#the land is NOT all destroyed and blighted its fine there actually :)

[maythedreadwolftakeyou]

How Things In Ferelden Actually Went Down During The Events Of Dragon Age: Veilguard

[The Inquisitor, Leliana, Cassandra, and Vivienne at one of their regular catch-up meetings, all lounging on cushions together and drinking tea]

Inquisitor: Aaaaand done, with this next missive to send to the Veilguard! Leliana, please have it delivered via your sloppiest of spies. Maybe take 2 or 3 copies that can get conveniently lost along the way, for the Venatori and Antaam.

Leliana, reading the letter: Really? You're making it sound as if Ferelden is doomed. Yes there've been skirmishes, but nothing near what we saw a decade ago. We don't have nearly as many darkspawn as they're seeing in the north, and Orzammar is silent because they have started another one of their councils that last for months, not because they've fallen.

Cassandra, snatching it to read next: What? Yes, the armies of Orlais and all our chantry support is kept busy at the moment, but hardly the level of devastation you're implying.

Vivienne: What are you up to, Darling?

Inquisitor: Well the last time the world went to shit none of them came down to help us. Just let them think we're too busy to offer more assistance, it's fine. They can manage.

Cassandra: Shouldn't we at least give them our intel on Solas?

Inquisitor: I'll handle it, Morrigan said I can pop over through the eluvian and be back for dinner.

Inquisitor: Besides, they got Varric killed. I'm not risking anyone else.

[anneapocalypse]

Dragon Age: Last Flight

Last Flight is the fifth novel in the Dragon Age series, written by Liane Merciel and published in 2014, just two months before the release of Dragon Age: Inquisition. Through the framing device of a mage refugee at Weisshaupt finding a hidden journal, the story explores the Fourth Blight 450 years ago, and the true story behind the extinction of the Grey Wardens' legendary griffons.

At 300 pages, this is the shortest of the Dragon Age novels (not counting Hard in Hightown which in our world at least is technically not long enough to be a novel). I do not think this is the strongest of the novels—I think it has some lore issues in particular, and its characters are on the whole less memorable. At the same time, I think it does add a lot to the canon in terms of establishing history and contextualizing in-game events. So this entry will be an exploration of both the book's weaknesses and its strengths.

This entry will contain spoilers for the whole story as well as for some bits of Dragon Age: Inquisition.

The Blights

This is going to involve a lot of preface before we actually get to discussing the book, but bear with me!

I think Origins does a good job establishing the stakes and scope of the Blight and the need to unite the land and all its people to face it. The darkspawn feel like a real threat, the Archdemon is scary, the Deep Roads hold secret horrors which add additional scale and dimension to the darkspawn threat. As the game progresses, you watch the Blight creep across the map, and some locations become inaccessible as they are overrun. It's solid worldbuilding for a stock fantasy epic. That the Blight doesn't really extend outside of Ferelden is fine for this story, because the scope of the game is Ferelden, and it is well established that if the Blight is not halted here, it will spread to the rest of the world. It feels as big as it needs to for the story Origins is telling.

So it's interesting to learn later that the Fifth Blight is actually the shortest Blight in Thedas's history, canonically ended within a year and never spreading outside Ferelden beyond a few isolated darkspawn outbreaks.

If you read all the Codex entries when you played Origins for the first time (which I definitely did not), you learned that the First Blight lasted nearly 200 years and nearly collapsed two civilizations. Both the Tevinter Imperium and the dwarven empire were devastated by the Blight and would continue to decline even after its defeat. This of course can be accounted for by the fact that at the time, no one yet knew how to kill an Archdemon. Every time Dumat was slain, it would be reborn and the Blight would rage on, until at last came the creation of the Grey Wardens, and eventually Dumat was permanently killed.

With the Second Blight, they cut that down to 90 years, and by the Third Blight it was down to 15, and then 12 for the Fourth. A decade of war is still devastating, but it's not civilization-destroying on the scale of the First Blight.

There are reasons for the Fifth Blight being ended so quickly, beyond our heroes getting really, really lucky at the Battle of Denerim. (If Riordan hadn't managed to damage the Archdemon's wing, grounding it atop Fort Drakon, or if all of the 3-4 wardens present had been killed before its defeat, Urthemiel very well might not have been killed that day.)

For one, the Fourth Blight is said to have wiped out so many darkspawn that some believed they would never return, and it does seem to have taken them quite some time to replenish their numbers again. More than 400 years passed before the next Blight arose, and over time it must have felt more and more unlikely that another would come. It becomes easier in that context to see how the horrors of the Fourth Blight fell out of common memory, and how the Wardens fell out of favor, especially in Ferelden—which was not even a nation yet at the time of the Fourth Blight.

For another, it is revealed in Awakening that the Fifth Blight was actually begun by the Architect's failed attempt to perform his modified Joining ritual on Urthemiel in order to prevent further blights, resulting instead in Urthemiel being corrupted and rising as the next Archdemon. It's never explicitly stated in canon, but my guess is that had things taken their "natural" course (if such a thing can be called natural), the darkspawn might have amassed much greater numbers by the time they found and corrupted Urthemiel, thereby delaying the Fifth Blight but making it ultimately more devastating when it occurred. So I think it's possible that the Architect's interference, even though it failed in its goal, might still have saved lives.

The Fifth Blight was so short that we didn't witness the full extent of what darkspawn invasion does to the world over time, and this we get to see in more detail in Last Flight: barren ground, dead crops, sickly animals and children, even deadly storms. Sickness and starvation kill more people than darkspawn swords. A Blight is war, famine, and plague all rolled into one.

Weisshaupt and the Anderfels

One thing I was very excited about in reading this book was getting to see Weisshaupt Fortress firsthand, as previously we'd only heard about the famed Grey Warden headquarters secondhand. By extension we also learn a bit about the Anderfels.

Our point-of-view character for the present-day frame story is Valya, a mage from the Anderfels' Hossberg Circle, arriving at Weisshaupt with a small group of fellow mages seeking refuge from the mage-templar conflict quickly spreading across Thedas. With the Fifth Blight ended, the Weisshaupt Wardens are in no great hurry to put new recruits through the Joining, and instead put them to work helping with research in the fortress's library, sorting through old documents from the previous Blight.

In said library stands a memorial to Garahel, the Hero of the Fourth Blight, which I thought was pretty neat. It was also cool to learn that it was an elf who killed the last archdemon, and we'll learn more about Garahel and even more about his sister Isseya, our point-of-view character for the Fourth Blight storyline.

We also learn that the Weisshaupt Wardens are investigating intelligent darkspawn like the Architect, which is not very relevant to this story but was a piece of continuity I appreciated.

We are told, from Valya's point of view, that "no one, absolutely no one, save the truly heroic or the truly desperate, wanted to become a member." I think we already know just from what we've seen in the games that this isn't strictly true. But I also wonder if it's more true in the Anderfels—if the cost of becoming a Grey Warden is more common knowledge here.

Similarly we are told in the flashback part of the story, from Isseya's point of view, that "Everyone who had ever heard of the Grey Wardens knew that someday the darkspawn taint that the Wardens absorbed during the Joining would overwhelm them." So… perhaps that was common knowledge at the time of the Fourth Blight? It certainly isn't in the south in the present day, though again it might be in the Anderfels.

We're told early on that "By tradition, the Wardens took only one recruit from each Circle of Magi in Thedas." One at a time only, to be replaced when they die? Does this apply all the time or only in peacetime? I have no idea, and it isn't explained further.

At one point in the frame story some letters arrive at Weisshaupt, and it seems the Wardens of other nations write to Weisshaupt for supplies, which seems a little inefficient, frankly, given the sheer distance and difficulty of travel. On another note, the unnamed arl requesting a personal guard after his wife insisted she saw a genlock in the cellar amused me greatly, because I could just imagine the arl going to the poor beleaguered Warden-Commander of Ferelden and being told that if he really wanted his own personal contingent of House Wardens, he was more than welcome to write to Weisshaupt and ask for them.

In this story that Ferelden has a new Warden-Commander, which I believe lines up with the default world state BioWare uses for the novels and comics, in which the Hero of Ferelden is dead.

I think this story is especially compelling in how it establishes some of the terrible choices the Wardens have had to make in order to save the world. An early sequence in the flashback portion involves the Grey Wardens facing the cruel reality of choosing who to evacuate from Antiva City. Nobles have land, armies, and coin to aid in the war effort. Peasants have nothing to offer and will be left to die, and though the Wardens find this distasteful, they don't have enough time to save everyone, and this influences Isseya's decisions later on. The hard choices the Wardens must make are a major theme and I think one of the strongest aspects of the story.

Additional Worldbuilding

It was also really cool to see more of Antiva, which is where the Fourth Blight began. Antiva City on Rialto Bay sounds just beautiful, and that's sad when you realize you're seeing it just as it's about to be destroyed. Antiva was caught off guard by the Blight and quickly overwhelmed, and then the darkspawn spread south into the Free Marches which were not nearly unified enough to mount a proper defense.

They rebuilt after the Blight, of course, and I really hope we get to see Antiva City in-game one day and that we get to see more of it than we saw of Val Royeaux.

I do wish that we got some effort put into showing us that the fashion of the Exalted Age was different than what we see 450 years later, but nope, from what is described it appears to be exactly the same Origins-era fantasy-medieval aesthetic. On the other hand I am pleased to see the story acknowledge that language would have changed over the centuries.

Lore & Continuity Issues

Caronel is a Grey Warden side character in the present-day storyline. He is memorable mainly for the fact that I was immediately suspicious of him as soon as he said he became a Grey Warden during the Blight in Ferelden. This makes no sense unless he either left the country and underwent the Joining elsewhere, which is strange since Ferelden is where the Blight was, or he didn't actually join until the Blight was ended, which is also strange because the Ferelden Wardens desperately needed rebuilding after the Blight given that they only had 2-3 people left and their first group of reinforcements from Orlais were slaughtered to a one at Vigil's Keep within six months. I honestly thought Caronel was lying, like he was some kind of proto-Blackwall, and that either he hadn't yet joined or was concealing his true origins for some juicy reason. But nope, it just never comes up again and never pays off.

There is some very weird stuff in this book about aravels, the wheeled wooden "landships" Dalish clans use to move from place to place, drawn by halla and able to move swiftly through the forest through magic. Her limited knowledge of the Dalish and their aravels leads Isseya to devise a similar scheme for evacuating civilians from cities threatened by darkspawn, using modified boats and griffons. This is clever, and an interesting plot point.

The first weird thing is that Amadis doesn't think aravels are real. I can accept that perhaps she's never seen one, having perhaps never encountered a Dalish clan. But aravels are universal among the Dalish, and according to their Codex entry, so well-known to humans that their approaching flags are considered a warning to stay away. I guess it's possible that in Exalted Age, the Dalish maybe have been scarce enough in the Free Marches that their aravels might have become mere myth, but it's weird, and I'm not sure why it would be true.

The second weird thing is that these characters (and by extension the author) seem to believe that aravels fly. As in, fly high in the air, like a sleigh drawn by reindeer. This cannot be true. Halla are not winged creatures; they don't fly. (Unless we're counting that one glitchy halla in the Brecilian Forest.) Aravels have wheels on them. Humans call them landships, not airships. I don't even consider this to be debatable; it has to be a mistake, and I parse it as a misreading of the Codex entry, where "flying through the forest" is a figure of speech and "the sails of our aravels flying above the tops of trees" pretty clearly has to mean that the sails are visible above the trees as the aravels pass, not that the entire aravel is literally flying.

That Isseya decides to fly the refugees to safety using magic and griffons is all well and good, but to suggest that Dalish aravels fly… it's just a mess, and there's no way that was supposed to be canon from the start.

And then there's the blood magic lore, which is getting its own section.

Blood Magic

The blood magic lore was probably my biggest issue with this book. I can write off Caronel as a liar, I can write off the flying aravel nonsense as these non-Dalish characters having misconceptions about aravels. The blood magic stuff has much greater ramifications to me, because it touches the very fabric of the universe.

The first line that caught me off guard was "Blood magic required considerable sophistication." I thought, really? Because it sure seemed in Dragon Age II that a mage in a fit of desperation could just cut their hand with a knife, spill their blood, and immediately summon demons. This was never indicated to be a school of magic that required "sophistication," whatever that means, especially when it is so often a last resort of the desperate.

It also appears in this story that to control someone's mind with blood magic requires drawing their blood, not just any blood. While this would make sense in and of itself, I am not sure whether it lines up with what we've seen elsewhere, as the general attitude seems to be that if a blood mage is about, anyone they've had contact with could be in danger of having their mind influenced. Ordinary people could be mistaken about this, but not templars, whom we've heard speak of the dangers of blood mages being able to control the minds of those around them.

But I was really pulled up short by the part where Isseya picks up on Calien using blood magic, and confronts him:

"You're a blood mage. I can see when you're casting spells without touching the Fade."

This is where I stopped and said: Wait, WHAT?

This is… there is just so much to unpack about this, and more you think about it the less sense it makes. If blood magic doesn't touch the Fade, wouldn't that make it less dangerous, and not more, if there is no contact with the realm of demons? Why does blood magic attract demons if it has no connection to the Fade? If blood magic doesn't touch the Fade, why does it thin the Veil, which we know to be true because it's a very important piece of worldbuilding for the entire series?

Furthermore, the Fade is supposed to be what gives mages their abilities in the first place. It's why dwarves and Tranquil can't do magic. If blood magic has no connection the Fade, then dwarves and Tranquil and anyone else should be capable of performing blood magic.

The book even kind of contradicts itself on this stuff later, because we see Isseya reaching for the Fade as she prepares the blood magic ritual to Join the griffons. In the most explicit example, when she uses blood magic to enter a griffon's mind to find out what's killing them, we are told, "She grasped the Fade." So does blood magic touch the Fade, or doesn't it?

Thing is, this piece of lore is... sort of? maybe? affirmed by Solas in Inquisition, when he says that blood mages have more difficulty entering the Fade. (Never mind that Merrill never seems to have any trouble entering the Fade during "Night Terrors.") Which is not exactly the same thing as "Blood magic doesn't touch the Fade," but it could be related. So, I think there is something to this, regardless of how confusingly it's presented in this book.

I think what we ultimately have to take from this is that using blood magic makes it more difficult to enter the Fade in spirit, but… also potentially makes it possible to enter physically, if enough blood can be spilled to tear the Veil open. Why that is the case, I don't think we yet have enough information about the Veil and the magical qualities of blood to say. Maybe we'll find out. As for blood magic touching the Fade, I think the point is supposed to be that blood is a separate source of magic from the Fade, not merely a fuel for it like lyrium (which is also a kind of blood, but we're not getting into that here). It's just not handled very well. And as for what is required for mind control... your guess is as good as mine.

(Tangentially, there's also mentions of the Archdemon creating some kind of magical vortex in the sky during battle, and Isseya notes that its power does not come from the Fade. This I think ties into the face that darkspawn draw magic from the Taint, not from the Fade.)

Initially I just hoped all the blood magic stuff would be quietly forgotten along with flying aravels, but having realized some of it was confirmed in later canon, I think that much at least is here to stay. So I don't think the blood magic lore here is entirely erroneous, but the way it's presented is kind of a mess.

General Writing Weaknesses

Very embarrassingly, when I returned to this book about a month after finishing it to do this write-up, I could not remember the name of the present-day point-of-view character. (It's Valya.) This is not a problem I had with any of the other novels, and I think it's representative of the fact that a lot of the characters just weren't as memorable or compelling. The one I remember best is Isseya, and it's not because she had a particularly distinct or engaging personality but because her actions were central to the story. If pressed, I don't think I could really tell you anything deeply personal about most of the side characters, and despite them being from different time periods, I kept getting Calien and Caronel mixed up to the point that at one point I forgot Calien wasn't a Grey Warden.

And in such a character-driven fandom, I think the unmemorability of these characters is born out by the fact that I'd never heard of any of them or the book itself before I started actively seeking out every piece of Dragon Age media in existence. I've only ever been on the edges of the wider Dragon Age fandom and I'd heard of, for example, Rowan and Fiona and Rhys and Michel, at least in passing before reading their books; I've never heard anyone talk about Isseya or Valya.

While the frame story of the mage and templar refugees sets the story clearly in the time period right before Inquisition, I don't feel like it particularly serves this story, which is not about the mage-templar war, and the references to it, including the tension between the refugees at Weisshaupt, don't really go anywhere or have any payoff. Valya didn't need to be a Circle refugee and her companions didn't need to exist, basically; all they do is add more superfluous characters who don't matter to the story. Isseya's journal could have been discovered by any Grey Warden initiate who was both a mage and an elf, and I actually think it could have been more interesting to see the story of how the Wardens wiped out their own griffons through blood magic unfold through the eyes of someone who's already undergone the Joining and has that sunk cost in believing the Wardens heroic and good.

Valya suspects that the story the Chamberlain tells her about how the griffons died out is a lie, at a time in the story when she still has no reason to suspect that. It throws some intrigue to the reader, sure, but from a character point of view it's not believable, and Valya is too underdeveloped a character for it to make her seem smart. Instead it just feels like the writer wants you to know there's more to the story.

And then there are just some language issues I have with the writing, things that I think it behooves anyone writing in a fantasy genre to be aware of. There is always a certain level of suspension of disbelief required for fantasy, and all language derives in some way from the cultures it arose from and reflects the world in which it's used, but if the origins of a word are too obviously not of the fictional universe, they become immersion-breaking. I call this "the Brussels sprouts" problem. In a fantasy world where the country of Belgium and the city of Brussels do not exist, you cannot have a vegetable called Brussels sprouts. You can have that vegetable but you can't call it that without risking the audience's immersion. In this cases, the author uses the adjective "spartan," as in "a spartan respite." Most people know what Sparta was and who the Spartans were, and this word absolutely does not belong in Dragon Age.

There's also this one simile, "studded with arrows like a ham stuck with cloves," that stuck out to me, not because it was out of place in the universe necessarily—Thedas has pigs and it has spices, fine—but because it just seemed kind of uncreative to me. Like, oh, I guess people in this fantasy world with dragons prepare and eat ham exactly the way we do. Cool, I guess?

Merciel also has kind of a problem with unnecessary epithets.

In this book Dragon Age continues to be sort of iffy with its portrayal of transgender characters. They arguably did finally do better with Krem in Inquisition, but this is something that in general the franchise has a history of fumbling (see my post on the first three graphic novels for more on that). This book has a character named Lisme, who seems to be what we would describe as genderfluid. A huge deal is made of Lisme's presentation being dramatic and costumey, which seems both highly impractical in wartime and not necessary to establish the character's genderfluidity. I mean don't get me wrong here, if Lisme wants to dress up like a drag queen to fight darkspawn, I for one support her, but I also question the choice to write the character that way, as well as to have the narration tell us that no one knew "which was the truth" like his gender presentation is a lie. For a franchise that prides itself on the inclusion of LGB characters, Dragon Age has been sort of behind the 8-ball on trans representation, but the trend at least does seem to be an upward one--and I hope that continues.

There are couple of issues I'm going to mention which also apply to other Dragon Age books and so it's going to seem like I'm singling this one out unfairly. If I ignored them in previous books it's because they weren't enough of a distraction to take me out of the story, but they were still present and I will mention them briefly here.

We do set up the obligatory het romances real early; this is a thing in nearly every Dragon Age novel (hats off to The Masked Empire for breaking that mold) and while I wasn't invested in most of the characters, I did enjoy the thing between Amadis and Garahel, which of course ends in Garahel's heroic sacrifice. (Amadis despite not getting a ton of character development was still probably my favorite character in the book.)

There are moments in these books when it feels like the writer grabbed at the first name that popped into their head without thinking about why it popped in there. Like Asunder having a major character named Adrian mention an Enchanter Adria who never appears or comes up again. Or in this case, a character name Fenadahl, not to be confused with the elven Tree of the People, the vhenadahl. I understand that in real life sometimes people have similar names, and sometimes names sound like things, but in a book it's distracting and if you don't have a reason to do it and you aren't going to lampshade it in some way, you should probably avoid this sort of thing.

