#the river was frozen and i crawled under this little bridge

[january-images]

2-19-2014

[nerevar-quote-and-star]

I Didn't Know You Were Keeping Count - Part IV: Lark

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While writing this chapter, I realized I'd need to split this chapter in two or we'd have a massive 11k giant on our hands. A lot of stuff happens over Part IV, and I didn't want to overwhelm anyone. Lark, continued will be up later this week!

Thank you, @ravenmind2001, for your feedback on this chapter!

Taglist:

@ravenmind2001 @incorrectskyrimquotes @uwuthrad @dark-brohood @owl-screeches @binaominagata @dakatmew @constantfyre @kurakumi @stormbeyondreality

Content Warnings: None, unless you count Alec's obsession with the Dragonborn.

#######

The dragon wasn’t a part of her travel plans.

Following the White River into Eastmarch, they were only what she guessed was halfway through the caldera when its shadow swept overhead, large and dark. Then came the wash of fire, charring everything in its path, including her.

Leara barely raised a ward and cast an ice cloak over herself when the fire rained over her. She could hear Bishop somewhere beyond the wall of flames, but he was the least of her concerns.

The onslaught ended, the dragon banking west on the wind toward the mountains. She released the spells, a little too warm in her silver plate for the cool weather, but none the worse for wear.

“He’ll be back in a moment,” she told Bishop as the ranger jogged over to join her, Karnwyr beside him.

“Great, I was itching for a fight!” he said, grin wolfish.

“That would be the burns after he roasts you for dinner.”

Bishop’s mouth opened for a comeback – then he stumbled forward with a cry.

The dragon was on the road, the stones shaking as he crawled toward them.

Leara pushed Bishop aside, her katana in hand. She stared down the dragon, crystal blue eyes meeting the fathomless dark ones of the other dovah.

“Fus Ro Dah!”

·•★•·

Windhelm was a stone fortress of grey and white. Under the buildup of ice and the wear of centuries, she supposed it wasn’t that different from Cloud Ruler Temple. Only, the Blades had a pride in their ancestral architecture that was felt from even when first arriving at the Akaviri fortress. There was an air of neglect about the city, permeating from the stones as deep as the permafrost. Leara squeezed her eyes shut.

Cloud Ruler Temple was in ruins, neglected, forgotten.

“You’re awfully quiet.”

Her eyes fluttered open, shoulders rigid. “Just thinking.”

“You weren’t quiet when you trumped that dragon.”

“I shattered the vertebrae in his neck. I would hardly call that ‘trumping’.”

The bridge was long, though it was nothing compared to the Imperial bridge leading to the city isle. Snow and ice crunched underfoot as they approached the city; Leara felt tension mount inside her the closer they got to the gates. “Have you been to Windhelm before?’ she asked, much to her own surprise.

Bishop laughed, void of amusement. “I’ve been everywhere in this frozen hell of a province, ladyship. Yeah, I’ve been to Windhelm a few times. Can’t stand it, either. The people here think it’s cold when they have their cozy little houses. Huh! I’ve endured much worse as a child and survived on my own with nothing more than branches to keep me warm.”

“You didn’t have to come,” she reminded him for what was probably the umpteenth time.

“And leave you exposed to the prying eyes and wandering hands of people like the Thalmor? Do you have a death wish?” he asked.

They entered through the city gates. “I suppose not,” she sighed. “Where’s the inn?”

“First time? Bishop waggled his eyebrows at her. Leara crossed her arms, expectantly. “Candlehearth Hall over that way?” he jabbed his thumb toward a two-story building across from the main gate’s thoroughfare. At first glance, Candlehearth Hall appeared larger than the Bannered Mare in Whiterun, its gabled roof blanketed in the remnants of an early morning snowfall that blended it into the stone grey of the skyline. “Not a bad selection of ale,” Bishop continued. “Better than any of the swill the Dark Elves serve in that rathole they gather at in the Grey Quarter.”

“I see,” Leara nodded, lips thinning. A Dunmeri cornerclub sounded better than another loud tavern where the patrons were either. Drunk, singing about her, or both. Knowing Bishop, though, he’d start something and get them both kicked out. Or worse: he’d be kicked out and she would have to hear some offensive comment about the Dunmer ‘making off with the local women’ or something.

Karnwyr bumped her hand, his nose cold.

“Come on, boy. We’ll find you a fire.”

Entering Candlehearth Hall was like going from the daytime into night with a single step. The bright frosty air of Windhelm’s streets gave way to a dark, smokey interior, glowing warm with candlelight. The tantalizing smell of roasting meat wafted through the air and Leara couldn’t help but giggle when Karnwyr scented it, his head perking up.

At the sound of the door, the woman behind the counter peered passed the customer at the bar. "This here's Candlehearth Hall. Great room's upstairs, an' there's a bed for rent on the ground floor,” she said as Leara stepped up to the counter. “Got some fresh-baked bread an' good cheese, if you're after a bite to eat.”

“That would be lovely, thank you,” Leara smiled, bracing her hands on the counter. Behind her, Bishop cleared his throat. “Enough for two, and some ale.”

“You’ll want to ask Susanna after the ale,” the proprietor said. “I’ll have your meals right out. Where is Nils?” she mumbled, slipping off down the hall.

“Don’t mind Elda,” the man at the counter said. “She’s always after the waitstaff here.”

“Good help is hard to come by,” Bishop said, eyeing the man darkly.

The man ignored him; instead, his attention seemed caught on the twin rings on Leara’s dominant ring and middle fingers. “I say, those are curious rings! I’ve never seen one with a band of fire in it before! How did you come by them?”

Her fingers curling inward, Leara glanced down at her rings. While one was a mithril band studded with starlit diamonds that both boosted her natural magic reserves and combatted her difficulty in regenerating magic on her own, the other was a jet-black band with a glowing vein of gold like fire running round the ring. Its only other feature was a trio of stars engraved on the interior side of the band. “Family heirlooms,” she replied.

“You wouldn’t happen to be interested in selling them, would you?” the grey-haired man asked.

“Ah, no, no thank you.” Then, to dissuade any further questions, she added, “They really are unremarkable. Just trinkets a mage in my family was toying with. I don’t even think they do anything.”

“Mages often hide secrets in their work,” the man chuckled.

“Hey, buddy, the lady said she’s not interested!” Bishop growled.

“Bishop . . .” Leara whispered, closing her eyes.

“I’m merely making conversation,” the man retorted. He turned back to Leara. “If you’re ever interested in uncovering what powers your rings may have, I own the House of Curiosities a few streets east of here. The name’s Calixto Corrium.”

“Thank you.”

Just then, Elda returned bearing two plates loaded with bread, cheese, and some jerky. “For your dog,” she told Leara as they traded plates for septims. Leara smiled in thanks – then winced when Bishop plucked a piece of meat and chomped down on it.

Upstairs, Leara and Bishop found a small table near enough to the fire for Karnwyr to curl up while still under their – really, Leara’s – watchful eye.

The great room wasn’t overly crowded, though there were a fair number of customers partaking of an early lunch not dissimilar to theirs. Most were alone or in pairs, so what talking there was was a low murmur. In the corner, a Dunmer woman was lightly strumming a lute, lulling the atmosphere into a cozy calm warmed by the crackling of the hearth. Leara found herself pleasantly surprised by how peaceful it was.

Across from her, Bishop was chomping down on his bread, polishing it off in the time it took Leara to set Karnwyr’s jerky next to him on a napkin and slice her own bread and cheese and put together little sandwiches. “Where’s that barmaid with the ale?” he wondered out loud.

“You may have to go find her,” Leara sniffed. Over Bishop’s shoulder, she saw a woman in a server’s apron disappear into a side room. “I think she went down the back stairs,” she told him.

Grunting, Bishop stumped in that direction, disappearing by the time Susanna reentered the room, a tray of mugs balanced on her arm. Passing by Leara’s table, she deposited a single mug of mead by her plate.

“Thank you,” Leara said, lifting the mug.

“Anytime, my burgundy beauty,” Susanna said with a wink.

Leara pushed her fallen hair behind her ear once the barmaid was gone. She needed to redo her braid again. “It’s mahogany,” she whispered into her mug, lips pinching around the rim.

Her eye caught a plumed red hat making its way through the crowd, coming to a halt across the hearth from her. Underneath, or rather, wearing it, was a short blond man in poet’s sleeves and a wide collar that belonged in an old Nibenese theater, not Windhelm. Was he preening?

“Ahem,” he cleared his throat.

Everyone ignored him.

“Our hero, our hero, clams a warrior’s heart. I tell you, I tell you, the Dragonborn comes!”

What was he doing? Leara frowned, noticing from the corner of her eye as Karnwyr buried his head under his paws. The performance continued. She knew there were bound to be songs about her – she was the embodiment of an ancient Nordic hero – but this? Windhelm was the last place she expected something as Bretic as spoken poetry to become popular. Though, she mused as the man continued his recitation, it didn’t seem to be that popular to begin—

Someone started clapping along to the second reprise of ‘the Dragonborn comes’. Then someone else, and another. She looked around in surprise to find the room far more crowded than before. Where did these people come from?

“What the Hell is that?” Bishop asked, plopping next to her. He pointed at her mead, barely touched, “and where the Hell did that come from?”

“Here,” Leara said, sliding the mug toward him, appetite lost.

“It’s an end to the evil of all Skyrim’s foes. I tell you, I tell you the Dragonborn comes.”

It was like watching a wagon pileup in the middle of the marketplace. It was so bad, and yet she couldn’t look away.

Another drawn-out line, another round of applause, and then the – bard? – swept off his hat and gave a deep bow, his tussled blond hair falling just so around his face. Holding that pose, Leara saw him peek a glance at his audience, before his too green eyes fixed on her. He winked.

“I think my ears are bleeding,” Bishop groaned into Leara’s mug. “I need more mead.”

Bishop left. And the not-quite Bard came over, taking his seat. All Leara could do during this too fast exchange was stare.

“Forgive me, my lady, have I the honor to speak to the Dragonborn?”

How in the—? Divines, was she to be recognized everywhere now? Decades of successfully hiding in plain sight and now her face was imprinted in the minds of every citizen in Skyrim! Even if she managed to keep ahead of the Thalmor now, her lead would be lost as soon as the Dominion got ahold of someone from her growing fan club.

She was quiet for too long, she realized as the bard frowned slightly. It looked as if he didn’t do that often, his muscles seemed unsure as to how to form the lines. “Yes, I . . .”

He cut her off. “By the Divines!” he cried, jumping to his feet. His outburst drew the attention of nearly everyone in the room. “It is delightful to be standing in your presence.”

“Please sit down,” Leara said, hands fisted in her lap. Her palms were cold.

“Today, we witness a living legend among us, none other than the Dragonborn herself!” the bard said, his delivery full of drama. “Our hero, our hero, who indeed claims this warrior’s heart. I told you, I told you, and the Dragonborn came!”

Did he just wink at her again?

Her nails dug into her palms, and she regretted not putting her gloves on that morning.

She stood. “Thank you, but I really must—”

His hand on her elbow stopped her in her tracks. Was it her fate to run into every man in Skyrim who wanted to lay hands on her? “If I could just have a moment of your fine company, my lady! Please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Alec.”

“Lovely to meet you, Alec,” she said tersely. She was a sycophant magnet. Well. Her fingers curled into palm and traced a rune for frost on her skin. “If you would be so kind as to let go of my arm,” she batted her eyelashes. Alec tore his hand away from her as if frostbit. But when he looked back at her arm, there was nothing there.

He gave her an easy grin, bouncing back a little too quickly for her comfort. “I have spent so much of my time studying your adventures,” he explained, his eyes shining. “From the terrors at Helgen to your endless eradication of the dragon menace. You are our hero.” – He made as if to grab her hand but abandoned the movement, thank Akatosh – “Your strength and humility bring hope to every heart in Skyrim. We bards sing your songs so that our children’s children may remember the glory of the Dragonborn, the savior of Tamriel!” Then, in what might have been a smooth line from nearly anyone else, he said, “Though, meeting you I see no account of your beauty has ever given you the justice you deserve.”

“How kind of you.”

“Kindness holds no place over honesty.” And sarcasm cast no shade over rose-colored spectacles. “I speak only the truth. You are truly inspiring, a beautiful muse for the beating heart of a musician.”

“That’s great,” she said, tone as dry as the Alik’r.

“Please,” he pressed, “you must come to a special performance I’m arranging here in Windhelm. I would be delighted for you to be my guest.”

“Re-ally,” Leara drew out. “That sounds lovely, but I’m on a very important errand now, crucial to the safety of the world you understand. I—”

“Just you wait, my dear!” he said, steamrolling over her. Could she not get a word in edgewise with this bard? “I am so pleased to share the experience with you. I will see you at the palace, my muse.”

Wait— “The palace?”

Alec nodded, far too enthusiastic. “The Palace of the Kings. The Jarl’s steward has engaged me for the evening to perform for the court. But what is performing for jarls and lords when the most legendary woman in Skyrim will be there in a place of honor?”

The Jarl?

The tension in her chest snapped into place like an iron lung. Her insides were cold and hot at once. Was she nervous? She couldn’t tell, and she usually did so well at maintaining her internal equilibrium. It’s nothing, she told herself. Nothing. She saw him at Helgen and his eyes glazed right over her face. It would be the same here, certainly? He might show an interest in her being Dragonborn – hopefully one with more decorum than shown by some of her fanatics – but he would only see her as the Dragonborn, right? He wouldn’t see a ghost from his past. Not even Elenwen—

She thumbed the black band, pushing it back and forth around her finger.

“Tonight, my muse,” Alec said, and Leara was so preoccupied that when he reached for her hand and kissed it, she let him.

