’t meant to be easy.”

“Never stray from the plan,” Athena said, ignoring her comment. Her eyes were grey as granite, face hard as marble. “I know that you can…manage your hubris, but this time, it’ll be the ultimate trial for what you can or can’t do. If you can yield or not. You and Perseus both. Hubris can be controlled, but if control itself is the problem...that is very dire, indeed.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I may have made a mistake in assuming Perseus’ fatal flaw. Maybe not. In any case...you must be careful.”

“You assumed what his fatal flaw is?”

Athena regarded her carefully, like one does when studying an ancient scroll. “You can ask him about it. Since you two are...close.”

She said close as if it was a foregin word on her tongue, something she wanted to get rid of.

Of course she knew.

“About that, I don’t care what you—”

“I give you the benefit of the doubt,” Athena said, an eyebrow raised. “My children are known to make wise, rational decisions. I can only hope that you won’t become an exception to that rule. I do not approve, but it is your life. Your choice.”

Annabeth’s mouth felt like sand. Choices. She’d begun to hate them, now.

“What’s Percy’s fatal flaw?”

“Even to me, it’s uncertain.”

“But you have some idea.”

“As do you, my daughter.”

“I thought knowledge is power.”

“Yes. Knowledge is power. But how do you know that the knowledge you possess is true? How do you know if it’s not? Fate, however, is already decided; all we can do is prepare for the worst.”

“What’s going to happen, then?” Annabeth felt like she was barely able to grasp for something to hold on to, waiting— begging —for the ground to steady itself. “What will happen to Luke? What’s my role in all of this?”

Athena only shook her head. “Knowing something and having the wits to use it are two separate things.” Then she turned around, her time at camp over as well as her vague and unreliable warnings. “I must go. Good luck, Annabeth, on your quest.”

“A quest no one has even mentioned —”

“And watch for Percy Jackson.”

She vanished into the canopy, morphing into that same, grey owl. A single feather fell from the sky and settled quietly into the ground next to Annabeth’s sneakers. It mocked her, that feather. She kicked it away, then thought better of it and rubbed it into the dirt with her heel, destroying every single trace.

Your choice.

.

Neither her nor Percy mentioned their earlier fight. It became a discarded page, ripped off and torn into pieces like an old math textbook. It gave her space to breathe, to start over. A part of her knew that it wasn’t right, and that eventually, they’d have to talk about it—but that was eventually. This was now.

During the “now,” she filled Percy in on the Labyrinth.

(The Labyrinth will be the quest your mom mentioned. It can’t be about anything else)

He listened to everything she had to say and stayed even while Clarisse was there, too.

(Probably because they’re friends. They just hate to admit it.)

They ignored the catcalls and the teasing. She expected it, anyway.

(“So the rumors are true,” Malcolm said, wiggling his eyebrows and making her roll her eyes. “You and Percy are a thing, now.”

“Uh…yeah.”

“And you never thought to tell me? Like, I’m not surprised or anything, but—hey! Don’t hit me! Okay, fine, everyone knew since you two held hands and made gooey eyes at each other and stuff last January—stop hitting me!”)

Later, her and Percy sat together by the warmth of the campfire, roasting s’mores. She enjoyed laying her head on his shoulder and kissing his cheek. She laughed at his horrible singing and held his hand later that night, swinging their arms up and down as they walked toward cabin three.

Joking around and taking comfort in the sound of the crickets, Annabeth understood what it was like to love someone. It was a different kind of love than that of Luke. She watched him smile wide, watched the way his eyes crinkled as she rolled her eyes about Clarisse and Silena. That’s when it crossed her mind: their friendship hadn’t changed. Not really.

Even though they hadn’t seen each other for six months or so, and even though their newest step to their relationship had started weeks before that, their esense stayed the same. He was still Percy and she was still Annabeth. And that would never change.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Percy said, squeezing her hand.

“Oh, um. Just...thinking.”

“Well duh.”

“Shut up.”

He grinned at her, even as she shoved him off.

“No but seriously,” he said. “What’s wrong?”

She sighed. Her meeting with Athena had slipped into her mind like passing sticky notes and secret messages. “I want to talk about fatal flaws.”

She felt his hand tense. “What about them?”

“Just, I dunno, like...do you know yours?”

He was looking straight ahead when he said, “Your, uh, mom told me. Is personal loyalty even considered a flaw?”

“That’s what she said? That your fatal flaw is personal loyalty?”

He shrugged. “Guess so.”

So it’s true. She thinks she’s wrong.

“I mean, personal loyalty is considered a flaw, but...do you think it could be something else? Maybe?”

They locked eyes. The faraway hearth lit up his face, sharpening his features.

“Do you think it’s something else?”

“I don’t know.”

Another lie. Or was it? Could personal loyalty be his fatal flaw or could it be something else? Was Athena right? Was she wrong?

Percy raised his eyebrows. “You know something. You have that planning face look.”

“I don’t have a—”

“Uh, yeah you do. But whatever. It’s not like you know what my fatal flaw is.”

“I’m...yeah. I was just wondering since, well, I know about mine. And we’re so close to the Great Prophecy, and if you don’t know by now what your fatal flaw is, well—”

“It’s good that I know, then,” he cut in. “Good that I know my fatal flaw by now.” His eyes flicked to her. “Right?”

“Yeah. Right. Good.”

Nothing else was said after that. He stopped by the porch steps of cabin three and kissed her forehead. She closed her eyes, comforted like she had throughout the singalong. Comforted by Percy.

Until he closed his door and left her in the dark.

.

The next day, Quintus’ strange game involving scorpions and ribbons began with her being paired up with Percy. It was just their luck that they’d stumbled into the Labyrinth, of all places .

“So we’re stuck here.”

“Yep,” Percy confirmed.

“You’re not helping.”

“I’m only here for moral support. You’re the brains of the relationship.”

“Am not,” she grumbled. “You’re smart; stop pretending you aren’t.”

It was no use, anyway. She couldn’t find the mark of Daedalus in the darkness. They took a break from searching and calling for help to sit down, bunching up against a wall and leaning against the other.

“I never apologized.”

Percy’s voice in the hollow chambers nearly made her jump. She lifted her chin and tucked it into his collarbone.

“For what?” she said.

“The Rachel thing.”

“To be fair, I’d nearly forgotten.”

“Exactly. So I just…want to clear the air before it comes up again. And to say sorry for doubting you about your cousin.”

She shut her eyes tight. The truth was coming like undigested food; she was ready to spill it all out. But she swallowed the words instead—hating herself and loving this beautiful, selfless boy all at the same time. Round and round. Round and round it went.

“I’m sorry, too.”

“What are you sorry for? You were right to be angry with me. Like, all this time apart and suddenly a girl writes down her phone number on my arm , and then we can’t even have a normal date because I seem to mess that up, too.”

You’re perfect, she wanted to say. You’re perfect and I’m the one who messed everything up. Not you.

“We both reacted in stupid ways,” she said instead. “And anyway, I should’ve found the time to IM with you.”

