#the knight of swords (agent argus)

[creetchure]

In Attack of White Knight!Azrael

A few days ago, I reread curse of the white knight by sean murphy, and that comic has awakened feelings of rage within me that make me feel a little coocoo and has reminded me just how much I love Jean-Paul Valley/Azrael and the way both Denis O’Neil and Dan Watters have written him. The following is a vaguely structured version of the rant I gave my friend about it.

To me, one of the most important things O’Neil has done during his time writing Azrael/JPV was making them deeply, completely, human. During the original Azrael run, Knightfall, and then Azrael Agent of the Bat, JPV/Az have done bad things, sure, but they’ve never been treated as a full on villain, used only to move the plot of the heroes forward. We got to see exactly how and when they got to the point of being an antagonist, and at least from my point of view, it always was at least to some level sympathetic. JPV/Az are a RAMCOA system, and I personally headcanon that their psychosis is a PTSD symptom rather than a disorder on its own, as it only seems to appear after Azrael gets triggered and memories of becoming Azrael surface, bringing the buried trauma with it. It’s something that affects them clearly all through their appearances before their death, and now again in Waters’s writing of them. They have delusions, they’re paranoid, they hallucinate their father and a knight templar in the sky asking them to kill a man while they struggle not to, and they’re still not treated like a villain by the narrative. Like an antagonist, yes, but not a villain, as is recognized directly by the characters, both in Knightsend and afterwards. 

And then, there’s Sean Murphy. Sean Murphy did not bother reading Jean-Paul Valley/Azrael’s wiki page. Sean Murphy did not bother trying to know what JPV/Az’s character was even about. Instead, he built a one dimensional villain on the sole basis of “guy who believes he’s an angel, heavily religious”. Mind, that isn’t even an accurate way to describe Azrael at all. While O’Neil’s JPV/Azrael is a young man desperately trying to cope with trauma bad enough for him not to remember, and trying to keep the angel in his head in check so they pose neither a danger to themselves or anyone else, Murphy’s is a middle aged evangelist soldier with lung cancer. While O’Neil’s JPV is alone, has no support system to speak of to rely on, as his father is dead and he visibly has no friends, Murphy’s clearly has people around him in Michael and Gabriel, who, frankly, should have pulled him out of it. By all means, Murphy’s Azrael should be both medicated and in therapy for psychosis rather than enabled by his friends to believe himself an angel and wield a flaming sword. Where O’Neil’s Azrael still chose to do good even as it was a fight against themself, even as everyone told them to do otherwise, Murphy’s is, much like the rest of his book, edgy to be edgy. 

Now, O’Neil’s run is long, as has its ups and down, and I do understand that Murphy might not have had the time or want to read through it, though I’d argue Knightfall should be mandated reading for anyone looking to call back the Azbats suit. However, Murphy not reading comics has lead to many other egregious errors which could have been fixed with even the slightest bit of research. And I do mean a single Google search would have done the trick for some of them. It truly goes to show just how little Murphy actually cares about the source material aside from Snyder’s Batman movies when he allows for Jason to be the first Robin without thinking twice about it, or about how to fix it, or when he makes Renée Montoya out to be a character only to never even call her by her first name more than once, or when he makes Barbara an entirely out of character mess. 

O’Neil and Quesada have poured so much love into Azrael and it honestly makes me angry how little respect Murphy has for their work and their character. He is, to me, one of the best characters to come out of 90s comics, and Murphy could not be bothered to read a wiki article about him, or to spend an hour reading Batman Sword of Azrael – which would have been enough for a more solid grasp of the characters, and is truly only four issues long. To me, JPV/Azrael is one of the superheroes who goes through the most shit, on a personal level, and is the most human in his reactions, which is why seeing him turned into a caricature, if you could even call it that, is so shocking, as it’s incredibly easy to imagine his real reactions in the comic. He is not a villain. Many people like to bring up the panel of Robin where he chokes Tim Drake in the Batcave, but none of them seem to be willing to discuss what came before or after, the reason why any of it even happened at all. The truth is, JPV/Az banned Tim from the cave because they doubted their ability to protect a Robin as Batman, and Tim, as he kept on returning, eventually got to the Batcave and JPV/Az snapped and put the fear of them in him ; it was never meant as more than a scare, and is an action taken in a stressful moment for JPV. Though it doesn’t make it right, the context does make me sympathetic to the circumstances. At that point in time, JPV is trying to fit in Batman’s shoes while said man is away, fighting for control against Azrael, losing time when he loses that fight, feeling like he’s losing his mind as he starts to see his father and Saint Dumas, and trying to keep his head up while he’s swallowed by the mantle of Batman which Bruce knew full well would drown him. 

It’s a horrible time. Bruce admits it himself later on, it was something he knew could break JPV. Yet, through it all, JPV doesn’t kill. He lets a serial killer die, yes, but he only does so as he’s arguing with hallucinations of his father and Saint Dumas, both ordering him to kill. And even still, his only fault is in inaction, and not the murder he is later accused of. Through it all, JPV doesn’t give in. And in White Knight? In White Knight, JPV is a sad old man with cancer who’s being a little BITCH about it. 

O’Neil’s is a better character in the 4 issues of Batman: Sword of Azrael than Murphy’s in the 8 issues of Curse of the White Knight. 

[cyberdragoninfinity]

so in case anyone was curious, this illustration is largely based on several stained glass portraits of St. Michael the Archangel slaying Lucifer (in kickass dragon form,) but especially this one (a 19th century window from Calvados, France)

A.) i Love angels in stained glass especially when the colors go crazy, this isnt the first time I've invoked them with art of Aporia and the Three Nobles, but more important B.) one day I will go off more about Aporia's angel symbolism in general but for now I gotta talk about Primo's, I gotta.

His Archangel Michael parallels make my brain spin around So fast--the Nobels are definitely supposed to effectively be robotic angels, messengers of the Apocalypse and God's (Z-one's) plan to fix the future. Primo sees himself as a loyal extension of Z-one's will, an agent of vicious justice, the 'commander' of his Ghost army. He's the android gijinka of Aporia's young adult war trauma. He's uhhh technically not alive! Meanwhile, Michael the angel is the leader of God's holy army, a military commander... and in Catholicism he's also the patron saint of death and soldiers. :^) (and. cops. cringe.) (though the Three Nobles were the heads of Sector Security for a While, huh.....) (it goes so deep it doesnt stop)

And there's the sword, of course, Michael is The angel most often depicted with a sword (sometimes a 'normal' blade, sometimes on fire, sometimes it's a spear, etc etc,) it's a spiritual weapon associated with him, created by God. And oh hey Primo what's that you got there....

Haha Ok Cool Man 👍 Sick Godsword

In the Bible it's Michael who leads the charge against Lucifer and his army of fallen angels in the battle of heaven and hell, and it's very specifically mentioned Lucifer takes on the form of a dragon during this epic clash. *the dog is, in fact, taking out the Book of Revelations*

so DEEPEST APOLOGIES TO STARDUST MY FRIEND STARDUST DRAGON for making her representative of the Literal Devil in that illustration; though, from Iliaster's point of view, perhaps of course Stardust WOULD be their draconic devil stand-in, the ace monster of Yusei, the dominant roadblock to their plans, the (you could perhaps argue) counterpart of their God's image. To Primo especially he has it Aggressively out for Stardust throughout his entire psychological obsession with Yusei. He Wants to Slay That Dragon So Bad, He Wants It as a Trophy On His Wall.

Michael also gets described and depicted very knight like in religious art and discussions, he is frequently armored; Primo also has a lot of knightly vibes imo, design and narrative wise. (And of course so does Sherry...interestingly, Sherry actually ALSO has a lot of parallels with St. Michael, including the fact she takes part in the fight against Primo's duel bot army (y'know...the Diablo :^) and a lot of her Joan of Arc invocations as a character) (that's a story for another post though) (Trey from Zexal ALSO has St. Michael parallels too imo) (but again, that's it's whole other post.) (yugioh LOVES religious symbolism like a bear loves salmon.)

it's just a very neat motif weaved throughout Primo's character!! His attitude is notoriously pretty shitty and difficult to put up with, but at his core he seems himself as a defender of sorts. God's sword. This is the path that will save the future. Tangentially, take this Alleluia verse about St. Michael:

"dreadful judgement," huh? Like... a Judgement Day? A world in peril and needing saving? Wonder who else has something to say about that and is very tunnel-vision obsessed with the notion of being the one alone to grant this safeguard...

ah :)

[randomnameless]

In regards to how much of the Church bad rhetoric is supported by the Fódlan games themselves, from what i've seen of Three Houses' JP script there isn't really that much support for those arguments there outside of heavily biased sources that the audience should take with massive doses of salt like Edelgard, Dorothea or Lysithea; i'd argue that it wasn't until IS and/or KT decided to, for whatever reason, take the lolcalized church-demonizing script and fandom reaction of EN 3H to heart when making Three Hopes that they really started believing they wrote Rhea and the Church as being the hidden villains of the verse, and that JP 3H is (mostly) free of the issue of making stupid arguments just to try and criticize the Church for things it can't be reasonably blamed for.

I agree with the things you say, but about the biased sources...

Well, the games of course hammer the player with biased sources, Supreme Leader and her court, Claude, the Abyss residents -

Which is doubly funny for the Abyss residents, because their "Church BaD" is completely bonkers, given how it's the Church who offers them a crappy, and yet existing shelter.

"The Church wants us gone" Dude, if they really wanted you gone, Rhea would have deployed the knights to evacuate the Abyss as fast as she organised her expedition to put the Bishop of the Western Church to the sword.

Doubly funny bcs the Big Boss of the Abyss, Yuri, is sekritly Rhea's agent!

Of course being a secret agent, he can't tell people to use their mind and think - if the Central Church wanted them gone, why are they sheltering you all here, under Garreg Mach the most important site to them, and giving you, albeit in measly quantities, food and water? Rhea is the one who named the class "Ashen Wolves" - it would be pointless to give a name to the class of abyss resident who are considered unofficial students of the officer's academy, if she really wanted to purge the Abyss, right?

I understand in CS this was used as a red herring for Aelfie, who is akshually the one who runs the Abyss and spreads the "Church BaD Rhea BaD" sentiment because of his own agenda and opinions, but with 3 (counting the DLC) routes having biased narrators against the CoS in FE16 (out of 5) you'd have to wonder what was the point -

Was it only to sell Hresvelg Grey? To sell Billy becoming God and the "new" head of Church being a necessity so the former has to suck?

IDK.

FWIW, Nopes gave us one (1) NPC who, from the start, says something positive about the Church rebuking the biased statement everyone is throwing around, Mark the NPC, who says accusations of corruption of the Central Church and wyvern poo, since Rhea and Seteth both punish people who take bribes or commit crimes...

And yet, for one Mark, we have many lines spoken with bias against the Church, and no one bothers to correct them (the church forces you to marry ? Uh, no, I've heard the story of a woman who left her land to marry a foreign king! - Church forces you to have responsabilities through crusts : no? Almyra and Brigid have royalty, and Brigid royals want to protect their people thinking it is both their duty and something they want, and yet the Brigid royal line has no crust? Ditto for Almyra? - crusts are the reasons why nobles act like asses : No, Kleimann offed Lambert not because he was jelly Lambert had a crust, but because he wanted more lands and opposed the King's reforms?)

KT wanted their golden route, but because Supreme Leader is the main thorn to any Golden Route (tfw the person who wants to conquer neighboring lands has to work with the people who don't want to be conquered and are fighting for survival in a war the previous person started :( ) everyone has to ally against a common enemy, and it fell on the CoS (with Dimitri getting the nonsensical Zahras scene) - is it it because Nopes follows an Agarthan narrative, as opposed to FE16 having Billy stand-in for a Nabatean centred narrative?

I still find it hilarious that the Nopes writers bent Dimitri, and, arguably Clout, in bonkers versions of themselves to justify Nopes, but couldn't find a way to, uh, have Supreme Leader realise the Mole People are the biggest threat to the world and the Lizards aren't that evil to begin with, provided you don't try to kill them ; that's why Supreme Bullshit started to be something interesting, Supreme Leader targets the Mole People first, but then it became a traditional Supreme Leader route, erasing the lizards took precedence over everything - even if she knows Uncle and pals are still slithering around since she never caught him - so the second she can become Emperor, she returns to her original plan, not giving a fig about Uncle and hunting Lizards to MAGA.

Compare this to Rhea, in the very same route, at the end, who has to fight against the Empire (who's out for her head) and the Mole People - and Rhea dgaf about the Empire anymore, the biggest threat to Fodlan are the Mole People - she doesn't target/aim/attack Supreme Leader and Barney in the ending cinematic, she flies over them, to defeat the "real" enemy, Thales.

[definitelynotthedarklord]

Kind of want to start writing a DC/Marvel mash up fanfic and put it online but I'm not sure about some of the fusions I've thought up, so I'm putting them on here so I can get some feedback.

Warren Pryce, a.k.a. The Night Spider. Pretty typical Spiderman/Batman fusion. Son of a pair of brilliant scientists who founded a tech company but were murdered by a business rival who wanted them to make super soldiers, and made their deaths look like a lab accident while Warren watched from a cabinet be was hiding in. The only person Warren ever told was his Uncle, who revealed that the day before their deaths, Warren's parents sent him a USB that said "Warren is the key," which led Warren and his uncle to discovering a secret labin the Pryce manor where they find out Warren's parents had, under duress, been working on a ways to make super soldiers, one way being a way to give human spider abilities, but they stopped because they knew that if they had the power to change the world, they had the responsibility to do so for good. Warren spent the next 20 years training his body and mind to do just that, to use the super soldier spider serum to save people, and one day bring justice to the man who killed his parents, if he ever found him.

Also adding fusions of other characters, and yes, realize some of these are fairly redundant, but what can I say, there are parallels

Miles Morales and Dick Grayson

Gwen Stacy and Barbara Gordon

The Penguin and the Kingpin (Mr. Emperor)

Green Goblin and the Joker (The Gremlin Man)

Poison Ivy and Scorpion

Jason Todd and Agent Venom

Ra's Al Ghul and the Symbiotes

Clayface and Sandman

Lizard and killer croc

Scarecrow and Mysterio

Hobgoblin and the Creeper

Dr. Octopus and Mr. Freeze

Vulture and Firefly

Rhino and Bane

Lucius Fox and Aunt May

Batwoman and Spiderwoman

Tim Drake and Iron Spider

Peni Parker and Luke Fox

Spoiler and Silk

MJ Watson and Vicki Vale

Daredevil and Azrael

Damien Wayne and Scarlet Spider

Kraven the Hunter and Huntress

I'm not sure if I want to fuse Electro and Two Face, like half his face is scarred from electricity, or Electro and Harley Quinn, like she was electrocuted into insanity by The Gremlin Man, or fuse Harley with Black Cat, or I saw someone fuse Black Cat and Riddler and I thought that'd be pretty cool, call her Sphinx.

As for other heroes

Captain America + Wonder Woman = Achilles. Cursed for his hubris and attack on Troy, the Judges of the Underworld ordered Achilles to guard the ghost city of Troy, and to never again pick up a sword, only the Aegis. Then when Nazis showed up during ww2 looking for magic, Achilles was granted leave, arguing that the best way to protect Troy was to venture out into the modern world. The Winter Soldier and Falcon are now The Eidolon (who is secretly Achilles boyfriend Patroclus) and a man wielding the wings of Icarus.

Superman + Captain Marvel = ?

Namor + Aquaman = The Pacific Man. Rather than Atlantis, The Pacific Man rules over the city on the back of a giant sea turtle from various mythologies in the Pacific ocean, and instead of a trident, he wields the naginata from Japanese mythology that created Japan.

Black Panther + Hawkman and Woman = The Black Hawks. A pair of winged aliens crash land in the Amazon and using their alien tech and a metal called Vibranianth Steel, they form the city of gold, El Dorado, ruling over it as warrior king and queen, and when they die, they pass on their mantles and memories to worthy successors.