Leara was still standing, stiff and statuesque, when Bishop rejoined her. An involuntarily whiff told her he’d downed at least three mugs of mead, on top of finishing hers earlier. “We’re going to a bard performance tonight,” she said, face stony.

“The Hell? Why are we doing a stupid thing like that?”

“We were invited.” Leara closed her eyes, resigned. “Well, I was, and since you insist on following me everywhere, that means you’re coming as well.” At his baleful look, she stuck her nose in the air. “It’s the polite thing to do,” she sniffed.

“Polite? Ladyship, do you realize just how many things you do for people because it’s the ‘polite thing to do’?” Bishop asked, huffing mead scented air in her face. “What’s the point in endearing yourself to them? They’re useless and they will use you in return!”

“Perhaps,” Leara said, willing to play Daedra’s advocate. “But when people like you, it’s easier to get things done.”

He gave her a dark look. “Whatever. I still question your intelligence.”

She was too, seeing as she was about to risk exposure.

·•★•·

The worn silk slipped through her fingers with painstaking familiarity. After so long wrapped up in the bottom of her bag, she was surprised and relieved to find it still intact. The folds of the skirt needed steaming and the white lace girdle was pinched, but it was nothing she couldn’t fix with a little Alteration. Such spells were some of her first castings, even before she learned to dance with ice and fire.

“Hey, what’re you doing?”

“Did your mother not teach you to knock?” she asked, pulling and tucking the lace with gentle quirks of her fingers. Tendrils of white gold magicka curled through the threads, aligning them to their original pattern.

“She taught me to drink and not to trust people,” he said. He leaned over her shoulder. “Is that some kind of housewife magic?”

“Tailor’s craft,” she corrected. She’d forgotten how much lace made up this girdle! “It’s not very common outside of High Rock or the Imperial City.”

“Huh.”

Leara continued to work her way through the lace, restoring it to order. Once that was finished, she cupped her hand and breathed a Bretic rune word; steam pillowed in her hand, and she ran it slowly down the gauzy skirting.

“So what’s this for?” Bishop asked. He’d sat down on the floor with Karnwyr as she worked.

“Tonight,” Leara said, concentrating on her gown. “You do realize we’re attending court, yes?”

“Yeah, I just don’t care,” he replied. “Why dress myself up for a bunch of lazy, entitled nobles and one creepy little bard?” He snorted, “Bards! As if he’d know anything about letting women come for anything. His voice alone is enough to send them running in the opposite direction.”

She decided to ignore literally most of that comment. “We’re attending the court of Ulfric Stormcloak. He’s hardly a lazy noble.” In fact, he’s so energetic that he could kill her.

“No, he’s worse.” Bishop said, sitting straighter. He braced his arm on his raised knee. “He’s a religious freak with the power to sway people to his side like mindless zombies. And for what? Talos worship? Pfft, I don’t like the Empire by any means and the Thalmor can rot in Oblivion for all I care, but starting a war just so you can worship a damn god is stupid. I’d sooner eat Karnwyr than die for any god.”

“I didn’t realize you hated the gods so much,” Leara murmured.

“I’m surprised you don’t.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Don’t you see?” His hand was on her calf. Leara stilled, her only movement the mechanic back and forth of the steam spell over her skirt. “They made you Dragonborn and left you to take care of their mess for them. How can you trust them when they’re the reason you have to throw yourself in front of every blasted dragon in Skyrim?” His grip tightened, right on the lined trousers that usually sat under her greaves. She continued steaming. There was a stubborn crease near the hem, and she needed to be careful getting out lest she burn the delicate skirt. “They play a game with everyone’s life, with your life, and you just stand back and watch it happen!”

“Yes,” Leara whispered. Contrary to Bishop’s intention, she felt a sudden urge to go join a chapel to one of the Divines. Maybe when this was all over, she could become a Priestess of Akatosh? The Dragonborn spreading the teachings of the Dragon God. The irony made her smile.

“—that’s why you need to be careful tonight, ladyship.”

What? “Yeah, sure.”

·•★•·

“I must say, you look quite sexy tonight. All that armor you wear covers up the best parts.”

“You’re too kind,” she said with a dry snort. Leara burrowed into the cloak she’d borrowed from Susanna; she would need to buy one of her own for the journey to Winterhold. An alchemist or the blacksmith may be interested in the dragonscales in her bag. Selling those would cover any cost. She hoped.

Bishop, as expected, wore his same old travel-stained leathers. Whereas Leara left her katana tucked in-between the bed and wall in her room with a napping Karnwyr to act as guard, Bishop’s bow and quiver remained on his back and she knew that if she searched him, she’d find more than one dagger, too. She supposed she couldn’t blame him for wanting to be armed; while she had a wide arsenal of spells she could reply on, his mundanity limited him to what tangible weapons he could get his hands on. Still, given his volatile nature, she wasn’t entirely comfortable with him walking fully armed into a jarl’s court.

Even if the Jarl might kill her.

“I take it you’re ready for the performance?” she asked as they left Candlehearth Hall for the frosty dusk coating Windhelm’s streets. Masser and Secunda were visible overhead against a backdrop of constellations and distant stars. Leara hoped that meant there would be no snowfall overnight.

“No, I couldn’t find enough wool to plug up my ears with.” Bishop held up a flask and took a long swig from it. “There’s not enough mead in all of Skyrim to make me ready for this crap.”

“But you’re still going to try,” Leara sighed. As much as she wasn’t looking forward to another spoken word poetry fest that would likely feature her as a subject, her own worry kept her mind too alert to think about drinking even the first mug of mead, much less the endless stream she knew Bishop would soon imbibe. “You might actually forget everything anyway.”

“Trust me, I have other ways of forgetting. Mead or not,” Bishop chuckled.

She pinched her nose; exhausted already and they hadn’t even arrived at the palace! “I’m sure they’ll have enough free alcohol that you want need any of your other methods.”

They were quiet the rest of the way to the Palace of the Kings, though Leara couldn’t consider it peaceful. Bishop was a specter at her side, glaring at passersby and sneering at the guards. His attitude was sour, and it blackened her already worried mind. As they ascended the steps to the palace avenue, Leara felt the tension tighten around her ribs, constricting. She forced a deep breath, and then another. Feim. Zii. She exhaled.

Everything was going to be fine.

After telling the gate guards why they were there, Leara and Bishop entered the great hall. Removing her borrowed cloak, she folded it over her forearm and took in the room. It was a long, high-ceilinged room with towering stone walls draped in blue banners depicting the golden outline of the bear sigil. Centermost was a banquet table where a team of kitchen maids were arranging bowls and platters in preparation for dinner. If all went well and they stayed for the feast, she’d try to take a beef bone back to Karnwyr. He would like that.

Bishop gave a low whistle. “A lot of history in place like this. And a lot of riches, for that matter.”

“Yeah,” Leara nodded, voice distant.

As if dragged by an unseen force, her gaze found the throne. Framed by the banners of Eastmarch, it sat high on a dais at the end of the hall. The throne of Ysgramor. The throne of the Jarl of Windhelm.

It was empty.

Leara released a slow breath. Where was he? As she looked around, a Nord with a rather impressive mustache exited from a side passage. On seeing Leara and Bishop, he hurried over, his fur lined hat flopping back and forth on his head. “Hail, you’re the Dragonborn, I take it?”

“Yes, I am,” Leara answered, resigning herself to public recognition no matter where she went.

“I’m Jorleif, the Jarl’s steward. I was asked to keep a look out for you, but,” his gaze shifted to Bishop, who loomed over Leara’s shoulder with a dark scowl on his face, “your guest wasn’t expected.”

“Go figure!” Bishop mumbled. It took all that was in Leara not to lean back and dig a sharp elbow into his ribs.

“His presence isn’t a bother, is it?” Leara smiled.

Jorleif shifted from foot to foot. “We have plenty of seating in the gallery. The two of you just won’t be together.”

“That’s not—”

“That’s fine, thank you,” Leara cut over Bishop.

“Right,” Jorleif nodded, glancing between the ranger’s hard glare and the Dragonborn’s genteel smile. “If you’ll follow me.”

Jorleif led them down the passage he’d appeared from before and into a low hallway lined with torches. “The concert is being held in the Gallery of Kings. Normally Jarl Ulfric likes to keep it reserved for quiet reflections honoring the old kings, but he agreed for the concert to be held there.”

“Will the Jarl be in attendance?” Leara asked, forcing her lungs to expand.

“Oh yes,” the steward nodded as they crossed into a long room. It was smaller than the great hall, with a much lower ceiling, but that did nothing to diminish the effect of the statues framing the walls, situated between fogged glass windows like pillars. A large statue, holding the likeness of a war axe carved with the face of a screaming elf, stood across from the entrance and to the side. Leara twitched, uncomfortable at the sight. So that was the great Ysgramor and his mighty Wuuthrad. Lovely.

The hall was already fairly full as people milled about the side tables arranged on either side of the entrance where platters of tarts and rolls, though most were already settled in seats closer to the back. There were enough mead bottles available too, she noticed as Bishop snagged two, both for himself. Leara counted several empty benches closer to the front. She looked to Jorleif in question. “Assigned seating for the thanes and great families of the city,” he explained. “And you of course, Dragonborn.”

“You’re telling me all those empty seats already belong to somebody?” Bishop demanded.

“Yes,” said Jorleif. He pointed to a chair near the backrow that stood next to a statue adorned a large beard, knotted at the end, and a winged crown. The plaque beneath read; Jorunn the Skald-King. “This will do for you, I think, if the Dragonborn agrees.”

“Sweetness—”

“Sit beside the Skald-King, Bishop. Perhaps he’ll teach you something about music during the concert,” Leara quipped. She couldn’t say she wasn’t relieved not to be sitting with Bishop. She already wasn’t looking forward to whatever Alec had planned for her, but it would be infinitely more tolerable without Bishop griping in her ear through the whole thing.

“This way,” Jorleif said, leading her from the silently fuming ranger toward the front row. Leara’s jaw slackened when she saw the ornate highbacked chair in the center of the aisle. “That’s not mine, is it?” she asked, chest welling with trepidation.

“Ah, no,” Jorleif coughed. He directed her attention to shorter, though no less ornate chair. Its back was just low enough to let her hair cascade in an unobstructed waterfall. “There’s your seat, Dragonborn. Enjoy”

“Thank you,” Leara whispered, mouth pressed into a line as she stared at it. Why did something tell her that this chair was chosen just to display her hair? It was such a small idea, really inconsequential, but she got the impression that Alec was well attuned to such attentions to detail. Which was fine, except when it came to her. Then it was more than a little creepy, especially after they shared only one conversation. Sighing, she tucked a faded red strand behind her ear. She would need to reapply the dye soon.

It wasn’t an uncomfortable chair, she decided once she sat down. It’d be better if it was placed closer to the middle in the midst of everyone else. While she had an excellent view of the area sectioned off to act as the stage, she knew very well she was in excellent view of both Alec and the audience, which didn’t bode well if he did or said anything embarrassing.

Why was she subjecting herself to this, again?

A thud and a sigh next to her jerked her from her silent crisis. The taller chair was occupied. Crystal eyes glanced up, meeting a wall of storms before darting away, back to the stage.

“Ah, Dragonborn. I was told you would be attending tonight’s festivities,” Ulfric Stormcloak said by way of greeting.

“Jarl Ulfric, it’s an honor,” she said, ending in a squeak. She cleared her throat, flushing. She met his raised eyebrow with a reassuring smile. It didn’t do anything for her, but the Jarl of Windhelm nodded, placated.

She couldn’t help but stare at him. Aside from a brief glimpse from a separate prison wagon and then another stolen stare as they escaped the fires of Helgen, it had been twenty-six years since she’d seen him, really seen him. The decades between carried news of his campaigns, but they said nothing of the storm in his eye nor the steel in his face. This was the man who would be High King.

And if he knew the truth, he would be her executioner.

“I must admit, I wasn’t looking for you to come to Windhelm,” he was saying.

“Oh?”

“Yesterday, I received a report from a patrol of the dragon you felled south of Kynesgrove. That’s the second one you’ve slain in my hold, and yet you avoid the city.” He leaned across the armrest of his chair. “Are you nervous, Dragonborn?”

“Ye—no. I’m fine,” she coughed. Ulfric offered her his unopened mead. Surprised, she took it, but only picked at the wax seal.

“I don’t blame you if you are,” he said lowly. Leara gaped at him. He what? “The attention of bards can be overwhelming, especially ones such as this Alec,” Ulfric’s nose wrinkled. Clearly, he didn’t enjoy Alec’s spoken word poetry, either. “I heard he’s planning to pen the complete account of your travels. Says he’ll call it the Ode to the Dragonborn.”

“That’s a rubbish title,” Leara heard herself respond. “That couldn’t even be classified as an ode. It’s an epic.”

“What would you call it?” Ulfric asked her.

Her mind whirled. “The Strundu'ul Edda.”

The storm in his eyes lit up. “Stormcrown. Fearsome.”

“I thought so,” Leara smiled. She smiled? She exhaled and studied the Jarl of Windhelm under her lashes. His mask had improved by leaps and bounds in the last two and a half decades, of this she was certain. But she’d seen under it – was there when it shattered. She knew the invisible cracks only a few could see like the lines on her palms. None of them were telling; he held no hidden thoughts from her, not right now.

He didn’t recognize her. Not her voice, not her face. Nothing.

And of course he wouldn’t, she chastised herself. How could he? Her right hand tightened over the left, over her rings. The black band’s enchantment wasn’t active; she passed for an elf of mixed ancestry. Not an Altmer. Not a member of the Aldmeri Dominion. This whole time, she was working herself up for nothing. After all, she was a Blade, the art of concealment was her domain. If she could slip under Elenwen’s nose at the ambassador’s own party, why couldn’t she slip under Ulfric Stormcloak’s? One weight out of many left her shoulders, and she relaxed into the feeling.