This is a small thing but it also represents a hole a lot of franchises seem to fall down as they age and expand, and one I fear Dragon Age is also succumbing to: the pressure to utilize characters that fans have heard of before. (I think this is way more of an issue in Inquisition and some of the comics, but that's another entry for another day.) In short: I know fans like to hear familiar names, but Brother Genitivi does not need to be the only human historian in all of Thedas. There can be other scholars who have written books. Mix it up a little.

Strengths!

I want to go out on a positive note, so let's finish with some more general things I liked!

While it initially feels a little dramatic the way Valya finds the super secret Grey Warden journal by following a hidden message on an old map to a secret hidey-hole in a stone wall, instead of just finding the journal in a trunk full of Fourth Blight stuff no one's had time to sort through, it does turn out to have been hidden that way for a reason, and specifically so that a mage and an elf would be most likely to find it, so that worked for me.

I mentioned that Amadis is my favorite character and it's mostly for this:

"Who are you?" Isseya asked. "You're not just an Antivan lady. Not by the way you handled those blades." Amadis laughed. "You must not know many Antivan ladies."

She goes on to explain that she's not actually Antivan, she's from Starkhaven, but it was a great line all the same.

The battle descriptions are great! I tend to find the battle scenes the most boring parts of these books, but this was an exception. The griffon-mounted battles were really fun and exciting. It becomes clear in this story how much differently a battle feels when you're not even trying to kill an Archdemon at the moment, only escape.

Blood magic stuff aside, I also like the way Merciel describes mages doing magic as reaching for the Fade, opening themselves to it, weaving threads of magic and so forth. It's more visceral than Gaider's descriptions ever were, and makes more vivid what it might feel like to do magic in this universe.

I liked the mention of the Wilds flower from Origins that can cure blight sickness (at least in Mabari), and it makes sense that it would sound like a fairy tale in the north because the flower doesn't grow there. That was a nice piece of continuity.

I think it works well that Valya knows the outcome of Isseya's story before we do, allowing for some foreshadowing in the frame story, with Valya saying "She did terrible things" before we know the extent of those things.

And I like the griffons! I like the descriptions of them, the bonds they have with the Wardens and their individual personalities, and I cared about them enough that I was genuinely sad about the sickness taking them even when I knew from the start that they were all going to die. The surprise came from the discovery of the hidden, magically-warded and unblighted eggs, and the revelation that griffons are going to return to Thedas! That's very exciting to me!

Final Thoughts

I think Last Flight is one of the weaker of the Dragon Age novels, but I still think it's valuable for some of its worldbuilding, and particularly for its portrayal of how much the Blights have cost Thedas and what has been sacrificed to stop them. It's almost unfair to compare it to, for example, The Stolen Throne, which had no continuity to break when it was written, and while it also didn't have the strongest characters in the series, their proximity to the first game automatically added interest to their story. Last Flight comes later in the series and thus has a lot more continuity to build on, and I can appreciate the added challenge of that, even as I wish the lore had been vetted a little more carefully. It doesn't have the strongest characters, but I can appreciate it as a world-driven story more than a character-driven one, even if I think that's a little out of step with the rest of the series.

It's not my favorite, but I enjoyed it and I think it's worth reading.

Addendum

More recently, I watched Ghil Dirthalen's video series about this book on YouTube. She noted some of the same issues I did, and she added one piece of context in particular: Merciel wrote Last Flight on a pretty tight deadline. She also shares a few quotes from Merciel from the old BSN forums, offering some lore-questionable justifications for certain writing decisions, and also mentioning that she hadn't read World of Thedas when she wrote the book. (Ghil also catches some lore issues that I didn't, so really, you should go watch her videos, part of her Book Emporium series; it's good.)

And given that this book doesn't actually set up anything that happens in Inquisition, I'm not sure why it was so important for BioWare to publish it when they did; it could just as easily have come out after the game. But that time limitation probably explains a lot. And knowing that just confirms for me that we probably shouldn't favor this book over other sources of lore where they conflict.

[paint-lady]

for the tabletop ask meme, I guess I'm most interested in 5 and 15

5.) Which system did you grow up with?

Answered here, but no worries. I actually didn't play a ttrpg until I was in college: pathfinder 1e. I played pretend, I played with my siblings, I made up games and rules all through my childhood.

15.) Your most epic death.

I self sacrificed a one shot character and then also got petty revenge on all the other pcs that were rude to her.

It was the first game I played with my Exalted ST. And it was not exalted. We were playing Dread. John had pulled or crafted this one shot for a bunch of the other touring actors and technicians. When we started, there were 13 players. If you know anything about how to play dread- that number drops quick.

Dread is a game played with a Jenga tower. To preform skill checks, the Storyteller asks the players to pull blocks from the tower. The more pulls, the more difficult the task. As the tale goes on, the tower gets less and less stable. If the tower falls on your pull, your character dies. However, there is an interesting extra mechanic- and I'm not certain if this is Dread itself or if this is something he incorporated. If you knock over the tower on your turn on purpose, you will still die- but you succeed at the task in the best way possible in your moment of self sacrifice.

I was playing a Junkrat Pilot with a love for little space rodents (space hamster jokes here). I dont even remember her name. All I do remember is that our group had hired her to fly the ship to this base that had appeared. They wanted to investigate what it was. Normally, she would never have taken this job. But 30 million parcoins- up front... that feeds her and the rats and fuels the ship for a year.

Transit was rough. The passengers that paid her were often outright rude, sticking their noses into private quarters, and one definitely ate one of the space hamsters. She was angry. But- 30 million.

When we finally arrived, the scholar and historian recognized what this base was. It was a terrible weapon. A la the Death star, It possessed some sort of laser But when fired it does not just make the massive planet explode. It changes the molecular structures of the atmosphere and crust (if it has one). This utterly blights the land and suffocates living things that need to respirate. Once done, it can harvest the organic matter that had expired. And once that's done, can harvest the energy at the core of the planet (if any).

Most of the people that come on the trek decided that they had to figure out a way to destroy this awful thing.

Junkrat pilot was adamant about staying with the ship but our Blight Star superweapon had a security system- a microbial and macro one. The micro one initiated. The interior air lock gates slowly began to shut, and the crew dashed to safety. I barely made it out, barely sliding under the door, watching the Jenga tower wobble with each pull. We turned and watched as other crew members crumbled and molted from whatever was released.

Macrobiome security measures initiated.

There was a skittering. Something lurked in a room over. Upon entering, we could see the fine strings that coated everything in a sticky substance. Junkrat ran her finger along the threads, it easily sliced through her skin. The threads were razor wire. The skittering became a chitter, as an enormous spider with spindly glass-like legs approached us. A vibrant purplish venom salivated from its pincers, it was excited for new prey.

Run.

You can't.

Our shoes had become tangled in these sticky sharp threads. The party began to delicately try and pry themselves free.

The tower wobbled.

The scholar takes his feet from his shoes and daringly leaps back to the door. He almost crosses the threshold, just barely unable to jump the full distance. Wires tear at his skin. His feet now pour blood, leaving red stains where he walks.

The tower wobbled. The spider steps closer.

The mechanical engineer sacrifices a finger to pry her shoes free from the webs. The spider excitedly gobbles the clean cut appendage- hungry for more. While its distracted, the mechanical engineer looks to the soldier and the pilot. She could carry one to safety if they stepped out of their shoes.

The tower rocks as she pulls a block.

But... it steadies.

The Mechanical engineer apologizes and rescues the soldier, hoping the brawn could keep them alive for whatever other horrors lurk in the next room over.

There are two others needing to cross the threshold. I'm gazing at the listing tower, held steadfast by three blocks- knowing I'd have to pull one. I look at my storyteller. He is excitedly pretending to be a spider.

I steel my nerves. And knock over the tower. Pieces crumble and scatter. John is beaming with that storytellers evil grin.

Junkrat pilot tangles herself in webs and feels the wires dig deep into her as she purposefully squirms. The spider crawls towards her, jaw unhinging. The wires tighten, slicing through bone. The two others escape, and shut the door behind them.

My storyteller looks at me and asks, "do you have any last words?"

And I smile, a little choked up but relieved because for me- it was over. "I have the keys to the ship in my pocket. Good luck getting home, fuckers."

[ordinaryschmuck]

Here's my idea for a drabble. Kikimora is desperate for the chance to take Hunter down, so desperate she tries to team up with Luz. Luz agrees and Kiki is so crazy she doesn't even realize she's being sabotaged at every chance

The Long Game

Luz whistled a happy tune as she walked to the Owl House. Willow was helping Gus find a new club, and Amity needed to head straightaway to work, so it was a rare occasion that Luz was all by herself when leaving Hexide. Not that it bothered her. Her friend's and girlfriend's lives were important, and it's not like Luz needed to be near them twenty-four-seven.

Besides, if put into a dangerous situation, Luz can easily protect herself without anyone else being by her side for protection.

That is until a giant gloopy hand took Luz by the leg and pulled her through the trees.

"Gah!" Luz screamed, pulling out an ice glyph and freezing the hand that held her. Ice surrounded the goopy form, and it shattered instantly with a good kick. After tucking and rolling onto the dirt, Luz spun around and pulled out even more glyphs at the ready, glaring at the source of the goop. Only to feel frozen herself as she stared right at an Abomiton. Which just so happened to have a certain passenger on top of its shoulder.

"Well, well, well," Kikimora said threateningly, "If it isn't Luz, the Human."

"Kikimora!"

"Yes, it is I. The most respected and feared member of the Emperor's Coven! And you, Ms. The Human, have caused a lot of trouble while you were here. Initiating jailbreaks at the Conformitorium, causing excessive damage to Hexide, testing illegally made weapons from Blight Industries--"

"Technically, the last one's Odalia's fault."

"--and CRACKING my poor, innocent Emperor's mask with a spear of ice, no less. Any one of those offenses should land you in years of imprisonment. But doing them all at once? Those are crimes punishable by extreme measures! And I should, on good conscience, eliminate you right now for all that you have done!"

Luz gulped, remembering how well a fight with an Abomiton went the first time.

"...But I'm not going to," Kikimora simply stated, shocking the human girl in the process.

"Wait, what?"

"You see, I require your unique assistance."

"...Again, what?!"

"We have a common enemy, you and I. The insufferable and downright annoying menace that is the GoLdEn GuArD..."

"...You mean Hunter?"

"Is that his name?" Kikimora blinked out of her anger, "Huh. Never cared to check."

"Personally, I wouldn't say Hunter's my enemy," Luz shrugged, "More like an occasional inconvenience. Although he did try to kill my girlfriend..."

"Ah-ha! You see? Common enemy."

"Yeah, but so have you! And-and you almost petrified Eda. If anything, you're more of my enemy than Hunter is. In fact, why should I help you when we could fight instead?"

"So that you'll go free instead of forcing me to do this." The coven witch then snapped her fingers, to which the Abomiton punched a tree in half on command.

"...You make a convincing argument, Ms. Kiki."

"Thank you," The demon in question clapped her hands and allowed the Abomiton to gently put her on the ground so she could walk up to Luz. "Now, I have a question for you, Ms. The Human: How do you do it?"

"...How do I do what?"

"You and your ragtag team of riff-raff have faced the GoLdEn GuArD several times and still manage to live to tell the tale. I'm curious about how someone such as yourself could manage such a feat."

"Dumb luck?" Luz shrugged.

"That can't be it. Nobody is that lucky this many times. There must be a secret, and I must have it so I can destroy that brat once and for all!"

"Wouldn't Belos be mad that you killed his right hand?"

"Yes, but that can be future Kiki's problem. Current Kiki just wants the pleasure of holding his bloodied corpse in her hands while laughing maniacally. I even practiced my laugh. Watch:"

And as the little demon got lost in her evil laughter, Luz got lost in her thoughts.

On the one hand, she didn't want to die at the hands of an Abomiton.

But on the other, she didn't really want to kill Hunter. He's a jerk, sure. But that doesn't mean he had to die.

'If only there was a way out of this...' Luz thought.

"Hey!" Kikimora yelled, her laughter ended. "Are you going to help me, or am I going to have to destroy you?"

At that moment, a lightbulb of an idea came to Luz's head.

"Ms. Kiki," she grinned, "How good are you at playing the long game?"

***

Two weeks later, Luz was walking back to the Owl House, this time with her best friends and awesome girlfriend at her side.

"So, how's the magic chess club going, Gus?" Luz asked.

"It's going really well! The strategy, the warfare, who knew it would all be so much fun!"

"And out of curiosity, how is magical chess different from regular chess?"

"Well, you see--"

"Luz the Human!" a high-pitched voice screeched, bringing the group to come to a halt. Standing ahead of them was Kikimora, a top of an Abomiton's shoulder.

"Kikimora!" Willow shouted.

"With an Abomiton!" Amity added.

"Again," Luz said with a groan, making the others look at her with shock. "Ugh, hang on. I'll deal with this."

Surprising the trio of witches even more, Luz strode up to Kikimora and her Abomaton, more annoyed than terrified.

"What's wrong this time?" she asked.

"He refused the cake you told me to bake him!" Kiki complained, "He kept saying that he wasn't stupid enough to eat something that was clearly poisoned."

"Was it actually poisoned?"

"..."

"Kiki..."

"Of course it was! How else am I supposed to kill the GoLdEn GuArD if I keep doing this stuff to befriend him?!"

"I told you, you're killing him with kindness," Luz explained as if she was talking to a child, "By becoming his friend, he will slowly learn to trust you to eat something you made him. Just as long as you put of poisoning it for, well, let's say a couple of years."

"But I don't want to kill him in a couple of years! I want to kill him now!"

"It's called the long game."

"I know..."

"If you know, that why do you keep complaining?"

"..." Kikimora let out a groan. "FiNe..."

"You see, that's the spirit. And remember, the best way to make a friend is to talk to them. Ask what he likes and what his interests are, and he'll be easier to sway."

"I suppose so. Carry on, Ms. The Human."

Luz cleared her throat.

"Er, I mean, Ms. Noceda."

"Thank you."

And with that, Kikimora commanded her Abomiton to walk away, with Luz walking back to her trio of slackjawed witchlings.

"Sorry about that," Luz said to them, "For someone so dangerous and insane, she's really not the brightest ball of light casted. Still, I'm hoping after a few years of faking being Hunter's friend, she'll at least, you know, become his friend. Am I right?"

"...You are...something else," Amity was the first to say.

"Aw, thank you," Luz cooed, "Now, Gus. Magic chess. Is it, like, the pieces kill each other, or do the witches simply move the pieces by magic?"

[lilyclawthorne]

Escaping Expulsion Thoughts (once again very stream of conscious-like while i rewatched the episode so there’s a bunch of stuff here)

i fucking knew odalia was gonna be an oracle, i knew and i hate that for her family. i’m not sure if this necklace thing is specifically a form of oracle magic or not but im assuming it is, and either way the second i saw it happen that made my stomach twist. the fact that she just keeps this direct line to her daughter at all times feels so disturbing

so, i get that the joke with glyph lessons here is that eda and lilith are probably acting the exact same way they did when they were younger, but it does also feel a little odd for me. in my post for episode 1 i talked about how it felt like lilith probably missed the structure of the coven, and maybe even having an authority figure, and it does concern me a bit that it could be projected on to luz here. 

also, i saw someone mention that they thought lilith could be regressing a bit, which is interesting seeing as she’s been in the coven since basically being a child and now that she’s out, she could be going backwards because that was probably the last time she had a personality of her own instead of one that was carefully crafted to be socially acceptable for others. and to be fair, the few moments in season 1 when we see glimpses into the true lilith, she is pretty childish.

anyways lilith has such pretty handwriting i love it

gus!! witch puberty!! do not worry buddy eda will get your name eventually. probably.

amity went out and murdered those fairies for luz didn’t she

i need to know why the heck bump has no choice in the matter of the expulsion. typically a pta (or pca in this case) wouldn’t have power that much stronger than the principa?? so i wonder if the blights have something over bump, or if its even just something such as donation money they’d withdraw

odalia blight you gaslighting bitch “I’m appalled you’re not in class right now what are you thinking” YOU MADE HER COME HERE

PLEASE i know gus and willow are sad here but the whole “live off the land” thing and “water you one last time, with my tears” are so fucking funny ok

GO LUZ, YOU TELL OFF ODALIA

i feel like alador doesn’t really care what’s going on and just wants to be back home making his abomination inventions, also he seems to have an affinity for different creatures as well which is an interesting detail

i love that willow stated they would get back in on their own right in front of alador and odalia. these people fucked up her friendship and caused her a lot of trouble that she shouldn’t have had to deal with so i love that she’s unafraid to speak like that in front of them

between the first & second episode, and some of the seasons trailer, it seems like Lilith may have an affinity for ice magic? which is interesting seeing as eda was always a fan of her “spicy toss” aka some fire magic. interesting to see the two of them as fire & ice basically

i LOVE how much bump loves luz, willow, and gus. it’s kinda really sweet, but again it feels so concerning that he had no choice in the matter. makes me think he’s more likely to eventually rebel against the standards that have been in place for so long at some point. (also abominations coven for bump!! interesting!! i appreciate seeing the coven marks included on the adults so far)

what is it with these kids and being dragged off by their hoods in this episode

love that the blights address includes “right arm”, also i took a quick look up of the word “bruegal” which is boulevard they live on, and it’s probably just a coincidence but the first google result was actually for a european think tank that specializes in economics

yknow i actually have wondered about layering glyphs on top of each other and making a super glyph the way eda did, so good to know that would NOT work out

luz you’re really gonna give the blights their own flowers??????

it goes by so fast but please take a moment to take in and appreciate the design of that blight entry room/living room-esque area and it’s combination of abomination and oracle decor. also the blight family portrait.

i could talk about alador and odalia and their relationship dynamic here, when luz is meeting with them, but i think it’s best to save for the end, but i will say i don’t think it’s just odalia controlling everything (though she does control a lot) and alador just suffering and being silent. 

the more i stare at odalia’s hair the more i feel like she has an odd receding hairline

love that the abomination kept the cat shape luz gave it and that amity knew immediately from that

WILLOW’S DADS!!! I LOVE THEM! I love how much they want their daughter to have a great education even if they have to be the ones to do it! (even if it could come across as a little intense) Although, the fact that they’re prepared to teach plant magic to her makes me question why they put her in abominations once again. (wish we could’ve gotten a glimpse of their coven marks!)

odalia is definitely the one who handles more of the parenting and alador is more distant. at least that’s what i get based on the twins specifying to amity not to tell their mom specifically

absolutely insane that odalia is just letting the abomiton destroy the whole place to kill a child

“stay away from my luz!” oh my god,ohmy GOD 

i like how lilith can’t tell if these are normal noises or distress ones. really sums up life in the owl house. also lilith? kicking doors in?? this combined with “I AM A WITCH, UNHINGED” tells me she’ll be as chaotic as the rest of the owl house in no time and i am here for it.

the music when amity jumps in to protect luz is absolutely killing it here i need a soundtrack now

YES AMITY DESTROY THE NECKLACE (and oh god please don’t let odalia give you something even harder to remove or destroy)

Luz is blushing!! The feelings are starting to be returned!!!

“Luz, Willow, and Gus are my friends!” love it. love the open declaration. love that she’s telling her mother off. love that i have something to check off my bingo board already.

okay, i know a lot of people have already suggested that alador is smiling here because he can tell luz and amity like each other, but i’m pretty sure it’s only because he’s noticing how much amity’s magic has grown and improved

small detail but i love the smoke from the units order sign filling the background while odalia is fuming herself

oh? alador has had the ability to tell odalia off and successfully calm her down this whole time? and chose not to use it till now? yeah he sucks too. he very clearly has a plan for amity as much as odalia does as well, but he’s much better at seeing the long-term goal

“the glyph combo, copyright me, lilith” im screaming, lilith you DORK

ok i really wish eda or lilith asked where luz had been. i’d kill for these sisters to go off about how much they hated the alador and odalia in school, as well as threaten to hurt them for hurting luz.

the statue lilith made and her reaction to the gold star she received re-emphasizes my concern about her need for approval and for an authority figure. (ok but her noise at the gold star WAS very cute tho)

alright lets get down to business on the blight parents. so far i definitely do not view their relationship as being one-sided with odalia in control. honestly, i think they do have a sense of mutual respect for the other. to me it seems like all alador really wants to do is focus on his work and nothing else, and odalia seems not only more than happy to let him do so, but willing to take care of everything else the company needs, and he seems fine with that and going along with whatever because he only has to do his part. and clearly his abomination tech combined with her showmanship/advertising (and honestly probably some oracle magic) has clearly made them successful. 

so what im saying is that i think their power in their relationship is actually pretty balanced, if it looks otherwise that’s just because that’s how they best function together, with odalia being more forward and alador being more distant, and therefore they’re very much both to blame for shitty parenting. 

also I know some people have joked about the blight family name coming from odalia (which is also a dumb joke like why is it funny if the family name comes from the woman and not the man) but anyways I definitely do think blight is aladors family name and odalia married in simply because he takes the whole blights keep up their end of the deal thing much more seriously than odalia. probably something that’s been taught to him since he was a kid yknow, whereas she was super ready to ignore it when it inconvenienced her.

as for the very final scene with them and the golden guard, i had an interpretation of it that i saw, but it seems that everyone else ive see react to it so far saw something different than me so maybe i’m just plain wrong. but like, i have this feeling that maybe the blight parents, while they do want power, might not be as aligned with the emperor and his coven as we may think?? not saying they’re good people, just that there could be more going on here. but idk, i’ve seen no one else interpret it that way yet so i won’t go off about it unless either someone wants to know more of what i thought or if i ever actually make myself get around to making a separate post about it. 