X Men + Green Lanterns = ? Green meteor crashes onto Earth imbueing certain people with powers, Prof X would be like the Guardians. This would also make Magneto Sinestro, and other mutants other lanterns, and the Sentinels like the Manhunters.

Fantastic 4 + Doom Patrol = ?

Dr. Strange + John Constantine = ?

Blue Beetle + Moon Knight = ? Found a piece of alien technology left by the aliens the Egyptians considered gods, this one specifically was built by Khepri, the God with the head of a beetle.

Flash + Hulk = ? Gamma radiation gave him super speed

[thatfanfictiongirl76]

Arrow Rec-- Argus Era Year Three

Year 3 of the island was honestly my favorite year. I just fell in love with Secret Agent Oliver, and was surprised by how few fics there are that are set during that time. But I did manage to find a few, so here is a rec of my favorites.

Mix Tape: Side A

By: KayleeThePete

https://archiveofourown.org/works/2681957

Summary: Felicity ends up making a few less than clean hacks after Cooper’s supposed death and ends up being coerced into working for ARGUS, and Amanda Waller has the perfect partner for her…

My Comments: This fic is set during year three of the island, where Felicity is there for Hong Kong and she’s paired up with Oliver working for ARGUS. I have to say that I fell in love with this fic. Year three was always my favorite part of the island. And I love secret agent Oliver as well. Even though there are only five chapters (6th is an author’s note) this fic is to die for. Kaylee is doing a rewrite of this fic, of which there is only one chapter of, but even so I’ll link it down below. Also for the word count, I subtracted the author’s note from the one AO3 has, so that’s why it’s different. Also Kaylee has both the original and repeat posted on ff.net, so I’ll link those down below

Status: Incomplete

Last Update (Rewrite): 2/2/20 

Length (Original): 22,986 words

Rewrite: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22532464

Ff.net: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10854075/1/Mixed-Tape-Side-A-see-AN

Ff.net Rewrite: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13491817/1/Mixed-Tape-Side-A

Before the World Wakes   

By: ForeverFelicityQueen

Summary: Tommy Merlyn doesn't believe Oliver Queen is dead, despite his best friend having gone missing over two years ago. He needs proof, one way or another; so when he encounters Felicity Smoak, the witty computer genius, the pair criss-cross the globe on a mission to discover the truth about what happened when the Queen's Gambit went down.

My Comments: This is a good fic! I love the romance between Oliver and Felicity and Felicity and Tommy. The ending is okay, but I get that the Author was setting up the next fic in the series. I highly recommend this one, it’s sure to keep you on the edge of your seat.

Status: Complete

Length: 159,254 words

Series: https://archiveofourown.org/series/649364

Sequel:

In the Wake of Yesterday -- http://archiveofourown.org/works/11106885  

Wake the Storm -- https://archiveofourown.org/works/19084342

The Knight of Swords and the Queen of Cups

By: Sec982

Summary: In a world where everyone has a soulmark on their wrist, Felicity Smoak chooses to ignore her own. She's too busy starting her career and explaining to her mother that she doesn't want to read Tarot cards like her grandmother did. Then one night, while working late, she draws the Knight of Swords, a card of impulsive action. She takes it as clear evidence that the tarot cards do not work. She dismisses it and takes a memo up to the CEO's office, where her own knight of swords comes crashing into her life in an irreversible way.

My Comments: I absolutely love this fic. It definitely keeps you on the edge of your seat! I love anything with soulmates, so combining that with Olicity and year three of the island was just a dream come true. I definitely recommend giving this one a read. There is a sequel that goes into year 4 that is amazing as well. I will link that down below.

Status: Complete

Length: 63,738 words

Series: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2804680

Sequel: Saving the Knight of Swords -- https://archiveofourown.org/works/37639039

Tomorrow Will Be Different

By: Schrijverr

https://archiveofourown.org/works/56013616

Summary: Instead of managing to meet up later, Oliver has to keep running with Akio. The only way to keep them safe is to go public with Oliver being alive, leaving him back home in charge of Akio, while Tatsu and Maseo are still in the wind. Oliver has to get used to being back home where he doesn’t fit anymore, while also taking care of a child and getting caught up in a larger conspiracy that keeps the existence of the Alpha-Omega virus secret. In the meantime, his primary mission is to reunite Akio with his parents, something that isn’t the easiest when being back from the dead and in the spotlight.

My Comments: This is an ongoing fic that I absolutely love. I loved the bond between Akio and Oliver, and seeing it build and play out is just wonderful. I also love Oliver trying to adapt to life back home after everything he’s been through. The author updates this fic fairly regularly so be sure to keep an eye on it.

Status: Complete

Length: 69,221 words

[agentargus]

Harry and Borely meta 1/?

Harry is so used to bullshit that Borely’s unique brand of bullshit doesn’t usually faze him.

He put up with decades of bureaucracies and stuffy old men acting like stuffy old men. He knows the rules well enough to break them, either figuring out the best ways of subverting expectations without getting his ass fired, or simply interpreting those expectations in a different way than others. A lot of what he does in the first film seems like respecting the letter of the law more than its spirit or again…Or, again, perhaps he simply interprets the spirit of the law differently than others. In the comics, he says he loves his job. This suggests to me that there was something about the structure of what he was doing that appealed to him, no matter how much he seemed to resent certain aspects of the organization.

Not to mention that once all that was gone, he got super paranoid and went apeshit once he got his memories back. He seems to need certain boundaries set for him, just as long as those boundaries actually make sense to him. It’s a seeming contradiction of really respecting rules but having no regard for rules that seem arbitrary to him. (This, to me, is a very autistic thing. I will say this until the day I die: most of Harry’s more “mysterious” qualities are just autistic traits.)

So again, I don’t think much of Borely’s weirdness would faze him. Even if something only makes sense in a very specific context, if he can learn and respect the context, the rule won’t be an issue. Magic could make sense to him if it was explained in a way he understood. Hierarchies would make sense to him if explained in a way he understood. I think the only semi-regular obstacle he would face from the workplace culture was if a superior officer thought him disrespectful for asking for clarification rather than just doing what he was told. That might become a self-fulfilling prophesy, like “well if you’re going to think I’m sassing you even when I’m not, I might as well sass you for real.”

But I think it’s worth noting for both the canon and fan-made Societies is that you can do a lot of “wrong” without getting fired because replacing people is such a huge deal. As long as you understand and respect the core principles of what you’re supposed to do, the ends can justify the means. I think that’s the kind of environment Harry is used to so it’s something he can navigate with relative ease. He might still get frustrated, of course, but he’s been doing this too long to put up with any seething frustrations he can’t combat with a sassy remark, a frank discussion, or good old-fashioned violence. He’s even been doing this long enough that he usually knows which of the three is the best response…and when he doesn’t, he has his support system.

Which leads me to the most difficult part about making the transition, finding a support system who can work with him directly. Harry’s high standards don’t just extend to clothes and martinis. He’s used to Merlin. Again, I feel like Harry has sort of a cursory background knowledge that Merlin does more for him than even he realizes and he may have a little bit of guilt that he can’t give Merlin as much as Merlin gives him, but I think that would be much more obvious within the context of Borely. Harry has to be more aware of his own vulnerability given that he’s a relatively ordinary human who just happens to have come back from the dead in a society ruled by ancient magics where Eldritch abominations do secretarial work and angels have office jobs…then again, I think he always felt like the odd one out who had to prove himself a little more, so it wasn’t so much the shift that was jarring, but specifically that he would have to navigate it without Merlin. (He probably drunk-dials Merlin at three in the morning like, “you’re the actual best and I took you for granted…that said, can I vent to you about stuff? Poor Merlin.)

[breadedsinner]

Hawke as an Inquisition Member

This is loosely based on a meme that went around when DA:I came out. I never got around to it and I think it was more focused on people’s Inquisitor in an AU setting, so I am just co-opting it using ideas from my fic Tether, since I headcanon my Hawke joins the Inquisition as an agent under Josephine. That being said, this is canon-divergent.

***

Background

Judith Hawke was born and raised in Ferelden, the first daughter of an apostate and a runaway noble. She served briefly under King Cailan before the Blight drove her to Kirkwall. She found success in defending the city, eventually becoming Champion for driving off Qunari, but was cast out for standing against Knight-Commander Meredith. She campaigned for the rightful Prince of Starkhaven, unknowingly one step ahead of Seeker Pentaghast, and has been reigning Princess for several months.

Before she was born, Judith’s mother was captured by Grey Wardens, forcing her father to use blood magic and seal away Corypheus. As such, Judith feels a personal responsibility in defeating the ancient magister once and for all, in any way she can.

Technically Judith is an agent under Josephine, developing her diplomatic skills. Nevertheless, she is happy to lend her blade when called upon.

Location

When not away on missions, Judith can be found in the courtyard gazebo, in quiet contemplation, though sometimes she can be spotted in the Herald’s Rest with Varric.

***

Specialization

Paladin: Judith was exposed to lyrium at a young age and thus has the abilities of a Templar. While not as potent, she does not require regular dosage. Her focus is defeating enemies swiftly, and is especially adept at rendering enemy defenses and slaying demons.

Silver Sword; when activated, does increased damage to Fade Creatures.

Smite; a burst of lyrium-infused energy, dealing greater damage to Fade Creatures, and stunning all enemies in range.

Silence; interrupts spells and prevents further spell-casting for an extended period of time.

Hawk’s Wing; a powerful lunge, cleaving foes in her path. This is especially effective against guard.

Talon Lunge; a precise attack at a single target, effective against armor.

Crescent Strike; a wide arc, effective against barriers.

 ***

 Combat Comments

Engaging Combat

“Have at you!”

“I will keep you safe.”

“For his sake, I will not fail!”

“Get behind me!”

“Not one more step.”

“Last chance to surrender!”

Upon Enemy Death

“Fall.”

“What a waste.”

“You could have prevented this.”

“Andraste Guide you.”

Low Health

“I must push on.”

“This is nothing.”

“No, not here…I must return.”

“I’m going home… no matter what.”

Fallen

“Forgive me… my prince.”

 ***

Location Comments

Storm Coast

“I find the rain and rustling waves rather soothing, don’t you?”

“For years I’ve wanted to come back to Ferelden, but now… all I want to do is cross that sea again.”

“I wonder if Isabela is sailing these waters right now. I hope she’s all right.”

Redcliffe

“It does my heart good that this place has recovered from the Blight.”

Emerald Graves

“So Orlesians just… build manors here because they can? Deplorable.”

“Varric, did you send that letter to Merrill? She should see this.”

“I’ve never seen a giant before. Awful.”

 The Hinterlands

“Lothering is not far from here. Perhaps… no, never mind. A foolish idea.”

“Ah, I do love the fresh air and open spaces. I’ve missed this.”

“I’ve lived in cities far too long; I’ve forgotten how big druffalo are.”

(finding Crystal Grace) “Ah… when they were young, Bethany and Carver would climb all over searching for this flower. They found out it was a favorite of Leliana’s, their favorie Sister in the Chantry. They would pull it from the earth, roots and all, stomping into the Chantry, dragging mud. They argued over who would present it to her. I wonder if she remembers.”

Inquisitor: Did you have any feelings for her?

“Aha, well, you know how I feel about pretty archers with soulful eyes and a soothing accent. I looked, for certain, but I was also a bit too young, and had enlisted not long after moving to Lothering. And she… seemed a bit sad, in pain, almost.”

Exalted Plains

“Miserable.”

“War ruins everything it touches, as surely as any Blight.”

Western Approach

“Fereldens don’t really like heat. Did I fail to mention that?”

(sees a fennec pass) “I’ve had dreams of foxes. Still not sure what they mean.”

(after killing Venatori) “I wonder if Fenris is dealing with these Venatori, too. Making a mess of their innards, I’m sure. I hope he’s eating. I always had to remind him to eat.”

Crestwood

“I lived in a dozen villages just like this one.”

Emprise du Lion

“If not for the horrible red crystals with sickening magic jutting from the ground, this place would be rather peaceful.”

“(dreamy sighs) I would love to just… build a cabin somewhere snowy and quiet, take Sebastian and lock ourselves in for a week.”

Inquisitor: What would you do for a week?

“(laughs) Your imagination is more daring than mine, Your Worship, I’m sure.”

 ***

Personal Quests

Darkness over Denerim

Judith’s personal quest is a modified version of “Shadows over Denerim”. Rather than a War Table Mission, she will accompany Josephine and the Inquisitor to meet with King Alistair and/or Queen Anora. Josephine and Judith will speak with the nobles while the Inquisitor investigates the area. With enough evidence gathered, the Inquisitor can call upon Judith to proceed. Once the cultists are revealed, she will assist in the fight.

As a reward, the King and Queen will reward the Inquisition with several trained mabari hounds; the Inquisitor and Judith will have the ability to summon one in battle.

The Flock

Inquisition scouts have spotted a large moving group of mages on the outskirts of Ferelden. Leliana confirms this group to be the remains of the Kirkwall Circle, led by former First Enchanter Orsino and Bethany Hawke. The mission has you join Judith finding them and guiding them to Skyhold, removing all obstacles in their way. Bethany is reluctant to accept help, as she does not want to spend her life relying on her sister’s protection, but does relent that the situation is bigger than that.

***

Approval

Judith generally approves of acts of generosity, selflessness. As a princess, she prides herself on serving others. That said, she was born a commoner, and spent much of her early years in Kirkwall looked down upon, so she also approves of spiting/humbling deserving nobles. She also approves of respecting the dead and grieving.

Here Lies the Abyss

Wardens join the Inquisition

 Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts

Public Truce

Gaspard and Briala Rule

What Pride Had Wrought

Inquisitor drinks from the Well (only elven Inquisitor, no approval or disapproval from a non-elven Inquisitor)

Allows Merrill to drink from the Well

The Verchiel March

Recruit Harmond with Nobility knowledge

Let Sera kill Harmond

Bring me the Heart of Snow White

Bring the real snowy wyvern heart to Vivienne

Revelations

Pardon Thom Rainier

The Spoils of Desecration

Give the key to Keeper Hawen

The Knight’s Tomb

Give the scrolls to the Dalish

Left to Grieve

Approval for every letter returned

***

Disapproval

Judith disapproves of selfish and needlessly cruel acts, namely taking advantage of those in need, and propping of those who do not require help.

Here Lies the Abyss

Wardens are exiled

Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts

Celene Rules Alone

Gaspard Rules Alone (GREATLY Disapproves)

What Pride Had Wrought

Allows Morrigan to drink from the Well

The Verchiel March

Partner with Harmond

Bring me the Heart of Snow White

Bring the common wyvern heart to Vivienne

Revelations

Abandon Thom Rainier in prison

The Spoils of Desecration

Disturb the Grotto

The Knight’s Tomb

Give the scrolls to the Chantry

 Romance

Judith is a happily married woman, but will accept respectful flirtations with male and female Inquisitors with good humor. If an Inquisitor visits often, she will share details about her beloved prince and how they met, perhaps giving a bit more insight into Varric’s sour attitude towards him, and how there’s probably much more to the story than “Tales of the Champion” will ever tell.

With high enough approval, she will show the Inquisitor her Memory Shard, explaining she experiences nightmares and painful memories, and this is one of the few things able to ease her. She can also offer some advice to an Inquisitor seeking romance.

“If you want love in your life, any sort of love, you must keep your heart open. That means being vulnerable, and that can bring a lot of pain. But you must believe it’s worth it. It took me years to learn that lesson.”

[tanoraqui]

hello wonderful children, it's esoteric scifi/fantasy book rec time!!

Why You Should Reach the Paradox trilogy by Rachel Bach, a list by me:

Scifi action-adventure romance

The basic premise of this series is that Devi (Deviana Morris) is a professional space mercenary who really wants to be one of her god-king's elite guard/agents of badassery...but in order to get tapped for a thing like that, she needs to boost her resume. So she deliberately takes a job on an "unassuming" little trade ship notorious for having bad lethally luck.

in narrative terms, this means taking her Book 1 Protagonist self and becoming a supporting character in someone else's...you know the phase late in the series when a Protagonist has made most of their defining moral choices, gathered their team of loyal misfits, and they do more monster-of-the-week adventures than we clearly see on page, until suddenly the series finale starts? Devi walks into that. And then the series finale starts, with her in the middle, completely stealing Caldswell's Protagonist slot.