“I take it you don’t particularly care for Alec’s work?”

Ulfric chuckled at her inquiry. “Hardly, but Jorleif persuaded me. He said such festivities would be good for me and good for the people. For the people’s sake, I agreed. Though I do not think you agree,” he added wryly at Leara’s grimace.

Leara glanced over her shoulder. Several of the front benches were occupied now, though the ones closest to her and Ulfric were still empty. Turning back, she whispered in a conspiratorial whisper, “Oh, it’ll likely be very nice for the people. But not for me, I think.” At Ulfric’s inquisitive eyebrow, she elaborated: “As you know, as Dragonborn, I am Alec’s, ah, muse.”

“My condolences,” Ulfric bowed his head, though she could see the twinkle in his eye.

Leara couldn’t help but marvel at this entire exchange. If someone told her that morning that she’d be seated with Ulfric Stormcloak in his hall, making digs about a sycophantic bard, she likely would’ve accused them of being on skooma. And yet, here she was.

Both Leara and Ulfric straightened in their seats as a pale haired women swathed in crimson and gold stepped on to the manufactured stage. “Please, everyone, take your seats as the show is about to begin.”

“Here we go,” Leara sighed. Beside her, Ulfric barely suppressed a laugh.

Then Alec was on stage, poet sleeves puffed and plumed hat primmed. Spreading his arms, he gave a shallow bow. “Good evening, Windhelm! May I thank you all for venturing out on this cold, wintry night to witness the One, the Great, Alec, Prince of Song! I wish to dedicate tonight’s performance to someone very special to me.” His too green eyes found her, piercing. He winked at her. “She is the most inspiring, beautiful woman I have ever met, and I have a song in my heart I must sing to her.”

She mouthed a vague, “By Talos, this can’t be happening,” as Alec lifted his lute.

Then, honest to the Divines, he began to sing. “Let me dream of you and me and a place to be. Let me heal those scars unrevealed.”

Leara pressed herself into her chair, mortification building with every word this so-called ‘Prince of Song’ sang to a crowd of Windhelm’s citizens. Words about his feelings for her. What she could do for him. Her worrying nails broke the seal of Ulfric’s mead, and she guzzled it just to distract herself from the unpleasantness.

“Only you can save me. Only you can heal me,” he pleaded, strumming a handful of chords on his instrument. “Cure my eternal loneliness and kill my blinding hopelessness!”

Every mode and method of interrogation she was taught under the exactingg hand of the Aldmeri Dominion paled in the face of this new torture. Perhaps, perhaps Alec was a Thalmor agent sent to break her and return her to the Embassy? If so, she had to hand it to Elenwen for her originality. Prolonged exposure of this kind might just break her.

Would definitely break her, she corrected once Alec begged for her to let him love her. Whoever said things were better when put to song was wrong. They were actually so much worse. The urge to bury her face in her hands and scream mounted the longer and more explicit the song drone on, especially once the audience began to participate, clapping hands and snapping fingers to the steady tempo set by the lute.

“Let me dream of you and me for all eternity in a place where you can be with me . . .” Alec sang drawing out the final note. His ardent verdant stare didn’t sway from her in the moment.

Applause swelled throughout the gallery. In the chair next to hers, Ulfric gave a few short claps, but no more. The lines drawing down his mouth told her exactly what he thought of the performance.

And it was only the first of the evening.

·•★•·

“I have never been so embarrassed,” Leara whispered when Alec finally left the stage and a trio of Nords were drums and a flute took up a pounding jig.

“I’m sure,” Ulfric told her. “It was wildly inappropriate.”

“The audience didn’t seem to think so,” Leara sniffed, baleful. “They were quite into it.”

“They did not have the advantage of observing the lack of amusement from the bard’s muse during the performance,” the Jarl reminded her.

Leara’s mouth popped open. “Was that a pun?” she asked, a giggle springing up and taking her by surprise.

Instead of answering, Ulfric gave her a little half smile. Getting to his feet, offered her his hand. “Would you join me for some refreshment, Dragonborn?”

“Yes, thank you,” she said, pretending she didn’t see his hand as she gathered the stray wax from the mead’s seal. Straightening, she met his eyes, and felt the curious eyes of the crowd on her – them – as the people intermingled around them. She cleared her throat, and added, “My Jarl,” in a subdued tone.

Ulfric gave her a wry smile, and she wondered about it as he led her through the chattering crowd toward to the refreshments. There was a quiet humor in him, wry and seasoned, but subtle in its delivery. Backhanded compliments were likely right up his alley. She recalled his dry retorts those first few days in the chamber. Before his voice gave way to the strain of screams.

A sharp intake of breath. She closed her eyes. This evening was getting to be too much, too memorable in more ways than one.

Warm fingers brushed against her hand, encircling her wrist. Her heartbeat stuttered. “Yes, my Jarl—”

“Pet names, darling? Not too sure how I feel about that one.”

Leara’s eyes blew open. Bishop stood in front of her, his hand clamped over hers like a manacle. Over his shoulder, she could see Ulfric Stormcloak engaged in a quiet conversation with Jorleif, a crease lining his brow.

“I thought—”

“I know what you thought,” Bishop bit out in a hiss, just audible over the murmur of the crowd and the lively music beat out by the band. “You do realize that I and every blasted fool in here could see you two? What the Hell were you thinking, giggling and batting your eyes at him like some cheap whore?”

“Bishop—” Not here, please. Not here, not now.

“Did I not tell you to keep your head down and avoid the damn Jarl?” His voice was quiet, but it cut through her with the subtle precision of an assassin’s blade.

She swallowed. “If you did, I wasn’t listening.”

“You stupid woman!”

Breathe in, breathe out. She mustered an air of indifference, “I didn’t pledge myself to the Civil War, if that’s what you’re worried about!”

The cold eyes and curled lip Bishop gave her chilled her blood more than her frost magic ever could. “As if that’s the only thing I was worried about.”

In a sea of people, she was an island, caught in a hurricane as the waters churned around her. Not here, the little voice in the back of her mind whimpered. Not in front of all these people. Not in front of—

“My muse!”

Leara jolted backward, freeing herself from Bishop’s grasp as Alec materialized at her side.

“It’s so wonderful to see you again! I’m overjoyed that you came!” His hand sought hers, but she pressed it into the folds of her skirt, just out of reach.

“Are you serious?” Bishop frowned. Alec ignored him.

She was strangling on cotton. “Ah, Alec, your music was . . .” Embarrassing. Discomforting. Creepy. “. . . sweet.” Nauseatingly so.

That sickening feeling resurfaced at Alec’s lovesick expression. “My beautiful muse, I’m so glad you enjoyed it,” he said. “Please, dine with me tonight, my lady. I wish to sing for you more. I wish to hear all of your wonderful stories from the road. We can spend an unforgettable night together.”

In whose bed? she wondered, her stomach churning. “I—”

“The Dragonborn has agreed to be my guest tonight, bard. Save your offer for another night,” Ulfric Stormcloak said. He’d rejoined her without anyone noticing. “Unless she would like to accept your offer. Mine can sit for another night,” he said, the fine lines at the corners of his eyes crinkling. He knew bloody well she had no intention of spending an evening with Alec, tonight or any other!

“Jarl uh, Jarl Ulfric,” stammered Alec, eloquence lost.

In the background, Bishop growled. He was ignored.

“I,” Leara began. Her eyes were caught in Ulfric’s storm. She wanted to – but no. Tonight was too much, even after – or in part because of the unexpected camaraderie between her and the Jarl of Windhelm. If only . . . But Bishop’s burning stare torched her skin. There was an expectancy in them, as if he knew she would choose him. It dawned on her then to fear what he might say or do if she didn’t. Don’t test him here, she told herself. Not tonight. “I’m rather tired,” she said, voice thin. “I beg your pardon, my Jarl, but I believe I’ll take my leave for the evening.”

Ulfric frowned, and Leara wondered if it was directed toward her or either of the men beside her. It could be for the war, she thought. His mind could be leagues away with his war camps, returning to his cause after the momentary distraction she brought him. She was an evening’s entertainment in more ways than one, it seemed. “As you wish,” he said, tilting his head in acceptance. “Until we meet again, Dragonborn.” And then he was gone without acknowledging either Bishop or Alec, lost in the sea of people.

“Are you certain you wish to leave so soon, my muse?” Alec asked. “I can promise you a night you will never forget!”

“She said she’s tired, boy. Let the woman rest, will you?” Bishop growled.

“Savage,” Alec sneered, the movement awkward and stiff, but no less pretentious on his smooth face. He turned to Leara, “Are you sane, my lady? How can you trust a man like this?”

Bishop made a move toward Alec, but the bard didn’t seem quite as intimidated by Bishop as he was by Ulfric Stormcloak. In fact, he looked purely disdainful. A fight was sparking between them. Before it could rise into a blaze there in the middle of palace, Leara did the only thing she could think of to put out the fire.

Throwing herself at Bishop, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “Let’s leave, Bishop.”

Alec made a strangled noise, but Bishop’s attention was focused solely on her. There was a glimmer in his eyes that unsettled her stomach more than it already was, but she remained where she was. A blanket of snow to put out the fire.

“C’mon.” Bishop’s voice was gruff. Leara felt eyes boring into her as Bishop’s arm encircled her waist. He led her from the hall, Alec spluttering gracelessly in their wake.

She could never show her face in Windhelm again.

[sylvanfreckles]

No. 17: Icy Deep

Part 17 of Deck the Hells

Fandom: Critical Role Rating: G Warnings: none

Summary: When the Bell's Hells are forced to cross a frozen river with no bridge, Chetney uses the opportunity to share a few things he learned during his time in Uthodurn. It doesn't go well for him. (Read on AO3)

...

“Oh, boy. I can’t say I’m the biggest fan of this,” Dorian remarked. His hand tightened on Ashton’s shoulder as they took another slide-step onto the frozen river. Fearne, in the form of some kind of tiny, adorable rodent, squeaked in agreement from the crook of his elbow.

“Considering you’re not literally made of stone, I don’t give a fuck what you’re feeling,” Ashton griped back.

“Don’t worry! The ice will hold!” Laudna said. She’d dropped to all fours to spider-crawl across the ice, distributing her insignificant weight as much as possible. Imogen, flying, was struggling with hauling FCG over the river so they didn’t have to risk the journey. And Orym, of course, had cut a wide swarth around all of them to cross on his own (he’d said it was to keep a lookout upstream, but Dorian was pretty sure it was because he was enjoying sliding around on the ice. He thought he’d seen a halfling-sized form doing backflips upstream, but that made him too dizzy to focus any more closely).

“You’re such a worry-wart,” Chetney added. He slapped Dorian’s backside as he passed, then slipped nimbly between him and Ashton. “Need to work on your balance, blue boy!”

Dorian rolled his eyes but didn’t rise to the gnome’s teasing. Particularly since he’d been crossing this way to stick close to Ashton just in case—he wasn’t sure Imogen would be strong enough to lift them if the ice broke, and he could at least levitate the earth genasi if the worst happened. Otherwise, he probably would have clicked his boots together and flown across the river.

The ice groaned under Ashton’s foot, and they froze. “Fuck.”

“Easy,” Dorian murmured. “We’re okay.”

“I know we’re okay,” Ashton snapped, without any real heat in their voice. “Fuck,” they whispered again, sliding their foot a little closer before taking the next step.

“Take your time. There’s no rush.”

They slid another few feet forward.

“I don’t know if this swims,” Ashton muttered, gesturing to their body. “Hasn’t really come up before.”

“We’ll be fine.”

Fearne squeaked in agreement and scrambled up Dorian to cross over his arm to Ashton’s shoulder. She could have easily run across the ice in this form without any danger but had chosen to stick with them for moral support. Or blackmail material. One never quite knew with Fearne.

“We had frozen rivers like this near Uthodurn,” Chetney called. He stomped on the ice and gave a satisfied nod. “Sturdy.”

Dorian shuddered. He could swim, and he was pretty sure his reflexes would be good enough to leap out of the way if the ice broke, but it wasn’t something he wanted to test. “Please be careful, Chetney.”

“What, with this?” Chetney leaped up and down, slamming both feet into the ice. “This ain’t going nowhere!”

“Not funny, old man,” Ashton warned.

“I bet it would even hold my better half.”

“Chetney, no!” Dorian called out the warning, but it was too late. Chetney was already transforming, his larger werewolf form nearly twice the size of his usual gnomish one.

“See?” Chetney gave a wolfish smile and stomped on the ice again. “Nothing to…uh-oh.”

The ice cracked.

Dorian panicked.

He did the first thing that came to mind, and cast levitate.

On Ashton.

“What the fuck!” Ashton, now a foot off the ice, swung their arms and legs through the air helplessly. “Let me down!”

“Sorry, Ash,” Dorian was already making his way toward the spot where Chetney had dropped through the ice. “Gimme a minute!”

Chetney was clawing at the edges of the broken ice, fur already weighed down with water. The water was quickly freezing in his fur and along the edges of the hole.

“Chetney!” Dorian dropped to his stomach and stretched across the ice, reaching toward the werewolf with one hand. “Change back, then grab my hand!”

Claws hooked into his hand, breaking the skin, dragging him toward the hole.

“If you do that, we’ll both go down,” Dorian argued. “Chetney! Drop it!”

The wolf snarled. The other claw was coming around as animal fear replaced the normal intelligence in Chetney’s eyes. Dorian steeled himself, bracing against the ice as best he could.

“Enough, Chet!”