[deiliamedlini]

WIP Wednesday

I have been mentally down and writing poorly for a few weeks now, and even my friend was like “oof, yeah don’t post this yet. It needs work” and thankfully has been stopping me from making rash decisions like randomly posting fics to AO3 on a whim.

The WIP below (even though it needs more editing) is the beginning of the new fic I’m going to post next. I’m finally back to the pirates too, which is making progress, but is just slow going because I’m making sure I’m not forgetting plots (which I already have so I am not rushing the chapter but it is in progress finally!).

It’s a Pre-Calamity AU with heavy emphasis on the AU. It’s basically Zelda being forced to train with Link for her safety. Antagonistic-but-not-enemies, to friends, to lovers trope. I want to call it Dance With Me because it’s not really about dancing (I like the other meanings of the phrase), but my friend says it sucks as a title and now I’m rethinking 😂 I’m doing so well! 

~~

When Princess Zelda was seventeen years old, she’d been fully prepared to die.

Ancient prophecies had foretold a Great Calamity that would sweep the land of Hyrule into a great blight and destroy it all unless those chosen by destiny could stop it.

Zelda had been one of those who’d been blessed by the Goddess’s alleged favor: Hylia’s spirit and magic coursed within her.

But the wielder of the Master Sword hadn’t been found in time.

Four champions stayed by the Divine Beasts: Urbosa, Revali, Daruk, and Mipha. And for a year, the five of them waited while King Rhoam of Hyrule went on a mad search for the Chosen Hero and for the location of the Master Sword itself.

Zelda had spent that time relentlessly pursuing the Goddess’ power; she passed out in the holy springs, prostrated herself before Goddess statues for hours at a time, devoted every waking second she had to prayer. But despite her greatest efforts, her attempts were fruitless.

But perhaps the Goddess were showing their favor after all, because despite every prophecy, despite every prediction, wall carving, and palm reading, the Calamity never came, and Zelda was spared a horrific death at the hands of darkness incarnate.

One year after the predicted date, the Champions felt like they could finally move away from the Beasts, ever watchful, but able to maintain some of their daily lives. Zelda stopped spending day and night in freezing water and instead moved to the Temple of Time where the weather was bearable, and the distance was well within reach of the Castle while still spending most of her time in holy grounds.

Two years after the predicted date, the Champions began to lead normal lives again, freely leaving their domains, though they were still ready to return at a moment’s notice. Zelda began to spend more time in the library, sifting through ancient tombs and personal diaries of past monarchs, hoping her answer lied in pages rather than prayer.

Three years after the predicted date, the Champions were harder to find on a day-to-day basis. But Zelda remained steadfast and relentless with her nose in books and her knees in the spring’s water. The Sheikah had to pull her out several times. They had to force her into recovery.

But by the fourth year, the Beasts had gathered dust, and Zelda had utterly given up, instead helping Purah and Robbie with their ancient tech and Guardian research, which—despite the lack of the Calamity—still had other practical applications.

It seemed that everything had been built up for no reason, that there was no Calamity after all.

So, it was only when they’d all gotten comfortable that the Yiga Clan, a cult devoted to the demon lord Ganon, began their relentless assault on Princess Zelda, heir to the Goddess’ devastating sealing powers.

The entirety of that year had been spent with Zelda running from attack after attack, losing her guards, losing Sheikah. She was sent back to the castle where Purah set up protective wards around her room that ran off ancient tech, and she continued working on them so they might be able to encompass the entire castle.

King Rhoam’s royal command had been that Zelda could not touch any Sheikah tech. She couldn’t look at Guardians, or ask about runes and wards. So, Zelda returned to her studies once more until her eyes burned from sitting over tombs in the candlelight.

She had to admit, she’d become proficient in her royal duties, following her father to almost everything she was permitted in. What she wasn’t, he’d fill her in on after.

At this point, a vast majority of Hyrule believed the peace was a sign that the Calamity was never going to arrive. The other school of thought, which Zelda subscribed to, was that the Calamity should be feared far more than ever, its unpredictability keeping the other half of the kingdom in a deeply rooted state of caution and suspense ever since.

Though Zelda had asked her father to let her leave the protection of the Castle more often for experiences outside of prayer, his answer was always the same: “I lost your mother to those cultists; I will not lose you as well.”

“I just want to swim in Lake Hylia,” she’d tried once. “The days have gotten unbearable. Please, father? I’ll take an entire company of guards with me.”

“I’m sorry, Zelda. No. You may go to a spring of your choice. The waters there will likely be a cool temperature. Perhaps try the Spring of Wisdom.”

Zelda was 21, though she felt as though one hundred years had passed. She was tired, bone weary with an exhaustion that had set in so deep, she spent a decent amount of her days simply sleeping. When she was awake, she stared at her hand, waiting for magic to miraculously hit her in the face. Perhaps if she stared long enough, the Goddess would take pity on her patheticness.

The days when she’d been sent out to pray were now her favorites. She’d found ways to coerce her guards into taking longer routes, stopping for longer breaks.

That’s what happened on the day her father had reached his breaking point regarding the attacks on her life.

She returned to the castle shaken and sore, but his tight arms held her as his body shook with relief. He sank to his knees and held her in his arms the way he’d done the day her mother died, and he realized he needed nothing more than to hold his child in his arms to remember that the world was still spinning as long as she was alive.

He’d told her that when he’d said goodnight to her, standing in the doorway of her room with poorly concealed heartache written all over his sagging body.

“I’m really fine,” Zelda said for the fourth time that hour. She sat on top of her long, blue satin sheets, sliding a bit as she tried to adjust her leg. Something about being curled into herself in some way helped make her feel comfortable as she smiled to ease her father’s mind.

“Okay. Well, I’m going to stop by in the morning, if that’s alright.”

“Sure,” she said, shrugging as if she were entirely unaffected by everything she’d been through. She was good at that façade after five years of stares and whispers.

“Okay. Goodnight. May the Goddess watch over you.”

That was how Zelda found herself in the library before the crack of dawn, perched on a ladder in the top shelves of the restricted section. She had access, of course, but she was reading an untranslated a Sheikah tomb from a former handmaiden of the Princess of Hyrule before her ascent to the throne. That Princess had practically bled power, and Zelda hoped her handmaid noted something of interest.

She tucked the book under her arm and climbed down, crossing the library that was filled with several lifetimes worth of books, and stopped in the government documents. Her eyes trailed the spines for a familiar one with territories clearly outlined. She went to the language section to grab a reference book for Ancient Sheikah. Though she was mostly fluent in that, among several other languages, the ancient variations on words occasionally tripped her up. So she set back up to her room with her pile of books, ready to be confined by her father for her safety once again.

Zelda nodded to several of the guards she passed as they stood at their post. Despite the castle being one of the safest places in Hyrule thanks to all the tech, guards were still positioned in the most well-traveled places on their patrols, while two guards stood at her door and her father’s.

Biting her lip, Zelda craned her neck around her pile to try to find the doorknob, fumbling her hand around blindly, just barely able to turn the handle. And because the Goddess never wanted to cooperate with her, she dropped two of the books, though she managed to cling to the relic with tight fingers. The other two fell right onto her guard’s foot.

“I’m so sorry!” Zelda muttered, bending to pick them up.

The guard was beside her, nearly banging heads with her as he grabbed the heavy translation tomb. Thankfully for her, he flinched away in time; he was wearing a helmet that covered most of his head, and she didn’t want to be on the receiving end of that metal. “Don’t apologize,” the guard said softly, picking up the other book for her. “Would you like me to…” He gestured vaguely to her room.

“Oh, no thank you. Just stack them on top of this one.” He did, and she took a step inside before backing up. “Actually, would you mind getting the antechamber door for me, please?”

He stepped inside and pushed the second door open before backing up respectfully.

“Thank you so much,” she said, about to use her foot to close the door when she looked back. “And again, I am sorry I dropped a heavy book on your foot.”

He bowed his head and stepped back out, so she closed the door and set her books down.

Her father came into her room early, as promised.

“Zelda,” he said with a strained greeting. The corner of his lip twitched, like his muscles had become tired under the strain of holding it up for so long, and his eyes held no joy, no spark. It was forced chipperness, and Zelda picked up on it immediately.  “May I sit?”

“Of course.”

She sat on a chest at the foot of her bed, and he pulled the chair away from the desk to face her. “Well, let’s not beat around the bush. There have been many attempts on your life, but I have felt none so potently as yesterday’s. When they told me you’d been attacked, all I could remember was the news of your mother. And then when you were brought in…” he ran a hand along a bruise on her cheek that she didn’t realize she had until she felt a flare of pain cause her to flinch. “You are my precious daughter, and I love you. I never want to see you harmed. That said, others do. It’s becoming impossible for you to safely leave the castle.”

Zelda braced herself. This was where he confined her to her room or to the palace grounds for the foreseeable future. She folded her hands over her lap so he couldn’t see the shaking grow more visible.

“You’ve been unable to protect yourself with your powers, so we must resort to other means. You’re to learn to defend yourself, starting immediately. We still need you at the springs, so I cannot command you to stay here. You still are a priestess of Hylia. So, given your setbacks, you’ll need to learn.”

Zelda’s mouth dropped open as she let the words process through her mind. “I’m sorry, what?”

“We’ll hopefully have a sword in your hand soon enough, but you’ll be able to defend yourself from these cultists.”

“A sword?”

“It’s too dangerous. We’ve lost too many guards. And you can’t fight as it is. This is the best option.”

“No!” she said, much louder than intended. “Fight the Yiga?” She shuddered just at the word.

“Zelda, we need you to live. Hyrule needs you to succeed, and to succeed, you must survive.”

Standing up didn’t make it any easier to breathe, as Zelda had hoped. “You think I haven’t tried?” Tears threatened her eyes as her voice cracked on her last word. As if years of her life sacrificed to unreturned devotion wasn’t enough for her. For him. For all of Hyrule. She’d tried, she’d bargained, she’d offered up her comfort, her breath, her mind, her years, her time. She was one person. What was left for her to do?

“Do you think I just stand there and watch my knights get murdered? Do I just drop to my knees and pray? Is that what you think I do?”

“Zelda…”

“No! You’re right, father. I’ll lead the Yiga right to the Goddess Spring that you need me to go to again just so I can brandish a sword and strike one down with my prowess! Because, Goddess knows that my Knights have an easy enough time with the Yiga, so it should be a cinch for me!” The sarcasm oozed from her in an unintentional venom drip.

“You’re telling me that I’ve failed! You’re telling me to give up and grab a stupid sword! Give me some armor next time I go to the Temple of Time! I don’t need my priestess garb. I have my sword! Because it will absolutely save me!”

“Zelda, please.”

“Please,” she scoffed, finally feeling a hot tear on her cheek. “You’re telling me I’m going to die! Five years ago, I was ready. I knew I’d failed, but I stood vigil waiting for the Calamity to give my life in the final hope that it might stop Ganon! But now, I was blessed with time, and still I can’t do it! I can’t access her powers. So you want me to fail one more time by using a sword to defend myself? This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, and I was there when Lady Styla proposed that sham of a fashion show to lift spirits.”

“That’s irrelevant, Zelda.”

From the look on his face, she could tell he was not budging. She tried another tactic. “I-I shouldn’t be near a sword anyway! What if I stabbed myself by accident? Then there’s no way I’ll ever unlock mother’s power. I’ll be dead with or without the Yiga! I already dropped a book on my guard today! That could have been my foot with a knife! And before you tell me that there have been warrior queens and princesses throughout the history of Hyrule, that’s because they never met me. I’m not a fighter! I read books all day! I take notes. I can bore the Calamity to death with a detailed review of the territory lines in Northern Akkala! That might be more effective than a sword, at least.”

“Zelda, you’re not thinking of the big picture…”

“But if I don’t unlock the power because of some silly distraction like learning how to fight, then the world will fall to the Calamity. My time will now need to be spent in that wretched training area with all kinds of sweaty men. Do you want your precious daughter exposed to such a sight? Worse yet, what if I like it and decide to spend all my days there with… shirtless men!” She grimaced and blushed all at once.  

“This is the most absurd argument I’ve ever heard. You leave me no choice but to make that a command from your king rather than a request from your father. Because as much as I love you, I also am obligated to keep you safe.”

“Obligated?” her voice cracked again, losing some of her rambling thunder. “I’m an obligation? Is that how you see your daughter?”

She gasped when he let the silence answer for him.

“You start your training now. Your instructor has already been informed and will be ready for you.”

“Who?” she asked, glancing at the four guards at her door. Two hers, two her father’s. They were all hearing her shame. How long until everyone knew?

“He’s the most renowned swordsman in all of Hyrule, one of our best fighters, and he’s about your age, so he should be someone you can get along with.”

“The best fighter in all of Hyrule is only 22? No wonder the Yiga are everywhere, if those are our standards.”

“Be kind, Zelda.”

“Is that another order, My King?”

He sighed and crossed the room, stopping at her door. “One more thing. While you’re there, I’ve given him permission to overrule you if you command him not to train you. You will learn to stay safe, whether you want to or not. Now change and go. He’s expecting you now.” He turned his head to her guards. “Make sure she goes to the training yard, and if she refuses, come fetch me.”

As soon as he was gone, she slammed her door and sagged into the wood.

She did consider hiding out, but she knew her father would simply bring the soldier into her room to train if he had to. At this point, with the number of times the Yiga had come after her, she wouldn’t have really blamed her father if he’d locked her in a door-less room and dropped this instructor in through a hole in the ceiling until she learned to protect herself.  Truthfully, the idea itself—in theory—wasn’t the worst. Except for the fact that the Yiga were deadly warriors who trained to kill for most of their lives and slaughtered companies of trained Hylian knights.

Grabbing her most comfortable pants to train in, Zelda slowed as she remembered the event that had started this all.

The Great Tabanthan Bridge crossed the long expanse of the Tanagar Canyon, and she was always careful of the crossing. The fall alone would not only kill someone, but it’d likely flatten them clean out from a drop of that height. So, crossing it was not something that was taken lightly on a good day.

Being that far out there was entirely her fault to begin with.

She’d desired to visit the Temple to Hylia that was at the edge of the gorge, but she’d opted to lead everyone along the scenic route to enjoy some of her free time outside of the castle. The guards had protested briefly, but Zelda was adamant about a scenic detour.

What she hadn’t been able to predict or expect, no matter how much research she did, was that the Yiga were there, lying in wait for her and her guards.

She’d been bucked clean off her stubborn horse, and she’d been left on the great bridge as three Yiga ran for her. Though she’d gone to run, she was caught by one who appeared in front of her in a puff of smoke.

Trying to fight them off of her had been like the great struggle of praying for the Goddess’ powers: utterly futile, and a waste of time.  

Half of her attempts to shake them had been by holding the rope handle of the bridge and throwing herself precariously close so they’d have to follow.

The soldiers eventually reached her and fended the Yiga off, but they’d also recounted the entire incident to her father in horrific detail: how she was winded by the time she’d run halfway across the bridge, how she nearly fell off the great, how she couldn’t fight any of them off and had been overwhelmed, and how her weak strength had caused two large wounds in her palms from where she’d tried to push a blade away from her at one point.

Glancing down at her now-healed hands—thanks to the castle medics—Zelda pulled on her boots and tugged up the laces tight. She wasn’t weak. She just wasn’t… physically domineering. But put any puzzle, any riddle, any impossibility in front of her and she’d find the solution. That’s not weakness. That’s strength. She is strong… just not traditionally.

Her shirt was loose, and she tied up her hair before looking at herself in the mirror for a long time, finally noticing the bruise she’d sustained. She was going to hate this almost as much, if not more, than she hated horseback riding.

Resigned to her fate, Zelda trudged slowly toward the training yard, hoping to be late enough to at least remind everyone that she didn’t want to be there.

Glancing at the sun, she’d determined that she managed to be at least fifteen minutes late. Not bad. She could do worse next time.

The yard was empty of the usual hustle and bustle that went on, and she imagined that her father must have ordered it be kept clear for her private sessions. But it was also clear of an instructor.

She stood in the middle of the training yard and fisted her hands tightly as she looked around. No one. Her eyes narrowed at the empty space, searching for some sign of trickery. But the only others there were the two guards she had brought with her.

“Is this some sort of a joke?” Zelda asked, placing her hands on her hips. “Hello?”

There was no answer.

Shrugging happily to herself, she was ready to leave, but one look at her guards standing near the entrance reminded her of her father’s orders to fetch him if she didn’t go; either she stayed here long enough to prove that she made the attempt, or she’d be embarrassingly dragged back down by her father’s guards, humiliated as they would keep hold of her arms to ensure she followed them right back here. Her father would make sure she was here, no matter what.  

Crossing her arms, Zelda walked around. She rarely went to the training yards unless she was up in the parapets, so being down in the dirt and grass felt like she was in an entirely new world. One she didn’t belong in.

There were training dummies lined up against a wall and a worn dirt track in a wide circle around the outskirts of the otherwise square area. There was a bench. There were weapons on a rack.

And that was it.

She looked at the footprints etched in the dirt, kneeling down to read the story told by the shoe treads. There was a large step forward, and then several overlapping smaller ones as the wearer clearly stumbled back. Then a single skid mark as they were forced back. And then the imprint of a body where they’d fallen.

If Zelda were here under any other circumstances, she’d have smiled and tried to find all the stories in the dirt, but instead, she stood back up and sighed, craning her neck towards the barracks just past the archway. No one was outside, and no one was coming.

“Okay,” she muttered to herself, prepared to leave. But her eye caught on a weapon rack, and she glanced one more time at the barracks before heading to the largest spear. She held it, pretending she was one of her knights. Goddess, if a Yiga came at her, she’d die. Fear first, and then clumsiness, because who could control this glorified stick well enough to kill a Yiga?

She shuddered and put it back.

“You can get there eventually,” someone said.

She spun around to see one of her two guards walking towards her. He removed his helmet, shaking out his blonde hair. Zelda watched in confusion as he set the helmet down on a post and pulled a blue band off his wrist to tie his long hair back.

“But only if you’re not fifteen minutes late on purpose,” he said, not looking up at her. “Princess,” he added with a bow of his head.

Her mouth dropped slightly and her cheeks warmed at the light scolding. “I beg your pardon?” she asked, almost doubting if she’d heard him correctly.

She scoffed at his audacity, recognizing the bright blue eyes of the guard she’d dropped her book on. Did he think that a conversation with her this morning gave a guard the right to chastise her?

He held out his hand, and she instinctively handed the spear back, though in hindsight she wished that she’d hit him with it instead. She’d been too stunned. He returned it to it’s place, and walked across the entirety of the training yard without so much as looking at her.

Her feet tumbled after him as she mentally and physically struggled to keep up. What was happening? Why wasn’t he answering her? Why was he even talking to her? Who was this man?

“Hey!” she finally called. He stopped and turned.

That’s when he looked up for the first time, his downcast blue eyes lifting off the dirt and settling on her green ones.

Pride swelled in her when she saw them waver, because clearly her voice had rattled him in some way. He clearly didn’t like looking her in the eye either. His eyes kept darting off of hers, and he had to keep forcing them back. Her own eyes narrowed, trying to understand this guard. “Who are you?”