Devi "there's no point in doing something if you don't commit to it 110%" Morris

Devi "wow, this child soldier thing you've got going is DEEPLY fucked up. thank goodness my military-obssessed planet where we all know it'd be an honor to give our lives for our saint-king is nothing like that" Morris

(Arguably the narrative backs this up, but because it's all 1st person pov, I'd argue Devi just never picks up on the hypocrisy. Also, the others guys ARE doing much more fucked up things than some sketchy absolute monarchy and required military service.)

Devi "shut up, you do NOT get to decide if I forgive you. I decide that, and I do. Forgive you. But also I'm NOT in love, I can handle this on my own but I can't afford any weakness; shut up and stop being hot and dedicated near me" Morris

Relatedly, Rupert "the concept of not committing to something 110% is inherently incomprehensible to me, so I guess now I'm committing treason and following this madwoman's lead to hell and back" Charkov

Tbh in book 1, I was like, "I get why he's falling head over heels for her, but I feel like she skipped right from 'he's badass, usually nice, and REALLY hot' to 'oh no I'm in love.'" But by the end of book 2, I was on board. You see, they're simply BOTH categorically insane.

I CANNOT get over him being named "Rupert" though. This author makes the hottest possible man - tall, thin-but-muscular, soft hair and piercing blue eyes! sexy accent! spoilers but let's just say he's VERY lethal and monsterfucking isn't out of question! And he cooks! And then to balance all of this, she names him the LEAST sexy thing possible.

for those who want The Representation Facts: it's heterosexual romance, nothing too novel about it, but complex female protagonist who fights fiercely to maintain her agency, despite the efforts of most of the people around her. A lot of the plot centered around giving some young women back their stolen agency, actually. There's 2 gender-nonconforming characters, and they're both aliens but they're GNC in ways suited to their own cultures, not human, which I thought was pretty neat? Race doesn't come up, iirc more people are described as pale than not but some are dark-skinned and some just aren't described. Uhh no disability rep except arguing with medical(ish) professionals who think they know best but are just assholes…what else do you want. Woman has guns, armor, flaming sword, rage.

The books are Fortune's Pawn, Honor's Knight, and Heaven's Queen. They're not full of great themes or stunning writing, but they're full of well-paced intrigue, action, and morally suspect people making what they're convinced in the best choice for the greatest good. I read all 3 in the space of about 48 hours.

Devi "stop trying to explain chess to me and tell me what's actually going on" Morris

Devi "if my beloved armor is marred one more time, I'm going to kill everyone on this ship and then myself" Morris

I really enjoyed that the moral position it landed on was, “doing something terrible to save billions of lives when you have no other options IS okay. The sin is never looking for a better solution, but rather doubling down on maintaining the terrible thing.” I think that’s a wonderful and probably correct gray position. Often the many IS more important than the one, or even than the few…but you can’t just settle in grittiness. You have to hope and work for something better.

Author Rachel Bach is known as Rachel Aaron when she writes fantasy, and I'm gonna go hunt down some of that, now.

[goodqueenaly]

I’m really curious to see how much whatever “The She-Wolves of Winterfell” (which I’m just gonna call “The She-Wolves of Winterfell” for the purposes of simplicity but I know that won’t be its final title) parallels what might be coming up for our Starklings in TWOW. 

There is not much known about the plot of “The She-Wolves of Winterfell” at this point. However, there are a few key details that can be extrapolated from GRRM’s statements. This will be a story about “a group of formidable Stark wives, widows, mothers, and grandmothers that [GRRM] dubbed ‘the She-Wolves’”. These Stark women will consist of, perhaps, “five Lady Starks running Winterfell ... with four of them widows of a bunch of fairly recent former Lord Starks, and the current Lady Stark, whose 30-something husband is fading fast from a wound taken from fighting the Ironborn”. These so-called ‘She-Wolves’ won’t be a united front, though, as the story will specifically show “a lot of Stark widows struggling for power, with the current lord dieing [sic] from a wound taken against some Ironborn”, along with “10 children, from various Starks members”. 

So what I’m imagining at this point is that “The She-Wolves of Winterfell” will begin with Dunk and Egg showing up at Winterfell to take service with the Starks against the ironborn. This is, after all, was Dunk and Egg’s plan at the end of “The Sworn Sword” and into “The Mystery Knight”, and while it was put on pause while they attended the Whitewalls tourney, during the course of the story Dunk still reaffirmed their intent to head north; as he explained to Kyle and the disguised Bloodraven, “Lord Beron Stark is gathering swords to drive the krakens from his shores for good”. However, given the indication from GRRM’s statements that Beron Stark will have already been wounded, possibly fatally, by the ironborn, I think Dunk and Egg are going to show up to Winterfell to find that, instead of Lord Beron marshaling an army to fight the ironborn, Beron is dying, and various Stark factions are using the lack of a strong male leader (and indeed, that leader’s possibly upcoming death) to open up questions about the succession; fighting the ironborn has been put on indefinite pause while the ladies debate who should be controlling Winterfell, and if there is any talk of the war against Dagon, it might be only in the context of what any faction’s representative should do against Dagon’s army - should he/she sit the high seat of Winterfell, of course (e.g. “if I/my son were in charge we would do x”). 

I could see Dunk and Egg being totally caught off guard at this development. They came to swear their swords (or, at least, Dunk’s sword) to Winterfell - but who would they even be swearing to, when nobody can agree who exactly represents Winterfell? Even if I’m not sure who specifically the She-Wolves will be, I can imagine the different factions trying to convince Dunk and Egg to support them, especially if Egg’s royal status is no longer a secret (as “The Mystery Knight” ended with Egg wearing his father’s ring openly instead of stuffing it in his boot); this was Prince Maekar’s son, along with a man who by Egg’s cover story was Maekar’s agent in foiling the conspiracy at Whitewalls (even if Dunk himself had to explain to Bloodraven that that was far from the “true truth”), so their arrival at Winterfell could only mean official royal support for whichever faction they endorsed. Lorra Royce might be arguing for her and Beron’s eldest son Donnor; Myriame Manderly and/or Robyn Ryswell might be fighting for regency rights as a recent widow but face bias and blame - “if you had only had a son we would never be in this position” sort of thing - with Myriame perhaps even getting pushback about her heritage - “it was a mistake for Rodwell to marry you, the Manderlys are no true northmen” (also I’m calling it right now, Robyn Ryswell is going to be like her modern-day relation Barbrey Dustin née Ryswell - a smart, ambitious, older childless widow); Alys Karstark might be hoping that her son Beron makes a recovery and so put the Stark dynasty back on course; Wylla Fenn might suggest that her bastard son Lonnel, as the son of a Stark lord with noble northern lineage on both sides, should have the right to rule; Serena Stark might argue that as the legitimate (and presumably at that point only surviving, given Elio Garcia’s comment that Robyn Ryswell was Jonnel’s second wife) child of Cregan’s heir Rickon, she and her daughters should be considered the rightful heirs to Winterfell; Cregan’s daughters (especially the youngest, Lyanna) and/or Beron’s sister Arsa might take Serena’s argument but apply it to themselves, arguing for their own right to sit Winterfell.

So I’m imagining Dunk and Egg think they have to come up with a way to reconcile all of these factions. I can’t begin to speculate on the whole plot, but I would not be surprised at all if part of their argument is that the Starks have, pun fully intended, bigger squids to fry than debating the rulership of Winterfell. While the Starks of Winterfell argue among themselves about who should be its lord, the Greyjoys under Dagon are turning the northern coasts into their playground for pillage. While the crown under Aerys I had admittedly left the Starks high and dry (again, pun intended) against Dagon by refusing to give aid, now the Starks are hurting themselves instead; this intra-Stark conflict is proving a major distraction, undermining the ability and indeed responsibility of the Starks to respond to the Greyjoy crisis. Perhaps Egg will tell the quarreling Starks that if they can settle on a single candidate, he will have his father lead royal troops to help the Starks defeat Dagon once and for all (as we know from Victarion that while Dagon “bearded the lion in his den and tied the direwolf's tail in knots ... even [he] could not defeat the dragons” - but if they refuse and continue their private war among themselves, he would have his father assert the crown’s control over Winterfell and the North directly. (Indeed, if this story takes place after “The Village Hero”, then I’m curious whether Dunk and Egg would use the recent Pennytree affair, as I think it will go down in that story, to reiterate the point - the crown can take away your lands if you won’t do your part to maintain the king’s peace, we’ve done it before and we will do it again.) Again, I’m not sure what the exact story would be - it’s not like there is a suggestion Donnor Stark did not succeed his dad, after all - but I like the idea that this will let both Dunk and Egg stretch their political muscles, solving a crisis through diplomacy rather than force.

Where I think this could be really interesting (besides on its own, obviously) is how that might loosely parallel what we could see with the Stark kids coming back to Winterfell in TWOW. I firmly believe that all the surviving Starks are going to return to Winterfell in TWOW, but perhaps more importantly (and certainly so for this discussion), there are at least a few factions now, and maybe even more in the future, which are aiming to seat certain Starks in Winterfell’s high seat - all without knowing about the other factions or their plans. As was the case in the time of Beron’s possibly fatal wound, there is a surplus of potential Stark heirs at the moment; likewise, as might have been the case in Beron’s time, there is no perfect, uniformly agreed upon candidate for Stark rule. Jon Snow, like Lonnel Snow before him (hey, their names even rhyme!), was the (at least so it’s supposed, for Jon) bastard son of a Stark lord, with some argument to rule Winterfell - from at least his nobly born mother in Lonnel’s case, from the legitimization witnessed by Maege Mormont and Galbart Glover in Jon’s. (I don’t think it’s at all coincidental that Lonnel’s mother is a Fenn - that is, a crannogwoman - given that it’s a crannogman, Howland Reed, who is probably currently sheltering Maege and Galbart and who knows the truth of Jon’s parentage.) Sansa and Arya are legitimate, but female in a world and specifically in a dynasty which has not only never had a ruling woman but has specifically skipped over female heiresses, as in the case of Serena and Sansa, daughters of Rickon. (Again, is it coincidental that these were two sisters, one of whom was even named “Sansa”?) Bran and Rickon may have no specific parallels in “The She-Wolves of Winterfell” (other than, as legitimate sons of the former Stark lord, they would be in the same position as Donnor and his brothers), but they might likewise be debated as potential heirs - Bran for being disabled in a highly ableist society, Rickon for being very young and subject to a long, potentially troublesome regency (and perhaps any bias against Myriame Manderly might echo bias against Rickon’s chief supporter, Wyman Manderly).

I don’t think the Starklings themselves will fight each other for Winterfell, to be clear; I think they’ll just be happy to see and be with each other again after long and harrowing experiences for them all. However, I could see where we might have this same sort of factional quarreling, with the Stark kids themselves perhaps stepping into Dunk’s and Egg’s roles. After all, it’s very possible that as this debate is going on, news is going to come of Euron in the south and/or the Others beyond the Wall (the latter of which both Jon and Bran have good reason to know and warn about); this parallel may be especially potent with Euron (who may in turn empower the Others by bringing down the Wall), given that Euron is the most serious ironborn threat since his own great-grandfather Dagon, and is trying to outdo Dagon in his apocalyptic ambition for world domination. So the Stark kids might tell the quarreling factions around them that their energies need to be put not into deciding which one of them gets Winterfell but in preparing to fight the greatest enemy of humanity and, in fact, all living things. 

[bastardpacs]

A Theory on Malakai Black IV The Third Member, A Story in the Tarot

(Guys, I'm so bad at tarot OTL!!!)

I just wanted to preface before I went into this that there is def going to be a heavy bias in my theory, because I am a big fan of who may potentially be the 3rd House member. So I am probably most definitely getting everything wrong lmaoo

Malakai almost seems to be building a physical representation of the tarot, and like chess pieces, is moving them, is manipulating them, placing them and damning them by design.

It was either Griff or Brian that Malakai condemned as the Fool, with the other possibly being the Knight of Swords, a figure of brashness and, sometimes blind and misguided, chivalry.

Then we had PAC, who personifies Justice. (I would *love* to dive into this more one day, because I have always loved this aspect of PACs psychology. Even as a heel, he almost embodies that of nemesis, the Greek personification of divine punishment against hubris, a sin seen as a transgression against the very gods.) And then it was Malakai who, after a promo by Pentagon Jr., referenced 'the Hermit'.

It was almost as if he was goading these groups into bringing down violence upon and against him, because, like he said, 'the House is built on conflict'.

Throughout countless myths, violence bred creation. One could argue that violence is the very foundation of humanity. Through Cain, the First Murderer and by extension the father of violence itself, we have civilization. Patricide within Greek myths repeatedly saw the creation of gods and civilization. The Norse god Ymir's mutilation gave us the world, from the oceans to the very clouds.

In these cultures, through suffering, violence, comes divinity, comes progression. Fighting against that violence is like fighting the nature of creation.

Malakai feeds off of the violence; as he said, 'violence begets violence'. And like the laws of the Old Testament, 'as he has done, so it shall be done to him: life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot, burn for burn, bruise for bruise, wound for wound.'

That those who have inflicted transgressions against Malakai, like the trespassers against Cain, have had it inflicted upon them sevenfold.

We watched as he drove the Varsity Blondes to brashly and foolishly attack him, and then to beat him down in the middle of the ring. Sacrifices of violence against others and himself to bring the embodiment of violence against his enemies. Brody King who like Death, like Kali, represents absolute annihilation and violence.

They brought their violence down upon Malakai, and he returned that Violence back sevenfold.

At first I thought the Tower was being placed upon Malakai, but now I wonder if, like the masks and fluidity of his entrance, Malakai becomes the face of the Tower, becomes an instigator and agent and sacrifice of the destructive change that must be brought down.

Again, we saw the imagery of butterflies, who themselves hold the imagery of transformation, of death and resurrection. Or that of, again, tarot imagery: of the butterfly in the card of the Fool, leading him to the edge of his cliff. But there's also another that I can't quite shake because of the destructive imagery we're seeing and the ideas of violent causation. The butterfly effect.

Malakai's opponents have crushed the butterfly and their actions against him have created a storm and brought down upon them Death and Violence.

And that brings us to the card of Judgement, and who that might be.

What's interesting is Malakai keeps placing the card of Judgement to the left of the Devil. In a traditional three card spread, the card on the far left generally represents the past. The embodiment of Judgement comes from the past. His past.

And all of this brings me back to the thing that keeps jumping out to me about Malakai's use of "violence begets violence". Its origin, Matthew 26:52. We know a Matthew from Malakai's past. Buddy Matthews.

In the video he posted through Instagram there was the focus on a handful of cards near the end. They were, in order, Death, The Fool, Knight of Swords, and The Empress.

The placement of these specific cards is for someone smarter than me to figure out djdksk What I do know is that in certain four card spreads, the first card represents something at hand, the second, something from the past. The third, an action that has taken place, and the fourth an action to take place. In this case, Death (Transformation occurring), The Fool (the beginning of a journey), the Knight of Swords (brashness) and now through the Empress, power and peace.

But one thing that I did notice the tarots focused on was the prevalence and reoccurance of the color white. The white of the Fool's outfit and drum, the white of the flowers of Death, of the belly of the dragon in the Knight of Swords, and finally the white rabbits of the Empress.

White is the Horse of Conquest throughout the book of Revelation, who is thought to represent a Christ-like figure. Whether that figure is Christ or the Anti-Christ is up for debate... But I can't help think of how like Conquest, we see Malakai tearing through and judging the ranks of those he fights.

But what I wanted to focus on is the imagery of three specific cards: The Fool, the Knight of Swords, and the Hierophant. The reason for this is because of his latest promo.