He looked up to see Imogen floating next to him, hand outstretched. The world wavered for a split-second, and the fear that had been clenching his heart started to relax. Dorian let out a sigh of relief and looked back to see Chetney’s ears droop as his grip on Dorian’s wrist loosened.

“Don’t let go,” he called out quickly. “If you change back, we can pull you out.”

“And I’ll fly you to the other side,” Imogen added. “No more icy deep for you.”

Chetney whined but complied. The icy fur receded, leaving behind a small, water-logged gnome. “Sorry about that.”

“We all make mistakes,” Dorian replied, hauling Chetney out of the ice. He was relieved when Imogen immediately grabbed his arms to fly him over to the bank, since the hole had destabilized the ice around it.

The last few minutes replayed in his mind, and he dropped his forehead to the ice with a groan. Ashton was never going to let him live this down. He looked back over his shoulder, only to find that Orym had lashed a vine around Ashton’s waist and was towing them toward the riverbank like a particularly ill-mannered kite. Ashton had folded their arms, brow furrowed in a scowl, but Dorian thought he caught a hint of relief in their posture at not having to walk the rest of the way across the ice.

He lay like that for a moment, stretched out on the ice, inches away from the hole Chetney had fallen through, until an insistent squeaking caught his attention. Dorian looked up to find Fearne, still in her rodent form, climbing up his arm to press her cold rodent nose to his cheek.

“All right, all right,” he laughed, scooping her up into the crook of his arm and slowly shifting onto his knees so he could stand back up. “Let’s get this over with.”

[post-nuclear-sweetheart]

A Scoundrel’s Folly

Patches makes good, or at least tries to, on an old favour.

(2384 words)

-

“Why-“ Patches took a moment to pant out a few breaths, and rub away the blood leaking from his split cheek. “Why’d you do that? You could’ve been killed, you sorry fool.”

“I know,” the hunched over pale man with a peculiar hat covering his face said. “but you looked to have been in a tight spot. The name is Greirat.” He offered his hand to the bald man laid out against a box in the small fort ruins. His hat obscured every facial feature - even the eye holes sloppily cut out of the hat seemed to be blacked out.

Patches reached to shake his hand, but noticed Greirat held out a knitted handkerchief instead. “You can call me Patches.” He held the handkerchief over his cut. “I owe ya.”

That small memory flashed through Patches’ mind when the Ashen One approached him, asking if their little scavenger Greirat had returned.

“Not curled up in the dankest part of the sanctuary, is he?” Patches offered his suggestion on where he could be instead. The Ashen One shook their head, and said that Greirat had gone to Irithyll.

Patches kept a neutral air about him and told the Ashen One to wait another day longer. Internally, Patches had been struck with the stomach-churning flash of extreme worry.

Patches was not one to promise the day to anyone, nor did he promise little acts of kindness, nor did he ever offer anything in return for nothing. Just the same, no one had ever gone out of their way to perform an act of kindness for him, and no one had offered something in return for nothing. All except Greirat. The selfless scavenger had risked his life without a second thought, all to save the arrogant troll who spent his days punishing people he saw fit to receive his wrath. He had chosen the wrong person to invoke his wrath upon, but by some miraculous force, Greirat saw Patches deserving of safety.

Not one to be tied to earthly debts, Patches offered to repay his by way of equal exchange. “You saved my hide, I’ll save yours.” he told him.

But there was one glaring issue with the rescue plan. He was fresh out of armour. “God’s blood,” he muttered in disbelief to himself as he searched through his inventory of goods for any shred of sturdy enough armour. “I must have sold it off.”

The leather armour he currently wore wouldn’t be enough to withstand any blow dealt by the tyrannical Sulyvhan’s guard. It was, however, light enough to outrun Sulyvhan’s pup, as he affectionately referred to it, that guarded the bridge into Irithyll.

“Well,” he continued to speak to himself as he rubbed his chin. “maybe I’ll come across some dead fool’s armour…” He shook his head. No, no that was a terrible idea - relying on luck like that. The memory flashed through his head again, and the realization that Greirat wore nothing more but tattered cloth made Patches grind his teeth with indecision. If the skinny man can wear just scraps and throw his life on the line like that, so can the better built man.

“Alright, you don’t do it now and he dies, then-“ Patches groaned to himself. “-you’ll be stuck taking that debt to your grave.”

He paced back and forth before the mountain of items he had accumulated. “Fuck.” He swore. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, mother- fuck!” His voice raised with each word, until it echoed loud enough to startle the Firekeeper and Hawkwood out of his usual melancholic haze.

It was settled. He would attempt a rescue mission. With the souls he scrounged up, he paid a visit to the Shrine Maiden who had more than a few witty remarks. He ignored her abrasiveness for now and bought a few items he thought would make up for the lack of protection; green blossoms, a birch branch, and other such items.

He said not a single word to anyone. He brushed past the Firekeeper who, although without vision, watched on as the secretive man finally left the shrine.

-

The journey to Irithyll was one he took several times. He knew the ins and outs of the roads and where most hollowed undead hung about. Each time he was faced with the conundrum of taking the bridge and facing the beast, or scaling the perilous, slippery rocks down to the river and freezing.

From his vantage point among the pine trees that sprouted out from the top of the cliffs, Patches crouched low and watched as the alligator maw of the patrolling beast would spark up every now and again with lightning. He couldn’t help but shiver at the thought of going toe-to-toe with that ghastly beast. He had seen the way lightning burns before. It leaves jagged and black flesh in its wake, with skin still hot to the touch. Nothing like the burning of flames.

As arrogant as he was, Patches wasn’t an idiot. He settled for the slippery cliff, instead.

The slick, ice coated steps that lead into the water on the other side of the river would bring him up through the underworld of Irithyll. No doubt Greirat was looting the houses that contained no end of priceless pieces belonging to nobility.

Patches managed to scale down the cliff side without slipping, and slowly entered the water. Despite being undead, he could still feel the cold biting at his flesh and the numb sensation settle in his toes. He clenched his teeth as tight as he possibly could, and began to wade through the thigh deep water along the bank toward the steps across the way.

The sound of splashing water caught Patches’ attention. It was much more erratic and louder than the water he pushed around with his steps.

“What-“

The ground began to rumble, vibrating the water that stretched all across the river. The ear-piercing sound of what sounded like harsh wind blowing through a small slit resounded just behind Patches. He spun as quickly as he could in the semi-frozen water, and behind him the canine-like beast, twice the size of a human with a long snout filled with sharp teeth, stood on its hind legs. It inhaled, and at the back of its throat sparks of blinding light crackled.

Patches dove under the water, the lightning narrowly missing his head and instead hit the water, scattering all along the surface. Sparing no time, Patches kicked and thrashed his arms wildly in an attempt to swim out from the beast’s legs submerged in the water. He broke the surface with a gasp.

His movements weren’t quick enough, and a tooth of the beast caught Patches’ arm, flinging him through the air. A bloody gash was left behind. Patches landed on a chunk of solid ice floating in the water, close to the archway of the city’s undercroft.

The undercroft. That’s it!

The forceful landing knocked the air out of him, but he knew he didn’t have much time to recover. He rolled off the ice and into the water again, his arm stinging terribly. He ran through the water, skipping awkwardly to get above the thigh high sloshing. Just as he entered, the hot breath of the beast blew at the back of his neck. Patches dove for cover in the water as another bolt of lightning shot just above his head. He crawled through the water, digging his fingers into the earth beneath to gain enough traction and quickly get out of harm’s way. He crawled for cover to the right of the archway tunnel, and out of the beast’s sights.

He held the cut on his arm firm and heaved as quietly as he could. He peeked out from the stone archway, just enough to spot the beast sticking its long maw into the tunnel, sniffing around. It stopped suddenly. It couldn’t fit.

Patches nearly fell over into the now knee deep water of the undercroft, and sighed in relief. He remained as still as he could until the beast finally got bored and left. He looked around the undercroft he escaped into. Pillars of stone arched over him, holding up the city above. Bent metal spikes that served as little barricades sat tipped over and some discarded in the water. Who knew what they were for, but near them plants grew. Lastly, he noticed long, thin white skeletal bodies of strange insect-like creatures with long black hair. They laid face down in the water, dead. Someone had been here before.

Patches pushed himself up along the stone wall he sat against and made his way toward what he saw was a set of stairs that lead up to an alcove that hosted a faint, warm light. He limped himself up the stairs, and saw that it wasn’t an alcove at all. It was a kitchen, with a massive fireplace that roared with flames, and sat cross-legged before the flames were two distinct silhouettes; a rotund body with what looked like a mug in hand across from a small, thin body with a strange long hat who also held a mug.

Greirat was the first to hear his footsteps, and turned in surprise. “Oh,” he certainly sounded startled. “hello there.” He saw Patches’ arm and shook his head. “What brings you out here? You’re injured.”

“What what? Someone’s hurt?” Siegward turned his head the best he could in his armour towards the steps to the undercroft. “Well come on in, then!” Siegward rocked his body back and forth a few times before gaining the momentum to roll forward onto his feet. Patches watched on as the round knight plucked a pewter mug off the counter across the room and filled it with a thick, glowing liquid that sat steaming in the cauldron beside it.

“Here you are, old boy. My famous estus soup!” Siegward didn’t allow Patches to refute and shoved the mug, filled to the brim with the hot glowing liquid, into his free hand. “Drink up! That will set you right as rain.”

Patches gave it an experimental sniff. It smelled delectable enough, then gave it a taste. It was the best thing he had ever tasted. Patches greedily downed the mug, and as he drank the pain faded into nothing.

“Say,” Siegward started. Patches hadn’t noticed he stood examining his figure. “don’t I know you from somewhere?”

“You’ve met the terrible Patches before, have you, Siegward?” Greirat teased from his place by the fire.

Siegward mulled Patches’ name over by repeating it, but Patches hurriedly intervened. “Can’t say I’ve come across you, old boy.” He mocked Siegward’s affectionate nickname. He pushed past Siegward, who remained lost in his memory. “Greirat!” Patches called loudly with his arms spread wide as he approached the warm fire. He was finally beginning to dry. “How’ve you been?”

“Better now.” He answered, but tilted his head. “Did that beast rough you up a bit?”

Patches scoffed at the notion. “What, you think Sulyvhan’s dog can get the better of ol’ Patches? Think again, friend.” Meanwhile, Siegward was audibly humming in thought now.

“That gash on your arm proved otherwise.” Greirat pointed out playfully. He held no ounce of malice in his voice.

Patches squatted low before the flames. “‘Tis but a scratch. All healed up now.” He took this moment to divert the conversation. “That Ashen Tart told me you’d been here a while.”

It was made clear to Greirat why Patches had come all this way. Greirat chuckled gleefully beneath the hat he wore over his face. “Oh, oh ho ho, I see.”

Patches furrowed his brow. “What you laughing at?”

“I’m tickled you would come all this way for the life of a lowly thief.”

“I- I did not!” Patches huffed and took a sip from his mug - only to remember he had drank it all. “Lots of goods out here in rich people’s homes.”

“You can lie better than that - I know it.”

Patches growled out, “What of it?”

“Ah!” Siegward snapped his fingers the best he could through his gloves, catching the other two men’s attention. “I remember where I met you, old boy.”

As Siegward approached, the urge to bolt grew in Patches. Instead, he feigned an uneasy grin. “Oh? Where’s that, then?”

“I had been made a fool of by someone with that same bald dome of yours-“

“Now wait just a minute-“

“-and they stole this very armour.” Siegward gestured to his body. “Dear Ashen One found it and tossed it in the well that dastardly con-artist pushed me down.”

Siegward stopped before his old spot by the fire, and took his seat. “Now if my memory serves correct, I believe that scoundrel took the same name. He even had that big nose of yours.”

Silence settled among the three. Patches eyed up the Zewihander strapped to Siegward’s back. He tried to look him in the eye, but the slit in his helmet was too tiny to properly tell what expression the usually jolly man possessed.

“But you came here for your friend, didn’t you?” Siegward finally inquired after several moments of silent tension. “No one can truly be bad if they journey far for their friend’s safety. All is forgiven, so long as you don’t do that again.”

Patches released the breath he didn’t know he held. “This bloke saved you, did he?”

Greirat nodded. “And what a tight spot I was in.” He said. “I was running from that ghastly beast and fled into that low space you came from. I was cornered by those monsters.”

“And I was in here, trying to take a well needed nap.” Siegward declared. “But then I heard all the commotion, and knew those spidered women had someone in their trap.”

“So I was too late. Ah well,” Patches sighed, but put on a playful smile. “suppose I still need to hold up my end of the bargain.” He said to Greirat.

“I think coming here for me is plenty payback. You and your conscious are off the hook - not that you have much of one to begin with.”

Silence settled among them once more as they stared into the fire. This time the air wasn’t hostile, but instead, peaceful.

“So,” Siegward interrupted the peaceful moment. “who wants more soup?”

[tamsinswriting]

Maternal Instincts

Hi everyone. 

I’m an aspiring writer and, though I’ve shared some stuff for fanfics, this is one of the few times I’ve shared anything of my own work.

Let me know what you think:

Maternal Instincts

“Mama, I’m cold.”

I looked up. My daughter, Tial, stared back at me from her cocoon of blankets. As I watched, she shivered again and huddled deeper into the meagre warmth. Was it my imagination or were her lips blue?

“Mama, I’m freezing,” Tial repeated.

I couldn’t blame her for complaining—the inn we were staying in was run-down, with half its roof missing and a front door that hung off its hinges. Our rented room was just as bad—a small, square space with a thin straw mattress and a window that let in both the watery moonlight and the chill from outside. It certainly wasn’t worth the price I’d paid for it, but it was better than sleeping outside.  At least the owner had the decency to provide us with a few blankets— I’d given Tial the thicker ones, but obviously it wasn’t enough.