He kissed the top of her head and mumbled into her hair, “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

“Yeah. I know.”

He pulled away from her. She could feel his gaze but couldn’t see him clearly. “Something’s bothering you, Annabeth. What’s wrong? What’s actually wrong?”

She pursed her lips.

“What if…what if we don’t make it?”

Her voice came out barely above a whisper, but in the drifting silence, it sounded like ringing bells, there for everyone to hear.

( “What if you don’t make it?” She could never dare to say that out loud, however. )

She felt Percy lace his fingers through hers. “We’ll be together. That’s something I know for sure.”

They chose silence after that. Annabeth rested her head against his shoulder once more, listening to the constant creaking and shifting of the Labyrinth.

“Hey,” Percy murmured.

She glanced at him. “Hmm?”

Suddenly, she was aware of his hand resting on her arm, of his breath warm against her cheek. She froze, just for a second.

“Can I kiss you?”

Now that she thought about it, they’d never kissed properly—just a quick peck here and there. She nearly laughed at how nervous Percy sounded, at how this was just like last winter as they asked permission for a simple kiss like the awkward teenagers that they were.

She nodded. “Yeah.”

He tucked a stray curl behind her ear and leaned in. He didn’t need to look far, not even in the darkness; she was already inches apart, closing her eyes and feeling their breaths slip by.

When their lips met, she decided that surrender tasted sweet and pure, something she’d willingly do over and over again. He kissed her and nothing else mattered, not Time or the dark or choices.

He was the first to pull away.

“We’ve, um, we’ve been in here for too long,” he said. “Let’s keep trying to find a way out.”

It wasn’t long until they did.

.

By the time they’d managed to slip out of the Labyrinth, hours had passed. Night had fallen like autumn leaves, though she swore that they’d been in the maze for thirty minutes  at most.

By the time the campers and Chiron found them, she already knew that a quest would have to be made.

Just like her mother had promised, she was chosen to lead.

From what the oracle told her, she wished she could hide in her cabin and never come out. She wished that all of this was a dream and that absolutely nothing would happen—to anyone.

“The child of Athena’s final stand,” she’d said, repeating nearly all of her prophecy once Chiron asked her about it.

She paused and didn’t say the last line. The worst line. That line had cut to her bones. A rusted knife against her throat.

“And lose a love worse than death.”

She gazed at Percy. Innocent green eyes gazed right back at her, unwavering. What a terrible person she was, that she’d lead him to this fate because she couldn’t leave without him. How weak.

“Will you come?” she breathed.

He agreed without a second thought.

.

He found her in her cabin. They were alone, for once. And when he asked her what was wrong, when he looked at her like that, she couldn’t take it anymore. She surged to him, wrapping her arms around him tightly and secure, so he could never go away.

She breathed in his scent, feeling tears already trickling into his shirt.

“Hey, it’s—it’s okay. We’ll survive.”

“But what if we don’t?”

His hands drifted up to her back, steadying her.

She lifted her eyes, pulling away slightly, if only to see him clearly. A varying amount of emotions crossed his face. Concern, fear, love. Until he settled on concern and flicked away her stray tears with the pad of his thumb ever so gently. His eyebrows were pinched together.

“I just…” she said, looking away. “I just don’t want anything happening to yo—to any of you.”

“I’ll be here,” he said softly, cupping her cheek and moving it in his direction so that she could understand. “We’ll be okay.”

She wished she could believe that. Wished she could believe it with the same amount of heart that she poured into the kiss that followed. Her hands tugged at his hair, lips moving along with his like they never had before. They were warm and sure, his lips. But they could easily turn blue and cold, as easily as a flame could cease to exist. So she kissed him with everything she had so that his lips would stay warm like this, forever—passed her oxygen to him until there was nothing left to give.

.

Annabeth also chose Grover and Tyson to join her quest. With two more people, the quest team turned up as four instead of three; a feeling told her that she needed them all.

But three is a sacred number. Not four. This is why Zoë and Bianca passed on.

Three, not four.

And lose a love to worse than—

She strolled past the moving walls, the footfalls of the rest echoing behind her. Until she stopped. They were in a lavish room with a muraled painting of the gods, but that wasn’t the problem. The problem was the two doorways, the two paths.

“So?” Grover asked. “Which one do we uh…which one do we pick?”

Before she could answer, a man formed—or rather, a man with two faces. They stood in between the pathways, leering at her.

“Yes, Annabeth,” said one face.

“Which one do you pick?” said the other.

.

She kept mulling it over, what Hera had said. They’d encountered Janus, the god of doorways and beginnings and endings. And choices.

“Choose,” they’d said.

Instantly, images had painted themselves in her mind. In one, she was looking for Daedalus alongside Percy and Grover and Tyson. In the other, she was looking for Luke. “He can be saved,” her imaginary self muttered as she trudged through the Labyrinth alone, on the brink of madness. “If I save him, there will be no more death.”

But then more flashed through her mind. Choose one pathway, and she’d lose Percy, and soon after that, she’d lose Grover and Tyson. Choose the other, and she’d lose Luke instead.

“Choose.”

Everything had come to a pause when Hera arrived. She wanted to help them, apparently—only that that wasn’t true. Gods didn’t help. They only left you confused and disoriented, spinning around with no control.

She hadn’t helped, not that it surprised her.

None of them had any clue how to navigate the Labyrinth, only that supposedly Percy knew the answer. And also that they had to search for Hephaestus if they wanted to find Daedalus.

As a parting gift, she’d said, “I delayed Janus’ visit, but be careful, Annabeth. Your choice will come soon enough.”

“Let’s rest here,” Percy said, sensing her waning steps.

Despite her exhaustion, she insisted on taking first watch. She had to think. Pray. Slowly, everyone else fell into a slumber, but her mind was wide awake, gazing at Percy’s motionless form.

Prophecies had double meanings, didn’t they?

.

Her world was turned upside-down once she heard the explosion, once she went airborne for a few seconds only to hit her shoulder on a jagged rock. Immediately, she felt the sharp sting of pain. She clutched her shoulder, biting her lip. Her hand came back slick with blood.

“You chose this,” the two-faced god taunted her.

Then she heard a strangled scream. Percy’s scream. She inhaled sharply and scrambled to stand up, ignoring the scuttling spider that was getting farther and farther away and the stabbing pain traveling from her shoulder to the rest of her body.

“Percy!”

She ran in the direction from which she’d come from. Too late. Searing heat slapped her in the face before she understood what was happening. Another explosion came, and this time, she wasn’t so lucky.

Her body stumbled back, rocks caving in on her.

The sky. This is like the sky—

And everything went dark.

The darkness formed into a memory:

“No! I can’t leave you!”

“I’ve got a plan—promise!” he insisted. “You follow that metal spider to Hephaestus' lair, tell him about what’s going on.”

“But you’ll be killed!”

This was the choice; leave him or stay. Stay or leave.

“I’ll be fine,” he said. From the look in his eyes, Annabeth knew that she couldn’t convince him. He was decided. “Besides, we’ve got no choice.”

Yes, they did have a choice.