The Fool is representative of the beginning of a journey and the youthful optimism and recklessness that comes from that. The Knight of Swords, showing a knight on horseback attempting to slay a dragon, is a card of impulsiveness and rashness, of being headstrong and bravely, sometimes recklessly, rushing into a conflict.

The card of the Hierophant shows a religious/spiritual leader, passing down his knowledge and wisdom to two followers. An incredibly interesting image, nearly exactly paralleling Malakai - the mentor, the Father - and his two witnesses beneath him. The card can represent a sort of enlightenment through spiritual awakening.

The Fool continues to feature prominently throughout these promos. The tarot from the deck he uses features the Fool as a wanderer beating a drum in ignorance, precariously close to a cliff's edge. (I know this is me going way off course djdj but a thing I find so neat about this is that I've always been in love with the heavy and distant drums in some of his promos, almost as if Malakai and Brody King are dwelling at the bottom of the abyss that the Fool wanders by. I have a huge obsession with music and am in love with this drum lol)

Before I jump into the final tarot imagery, I just had to point out the neatest imagery and parallels between his December 15 promo and this one from February 16! The first was that, in the December promo, Malakai touched two chairs when he passes the table. In his recent promo, he and Brody sit in those respective chairs he touched, waiting for, as Malakai claims, 'history'.

The second, from again the December promo, was the clock sitting on the desk, set to about 8:31. A specific non-complete clause ended on 8/31. That of Buddy Matthews.

Both of these promos, and Brody's debut, have occurred around what would be considered the 'ides' of a month, a historically important date in ancient Roman calendars, thought to coincide with full moons.

In his latest video, Malakai drew and laid out a line of cards. The Fool, the Knight of Swords, and then the Hierophant. Placing them in the positions of the past, the present, the future.

These are the three cards I want to heavily focus on. The Fool, again, is a card of the beginning of a journey, and the naivety and risk-taking that comes from that. The Knight of Swords, fool-hardy brashness. The Hierophant is one of a new cycle, or a spiritual awakening.

What's interesting is not only their connection to those he has faced, but one other thing. That there is also the interpretation of it as telling a story. Of a Fool, a Knight, and a Hierophant. There is one person who embodies all aspects of these cards. Buddy Matthews.

Buddy Matthews' story parallels the placement of these three cards. He began as the Fool, naively at the beginning of his story, knocking brazenly on Black's door. And then like the Knight, he brashly, thoughtlessly, and failingly continued to attack and try to defeat Malakai Black, his "dragon."

Finally now we come to the imagery of the Hierophant. And Buddy's story comes full circle. Of the beginning of a new cycle, of a spiritual awakening under Malakai and the House of Black.

Malakai has built a story through the chess pieces, the tarot cards, the opponents he has manipulated. Almost has built a story of his past, in a way. And by sacrificing these physical parallels to those of this story, of perhaps Buddy's story, he is creating and invoking the embodiment of Judgement.

They brought their judgement down upon Malakai, and now he is returning that Judgement sevenfold.

[merrybandofmurderers]

[ID: a banner with Work in Progress Wednesday written in white font on a background of light blue watercolor texture /END ID]

that time of the week again folks! here's some more from the tranquil oc fic, i'll be getting it posted soon :3c

~

It’s well into the evening when Wyeth finally finds Gwythren practicing their knife throwing near the trebuchets. He observes the several, neatly centered punctures in a post of spare scaffolding. Nearby, a pair of construction workers argue over nails and angles.

Gwythren adjusts their grip on a knife, not looking away from the post, but a twitch of their ear invites Wyeth to speak. “Got your armor from the blacksmith yet?”

The knife sings through the air, lands dead center of the mar of divots. “No.”

“Let’s do that now, then.”

They make their way in comfortable silence. Harritt is preoccupied arguing with a requisitions runner when they arrive, and Wyeth leans against the stone wall to wait. Gwythren looks over his shoulder, presumably at the Breach; their left hand flexes at their side.

“Feel ready?” Wyeth asks.

Gwythren doesn’t look away from the sky. “It is difficult to predict what may happen. We will simply have to be prepared to react as necessary to whatever occurs.”

It’s the conclusion Wyeth has come to himself, but it doesn’t provide any relief. These thoughts are interrupted by the abrupt arrival of Harritt, who has them try on the armor to ensure the fit. Wyeth’s is a proper set of plate and scale mail for his upper body, as well as an impressive set of greaves and sabatons.

Gwythren’s armor involves a fierce-looking leather coat over a scale mail shirt, paired with a set of sleek gauntlets and greaves. The boots reach Gwythren’s thighs, and a broad sash secures the coat. Wyeth can see the ambassador’s hand in the flashier details—serviceable, of course, but designed to make Gwythren stand out.

“It’s well-made,” Gwythren says, looking over the pieces with widened eyes. It is, in fact, likely the most quality outfit Gwythren has ever owned. They almost seem unsure about its place on their body.

Harritt huffs but looks pleased under his moustache. He makes some remarks about the process, points out places of note—which Gwythren will surely find superior to previous armor—and tips for care and keeping. Gwythren listens with rapt attention, which only seems to embolden Harritt.

While this continues, Wyeth liberates fresh sword and leather oil from one of Harritt’s workers. When he turns back, he finds that Harritt has produced a set of new blades which Gwythren is presently inspecting. Before Wyeth can get a closer look, one of Leliana’s agents appears in the entrance to the smithy.

“Herald, Knight-Lieutenant,” she says with a bow. “The Nightingale wished you to know that Val Royeaux’s response has arrived. You will be leaving in the morning.”

The fear descends on Wyeth so swiftly it leaves him breathless. His hand finds Gwythren’s shoulder, garnering him a curious head tilt. “Thanks,” he hears himself say. “Let her know we’ll be ready.” He gives his thanks to Harritt as well, extricates Gwythren from their conversation, and heads back to their shared hutch. He can feel Gwythren’s eyes on his face. “Has Helisma got you packed?”

The corner of Gwythren’s mouth twitches. “Yes.” A pause. “Your hair has grown.”

The comment shakes Wyeth out of his stupor. “Hm?” He runs his fingers over the sides of his head that he typically keeps shaved. It has grown—and he hasn’t shaved his face lately, either. If Gwythren felt the need to point it out, he must look quite unkempt. “Help me?”

Gwythren nods.

After shedding their new armor, Wyeth readies his shaving kit while Gwythren heats water over the fire. Gwythren pulls out the chair, folds a towel over the top, and Wyeth strips out of his shirt and takes a seat. He leans his head back, eyes closed, listens to Gwythren’s familiar, methodical movements.

Gwythren rubs a damp, warm cloth over the unwanted hair. The caress of the brush follows, spreading lather over his jaw, up around his ears. Then the sharp whisper of the razor, flirting along his skin under Gwythren’s deft hands.

“The back,” Gwythren says.

Wyeth moves to straddle the chair, hangs his head forward over the top rung. Gwythren repeats the process with the back of his neck and head, then hands him the cloth to wipe himself clean.

“Thanks, Gwyth.” His head already feels clearer for it.

Gwythren dumps the used water out the window. “You should bathe, too, while you have the opportunity.”

Wyeth purses his lips but knows he can’t argue. Gwythren only comments on cleanliness if it’s especially noticeable.

~

@mrs-theirin, @gaysolavellan, @calicostorms, @fade-and-loathing-in-thedas, @transfenris-truther

[handwrittenhello]

sweet little lies

Rating: M Warnings: Assassination attempts, poisoning, bombing Relationships: Geralt/Jaskier/Yennefer Word Count: 6.2k Summary: “He’s very…” Geralt trailed off, arms crossed. "Pretty?” Yennefer finished for him, appraising the man in front of her. He seemed entirely unconcerned about his state of near-nudity, and even less concerned about the fact that the entire court was ogling him, including the Warlord of the North and her right-hand man. “Thank you,” the man said, bowing deeply. “I do try.” -- When Yennefer of Vengerberg, Warlord of the North, receives Jaskier as tribute, she doesn't trust him—the rumor is that assassins and spies are trying to infiltrate her court. And despite being sent unwillingly, Jaskier seems perfectly happy—too happy—to be there. As tensions with the bordering country of Rivia grow stronger, she must beware, and figure out who she can truly trust.

or, yet another warlord au (but with warlord yennefer this time), inspired by @inexplicifics! read here on ao3.

“He’s very…” Geralt trailed off, arms crossed.

“Pretty?” Yennefer finished for him, appraising the man in front of her. He seemed entirely unconcerned about his state of near-nudity, and even less concerned about the fact that the entire court was ogling him, including the Warlord of the North and her right-hand man.

“Thank you,” the man said, bowing deeply. “I do try.”

He did indeed try, judging by how heavily his face was made up and by the numerous precious metals and jewels that adorned his ears and fingers and even one nostril. Yennefer didn’t think she’d ever seen more piercings in her life. The wealth the stranger wore on his body was simply astounding. Besides the more conventional jewelry, he also wore a shirt—if one could call it that—of fine gold chains interlaced, studded intermittently with shimmering gems. He wore no trousers, only a sheer wrap accentuated by a belt, made of yet more fine chains entwined. Finishing the ensemble were golden cuffs around his wrists—the entire outfit seemed to subtly shout prisoner, in fact, when she looked for it.

“And who sent you?” she asked, her voice ringing clear through the hall.

“I come to you as a gift, courtesy of King Vizimir of Redania,” the man replied, sinking into another low bow. “Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove, Master Bard, and Esteemed Courtesan, at your service, my lady.” He made no mention of his own involvement in the matter, Yennefer noted darkly. She would not take slaves, expensive tribute or not.

But to publicly refuse such a gift would show blatant disfavor, and may spark an unwanted war. “You may tell King Vizimir I accept his gift,” she told the messenger who had accompanied Master Pankratz. “And you,” she turned to Pankratz, “may come with me.” She turned and left the hall, trusting him and Geralt both to follow her.

Whispers rose up in her wake, titters at what she might do with the new esteemed courtesan, but she ignored them. One did not become Warlord of the North by caring what courtly gossip featured oneself.

She pushed open the doors to her room, Pankratz just behind her, and Geralt, silent, bringing up the rear. He was good at that sort of thing—protecting her, always, and always with the taciturn seriousness most knew him for.

Only few knew what truly lurked beneath the surface. She was privy to more than most—as her right-hand man, bodyguard, and occasional lover, he let her see more than most. She could see a hint of it peeking out through his stony exterior now—he was disturbed, unsettled, though she couldn’t tell the cause.

She sat herself in her customary armchair by the hearth, Geralt taking a place looming behind her, and after Pankratz hesitated, she directed him to the armchair across from her. He sank into it quickly, giving the ridiculous impression of a puppy aiming to please its master. She rolled her eyes.

“We can drop the bullshit,” she stated plainly, and his eyes widened. “Do you truly wish to be here? Speak truly.”

He swallowed. “My lady, it is truly the greatest honor to be in your presence—” he began, but Yennefer cut him off with a look.

“I said no more pretty lies. I have enough of those in my court—I don’t need you adding to that pile of shit.” There was little more she despised than venomous intentions disguised. The best attack was one that could be anticipated.

“Very well, my lady. Though it is true I did not come here willingly—” Geralt stiffened at that, his hand going reflexively to the hilt of his sword, though Yennefer gave no outward indication of her disgust. “—I did not come here willingly, but, having found myself in your court, I find that there is little else I could wish for. In truth, I would much prefer here to whence I came.” He said the last bit in a black tone, hinting at some strife Yennefer knew not of.

“Well, I would give you the option, then,” Yennefer replied. “You may leave, if you so wish—I will supply you with enough to get by until you can establish yourself, wherever you may choose to go. I hear Toussaint is nice this time of year.” Pankratz smiled. “Or you may remain in my court, but know this—I tolerate no treachery, no spies, of any sort.” She leaned in close; the smile dropped from his face. “If I discover that you’ve been sent as some foreign agent to engineer my demise—” she locked eyes with him “—your demise will not be swift.” She spoke the last words softly, so softly, but plenty intelligible in the absolute silence of the room. “But you’ll wish it would be.”

Pankratz gulped.

“Have I made myself clear?” she asked, leaning back, releasing him from the uncomfortable closeness.

“Crystal, my lady,” he answered, smiling shakily. “And, if it’s all the same to you, I would rather not try my luck out there. Much easier to earn my keep at the luxury of the court.”

Yennefer wasn’t surprised by the attitude; clearly this was a man well accustomed to luxury. “Very well. And how do you plan to earn your keep?”

“Well, my lady,” he began, voice dropping into a sultry register. “You’ll find that I’m quite good with my fingers and tongue, as it were.” He slid from his chair, somehow managing to make it look effortlessly elegant, and shuffled closer to her on his knees. Geralt stiffened; Yennefer waited for Pankratz to dare touch her. But no touch was forthcoming, despite the strange flutter of arousal in her stomach that spoke to how she almost wanted him to try.

“Presumptuous of King Vizimir,” was all she replied. “And what if I have no need of a bedwarmer?”

Pankratz sat back on his heels. “Well, I have other talents. I studied at Oxenfurt—you may also hear me called Jaskier the Bard, at your service,” he said, giving a little half-bow, all he could manage in a kneeling position. “I would sing of your victories for all to hear and be warned, lest the—the Raven Storm come to batter down their doors!” He punctuated his sentence with a grand gesture, one that nearly knocked him off balance.

“No.”

“N-no, my lady?” Jaskier questioned, his arms dropping. “I can come up with something else, if you don’t like the name—"

“It’s not the name,” Yennefer said dismissively. “It’s the exaggeration. I’ve already told you, I value honesty alone. I won’t have any pretty ballads hiding bastard truths.”

Jaskier looked as though he wanted to argue, but wisely held his tongue. To soften the disappointment, Geralt came around and offered him a hand up. Jaskier took it, and also took a moment to stare appreciatively at Geralt. He was lucky she wasn’t the jealous type—she could have his head for it.

“You may stay,” she declared. “You need not pay for it in my bed, though if you do truly mean what you say, then we can discuss your… talents, as it were. For now, Geralt will find you rooms of your own and show you around the palace. You may have the rest of the day to acclimate, though I expect you in the dining hall tonight at sundown.”

It was a clear dismissal. “Thank you, my lady, you’re too kind,” Jaskier said as Geralt led him out of the room.

“No flattery,” she reminded him, but they were already gone.

Jaskier settled into life at her court like a duck to water. He did indeed have a talented tongue and fingers—which he proved the first time he sang for them, with a lute to accompany it. He bounced around the room, capturing the attention of all he met—he was impossible to ignore, loud and bright as he was, bedecked in jewelry.

Geralt had tried to offer him clothes when he first settled into his rooms, but Jaskier seemed more than content to prance around nearly naked. Geralt hated it—he complained to her, one night, that Jaskier was too distracting, pulling Geralt’s attention away. He took his duties very seriously—formerly a knight of Rivia, he now devoted himself to her with the same near-religious fervor, taking her protection upon himself.

It was sweet, if a little misguided. She could protect herself just as well, but it was nice knowing that he was there behind her, always ready to support her if she faltered.

“I don’t like it, Yen,” he said to her, late one night, as the fire burned down to embers in the hearth. They were curled side by side in her bed, sweat cooling on their damp bodies, Geralt occupying himself by playing with strands of her hair. “Unrest in Rivia is growing stronger—we could have a revolt on our hands before the harvest.”

“I’m not worried about Rivia,” Yennefer replied, waving a hand lazily. “Little more than whispers on the wind. King Reginald, gods spit on his soul, has too few supporters left to be any real threat. The rest either died with him in the coup or fled like the cowards they were.”

“I’m serious, Yen. Word on the street is that there’ll be an attempt on your life before the year is out.” A furrow creased his brow, his fingers growing tense in her hair. Gently, she disentangled them before lacing their fingers together.

“Is that not what I have you for?” she asked, a smile quirking her lips. He worried too much—his consternation was almost cute. “Relax. If any assault comes, we’ll be well prepared for it.”

“It won’t be anything as obvious as an attack on the city. Rivian forces are smart—they’ll send spies, or assassins, or both. You wouldn’t even see it coming.”