 I opened up the folds of my own blankets. “Come over here, kika. You can cuddle up to me and we’ll both be warmer, all right?”

I’d barely finished speaking when Tial squirmed out of her blankets and crawled over to me. Her dark hair stuck up at odd angles and her clothes were rumpled. It was too cold for her to sleep in her thin nightdress. She clambered into my arms and I shuddered as her frozen fingers brushed my skin. I tucked her feet under one of my thighs and her fingers under my one arm. Hopefully that would help her warm up quicker. I pulled the blankets around us with my other hand. Tial sighed and snuggled closer to me.

“Thanks, Mama.”

“You’re welcome.”

 I looked down at her and felt something splinter in my chest. She was such a good child. She’d barely complained throughout this ordeal. Not when we’d had to camp on the side of the road. Not when we’d gone to bed hungry. Not even when we’d walked on the road until our feet had blisters. I’d done my best to make things easier. As we walked, I pretended that we were on a grand adventure and heading towards a magical destination where we would always be warm and cared for and happy. I’m not certain if she believed me . . .  maybe she was pretending just as hard as I was. Still, I did have a destination in mind; one that I hoped would bring an end to this nightmare. The only problem was getting there and—

“Mama?” Tial said, startling me out of my thoughts.

“Yes, kika?”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.” I pressed a kiss to her forehead, and my mind drifted back to when this mess began.

 ***

“Mama! Mama! Look! Look!”

Kay glanced up from her whittling. Tial raced towards her with a wide smile on her face. She had her hands clamped together and her chlamys flew out behind her. Desia bounded beside her. Desia was a large muscular dog with brown fur and friendly brown eyes. Kay set aside her knife and frowned at her daughter.

“What is it? And why on Xelonia are you covered in mud? And where are your sandals?”

“I don’t know . . .” Tial glanced down at her muddy feet.

 Kay folded her arms.  “Tial?”

“But, I caught something! Something cute!” Tial proudly held up her cupped hands as evidence.

“What did you catch?” Kay asked as a smile tugged at her mouth.

She wondered creature Tial had rescued this time. Two weeks ago, it had been a baby bird that had fallen out its nest, and before that it had been a field mouse which one of the local cats had caught and before that . . . well, Tial’s passion for animals was ceaseless—matched only by Kay’s own.

“A froggy!”

“Were you playing in the river again?”

She bit her lip. “No . . .”

Kay pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’ve told you time and time again, you shouldn’t play in the river when I’m not there. It’s dangerous.”

 “I had Desia with me.”

Kay looked at Desia. The dog gave a happy bark and nuzzled Tial, nearly knocking the little girl over.  “Desia can’t pull you out the water if you fall in.”

“Yes, she can. Desia can swim really, really well.”

“No, she can’t.”

“Yes, she can,” Tial insisted.

“No, she can’t. Now, I don’t want you playing in the river when I’m not there. You could get hurt, kika.”

Tial’s face fell and Kay quickly said “Why don’t you show me your froggy?”

Tial beamed and held up her hands. She opened her palms slightly. Kay caught a glimpse of slick green skin and bulbous eyes. The creature squirmed and Tial quickly closed her hands.

 “Sorry, Mama, but if I show you more then she might escape.”

“How did you catch the froggy with your bare hands?”

“Her colours said she was asleep, so I caught her,” Tial said simply.

Kay should have guessed. Everything went back to the colours with Tial. Since the moment she could speak, she would point at people and shout out “Red!” or “Blue!” or “Yellow!” When she got a bit older, she would tell her mother that the people around her were happy, or sad, or scared. When Kay asked her how she knew, Tial would say that the colours told her. As time passed, Kay realised that Tial had the odd ability to read a person’s aura—their ‘colours’. That particular gift brought with it a new set of complications; the Elniasan people didn’t altogether trust magic or people with unusual gifts, so Kay took steps to ensure that no one in the village knew about it. She repeatedly told Tial not to talk about the colours when other people were around.

 Still, the other villagers knew that there was something . . . odd . . . about Tial, but that didn’t stop Tial from befriending most of them. Kay thought that was mostly due to Tial’s open and friendly nature.

“Can I keep her, Mama? Can I?”

Kay gave her hands a gentle pat. “I know you want to keep the little froggy, but she might have babies. Do you really want to keep a mother away from her babies?”

Tial’s eyes went wide. “I didn’t think of that! I got to go put her back!” She dashed off, her hands still carefully cupped around the frog.

“Wait!”

The little girl ignored her and Kay almost lost sight of her as she disappeared between the olive trees that surrounded their home. Kay chased after her, with Desia loping along beside her, and caught Tial’s shoulder. She jerked to a sudden stop and looked up at her mother.

“Don’t run, you might fall down. Or drop the froggy.”

“But the froggy is away from her babies!”

“It’s all right. We’ll walk quickly together and we’ll have her back with her babies in no time.  Just watch where you put your feet—there are sharp stones everywhere.”

“Yes, Mama.” Tial glanced at Desia, who wagged her tail. “Can Desia come too?”

“Yes, she can.”

They set off at a brisk pace down the path that led from their home to Kien,  Desia racing excitedly around them. As they got closer to the village, Kay made sure that the edge of her chlamys hid the bruise on her neck. There were already whispers drifting through the village about what her husband did to her and she didn’t want to encourage them. Especially since they were true.

 Kien was like every other village in Elniasa, with houses made from clay bricks and dome-shaped roofs that shed rain like a duck’s wing during the rainy season. The people made the most of the small gardens they had by filling them with as many herbs as they could grow. The plants perfumed the air with an intoxicating smell—a mixture of lavender, rosemary, and oregano. Dogs, chickens and goats darted through the cobblestone streets, more often than not chased by children who were avoiding their lessons. Kay spotted a few of her neighbours carrying pails filled with creamy, white liquid or rounds of cheese in their arms. Kien was a village of farmers and its people survived by selling cheese or yogurt made from goats’ milk to the nearby town. Some of the villagers harvested olives and made either bottles of freshly-pressed olive oil or jars of olives to sell or trade.

 Kay resisted the urge to put her arm around Tial as they walked through the usual chaos of people and animals that filled the paths f the village. A small group of children waved at Tial.

“Do you want to play catch?” one of the little boys yelled.

“No, thanks, I’m going to the river with my mama.”

“That’s boring!”

“Says you!”

The boy stuck his tongue out at her and Kay hid a smile as Tial copied the gesture. Kay cleared her throat and Tial immediately put her tongue back in her mouth.

 “Sorry Mama.”

They walked through the village, but Tial kept trying to dash ahead.

“Slow down!”

“We have to hurry or the babies might get hurt.”

“All right, all right, I’m hurrying.”

Kay followed Tial’s quick feet as she turned down one of the pathways leading towards the river that separated the village from the nearby town. The water glittered in the sunlight and the reeds on the banks swayed in the breeze.  The river was far deeper than it appeared and the thought of those muddy depths sent a chill down Kay’s spine.

 Tial had no such fears. She waded into the shallows, her cupped hands out in front of her. Desia followed her to the edge and barked anxiously.

“Be careful,” Kay said.

“Yes, Mama,” Tial said absently. She lowered her hands into the water and Kay saw the frog dart out and disappear into the reeds.

“There,” Tial said proudly. “Now the mama is with her babies.”

Kay smiled as she stepped into the water to join her daughter. She ruffled her hair and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “Good job, kika.”

Kay turned, surprised, as Desia raced off towards another barking blur. The two of them tumbled and the air was filled with happy barks and yelps.

“Bern, you idiot dog, don’t run off!”

Kay ducked her head to hide her smile as the owner of the dog came into view from behind the trees.  

 She saw that Charon was red in the face and panting hard as he shoved strands of his long, grey hair out of his face. His chlamys dangled off his one shoulder, and his flowing trousers dripped with water. He took several deep breaths and then whistled. His dog ignored him. Charon rolled his eyes and tried again.

“Bern, come here.”

Bern—a giant, speckled grey dog almost as large as Desia—gave Charon a sheepish look. He wandered over and nuzzled his owner. After a moment, Charon gave in and gave him a scratch behind the ears.

 “I guess I can’t blame you for being entranced by three water nymphs, can I, boy?”

Kay rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips. “Do you always have to be such a flirt?” she asked, as she took Tial’s hand and led her out of the water.

He laughed. “I can’t help it. When you’re as old as I am, you can flirt with any beautiful women.”

She shook her head ruefully. “You should flirt with unmarried women.”

“But they don’t give me any attention,” he said, all wide-eyed innocence.

“Oh, you poor man,” she said teasingly.

Tial tugged on her hand and looked up at her with an eager expression. “Mama, can I play with the dogs?”

“Of course. Just don’t get too messy. And, be careful where you step, since you don’t have your sandals.”

Tial let out a whoop and raced off, the two dogs on either side of her. Kay sighed, knowing that she’d come back muddier than ever and resigned herself to scrubbing out her daughter’s clothes later.

 Charon folded his arms and looked gave her a look. She self-consciously neatened her short hair and made sure that her chlamys was in place. Still, his sharp eyes lingered on the bruise on her neck. His hands balled into fists.

“So, how is that husband of yours?”

“Garett is fine, thank you.” Kay said.

He raised an eyebrow and she winced. Charon was the only person in the village to have known her since she was a child—and the only one who knew the exact circumstances of her marriage. Garett seemed to care for her—at least, he would do nice things on the good days, like bring her flowers from the fields, or the honey-fried dates she loved from the other villages.

 Kay tried not to think about what he did on the bad days. They didn’t happen often, after all, and he was always so apologetic afterwards.

 “Fine? Is “violent” your definition of “fine”?”

Kay didn’t answer and he cracked his knuckles. “I’d like to introduce him to my fists someday.”

“It was an accident.”

“Of course. You fell and hit your face on his fist.” He snorted. “You’re very lucky Tial didn’t see anything.”

She looked away. Hiding these things from Tial was something she was good at—as long as she thought of happy things, Tial never could read her feelings from her ‘colours’. And she had plenty of practice hiding bruises and injuries.

“So, how’s business?”

He gave her a look that told her he saw right through her attempt to distract him. Still, he adjusted his chlamys and said “The same. People always need a ferryman, so I’m constantly going back and forth between this village and the next.”

“You are the only ferryman for several leagues in either direction,” Kay pointed out. “And there aren’t any bridges.”

He grinned. “I know. Which means I can charge people whatever I like.”

Kay shook her head again. “One day, someone is going to complain about you.”

“They do that already,” he joked, and then his face became serious. “You know, Kerensa, if you ever needed me to take you somewhere, you’d only have to ask.”

“My name is Kay,” she said, and chose to ignore the offer.

Garett cared about her.  She was sure of it. They had a  . . . decent life together. She wasn’t about to do anything to jeopardise it. And, there was Tial to consider. She couldn’t deprive her of her father.  

 “Kay . . . I mean it. I said I’d help you when Mitri was after you, and I’m saying it again now. If you need—”

“Mama! Look at the pretty stone I—” Tial froze, and her eyes slid from Charon to Kay in growing confusion.

“Mama, is everything all right?”

“Of course.” She shoved down her feelings of sadness and forced herself to think of something happy. Like the tisti, Reve, who had visited her village when she was a child. Tial’s face relaxed, and she held out her hands. Sure enough, cupped in her palms was a shimmering stone. Kay smiled at her.

“It’s very pretty.”

“It’s for you, Mama.”

She carefully took the stone and placed it in her pocket. “Thank you, kika. Now, shall we go home before your father gets there?”

 Tial’s face fell a little. “All right.”

“Say ‘goodbye’ to Charon and Bern.”

“Goodbye Charon and Bern,” Charon said.

It was a terrible joke, but it made Tial giggle. Kay waved to Charon and she, Desia and Tial walked away from the glittering river and up the hill. Kay decided to take the path through the olive trees, in order to get to their small cottage. It was technically Garett’s cottage since it had been in his family for years.

 As they wandered between the densely-packed trees, Tial suddenly spoke, “Mama? Why doesn’t Papa like me?”

She paused. “Where in Xelonia did you get that idea?”

“His colours go funny when he’s near me.” She didn’t look at Kay as she spoke.

She sighed. “Tial . . . your Papa is a strange man. He doesn’t know how to be around children.”

“Then, why did he want one?”

A very good question. Garett had been particularly insistent that she fall pregnant as soon as they got married, but once Tial arrived, he had almost nothing to do with her. He frequently ignored her, or spoke over her if she said anything. Every attempt that she made to try and bring the two together had failed badly and Kay had almost given up hope that the two would become closer as Tial grew older.

“Your Papa has his reasons,” she said. “Now, let’s hurry up and have dinner ready for him when he gets home.”

“All right.”

 ***

 Desia barked angrily and Kay heard her staining at the rope that kept her tied to one of the trees. Desia hated Garett. She always tried to attack him whenever he came within reach. Garett had tried to make Kay get rid of the dog, but she refused to get rid of her. So, as a compromise, she kept her tied to one of the trees whilst he was in the house and only untied Desia when he wasn’t around.  A moment later, Kay heard his rough voice yelling at the dog to shut up as he shoved open the door. Kay frowned as she took in his frazzled appearance. His usually neat hair escaped from his ponytail, there was ashen tinge to his cheeks and his hands trembled.

“Are you all right?” she asked him, as he stumbled across the room and sank down onto one of the wooden chairs. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Tial backing away from Garett and into the corner of the small room.

 Garett’s eyes were distant and Kay repeated her question twice before he finally seemed to notice her. He shook himself, slapped his palm down on the wooden table and glared at her. “Of course, I’m fine. Don’t nag me, woman.”