“Your instructor.” 

[avatarvyakara]

A brief excerpt from a story I’m writing about Herz Der Sonne and Shampanier, which I would be genuinely interested in hearing your thoughts on:

There is a word missing, in the story of King Herz der Sonne and General Shampanier as told by the poet Big Nose, where the King’s journal drops to the floor in front of the General on a page where he speaks of how much he loves her. Just one word. It’s a fine story, decent enough in any case, even if the length of the battle per se was slightly exaggerated, but the one word makes all the difference.

The word is still.

January 9th, 1344

Shampanier approached the island—her island—at the head of a fleet of galleys, perhaps the last the Saporians had left. It was now or never. And there was a kingdom of infidels to be destroyed. Corona was a blight, a diseased canker on the face of the land. Bad enough that the heathens had taken over the fortress town of Corona that once gave the province its name, but now the damned Sun-worshippers had made their settlement on an island just on the border of their mutual territory, one that for hundreds of years had been sacred to the saints of Saporia.

And Herz was leading them.

This wasn’t going to be easy. It never was, with Herz, but this really took the proverbial cake. He and his converts had built his fortress on their island. The one they’d swum out to as children, her and him and her sister Tan and Old Centranthus (who was older than them by all of ten years but had the mind of one five years younger), when the world was brighter. The one where they’d made fires, and sang songs, and chased each other in the evening light. The one they'd talked about living on, building a little house on, when they were older, and damn the blasphemy of living on sacred ground because it was their island now. The one where, one night, down by the shore in a small boat, she’d taken the shy boy’s face in her hands and—

No. He’d made his decision. She would...well, no, obviously she wouldn’t respect that, she was coming to destroy Corona after all. But she would ignore it.

He’d obviously forgotten. She’d have to as well.

She’d be honourable and let any converts survive. She just had to hope he’d offer her people—the last warships of the Army of Saporia—the same courtesy.

* * *

Another time, she might actually have been impressed by what he’d come up with in three years. Say what you like about the man, but Herz was always quite the builder.

This time around, though, all Shampanier could think of was just how much damage he’d done to their childhood playground. Houses and farms and roads where once were ancient forests and—

And nobody around.

“Nobody?” she growled.

“Just one, General,” said Andrew, her First Spear, grimly. “A drunken old hermit, too far gone to have any idea about plans or tunnels. My men are...working on him as we speak.”

"Work faster," she snapped. "I'll go to take out the castle."

The First Spear's brow wrinkled, adding another scar to his face. "On your own, General? These Heaven-worshippers have proven themselves cowards. Who's to say they aren't hiding in the castle right now, waiting to trap you?"

She shakes her head. "I know their king. He's too honourable," she spat, "to put traps in his castle. Desecrate sacred land, yes, but he wouldn't do anything to dishonour guest-right."

It would be easier if he weren't being so bloody noble about it.

* * *

A little while later...

“You know what I’m going to do? I’m going to kill you, and then I’m going to bury you in a Saporian barrow in the hills like the Generals of old.”

Herz glared at her. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, I would. I absolutely would. Sarcophagus and everything.”

Shampanier almost laughed at the expression on the king’s face. Then Herz smiled. “Or maybe I’ll kill you, and give you a state burial in Old Corona. I might even lead the prayers for your soul.”

Shampanier could feel her blood boiling. “Is that a challenge?”

“Seeing as you’re already here—!”

And they clashed again.

“You know, I’d almost think—” Shampanier kicked at Herz, sending him back a few paces— “that you didn’t actually want to bury me here. On this island.”

“What,” growled Herz, pushing back, “and you would?”

“Of course not, you idiot!” she snapped.

“Well, then! There are some lines you just don't cross!”

"You built a giant castle here! On our island!"

"It's not like—this wasn't my idea!" he protested.

"You're the bloody king, and you had no say in this?"

“Actually, no! No I did not! It was all I could do to stop them from destroying the grove, they were really keen on that one!”

“Typical. You Coronans just take and take, you never give back. So Saporia has to remind Corona of what it owes, in fire.”

“And once you’ve burned us out?” asked Herz, quietly. “When you’ve rid the world of us?”

“Of Corona, yes, but not its people. Why would I want that?”

“Then why come here, Pan? Why come to destroy us!”

“I’m not here to destroy you! Just Corona!”

“You know, that doesn’t help your case as much as you seem to think it does.”

“I want this to end! All of it! We don’t have to live in fear of the other!”

“I know that! All we have to fear is the other side fearing us enough that we have to fear them!”

Shampanier paused. “...Herz, seriously, what?”

“Ugh, you know what I mean! The Faith of the Heavens demands its followers to stand up against the infidels, and the Saporian Codex says the army has to protect the land until the Myonotian Emperor calls for you, however many centuries later that may be! We don’t have a choice except fighting each other!”

“None at all?” said the General, bitterly. “You’re just committing yourself to fighting instead of looking for the obvious compromise?”

“...Pan, you just invaded my castle and set the village aflame, I’m not sure you’re in a position to judge here.”

“Are you seriously going to keep bringing that up?”

“Um...maybe, yes? I’d say it’s at least a little contextually relevant here!”

And clash went the swords.

[emerald-amidst-gold]

for the hugs prompts 💕

12. hugging while lying down together? :3

Two foolishly foolish fools being sickeningly in love, you ask? Oh, my friend, let me OBLIGE! >:D

Putting this under a cut for it is LOOOOONG!

***

It wasn't very often Fane had a moment to sit down, let alone lie down. There were war meetings to attend, letters to answer, research to piece together and sort out, Leliana forwarding scout intel to him on inquiries he had made, Blighted nobles to 'entertain', companions to silently check in on, and troops to observe and on occasion, guide when he felt the Commander's instructions weren't enough. It wasn't that he didn't trust Cullen. It was...just how he was, draconic nature rearing its head to help dormant talents flow and fearful emotions dissipate so a hand would no long tremble upon a haft or grip. Obviously, the human man always shot him a withering glare, which would then result in them snapping at each other like the creatures they embodied; a lion and a dragon. Fane usually opted to walk away from those confrontations, unable to explain and thus, control himself in the event his temper flared into a raging inferno. Solas had been attempting to instill alternative techniques of defusion, ones that didn't involve a fist or a roar, in him.

And one such session of alternatives was happening now, the two of them sitting upon the floor in front of the fire place in their shared quarters. Fane was staring hard into the lapping flames, face blank, vision hazy. Solas was next to him, their shoulders only lightly touching, but it was enough; for both of them.

"...If you feel the heat upon your skin, if you hear the flames within your ears, if you see the crimson line your vision, disconnect, but not wholly disassociate.", Solas said, evenly and quietly, gingerly reaching over to brush their hands together. They had been talking for a while since retiring. At first it had been mainly Fane yelling and the mage patiently waiting for him to calm down, but now...it was as quiet as the crackling log of the fire.

"I barely have enough time to control it, let alone identify it, Solas.", Fane bite back, still coming down from his high. He hadn't meant to snap at the sky, he hadn't meant to cause more tension, but he wasn't been in the mood or the right frame of mind for a therapy session.

Thankfully, Solas gave him a soft look, viewable from his peripheral despite the haze from his earlier outburst of destroying a wall, rage having gripped in him in a choke hold after a discussion with Mother Giselle. Faith made him sick, and the fact that she had had the gall to say he was like Corypheus...it nearly had him shattering again, fists clenching against fur and stone.

"Oh? You have told me numerous times what happens before your mind blackens, have you not?", Solas asked, calm and even, softly, but firmly. The mage's hand set itself over top of his, stroking it soothingly, knowing the edge was close and trying to draw him from it.

"I..", Fane sighed then, realizing he was cornered. "Fine, yes. I can identify it, but it's quick and...", he trailed off, hands balling tighter; the one upon one of them continuing its lulling strokes.

"You are frightened of it.", Solas stated, small smile having taken on a somber tone, blues eyes sorrowful, the grey melding with it like tender clouds. "You worry what will happen if the torches do not dim, and so you..black out, so to speak." The observations confident, the words resolute.

"...Yeah.", Fane agreed; his irritation beginning to fizzle out by this point by a soothing lilt, a tender caress, and because someone was willing to...talk to him, not condemn him. "I mean, it's other things, too; the intensity and the afterglow. The crimson gets so bright, so hot that I can't think, so the smoke chokes my mind, suffocates it. Afterwards, when the smoke clears, when my mind can breathe, the memories are...ashes, soft, but unrecognizable. And that...terrifies me.", he admitted it, he did, even if it made him lock up in defensive.

"You are terrified of forgetting, forgetting yourself from madness and fury.", Solas whispered, sorrow and guilt wiggling through. "Ir abelas, ma'isenatha if the Veil were not present, you--" Fane cut the mage off with a sharp glare and a quiet snarl. Not this again.

"It's not just the Veil that has me inching towards insanity, Solas.", Fane said firmly, turning his gaze from the crimson flames to see that sorrowful blue-grey was fixate on them instead, shadows and light dancing upon ancient features, sharp and soft. Further sight of a locked jaw and a glare lost in the past made him frown. No, not this again. He wouldn't have this guilt weighing down the sky again.

"It is a part of it. That is a fact that cannot be denied, Fane.", Solas said, somewhat biting, somewhat strained. Blue narrowed, fire dancing along a floor of paleness. "If I had been less rash, less overcome with grief, I could have--"

Fane shook his head, finally reciprocating the hand holding from earlier, his slightly larger one cupping one used to magic, not a sword. "Stop, Solas.", he said, scooting over a bit so they were resting against each other; the man beside him tensing up a bit, but relaxing with a quiet sigh. "My rage, my spiral is due to a lot of things. I went years not talking about it, with anyone. Not even Mhairi because I was scared to see judgement in her eyes, to see innocence die as surely as mine had." The confession a whisper, no more than the most delicate winds of the mountains outside frosty windows. "Fear is the culprit to my problems, and the fact that I won't face them until someone else does. And for that, I'm sorry. You don't deserve to--"

Solas turned on him them, free hand shooting up to cup his cheek, holding it fiercely, lovingly, as fierce as pale blue sparked like lightning. A sharp expression was sharper, harder, but held deep understanding in its angles and light crevices of a tiny frown. Fane averted his gaze a bit, emotions running hot, but not rage, not fury, not agitation. The sky was strong, willful, and it made his heart soar, even as it was leashed with fear and procrastination.

"Do not apologize for desiring help, vhenan.", Solas murmured, hand upon his cheek guiding his face back to lay a tender kiss upon his frowning lips. Fane hesitated, but reciprocated soon after with one of his own, Solas smiling a bit as he pulled back, eyes less harsh, but no less piercing. "True fear is overcome when one realizes they cannot face a battle alone, or when they recognize that a battle is being waged. You are aware of your problems, and your deflection is not solely from fear; it is from care."

Fane blinked a bit, raising an eyebrow. "Care?", he asked, eyes gently roaming and assessing the face of his cherished sky.

Solas nodded. "You care about everything, Fane.", he whispered, leaning into kiss him again, lightly, chastely, leaning more and more into his body to the point where Fane lifted his arms to wrap around a slender frame. "That care can be more dangerous to you than fear or rage, but it is also something you cannot afford to lose, for then, you would lose yourself. You would truly forget who you are."

Fane scoffed quietly. "Me breaking a wall in is caring?", he questioned, typical self loathing attempting to sour profound words born of love and understanding. It was hard to let go of everything at once. Solas chuckled softly, reaching up to card fingers slowly through his hair, brushing it back, fluffing it forward, tucking errant locks that were long enough behind a pointed ear.

"It can be.", the mage affirmed, smiling a bit more as Fane let out a calm hum from his petting. "You care about what other's perceive you as and when they perceive you as merely angry and hateful, you lash out, you roar for a shred of understanding, and there is nothing wrong with that." He leaned in more, their chests now flush, and the gentle working of slender fingers had Fane actually taking them back, the two of them landing on the fur blanket, Solas' eyes barely widening, so used to his random, spontaneous decisions.

The fire danced behind his sky, warming its cool edges with gentle orange, sharpening already sharp features with black shadows with crimson undertones. For once, however, Fane didn't fear the sight of it, the gentle flicker as he beckoned with both of his hands to the man gazing down at him with all the love and understanding he could never had asked for, fingers jerking slightly in a 'come here' gesture.

"Come here.", Fane vocalized the request when Solas merely continued to watch him softly, using his words, using his voice. "Let me hold you. Let me make you realize your grief, your decisions, are not who you are completely.", he whispered, eyes never tearing from crimson reflected in blue and grey as they widened a bit, an eloquent mouth finding itself speechless as it gaped slightly. "You were my sky before you were Fen'harel, Solas. There is no Veil between you and I, stunting understanding, blockading acceptance. I love you, and nothing will make that love falter. I remembered myself because of you, and how could I hate you for that?" He smiled, taking hold of slightly trembling arms as he knew emotions were being guided in the proper direction, finding their release. "So, let me remind you of who you are."

"And who am I?", Solas asked, voice dropping, fingers curling into the blackened cotton of his tunic as a mental battle danced in fire lit eyes. "Who am I to you?"

Fane closed his eyes, gently tugging on Solas' forearms, coaxing him to draw down to the earth, to the dragon that bade the sky release its clouds' bounty. After all, the sky had offered him the same, speaking with him, accepting him, but knowing when to guide him with a firm hand.

"You are the sky.", Fane murmured, smiling a bit as he felt Solas finally shift and slide down a bit to descend upon him, arms finding their way to his neck, face burying right along with it as the sky met the earth; his own arms coming up to wrap around it. "You offered me freedom when there was none. You offered me endless options when there was none. You offered me wisdom when there was none." Each confession drew out a shaky gale from his sky, the sensation of rain, warm, warm rain, making itself known upon his parched skin. "If I care, you care more. Your decisions were born of care. You wanted to free your people and mine from the leashes that ensnared them, never once asking for anything in return."

"I..no, I killed...so many..", Solas whispered shakily, arms tightening around his neck to hug him, to ground himself like a piece of cloth the wind was trying to rip away. "And for what? To watch the same thing happen again? To witness the leash tear apart what is left? It was a mistake; a mistake that has hurt you and so many of my people.."

Fane buried his face in Solas' neck, laying a few kisses upon the expanse as he felt more dampness against his own. It hurt to see the man this way, so used to witnessing quiet strength and endurance, but all creatures, no, all people, must be weak lest they shatter.

"It was a mistake, Solas.", Fane agreed, but not to condemn, laying more kisses when a shuddering breath left a tensed up form; his arms squeezing, anchoring the sky amidst its storm. "But you understand that, and it's why you care enough to try and fix it. If you truly wished to see the world fall, if you truly desired for death and destruction, cackling like the Dalish say, then you would not be crying right now.", he said, gingerly moving a hand up to work it between them, finding a wet jaw and unearthing it from its hole of security.

Solas' face was streaked with tears, lips pressed hard as it stifled shuddering, harsh breaths, but pale blue lightened further with orange and red did not turn from him, did not hide. Fane couldn't help but smile at the sight of tears and, most of all, emotion, but his heart did ache, his soul did cry right along with the sky.

"You're beautiful, Solas.", Fane murmured, leaning line to peck at salty cheeks, soaking in everything the sky had to offer without protest. "You're beautiful, and if you see me as more than my rage, than my twisted nature, then I see you as more than your mistakes, your decisions." The words tender, his voice dropping lower than normal, more rain appearing as sobs escaped. "Ar lath ma. Ar lath ma."

That had the clouds parting, the waters freely flowing as Solas melted against him, hands desperately entangling themselves in his hair as harsh sobs and just as harsh shudders that resembled lightning strikes coursed through a usually cool, composed body. Fane only closed his eyes as he pulled Solas close, deigning not to speak, only to listen, to accept the sky's wrath of heavens that had longed wished to breach its own veil.

***

Crying Solas anybody? Therapy sessions for two dorks who are emotionally constipated? YESSIR!

[neuxue]

Wheel of Time liveblogging: Towers of Midnight ch 6

Morgase serves tea and makes a choice

Chapter 6: Questioning Intentions

Oh man Morgase POV is always sad.

Though I suppose her situation now is arguably better than it’s been in…oh…ten books or so, so maybe it will get better for her.

Right now, she’s serving tea.

Tam al’Thor, the simple farmer with the broad shoulders and the calm manners.

And also your in-law. Well, sort of. I mean, it’s complicated.

Okay sorry now I’m distracted by the thought of how absurd those family dinners would be. You’ve got Rand, Elayne, Min, and Aviendha (we’re just going to count that bonding as a marriage because to all intents and purposes…), then Tam, Morgase, Min’s aunts (are they alive? Why can I not remember this?), probably Amys given the sister-bonding ceremony, and if she’s there Rhuarc and Lian probably would be as well. Then Birgitte and Niella and Galad and Gawyn, and that’s just the immediate family but would you also have to extend a courtesy invite to Alanna, and therefore also Ihvon? And if we’re extending courtesy invites based on ‘has real estate in Rand’s head’ then we’ve got to invite Moridin as well, and at that point even without additional plus-ones I don’t envy the person who has to make that seating chart.

That was a tangent.

Of course, Morgase had seen Rand al’Thor once, and the boy hadn’t looked much more than a farmer himself.

Okay I do sort of want to be a fly on the wall when Morgase finds out that Elayne is pregnant with his child.

Speaking of seating charts, we get a roll call for this meeting but it does not add up to 23. Yes I will be looking for that everywhere now.

Very little about that time in her life made sense to her now. Had she really been so infatuated with a man that she’d banished Aemlyn and Ellorien?

Oh Morgase. If she can get one thing out of this mess, let it be the knowledge of who Gaebril really was. Because sure, sometimes it’s better not to know. But one of the cruellest things he did to her, in that whole mess of cruelty, was to leave her with absolutely no way of knowing this was not, truly, all her fault. He took away her self, her trust in and certainty of who she is. He undermined her nation and banished her friends and made her believe, even after his death, that it was by her hand and by her choice.

As if the physical and mental violation wasn’t enough. He found a way to violate her on another level as well, by twisting her own sense of herself, by leaving behind a ruin and leaving her no way to understand that it wasn’t of her own making. The Queen is married to the land, and for all she knows, she has betrayed that in every possible way, and she can’t possibly know that her choices were not her own.

Knowing that it wasn’t her choice, and that there was nothing she could have done… I mean that won’t be fun either, but it would at least give her something of her self back.

Meanwhile, Perrin’s annoyed at how long it took the Wise Ones and Aes Sedai to burn that village. Listen, people, you can’t keep judging these things by Rand. Just because he could take out a city in a matter of seconds doesn’t mean everyone can. Do I need to invent more units of measurement here? The Therin: potential mountains created or destroyed per unit of time.

“You wetlanders would have much trouble dealing with something as deadly as the Blight.”

“I think,” Faile said, “that you would be surprised.”

Yeah. Also don’t say that in Lan’s hearing.

Oddly, Faile’s sense of leadership seemed to have been enhanced by her time spent with the Shaido.

Nope, sorry, still not here for halfhearted attempts to pretend that storyline was All For Her Benefit, Actually. Especially because if we do take that on faith, it leads to some… okay no I’m not rehashing all my issues with the Malden plotline here; none of us need that.

Suffice it to say: ughhhhhhhhhhhh.

At times, being a servant seemed to require more stealth than being a scout. She wasn’t to be seen, wasn’t to distract. Had her own servants acted this way around her?

Morgase and Siuan could have an interesting conversation about dramatic changes in social and political status in a short space of time. And also, you know, extreme trauma and other fun pastimes, but especially the way they both then look at and try to come to terms with their new situations. They both do the same sort of thing of looking at all the ways in which they can still exercise power, only more subtly. The advantages of being overlooked and underestimated. And some of it is likely a kind of denial—a way to not feel like everything they knew and everything they were is lost. To try to focus on the advantages because that makes it hurt less. And the way in which they approach that is the politician’s way: turn it to your advantage, look for lines of power that weren’t there before. And also to think through the implications, and see things they may once have overlooked.

It's a hell of a price to pay for a change in perspective, but the fact that she can look at it that way, and think along some of those lines, is in its way a testament to her capability.

It discomforted her that the two Aes Sedai no longer seemed to resist their station.