“If it will make you feel better, then you may begin vetting those in the court you find suspicious,” Yennefer relented.

Geralt hummed, his eyes slipping closed in satisfaction. She too closed her eyes, but the thought nagged at her—did she trust everyone in the palace? Most of them she’d known for decades—they’d worked under King Demavend with her, and had helped her overthrow him when he became too cruel to stand. She’d rewarded their loyalty with a place at her side, and they’d remained trustworthy through the years.

There had been few new arrivals since then—Geralt himself was among them, having joined her during the Coup of Rivia. And of course there was their newest arrival, Jaskier.

He seemed perfectly content in his new role. She had to admit it suited him well—he loved attention, and got it in spades when singing or when draped seductively next to her throne. He made good decoration, though she had yet to negotiate a more intimate role with him. She never held back from staring, though—and though he often caught her, he seemed pleased more than anything else.

Was he too comfortable here? It was true, he had settled in remarkably quickly—did he have a hidden purpose? But what use would King Vizimir have for a spy in her court, especially one as useless as Jaskier? He wasn’t present at any strategy meetings, or even privy to her company more than most. Perhaps he was an assassin biding his time?

Yennefer huffed. This was how paranoia set in—whispers and rumors crept in and set the mind aflame with possibilities until it drove itself mad. She resolutely cleared all thoughts of betrayal from her mind and tried to sleep.

Geralt commenced his investigation as soon as he was able, but Yennefer heard little else from him about it. She assumed that meant the search for traitors was proving unfruitful.

She interrupted him one day with a task at the southern border—there were reports of skirmishes breaking out, most likely bandit attacks. He departed with a promise to return by the month’s end, and she watched him leave with a pit in her stomach.

It wasn’t the first time they’d parted—so why was her stomach twisting so? Why were her instincts screaming that it would all go wrong?

There was nothing to worry about. She needed to take her mind off it, that was all. She went back into the palace and headed for the southern wing—where Jaskier’s rooms were.

“My lady Yennefer!” he greeted her happily, springing from his writing desk upon her entrance. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Then he paused, frowned. “Where’s your shadow? I can’t hardly think of a time I haven’t seen him hovering menacingly over your shoulder.”

“He’s away for the time being.” She motioned him closer, and he went as if reeled in by a fishing line.

“Luckily you still have me,” he replied, biting his lip. He was yet unsure of his advances—good. She would keep him on his toes.

“And would you give yourself to me?” she asked, stepping even closer, until there were scant few inches between them. “Let me have you?”

“In a heartbeat, if my lady so wished,” he breathed, leaning in. She didn’t wait for his lips to brush hers; she surged forward at once, attacking with brutal efficiency. The kiss was more a clash of wills than anything tender. To her delight, he didn’t simply let her plunder his mouth, but gave as good as he got, hands coming up to clutch at her dress. She pushed him away, and his face split with confusion until she pushed him again, back onto the bed. His hands fisted in the covers as she climbed on top of him, finding the clasps that would free him from the confines of the chains that draped over his body.

Soon she had stripped the gold and gems from his body, and at some point her own clothes had disappeared as well, and finally she was free to take him how she wished. He was a good lover, enthusiastic and skilled—his talents truly were as good as he’d made them out to be.

Her only point of contention came near the end, when he began to murmur sweet nothings into her hair, praising her and begging in turn. Even after, when they lay panting atop the sheets, he continued to weave pretty lies, complimenting her prowess and beauty until she rolled over and pinned him down.

“What have I said about lying?” she bit, but there was no real heat to it.

“And as I’ve told you a dozen times, I speak nothing but the truth,” he replied, “but if you wish my silence, well—I suppose you’ll have to find a way to shut me up.” He grinned.

She was gratified to see that he was no longer the deferential pretty thing that had been gifted to her, but had instead grown into his role here and thus felt comfortable enough to tease and prod.

In fact, as the days passed and they spent more time together, he turned downright annoying, at times, whining about how cruel silver was to his skin—did she know that he was one sixty-fourth fae? How it itched so—but gold didn’t go as well with his complexion, and really, he should be wearing sapphires, not rubies, since they brought out the blue of his eyes better…

Yennefer tolerated it with confused amusement for all of one day before she took his suggestion and found ways to occupy his mouth, just so that the inane chatter would stop.

She was almost disappointed when the day that Geralt would return drew near. She looked forward to his triumphant return, of course, but she was apprehensive of how he would react to her getting so close to Jaskier in his absence. She was lucky that she didn’t have to contend with jealousy from him—he simply wasn’t the type—but nor did she want him to distance himself from her, afraid of intruding on something new.

And though she’d succeeded, for the most part, at distracting herself from his absence, she couldn’t shake the sense of dread that still came over her at odd times when she thought of him. He was plenty capable; there was nothing to worry about, she knew, and yet that didn’t stop her traitorous heart.

As the days passed, however, with no sign of his imminent return—not even a letter—she knew her worry was well-founded. On the second day of the new month—two weeks since she’d last seen him—she resolved to ride to the border with all the forces she could gather.

Jaskier worried at her departure—“My lady, you would leave the palace so defenseless?”—but she would not be swayed.

“You’ll be fine. The city can protect itself; you need not worry about a thing.”

“It’s not myself I worry for,” he replied flatly, a moue of displeasure overtaking his face. He didn’t grace her bed that night, and she resolutely told herself she wasn’t bothered.

The sun rose early, and she with it, saddling her horse and donning her armor. The air held a chill, heralding the coming of autumn, though it was unusual so early in the season. As the morning mists in the fields began to burn off, she and her forces rode out, heading south.

They were scarcely a mile away from the palace when she spotted something on the horizon. She called them to a halt, sending ahead scouts to report on what the disturbance was. They returned in short order, shouting joyously—Knight Geralt was returned, unharmed, though he’d lost his men in the interim.

“Yen,” he greeted her warmly, pulling short his ill-tempered mare as he approached. She seemed especially ornery today, hardly responding to his commands, but Yennefer supposed that after weeks on the road, she would be ornery too. “Sorry I’m late.”

“You should be,” she answered, but couldn’t maintain her anger for long, not upon seeing him safe and whole. “What took so long? And where are the men who accompanied you?”

He frowned. “They’re not back yet? I’d thought they’d arrive first.”

“No, we’ve heard nothing since you left. What happened?” It was unlike Geralt to leave his men behind—his sense of chivalry demanded otherwise.

“It wasn’t bandits at the border—it was Rivian insurgents making trouble. Easy enough to mop up, but in the fight, I got separated. Ended up having to lay low for a few days in Spalla. I gave the men instructions to return to Vengerberg if anything went wrong.”

“Do you think they’re still out looking for you?” Damned loyalty. While she valued it, it often proved to be quite the pain in difficult situations.

“Could be. We ought to send another team out, round them up.” She was grateful that he didn’t suggest going back to look for them himself—she would have expected that from him, stubborn as he was, but she wasn’t ready to lose him again so soon.

She motioned over the captain of her guard, Ivenka. “Take your best fighters and track down our poor wayward soldiers.”

“Yes, my lady,” Ivenka replied. The party split; Yennefer and Geralt led the rest of the forces back to Vengerberg.

Upon their return, Jaskier launched into a rousing song of victory—if he was surprised to see them back so soon, he didn’t show it. Geralt bore the attention as he always did, with an uncomfortable grimace. Once the commotion settled, Yennefer pulled Geralt into her rooms for a full report on what he’d found at the Rivian border.

“The talk of insurgence was right. A resistance has formed, with more support than we thought. King Reginald had more friends than we knew.” Geralt delivered the bad news with no inflection, which was how Yennefer knew it was a grave matter indeed.

“A resistance? How strong would you say? Have they any support from the commonfolk?” That was how battles were won, Yennefer knew—it all depended on the attitude of the peasantry. If their favor had shifted against her, they could expect full-blown war within the year.

“Not yet, though they’ve changed the minds of a few. More than anything they’ve sown dissent—talk of crop shortages, of trade disturbed. Trying to make you out to be just as bad as Reginald.”

Yennefer cursed. “We need to head this off before it grows any worse.”

“Parley? They might be open to discussion—this incursion may have been a way to get our attention.”

Yennefer nodded. “Send a messenger at once,” she instructed.

Geralt inclined his head in acquiescence and left her to her thoughts.

He had been right about the coming rebellion—was he also to be believed about the rumored attempts on her life? She would have to keep her guard up.

They received the Rivians a few nights hence at a banquet, meant as both a display of wealth and numbers. The entire court was assembled, and the visiting party arrived wide-eyed and trying to hide it.

Yennefer herself was seated upon her throne in full gilded plate armor—everything but a helmet. Geralt stood beside her, arms crossed, a scowl writ upon his face, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. And on her other side, draped across the arm of the throne, was Jaskier, in his finest jewels and with a full face of makeup, not looking even a bit vulnerable though he wore almost nothing.

“Yennefer of Vengerberg,” the man leading the visiting party said, inclining his head in lieu of a bow. Beside her, Jaskier narrowed his eyes. “I am Gudros of Scala, and accompanying me are Velah of Hawksburne and Ozrias of Scala.” He gestured to the two behind him, who had so far stood silent and still, their expressions unreadable beneath their helmets.

“Vengerberg welcomes you,” Yennefer announced. “You may partake of food and rest from your journey. Once you’ve had your fill we may retire for more formal talk.” Gudros bowed his head again, and the feast resumed.

“I don’t like this,” Geralt murmured, barely audible over the voices and instruments overlapping in the hall. Yennefer glanced up at him—he looked torn, lips pursed and hands clenching and unclenching into fists.

“Keep an eye on them for me?” she replied. He nodded and slipped away—Yennefer looked forward to his report on what they were saying.

She was so intent on watching the Rivians that she hardly noticed it when an attendant approached with a tray carrying goblets of wine. “Milady,” he greeted, offering her a glass. She reached out to take it, but was beaten there by Jaskier, who snatched it out of the attendant’s hands before she could.

He grinned cheekily at her—this was almost too bold. She’d have to put him in his place later tonight. But she let him have it and reached for her own goblet, just as Jaskier took a sip of the wine.

The smell hit her nose as soon as she raised the glass to her lips. It was hardly detectable, but she’d learned a thousand and one ways under King Demavend’s reign to brew poisons—she recognized instantly the characteristic sour odor it held, the way it slid, oily, down one’s throat, the way it burned from the inside out.

She threw the goblet to the floor, heedless of the way that it shattered into a million pieces. “Geralt!” she screamed, wrenching Jaskier’s goblet from him—though it was already falling from his stiff fingers, his eyes bulging and his face reddening in mere moments.

Geralt appeared at her side instantly, as if he’d never left. Seeing Jaskier in trouble, he threw the consort over his broad shoulders and followed Yennefer as she fled to her old workshop—Goddess willing, she would still have enough ingredients to prepare an antidote, though it had been years since she’d set foot there.

The doors flew open under her hands, dust swirling about the room and cobwebs shuddering in the sudden breeze. Yennefer drew on the spark of chaos buried deep inside her, hardly used, but called forth in full force now. The torches flared to life at once, jars and pots flying off the shelves into her hands.

Geralt laid Jaskier down on the worktable in the middle of the room, now wheezing and coughing, spittle flecking his lips. “Yen,” he tried to wheeze, but she paid him no mind. She needed every ounce of concentration to prepare the antidote, something she hadn’t done in years.

“Mistletoe… wartweed… ground lichen…” she muttered, adding each ingredient in turn. The potion began to bubble, a haze descending on the workshop as it released puffs of smoke.

“Yen, he's not breathing,” Geralt called, and she cursed, stirring faster. Finally, finally, the sickly shade of green gave way to a deep turquoise, and then a solid blue. She rushed to Jaskier’s side, forcing his mouth open with one hand and pouring the antidote down his throat.

He convulsed, and, sensing that he was about to spit it up, she clamped his mouth and nose shut, putting her full weight into holding him down as his limbs juddered and jerked. But with no other choice, he eventually swallowed, his throat spasming under her harsh grip, and then he went abruptly lax.

She took her hands away, letting him breathe—it was a long, tense moment of waiting before he took an easy breath, no wheeze present. Yennefer breathed too, the tension lifting from her shoulders.

Jaskier’s eyes fluttered open. His gaze flitted around the room for a moment, landing first on Geralt and then on herself. “Yen,” he said urgently, struggling to sit up. “You’re alright?”

“Of course I am,” she snapped. “I’m not the idiot that drank poison.”

“Oh, thank the gods,” he sighed. “I mean, I had a suspicion, but I didn’t want to die for nothing—”

Yennefer froze. “You had a suspicion?”

“Well, yes,” he answered, frowning. “I highly doubted the Rivians were here under good intentions, and as Geralt has been saying, an attempt on your life was bound to come sooner or later, so—”

“You knew it would be poisoned, and yet you drank anyway? Why the fuck would you do that, Jaskier?” She dug her nails into the tabletop, itching to wring them around his neck.

What sort of fool would knowingly drink poison? Only the braindead or suicidal, and while Yennefer did hold his sanity in question at times, it still didn’t make sense.

He blinked. “Do you really have to ask? It’s as I’ve told you a thousand times in a thousand ways.”

No. No, he couldn’t mean—

“I love you, Yennefer of Vengerberg. I would, in fact, die for you, as we’ve proven.” He grinned. “Don’t say I never live up to my promises.”

While, yes, he’d said as much before, it still stunned Yennefer to hear it said so blatantly, and with such tangible commitment. She’d thought them pretty lies, the fanciful words of a jester that wanted only to flatter his lord.

Unable to come up with a response, she turned and fled. If she stayed in that room, she might end up saying or doing something she would later regret—whether that was wring his fool neck or have him right there on the table, she would never know.

So caught up was she in whirling thoughts of truth and lies, she didn’t notice Geralt was following her until she was nearly to her rooms. “I don’t want company right now, Geralt,” she said tersely, whirling around.

“We need to talk,” Geralt replied, stepping closer. “The Rivians—”

“Leave me alone!” she snarled, which was enough to make him pause, giving her time to dart into her rooms and slam the door behind her. She locked them with a fierce finality, relishing the heavy click that signified she was alone with her thoughts. She pressed her back to the door and her hands to her eyes, seeing the stars that burst behind her eyelids from the pressure.

If she could have but a moment to think, to sort out the mess of thoughts churning in her mind—but no, even now, she could hear raised voices, shouting, the clang of steel on steel. What kind of leader was she, cowering in her rooms like a confused animal, simply because of an ill-timed, unexpected confession of love?

She straightened her armor and drew her swords before opening the door and heading out to face whatever chaos lay in wait. As she grew closer, the voices grew more panicked, and she hurried her steps along until she was nearly running.

Jaskier came stumbling out of her workroom, looking worse for the wear and confused, searching for the source of the commotion the same as she was. “Go lie down,” she snapped. “I just saved your life. I don’t need you undoing all my hard work.”

“But what’s happening? Where’s Geralt?” he asked, craning his head. Then he spotted the swords she carried. “What do you need those for?”

She started to reply, and then—

An explosion. All-consuming, fiery hot, ripping her eardrums apart. She flew backwards and hit the wall, stunned. Through blurry vision, she saw Jaskier tossed like a ragdoll, slumped opposite her, bleeding from the temple.

Her ears were ringing; she blinked. Chunks of stone rained down on her like hailstones, a fine white powder covering everything in a thin layer of dust.

Slowly, slowly, her vision stabilized and her hearing began to return—the first thing she heard were screams.

Her people—she had to help her people. She tried to struggle to her feet, but it was as if her limbs were encased in plaster. She looked down and saw that a large chunk of stone was pinning her legs to the ground—with monumental effort, she lifted it off herself, grunting. She closed her eyes and breathed, in, out, and then staggered upwards.

She checked on Jaskier first—he had a head wound, bleeding profusely, but nothing more serious than that. She clumsily slapped his cheeks a few times until he roused, groaning, eyes squinting shut.