She nodded. “I’ve just made dinner,” she said as she gestured to the fireplace on the one side of the room. “It’s in the pot if you’re feeling hungry. Or would you like to wash up, first?”

 He ignored her suggestion of washing up. He stood and went directly over to the stew pot. He lifted the lid and breathed it in. “This smells good.” He grabbed a spoon resting on the side of the hearth and scooped out a huge mouthful for himself. He looked about for one of their bowls and his eyes landed on her. His face folded into a frown.

“When was the last time you bought some new clothes?”

“Umm . . .  a while ago?”

He looked her up and down and she tried to neaten her clothes without him noticing.  She couldn’t help that her tunic was faded, or that there were signs of mending on her trousers. Garett kept tight control of their finances and she didn’t like asking him for money.  

“You’re looking a bit frumpy. I think you should take some coins and go to the next village. Get yourself something that looks half-way decent.”

“Why can’t I go to Ibetha?”

“Who?”

“The seamstress in the village. She makes lovely tunics and—”

“You’re going to the next village because I’m telling you to. That’s why.”

Kay blinked and swallowed hard. “I-If you think so. I’ll take Tial and we—”

“No.”

 “No?” She repeated blankly.

She heard Tial’s sharp intake of breath.

Garett’s eyes jumped from Kay to Tial and back. “No. You’ll be a lot quicker if you go on your own. There’s no need for you to drag the child everywhere you go.”

“But . . . who will take care of Tial?”

He waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. I’m perfectly capable of watching her for a few days.”

“Erm . . .”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “You do think I’m capable, don’t you?”

“Of course,” she said automatically, “but you’ve never done it before, Garett and—”

He went over and pressed his lips to hers. She almost gagged as he thrust his tongue down her throat. She glimpsed Tial, hiding her face, and his hand came up and squeezed her breast hard enough to make her whimper. She endured his groping until he pulled away.

“It will be fine,” he said as he patted her cheek. “You’ll see, everything will be fine.”

 ***

Kay carefully buckled the straps of her pack and swung it onto her back. The next village was a good distance from her home, even if she could catch the ferry. She would have to spend a night in the local inn and return the next day. Still, she wasn’t going to argue with Garett. If he wanted her to get new clothes, she’d get new clothes. She would just make sure she did it quickly. She glanced at the window. The sun hadn’t even risen yet and the sky was a dull, slate-grey. She thought longingly of her bed—she’d barely slept, and whenever she had managed to drift into slumber, her dreams had been vivid and violent, full of blood and screaming.

 She shook her head.

You’re just anxious. You’ve never left Tial alone before and—she stopped her whirling thoughts.

 Tial wasn’t alone. Garett would take care of her. Kay tightened her grip on the pack. Then she glanced hesitantly at the door and turned back to the bed. She dropped down onto the floor, shed her pack and wriggled her way under the bedframe. She felt along the straw mattress for the tiny hole she’d made, where she kept two items she’s carried since childhood. She tugged them out,  clasping them tightly as she squirmed out from beneath the bed. A glance at the door told her that Garett hadn’t come looking for her just yet.

 Her heart hammered as she looked at the items she held. They were two beautiful bracelets—both given to her years ago by Reve. The one had an intricate, braided pattern and Kay could see the strands of golden hair peeping out from the weave. The other was plainer, but had twelve knots worked into the pattern.  Reve had told her that the plain bracelet was for protecting herself and the other would help her to find him if she needed to. She wasn’t sure if the bracelets could do what he’d claimed, but wearing the bracelets usually made her feel more confident. She carefully slipped the bracelets on her wrist. Then, she adjusted her chlamys so that her wrist was hidden. Now Garett wouldn’t know that she was wearing jewellery from another man—though, she wondered if Reve really counted since he wasn’t human in the first place.

 Then she stood, grabbed her pack and walked out the door. Garett was waiting for her at the front door, as promised, and he had a small bag in his hands.  To her surprise, Tial was there too, dressed as if she was going out to play. She’d even done her best to tie her sandals and to put her chlamys on properly. “Mama, can’t I come with you?”

‘No,” Garett said sharply. “Your mother is going to be traveling a long way and you’re too little to go with her.”

Kay saw Tial’s hurt expression and chewed her lip. “Maybe she can come with me? I really don’t mind taking her. And I can easily carry her if she gets tired.”

Tial looked up eagerly but her father’s face was set.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Kay. She’ll only be in the way. We’ll be fine here until you get back.”

He thrust the bag towards her and Kay reluctantly took it. To her surprise, it was heavy, far heavier than it ought to be.

 Tial darted forward and hugged her legs, pressing her face into Kay’s knees. Garett made an exasperated sound. Tial didn’t seem to notice.

“Don’t go, Mama!”

Kay’s heart cracked. She gently unwound Tial’s arms and knelt down so that they were eye level. She ran a hand through Tial’s short hair. “Tial, I’ll only be gone for a few days. Be a good girl for your papa and I’ll be back before you know it.”

Tial sniffed. “All right.”

Kay pulled her into her arms and gave her a tight squeeze. “I love you.”

“Love you, Mama.”

Kay gave her a kiss on the cheek and forced herself to let go. Then, she gave Tial what she hoped was a confident smile and started off down the hill.

 She could vaguely hear Desia barking as her footsteps took her further from the house and towards Kien. Everything was going to be fine. Garett would look after her. Tial would be perfectly fine. And, she’d be back in two days at the latest. Two days wasn’t very long. Nothing bad would happen in two days. Garett wouldn’t let anything bad happen to Tial. Kay was just being over-protective. Nothing was going to happen to her daughter. Everything was going to be completely fine.

Kay stumbled. She blinked in shock. Somehow, she’d already ended up on the path that led through Kien and down to the ferry where Charon would probably be waiting.

 She paused and looked about. The sun had risen properly and its light made the dew on the long grass glitter like crystals while the wildflowers swayed in the gentle breeze. Kay let her eyes wander back towards the cottage.

Kay, don’t be ridiculous. Everything is fine.

She glanced towards Kien one last time—and then turned and raced back up the hill.

I’ll just check on them one last time before leaving. Surely Garett won’t be too angry about that? Or I’ll say something like I forgot some of my supplies. That’s a good idea. He can’t be angry if I forgot something essential like—

She jerked to a stop as she heard something. Snarling. She could hear snarling from somewhere near the cottage. Her heart froze. “Tial! Tial! Are you all right?”

no answer. Kay threw aside her satchel. She screamed out her daughter’s name and flew the last distance up the hill.

 And when she saw that the front door was wide open, she knew something was terrifyingly wrong.

 She searched frantically inside the house, but it was the same as it had been when she’d left— the furniture was all in place, the fire still burnt in the hearth and crockery from breakfast was still piled on the table. But there was no one inside the house.

“Tial! Tial!”

A snarl answered her and she raced outside. Desia strained at the rope that held her in place, her fur bristling and froth flying from her mouth.

Kay ran over to her. “What is it, girl? Is it Tial?”

Desia barked and snarled—and kept staining at her leash.

Kay stopped thinking. She tore open the knot on the rope and Desia shot off like an arrow. Kay raced after her, screaming out Tial’s name. It was easy to follow the dog as she dodged between the twisted trunks of the olive trees—though whether it was because Kay’s fears forced her to run faster, or because Desia tried to make sure Kay followed her, she didn’t know.

 “MAMA!”

“TIAL!” Kay raced in the direction of her daughter’s voice. She crashed through the olive trees into a clearing. She tried to process what she was seeing, as horror seized her. A man with dusky skin and a short beard stood near Garett. Although he was dressed in Elniasan clothing, there was something  . . .  different about him. His hand was clamped around Tial’s arm, as she shrieked and squirmed, trying to free herself. Desia lunged forward, but Garett grabbed her by the scruff of the neck. She twisted and tried to bite him, but he undid his belt and hooked it around her head. Then, he snagged it on one of the low branches on a nearby tree.

 “Stupid mutt,” he snarled. Then, he looked at the other man. “Are we though now?”

He nodded. “I have what I was ordered to get.” He tugged on Tial’s arm, making her cry out.

Suddenly, Kay could move again.  “Tial!” She screamed

She lunged towards her daughter, but Garett grabbed her around the waist.

“No! Let me go!” Garett growled and held her tighter, practically lifting her off her feet. The other man watched them dispassionately, ignoring Tial’s shrieks.

 Her shrieks—Kay couldn’t imagine a more horrifying sound.  

 “Have you changed your mind?” he asked Garett. “Are you giving us the woman instead of the child?”

“No,” Garett snarled. “Take the damn child.”

“NO!” Kay yelled. She tried to break free of Garett’s grip, but it was no use. The man started dragging Tial away, and Garrett pulled Kay in the opposite direction, despite her struggles. “No, Garett! Let me go! What did that man mean ‘give him Tial’? He’s not taking my daughter!”

In a moment of inspiration, Kay stomped on his foot and Garett gave a cry of pain. She broke free and sprinted after Tial’s shrieks. Garett roared and chased after her.

 He grabbed her wrist and swung her around. Something slammed into the side of her head. She felt warm liquid spray across her face and her head rang. She staggered backwards and gently reached up to touch her bleeding nose.

“Are you ready to listen now?” he demanded, as he raised his fist again.

Kay went still, knowing that cowering only aggravated his temper.

Garett nodded approvingly. “There’s nothing to worry about. This is all part of the plan.”

Plan? What plan? She hung her head, and her eyes hooked on the bracelet around her wrist. The one Reve gave her all those years ago.

Only use it in an emergency.

“I understand,” she said softly, and looked up at Garett.

His eyes were soft. Loving. “That’s good. I knew—”

She raised her hand up and yanked one of the knots loose. She staggered as a blast flew from her palm, slamming into Garett’s chest. His eyes widened and he went flying.

 She didn’t wait for him to recover as she bolted towards the sound of Desia’s barking. She couldn’t hear Tial any longer—but Desia could track Tial. As Kay stumbled back into the clearing, she could see that Tial and her captor were gone, but Desia was still there, straining at the belt.

“Hey, girl. Find Tial. Find our Tial,” Kay ordered as she yanked the belt off Desia. The dog raced off and Kay chased after her. Behind her, she could hear the faint sounds of Garett groaning, but she didn’t turn to see how badly he was injured. Suddenly she could hear Tial’s shrieks again. Desia growled and surged forward. Kay heard a yell and a heartbeat later she barrelled into a clearing.

 The man was standing there, his arm around Tial—but he’d changed. Horror clawed at Kay’s chest.

What in Xelonia is that thing?!

Curved horns on either side of his head; odd, pebble-like scales that spread across his skin; a prehensile tail he’d wrapped around Desia’s neck to keep her away from him; and glowing, green eyes—there was no way that man was human.

Her mouth went dry and her legs almost buckled.

Tial screamed, “MAMA! HELP!”

 “L-let my daughter go!” Kay said, as she brandished her knotted bracelet at him.

“Don’t get in my way, human.” As he spoke, Kay glimpsed sharp fangs instead of human teeth. He sighed. “I’m under orders to take the child. Don’t make me kill you to fulfil those orders.”

Kay’s eyes locked on Tial’s face. “Let her go,” she snarled.  

Just then, Desia broke free of the man’s grip and sank her teeth into his tail. He yelled and released Tial. Kay yanked on a knot, hoping that she didn’t hit Tial or Desia.

 The blast slammed into the man’s chest and he was thrown backwards. Kay ran forward and scooped her daughter into her arms. Tial whimpered and clung tightly to Kay’s tunic. She kissed her daughter on the top of her head and ran desperately away from the man. Desia barked and ran alongside them. Kay had never been more grateful for Desia’s presence than at that moment.

Suddenly, the dog growled and Kay froze. “What’s it, girl?”

The air in front of Kay rippled and she screamed as the horned man reappeared before her. His clothes were torn and there was blood on his face. He narrowed his glowing green eyes at her and Kay felt her knees shake. Tial buried her face in Kay’s neck. Desia placed herself between them and the horned man and snarled threateningly.

“So, you have a Tisti as a friend.” The man wiped away a fleck of blood as he spoke. “That’s useful, but it’s not enough to stop me. Hand over the child and I won’t have to kill you.”

“Never.”

 “Don’t be such a fhasing fool!” Garett’s voice came from somewhere between the trees and he limped into sight. Blood dripped from his forehead onto his chest, soaking the fabric. As he got closer, Desia growled at him and Kay felt like doing the same.

“A fool? That monster is trying to take my daughter.”

“That was the arrangement.”

“What are you talking about?”

He gave her a pitying look. “The only reason Tial was born was because I needed to give her to these daimohns.”

“What?” Tial sobbed into her neck.

“The daimohns needed you, but I thought that it would be better if we gave them a substitute.”

“What?” Kay repeated as she clung tighter to her daughter.

“A substitute. Our child instead of you. Then, you and I could live out our lives together—they even promised us wealth in exchange for the child.”

 “So . . . you got me pregnant.”

Numb. She felt utterly numb. “What did they want to use me for?”

“Human sacrifice.” The horned man answered in a toneless voice.

The world spun. Bile surged up her throat. The conversation  was making a horrific kind of sense.

 Garett had sired a child just to butcher it.

 Garett stared at her and then he held out his hand. “Just give Maeus,” he gestured at the horned man and Kay realised that ‘Maeus’ was his name. “Tial, and come home.”

“Rot in the Void!” Kay shouted as she brought up her palm.

She yanked on the bracelet, freeing several knots at once. Blasts shot in all directions, tearing into the landscape. Trees splintered, the ground tore into pieces and fragments of rocks flew like knives through the air. Garett and Maeus disappeared in the chaos and Kay swore she heard screams and the snap of bones in the noise.