No.

Yes.

She kissed him instead. A quick kiss, a promise.

“Come back to me,” she said, fighting back tears. She pulled on her Yankees cap and left, then ran.

Her sobs escaped from her rib cage by then, finally free.

She woke to that memory and nothing else, head pounding like drums. The spider was long gone, and she stumbled around, drunk with grief. It was a miracle she found Hephaestus at all.

.

Hephaestus, thank the gods, understood her unintelligible blabbering. He took pity on her, perhaps, because he healed her physical wounds and dropped her off at camp. Never mind that Grover and Tyson were gone, on their own path looking for Pan. Never mind that Percy…

She broke down crying for the thousandth time that day when Chiron asked her what had happened. Why she’d staggered into camp all alone. Her heart, her entire being, spilled to the floor like water from an overfilled cup.

“Four went in and one came back. Only Annabeth came back,” the campers whispered among themselves. She saw their faces, saw their horror at realizing that Percy was likely dead, Grover and Tyson gone as well without much of a trace.

It drove her to hide. She stayed in bed for the next three days, not daring to close her eyes in the fear of what she may find there.

She thought that she’d run out of tears long ago, but they came anyway. She clamped her mouth shut so as not to alert any of her siblings who were asleep.

Your choice.

For the first time in the past two days, her eyes fluttered closed. She didn’t dream of anything at all.

.

Clarisse came barging into cabin seven the next morning.

“Come on, Princess,” she said, staring down at her. “You’ve gotta eat.”

Malcolm stood behind her, likely the one who had told Clarisse to come in the first place, since Annabeth hadn’t listened to any of her siblings about eating.

She tried to protest, to fight. But Clarisse was strong and had a purpose; Annabeth had nothing at all. So she sat in the dining pavilion, taking her time with her breakfast and ignoring everyone’s eyes on her.

Clarisse sat next to her, making sure she finished her food.

“Slowly, okay?” she said, then murmured, “Gods, when was the last time you ate something?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Annabeth snapped.

A few minutes passed in relative silence before Silena came to their table, offering solace.

“Hey, girlie,” she said. “How are you?”

Annabeth didn’t respond. Silena softly laid a hand on her shoulder, then decided better of it and pulled her in for a hug.

“You know it’s not your fault, right?” she said gently.

But it was.

Annabeth chose to leave him.

It took everything in her not to break down in Silena’s arms. Annabeth gave her a weak smile once she proposed to do something to pass the time. Like weaving, something she knew Annabeth enjoyed, being Athena’s daughter and all that.

So they did. Silena was good at it—good at making beautiful things. In the arts and crafts station, they spent most of the afternoon knitting and sewing as well, with Clarisse begrudgingly accompanying them.

She felt herself forget, her hands the only thing working. Not her mind. Not her subconscious or her guilt or her worry and fear.

It lasted only a moment. Because then she saw what she’d been working on for the past hour. Subconsciously, Annabeth had created a shroud. A beautiful one at that, with different hues of blue and green—just like his eyes. Just like the sea.

As if sensing her distress, the two girls looked up from what they were doing.

Clarisse said, “Is something wro—”

She didn’t need to say the rest, because Annabeth found her legs already moving, racing out the door.

“Let her,” she heard Silena say. “Give her space.”

She didn’t look back, sprinting to the one place where she knew Percy’s presence still thrived. Where she could be reminded that he would come back, just like he promised.

“I’ll be here.”

Cabin three didn’t look like much. Granted, she could barely focus on anything but her breathing—which was rapidly increasing its pace—but even so, she was reminded of how simple yet welcoming cabin three was in comparison to Zeus’.

It smelled like him. Like walking down the beach on a sunny day. Everything was as it always had been—clothes splayed haphazardly on the ground, bed unmade, stray papers adorning his nightstand.

She crumpled to her knees on the worn wooden planks. A great sob escaped her, and she covered her face with shaking hands

“He’s gone, Poseidon,” she cried. “He’s gone, and—and I’m so sorry.”

That night, she threw up everything she’d eaten.

.

“It is time,” Chiron said, his eyes dim with pity.

He preferred demigods dead, it seemed, than to try and look for them. She’d begged. Pleaded. Fallen to her knees until they bled. But it was no use; her teacher was convinced he was dead, and by the time the second week passed without Percy showing up, he was declared as such.

“He’s powerful,” Clarisse had told her. “I trust your instincts. He’s not dead. Can’t be, or else I’d have to beat him up.”

She helped Annabeth try to talk Chiron out of the funeral but to no avail.

And he wasn’t. Annabeth knew, in her heart, that Percy wasn’t dead. Barely anyone believed her, however. She didn’t blame them; no one knew about the last line of the prophecy for her quest.

But a pestering voice reminded her of something else: Percy was not, by any means, her only loved one. That voice sounded eerily like Janus.

What if it’s Luke?

He was nothing to her, now. She swore that he wasn’t.

What if Percy is dead?

That’s when Silena squeezed her shoulder, repeating what Chiron had told her the day prior.

“It’s time.”

Everyone who had gathered by the Amphitheatre waited for her to give out her statement, grim-faced. Chiron stood at the center of it all, the shroud she’d made at the arts and crafts cabin in his hands.

She hated that shroud with all her being, but she took it anyway once she stepped the last of the stairs. The fire next to her kissed her cheeks like the warmth of the sun. But inside, all she felt was cold. His body hadn’t been found…yet the shroud that she clutched in her hands would burn with Percy’s life.

“He…” Her eyes drifted to the shimmering cloth. How could she ever describe Percy Jackson? How could she ever put him into words? “He was kind,” she began. Her voice was unrecognizable, even to her. “He was probably the bravest friend I’ve ever had, and…”

And then she saw him, grinning like an idiot behind everyone else.

.

“Bravest friend you ever had?” was the first thing he said, after their bone-crushing hug.

She wiped her tears away and laughed. For the moment, she didn’t care that he hadn't answered her frantic questions.

“Where have you been?”

“What happened?”

He was here and he was alive. Her arms still clung to his neck; she wasn’t sure she’d ever manage to fully let go.

“You’re my friend above everything else, Seaweed Brain. And yeah, I guess you’re pretty brave.”

A question formed at the tip of her tongue—the one asking once more about what had happened in that explosion, where he’d been all this time; she knew that Percy could tell.

He was about to say something when Chiron interrupted them.

“My boy,” he said, mainly addressing Percy. “We need to talk.”

Percy’s demeanor changed like the shock of icy water to the face.

“Uh, yeah.” Something passed through his eyes; he glanced at her, then at their teacher. “I know how to navigate Labyrinth.”

.

Her relief became a ghost of the past once he explained himself. He told them the plan for the next part of the quest—for finding Grover and Tyson and finally Daedalus—but all she could hear was her ears ringing.  

“I was marooned on an island.”

“I uh…I stayed there for some time, healing from the explosion.”

She was almost certain about where he’d been. And then he’d mentioned his plan to find Rachel, the pretty redhead who wrote her phone number on his arm. Supposedly, she could help them.