“Are you alright?” she shouted, her own voice hardly reaching her ears. He nodded, eyes still closed, and she left him to recover. Staggering into the hall, she took in the sight before her—it was as if a bomb had gone off, and maybe it had.

The entire hall was bathed in sepia-toned light, the torches guttering in and out in the wake of the blast. Chunks of stone and broken pieces of furniture littered the floor, which had fallen through to the dungeons below. To her surprise and immense thankfulness, there were few bodies—perhaps they’d had advance warning and had fled, screaming.

Four people stood in the middle of it all—she recognized Gudros, flanked by Ozrias and Velah. The fourth had hair as white as bone—“Geralt?” she called, and he slowly turned around. Wrong, wrong, wrong, all her senses screamed.

“Not quite.” He laughed, a chilling sound, unlike Geralt’s own rare laugh in every way. She knew then—this wasn’t Geralt. This hadn’t been Geralt for a good while.

“When?” she asked, though she knew exactly when. It had been that damned trip to the border. “Who are you? Really?”

“We are the rightful leaders of a free Rivia, and we would see her prosper once more, no longer under your bloody banner!” Gudros cried. “You have bewitched Rivia’s citizens. We’ll not see you reign any longer!”

“I’ve bewitched no one,” Yennefer snapped. “If you speak of your loyal knights turning against you—that was your king’s own doing, with his wicked deeds and cruel heart.”

“No! Geralt of Rivia was a good man—we’ll break whatever spell you’ve placed on him, right after we parade your desecrated body through the streets!”

Not-Geralt smiled, all teeth, and dropped the illusion—suddenly, he had changed forms, and now appeared as Yennefer herself. “You’re a doppler,” she said, teeth gritted. “What stake have you in this fight?”

“I’ve lived a long life, you know. To tell you the truth, I’ve grown rather bored with it—and what better game to play than this?”

“You’re sick,” Yennefer spat. “You’ve aligned yourself with murderers and oathbreakers.”

“Would you have me align myself with you, Kingslayer?” the doppler purred. “I see it all, you know—I’m in your head. I see how you kill, and lie, even to yourself.”

With a wordless yell of rage, Yennefer threw herself at the doppler, who met her swords with a sword of its own. It was an even match—perfectly even, with all her skill as a fighter reflected back at her. And with the other three Rivians advancing, it looked to be a quick end for her.

Her people would die, and Jaskier would be captured and most likely enslaved, and Geralt would remain captive to those who believed him brainwashed, subject to tortures as they attempted to break whatever enchantment they believed lay over him. And she would be brought up as an example, her dead body held up to the world to say: this is what happens to those who fight back.

She dodged the first swipe of Gudros’ sword, but it left her open for the doppler to press her back, putting her off-balance. Her foot caught on a chunk of rubble and she teetered backwards, falling to the ground, the doppler pouncing on her at once.

“Here lies the Raven Storm; blustered herself out, little stronger than a gust of wind at the end,” the doppler cackled. Yennefer looked into its eyes—her eyes—and braced herself for the end.

And then a chain looped around the doppler’s neck, choking, burning. The skin beneath the silver links smoked and cracked, blackening, the doppler’s hands scrabbling uselessly at the chain and burning too.

Yennefer looked up to see Jaskier standing tall behind the doppler, one of his many decorative body chains in his hands, his face creased in furious fierceness. Yennefer pushed the doppler off of her, rolling to the side just in time to avoid yet another blow from Gudros. She yelled inarticulately and stabbed upwards, piercing his gut through. Without bothering to check if he was dead, Yennefer turned to Velah and Ozrias, both of whom were advancing on Jaskier, swords drawn.

“Behind you,” she shouted, and he ducked a swipe meant to behead him. She darted over and shoved Velah away with a kick to the side, and in the same motion brought her sword up to parry Ozrias’ next strike. Behind her, she heard the doppler let out a guttural noise and collapse—hopefully dead—and out of the corner of her eye she spotted Jaskier trying to avoid Velah’s wildly swinging sword. He barely dodged the last one, and earned himself a neat score along his cheek, blood pouring forth from the small wound.

Luckily, Ozrias proved to be a rather weak swordfighter, and she killed him with a swift dodge and counterattack, cutting off his head in one swift motion. She threw herself in between Jaskier and Velah just in time, handily disarming her while Jaskier cowered and yelped behind her.

Pointing her sword straight at Velah’s throat, Yennefer demanded, “Where is he?”

Velah threw her hands up. “He’s in Spalla. Please, don’t kill me.”

Yennefer narrowed her eyes. “You hurt what’s mine.”

“Please, mercy—” She didn’t finish; she was dead before her body hit the floor. Mercy granted her a quick death, but nothing more. Not after kidnapping her right-hand man, her lover, not after bombing her palace and killing her people, not after hurting Jaskier.

Jaskier took in a deep breath, letting it out shakily. “Whoo. That’s enough excitement for me, I think. I need to sit down,” he said, and sat down right there in the middle of the wreckage.

Yennefer busied herself with cleaning her sword. “So you don’t want to come to Spalla with me?” she asked casually, and he sprang back up to his feet—albeit shakily.

“No, no, I’m in! Someone has to write sweeping songs of your victories there.” He paused. “Just, maybe, a moment to catch my breath? I’ve never really—ah—never had to fight for my life before. Never killed anyone, either. I think my body might be shutting down?” he squeaked, sinking to his knees. “My—my heart is beating so fast, gods, and my hands feel all tingly, and I’m shaking—”

“That’s the adrenaline,” Yennefer answered, kneeling down as well. “It will pass.”

“Good. Because this—well, is this what you feel all the time?” He looked up at her, a dawning sort of respect in his gaze.

She shrugged. “You get used to it eventually. But yes, more or less.”

“Color me impressed, then.” As they spoke, the color began to return to his cheeks, and his frantic breathing slowed, and his shaking died down. “Alright. I’m feeling better, I think.”

“Good,” she echoed, sheathing her sword and helping him up. “Because now we ride for Rivia.”

“To Rivia,” he repeated. “Hey, do you think Geralt will be impressed? Bet he’s never killed a doppler before.”

“Shut up, Jaskier,” she replied, but couldn’t hide the small smile that graced her face.

Her palace was in ruins, and Geralt had been kidnapped, and they were about to go to war with Rivia for the second time, but somehow she knew—it would be alright.

[to-many-towered-camelot]

content warning for antisemitism, murder, general awfulness

From Exegetical history: Nazis at the round table by Martin Shichtman and Laurie A. Finke

“The literature of chivalry, patronized by the same aristocracy that was so intent on expanding its territories, could not have glorified the knight as the agent of official state and church persecution. It had to displace that persecution into fantasy. King Arthur could hardly achieve heroic stature by riding around the countryside dispatching bands of peasants, lepers and Jews. As the representative of the forces of order and religion, Arthur must triumph over more menacing and hence more prestigious foes, as, for instance, when he defeats the Mont St. Michel giant on his way to conquer Rome (Finke and Shichtman, 2004, 97–102). Medieval Arthurian romances celebrated the hegemonic masculinity of the warrior at a time when those prerogatives were zealously guarded by rigorous training and arcane rituals of initiation. The events which Arthurian histories displace into such glorious exploits were much more mundane – and considerably more horrific. They included the persecution and massacre of defenseless heretics, lepers, Jews, sodomites and anyone else who, for whatever reason, threatened the political security of the ruling classes or held possessions desired by them (Moore, 1987). We argued in King Arthur and the Myth of History that medieval aristocrats used the genealogies provided by historical narratives of King Arthur to justify and promote their own, often oppressive, exercise of power [...] Chivalric narratives easily served the needs of twentieth-century fascists for markers of genealogical transmission and legitimation.”

and:

There can be little doubt that Arthurian narratives played some part in the Third Reich’s efforts to romanticize – perhaps even mythologize – itself. But it is difficult to determine whether those who fashioned the Third Reich genuinely believed themselves inheritors of knightly chivalric tradition or cynically invoked this tradition because it easily functioned to advance an ideology of conquest and hatred. A number of historians have attempted to force this differentiation – to determine whether Nazism transformed idealism into propaganda or simply was unable to distinguish between idealism and propaganda – and have found themselves uneasily positioned, reading Nazis as Nazis sought to read themselves (see Höhne, 1972, 153–155) [...] However, this differentiation may be beside the point, with the figure of the knight continuously at the heart of fascist desire because something akin to fascist desire was continuously at the heart of the figure of the knight, with a link between the organized, armored masculine aggression of the Middle Ages and organized, armed masculine aggression in the twentieth century.

and also (more in-depth discussions of antisemitism and murder under the cut, not graphic/detailed):

How much different is this Nazi knight from his medieval counterpart? The introduction of the Holy Grail into Rauschning’s eyewitness account reminds readers of medieval literature that romances such as Chrétien de Troye’s Conte du Graal, Wolfram von Eschenbach’s Parzival and the Queste del Saint Graal contain numerous references to Jewish responsibility for the crucifixion of Christ. While these references seem largely gratuitous, their repetition suggests that the authors of these texts were not only unreflectively mimicking medieval church doctrine. In glorifying the values of their knightly patrons by placing Christian chivalry in opposition to Jewish collective guilt, they reinforced popular beliefs about Jewish contamination – that Jews polluted wells and caused diseases like the plague, that, vampire-like, they murdered Christian children for their blood – and advanced a political agenda in which the condemnation of an already disenfranchised minority served to reinforce the power and authority of a hypermasculine military ruling class.

[...] Throughout the twelfth and thirteenth centuries – at the height of the production of both Arthurian history and romance – persecutions against Jews were carried out across Europe. Guibert of Nogent writes of the massacre at Rouen, where crusaders ‘herded the Jews into a certain place of worship, rounding them up either by force or by guile, and without distinction of age or sex put them to the sword’ (Moore, 1987, 29). Other massacres occurred in such places as Mainz, Cologne, Trier, Metz, Bamberg, Regensberg and Prague. In many of these cities, townspeople and sometimes clerics, at least initially, supported Jewish neighbors and assisted them in protecting property. As Moore notes, the massacres ‘were not the work of “the people” but of crusading armies composed of mounted knights and led by nobles’ (Moore, 1987, 117–118). The massacres were the work of those who commissioned Arthurian history and romance. Like their medieval predecessors, Nazis produced their own strategies for displacing their excesses into chivalric adventures. For Dwinger, Himmler and Hitler, knighthood promoted a genealogy of the blood and demanded the ruthless destruction of all those who posed the threat of contamination. Their notion of a knightly response to Jews – whom Hitler, even as he prepared for suicide, inveighed against as ‘the universal poisoner of all peoples’ – and other ‘undesirables’ included gas chambers and crematoria (Berenbaum, 1993, 191).

[scotianostra]

The second of our murder stories today......

On February 10th 1306, John Comyn, a leading claimant to the vacant Scottish throne, was murdered by his arch-rival, Robert the Bruce, whilst in a Dumfries church.

Forget Braveheart, far from betraying William Wallace, the Bruce was inspired by him and, after the battle of Stirling Bridge he realised that Edward’s army could be defeated and Scotland eventually freed from English domination, but how best to go about this?

Setting Scotland free  could not be achieved without an established leader and this would have to be sorted out quickly.

  There were really only two men who could step up and become King, John Balliol had been out of the picture for too long and by this time would have been about 60 years old, Scotland needed a younger, more ambitious monarch, only two men were ready, and able to step up, Robert the Bruce himself or his arch enemy John “The Red” Comyn.

  The two men were always at each other’s throats and distrusted each other completely.

The Bruce suggested that they could both meet in a church and discuss who should be the next king. With their supporters outside, the meeting took place by the high altar of Greyfriars Monastery, Dumfries. Nobody knows exactly what happened, but history tells us that Robert the Bruce murdered the Red Comyn in Greyfriars Monastery Blackfriars that day.

I like to dip into the old newspapers of the day, whatever the post, be it modern or like this ancient, and just like today they had their own agendas and bias, this was a typical English account

  Robert de Brus, aspiring to the kingdom of Scotland, sacrilegiously killed the noble man John Comyn at Dumfries (where the justiciar of the king of England was then sitting in the castle) in the church of the Friars Minor, because [Comyn] would not consent to his treasonable action. Robert de Brus junior, earl of Carrick, grievously killed John Comyn, the greatest man in the whole nation of Scotland after the king, because the same John refused to consent to the treason of the same Robert and of the Scots against the king of England There are also some fuller narratives that give details about what had been going on, or at least their version of the events.

  The first comes from a section of the Flores Historiarum written shortly after 1306 at Westminster Abbey – which of course was closely associated with Edward I.  

In it, The Bruce meets with various Scottish nobles, ‘first secretly and then openly’; he tells them that, as they know, his father was not made king because of Edward I’s trickery, but now, if theycrown him, he will wage their war and liberate Scotland. Many perjurethemselves and agree. But when he asks the noble and powerful John Comyn for support, Comyn ‘firmly replied no’ – ‘so he slaughtered him’ in the Franciscan church at Dumfries.

This narrative was expanded in the fuller ‘Merton’ version of the Flores, possibly written for Edward II’s coronation in 1307. In this fuller account Comyn is given an eloquent speech saying the king of England has subjugated Scotland four times, and all Scots, knights and clergy, have therefore sworn fealty and homage to him for both the present and the future; so ‘let me take no part in this – truly, I shall never give assent in this matter, lest I am forsworn’. They argue at length, until Bruce draws  sword and strikes the unarmed Comyn on the head; but the extremely strong Comyn tries to seize the sword from his assailant’s hands, and throws him down. However, the traitor’s attendants, rushing up to free their lord, stab Comyn with their swords. Comyn escapes to the altar; but‘Robert followed … and the impious and cruel man sacrificed his holy victim’. It is the most dramatic of all the accounts of the killing.

There are a number of other English versions of the murder, some written a decade or so later, they all believe that Robert Bruce was planning to become king well before Comyn’s death, which, though plausible is obviously based on hindsight.

  One thing that the English chroniclers all agree on is Comyn’s insistence on upholding his homage and fealty to the English king, basically he was happy to be ruled by an English king.  I have to say though, not just the English agreed with this, but it was only natural that the concept of the ultra-loyal, ultra-honourable Comyn was a vital piece of English propaganda against Robert I. Moreover, it would have been vehemently promoted by the rest of the Comyn kin, since the killing at Dumfries had transformed its members from leading upholders of the Scottish cause into dependent allies of Edward I who looked for his support in the bloodfeud with Robert I.

Okay enough of the English versions, let's look at what the Scots were saying and firstly we have The Scotichronicon (what a great name eh?)  by chronicler John Bower who was a canon and abbot at Inchcolm Abbey on the Firth of Forth, a great place to visit by the way!.

  In The Scotichronicon Comyn  is consistently and famously portrayed as agreeing to help Robert Bruce become king in return for Robert’s lands, and then betraying this agreement to Edward I, remember I said about this in my post a few days ago about Bruce taking Dumfries. Well reflecting on this, Bower depicts Comyn as overcome by ‘the spirit of iniquity’; in other words he is an agent of the Devil. It is a theme in these chronicles, on both sides of the border, indeed in Europe as a whole to make statements like this, or comparing men to biblical figures, remember these stories were all written by deeply religious figures.  The Comyns are shown to having a strong aversion towards William Wallace, for instance deserting him at Falkirk out of jealousy and ‘clear wickedness’.

  Gesta Annalia, an important medieval chronicle detailing our history also points to the famous crown-for-land offer between Comyn and Bruce going on to say  Comyn destroys this unity by betraying the agreement to Edward I, and that is why Bruce kills him. I have to say that this is the main gist of the story that I have understood to be true.

  Gesta's accounts again head in the religious directions saying that God makes his greatest intervention in Scotland’s wars etc, etc. He says Bruce decided to put the public good before his own private interests and therefore approached Comyn humbly with the offer and he is clearly acting under divine influence.  How does Bruce respond to God’s call? Only goes and murders Comyn in a church causing him to be excommunicated by the Pope!