Pretty sure we’re not really talking about the Aes Sedai here, Morgase. Because this is the other side of that acceptance of a new role: the fear that, in accepting it, she will lose what remains of herself. Oh look, we’re back to that central idea of identity and self and what it means to hold or lose or change that, and the fine balance between those possibilities.

Pouring tea was more complicated than she’d ever assumed.

This is something Jordan occasionally did as well: centring a chapter—especially one told from the viewpoint of a more minor character—around a motif or touchpoint like this, returning to it as a way of anchoring the rest of the chapter, and giving it more shape, especially when much of it is introspection or observation rather than action. Ornaments comes to mind, from Crossroads of Twilight, but there are quite a few others.

And of course I’m never going to complain about tea being used as a device for focusing a chapter.

It gives us a point from which to segue into Morgase’s thoughts on Perrin, which boil down to a solid ‘it’s complicated’. Mostly because by the standards of the Queen of Andor, he’s technically a rebel.

Alliandre’s cup was half empty. Morgase moved over to refill it; like many highborn ladies, Alliandre always expected her cup to be full.

And so we see the function of the tea: it’s a focal point for the chapter, but more than that it’s the method we’re using to get Morgase’s thoughts about and insights into the various people gathered here. Little bits of character and personality in… not so much how they take their tea, but the considerations around it. The things Morgase has to think about and keep track of, even for so simple a task. And so we get insight into Morgase’s new role as well, and into some of what she’s learning: that even in a position where she is largely unnoticed, there is a great deal she can and must see, and know, and understand about those around her. To pick up on those cues and know what they mean, and how that gives her insight into far more than how they take their tea.

Morgase was no longer the person she had once been. She wasn’t sure what she was, but she would learn how to do her duty as a lady’s maid. This was becoming a passion for her. A way to prove to herself that she was still strong, still of value.

In a way, it was terrifying that she worried about that.

And really fucking sad. But also entirely true to who she is and her situation. She’s lost everything. Her role, her nation, her friends, her sense of self, her sense of autonomy, her name, her identity. And she believes most of it to be her own fault, through her own poor choices and decisions. And now she’s here, under a new name and a new role and everyone believing the person she was to be dead, and Morgase herself came pretty close to making that true. How could she not feel lost, and uncertain of who she is, and desperate to prove that she’s still…someone. To prove that she was right to let Lini draw her away from that open window. Which, yeah, that gets dark fast, but Morgase’s story is not a happy one.

With all she has lost and all she can no longer be, she’s left in this space of not really knowing her purpose, or her place, or even who she is, anymore. And that’s hard enough, but then we add in all the self-loathing stemming from what she thinks she did, and failed to do, and the choices she’s had to make, and you end up here: with Morgase struggling to find any sense of self-worth. And so believing she has to prove—to herself, to others—that she is worth something, because there’s so much in her mind telling her she’s…not.

Meanwhile, Perrin still seems to think he can just send everyone home and everything will go back to normal. Speaking of denial.

“I’m not trying to recruit,” Perrin said. “Just because I don’t turn them away doesn’t mean I intend to enlarge this army any further.”

That sounds oddly like Lan’s resignation to Nynaeve recruiting him an army on a technicality. The difference being Lan at least recognises that’s what’s happening.

Perrin please.

“I didn’t make this banner,” Perrin said. “I never wanted it, but—upon advice—I let it fly. Well, the reasons for doing that are past. I’d order the thing taken down, but that never seems to work for long.” He looked to Wil. “Wil, I want it passed through camp. I’m giving a direct order. I want each and every copy of this blasted banner burned. You understand?”

Two steps forward and one step back.

I mean, I suppose you could make an argument on either side of this: on the one hand seriously, Perrin? You have been trying to deny this banner and your place as leader of these people for nine books now. Has it ever worked for you before? And do you really want to take away that focal point, that symbol to these people of what they’re fighting for and who they’re loyal to and why?

On the other hand… giving up his claim to Manetheren wasn’t a popular decision but I think it was the right one, because it helped focus them on what was truly important and prevent unnecessary tension between those who should be allies, by getting mixed up in the politics of raising a dead nation from the land of existing ones. And you could maybe argue that this is a similar angle, and that he’s trying to get them to focus not on him but on the larger purpose they all need to serve. But that feels like I’m trying too hard.

So, in summary: sigh.

Faile is also very much not convinced. I do sort of get where Perrin’s coming from, that if these people want to fight, they can do so for the Dragon Reborn because he’s the actual champion of the Light. But in reality, delegation is important, Perrin! That’s why you have a place in this as well! That’s why the Pattern dumped leadership superpowers and also wolves on you! Someone needs to actually do the groundwork of leading these people and Rand doesn’t have time or capacity for all of it.

And these people know you, Perrin. You’re the one they chose to follow; Rand is… well, as in so many things, more a force than a person at this point, in the eyes of most. They can fight for his cause, sure, but they’re not really fighting for him the way they’ll fight for the one who helped save their village or their people, and the one they see day to day and choose to give their loyalty to.

“Son,” Tam addressed Perrin, “the lads put a lot of stock in that banner.”

That pretty much says it all. This isn’t a time to be taking that kind of symbol from people, or messing unnecessarily with their sense of identity, or their foundations. In a weird way I’m reminded of Egwene’s approach with the Aes Sedai, and all her thoughts on how to reforge the Tower without breaking it. Making some compromises where needed because while there are some places where she can push, she can’t afford to completely shatter their sense of who they are. Not now, when there’s so little time.

And with Perrin, it’s that same sense of… work with what you have. Forge the metal you’re given. This is the situation, and maybe it’s not perfect, but it’s what you have. That loyalty is a part of the toolset you’ve been handed, so see it for what it is and work with it rather than trying to force it into a different shape and risk breaking the metal entirely.

Literally no one thinks this is a good idea.

“Husband,” Faile said, her words clipped. “Might I suggest that we begin with the ones who want to be sent away?”

And so it comes down, like so much else, to choices; Perrin wants to send them away but these people have chosen to follow him. He’s not keeping them here; they’ve decided to stay. And yes, you can flip that around and say he should also have the choice not to lead, and… yeah, okay, that’s a bit like how Rand technically has the choice not to fight. It’s a choice but not one either of them could really live with themselves for making, and so it becomes a question of framing and perception.

But also, Perrin does lead. When it comes down to it, he takes on that role. That is the choice he makes, over and over, in the moment. It’s in the time between those moments of action, when he is his own worst enemy in a way: he doubts and he fights against it and he looks back on past choices and questions himself and his role and his purpose. In the moment, he leads and he fights and he uses what he has. But in these periods of inaction he thinks himself into a tangle of ‘I’m only a blacksmith’, even when all his actions say otherwise. He just needs to get to a point where he can acknowledge and accept and own that.

Instead, he keeps wavering. And keeps trying to make it stick, but he’s trying to make the choice for those who follow him, rather than making his own choice, and so it doesn’t work.

The Pattern’s bringing maths into it now as well: they literally can’t keep large enough gateways open long enough to send everyone away. A hint, Perrin. Take it.

“Also,” Faile said, “perhaps it is time to send messengers to contact the Lord Dragon”

Someone suggesting proactive communication? If we didn’t already know the apocalypse was near…

“I…” Perrin seemed to flounder. Had he a source of information he wasn’t sharing?

Morgase. Please. Do you even need to ask? Does anyone in this series share anything?

Though in this case ‘I see swirls of colour and sometimes a bit of context whenever I think the names of my friends’ is, understandably, the sort of thing you might want to keep quiet until you can think of a way to frame it so that it doesn’t sound absolutely absurd. Although ‘absurd’ is sort of a moot point when the sky is full of black and silver clouds and the Blight appears in villages that don’t actually exist, so. It’s all relative.

Edarra suggests linking with the Asha’man and on the one hand yes! Cooperation! Good! But on the other hand why would you make it easier for Perrin to continue to try to send everyone away?

I suppose she’s thinking more of the refugees who do actually want to go home, though, so… okay fair enough.

“What would it cost me for you to try this?”

“You have worked too long with Aes Sedai, Perrin Aybara,” Edarra said with a sniff. “Not everything must be done at a cost. This will benefit us all.”

On that last, she is absolutely right. This is what they all need to be doing, and finally we’re starting to see it: cooperation, collaboration, setting aside old divisions and realising that perhaps if they work together they will be stronger for it. Small steps, and all that.

“Burn you, woman, why didn’t you bring it to me earlier, then?”

“You seem hardly interested in your position as chief, most of the time,” Edarra said coldly. “Respect is a thing earned and not demanded, Perrin Aybara.”

Ouch. On both sides there, because they both very much have a point. Edarra should have brought this up earlier, to someone even if not to Perrin.

But Perrin… this is where he kind of tries to have his cake and eat it: he says he’s not a leader, that he’s only a blacksmith, that he wants to send people away or let them fight for Rand rather than him. Tries to deny his role during the times when it’s not absolutely imperative that he claim it. But at other times he is quick to take command, and to make the decisions, and to give direction. And now, he wants to know why she didn’t bring this to him. Because he is, after all, the authority here.

If you would have that, Perrin, you have to accept all the aspects of it. You can’t keep leading these people and then saying you’re not actually their leader, but then also expect them to abide by your decisions—whether that’s to send them away, or to expect them to come to you with information.

There’s an interesting irony in how, by trying to be responsible and not take on a role he doesn’t think he’s suited for, he ends up doing something arguably irresponsible by neglecting the duties of a role he has in fact taken.

It’s not easy. It doesn’t seem like fun. But Perrin, you have to make the choice and claim it and understand what it means, and stop denying yourself.

To his very great credit, Perrin takes the admonishment seriously.

Aiel were people, like any other. They had odd traditions and cultural quirks, but so did everyone else. A queen had to be able to understand all of the people within her realm—and all of her realm’s potential enemies.

I like this about Morgase, and it’s something we see in Elayne as well: this acknowledgement of the importance of cultural understanding. They don’t always get it right, of course, but they understand the importance of it, and while we haven’t seen as much of Morgase in general, we do see Elayne try to follow through on this whenever she’s faced with a different people or group or culture, and I think this is where she gets it from.

Ah, so Balwer wants to visit Rand’s academy in Cairhien. What exactly are you hoping to find, Balwer?

Would [Balwer] tell Aybara who she really was?

I…huh. I hadn’t even thought of that. The others in that group obviously didn’t want or intend to tell anyone who Morgase is, but Balwer has given his loyalty and service to Perrin, so it is actually kind of interesting that he wouldn’t have said anything. But then, if Perrin hasn’t asked, and Balwer also has no specific desire to betray Morgase, I suppose he wouldn’t necessarily bring it up either. And it’s not like people here default to communication when there’s any other option, so… okay, that checks out.

Besides, think how much more fun it will be for this all to come out when Perrin and Galad run into each other. And by fun I mean probably the opposite of that for nearly everyone involved. But fun for me, which is of course the important thing.

She should have approached the dusty man earlier, to see what the price would be to keep his silence. Mistakes like that could cost a queen her throne.

She froze, hand halfway to a cup. You’re not a queen any longer. You have to stop thinking like one!

Oh, Morgase. There’s just… that’s quite a lot of pain packed into a few almost-offhand thoughts.

Especially because, again, it brings it back to this question of self and identity and who is she, now that she’s not a queen? To the point where she’s trying to remake the very patterns of her thoughts, to make herself into someone else because she can’t be who she was before, but if that person is lost then what is left?

Also, on a somewhat less sad note, there’s another small irony here: Morgase, a former queen, trying to force herself out of those habits of thinking, while she and everyone else around her is trying to push Perrin into them.

Of course now Morgase is thinking about how she can’t really go home, because people have to continue to believe she’s dead and Elayne has to be able to stand on her own otherwise it’s a political nightmare and she’s not necessarily wrong but man, Morgase’s story is fucking sad.

Why had she done such things?

I know I’ve already said this at least five hundred times but please, please just let her find out. Of everything, and there’s a lot, I think this is the worst. Bad enough she’s lost everything else and suffered everything she’s suffered and is now adrift, effectively an exile, and trying to find her place—how can she do that when she doesn’t even have her own self to hold on to? When she can barely even trust that? And especially when it comes with the consequences of those things she thinks she did of her own volition, because it’s not just that she doesn’t trust herself; for some things she hates herself.

Perhaps she should have done the noble thing and killed herself.

Wow.

Okay. So that’s.

Yeah. That got dark.

I mean, it’s not… a surprise, given that we very much watched her near-suicide, but…damn. For her to think that would have been the ‘noble thing’. For her to think that her survival is not in and of itself a victory.

She doesn’t even know if Elayne is queen yet, or even in Caemlyn. And politics aside, how hard that must be to not know where her daughter is or even if she’s alive.

Apparently she officially likes Tallanvor now, which… okay sure she deserves whatever happiness she can find, at this point, but this one has always sort of weirded me out. Then again that’s true of a lot of the romance in this series, so okay sure whatever.

Looking into those beautiful young eyes of his, she could not entertain the notion of suicide, even for the good of Andor. She felt a fool for that. Hadn’t she let her heart lead her into enough trouble already?

Okay, there’s a lot to unpack here and I don’t know that I’m going to even try with all of it, but I’m… not a fan of the way it plays to this whole he’s-what-keeps-her-from-killing-herself angle. I just find that an uncomfortable space in general, for any number of reasons.

But the part that hurts, here, of course, is the last part. Hadn’t she let her heart lead her into enough trouble already. Because again, she thinks this is all her fault. Everything that’s happened; she thinks it’s just… her own poor choices, when the truth is that she had no choice, for so much of it. Which… I mean I don’t think I need to make the obvious real-world connection here, but it plays very true to that tendency for those not at all at fault to blame themselves, and how devastating that can be.

Perrin of course knows none of this but does know there’s something going on with Morgase and Tallanvor, because Tallanvor in particular is not exactly subtle.

Morgase raised an eyebrow. From what she’d seen, Perrin himself had followed Faile around lately nearly as much.

Point to Morgase.

PERRIN. NO.

“I was given a suggestion back when you first joined us,” Perrin said gruffly. “Well, I think it’s about time I took it. Lately, you two are like youths from different villages, mooning over one another in the hour before Sunday ends. It’s high time you were married. We could have Alliandre do it, or maybe I could. Do you have some tradition you follow?”

YOU. ABSOLUTE. IDIOT.

Hang on a second, I need to go find a wall to hit my head against repeatedly.

I just. Perrin. No. Why would you even. Think this was a good idea. Pause for five seconds and consider.

Even without any of the knowledge of how awful Morgase’s life has been for the last year or so, Perrin should know better, damn it. You can’t just tell two people to get married as if they have no say in the matter! Especially when it’s not even like he’s taking one of them aside to have a quiet word about ‘this is getting in the way of your work; sort it out’, which would be kind of awkward but just about skirting the edges of acceptability. No, he’s saying it to both of them, when he has no confirmation from either that this is actually what they want. But he’s in charge here so now it’s hard for either of them to refuse him, and of course that would mean publicly rejecting the other, and in short this is the worst idea you’ve had in a while, Perrin.

And then of course—not that Perrin has any reason to know this—there’s the reality of Morgase’s recent past, which makes having her agency taken away (again) in the context of marriage and all that entails (again), even more of a glaring Do Not Want.

Morgase felt a sudden panic

I mean yeah, that’s probably the understatement of the fucking Age.

“Gather any you want to witness and be back here in an hour. Then we’ll get this silliness over with.”

So it’s not enough to take away any choice they may have in the matter and assume you know best; now you need to trivialise it as well? Perrin Aybara you are better than this.

“Well?” Perrin asked.

“No,” Morgase said.

Such a small, quiet thing, but it’s everything in the context of her story. That at last, after so many kinds of violation, after so many instances of her choice or her agency or her name or her will taken from her, she can say no. And she does.

It’s not precisely subtle but it’s also not precisely loud; it’s just a turning point and a reclaiming of self after so long of having that taken away from her. That now, she can stand as herself and say no, I will not.

She didn’t want to see the inevitable disappointment and rejection in Tallanvor’s face.

Which is the other reason you don’t just drag two people into a room and tell them to get married! Because even if they might want to marry each other, one or both might have some objections on principle to being told to do so! And then you’ve just created unnecessary tension in the relationship itself because now she’ll have to explain that ‘it’s not you, it’s that for once in my damn storyline I want to be able to give or deny consent of my own damn volition’.

I’m just very, very here for Morgase Trakand finally having a chance to stand up for herself and say no, because that has so long been denied to her in so many ways. And to find it in herself, even with all that has come before, to do that, because it would be so easy to just…accept it. But instead she stands her ground and in doing so, in asserting herself in front of someone else, it’s almost like asserting herself to herself as well. That she is here and she is someone and she has a choice and she will make it.

“Why, the Queen herself wouldn’t demand this!”

Ha. Okay, you’ve earned that one, I think.

“Forcing two people to marry because you’re tired of the way they look at one another? Like two hounds you intend to breed, then sell the pups?”

“I didn’t mean it that way.”

“You said it nonetheless.”

Yeah, this is… very much not Perrin’s finest hour here.

Whereas for Morgase… everything about this carries so much more weight than meets the eye, given all she has been through, and I’m just very here for it.

Pulling herself up to her full height, she almost felt a queen again. “If I choose to marry a man, I will make that decision on my own.”

Reclamation of identity! In reclaiming all the choices that have been taken from her! So much of what came before, all those times she couldn’t choose, was just this long agonising process of stripping away everything she was and everything she could hold on to in herself. And she’s been so lost for so long, and so here, in claiming that choice again, she finds some part of herself again as well. She may no longer be a queen but it’s not really about the crown, it’s about feeling like herself again, and finding something there.

Really, Tallanvor, in this case it’s honestly not you; it’s… a whole pile of other things. Don’t take it personally.

Morgase measured Perrin, who was blushing. She softened her tone. “You’re young at this yet, so I’ll give you advice. There are some things a lord should be involved in, but others he should always leave untouched.”

I do like that we get this—it was important for Morgase to be able to draw a line and stand by it and say, unequivocally, no. And to make it very clearly understood why Perrin was crossing a line.

But she also acknowledges that there was no malice in it; it was fucking stupid, but he did mean well. So let him feel painfully awkward for a few minutes, let it sink in, and then grant him this to soften it.

Man, that was awkward.

I mean, again, absolutely here for Morgase finally getting to make a damn choice, but would kind of have preferred if it weren’t at the cost of Perrin being written into quite this level of uncomfortable idiocy. Which I suppose is part of why I’m glad it ends on that sense of ‘you meant well but no’, rather than letting it escalate.

Basically: great character moment for Morgase but overall not a particularly well-done scene, I feel like.

It seemed she had some spark left in her after all. She hadn’t felt that firm or certain of herself since… well, since before Gaebril’s arrival in Caemlyn!

That pretty much sums it up. She needed this, needed to find that within herself.

And now enter Whitecloaks, stage left. This’ll get interesting.

Next (ToM ch 7) Previous (ToM ch 5)

[pikapeppa]

Fenris/f!Hawke and the Inquisition: Nothing Is Inevitable

Chapter 54 of Lovers In A Dangerous Time (i.e. Fenris the Inquisitor) is up on AO3!

In which Fenris and the crew wind down after killing the Avvar dragon by listening to Ameridan’s memories which are super lighthearted and not at all heartbreaking, and Fenris and Rynne have a Talk™. 

Only an excerpt is here; read the whole thing here on AO3 (~9200 words).

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

Ameridan’s memories floated out of the flask and separated into five globes of light. Fenris glanced nervously at Hawke. “Shall I just, er…” He gestured vaguely at the memories.

She shrugged. “It worked for your memories in the Fade. Hopefully it’ll work with these.”

He nodded, then reached at random for one of the memories. The memory flared briefly, and Ameridan’s mellow voice echoed through the air. 

“I dislike being so far from home,” the voice said. “Halamshiral needs me. The darkspawn have grown stronger. Some of my brothers would let those creatures destroy Orlais; they think Drakon no better than the Imperium. But if we do not stand with the humans against the darkspawn, we might lose everything we have gained. I will fight this Avvar-dragon for you, Drakon… and then we shall drive back the darkspawn together.”

Varric sighed. “Shit. This, uh, explains a lot.”

Dorian grimaced. “Yes, quite. If the elves had helped Orlais during the Second Blight, Orlais might not have turned on them later.”