“A clear-sighted mortal,” Chiron had said. “Clever, indeed.”

Only it wasn’t. It was her quest. Her choice. Not his.

Annabeth stood from her chair. The screeching noise made Percy wince. “I can’t believe you! You’re asking me to go to that mortal for help?”

Chiron’s eyes were soft when he said, “Annabeth, calm down—”

“No, I’m not calming down, because Percy here wants—”

“It’s the only way,” Percy said, hands wrung together.

“Ohh don’t tell me what’s ‘the only way’ and what isn’t when you could’ve easily come back sooner.”

Percy opened his mouth, but she talked over him.

“You think I’m stupid? You think I’m dumb?”

“No, ‘Beth, I—”

“You were with that goddess,” she said, her voice taking a hard edge. “Calypso, isn’t it? Was she nice company for you? Did you have a good time while I sat here, waiting for you, as my life spiraled out of control because one of the most important people in my life was gone?”

Percy stammered, “‘Beth, please…just—just let me explain.”

She laughed bitterly, shaking her head. “You’re not denying it, either. That’s why you didn’t recount the entire story of your fun little vacation in a beautiful island with a beautiful goddess who was probably all over yo—”

He stood up then, leaning over the table, face inches apart from hers. “Don’t act so high and mighty with me when I know you lied to me about your cousin.”

“Percy, this isn’t even about—”

“No, no. You’re hearing me out. Okay? Hey, stop. Look me in the eyes. Nothing happened between us. Okay, nothing. She liked me, yes, but that is literally her curse! I knew you’d react that way because I’m realizing that you don’t fucking trust me!”

“What? Percy, I trust you with my life—”

“Then how come you never told me what was bothering you?”

“Because I don’t know what was bothering me!”

“Oh, that’s rich, coming from you! You know exactly what bothers you. But guess what? You won’t tell me! So like, don’t even dare accuse me of not revealing where I was when you do the exact same thing, ‘Beth!”

Annabeth felt like falling, but this time, she found no branch to hold onto and crashed to the ground, bleeding out and breathless.

Meanwhile, Percy kept talking, throwing javelins her way. “When you didn’t want to communicate via IM last semester, I agreed because I wanted to give you space to whatever the fuck was going on with you—and something is still going on, but you won’t tell me—and like, all that time while I was with her on that island, I wanted to go!

“I wanted to be with you! Shit, I don’t even know what I’d do without you, but I couldn’t fucking leave because that place is cursed! And when I did, it’s because she’d…she’d fallen in love with me! But I…but all I wanted was you!”

Silence fell over them with the remnants of Percy’s hard breathing. She blinked a few times, telling herself that she would not cry.

Chiron saved her before that could happen. “Now, children. Settle down. Percy. Give Annabeth some space to think about this.”

He obliged, much to her relief.

“This time, it’ll be the ultimate trial for what you can or can’t do. If you can yield or not.”

It all came down to that, to her mother’s words. She understood what they meant, now.

With just enough drachmas in her bag and a bluster assuring her that she would not fail, she grabbed Percy by the hand and crossed the camp border. Argus was waiting down below.

[hualianff]

Fire On Fire

Thinking about a shapeshifter AU where predators and the prey are segregated via borders. The prey inhabit lands with better resources and environment while the predators reside in areas with harsh weather conditions and animals that did not evolve into shapeshifters for them to hunt.

The council of ancestors that determined these borders consisted of both prey and predator representatives, as every species lived in harmony during this time. But because the populations were rising at an incredibly high rate, establishing official borders seemed to be the next viable step. 

The council granted the prey lands where the sun shines and the crops flourish because those were the best conditions for their kinds to survive. Despite the predators being pushed to the areas with fewer domestic resources, the council had hoped they would maintain amicable relationships with the prey, to trade or ask for help when they needed. 

This arrangement worked up until the last ancestor from the council passed away.

After this, history became histories. 

The prey gradually painted predators as selfish creatures, greedy for more than the lands they were assigned. Prey are also taught that though predators worked with them in the past, their selfish and violent nature couldn’t be contained. That’s why predators were assigned lands far away in obscure places: to protect the prey from their advances.

(Only a few select predators were allowed within the prey walls. This is after an extensive background check, an adjusted diet, and constant monitoring.)

The predator society claims that the predator ancestors were tricked into a deal where they received the less desirable portions of lands. When the predators tried to re-negotiate, the prey marked them as aggressors, chalking it up to their predator nature. Thus, the prey began mobilizing and alienated predators, further promoting the injustice against predators beginning from their ancestors.

Centuries passed by; the divide only widened.

Within the last few years, the predators have been taking action to conquer over prey lands and resources si their species have been suffering from food shortages, harsh winters, lack of water, etc., for centuries. Predators have been training their warriors to use their predator senses and weapons to the best of their abilities in order to capture the prey villages on the outskirts of the prey borders.

In retaliation, the prey have been amassing weapons and machinery to combat the predators’ war tactics.

It’s a steady build-up to one huge battle. 

XL’s village, one of the oldest and wealthiest outside of the inner-city, was invaded and burned down. XL himself barely escaped, chased by a pack of wolves that separated him from his friends and family. 

Driven to and across predator borders, XL is starved and heavily injured from the altercation with enemy predators that last over a week. They catch up to his scent one last time, circling him and about to finish him off as XL cowers in weasel form.

Then, a massive body swoops in, roaring ferociously as he takes a swipe at the biggest wolf. HC, in his tiger form, intercepts the wolves who have brought disorder to his territory.

As a tiger, HC is considered a wild breed, the most dangerous to society. Prey are especially wary about wild breeds at the top of the food chain, including wolves, tigers, lions, foxes, etc. 

However, HC is a rogue predator who isn’t on the predator or prey’s side. His territory is officially neutral ground. 

After finishing off the wolves, HC turns to the albino weasel who lies pitifully on the ground. The weasel has passed out from exhaustion, hunger, and pain–nearly on his last legs. HC doesn't hesitate to gather the trembling body up in his jaws and sprint back to safety. 

HC brings XL into his home to heal him, shelter him, and feed him back to health.

The tiger shapeshifter is indifferent at first. He doesn’t desire to be a savior out of the goodness of his heart. But he’s very much aware of how scared the little weasel must be after being persuaded by a band of hungry wolves.

The weasel probably views HC as the same type of merciless monster.

Yet, HC doesn’t want to be feared by those who mean him no harm. While he’s not the most approachable shifter, he is by no means hostile without reason.

For the first two weeks, XL stays in his weasel form. Being in one’s most primal state brings the most comfort and instinctual security.

Cue HC being ever so gentle while tending to the weasel’s wounds and sliding a bowl of food to the shaking weasel. HC speaks slowly and makes no fast movements. He gives XL his space and promises he only intends to help XL heal back to health.

The third week, HC walks into his small living room to see, instead of a small s weasel on a pillow, a human form resting on his couch, long hair curtaining his face.

A confused chuff makes it past HC’s lips without his permission. 