 She spun around and ran back through the trees. Desia darted ahead, barking and snarling as if to ward off anyone who might try to stop them. Kay clutched Tial to her chest as she staggered over the uneven ground. Where could I go? Where wouldn’t they find us?

“Mama, stop!”

Kay nearly dropped Tial. “What?”

“Don’t go that way. The bad man’s colours are that way.”

By Xelonia!

Kay stumbled to a halt and pressed herself tightly against the closest tree. She peered around the edge of the trunk, but all she could see were the twisted trunks of the surrounding trees.

Kay glanced at her daughter. “Kika, are you sure?”

Tial nodded. Kay still couldn’t see any sign of Garett or Maeus but she backed away as quietly as she could, with Desia following beside her.

 “Can you see your Papa���s colours?”

Tial nodded and Kay swallowed hard. “Where are they?”

Tial squirmed a little and pointed over to Kay’s right. As quietly as she could, Kay edged away from that direction. She still didn’t know which way to run. The only way out of the village was—

“Tial, can you see Charon’s colours ?”

Tial frowned and squinted hard, her tongue poking out between her teeth.

“Yes . . .”

“Where are they?”

After a long moment, she pointed over to Kay’s left. “That way, I think.”

“And is the bad man or your Papa nearby?”

“No,” she paused, and then said. “So-so.”

 So-so? They had to risk it. Kay tightened her grip on her daughter securely, took a breath, and ran in the direction Tial showed her. Desia raced beside them. A few branches smacked Kay as she raced through the forest. Suddenly, Kay sped through a sloping field and down towards the glittering river. She thought she could make out Charon, lounging on his ferry, the end of a rope tossed over one of the supports of the dock. Bern lay nearby his master, head on his paws, tail wagging lazily. Kay ran harder, her feet flying over rocks and long grasses. “Push off!” she shouted.

Charon started as Bern jumped up and ran across the deck.

“What!” Charon shouted back.

 “Push off!” Kay yelled.

Tial clung to her chest. Charon’s eyes widened and he seemed frozen in place as Bern raced around, barking as loudly as Desia. She was getting closer.

“PUSH OFF!” She screamed at him.

Charon jerked as if he’d been slapped. He swore and untied the ferry. The rope slid into the water and he shoved against the bottom of the river with his bargepole. The ferry floated away from the riverbank, just as she reached the dock. Kay didn’t think. She ran as fast as she could along the dock, with Desia beside her, and leapt for the ferry, twisting so that she’d land back first. Then, she slammed into the wooden floor of the ferry.

 For a moment, she lay there. The world was hazy and blackness teased the edged of her vision. She distantly felt someone pulling on her clothes and heard screaming.

“Mama! Mama! Wake up!”

 Mama? Who was . . . oh. That’s me.

 Kay blinked several times as her daughter’s frightened face swam into focus. Beside it was a familiar brown snout.

“I’m fine,” Kay said and Desia tried to lick her face. Kay groaned and pushed the dog away. She tried to sit up and hissed as pain sliced though her. Her back and ribs ached and she suspected she’d have bad bruises. But, they were safe. Tial was safe. Kay wanted to laugh, or cry or . . . or something.  Tial stared at her, tears flowing down her face. Kay bit back another groan and smiled at her. “I’m fine.” Then, another thought occurred to her. “Are you hurt?” She frantically checked her daughter for injuries, but other than a few bruises on her arms, she seemed fine. “I’m not hurt,” Tial said as she sniffed and wiped her eyes. “I’m good.”

Kay pulled her close again and kissed her on the forehead.

“Thank the Great Mother” she said.

 “Would someone explain what’s going on here?!”

Kay turned slightly and saw that Charon stood at the helm of the ferry, pushing it forward with his bargepole.

The dock already seemed far away. Kay swallowed hard and knew that Charon had seen the bruises on her face and the blood on her clothes. Desia came over and nuzzled Tial.

 “I’m in trouble,” Kay said at last.

“I can see that. What happened?”

“Garett,” Kay said, and his jaw tightened.

“I see.”

“I need you to get me out of here. How far away from the village can you take me?”

Charon frowned as he thought. “I can take you to Epsian.”

“Where’s that, Mama? Are we going away? Is this an adventure?”

“Yes, kika, we’re going on an adventure,” Kay said. And we’re not coming back.

“How far is Epsian?”

“Two days down the river,” he answered.

Kay bit her lip. “And on foot?”

“Ten days, if you push hard.”

 Ten days. Kay would have time to leave the village before Garett got there. And—and go where? Where could she go that was safe? Where could she hide Tial? She couldn’t go back to Kien—even if her friends were willing to hide her, there was always the chance Garett would find her She rubbed her wrist and glanced down at the bracelets. The two bracelets were dark against her skin and an idea hit her like a hailstone. Tial grabbed her arm.

“What’s wrong, Mama?”

“I just had a thought.” She gently ruffled Tial’s hair, and patted Desia on the head as the dog nuzzled Kay. “How would you like to go to He’kate, the city of Tistians?”

Tial’s eyes widened. “What are they?”

“They’re a kind of people, like dwarves or elves, except they’re very tall and have grey skin and pointed ears. And, they can do magic.”

“You want to go to a magic city?

“Yes.”

 Tial let out a whoop of excitement. “Yes, please.”

Charon raised an eyebrow at Kay. “Magic city, huh?”

“Yes.”

“How are you going to get there?”

Kay squared her shoulders. “I’ll make a plan,” she said.  

“Then, your plans might need this.” He took a bag from his belt and tossed it to her. “And don’t worry about Desia. I’ll take care of her while you go to your magic city.”

She caught the bag. “Thanks.” She opened it and her jaw dropped.

“I can’t take this! There’s got to be at least twenty silvers in here.”

His eyes were kind. “Exactly. That should be enough to get you pretty far away from here.”

“Charon, I—”

“Don’t. I want to help and—”

“Mama! The bad man is coming!”

 Kay snapped her head to where Tial was pointing. Something surged through the water towards them—a shadow with long limbs and horns. He broke the surface and leapt high into the air – She screamed as she saw the scaled skin and powerful tail. Maeus had found them. He landed hard on the deck and the ferry lurched.  The dogs were knocked off their feet and Charon stumbled. Kay shoved Tial behind her as Maeus lunged forward and grabbed her wrist, pressing the knotted bracelets hard into her skin. “Please, don’t do this,” she begged.

His green eyes were cold. He ignored her pleas and reached around her to grab Tial.

“No!” Kay screamed, and tried to kick him.

Desia snarled and leapt for him, Bern right beside her, but Maeus swung his tail like a club and batted them into the water.

“Let the girl go!” Charon yelled, and swung the bargepole at Maeus’ head.

 Maeus’ tail snaked through the air and wrapped around the pole. He yanked it out of Charon’s hands and swiped at Charon. He landed hard on the deck, his hand clamped over his side.

No!

Maeus locked gazes with her as his grip on them tightened - and then he released them. Kay snatched her daughter up and put herself between Tial and the monster. Then she grabbed a knot on her bracelet and aimed her palm at Maeus. Before she could pull at the knot, he held up his hands placatingly.  

“There’s no need for that—my orders were to catch you, and I did. Your husband never ordered me to return you to him.” He smirked.

“What?”

“He ordered me to catch you. Not to bring you back.”

“I don’t understand.”

Something flickered in his green eyes and he said “Even a creature like me, who has no choice but to obey orders, can find ways to resist once in a while. But, remember, the next time we meet, you won’t be so lucky.”

 He leapt off the ferry and into the glittering waters of the river. Her heart hammered as she watched his tail disappear beneath the surface. Then, a whine caught her attention and she saw the dogs paddling towards her. Desia whimpered.

“Come, girl. Easy does it,” Kay coaxed as Desia swam towards them, with Bern following right beside her.

Once the dogs were close enough, Kay pulled them both back onto the ferry and they went directly to Tial. Charon had managed to get to his feet. “Are you hurt?” she asked.

“Just a little bruised.” He went over to the one side and fished his bargepole from the water. “I think I can take you further than Epsian, if you want,” he said quietly as he straightened.

 Her eyes drifted to the spot where Maeus disappeared beneath the surface. Kay swallowed hard and nodded.

[capricornus-rex]

Two Sides of the Coin (7)

Chapter 7: Comfort in the Midst of Irony | Jidné Sheedra x Cal Kestis

Summary: Hell-bent on exacting revenge and retrieving the Holocron, the dreaded Darth Vader is now on the hunt for the young Jedi Knight, Cal Kestis. Under the assumption that he still possessed the artifact, while fueled by the intrigue of the boy’s strength and skill with the Force, the dark lord hires the bounty hunter, Jidné Sheedra, to track him down and have him delivered alive. However, the task becomes a trial for young Jidné, as she faces a conflict that tests her beliefs of a scarred past she had hidden for so long.

Also tagging: @silver-is-in-too-many-fandoms

Also in AO3

Tags: Fem OC, Jidné Sheedra, Force-Sensitive! Fem OC, Bounty Hunter! Fem OC, Jedi! Fem OC

Chapters: 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 | Previous: Part 6 | Next: Part 8 | Masterlist

7 of ?

Cal had just gotten back out into the open and found the river that divides the town from the jungle where he came from. He knelt by the bank, scooping up cold freshwater and splashing it into his face, scraping himself clean off the sweat and dirt. He used the last handful of water to comb his scarlet hair using his bare fingers.

He finally crosses the bridge, upon his entrance into the town, he was greeted with the colors spread across from each end of the street, hollers of vendors and haggling buyers rung loud between the walls of the buildings. Stall owners gesture at Cal to at least look at their wares, he politely dismisses them as he passes them by.

“Be careful not to overheat your scanners, BD!” Cal beamed, knowing that the curious little BD-1 is going to scan everything left and right as they go.

“Woop, trill! Chirp.”

“Yeah, this place sure is pretty,”

“Boo! Trill, beep!”

“Oh, you meant Jidné? Yeah, she is kinda pretty,”

Cal wandered off farther into the town, the thought of the Force ripple and Jidné ran tirelessly around his mind. He recalled the nudging sensation that he’s gotten ever since he and the crew landed, then the feeling spiked when he discovered Jidné—more so when she took his hand to help her stand up. The image of her constantly flashed behind his eyes—the shy smile that responded to his awfully awkward one-liners and quips burned into his memory, the melody of her voice, and the way she moved with her lightsaber.

Looking back, he rarely—in fact, never—encountered another Padawan who wielded a purple blade. The only person he knew who did was Master Windu.

Cal found himself into a modest-looking pub, light instrumentals filled the establishment as its patrons chattered amongst themselves over their drinks. He regretted that he didn’t wear the kind of poncho that had a hood; fortunately for him, no one seemed to have noticed the boy come in the bar. Cal scanned the place and saw no sign of Stormtroopers doing patrol, he sighed in relief.

“Something mild,” he orders to the bartender.

While waiting for the bartender to work on it, Cal surveyed the place again—the cantina was filled with so many species that he couldn’t name them all. The humans were also bizarre-looking: cosmetic implants attached to certain parts of their bodies, hair dyed in outlandish colors that match or complement their facial tattoos, with matching makeup on their eyes and lips to boot—especially the women.

The bartender slid Cal’s glass towards him, to which the boy halted the sliding with the cushion of his palm. The first sip was always the strongest one, no matter the alcohol level, a hot sensation seared his palate; he smacked his tongue against the insides of his cheeks until the fizz leaves his mouth. In the corner of his eye, he spotted a Haxion Brood hunter and the HURID droid; before they’d spot him back, Cal slightly angled his body so the back of his head faces them—though it doesn’t help him much because his red hair was the only defining feature they know to identify him.

Cal scooted a bit closer next to a Talz, hoping that the size of the creature would shield him from the hunters’ sights. It worked, but only for a moment. He had to move quick. He left his glass half-empty, slipped a gold credit to the bartender, and attempts to vanish in the pub. Little did he know that the hunters noticed him turn his back to leave the bar; he sensed them following him, so he briskly walked towards the denser crowd to blend in and lose the hunters at the same time.

“There he is!” the human hunter pointed with his bionic hand.

Both hunters shouldered their way through the crowd in the marketplace, especially the HURID droid who practically plowed his way through the people—it’s highly likely that the people he’s shoved and push will have a bruise pop out of them any day after that—meanwhile, Cal was careful in going through the crowd, matching their pace, regretting some more that he didn’t wear the hooded type of poncho.

“Out of my way!” the HURID droid bellowed, pushing away a local who stumbled upon the stall he was browsing at.

Cal picked up his pace while continuously mumbling “Pardon me” and “Excuse me” to the people he shoulders through. When he got into a wide space, enough for him to run, he bolted through the market’s streets—it didn’t take long until he came across another wave of people filling the road. He didn’t slow down for that though, he continued to run, looking over his shoulder from time to time—as consequence, he bumped into a stranger as he ran and they stumbled to the ground together.

From the fall, the cowl revealed its owner to be Jidné.

“Cal?”

“Jidné?”

Jidné groaned as she rubbed the back of her head, Cal’s brain was going haywire—deciding whether to bolt away and miss Jidné or simply hide with her tagging along against her will.

“Where is he!?” the HURID droid roared, drowned amongst the crowd.

There was no time for questions, Cal chose the latter option that his brain made in the last minute. He snatched her wrist as soon as she sat up and dragged her along. They crawled towards a market stall, sitting into a tucked position as their backs hug the wooden planks that make up the kiosk’s wall.

“What’s going on?” Jidné whispered.

“Shh!”

Cal braced her with his entire arm, both of them huddled together to the dust—just so they’re in the same height as the short-fenced market stall. Jidné was startled with the entire rough-and-tumble but she immediately knew what Cal was trying to pull.