  Of course the most partisan version that we have of what happened is from John Barbour, author of The Brus. In this it agrees with Gesta, and other Scottish Chronclers the Comyn had proposed the deal and offered to support Bruce's claim for the crown in return for all of Bruce's existing lands and titles.

None of the religious nonsense for Barbour, this version is much more secular, and when it comes to the actual killing, Barbour’s account is succinct and brutal;

Sa fell it in the samyn tid That at Dumfres rycht thar besid Schir Jhone the Cumyn sojornyng maid. The Brus lap on and thidder raid And thocht foroutyn mar letting 30 For to quyt hym his discovering. Thidder he raid but langer let And with Schyr Jhone the Cumyn met In the Freris at the hye awter, And schawyt him with lauchand cher 35 The endentur, syne with a knyff Rycht in that sted hym reft the lyff. Schyr Edmund Cumyn als wes slayn And othir mony off mekill mayn. Nocht-for-thi yeit sum men sayis 40 At that debat fell other-wayis, Bot quhat-sa-evyr maid the debate Thar-throuch he deyt weill I wat. He mysdyd thar gretly but wer That gave na gyrth to the awter,

To sum things up the best explanation the English sources can offer for the intention to kill his rival is Bruce's innate wickedness, which is an understandable attitude for them to take in the circumstances but not especially convincing. Gesta, Fordun and of course Barbour are going to be more sympathetic to King Robert. All make the explicit claim that a written agreement existed between the two that Comyn had broken.

To go back to Barbour’s poem, in it he exonerated Bruce's sacrilegious murder  as the just slaughter of a traitor. But this is no mere whitewash. The grave suffering which Bruce endures after his inauguration as king in 1306 represent a series of chivalrous and moral adventures in which Bruce proves himself worthy of his prize, but the murder, and it’s ramifications, that he was excommunicated, played greatly on his mind. You only have to look at the last hours of his life when he asked Sir James Douglas to carry his heart on a crusade, one which he was never himself able to take during his life due to the days events of February 10th 1310 in Dumfries.  

You can read the full epic poem The Brus here  https://www.gutenberg.org/files/44292/44292-h/44292-h.htm

[bthump]

What do you think would happen with Guts if he does manage to kill Griffith? I feel like if this driving force in his life would vanish he wouldn't really have anything to live for anymore. What about Griffith? We know little about his inner world, but would you just assume he would carry on with his Falconia plan? (I'm more interested in what you would like to see, than what would be likely for Miura to write lol)

With Griffith I think my favourite and most believable imo thing to see in like, a very bleak ending where he killed Guts, would be him continuing on with building his Falconia empire BUT with the implication that he missed a final chance to... move on from that and live a different, more fulfilling life? Even as NeoGriffith, like the idea that even then, after the Eclipse and after becoming a demon and then the incarnation of humanity and agent of fate, his life still wasn’t set completely in stone because Guts is a wildcard. Even after everything there was still a chance that they could come back together and find some more meaning and value in their existences, somehow.

Like, say there’s a 3rd duel and Griff has admitted to himself that he still has feelings and he sort of resignedly tells Guts he failed his test on the Hill of Swords after all during a momentary pause in their fight. (And you would be able to argue that he only told Guts to throw him off or w/e, bc it’ll be ambiguous, but really it’s because some part of him is still desperately reaching for some bridge across to Guts even if most of him believes it’s more than futile.)

And then it does fuck Guts up and he lets Griffith stab him because he tends to do that when he’s suddenly full of feelings, and you get a close up of Griffith’s eyes widening in horror, and when Guts falls he falls to his knees with him, then Guts dies and after a little while Griffith stands up and starts walking away.

Also there would probably be more ~True Light~ symbolism and stuff leading up to this duel to, yk, sell it. Like there’d be some build up, it wouldn’t just be suddenly feelings followed by death lol. But like, I think all you’d really need is Griffith admitting this to Guts (which, nicely, is also something he never did in the Golden Age so it’d have a bit of a conclusive feel to it) and Guts responding in a way that reveals his own feelings, and as far as I’m concerned the implication that they still have choices would be automatic. Though you could also supplement that with like, another blatant plot point showcasing apostle(s) that aren’t slaves to their monsterism, that even after a sacrifice you can still choose humanity, maybe Guts coming back from his armour without magical assistance, maybe more suggestions of certain people changing fate in small ways, all that shit that adds up to this overall vibe of missed opportunities.

And as for Guts, idk I can see a few different good possibilities.

I like the idea of Guts killing Griffith and then walking into a crowd of apostles and letting them kill him, the same way he did with the wolves after he killed Gambino but now his instinctive struggle to survive is gone and his suicide is successful.

I also really really like the idea of Casca being the one to kill him afterwards, and again maybe Guts letting her. In this case maybe with the implication that he and Griffith are the same, they both ruined Casca’s life entirely because of their obsession with each other (and there’s still room for Guts to clash with Casca further to set this up), and if Casca is cheated out of her revenge against Griffith then killing Guts is the next best thing.

But if Guts lives afterwards then I think what I’d like to see most is him becoming Skull Knight and/or Zodd 2.0, back to wandering battlefields and basically killing indiscriminately for no real reason other than it’s what he does until he can find someone strong enough to take him out. I think I actually might like this scenario best because it really emphasizes his whole ~throw himself into danger and struggle to live no matter what~ thing as a negative. And I think Guts dying/letting himself die would actually have more positive implications (dying as a human rather than a monster by putting down his sword finally, yk) that idk if I really want if he’s just killed Griffith.

ty for the question!

[talpup]

Summary: Yami Sukehiro just wanted to join the Magic Knights and make his mentor proud. He knew there would be trails. He knew trouble would come his way. Knew he would be faced with discrimination for being a foreigner and a peasant. What he didn’t know. Didn’t expect. Was that literal Chaos would come his way. That he and his mentor’s sister would be at the center of world ending trouble. Or that he would fall in love with his mentor’s sister and face more than discrimination; but the jealously of Nozel Silva who loved the same woman he did.

Please remember this fic is rated mature and has warnings of violence, abuse, sexual tension, sexual behavior, and other possible triggers. For a full list of story tags please check the fics AO3 (link to that at the top of my tumblrs homepage).

Sorry about the late update. My mom passed a few years back on Mother’s Day and last weekend hit me harder than expected. Please don’t feel the need to give any sympathy's. I’m not asking for that. Anyway, hope you all enjoy.

Chapter 98

“Light cannot exist without Darkness for without Darkness how would we...”

“Shut up!” Yami roared.

“...know what Light was.” The all too familiar voice finished.

Yami was sick of the voice. He hated it and wondered if he would instantly recognize the voice if he heard it out in the waking world. While it was similar enough to belong to the same person as the Crazy, Happy, Killer voice that spoke when he and Teris received the History of Chaos; it was also different enough for him to question if it indeed belonged to the same person.

Yami blinked remembering what he had forgotten from the last time the page of Chaos had contacted him. “You were right. The Future of Chaos wasn’t in labyrinth two hundred thousand—whatever.”

“The Future of Chaos is not to be found in labyrinth 297,353. The Future of Chaos has long since been taken and moved. Joined where it can be safe.” The voice said.

Yami puzzled at the word “joined”. But the voice was always saying strange things that didn’t make sense, so he instead focused on another question he had. “How did you know? How did I remember?”

Truthfully, Yami hadn’t actually remembered anything concerning his past dreams with the page of Chaos the night Alowishus had taken Teris and him into the labyrinth. But his distinct feeling that evening, the certainty he had that everything would be alright proved that some unconscious part of him remembered these dreams.

“You remember what you must when it is necessary. Even Chaos must bend to the will of Fate. You and the Light alone are destined to have the Future of Chaos. It is not meant for Death. Death cannot have it.”

“At least we agree on that last part.” Yami muttered.

“The time of Darkness is nearing. Your strength will rise in truth once the Light’s power reaches it peak and begins to dwindled.”

“You’re talking about the Summer Solstice. The days growing shorter and all. Not Teris’ actual power dwindling. Right?”

“The time of Darkness is nearing. Your strength will rise in truth once the Light’s power reaches it peak and begins to dwindled.” The voice said again.

Yami growled. The only thing more annoying than these forced communicative dreams with the page of Chaos, was how the voice repeated itself when it didn’t want to answer a question. Thinking of another question, Yami asked. “Why two years for my supposed rise of power? Teris didn’t have that.” Or did she, he wondered. There was no way to know for sure since they had known nothing about it until last years Summer Solstice.

“You must persevere least the world descend into Darkness. You must remember the Light and not consume it least your wrath fall upon the world.”

“Why would I forget Teris? What do you mean consume her?” Yami was disturbed by the memory of his, or more correctly the Darkness’ hunger for the Light and the way the Darkness had drawn the Light into its bottomless abyss.

“Light cannot exist without Darkness for without Darkness how would we know what Light was.”

“Shut up with that and answer me!”

There was a loud slam and slight reverberation that woke Yami up with a start. He sat up feeling groggy despite having gone to bed early. “I’m awake.”

Door still rattling on its hinges, Jax stormed. “I told you to be downstairs and ready to go before breakfast. Not only were you not downstairs but you’re far from ready.”

Yami shook off the disorientating fog of restless sleep, not feeling all there. “Just give me half a minute.”

Jax watched Yami roll out of bed and stumble, falling to a knee. “You’re not hung over, or worse still drunk are you?”

“Nope.” Yami pushed to his feet and sat on the edge of the bed, putting on his pants.

Jax watched a moment longer.

Yami’s movements became quicker and more sure as he pulled on and laced his boots.

Jax relaxed seeing his Vice Captain become less clumsy. “Did you do as I said? You’re not going to get into a fight with Nozel Silva if I take you, are you?”

“Depends. Braid Face gonna start one?” Yami asked, standing and grabbing the clean white muscle shirt.

“My only concern is that you don’t antagonize or strike first.” Jax said.

“I think I can manage that.” Yami grabbed the two belts off the bedpost, first putting on the sword belt Teris got him that helped hold up his pants and carried his grimoire.

Jax watched the younger man wrap the second belt around his waist. “About last night. I hope you understand my reasoning.”

“Would it change your command if I didn’t?” Yami asked, slipping his sheathed katana into place.

Sorry he had bothered trying to smooth any hard feelings, Jax wondered aloud. “You sure you’re good to do this? The questions Alowishus posed might be unnerving. Never mind what questions Nozel and Fuegoleon might've answered. I told you to work out this aggression you’ve been feeling and you’re still brimming with it.”

“Yeah, and who’s fault is that? You’re the one who said we couldn’t go out.” Yami said.

Jax sighed and turned away. “That’s it. You’re staying.”

Cursing his temper, Yami called. “Captain, wait”

Jax stopped at the closed bedroom door.

Resting his hands on his hips, Yami told. “I won’t antagonize or start a fight with the Royal Ball of Pride. You have my word.”

“I’m holding you to that.” Jax told.

98.2

Walking out of Healer’s Hall with Randall beside him, Fuegoleon found Teris waiting outside. Stepping to his cousin, the Crimson Lions Vice Captain embraced her in a tight hug.

“Leon. I can’t breath.” Teris croaked.

“Deal.” Fuegoleon told, his hold loosening slightly when his still healing wounds complained. Eyes closed in relief and gratitude, shame began to fill him. He didn’t care what anyone said. It was his fault. The Agents of Chaos had used him to get his cousin to comply with their wishes.

Releasing her, Fuegoleon gripped Teris’ shoulders. “Never scare me like that again. You hear me.”

“Scare you? You’re the one who--” Teris stop, unable and unwilling to verbalize the truth. Fuegoleon had almost died. If they had gotten him to the healers just a few minutes later… She shook away the terrible thought and hugged him again.

“Leona said you came by yesterday.”

Teris pulled away and nodded. “You were asleep. I didn’t want to disturb or tax you.”

Fuegoleon almost argued that he would've gladly given up rest to see her; but he didn’t. The visit from the Crimson Lions had taken a lot out of him. But he had endured it. As Vice Captain, he had to show the Crimson Lions he appreciated their care and efforts. More than that, he had to let them see that he was well and able to continue his duties to serve the Kingdom, its people, and the squad. After what had happened to Quince and the lingering un-healable injury that had left the previous Vice Captain unable to return to duty; Fuegoleon felt it necessary to reassure any fears or questions the squad had about him. Once his report was written and he was fully debriefed, he would go out on a mission and waylay any lingering doubts the squad might secretly have about his fitness.

Fuegoleon smiled gently. “I’m just glad you’re alright.”

“There you go stealing my line, again.” Teris smiled back.

Fuegoleon’s smile faltered. After what had happened during last years Summer Solstice, he had feared that the Agents of Chaos might’ve had something similar planned for Teris and Yami this time too. When Mereoleona had told him about the labyrinth and its missing contents, Fuegoleon’s relief had been overwhelming. Still, he had betrayed his cousin; breaking down and answering Alowishus Spade’s questions when they had begun torturing Nozel to make him speak. He was hardly mad at Nozel for his own worse state because the Silver Eagle had remained silent so much longer than he had. If anything, it added to Fuegoleon’s shame.

Teris saw Fuegoleon’s expression change and shook her head. “Leon, don’t. If you or Nozel had...” She swallowed unable to bear the thought of a world without either of them. Still, she knew something of the guilt Fuegoleon was feeling. She had been there too often herself. Staring up at him, she told. “If you really feel so terrible about it, I’d be happy to give you a penance.”

Randall stepped forward incensed at Teris’ unbelievable nerve.

“Anything.” Fuegoleon said, head lowered.

“You have to promise to do as I command.” Teris said, eyes hard and piercing.

Randall opened his mouth to call a stop to this; but before he could speak, Fuegoleon replied.

“Just tell me how to make this right.”

Teris gripped her cousin’s arm. “Forgive yourself. Don’t beat yourself up over this. You’re ashamed at being taken by these crazies. Yami and I have been abducted and set upon so many times it’s embarrassing. You feel bad for being used. I’ve been used by these lunatics far more than I care to admit. You feel as if you betrayed me. I nearly destroyed the four kingdoms and beyond during last years Summer Solstice. Talk about betrayal.”

Fuegoleon shook his head. She didn’t understand.

“They were torturing your best friend, Leon. I would've answered any question they posed if in your place.”

“I should have been stronger. Held out longer. Nozel managed to.”

“And then Nozel would have been just as bad off as you were, if not worse.” Teris argued.

Fuegoleon exhaled, knowing she was right. It had been an impossible situation. Perfectly planned to be one.

As if reading his thoughts, Teris said. “Alowishus knows what he’s doing. He’s planned this for who knows how many years. Mana knows how many people he has helping him see it through. Using our love and care against us is what they do. They think it’s a weakness, meant to be exploited and manipulated. But it’s our strength. It’s why we go on and won’t break. Why we fight and won’t lose the war, no matter how many battles they win against us.”

Fuegoleon nodded. “We’ll beat them.”

“Do you forgive me?” Before Fuegoleon asked what she meant, Teris went on. “For our argument. For my slapping you. Do you forgive me?”

If it had been a normal argument, Fuegoleon would’ve said I don’t know, then asked if she forgave him. But their fight had been far from normal. And given what had led to it, jokes of ladies undergarments and learning Yami had taken one of Teris’ unmentionables. With the matter still unresolved, he definitely would've insisted that Teris promise to get the garment back, and probably would've demanded that she also distance herself from Yami or at the very least have some decorum where the man was concerned. But this encounter with the Agents of Chaos made issues even as important as that feel insignificant; at least at the present.

Overcome, Fuegoleon pulled Teris into squeezing hug. “Always.”

98.2.2

Teris had a light breakfast with Fuegoleon and Randall at a nearby cafe. Through an unspoken agreement the two cousin’s avoided mentioning Yami and Nozel, neither wanting to cause another argument. After, Teris made her way to Magic Investigations for a meeting with Marx.

Entering the building, Teris recognized the Counter Clerk Manager but didn’t recall his name. “Good morning.”

Axus looked up from his book. “Is it? Hadn’t noticed.”

“That it’s morning? Or that it’s a good one?” Teris questioned, smiling.