(XL, waking up and freezing once making eye contact with HC: 😳🥺😰

HC, surprised at himself for reacting in such a way he couldn’t control, lowkey embarrassed: *turns around and strides into the kitchen*)

Over the next few months, XL continues his road to recovery, but he becomes comfortable enough to be in human form and hold conversations with HC. He soon learns how HC was raised outside of a predator civilization, meaning his ideals are completely different.

HC doesn’t eat prey shifters or kill for joy like many predators are known to do. During his childhood, HC’s mother taught him how to scavenge for food and distinguish which fruits were and were not poisonous. 

(“I’m what many predators refer to as a ‘plant-mouth,’” HC mentions with a chuckle. “I eat fruits and vegetables like prey instead of mostly meat.”

“Fruits and vegetables are delicious. They’re missing out,” XL states light-heartedly. HC nods, strands of long hair falling over his shoulder. 

“They also don’t have the best environment to grow crops. Up until a few years ago, I didn’t either. Under severe circumstances, I’ve had to survive off of shifters—predator and prey alike,” HC says solemnly, a storm clouding in his mismatched eyes. XL falls quiet after that, wondering just how much HC has gone through on his own in predator territory. 

“Forgive me. I didn’t mean to talk about...that so casually,” HC immediately apologies, assuming XL was on edge about the topic of eating shifters. XL shakes his head, reaching over to place a placating hand on HC’s. The tiger shapeshifter’s eyes widen, zeroing in on their touching hands. 

“It’s okay. I’m in no place to judge,” XL says, his expression sincere. “I suppose I’ve been quite privileged and sheltered all my life. Talking about the challenges you have faced helps me understand your experiences. Perhaps, in the future, if everyone listened to each other without jumping to conclusions, the world could be a safer and more equal place, regardless if you are predator or prey.”

“Perhaps. It would take a great deal of effort and empathy, though,” HC says with a hint of bitterness, pursing his lips.

XL exhales heavily. “Indeed, it would.”

HC turns his hand upward, connecting their warm palms, calloused skin against bruised skin.)

(II)

[themculibrary]

Steve And Sharon (Staron) Masterlist

A Dangerous Game (ao3) - CaptainAmelia22, 3k Rating: Teen And Up

Summary: She runs to him, when there's no where else to go.

a kind of shelter (ao3) - hardboiledmeggs, 2k Rating: Explicit

Summary: Steve Rogers kisses Sharon Carter under a bridge outside of Leipzig, and he hopes it will say everything he doesn’t know how to. Thank you. I’m sorry. I wish things were different. I want you.

all my love was down in a frozen ground (ao3) - sharoncarters, 10k Rating: Teen And Up

Summary: Sharon Carter stops believing in soulmates the day she learns the name of hers. Steve/Sharon, soulmates AU.

Can't Blame Me For Secretly Hoping (ao3) - agentx13, 21k Rating: General

Summary: After Natasha tries so hard to set them up, Steve and Sharon decide to get one over on her and prove once and for all that they aren't meant to be together. Naturally, not everything goes according to plan.

Echoes and Questions (ao3) - Rachel Smith Cobleigh (reveilles), 15k Rating: Teen And Up

Summary: What does Steve Rogers wrestle with when he's not out performing heroic deeds of derring-do, but just living in the quiet times in between, and working up the courage to approach his pretty neighbor? Set about a month after the events of Captain America: The Winter Soldier.

El Dorado (ao3) - NyxEtoile, OlivesAwl, 43k Rating: Explicit

Summary: A Man on a Mission

US Marshal Steve Rogers is on the trail of a notorious thief. Chasing him across the West has proven an excellent distraction from the loneliness that comes from being a single man surrounded by happy couples. A few weeks on the trail, bouncing from one boomtown to another is just what he needs to clear his head.

Until he sees a face he thought he'd seen the last of. . .

A Woman with a Past

Pinkerton darling Sharon Carter has made a point of protecting her heart as well as her back. But when a job tracking a jewel thief leads her right into the arms of the one man she can't forget, she has to wonder if he might be worth a little heartache. The job has to come first, but what she does after dark is nobody's business.

Together they'll find secrets, adventure, and passion in the cities of. . .

El Dorado

Finding Captain America (ao3) - RovakPotter82, 30k Rating: Mature

Summary: It's been three and a half years since the death of Captain America. His former teammates gather at Avengers Tower to celebrate and remember him on his favorite holiday, Christmas. On her way there, Natasha Romanoff finds a painting that looks eerily familiar and within it, they find a startling clue and discover he's alive.

IOU: One Cup of Coffee (ao3) - RobinsGirlWonder, 8k Rating: Mature

Summary: Gift for my buddy Tessa. One-shot. Sharon Carter goes undercover for the CIA after the events of Winter Soldier without really having a chance to completely hash out Steve's trust issues with her. When he ends up there as well, the two of them get a little swept up in the chase.

Kick at the Darkness 'Til it Bleeds Daylight (ao3) - NyxEtoile, OlivesAwl, 6k Rating: Mature

Summary: Sharon Carter finally drew her gaze away from whatever spot in the middle distance had interested her so. She gave her partner a look as if she'd scraped him off her shoe, then turned to Steve and her face went blank again. She held out her hand, showing Steve a very official looking piece of paper. "Orders from the UN Security Council. We need to confiscate the listed Avenger related weapons."

He didn't need to take it to read it. "You want my shield?" he asked. Also Sam's wings. Not, he noticed, Stark's suit.

"All listed weapons," she repeated neutrally.

Lies Will Not Define Us (ao3) - agentx13, 4k Rating: Teen And Up

Summary: Steve and Sam team up with Sharon occasionally while they hunt for Hydra, but Steve still hasn't entirely forgiven her for lying to him while undercover. After she spills another secret, he finds he has a link to the past that he never thought he'd find. But that doesn't mean he's ever going to like her...

Lost, Found and Somewhere Between (ao3) - joycelyn_solo, 28k Rating: Teen And Up

Summary: Sharon Carter becomes the unexpected protector of a lost and confused Winter Soldier, including protecting him from his best friend Captain America. Can she help both soldiers find their way?

Our So-Called Life After Hydra (Pt. I of II) (ao3) - fandommkopf, FandomTrashbag, 3k Rating: Teen And Up

Summary: As much as Sam and Natasha kept saying that their meetings were really dates in disguise, neither Steve nor Sharon would dare admit that their latest "meeting" had found them sitting on the front steps of her apartment building. They always had the best intentions, but somewhere along the way these intel-trading meetings had turned into something else. Not a date. No, not that. But they'd been falling towards this for weeks, months even. Not-so-furtive glances and outright longing gazes and fingertips brushing together accidentally on purpose could only go on for so long before something - someone - snapped.

Slowed Me From My Ruining (ao3) - galfridian, 5k Rating: Teen And Up

Summary: After SHIELD falls, Sharon Carter joins the CIA and finds herself assigned to track down the Winter Soldier.

The Best By Far is You (ao3) - NyxEtoile, OlivesAwl, 77k Rating: Explicit

Summary: Steve could feel himself relaxing, just having her this close. He sifted his fingers into her hair and pulled her close enough to kiss. Her mouth was soft, the kiss tender and fond.