“Hang on,” Hawke protested. “It’s not the elves’ fault that Orlais burst in and stole their land from them.”

“I’m not saying it’s their fault,” Dorian said in surprise. “I’m simply making an if-then statement.”

“But…” Hawke stopped, then sighed. “No no, I see what you’re saying. Ugh, what an utter shitshow.”

“Agreed,” Fenris said quietly. If Ameridan had succeeded at killing the Avvar dragon and gone back to the Dales, and if the Dalish elves of old had joined Orlais in battling the darkspawn, then maybe the Exalted March on the Dales would never have happened. 

Imagine if that were the case, Fenris thought. Imagine what Thedas would be like now if the Dales still belonged to the elves. An independent nation of elves, allied with Orlais, who were in charge of their own destinies… 

Or maybe it wouldn’t be like that at all. Maybe after Ameridan and Drakon died, some other excuse would have arisen for an Exalted March, and the Dales would have been taken from the elves anyway.

Blackwall broke through his melancholy musings. “The Jaws of Hakkon failed to destroy the lowlands, but their dragon did lead to the end of the elves.”

“Yeah,” Varric said softly. “That’s probably the fairest way to put it.”

Hawke smiled at him. “That’s how you should put it in your book.”

Varric smiled faintly back at her. She squeezed Fenris’s hand and tilted her head at the memories. “On to the next?”

He nodded, then reached for the next memory. This time, Ameridan’s voice was wry with humour. “If I must go to the end of Thedas itself for Drakon, I am at least glad to have friends at my side. Telana and Haron have been arguing about Haron using the lyrium to fight demons. Some things never change.” Ameridan chuckled softly before going on. “Orinna has a new alchemical trick she wants to try, like pitch or tar but stronger: a recipe straight from Orzammar. They argue, fuss, and mock each other mercilessly… and I would be lost without them.”

The voice trailed away, and they were all silent for a moment. Dorian cleared his throat. “I wonder what that’s like?”

Blackwall harrumphed, and Bull pulled Dorian against his side while Sera scoffed. “What d’you mean by that crack?” she demanded. 

“I jest, of course,” Dorian said hastily. “I’m moderately fond of you all, despite your lack of proper hygiene.”

Varric smirked and shook his head, and Hawke flicked the cap of a flask at Dorian’s head. Then Cole spoke up. “They were happy, then dead. But this is still here.”

They all fell quiet again. Hawke looped her arm around Cole’s shoulders and hugged Fenris’s arm. “Well, we’re not dead,” she announced. “Nobody’s dying anytime soon, so we’re all going to keep having a good time, right?” 

Her voice was bright and cheerful, and her grip on Fenris’s arm was hard. He squeezed her hand as Blackwall replied. “That’s right,” he said gruffly. “Let us hope we fare better than they did.”

“We will,” Hawke said firmly. “We already have. Go on, Fenris, let’s hear the next one.”

He reached for the third memory, and once again, Ameridan spoke to them through the glowing globe of light. “I prepare now for my final battle against this dragon of the Avvar. I offer thanks to Ghilan’nain, halla-mother, and to Andraste, Maker-bride. As you were raised up from mortal men to stand with our creators, our makers, so raise me up now to defend this world.”

Fenris’s eyes widened. “Ameridan worshipped the elven gods and the Maker,” he said. He looked at Hawke. “I had wondered about this – why he said he would see Telana at the Maker’s side. He was Andrastian, at least in part.”

She made a little face. “That would have been a pain, though, don’t you think? Trying to reconcile two sets of wildly different religions? Why bother?”

“Belief is a funny thing,” Varric said philosophically. “Besides, an elven Inquisitor must have had a careful path to walk.” He glanced at Fenris ruefully. “Still does, I guess.”

“There is that,” Fenris agreed. He himself had never publicly revealed his religious uncertainty for concern that it would obstruct the Inquisition’s goals. 

Cole spoke again, this time through Ameridan’s voice. “‘They’re not so different, Drakon. Just another pair of boots to walk the same road.’ He doesn’t see, wants it simple, but I can help him get there. There’s room for both.”

“Oh,” Hawke said softly. “That’s… kind of nice, actually. Making room for both…” She looked around at their companions. “Ameridan was a pretty inclusive sort of fellow, wasn’t he?”

“Sounds like,” Sera agreed. “Elfy-elves aren’t like that these days.” 

Fenris twisted his lips ruefully. “They aren’t, no. If Ameridan had survived, lived to maintain the alliance with Orlais…” He trailed off before he could continue the thought. The path of what-ifs regarding Ameridan’s survival could only lead them to a very depressing place. 

Hawke sighed quietly and leaned her head on his shoulder, and he looked down at her. “Are you all right?” he murmured. 

“Of course,” she said. “Just tired, that’s all. Should we hear the next one?”

He nodded and activated the fourth memory.

“We have a plan,” Ameridan said. “Haron and Orinna will lead the Avvar elsewhere, so Telana and I can deal with the dragon. Telana believes we can seal the dragon away, even if we cannot kill it.” He sighed, and even through the echo of memory, Fenris could hear the bone-deep weariness in his voice. “It is less clear whether I can do so without sealing myself in as well, but I have little choice. This beast will wreak devastation across Orlais unless we can stop it now.”

Dorian shook his head sadly. “This still boggles my mind,” he said. “Ameridan saved all of Orlais from the Avvar, and no one ever knew.”

Sera wrinkled her nose. “People-people don’t do things so you know them. Good on ‘im.”

“She’s right,” Blackwall said. “Heroism shouldn’t be about fame. It’s about doing what’s needed, no matter the cost.”

At Blackwall’s words, Fenris’s stomach twisted guiltily. Blackwall had a point; some tasks needed to be done, no matter the cost. Killing Corypheus had been one of them, and killing this possessed dragon had been another. It was selfish of Fenris to wish that those necessary tasks weren’t his responsibility. They needed to be done by someone, and that bottom line should trump everything else. 

But why does that someone always have to be me? he thought resentfully. As Ameridan had said before, demons and dragons were one thing; politics and posturing was something else altogether. Every political problem, every feud, every territorial dispute: was it truly necessary for Fenris to be consulted for everything? 

Dorian, meanwhile, raised his eyebrows at Blackwall and Sera. “I didn’t mean– of course Ameridan didn’t do it for the heroism. It’s just… a shame, that’s all.” He eyed them incredulously. “Come now, you two can’t really not care if you’re forgotten from history. Don’t you want to feel that you, you know, participated in everything that’s happened here?”

Cole answered for them. “It doesn’t matter that no one remembers,” he said. “What matters is that they helped.”

Hawke wilted. “But if that’s all that matters, then why are we here listening to these memories?” she said plaintively. “Why are we getting all mopey over a bunch of people that we never met if their stories don’t matter?”

Fenris glanced worriedly at her, and she laughed lightly. “Not me, of course. I’m not moping. But I can see that tear in your eye, Bull.”

Bull chuckled. “Whatever you say, little Hawke.”

She grinned at him, but her smile faded quickly. “Seriously though,” she said. “This isn’t – nothing we do is for the recognition. That doesn’t mean you want to just be forgotten. Even you two,” she said to Blackwall and Sera. “Whether you care or not, you’re not getting forgotten in any of this.”

Sera wrinkled her nose and shrugged. Then Varric shrugged as well. “It is a damn fine story,” he said. “Shame nobody found it until now.”

“It is a shame,” Fenris agreed. He reached for the fifth and final memory. 

Ameridan’s voice echoed through the frosty air. “Telana, my love,” he said softly.

Hawke’s fingers tensed against Fenris’s arm as Ameridan went on. “I should not have asked you to come with me, though I know you would not have stayed behind. You are a Dreamer, and this dragon the Avvar have tamed carries a demon inside it. I can see how its presence hurts you. You should be at Halamshiral reminding our people of our alliance with Drakon. Not here, risking death again with me.” He sighed. “Still, in the old tongue, your name ‘Telanadas’ means ‘nothing is inevitable’. I will remember your name and hope.” 

For the final time, Ameridan’s voice faded away. For a long, frozen moment, they all sat in a subdued silence, and Fenris could hear Hawke breathing shallowly beside him. 

Nothing is inevitable. The meaning of Telana’s name hung in the air like a chilling fog that sank straight down to his bones. Ameridan had thought of Telana’s name as a sign of hope, a sign that even terrible things could be stopped and avoided. But Fenris couldn’t ignore the ugly irony of what had ultimately befallen them.

The thing Ameridan had tried so hard to avoid – his wife’s death – was the very thing he had not been able to prevent. 

Cole broke the heavy silence. “Too bright, blinding, breaking, broken. ‘Get to safety. I will seal us both away. It’s not forever. Come back with aid.’ But her leg was broken. She could only lie down and try to see him one last time.”

Varric sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Aw, kid.”

Hawke suddenly hid her face against Fenris’s arm. He turned toward her and stroked the nape of her neck. “Hawke…”

She shook her head and pressed her face into his neck and shoulder, and Fenris could feel the dampness of her tears on his skin. 

He swallowed hard and clasped the back of her neck. Across from them, Sera sniffled wetly, and Blackwall put his arm around her. “Come now, girl,” he said kindly. “They’re together now, like Ameridan said.”

Sera scoffed and rubbed her nose. “Not crying about that, silly. Just something in my eye.” 

Hawke took a deep breath, then lifted her face from Fenris’s shoulder. “Me too,” she said thickly. “Allergies or something, right?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Sera said gruffly. 

Hawke smiled at her. “You know what’s good for allergies?”

Sera leapt to her feet. “Punch!” she exclaimed.

“You’ve got it,” Hawke said cheerfully. “Come on, back to Stone-Bear Hold so I can mix up some punch.” She braced her hand on Fenris’s knee and started pushing herself upright. 

He hastily took her hand and helped her to her feet. “Be careful, Hawke,” he warned. “Your mana…”

“I know, I know,” she said. “Taking it easy, no magic for the rest of the night.” She batted her eyelashes at him. “If you want to carry me back to Stone-Bear Hold, that might help me recover faster.” 

“I could, if you need me to,” he said.

She grinned wickedly, and Varric shook his head. “You should know better than to offer to carry her,” he said dryly.

 “Hush, Varric, you’ll ruin it,” Hawke scolded. She gave Fenris a winsome smile. “Oh please, most handsome elf in Thedas, will you carry me?”

Fenris huffed in amusement and pinched her waist. “Only if you need me to. It is not my job to transport you across Thedas. I’m not a nuggalope.”

“You’re right, you’re not,” she said promptly. “I’d much rather ride you than a nuggalope.”

Fenris scoffed and rubbed his mouth. Blackwall and Bull snorted, and Sera cackled loudly while Dorian rolled his eyes. 

Varric shot Fenris a knowing look. “You walked right into that one, you know.”

“I know,” he said ruefully. “I regretted it the moment I said it.” He placed a solicitous hand at the center of Hawke’s back. “Come on, back to the settlement.”

Read the rest on AO3.

[musingmycelium]

god okay i info dumped on discord bc thats just who i am as a person so i’m cross posting it here in case anyone else is curious about my canon world state. under a read more bc its, uh, maybe a bit of a monster.

i've got a dummy complex worldstate for no reason other than i like to make things difficult for the sake of a good story i guess. for origins my canon warden is an apostate, ellanis tabris who in an 'accident' had his leg crushed and it never recovered, causing it to have stunted growth. he uses a cane to get around and his disability helped hide him in the denerim alienage since apostacy is probably one of if not the most dangerous crime for an elf.

he's only one of three, though. his best friends growing up are noure surana and attie nehrios. noure gets taken to the circle when they're 17 (and ellanis and attie are 15) and comes into play a bit later, while attie is a seamstress and budding red jenny.

as far as origins itself goes ellanis' canon route is deep roads - dalish - haven - redcliff - circle - redcliff. fairly standard stuff up until haven/broken circle tbh. in haven during the guardian's first trial instead of shianni ellanis sees noure (whom the alienage presumed dead when arrested bc it wasn't, ah, a clean arrest) as the ghosty thing and during broken circle ellanis finds noure again and 'conscripts' them into the wardens. really he just takes them with him and destroys their phylactery so they won't be followed. (noure's phylactery is stored in kinloch instead of the spire after their fourth escape attempt since it gave them too much of a head start to make the templars wait to get it) theres a lot of Feelings surrounding connor but other than that ellanis doesn't super change things there either. he does, however, not have any idea about the dr. which is the biggest break i have from canon in dao with the exception of my inclusion of More City Elves. instead of morrigan going to ellanis she, as his best friend, knows he'll refuse to do it and instead goes straight to alistair. morrigan actually never tells ellanis anything about the ritual, ever.

during unrest in the alienage ellanis meets up with attie again, who is already working to clear the slavers out herself, and she falls head over heels for morrigan pretty quickly. fast enough that when morrigan sets out on her 'nobody follow me' thing attie does anyways bc thats just who attie is as a person. and besides she can't stay in denerim now that she's maybe or not killed a nobleman for what happened during the wedding.

and now its awakening time 

ellanis meets up with anders for the first time and through him learns a bit more about noure's time in the circle. (noure and anders and karl were lovers for roughly three years before shit hit the fan hard) and fuck canon here because ellanis doesn't have time for this. plus the architect is interesting and yah maybe insane but he's in the place for a little madness. ellanis lets him live and strikes a bargain with him, they share research and any ferelden wardens who prefer to answer their calling not by fighting darkspawn but by potentially furthering the cure are welcomed by the architect. but after awakening ellanis leaves vigils keep in nate's hands and goes on 'offical leave' to work on his own cure..... and to live in antiva with zevran...... lkjkjlkjkjkj

noure, after broken circle and during awakening, goes to nevarra via orlais. it takes them a couple of months to settle but noure finds viuus (yes that viuus) who takes them on as an apprentice of sorts bc he's also in a bit of a jam. it works, sorta, noure learns more spirit based magic and reconnects with a part of themselves the circle tried to beat out of them. it only lasts for about two years, though, because templars find them, one a recent transfer from kinloch and noure isn't exactly a forgettable face. so!

well, its around the same time that anders leaves the wardens for good. and ellanis puts anders in touch with noure. they decide to meet in kirkwall, because rumor has it that's where karl is and thats gonna be the place they need to go first.

attie though, she's just hanging out with morrigan and stirring the pot in orlais as a jenny. she also works with the mage underground and defo either knows or works with briala as a kind of agent. her story is more foggy tho bc i haven't read Super much of TME or played some of witch hunt

da2 comes in and i've Recently, like as of last week i think, decided to swap my canon hawkes. william is now my canon hawke instead of the twins. he's an apostate who's magic is mostly clairvoyancy and a shepherd.. or he was until the blight. bethany dies during the escape and its only the Beginning of the sad times for william.

with his pretty suble magic william makes for a Superb smuggler, and lands the gig with bartrand quickly. he Also, gets a bit of a crush on varric while they're still going around raising money. he takes carver, varric, and isabela with him to the deep roads thinking that keeping his brother close will be safer. and, well, it isn't.

act ii is a bunch of horse shit anyways but william tries to keep out of things until isabela is directly threatened by it and only then steps in seriously. for the most part all of the things which go down with petrice are done with noure and anders. they don't like the qunari being in town either but they, at least, can use the situation to weaken the chantry and by extension the circle. even if its only a bit. during act iii the two of them build up the mage underground and start preparing to take direct action against the circle. william is, still uncertain but he doesn't stop them. his magic has never been a large danger to himself, it's suble enough and under control enough that he's never really had to fear templars. he feared them for his fathers sake, for bethany's sake, but not his own. not really. and well, we know how da2 ends but i hate the retcon of 'hundres of casualties' bithc! where! so no, only the grand cleric and a handful of upper level chantry people where inside when it went up and they deserved it.

ellanis is working on the blight cure during this time and makes it far enough that he and zev are surprised by twins (two girls named adaia and killian) but otherwise ellanis is mostly chillin in antiva

while attie is now definitely working closely with briala both as a jenny and as an agent

and we’re up to dai with my canon quizzy - da'ean lavellan, the clan storykeeper (next in line after his father) who only attends the conclave because idrilla was going to first and they didn't want to loose the clan first. i've got... way more canon deviance in dai than anywhere else bc dai Suxxs but its way too long but basically! 

da'ean romances both dorian and the iron bull bc im poly and i said so, idrilla comes to skyhold as magical advisor and she works where morrigan does in the game (tho morrigan still shows up she's not an offical position as much, which suits her and attie just fine). linayel, da'ean's nas'falon (qp) arrives with her and he slots in as an archery trainer. 

plus, ellanis is the warden contact instead of the many (some really wild??) canon contacts. leliana tries to contact him to be quizzy but he's travelling and misses it, and when noure contacts him on william's behalf and mentions corypheus (ellanis knows about legacy bc william brought noure and anders along) ellanis puts some pieces together and comes to skyhold. he'd already been working to figure out the weird calling (it is and yet isn't the same as the blight he remembered) so he's already a bit aware of the situation. william doesn't stick around for long, basically just long enough to get confirmation ellanis is on his way. even tho he misses varric this isn't his place

adamant goes down wicked different bc ellanis is the fucking HOF. by this time he's developed his magic enough he can pretty much take down all of the wardens within a good 300 foot range just nearly instantly. (a combination of his blight cure research and his natural entropic aligned magic hohohoho) so he makes it to clarel Fast. instead of falling into the fade ellanis (anyone else remember just fucking punching rifts closed in awakening? lol) works with da'ean to open up the rift in the main courtyard and suck the nightmare into the real world. and then he fuckin annhilates it bc he can

WEWH is also different but this time its bc of attie (and morrigan's different now too bc she's been dragged into things by her wife) briala's at the palace yeah, but now she's also got attie waiting in the wings. instead of getting stuck in place by the quizzy attie is able to manuever things to implicate gaspard and celene alone (mostly bc i hate the blackmail on briala it just doesn't vibe well with her character to me). so instead of the shitty options of 'gaspard rules with briala shadowing him' or 'celene and briala end up back together' its 'celene gets put in place by briala and now briala calls the shots'

idrilla romances solas, and as a dreamer she's sure something is fishy but can't figure out what exactly. (until trespasser that is, when she figures it out at the murals) but she provides a good foil to his asshatry and as offical magical advisor steers the inquisition with morrigan's info about the arbor wilds. she knows the rituals and the magic bc she's first and they make it through far faster than in canon, making a quick alliance with the sentinals and beating samson well before the canon battle area. 

(linayel romances cass but their story is still quiet and vague as of yet but linayel mostly remains in skyhold to help train and strategize)

then da'ean kicks corypshits ass soundly becase that fight Sucks Ass.

[katedoesfics]

Breath of the Wild: Chapter 26

He felt leagues better when he got up in the morning. He stuffed his face with a few of the cheap breakfast danishes as he hurried out of the motel, sliding back into his car and turning the key in the ignition. The engine roared to life as if it, too, were rejuvenated by the night's rest, or perhaps Link's mind was just more clear and focused after the good night's sleep.

Before his ambush on the Yiga Clan, he had planned on stopping at Kakariko to update Impa on his progress. But now that he knew, or better, remembered, what he did, he decided his best course of action was to shoot straight to Zora's Domain. If luck were on his side, he would be able to activate the Divine Beast there and shoot over to the Great Forest to reclaim the Master Sword before Dorian realized what he had done. Link was certain that as soon as Dorian and Impa found out that he destroyed the Yiga Clan, they would be on him faster than a Goron on rock and would have his head hung on their wall as a trophy. Hyrule would fall, Ganon would emerge triumphant, and a new age of darkness would dawn.

He drove faster than he had ever driven before, making his way north across Hyrule and towards Zora's Domain. With only a couple of Guardians to dodge on the interstate, he was able to make it to his destination in just a few hours, arriving just before noon. However, he was not met with eager arms as he had been in the other sectors of Hyrule. And he knew exactly why, now.

“How dare you show your face here,” Muzu hissed as Link stepped out of the car.

“Back off, Muzu,” Link muttered, shooting him a warning glare. He looked up to see Sidon approaching them, shouting to the elder Zora.

“Muzu, enough!” He reached Muzu's side and pulled his arm back before he could get his fins around Link's throat.

“It's his fault this all happened,” Muzu barked. He thrust a fin at Link. “It's your fault Mipha's dead!”