Axus’ lips twitched upward. Scowling, he pulled them back down into their usual frown. “What do you what?”

“If you would please inform Marx Francois that Teris Nova is here for our meeting.” Teris said.

Axus scrutinized her a moment, acting as if he didn’t recognize her from before. “You’re Lord Julius’ sister, eh? You look nothing like him.”

“He doesn’t make you call him Lord Julius, does he?” Teris questioned, humored.

“No one makes me do anything.” Axus snapped wondering when he had begun to show the Azure Deers Captain such respect. He turned away. “Give me a moment to call up Marx.”

“There’s nothing I have to fill out or sign for today's visit?” Teris asked.

“Not this time.” Axus said, setting down the communication crystal.

He wondered what Marx could be doing with Julius Nova’s sister that he had asked for her visit be kept off record. Axus didn’t really care. All that mattered was that Marx had asked a favor and it never hurt to win points with the person who would likely be the next Wizard King’s Advisor; especially when you liked and trusted them more than the current Advisor. There was also the case of barrel aged whiskey Marx had given him for the favor…

Axus’ lips smacked at the thought of the nine beautiful bottles waiting for him at home.

Teris lifted an eyebrow. She had found it curious waking up to find Marx had sent message requesting her to meet him at Magic Investigations this morning. Marx struck her as someone who liked to plan well in advance so the spontaneous meeting seemed odd. Adding to the wonder of it was the timing; Nozel was being debriefed at Magic Knights Headquarters at this very moment. And now she didn’t have to sign in when all visitors had to do so, unless they were the Wizard King or Magic Knights Commander.

The two turned at the sound of a door opening.

“Thank you, Axus.” Marx stayed at the door behind the front counter.

Teris gave the Counter Manager a departing smile. “Thank you.”

Axus didn’t know if it was her cheery demeanor or the fact that she remembered he existed once she had gotten what she wanted; but he found his lips tugging upward again. He pulled them back down with a grunt and inclined his head.

Teris followed Marx down a long hall and up several flights of stairs.

Marx opened a final door for her and entered behind, closing it shut. He gestured to the rectangular table. “Please, have a seat. I’m sure you’re wondering why I called you here.”

“To show me something you couldn’t take out of here?” Teris guessed.

Marx paused in his trek around the table.

Teris shrugged a shoulder. “Why else would you ask for a secret meeting here when we’re having a secret meeting with everyone else this evening? That’s what this is, isn’t it? I didn’t have to sign in, and I’m sure Advisor Ellara is sitting in on Nozel’s debriefing which is going on right now.”

Marx blinked, mildly impressed by her deduction. He blinked again when Teris changed the subject with barely a pausing breath.

“Have you figured out who might've moved the Future of Chaos? Or where they moved it?” Teris asked.

“Magic Investigations is working on that. As are Julius and I.” Marx sank into the straight backed chair across from her. “Are you disappointed the Future of Chaos wasn’t in the labyrinth?”

“Hardly. Alowishus would’ve got it.”

Marx shook his head. “That’s not what I meant. I mean do you want the Future of Chaos?”

Teris frowned. “No. The History of Chaos has been more than enough trouble. I’d be crazy to want to add to it. Even if, when, we’ve moved passed this mess and done away with the Agents of Chaos; I still wouldn’t want the Future of Chaos. It’s too much responsibility.”

“What if someone else were to find it?” Marx wondered.

“I’d feel sorry for them, but glad that stupid prophecy was wrong and it wasn’t Yami and me.” Teris answered, without hesitance.

“But wouldn’t you at least want to have a look at it?” Marx asked.

“I admit my curiosity can be comparable to Julius’. It’s certainly seen me get into enough trouble over the years. But when it comes to the Future of Chaos, I have no interest in ever seeing the thing. I’d probably be like Yami and have ignored the History of Chaos if it weren’t for the possible help it could be in dealing with the Agents of Chaos and figuring out their plans. Not that it’s been any help.” Teris griped under her breath.

Marx wondered if maybe that was why Yami and Teris were destined to have the Future of Chaos. Because neither one wanted it or its information. While Marx may not have wanted the burden of having such a thing in his grimoire, he had to admit he had a great desire to see and read the piece. Destiny was a funny thing, he thought.

Getting to the matter he had called her for, Marx said. “You’re half right. I did ask you here because I wish to show you something. Sadly my magic does not allow me to copy such things as detailed as drawings or images, or I would’ve done that and waited till our meeting this evening. But the reason for showing you doesn’t involve you so much as what you have. The History of Chaos.”

Teris straightened in her seat, interest peaked.

“Captain Jax once mentioned he overheard you ask the History of Chaos about the Master of Master’s and Alowishus Spade.” Marx said.

“Not that it’s done any good. The ink just swirls around on the page then says insufficient image.” Teris grumbled. At least after seeing Alowishus Spade for the first time, she understood why the page of Chaos had said such a thing, unable to display his ever changing image.

“Have you ever asked it about Yurist?” Marx questioned.

Teris blinked, mouth falling open. Yurist was the one who had written both the History and Future of Chaos. How was it that she had never considered asking the page about its author?

Seeing her expression, Marx sighed. “Are all the Nova’s guilty of ignoring the painfully obvious? Or is it just you and Julius?”

Teris bristled; but held her tongue.

“Please do so when you get a chance. For now,” Marx pushed a long, wide, leather clad folder across the table toward her, “please look at that and ask the History of Chaos.”

“Ask it what? What is this?” Teris pulled the hard backed folder closer.

“It’s a small portrait that was found in the ruins of an unearthed city. The team of Magic Investigators assigned to the task have been focusing on what we believe use to be the building that once held Yurist’s lab.”

“Why haven’t I heard of this!”

Marx tilted his head. “Do I know of every mission you Magic Knights go out on?”

“No but--”

“Even Magic Knights Commander Greywright doesn’t know every assignment Magic Investigations is working on. You, Vice Captain, certainly have no right or expectation to know everything that goes on in this division.”

Teris’ shoulders tensed even as they hunched, her form shrinking.

“For your information, I came in before sunrise this morning to learn a fellow Investigation Mage had unearthed that.” Marx inclined his head to the still closed folder. “Which is why I sent you message asking you to come, not knowing when Advisor Ellara would be away again to give us chance for you to see and question the History of Chaos about it.”

“Sorry.” Teris mumbled. She was so use to people, especially her superiors keeping secrets from her and Yami about matters that concerned them that she had assumed this had been more of the same.

“We do not know who the couple in the portrait is, though a number of us here have theories.” Marx said.

“So you want me to what? Look at the picture and ask the History of Chaos about the people in it?” Teris asked, not understanding why. “It doesn’t work that way. It only answers questions about the history of Chaos.”

“If that were true why would it attempt to show you the image of Alowishus Spade?” Marx questioned.

“And fail, saying insufficient image.” Teris retorted.

“If all the History of Chaos did was just strictly cover the history of Chaos why would it even make an attempt at showing you the image of Alowishus Spade or the Master of Master's? However old Alowishus Spade is, I truly doubt he’s old enough to have been alive during the time of Chaos’ reign and defeat which brought about Order.”

Teris frowned, having never considered that. Her eyebrows pulled together, wondering at Marx’s pointed question. Shadows of fragments flinted through his mind trying to coalesce and puzzle something out, but something else pieced together first.

Teris’ eyes lifted to Marx, realization dawning. “You think the portrait is of Yurist.”

98.3

Yami found Teris out at the Saber Wolf pens. His appearance announced by the beasts long before Teris heard or saw him.

“I’ll have you know I had to use my mana sense to find you. What are you doing out here?” Yami almost asked if she wanted to go for a ride, but remembered Jax’s order and bristled.

Teris gave No Name the signal to return to his kennel. “I thought we agreed not to do that unless necessary.”

“When I’d still be walking around searching for you, I consider it necessary. It’s a stupid agreement anyway.”

Teris latched the kennel gate. “Privacy is hardly stupid.”

“If there’s no secrets between us why the need for privacy?” Yami half teased.

Teris turned to him, questioning brow raised. “Do you really want to know every time I go to the baths?”

“Do you really have to ask?” Yami grinned, lewdly.

“Yami.” Teris scolded, lightly. Blushing, she closed the gap between them, burying her face in his chest.

Yami chuckled, holding her to him. “Let me see that pretty blush, Princess.”

Teris shook her head, burrowing deeper into him. It was stupid, but she suddenly became emotional about what happened during this mornings meeting with Marx. Her arms tightened around Yami, seeking his soothing strength. She didn’t even know what she was so distressed about. It wasn’t like the History of Chaos could have been talking about Alowishus. No one could be that old. Then again the man did use corpse magic. And when had anything surrounding Chaos or the works Yurist wrote not spelled some kind of terrible for them.

Yami looked down at the top of her head, growing serious. “What’s this?”

Teris shook her head again.

Yami frowned, a sudden swell of anger bubbling inside him. His teeth ground together, muscle in his jaw ticking in cold burning rage. His arms tightened around Teris. He couldn’t even say what he was so mad about. All he knew was that Teris was upset and he wanted to obliterate whatever had upset her. Pressing his lips to the crown of her head, Yami’s eyes slipped closed. He took in a deep breath and slowly exhaled, soaking in Teris’ calming warmth. With effort he forced his fisted hands to relax and uncurl; reasoning with himself that he didn’t even know if it was something or someone he could hit.

“Teris. What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing.” Teris mumbled against Yami’s strong chest, praying that it truly was nothing.

“Look at me and say that.”

Teris lift her head at Yami’s tone. He sounded angry. But when her eyes met his there was nothing but love and concern.

Yami caressed her cheek. “Talk to me, Ikigai. Tell me what’s wrong.”

98.4

Iban paused in plucking mushrooms and looked at a bird flying overhead. Unlike the other creatures of the forest, the Jay wasn’t startled away by the slithering presence of the person who stalked closer. Odd, since Jay’s were rarely seen without their mate nearby and Iban’s keen eyes hadn’t seen the flashier male.

Leveling his head, Iban turned to the stalking presence. “It doesn’t matter how quiet you are. I always know when you’re about.”

“Why haven’t you mentioned that the Darkness within Yami had reach such strength so soon?” Ellara demanded, getting right to the point.

“I figured your plaything would have told you. Whether he wanted to or not.” Iban said.

“I’ve used Olsen far too much of late.” Ellara told, angry she had been forced to use him at all.

“Is that not what he is for?” Iban questioned.

“What’s it matter to you what I use him for? It’s you who had a deal with the Master.” Ellara said.

“A forced deal to stay out of your way and not interfere with your Master’s plans, or tell anyone anything I know.” Iban said.

“And have you kept that deal?” Ellara asked.

Iban thought of the bit about his family's past that he had told Yami, and what little he had told Jax three weeks ago. Clearly the vow of silence Alowishus had forced him into seemed to think he had kept the deal since the people he cared about were still alive.

Iban wondered if the Captain had found the journal he had told him about. The journal that had belonged to one of the earlier Agents of Chaos’ Masters. The Master who had battled and lost to the Clover Kingdoms last light magic user before Teris. Jax had returned five days after Iban had told where he might find the journal only to leave with Yami and Teris shortly after returning. It wasn’t as if Iban was going to ask the Captain if he had found the thing. He had tested Jax enough with his comments about Bronn the day he revealed what few secrets he could. He had certainly tested the binding vow and jeopardized his loved ones enough.

Looking at Ellara, Iban answered. “My family's existence depends on that deal. Your Master made sure of that.”

Ellara glared, not trusting him.

“Though was such care necessary when a simple traitor could turn himself in and confess all your Master's plans? No doubt your puppet Sir Jorah, along with Magic Knights Commander Greywright and countless others know all about your Master's plans by now.” Iban said.

“As if the Master is careless enough to let a low level follower know his plans.” Ellara shot back.

“Do you know his plans?” Iban asked, pointedly. “Wife and follower you may be, but people like your husband and Master hold all sorts of secrets. Like how to kill a traitor from afar.”

Ellara’s eyes widened. After Greywright had stolen point in dealing with the traitor Flic, she had returned to her office and sent word to Alowishus. Her Master's brief response had been clear. She was to stay well away from the prisoner. When Flic had died yesterday evening, she knew Alowishus had been the cause; but figured he had sent some other follower to infect or slowly poison Flic.

Iban’s golden eyes seemed to glow in the heavily shaded forest. “I know a dark magic decay spell with I hear of its symptoms. It is a slow, terrible way to die. Does your Master have a piece of all his followers? How did he manage to get each of you to willing hand a piece of yourselves over?”

“What do you mean?” Ellara asked, breathless.

“I suppose your Master or some loyal follower could have been lucky. Found some bit of Flic’s person to use for the spell. But Alowishus Spade does not strike me as the type of person to leave things to luck. If I were to guess, I would say it came in the form of an initiation ritual for joining the Agents of Chaos. It is how I would have done it. Something easily done and given with little to no question, and soon forgotten about in the joyous rapture of family found and collective cause.” Sensing Ellara’s quickening heartbeat, Iban cooed. “Do not beat yourself up, Advisor. You are hardly alone in being tricked into willingly, if not happily giving up a piece of yourself. How many other fools—excuse me, followers have joined Alowishus Spade’s supposed cause?”

“Shut up!”

“I doubt he would do to you what he did to that traitor. You are his honored and beloved wife, after all. If he would harm you, what hope does anyone else have of being spared?”

Ellara sneered. “You’re a snake hissing nothing but lies. Twisting and turning peoples words and deeds. Now unless you wish to see the Darkness within Yami bleed out and start to effect him. Tell me just how bad it is.”

“If I am such lying snake who does nothing but twist and turn peoples words and deeds, why would you believe anything I say?” Iban asked.

“Do you want the power within Yami to consume him? The Darkness inside is greater than expected.”

“Greater than you expected.” Iban corrected. “I knew from the start that Yami Sukehiro was more than just a vessel for the Darkness. As to your question. No. I do not wish to see the Darkness consume him. The world would end if it did. Which makes me wonder why your Master wouldn’t want that. Isn’t that the purpose of all this? To end this existence in the foolish hope of beginning the next? Unless that is not his true goal.” Before Ellara could speak, he went on. “As for how bad it is. The Darkness in Yami is already bleeding out and affecting him. He has been more volatile. Angrier than usually. Possibly even more desirous of Teris and the Light that is inside her.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? The deal--”

“The deal made with your Master does not include feeding you information. That is something you tried to force upon me. I went along with for a time because it was fun and suited me. But I have long since grown weary of it. If you want such information, try affecting your plaything. Not that you will get anything of use. Olsen has little care unless it is for life's beauty or the romantic. Even if he were around more, he would not see much.”

Ellara raised a brow, realizing. “You’re protective of your sole friend.”

“Hardly.” Iban silently cursed, unable to make himself believe the lie let alone convince her of it.

“So Iban Halvor does have a heart. Interesting.” Ellara would've been glad to have something to use against the Blood Mage. But her own care for Olsen wouldn’t let her hurt him to force Iban into anything.

Iban watched Ellara turn around and step away.

“The Darkness within Yami cannot overtake him before it is time. We will handle it.” Ellara said.

It was an effort for Iban not to use his magic to end the woman then and there. Thankfully she used her transportation charm and disappeared before his control was tested further. No longer in the mood to be surrounded by life and fresh air, Iban looked down at the basket of harvested herbs and mushrooms. He didn’t have all he needed for the brews and potions he was making. But he had enough to get started.

Waving a few bees away, Iban headed back to the base.

98.5

Seated in his bedroom, Bran’s eyes cleared. Even though the encounter he had witnessed had happened deep inside the property’s forest, he turned to the closed door half expecting to see Iban standing there.

Comments are VERY MUCH appreciated and really make my day. Thank you to those who have left hearts. And a special THANK YOU to those who have recently commented or re-blogged. It really means a lot.

Next chapter snippet:

“Yami is not the concern here. It is Teris. At this rate she will not survive the Ritual of Darkness. If she doesn’t grow stronger the Darkness within Yami will kill her and the Light inside her with it.”