"Is this a bad idea?" he whispered against her mouth.

The question made her lean back a little, enough he could see her face, dark eyes soft and a little sad. "Probably." Sharon stroked his hair even as she spoke. "We're complicated. Beyond just being coworkers. There's politics and history and I can't - I'm not looking for anything." She bit her lip and asked softly, "Should I go?"

He was already shaking his head. He'd always tried to do what was right, and where had that gotten him? "I don't want you to go."

"Oh thank God," she breathed, leaning in to kiss him again. "Promise to never say anything along the lines of 'huh, that's just how she used to do it' and I think we can make it work."

"You are unique," he told her. "I want you," he whispered, needing her to understand. "You."

The End is Where We Begin (ao3) - NyxEtoile, OlivesAwl, 38k Rating: Mature

Summary: "I think things are different between us," he said, holding her close and speaking mostly into her knit hat. "Does that have to be bad?"

"I suppose it depends on what kind of different it is." Sharon's voice was muffled in his coat. "But different can be good."

"You're still my favorite thing about the future," he told her.

Her arms tightened. "You're my favorite person."

He had the urge to ask her, if that was really true, why had she gone back to Nate. But he didn't want to ruin the moment, and he didn't want to say something that might hurt her. "Then we'll be all right."

This Fragrant Skin (ao3) - NyxEtoile, OlivesAwl, 3k Rating: Explicit

Summary: "Steven Rogers, are you insinuating I'm the kind of girl who presents herself at a man's apartment solely for a night of pleasure?"

When (S)he's Smiling Right at Me (ao3) - ColorWithMarker, 6k Rating: Teen And Up

Summary: When Sharon Carter is born, Tony thinks she's the most adorable thing in the world.

Sharon Carter has lived her entire life with her older "cousin" Tony Stark.

Like they say, the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.

Wrap Me in the Banner I Made (ao3) - hannasus, 51k Rating: Explicit

Summary: Sharon Carter before, during, and after the events of Captain America: The Winter Soldier. Being BFFs with Natasha Romanoff. Losing everything that matters to her. Bouncing back and continuing to be a badass spy. Coming to terms with her feelings for Steve Rogers.

[aion-rsa]

Black Widow Timeline Explained

https://ift.tt/3yH3sEi

This article contains Black Widow spoilers. Read our spoiler-free review here.

Who is Natasha Romanoff? It’s a question Marvel Studios coyly teased for years and then… failed to answer as a full decade and the entire “Infinity Saga” passed us by. Yes, the long overdue Black Widow movie is finally reaching theaters this weekend, but Nat was killed off years ago in the sacred timeline of Marvel Cinematic Universe canon.

Nevertheless, we are happy that the character and Scarlett Johansson received some much deserved closure, and in a film which fills in many of the blindspots in the Black Widow mythos, not least of which includes what she got up to between the events of Captain America: Civil War and Avengers: Infinity War.

With her narrative being seemingly closed for good, it’s time to unpack the oft-obscured life story of Natasha and consider whether she at last balanced out all that red in her ledger.

1984

The child who would become Natasha Romanoff is born in Stalingrad to a mother who is forced to give her over to the Soviet government. Despite the mother’s best efforts, she is unable to free Nat from the system. (Fury’s Big Week, Black Widow)

1992

After years of indoctrination and training in the Widow program, which is run out of Soviet Col. Dreykov’s Red Room, eight-year-old Natasha is selected alongside three-year-old Yelena to be part of KGB agents Alexi Shostakov and Melina Vostokoff’s cover story. The quartet of sleeper agents move to Ohio, posing as an all-American family while gathering American state secrets. (Black Widow)

1995

Alexi and Melina succeed in obtaining critical information and escape U.S. soil. Eleven-year-old Natasha and six-year-old Yelena, who’ve become increasingly Americanized and attached to the family identities they assumed, are traumatized. (Black Widow)

2002

Natasha completes her Widow training and graduates from the Red Room, which includes a “ceremony” where she is asked to execute a man bound to a chair. She is then sterilized on an operating table. Dreykov believes robbing “widows” of the chance to have children makes them more ruthless killers. (Avengers: Age of Ultron)

2002 – 2007

Natasha is involved in multiple mysterious and apparently bloody Widow operations, which include incidents of murder in São Paulo and a separate “hospital fire” atrocity she is still haunted by. (The Avengers)

2007 – 2008

Clint Barton recruits Natasha into the West’s international SHIELD organization. Part of her defection comes at the price of assassinating Dreykov in Budapest. However, it is merely Dreykov’s young daughter Antonia who feels the fire of Nat’s explosives. (The Avengers, Black Widow)

2009

Natasha has her first run in with the Winter Soldier when she attempts to extract a defecting nuclear engineer out of Iran. A brainwashed Bucky Barnes steals her prize by running her car off a cliff in Ukraine and then shooting a bullet through Nat’s stomach and into her asset—killing him instantly. (Captain America: The Winter Soldier)

Around this time, Natasha becomes an unofficial member of Clint Barton’s secret family, who live on an idyllic farmhouse. She’s known there as Auntie Nat. (Avengers: Age of Ultron)

2010

Natasha infiltrates Stark Industries under the alias of Natalie Rushman, working as a legal assistant who moonlights as a model in order to catch Tony Stark’s lascivious eye. (Iron Man 2)

Natalie becomes Tony’s assistant but is actually spying on him for SHIELD, which has come to realize Tony’s arc reactor—which saved his life in Afghanistan—is now poisoning him. Nat eventually reveals she’s a SHIELD agent and helps prevent an assassination attempt on Stark’s life by rival forces. (Iron Man 2)

Read more

Movies

The Black Widow Movie You Never Saw

By Don Kaye

Movies

Florence Pugh’s Best Roles: What to Watch After Black Widow

By Kayti Burt

2012

Nat abandons her infiltration of the Russian underworld to recruit Bruce Banner to SHIELD after Loki arrives on Earth, brainwashing Clint Barton and planning world domination. She later successfully interrogates and manipulates the supposed God of Mischief. (The Avengers)

Natasha becomes one of the founding members of the Avengers after saving the world from an alien invasion alongside Iron Man, Captain America, Thor, and the Hulk in the Battle of New York. (The Avengers)

2014

Still working for SHIELD, Natasha infiltrates a pirate-commandeered SHIELD vessel to protect/steal precious SHIELD secrets while Captain America naively thinks they’re there to save hostages. (Captain America: The Winter Soldier)

Black Widow goes rogue alongside Cap after an assassination attempt on her mentor, Col. Nick Fury. Fury of course survived and forms an underground operation with Nat and Rogers to root out HYDRA sleeper cells who’ve slowly taken over SHIELD leadership during the past 70 years. (Captain America: The Winter Soldier)

After saving the world from HYDRA’s latest attempt at world domination, Natasha publicly reprimands the American government at a baffling Capitol Hill hearing where she is being questioned by Pentagon brass. (Captain America: The Winter Soldier)