Link had managed to control his temper for quite a while. To compare the last couple of weeks to a roller coaster ride would have been the understatement of the year. And with his latest ambush of memories, it was as if he had lived every moment of his life – the good and the bad – in that one moment, and he was worn thin from the abuse, emotionally, physically, mentally. He had had enough of it all, and he snapped.

“Maybe if you got your damn head out of your fucking ass for two seconds, you would see that I'm the only one doing anything to give this fucking place a fighting chance in this war.” He spat at the ground. “You want to blame this all on me? Fine. But don't you dare tell me I'm the reason Mipha's dead.”

Muzu grit his teeth together, his gaze hard on Link. “You are not welcome here, Hylian,” he hissed. “The Zoras are no longer your allies.”

“Well, actually, Muzu,” Sidon interrupted. “My father is the one who makes that decision, and he hasn't agreed with your-”

Muzu spun around and glared at Sidon. The prince Zora's mouth snapped shut quickly. He hesitated before he spoke again.

“Link's the only one who can reclaim Vah Ruta. If we have any chance to survive this war, we need Vah Ruta, and we need Link.” Sidon paused, his eyes sad. “Mipha believed in what she was doing,” he said softly. “She fought for what she believed in, to keep an alliance with the Hylians. She knew what she was doing and she knew the risks involved. She fought protecting this country. You cannot put that blame on Link.”

“She did it for him,” he hissed.

Link had had enough. He wasn't about to listen the old bat any longer. He had a job to do and a country to save, apparently. It all came down to him.

“Get out of my way,” he growled as he pushed passed Muzu and Sidon. He let his hand rest on the butt of his gun in an attempt to send a final message to Muzu.

He strode angrily through the city, ignoring the shuffling that was Sidon behind him to catch up with him. At one time, Link had admired the beauty that was Zora's Domain, but now, the memories only haunted him.

“Don't listen to Muzu,” Sidon said as he reached Link's side. “You know how he gets.”

Link looked up at the statue of Mipha that had been erected in her honor. It stood tall in the center of the city, just as elegant as she had been.

“Mipha -”

“Where's Vah Ruta?” Link asked sharply, but he didn't meet Sidon's gaze. He wasn't interested in talking about Mipha anymore. It simply hurt too much.

Sidon hesitated, then turned his gaze to waterfall at the other end of the city. He pointed in the direction with a fin. “Vah Ruta's at the reservoir,” he said. “But ever since the attack, water has been shooting out of its trunk and threatening to break the damn and flood the city. We can't get close to it without it attacking us. The damn is a ticking bomb right now and it could break at any minute.”

“Guess we don't have time to waste,” Link said gruffly. “Can you bring me there?”

Sidon nodded. “I can do you one better,” he said. “You can ride me across the lake.”

“Swell,” Link grunted. “I've always wanted to ride a giant Zora.”

“Well, it's not like we have a need for boats,” he said. “And unless you're a good swimmer that can dodge Vah Ruta's attacks, you'll need some help.”

“Sounds like you already have a plan.”

“I do,” Sidon said proudly. “There's only one way aboard Vah Ruta, and that's by scaling the waterfalls around it. However, it deals heavy blasts of water from its trunk that could slow even a Zora. If you can cut off its water line, that should stop it from attacking and even prevent the reservoir from overfilling. I can then scale the waterfall with you and bring you on top of the Divine Beast.”

“How do I cut the water line?”

“You'll see it right away,” Sidon assured him. “There's a spot on its chest that glows red. It's large, but if you can shoot at it, that should be enough to break the line.”

Link followed Sidon through the rest of the city and down the road leading away and through the mountains. The path climbed up and wound around towards the reservoir where Vah Ruta was stationed. When they neared the edge of the lake, Sidon dove into the water. He pointed towards the spot where the water line would need to be cut, and Link nodded.

“All aboard, then!” Sidon said.

Link hesitated, pulled his gun out of its holster, then climbed awkwardly onto Sidon's back. He clung to the Zora as he shot through the water at surprising speed and focused on keeping his balance so he could aim at the water line.

And just as Sidon had said, Vah Ruta began its assault as soon as it noticed them moving towards it. Its tinny, trumpeting roar bellowed through the air. It raised its trunk and a heavy blast of water shot towards them. Sidon avoided these blasts with ease as he navigated the waters, circling around the Divine Beast.

“We're coming up to it now,” he shouted to Link. “As soon as you get a clear shot, take it out!”

Easier said than done on a speeding Zora. Link kept his gaze focused on the water line where Sidon had indicated, steadying himself as Sidon dodged the Divine Beast's attacks. He took aim, then fired off two rounds at the water line. He couldn't be entirely sure if he had hit its target; the glow to the water line remained and Vah Ruta continued to throw its watery blasts at them.

“It's tougher than it looks!” Sidon said as if it encourage Link. “You'll get it! We'll circle around again.”

The process continued in this manner. Sidon sped through the water, dodging Vah Ruta's attacks with ease, and when the water line came into sight again, Link too aim and shot off two more rounds. This time, it seemed to be cracked, but it wasn't cut off yet.

By the third time around, Link shot off another pair of bullets, and this time, he see the water line crack and burst. Vah Ruta let out another trumpeting bellow and the water from its trunk ran dry. Its movements slowed as it settled into the water and Sidon changed direction, making his way to the waterfall before it, too, ran dry.

“Hang on!”

Link clung to the Zora as he zipped up the waterfall, shooting into the air and landing gracefully on his feet on top of the Divine Beast. Link slid off Sidon's back, reloading his weapon quickly as soon as he feet touched down.

“Looks like we're not alone up here,” Sidon said to Link.

“Yeah,” Link muttered, knowing exactly what he would see as soon as he looked up. “I expected as much.”

The Waterblight, to Link's surprise, did not attack right away. Something about the phantom seemed different, as if it were already struggling before their fight even began. Its anguished shriek suggested that it something was wrong; it had been cut off from its power source, the water. Without the water, it could not rely on its attacks. It raised an arm in the air, but nothing happened, and its screams grew more fierce.

Realizing it would not be able to rely on its water based attacks, it resorted to using the laser attacks Link was all too familiar with from the Guardians. It locked on them quickly and Link threw himself against Sidon, pushing the Zora to the ground and narrowly dodging the attack. He scrambled to his feet and took aim, pulling the trigger three times at the blight. The bullets ripped through its flesh much like it had done to the other three blights before and it roared in agony.

The blight rushed at them then, a large sword in hand, and swung it at them. Once more, Link and Sidon dodged the attack, and Link spun around at the last moment to fire off two more rounds. The Waterblight was slower than the other three, and Link's shots hit it square in the back. It shrieked and prepared another laser attack, locking on to them, but Link pulled the trigger again and the bullet ripped through the phantom's head.

The Waterblight fell to the ground, its anguish screams fading away until they were just echoes around the mountains and the phantom lay still and lifeless.

“Well,” Sidon said. “That was easy! Great job!”

Link rolled his eyes as he made his way to the control panel. He placed the Sheikah Slate on it and the final Divine Beast was activated.

“Thanks for the help,” Link said as he moved back to Sidon, replacing his gun and the Sheikah Slate.

“You did all the work,” Sidon said. “We owe you our thanks. Muzu included.”

“I'll believe that when I see it,” Link muttered. He turned his gaze to Sidon's. “I'm sorry. About Mipha.”

Sidon smiled, but it was a sad smile. “Me too.”

[alteredphoenix]

Red Fruit (WIP)(Sailor Moon/Madoka novelette)

A/N: This is an old WIP from July 10, 2015, as part of a crossover series between Sailor Moon and Madoka Magica, in an AU in which (and I put this in the simplest terms possible, because 2015!AlteredPhoenix was and still is super big on metaphysics and ontology) the cast of Madoka existed in a more high fantasy/military fantasy, Warcraft-inspired version of the Silver Millennium and were also reincarnated in the present day but in a separate timeline outside the Sailor Moon continuum. In this AU, all the planets of the universe were Earth-like and existed within their own Dyson Sphere, but the fall of the Millennium and Queen Serenity’s sacrifice (here described as an event called the Diaspora that is remembered now only by the remnants of the Mau race that exist in the shadows) saw the natural balance of life and death torn asunder and persist in atmospheres that they are known for today.

When constructing the series (which went under the name “Until We Meet Again”, although that version is old and discontinued, but is planned to be salvaged in some capacity and can be read on Fanfiction.net), my goal was to make the girls of Madoka deviatory from their canon personalities. Here Kyoko is a nondenominational girl that is very much anti-police and anti-establishment. She does not have faith in the pantheon of Mars and cares little for the interplanetary affairs that prelude the war that would destroy the Golden Age of the Silver Millennium. This fic would have her be put in the crosshairs of Mars’ law force and see her sentenced to serve as a pack mule to Endymion and his Four Guardians as they go on a mission (that I can’t remember the life of me what it was).

This mission would change Kyoko’s worldview and mold her as the person she is depicted in canon, and would carry over into the main AU story in the present, post-Rebellion world that would see her and Sayaka jump through timelines trying to reclaim Goddess!Madoka from hiding from Devil Homura’s hunt to recapture her.

(Mami would be elsewhere in the present day Sailor Moon timeline (which, at the time of that story, “A Passing Glance”, set it around 2017), infected with a parasitic version of Walpurgisnacht that is only held at bay by Nagisa’s watchful eye and the hope that Rei will purge and cauterize the blight before it overcomes Mami.)

-

“I thought you said you weren’t interested in seeing them?” said the voice, and Kyoko nearly dropped the apple she was holding.

Tightening her grip on it, she glanced behind her to see Mami and her damn pleated fan, unfolded to display a watercolor scene of flying fish with their oval mouths open to swallow the stars; a sleepy, rural village basked beneath a sky full of alien moons. It was a surreal image, one she did not understand, and staring at it for too long made her nerves itch in the way sliding a rusted nail down a used chalkboard would. “With all the noise they’re making, it’s hard not to ignore them,” she said, and peered over the balcony. “Look how garish they dress! Are they supposed to be soldiers or stoplights?”

Mami joined her and studied the cavalcade of men marching down the cobblestone road. She studied their uniforms for a moment—sharp, finely-pressed plated suits ranging from black to royal blue to ashy grey. “They look like they could blend right in at night.”

“Not those guys! The ones grouped around tall, dark, and pale.” Kyoko nodded their way, just as they were crossing beneath them.

Mami finally saw the quintet and nodded. “Ah, Prince Endymion and his Four Heavenly Kings. I don’t see King Aethlius among them. He must be in the Basilica with the other dignitaries and magistrates.”

“I don’t care about the King or any of that drivel!”

“Then what troubles you?”

“Just look! They’re not wearing any helmets! They’re not blending with the rest of the crowd! A sniper could put a round in every one of their heads and they wouldn’t even know what hit them!”

Mami watched the rest of the procession arrive. “I highly doubt an enemy of the state would risk his life attempting an assassination with this many people.” She waved the fan airily at her face. “We can’t see them from this angle, more or less be able to even if we tried, but the Talonites are all around us. They know all the secret places of the Forum as well as the Eternal Flame knows all about them.”

“So say I throw this apple at blondie there,” Kyoko said, pointing at one of the Kings with short, wavy hair the color of wheat. “Or that guy with the bleached roots.” She indicated a taller male towering over his brothers and Prince. “Would the gods see fit to cast a compulsion on their warrior-priests and make me spontaneously combust with a snap of their fingers? Or perhaps someone will jump out of these very shadows and turn me into a pile of ash with a single swipe of his uchiwa?”

“Any and all threats will be dealt with, depending on how severe the order the High Priests gives them,” said Mami. “If I were you, I wouldn’t waste precious food.” She leveled a pointed stare at the bag of apples pressed against the other girl’s chest.

Kyoko scoffed. “It’s not wasting food. It’s sustenance and makes for good ammunition.” She sank her teeth into the fruit and chewed.

Mami sighed. “Not only would you face possible death to the warrior-priests, the local merchants would have your head if they hear about it.”

“Why should they? There’s plenty of arable land, and no one’s howling for blood this year. Human sacrifices are so last millennium.”

“The Republic of Mars hasn’t been ‘howling for blood’ in over seventy-five years, since before the King’s father Aeolus passed away,” Mami groaned. “Must you always sleep through history, Kyoko?”

“None of that matters to me,” she said, and dropped the apple core into the bag; she was not about to incur Mami’s ire over leaving her spoils in a place that wasn’t a container or trash receptacle. “It shouldn’t matter to you, either. You’re not from here so that’d be understandable. But why should I go through all the trouble learning about the history of the Alliance when it’s written by gods-fearing victors?”

“You shouldn’t say that!” Mami shouted, and started, surprised at her outburst. Her cheeks coloring, she looked over the balcony and saw that the retinue had come and gone. She breathed a sigh of relief. “Need I remind you the consequences for spouting heresy?”

Kyoko rolled her eyes. “Yes, yes, I’ve heard it all: the forty lashes, exile by vote of majority, the public stoning, the burning at the stake. ‘S nothing new.”

“You can’t just say stuff like that in a place like the Republic, especially in a region that boasts the highest population of Talonites and religious adherents on the entire planet.”

“I’m entitled to my rights just as much as the next person.” She pulled another apple out of the bag, polished it off against her shirt, and took a hefty bite from it. “’Tough titty,’ said the kitty.”

“Kyoko,” said Mami, and the tone of her voice was like tempered steel, “you’ve been warned twice by the political police. If it happens one more time,” her eyebrows knotted worryingly. “If it happens one more time,” she pushed on, more softly, “we’ll never see each other again.”

Kyoko stopped, no longer feeling hungry. She sighed, dropped the apple into the bag and wiped her hand of its juices against the brown paper. “Mami—“

“Have you ever stopped and wondered what your family thinks about you?” Mami asked suddenly. “What your neighbors must think? When they see you with the heretics, the non-believers, taking to the streets, wreaking havoc and disrupting the peace with your beliefs, what do you think goes through their minds?”

Kyoko’s mouth went dry, her tongue arid as the red deserts that lend credence to Mars’ name. For one brief, absurd moment, she kicked herself for not having brought something to relieve her thirst. “Hey now…I’ve never actually hurt anyone. The ones that incite all the riots and clashes with the police…I’m not part o’ that crowd.”

“But surely you were a part of them?”

“Well, when I’m tryin’ to get away from everything, then yeah, I have to push and shove my way through. I’ve gotten into a few scraps, but it’s not like I cause them. There’s a reason for getting off scot-free and claiming self-defense by having the aggressor throw the first punch.”

“And for everything else? Do you put a halt to evening traffic and topple vehicles to delay the opposition in their pursuit? Do you fight back with restricted magic as per the laws of the Basilica Carta? Do you vandalize holy sites like the Face of Vulcan? Have you been injured by a Talonite and asked yourself ‘I will give unto him what he has given unto me tenfold’?”

“I don’t regret what I do,” Kyoko said testily. “I’ve been beaten and kicked like a sack of rice while being pinned down and bound by spellweavers. I’ve been sent to jail and harassed by officers and prisoners alike that my efforts weren’t worth the trouble. I nearly had my hair burnt to a crisp by one of those priestly chaps. Hell, at one point I got trampled by my like-minded brothers and sisters making a hasty retreat and almost died.”

“But have you?” Mami snapped the fan closed and jabbed it under the girl’s nose.

Kyoko growled and swiped at it, but Mami was faster and pulled away before the fan could be ripped from her grasp. “So what if I have? I’m human! I don’t claim to be perfect or a saint! Not like you,” she grumbled the last part.

“I am as imperfect and sinful as you are,” Mami said, frowning tiredly. “As are the free peoples of the Alliance and the far-flung races of the known universe. But you must be careful, Kyoko! The sons and daughters of Kagutsuchi will not tolerate any more of your antics.”

“They’re not antics! And I’m not afraid of those flame-worshipping lapdogs. They’re going to have to do more than dress like festival dancers to scare me.”

“You’ll be scared when they come into your house one night and drag you out—by force—to the execution grounds,” Mami snapped, and then, more softly, “No amount of pleading on the behalf of your family will sway them to ignore the Word bestowed by their elders…or that of the Eternal Flame. Peace, Kyoko, must be maintained…and you’re not helping.”

Kyoko sighed, ran a hand through her hair. “Nothing’s gonna happen to me, Mami.”

“I want to believe that,” she said, turning away. She looked out beyond the conical spires of the high-rises, past the cupolas and lighted braziers of the Church of the King of the Hunt, to the horizon. It looked like rain, and where there was rain there would be lightning and thunder, and there would be fire. Vicious, hungry fire, dancing and out of control. “I want to, but I can’t bring myself to. Something’s got to give.”

“You mean something I’ve got to give.” And she wasn’t going to. Not her beliefs. Not her cause. Not her life. Nothing.

“How else are you going to stop them? It’s either that or you’ll die.” Mami looked at Kyoko, and her face was long and haggard and sorrowful. “And I don’t want you to die. I will heal any injuries you might sustain or ease any anger or worries you might have, but I can’t cure death.”

“Ah, yes. Death. The Talonites can stamp out religious persecution and all manner of crime, but they can’t stop what’s inevitable.” Kyoko gathered the bag in both arms and, putting all her weight into her haunches, pushed herself onto the balls of her feet and rose. She joined Mami at the balcony and breathed in a lungful of air through her nose. The air was charged, thick and heavy with the coming downpour. It was pure and refreshing, but it was nothing like the smoky, sulfurous odor flames were wont to exude. “Kinda ironic, isn’t it?”

Mami nodded. “Aye. But for the phoenix that builds its nest atop the tallest mountain and sets itself ablaze, it rises anew from the ashes.”

“It’s just a bird,” Kyoko scoffed.

Mami sighed and pressed the tip of the fan to her forehead, brow furrowed in resignation. “Once again, you fail to see my point. Kyoko, I won’t ask you to promise me not to get into any more trouble than you already are…but at the very least try to stay out of it. I’m not always going to be there for you when you need a place to hide or words to whitewash any misgivings. I’m only here until summer’s end and—”

“’I won’t be here forever.’ I get it. Thanks for the warning, Mom.” Kyoko quashed the guilt skewering her breast at the hurt that flashed across Mami’s face. She couldn’t let that bother her. Not here, and especially not in front of Mami. She could feel like shit later, away from everything in the privacy of her home.

“Very well,” Mami said calmly, stiffly. “I entrust you to be on your…ahem, best behavior. As you were.” She stuck the fan into her waistband and glided past Kyoko, as a skimmer does on the surface of a still lake.

[swanwinged-princess]

hsdf idk how to start this off but basically i’m gonna do some worldbuilding and also some editing to my main verse

i’m gonna separate it into two main offshoot-timelines, one taking place within the events of the prince & the raven, where she is adopted and raised by siegfried’s family, and another one where she’s.. not.

generally speaking, the difference between these two timelines is, in the first one (the main-main verse, i guess you could say), Schwanensee only consists of the sacred island in the center of the Swan King’s lake, and is really only a ‘kingdom’ in name because the inhabitants are all only the royal family (extended up to like 3rd cousins). 

(the ‘royal family’ was originally more of a sacred priest/sage bloodline, but evolved over the years into more of a leadership role, so they started calling them royal.)

in the other one, Schwanensee consists of the lake, the island and a good portion of the land around the lake- not a very big kingdom, but enough to be counted as a kingdom. 

In this verse, the actual royal family had retreated to the sacred island for several generations, leaving the nth-time-removed cousins who didn’t inherit the holy bloodline powers to run the actual kingdom. this decision was probably made to protect the empowered members of the royal family from got/tudors-style royal murder intrigue, or something like that.

However, that probably backfired because within like, one-and-a-half generations the regent side of the family started to abuse their powers- under the table, of course, but basically they became the actual kings/queens in all but name, and kept the distant concept of the actual royals on the sacred island over the heads of the citizens as sort of a threat, like ‘oh you think we’re not fit to manage this country? would you say that to the royal family’s face?’ or ‘oh the harvest has been poor this year and maybe there might not be enough food for all of you this year but just keep a stiff upper lip and think of the royal family, they’re praying for us or something’

this is also going into OC territory here but in Tutu’s time, the main-- magistrate, minister, regent, what-have-you-- is her several-times-removed cousin who is the perfect golden child on the surface; all glasses-pushing-up and theatrically clumsy and bookish and all smiles and etc., etc., but- of course- you can’t judge a book by its cover. 

When Tutu was rescued from the wreckage of the sacred island, he was somewhere in the 12-14 age range, while Tutu was 5, and his father was actually the magistrate/regent/whatever-the-fuck. 

The aforementioned father was almost CARTOONISHLY corrupt- like, not subtle about it at ALL, there were crying children in the streets while he was eating 3 whole roasted pheasants at a time up in the castle and all that stuff. You know how it be. 

He made a big show about having rescued the princess, who is ALSO the daughter of this kingdom’s like LITERAL GOD, and how he was going to raise her and protect her as if she was his own, this was a miracle, etc. etc. but really his plan was to raise her and spoil her absolutely rotten to make her more of a figurehead to wave from balconies and for all intents and purposes be under his thumb/so vapid she has no thoughts of her own. 

It worked out pretty well for the first few years because she was a traumatized child, but she started having her own thoughts and opinions at about 7 years old, which also coincided with when the current magistrate started coming down with a case of Ye Olde Consumption or something like that- after a long, painful illness he- of course- died, and his son, Name TBD, became the next one. Almost immediately, he basically turned the kingdom from cartoonishly-poor-and-obviously-run-by-a-villain to actually-an-okay-place-to-live. 

Not because he actually wanted to help or anything, but the peasants had been getting restless and there was a high probability that they would have actually staged a revolution sooner rather than later. That obviously gave him points from the citizens, and it was a lot easier to continue doing his corrupt activities under the table when starving people weren’t pounding on the castle walls yelling. 

He was actively a lot nicer to Tutu- for one, actually talking to her like she was a person, and letting her do things she wanted, to a reasonable degree, because, like, she’s only a little kid and anyway it’d be a lot easier to control her/get her to do things YOU want from her if she likes you. 

He only started getting worried when most of the things SHE wanted to do were to actively help the citizens, and then of course the entire kingdom basically started falling in love with her in a ‘our princess is also our literal messiah and she’s so kind and beautiful i can’t wait for her to be queen’-type sense, and that only grew when she started using LITERAL HOLY MAGIC to heal sick children or cure blight on a field of crops. At first he was like ‘okay i can work with this’ but as she got older she also started getting more involved in the kingdom’s actual politics and managing, and undoing literal generations of corrupt money-funneling and keeping-the-masses-ignorant and so on and so forth, completely unaware the whole time that they were anything more than clerical errors in the contracts and paperwork. 

So at this point he’s like ‘...ah fuck, this kid is actually smart and altruistic and literally beloved by all, this could ruin EVERYTHING and what’s gonna happen to my side of the family when she gets married and/or becomes queen, which is eventually gonna happen because she’s beautiful and every half-bit noble from lords to full-on emperors are probably gonna want to marry THE CHILD OF AN ACTUAL GOD at the very least for bragging points if nothing else.

So for one he changes the age of her coronation from 18 to 21, but that’s not gonna solve the problem forever, so I’m not saying he started actively conspiring against her- extremely low-key, of course- but that’s basically exactly what I’m saying. 

For one, he only arranges meetings with, like, the most obnoxious possible suitors- the French-royal, powdered-wig types, or the dickhead playboy pinches-girls’-butts types, or the straight-up just like actual marauding Viking kings or something- the ones that she would NEVER even give the time of DAY to, and disguises his actual intent in having her reject all of them by ‘of course i would never FORCE my dear cousin to marry against her will, women- even princesses- are PEOPLE, you know’ like. wow. so progressive. 

Also, while it’s true that some of the perils she faces are naturally borne from being a) a princess in a fantasy setting and b) the only child of an evil deity’s sworn enemy, who has powers that actively destroy his powers and minions, approximately, like, a FOURTH of them were probably more like ‘somebody got slipped a bag of gold to try and get the princess’s horse to run off a cliff’ or ‘hey coachman why don’t we take a detour through these woods known to be the territory of violent bandits/dangerous magical beasts/etc., it’s probably fine if we go fast’

They’ve all failed up to this point because. Hey. Heroine plot armor, dawg. That shit be TOUGH. 

They also probably won’t- or wouldn’t- turn into literal assassination attempts until she starts getting closer to her 21st birthday, but they do probably slowly ramp up in intensity the older she gets. There’s also a high probability that Name TBD would actually ally himself with the Monster Raven, or at least some of his human cultists and/or his horrible children to either kill Tutu or get her out of the way somehow (coughcough COR cough. absolutely irredeemable creep REALLY wants to ‘have’ her. Gross on so many levels.)

.....yeah man that’s basically all i have *dabs*

[imagine-loki]

The Powers That Be

TITLE: The Powers That Be

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter Forty-Eight

AUTHOR: wolfpawn ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki discovering a hidden mutant when he realises they are at risk of being found by S.H.I.E.L.D. who experiments on mutants, he is the one to help them.

RATING: Teen and Up

NOTES:  Right so, I am using Irish mythology here, and what I have them say about Bálor is what is said of in the old tales from Ancient Ireland.

The Quinjet landed on the top of a drumlin, looking over the small valleys between it and the other ones surrounding it. Slowly, the Avenger's made their way out.

"So, according to reports," Stark got the different calls to the emergency services up on his mask and scanned them all. "Our slithering friends all made their way up the River Bann not too long ago and are now in Lough, Nee-ag, Nee…how the hell do you pronounce that?"

"Nay, it's pronounced like Nay," Thor informed him.

"How do you even know that?" Barton half demanded.

"Allspeak permits a speaker to understand the language as a whole, that is an Irish word with Irish pronunciation," Thor shrugged. "It is actually a very easy language."

We'll take your word for it," Stark commented. "Right so, we just need to…."

"Tony?" Rogers didn't like the way Tony ceased speaking.

"We're in trouble."

"Tony, could you actually say something of use?"

"In the lake, I can sense them." The team looked at Wanda. "One of them, I cannot read his mind, it is too complex, too dark."

"That will be the one we have to concern ourselves with," Thor commented.

"I think we have to worry about them all, what with three of them being three supersized sea snakes," Stark commented.

"They are nothing in comparison to him." Loki dismissed.

"Does this "Him" have a name, it's getting a little Harry Potter not actually naming him?" Barton asked.

"He has many names, but on this realm, there are stories of him that date back millennia on this island, he is known mostly as Bálor, the King of all demons, he has a single eye in the centre of his forehead, he is said to be able to bring about drought and blight and can destroy all in front of him with a single glance. It is also said no army can withstand the eye." Thor explained.

"Another story is that the eye is always covered with seven cloaks to keep it cool. He took the cloaks off one by one. At the first, ferns began to wither. At the second, grass began to redden. At the third, wood and trees began to heat up. At the fourth, smoke came out of wood and trees. At the fifth, everything got red hot. At the sixth and the seventh, the whole land caught fire." Hogun added. "There were said to be likened to the Jotnar, great enemies of the Tuatha De Danann, the old gods of this land. What they recall is the old battle that took place here, and the Tuatha were the Aesir that assisted them. There is a reason this is the Midgardian land of Saints and Scholars, the last standing of the written text on this realm for a while."

"Yeah, we get it, Ireland is great, we've seen the advert campaigns, so let's get to the part where we find out how to kill the cyclops." Tony rushed along.

"We are dealing with a creature that can set the earth of fire, there is very little we can do only hope we can kill the serpents before making our way to him, and pray he does not rise from his cave before we get there." Loki sighed, knowing the futility of their task.

"We're dead," Barton stated factually.

"Then we die fighting," Fandral shrugged.

"Indeed, but all beings die at some stage," Volstagg added.

"I never intended getting to old age," Stark continued, "And helping kill a super King Demon sounds better than the assumed alcohol poisoning that was the key suspect for it."

"So, now that we have established we are all stupid enough to die on this quest, we had best get going," Loki growled as they made their way along the valley. As it happened, he fell in step with Stark after a few moments, the billionaire looking at him from time to time. "Norns, if you have something to say, will you just say it."

"Alexia."

"What of her?"

"How is she?"

"Were you not talking to my brother of such matters already?"

"Yes."

"Then surely his response is enough for you?"

"You would think that, but Thor doesn't know Al like you do, she trusts you more than anyone else." Loki huffed at those words. "You screwed up?"

"None of your business," Loki hastened slightly to leave the billionaire behind him. "Why do you care anyway?"

"Pepper had a soft spot for her."

"Your other half? You ask for her? Does she even know you are here, or that I am to ask?"

"Fine, I miss the sarcastic brat alright? I miss her digging me out of holes with Pep, she was a good kid. I just want to know she is okay."

"She is settled and singlehandedly stopped the realms from falling into chaos once more."

"Yeah, Thor said."

"So, you can live for whatever amount of time it takes for Bálor to decide to kill you knowing that for the next four thousand years, she is keeping an eye on the worlds."

"Four...how is that possible?"

"She has eaten Idunn's apple."

"Idunn?"

Loki threw his eyes up. "Yes, Idunn. Idunn is a goddess who just so happens to possess apples that can give one longevity of life. Alexia ate one and as a result, can live for many years to come."

"Okay, what gives Reindeer Games?"

"What are you prattling on about?"

"You two were as thick as thieves, why are you snapping at her name?"

"That is none of your concern."

"Wait," Tony looked around and realised the others were too focused on their own issues to pay heed to him and the God. "Did you try some funny business or something?"

"I never did anything to her she did not ask for."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Loki turned on his heels and came close to the genius. "Alexia and I have shared a bed, on her request on more than one occasion, in fact, she was the initiator, is that clear enough for you?"

Stark's brows rose slightly at that. "And you are pissed at that why?" Loki's nostrils flared and he swallowed. "Wait…you actually like her," He realised, Loki's eyes widened, confirming his suspicions, "And she pushed you away." Loki turned and walked away. "No, wait, she broke your heart, hasn't she?" Tony's voice was low enough for Loki and Thor, who was the next closest to them to hear.

Loki went to put his hand around Stark's throat when he sensed something. "They know we are here."

"What?" Thor half demanded. "Not possible."

"Jörmungandr is under our feet," Loki informed him.

"I do not know what a Jörmungandr is, but there is one of the snakes beneath us," Wanda confirmed, her eyes telling her fear. "They are coming for us."

"What do we do?" Sif asked, looking to Thor for orders as he unsheathed her sword.

"We can only see where it surfaces." A moment later, the soil beneath them seemed to begin to tremble. Cracks began to form. "Scatter," Thor ordered as he rose to the air, Stark, Wanda and Wilson doing the same, eyeing the ground carefully.

"Where is it?" Stark checked his computer screen, but it could not track the movements of the creature under the surface.

Loki's senses were piqued as he kept his breathing steady to see if he could sense it, he could tell it was close, but could not tell where it would surface. What he sensed, however, was the ground seemed to be vibrating, and though it should be possible, he felt as though it was heating up. "What is he doing?"

"Loki?" Volstagg looked at him worriedly, "What is afoot?"

"Things most foul." Was all that Loki replied for a moment.

"Anything of more substance than that?" Barnes growled.

"You do not understand, Loki is not our closest of allies, but if he senses something is off, you listen," Sif explained.

"Always willing to use me when it suited, weren't you Sif?" Loki smirked.

"Is there a second meaning to that?" Barton asked curiously, the disgusted look he got from the female warrior answered that for him. "Just asking."

"Loki?" Thor landed.

Loki had gone silent before his eyes widened. "Run!" everyone did as instructed and fled in different directions. To Loki's terror, he realised what the large serpent was looking for, looking to the sky, he sighed and ceased fleeing.

"LOKI!" Thor watched in horror as the ground around Loki erupted, and he began to fall. Before the older prince could do anything, he and the others watched as the large snake rose from the hole, it's jaws snapping shut from swallowing the Trickster prince. Thor attacked with his hammer, and though he landed a blow to the serpent's head, the arrival of the others caused the Avenger's to become occupied with defending themselves, with Jörmungandr making its way back under the surface, towards the lake, the scrap of Loki's coat tail torn and stuck to its great fang as it did so.

[keelanrosa]

I tried So Hard to do literally anything else today but kept getting distracted.

(Also look at me wildly underestimating the count, spoiler alert for this entirely non-fiction rant: i remembered a million was the commonly accepted number but for some reason thought someone had made a low estimate of only 800k and didn’t want that, of all things, to be something I got in a twitter war over? But nah the lowest possible number is 985k and does anybody seriously think that was all? so at that point just. fucking round up and say a million)

Anyway i got Pepsi (not my standard “keelan is yelling about irish history again” sleep deprivation but as it’s basically a sedative for my adhd ass it’ll do) and a willingness to yell about potatoes (lol do i ever not), so here we go.

(none of this is new to anyone who has followed me for more than a few months to the rest of y’all surprise this is Just What Happens sometimes all manner of shit will get me yelling about the Irish potato famine of the 1840s until i pass out)

LET’S START WITH SOME WELL-KNOWN CONTEXT: the Irish potato famine was, well, caused by a lack of potatoes. Said lack of potatoes was the result of a blight which caused the majority of potatoes in Ireland to go bad. Tragic natural disaster, right?

LESSER KNOWN CONTEXT: The blight affected potatoes throughout America and Europe. The specific strand of blight (the HERB-1 strand of Phytophthora infestans, for the agriculture geeks) is believed to have originated in Mexico and spread as far as Poland. Along the way it caused massive potato-crop failure in several other countries and, not counting Ireland, killed about a hundred thousand people.

“Whoa, that’s interesting. Why do we only hear about it affecting the Irish, then?” asks the hypothetical person who did not pay attention to the earlier parenthetical spoiler alert.

Because in Ireland alone it killed closer to one million people. (Census data suggests 985 thousand. For a variety of reasons relevant to the limits of mid-nineteenth-century census data, especially as regards to poverty-stricken rural people ie the people the Famine was most likely to affect, the census data is generally considered inaccurately low. The highest estimate I’ve seen was historian Joel Mokyr suggesting it could have been up to 1.9 million. Tldr we don’t know and never will, but most history nerds consider “about a million” Accurate Enough.)

One million people was about one-eighth of the Irish population, even before taking into account the number of people who left because “hey, you know what other countries have? Food.” Generally speaking, a famine is a Huge Fucking Deal if it kills 5% of the population, so over 10%? Yeah. Massive fucking famine… which only affected Ireland to such an extent.

Belgium got the second hardest hit (40,000-50,000 deaths attributed to the blight), and their overall population still went up during the Famine. Not as much as it might otherwise, but they didn’t lose an eighth of the population either.

(y’know what else went up during the Famine? Exports of food from Ireland. But that’s for later.)

“Why did it kill so disproportionately many Ir-”

RELIGIOUS DISCRIMINATION.

“…that sounds fake.”

Nope.

For the Religious Discrimination bit of context: Ireland was still under British rule at the time. The British government was not known for religious tolerance. Among other things, they weren’t keen on Irish Catholics. (They weren’t on the best terms with Irish Protestants, either, because Irish, but they were on better terms with them, because Protestant.)

Things the British penal laws prohibited for Irish Catholics include: entering a profession, leasing or purchasing land, accepting land as a gift from a Protestant, renting land worth more than thirty shillings, or reaping any profit exceeding one-third their rent. (That’s just the stuff most obviously related to the ability to buy and/or grow food; they also couldn’t vote, worship as a Catholic, get an education, own a horse of greater value than five pounds… it’s a long list.) Some of these laws were revoked by the 1840s, but banning people from getting an education or owning Anything of Value for centuries means they’re not exactly gonna have fields of corn and free-range cattle within a generation. Many of them remained poor tenants living on very small patches of land owned by Protestant landowners (most of whom were British, a fair number of whom didn’t even live in Ireland), made to earn their rent working on their landlord’s farms and hoping the already-tiny corner of land they lived on wouldn’t be further subdivided for Even More Corn.

Here’s where potatoes come in: cheap, nutritionally dense, and easy as fuck to grow - both because they don’t take much effort and because they will grow Basically Anywhere, regardless of soil quality or space. So if your Protestant landlord took the last bit of good soil of land permitted you for a new fucking cowshed? That’s fine, you can still grow potatoes in the garbage-can-sized pile of sawdust he left.

This is how Ireland ended up with one-third of its population (and, specifically, a predominately if not exclusively Catholic third) living on potatoes by 1845.

Needless to say if many people are living off a single crop, and a blight happens to said crop, there’s a high chance of MUCH STARVATION resulting.

There are plenty of ways to prevent said starvation. Potatoes aren’t even an Irish crop; the Irish were doing fine without them for centuries before they came to Europe from South America. And other food in Ireland was still doing fine in the 1840s. Super fine. “Exports of beef and corn to England went up” fine.

(This is about the point where historians start debating over whether to treat the Famine as a natural disaster or a genocide, “no we are not using the term lightly, yes we literally mean genocide, as in an intentional attempt to murder or otherwise destroy a specific group of people based on national/racial/religious ties, that kind of genocide.”)

The British “relief efforts” were something Paul Ryan would have approved of. Giving food to the poor would keep them from having any initiative to work. Also, it was the Irish people’s fault they were poor to begin with, because poverty is a result of laziness and not, like, a couple centuries of oppression designed to limit economic opportunity. (ENGLAND had poor people, but most of the country was doing all right. Poor Irish PROTESTANTS existed, but not in as large numbers. Therefore this problem the Irish Catholics had was because there was something wrong with Catholics and not a problem caused by the British and/or Protestants.) Trevelyan straight-up gave copies of The Wealth of Nations to his subordinates when he was heading the relief effort. (The Wealth of Nations, for those unfamiliar with it, is one of the first books on capitalism and the monetary efficiency of the free market. It is not a book on feeding the poor during a famine.) Workhouses were initially required for anyone who wanted food from the government and simultaneously designed to be complete fucking I-would-rather-eat-grass hellholes to discourage anyone from actually using them. (Workhouses also didn’t exist in some areas where the Famine hit the hardest, but were still a requirement for the Irish desperate enough to seek government assistance.) Soup kitchens eventually became a thing because a) Quakers are, as a general rule, not complete dicks and b) the British realized soup kitchens would be cheaper for them than workhouses, but the government ones were inefficient and requests for food which could be cooked at home were a sign of not being poor enough because you’re asking for government food while still having the bare resources necessary to cook? Um, food stamp soup kitchen fraud much??? Look guys, this is clearly lazy people looking for a handout… Meanwhile disease was going up everywhere as immune systems were weakened by malnutrition and people crammed into crowded workhouses or queued up in crowded soup kitchens or moved to crowded cities in a desperate attempt to find work. Mass graves were a thing, as were people dropping dead on the side of the road while they sought work or food and being left there by friends or family who had no way to bury them.

But worry not, the Irish British economy was fine, guys. Because as already mentioned, beef and corn exports went up, for reasons which would be entirely expected when the guy running the relief effort is using The Wealth of Nations as a how-to guide on feeding the poor.

The people in Ireland who were most affected by the Famine were also people who couldn’t have afforded anything beyond potatoes in the past; limiting the price of corn or beef to something the poor Irish could afford would have been interfering with the free market and would have resulted in lower profits for the predominately British landowners. Attempts by Peel to buy cheaper maize from America to distribute at lower prices in Ireland were likewise struck down as interfering with “the regular operation of merchants”. Meanwhile, in the rest of Northern Europe, there weren’t as many people who had been living exclusively on potatoes, but there was still enough potato failure for a higher demand in other types of food and Ireland had plenty of corn and cattle just lying around not being eaten by starving Irish. Why import food from a country not struck by famine when Ireland was closer and just as cheap?

(This is where some historians argue the Famine wasn’t genocide; genocide requires an intentional attempt to destroy a group of people. Sure, the British designed their penal laws to ruin Catholics and their way of life, even if it killed them; and Cromwell thought slaughtering the Irish was God’s work; and Trevelyan, the man put in charge of food distribution, considered the actual Famine less an issue than “the moral evil of the selfish, perverse and turbulent character of the people”; but the actions which killed and displaced millions were at worst a negligent prioritization of economics over lives.)

Anyway, it’s lovely to live in a country where discrimination against religious minorities and the poor isn’t active government policy and keeping people alive is more important than money. I’m so fucking glad we learned from history like this and we now respect the Choctaw who donated to Irish famine relief efforts more than we respect Andrew Jackson who gave the Choctaw reason to know what government-sanctioned death was like.