… MEANWHILE the Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton from circa 2023—nearly a decade older and sadder—time travel to 2014 in order to undo the damage Thanos caused when he snapped half of life in the universe out of existence with the Infinity Stones. They journey to the planet Vormir where they’re told one will have to die in order to obtain the Soul Stone. Black Widow and Hawkeye fight over who will have the right to sacrifice themselves for the other—Natasha wins and falls to her death, thus ending her tragic timeline in the past. (Avengers: Endgame)

2015

Black Widow becomes a full-time Avenger, joining the team as they dismantle the last HYDRA base in Sokovia. They regain Loki’s powerful scepter with an infinity stone inside. (Avengers: Age of Ultron)

Black Widow strikes up an intimate and unrequited connection with Bruce Banner. She is the only Avenger able to talk the Hulk down from his rages. The pair consider running off together, but their burgeoning romance is thwarted by the arrival of Ultron—an artificial intelligence that wants to… destroy the world. (Avengers: Age of Ultron)

Nat and the Avengers prevent Ultron from killing all organic life on Earth—which involved lifting Sokovia’s capital city into the sky and then dropping it like an asteroid—but in the carnage, Banner/Hulk chooses not to pursue a relationship with Nat, disappearing to parts unknown as she accepts her role as a leader of the growing Avengers roster. (Avengers: Age of Ultron)

2016

Black Widow is part of an Avengers operation in Lagos, Nigeria, which goes horribly wrong when in an attempt to stop terrorist Brock Rumlow from stealing a biological weapon, an entire office floor of civilians is killed. (Captain America: Civil War)

Shortly after the Lagos incident, the Sokovia Accords are signed by the UN, requiring Avengers and other superpowered individuals to register themselves under the jurisdiction of the UN Security Council. Natasha at first accepts this as a reasonable path forward. She changes her mind when pro-Accords Avenger Tony Stark comes to blows with the resident skeptic, Steve Rogers, in Berlin. Romanoff helps Rogers escape and then also goes to ground. (Captain America: Civil War)

As a rogue agent, Natasha is invited back to Budapest and reunites with her faux-little sister Yelena, who reveals Dreykov is still alive and now is literally controlling the minds of the other young women he’s trained to be widows via mind-altering drugs. (Black Widow)

Nat and Yelena decide to track Dreykov down and kill him for real, and do so by freeing their “father” Alexi from Siberia and reconnecting with their “mother” Melina, who is still loyal to the Widow program. Melina nonetheless takes her girls to the Red Room, the hidden air fortress where they were trained as children. Yelena kills Dreykov and Natasha frees all the women under Dreykov’s control, including his daughter who did not actually die in Budapest. (Black Widow)

Natasha reconnects with Steve Rogers and helps him free Wanda Maximoff, Scott Lang, Sam Wilson, and Clint Barton from the government’s “the Raft” prison vessel. (Captain America: Civil War, Black Widow)

2018

As Thanos’ alien forces invade Earth, Rogers, Romanoff, and other renegade Avengers come out of hiding to save the universe. Natasha is reunited with Banner, and all of them converge in an epic battle against the armies of Thanos in Wakanda. (Avengers: Infinity War)

After the Avengers fail to stop Thanos from collecting all the Infinity Stones, Nat watches many of her friends turn to dust, along with half the living creatures in existence. (Avengers: Infinity War)

Black Widow and the Avengers track Thanos down to an uninhabited planet, only to discover he’s destroyed the Infinity Stones they planned to use to resurrect the universe. Thor decapitates Thanos in a pyrrhic attempt at revenge. (Avengers: Endgame)

2023

Natasha has become the top leader of the Avengers, organizing their superheroism throughout the cosmos via intergalactic Zoom sessions with Captain Marvel, Rocket, and others. Yet she and Rogers quietly cling to the hope of reversing Thanos’ victory. (Avengers: Endgame)

When Scott Lang returns from the Quantum Realm, revealing he’s inadvertently discovered time travel, Nat and Steve get the original Avengers lineup back together to travel into the past in order to steal the Infinity Stones. Return to the 2014 section to find out how that ended for Black Widow… (Avengers: Endgame)

2024

After Natasha traveled to her destiny in the past, Yelena visits her grave in Ohio… and is recruited for a new kind of team. (Black Widow)

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

The post Black Widow Timeline Explained appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3hU0sh4

[catflorist]

The Time Being (ao3 / ffn) catflorist Summary: Time-slipping is a side effect of wielding the Rinnegan. When Sasuke slips through time, he always goes to Sakura, whether he wants to or not. 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8

pt 7: seasons

SUMMER

Flowers and garlands decorated the village square, packed with bodies wearing their finest clothes. The guests milled about endless rows of chairs, gathered under the shadow of trees, and stood on benches for the best view. Heads were turning to the podium, and chatter was beginning to die—Sakura made it just in time. Her geta tapped out her quick steps as she weaved her way to the front row.

"You're late," Sasuke muttered, removing his haori from the seat next to him. How he succeeded in saving a place, she didn't know. The square appeared to contain every chair in the village, and still the crowd spilled into the streets.

Sakura smoothed the skirt of her pink dress. "It was your fault," she said, settling in her chair.

Halfway through shrugging the haori over his shoulders, Sasuke halted, peering at her face with new scrutiny. Sakura peered back, comparing this Sasuke, in his formal wear, breeze rustling the hair he asked her to trim a few days ago, with the Sasuke she just met—bleeding and weary-eyed, wearing a purple obi and a permanent scowl.

"How is your head?" she asked.

A smile grew on Sasuke's lips.

Sakura wanted to enjoy Sasuke's smile for longer, but she felt eyes boring into the back of her neck. Across the crowd, Tsumiki Kido turned his head, too late to disguise his staring.

Sasuke frowned, following her gaze. "Who is that man?"

"Someone who isn't happy you're back in the village," Sakura said. A chill traveled down her spine, though it did not matter now if Tsumiki or other members of the council saw them together. As a war hero, owner of two legendary doujutsu, and friend to herself, Naruto, and the Rokudaime Hokage, Sasuke was untouchable.

"Are you happy?" Sasuke asked, eyes stern.

"Of course I am," Sakura said.

"Then I have no other concerns," he dismissed. For the second time that day, pink tinged Sakura's cheeks, and she found herself at a loss for words.

A bright, cloudless blue sky shimmered above, promising to give way to a clear and starry night. When the wedding ceremony was over, they offered Hinata and Naruto their congratulations together.

.

.

FALL

In the warm climate of Fire country, the changing of seasons was gentle, but distinct. A chill grew in the air each day until it was difficult to remember anything different.

The moon hung in the sky when Sakura left the hospital one night. She worked late, reinvigorating her proposal to create a pediatric center at the hospital. Besides on-call staff, the only person working later than her was Karin. After sharing one of Orochimaru's radical techniques to preserve chakra network samples, the scientists of the research lab had claimed her of one of their own.

Walking through the quiet and peaceful streets on the way home, Sakura was confident she would not face rejection this time. The village was changing.

Sakura approached her building. A carving of a blooming tree decorated the door. Jugo's artisanry had quickly gained Konoha's attention. His work was everywhere around the village––hand-painted signs, wooden figurines and statues, delicate carvings around door frames. After Suigetsu asked Jugo to create wooden shuriken for his three Academy students, it seemed every young student passing by held one in hand. Reaching for her keys, Sakura pictured wooden carvings on the walls of her pediatric center.

She was not alone.

"Sasuke-kun," she murmured. He was bonier than she remembered him being. His jaw was only beginning to sharpen. "I see. You're leaving now, aren't you?"

She already knew the answer. It was obvious in the way his hands trembled, in the way shadows were collecting in his eyes. He was clutching the left strap of his backpack. Against the warm hues of her street, he was a patch of deep blue and darkness, a shard fallen from the night sky. This was Sasuke on the night he left the village.

A street lamp buzzed and flickered on. When the light caught his face, his cheeks glistened. He took a small step towards her and exhaled a ragged breath.

This was too much for Sakura. She knew what it was like to be left behind. To face his back and beg him to stay, trying to glean from the still line of his shoulders if her words were working. She did not know, all the while, this was what leaving was like for him.

"Wait," she pleaded, but even before the word formed on her tongue, he was gone.

Sakura's feet led her to Sasuke's apartment. He opened the door after the first knock.

"Sakura," he said, opening the door wider.

One step forward was all Sakura needed to take. Sasuke's arms surrounded her without hesitation, as if waiting all this time for the sign to hold her close.

"I just saw you," she murmured, lips brushing his throat. "You were leaving…"

"I'm not leaving anymore," he promised.

"I missed you," she said, though they had eaten together yesterday, and he had walked her home the day before that. There was hardly a day since he returned to the village that they had not seen each other.

Sasuke's chest rose and fell with a soft sigh. "We are tied together." He said it in the same way someone might say the sun is up or north is this way.

Was it always like this? Sakura wondered.

Sasuke reached for her hand. "I want to always be near you," he confessed.

Sakura brushed the hair out of his eyes, traced his cheek, his brow bone. He blinked, and his eyelashes kissed her fingers. The rings of his left eye were like the ripples a stone made as it fell through the surface of water.

"I never stopped loving you," she said. "I love you as much as I did then."

Sasuke's forehead fell against hers, waiting for her kiss. Sakura did not leave him waiting.

.

.

WINTER

Sasuke appeared in Sakura's apartment in the middle of the night, wearing the Akatsuki robes, carrying the weight of a decision. He fell asleep on her couch. It was a long time before he slipped away.

When she was alone, Sakura removed her robe, which she had worn to conceal the Uchiha crest on the back of her borrowed shirt. She returned to her room and settled back next to Sasuke, asleep and unworried, in her bed.

.

.

SPRING

Before Sasuke climbed in through the window of her third-story office, Sakura was basking in the glow of good news.

She read the message on her desk for the third time. Out of the blue, the council greenlighted her pediatric center, offering her a budget larger than she had dreamed. It was enough to build a facility solely dedicated to children's health. No child in the village would ever be left behind again, the way Naruto and Sasuke were.

A soft footfall interrupted Sakura's thoughts of all the work ahead. Sasuke dropped inside the room, the scent of pollen and oncoming rain drifting in behind him.

Sakura leapt up from her desk and locked the door. "What's wrong?"

"I just received this from the council," he said, passing her a scroll before blinking away his Sharingan.

With trembling fingers, Sakura read over Sasuke's new mission assignment.

The scroll described a mission of indefinite length. A haphazard journey across the shinobi world, doing nothing in particular. Escort this noble. Deliver this message. Check on the status of this favor. Refusing the mission, or failing the mission's terms, meant abstaining Konoha citizenship and willfully accepting exile. The text outlined required checkpoints every five days, the first in Suna.

Sakura threw the scroll to the ground, cracking the wooden spindle within. Suna was a two-week journey from Konoha for the fastest of travelers. There was nothing subtle about the council's true intentions.

"Tsumiki Kido delivered the message," Sasuke said, his face even. "He said it would prove my loyalty to Konoha."

"They can't do this," Sakura spat. "You don't have to leave if you don't want to!"

Sasuke gripped her wrist. "He said leaving would be in my best interest, if I cared about the wellbeing of the village."

A buzz filled Sakura's ears. The threat was a familiar one. It reused works she had spoken herself, in a council meeting before the war, as she pulled dangerous strings to keep Sasuke safe.

They will be upset, Shizune had warned.

"We don't have to accept this. We can change things," Sakura said. "Right now. We've already done impossible things..."

A just, peaceful, village was not too much to ask for. Sakura's surroundings faded away, a plan organizing in her mind. She and Sasuke comprised two-thirds of the new generation of Sannin. With Naruto's influence, they could sway their old classmates, and other skilled shinobi, to their cause. They could reach out to Gaara, who had already implemented structural change in the Sand. Tsunade and Kakashi could leverage their political power and Hinata could reach the Hyuuga clan. Sakura herself carried a well-loved reputation among civilians and in the broader world. If anything, they could use brute force to overthrow Konoha's government. They were not powerless, especially not with the help of their teammates, friends, and allies. They could shape their own world and the future they wanted.

Sasuke shook his head. "They wanted my clan dead, so they killed them. Now they want me to go. I can't risk anyone else being hurt." His hand on her wrist tightened, like holding a lifeline. "I can't lose you."

Sakura's mind stopped spinning. "All right," she whispered. "Then I'll come with you."

"You have matters here." Sasuke placed a second scroll back on her desk. While she was plotting, he was reading the news she received this morning.

The timing suddenly made sense––why Sakura's proposal was approved now, of all times, after months of silence. Of course she could not go with him, if building the facility meant protecting and caring for the lives of Konoha's children.

"We haven't had much time," Sakura started, but her throat closed. He was supposed to stay. Why did he have to go again?

"Finish your work," he said. "Then I'll find you."

"Where will I be?" Sakura asked, because a glint was growing in Sasuke's eyes. This happened sometimes, whenever he knew something she didn't. It happened last week when Sakura had brought home an abandoned black kitten, naming her Hime after the dignified way she perched upon Sasuke's shoulder. It happened when she had pulled away from their first kiss.

Sasuke passed something into her hand. A pebble the shape of old dreams, of crashing waves and salt.

He asked, "Have you ever thought about going to the ocean?"

.

.

SUMMER AGAIN

Sasuke was gone, yet he was here again, in the dark of Sakura's bedroom.

"I'll be with you soon," he promised, after kissing her.

Before he left, Sasuke had recounted every detail he could remember about what Sakura should expect at the ocean––every rejected cup of tea, every question. But he hadn't told her about this.

Sakura understood why. When living out of order, some knowledge could not be disclosed. It was too precious, or too painful. Some things were best left for discovery. .

.

.

.

Up next: Everything comes together. 

Notes: where the daylight begins by ohwhatsherface inspired the sentence about lifelines.

thank you for reading :)