The stampeding footsteps of the Haxion Brood hunter and his HURID companion approached their spot, they stopped just a few inches past the stall; both the young Jedi and the bounty hunter stuck their backs against the wooden planks more—both youngsters were frozen in place as they couldn’t look away from their pursuers, Jidné’s eyes fixed on the two goons, the human hunter was scanning the area. Not waiting for that hunter to turn his head to their direction, Jidné clutched for Cal’s arm on her shoulder and then put all of her focus on using her ability.

“What was that?!” the hunter snarled, abruptly twirling to face Jidné and Cal’s general direction.

Cal’s felt his heart fall to his feet when he met eyes with the hunter, but it occurred to him that the hunter apparently cannot see them. He swears that he’s face-to-face with the Brood hunter right now! The hunter is literally one step away from him, he shuddered at how close he is with the enemy but the Brood agent isn’t doing anything.

Cal looked to his side and saw the steely expression in Jidné’s face, he felt her hand around his, she afforded a quick side-eye as she caught him staring at her—he was beginning to grasp that she was doing this.

“You see ‘im, Fazer?” asked the bruiser droid.

The human hunter, Fazer, squinted his eyes and panned that one empty nook right beside the market stall.

“Argh! Nah, probably just a vermin or somethin’ I heard,” he grumbled.

“He must’ve went that way!” the droid pointed to their direction up ahead and then darted through.

Soon the footsteps receded, Jidné didn’t remove her hand from Cal’s until there was no sight of that pair. She scrambled to her feet, still crouched to the same level as the market stalls, and then peeked out into the street while ignoring the startled locals looking between them and the two hunters running ahead.

“I think they’re gone,” she turned around to Cal, still seated on the dust, mouth gaped open as he still tried to comprehend what happened seconds ago.

“How did…?” he mumbled. It was so quiet that Jidné didn’t hear it as she checked out their surroundings.

“You seem like you have a knack for attracting trouble.”

“Yeah well, there’s a bounty on my head for being a Jedi. The group that’s after me isn’t exactly the friendliest bunch,”

Jidné bit her lip. The whole thing is so uncanny that it hurt her on the inside.

“Right,” she hummed as casually as she could.

When the coast was truly clear, Cal brought himself up his feet and dusted off the yellow sand that clumped on his jacket and pants.

“Sorry, I kinda dragged you in there for a moment,”

“Wait, did you think those Haxion goons were gonna come after me too—that’s why you pulled me in with you?”

“Yeah, I…” Cal was patting off the dust from his sleeve until it occurred to him, he jerked his head to face Jidné. “Wait. How’d you know they were Haxion?”

Oh fuck! Jidné’s conscience screamed so loud that her mouth nearly replicated the words.

“I had my own run-ins with them,” she shrugged her shoulders. She nodded at the alley on her left. “Come on, this way should be safer. Less open, more hidden.”

Jidné led Cal into the narrow annex of the main road, doors lined the walls—assuming that this was another residential area that sits behind the business establishments—and worked their way out of the crowded part of town.

“You got yourself into a bar fight or something?” Jidné blurted.

“No, I was just out to get a drink until I spotted them—I guess they spotted me when I was about to leave,”

“Sounds like you haven’t truly mastered the art of subtlety,” she clapped back.

“Hold on,” he pressed. “What was that just now?”

“The what?”

“That!” Cal gestures at the space behind him, but Jidné knew what he exactly meant. “You saw the hunter, he was literally right in front of us! But… he didn’t see us? That couldn’t be me—I’m sure as hell that that’s not me!”

Jidné was calm, completely the opposite definition of Cal’s hysteria. She sighed. There’s no escape for her with these kinds of questions again.

“I don’t think this is the best place to explain, don’t you think so too?” quipped the young hunter.

Cal surveyed the area, residents standing outside their homes—for reasons unknown—and children playing in the narrow annex with their balls and playthings laid out on the road. Some of the folks have already noticed the two of them standing awkwardly together by the wall.

“Alright, I suppose you lead the way then?”

“Just stay close,” she sternly instructed.

——————————————————–

The intricate network of roads, annexes, and alleys in the town of Ombari was confusing, but if one knew the landmarks and kept it in mind, then it would be easier to navigate through the town. Jidné and Cal passed through some intersections here and there, they were looking for a spot that wasn’t too crowded—a few people wouldn’t be a bother, Jidné only preferred to have less people around and Cal concurred with that.

Cal kept his questions to himself. As they go along, more and more questions pile up in his mind—particularly, questions about Jidné herself.

They found themselves in the base of the hill where the town was situated. There were more small-time businesses lining up the path just right in front of the main entrance, but farmers and tillers mostly resided at the stretch of landed where they had plotted their modest farms and vegetable gardens. Their harvests were already in display for those who wanted to buy, they were no different from the vendors in the town proper though—except the noise wasn’t a factor in their part.

“That spot by the riverbank looks okay,” Jidné nodded at her north, gesturing at the river gleaming underneath the afternoon sun.

She and Cal sat on the other side of the river, across the hill where they could observe the farmers till and plow their crops, underneath the shade of the trees that framed along the winding river.

Both of them were getting tired—or perhaps, fed up—with the same old silence that always hung heavily around them, no matter the space in between, it’s always there. Neither of them saw it a sign for either of them to start a conversation.

“So, about what happened back in the marketplace?” Cal prompted.

Jidné exhaled and prepared herself.

“Can you like… cloak anything or anyone?” he added.

“When you put it that way, yeah,” she looked at him in the eye, then her eyes wandered to her own hands. “At first, it was simply just activating and deactivating it—in a way—it was hard for little ol’ me that time. I was fresh out of the Initiate Trials back then.”

Cal didn’t avert his gaze from Jidné, he shifted between examining her hands and then to her whenever she spoke.

“But now that I’m older—even back then when I was still a Padawan—I learned how to wield it better. I can manipulate how transparent I want things or people to appear, whether they’d be as thin as smoke or as invisible as the air we breathe.”

“Do you really need to touch in order to make things almost or completely invisible?”

Jidné clenched her fist, “It makes it easier for me if I do, and the area of effect varies too. Not touching them but still focusing on my target can have them be under the influence of my Force Shroud, but only for a time. Whereas being in physical contact, it’s the same—except twice or thrice as better. It all boils down to a matter of distance, really.”

He let all of that information sink into him, trying to grasp how Jidné’s Force ability worked. It wasn’t difficult to understand, though he could imagine the possibilities if one could master such a power.

“I don’t think I’ve heard of another Jedi with an ability like that,”

“My master thought the same thing,” her tone became more somber at the memory.

Cal’s next question might be one of the most personal ones, but he had a feeling that his master might have known hers. Regardless, he put that question for another time—he figured it might have been a topic too heavy for her, considering that she was also a Jedi who must’ve lost everything.

And lost everything she did.

“So, you got anything special in you too, ginger?” she initiated.

Instead of using words, Cal searched for a target—any target. He spotted a pile of shards from earthenware that beached onto the shore of the river, hidden well between the reeds; he scooted closer to the shard pile and hovered his hand over it. Jidné watched and she could feel the slight ripple send out a weak shockwave and a gust of wind.

“These pots were used by farmers to ferment the grain and wheat into some kind of liquid. They collected water to continue the fermentation process, but some wild animals jumped on them and broke them,” Cal explained.

Impressed, Jidné flicked her eyebrows up at Cal, who seemed proud of his little demonstration and proved it with a smirk across his lips.

“I think I’ve read about a power like that a long time ago. You touch an object and you get a glimpse of its past… A Force Echo.”

“Exactly,”

“Interesting,” she hummed, a smile involuntarily curled along her lips.

For a moment, Jidné forgot that she was a bounty hunter. The feeling of having someone to connect with something familiar from a distant past was intoxicating. She and Cal continued to banter about topics that weren’t exactly correlated with one another—for instance, their own droids.

Jidné told Cal the story of finding ID-3 in a disposal bin. She was expertly vague in leaving out some details that could go unnoticed. She recalled the time when she took a look at ID, he was apparently still in tiptop shape—all he needed was a circuit wire replacement and a good power recharge.

“The poor thing wasn’t exactly given the right attention,” Jidné cooed, petting ID-3’s flat-topped head. “So I patched him and now he’s mine!”

“What else did you do to ID-3?”

“Oh, just added some little perks and tweaks that might come in handy sooner or later. The little saucer never failed me so far,”

The black droid chirped happily, absorbing all of the compliments that poured out of Jidné’s mouth and she truly meant them.

Cal and Jidné whiled away the afternoon bantering some more and letting their droids get to know with one another. This was one of the rare moments where Jidné allowed herself to let loose—although the moment was lighthearted and happy, she couldn’t ignore the irony that gleamed blindingly in front of her face: the irony that such comfort is coming from the exact person that she is hunting down.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

The Art Of Remembrance (Part 26)

This time she is adequately prepared for an adventure. She is bundled up in a parka and buried within layers of clothing. Her mittens are free of holes and her boots are fitted right so that snow does not work its way into them. She also has a pair of snowshoes that keep her from getting stuck in the snowbanks. All in all, she is more prepared to enter and exit the tundra. Given her surroundings she is relatively warm.

The wind doesn’t whip or scream as she crosses the endless white landscape. It is day time, the sun glitters and glimmers over the ceaseless winter blanket. Now that she can see in front of her, she comes to realize that the world around her is quite beautiful. Pillars of ice jut out of the ground and some come to form grand and elegant arcs against the midday horizon. Nearby is a still and frozen lake, she convinces Sokka to walk alongside it with her.

Every few yards, one of the guards lays down a large and bright flag so that they have something to guide them back to the village. She is careful to keep them in her line of sight, even as they follow the stream.

She observes the ice floe as it drifts lazily along. Elegant and large chunks of ice drift by and frustrate the fishermen as they try to make a living. Her breathes come out in soft puffs as she moves along. “Any wise group of people would set up somewhere close to a body of water.” She comments.

“In other words, you think that if we keep following the river, we’ll find the compound?”

She nods.

“Lead the way.” He says.

An hour of following the river leaves her cheeks and nose pink. Sokka brings the group to a halt. “What are you doing?” She asks.

He laughs, “your face is as red as Fire Nation armor. Here…” he unfolds her scarf and re-wraps it around her mouth and nose. “If you’re going to wear a scarf, you should wear it right.”

She folds her arms over her chest. “I haven’t had to wear a scarf before.” She defends.

“Well, now you know how to use one.” He laughs.

.oOo.

Watching her stumble around in the snow is always rather enjoyable. Considering her usual grace and poise, there is an extra tier of humor seeing her nearly trip over camouflage mounds of snow. Every now and again, he has to thrust his arm out and catch her around the middle before her face can meet the snow.

In spite of it all, the princess seems to be enjoying herself rather well. He thinks that she is pleased to be out and about again and doing something productive. It would seem that a simple memory wipe can’t erase her drive and ambition. She tries to pass on a lunch break but she is outvoted and they find themselves seated on the floor of a miniature cave, just off the bank of the river.

“I don’t think that we are on track.” Azula frowns. “I didn’t see any caves when I made my escape.”

“You made it sound like you couldn’t see anymore than an arm’s length in front of you.” Sokka points out and offers her some jerky.

Looking mighty grumpy, the princess takes it, pulls down her scarf, and bites into it. “Well, yes, I suppose that, that is true.”  He can sense the skepticism in her voice.

“We don’t have to find the facility today.” Zuko mentions.

“That’s what you said yesterday and the day before that.” Azula points out. “What if they’ve abolished it?”

“An entire compound?” Sokka asks.

“I can wipe out this entiere cave if use enough fire.”

“But do they have fire?” Zuko inquires.

“They had help from one of Fire Lake’s nurses.” She shrugs. “They could be working with firebenders.” Something in her expression darkens. “They could have used my fire.” She gives a pointed look to her arms, probably visualizing the scars beneath her coats.

Sokka takes a bite of his jerky, savoring its dry and salty flavor. “Mmm, this is some good meat. Tasty, tasty meat.”

Azula rolls her eyes. He realizes that she hasn’t made much progress on her own snack so he asks, “hey can I have…”

Suddenly she is very invested in the jerky.

.oOo.

White is becoming painful on her eyes. There is so much of it and the sun glinting off of it as it makes its descent is even more searing to her retinas. She sees a burst of red in the sky. Minutes later it is followed by another red burst further to the west. And then another.

“Should we start heading back too?” Sokka asks.

Azula pinches the bridge of her nose. “Maybe the reason we aren’t getting anywhere is because we keep heading back to the village when the sun starts to set.”

“And we resume our search in a new direction…”

“Maybe we need to stick to one direction until we find something.” She doesn’t mean to be so abrasive, but her patience is wearing thin. “We should keep going, at least a little further. If we have to, we can sleep in that cave for the night.

“Alright, we can search a little longer.” Zuko gives in.

“Thank you.” She brings herself to say, albeit, rather exasperatedly.

Conversation seems to drop as they continue their trek across the snow. The temperature is crawling steadily down and she is starting to shiver. Occasionally, Sokka and Zuko exchange hushed murmurs. Along with a fall of snow and a bitter chill, she feels tension in the air and she begins to think that they are angry with her for pushing them to continue. She finds herself torn between her ambitions and insecurities; the itch to at least reclaim what is hers and the desire to make sure that she won’t outcast herself again. It serves only to frey her nerves further so she keeps quiet, as to keep herself from making snippy outbursts.

Though Zuko and Sokka walk next to her and a team of Imperial Firebenders behind her, she begins to feel isolated. Closed off within a bubble of her own goals and ruthless desire to bring them to fruition.

Her fingers are growing chilly and her legs are beginning to feel achy. The only sound she can hear is the crunch of the snow beneath her feet. She shivers again, less from the cold and more from familiarity. It is so quiet and the ache in her legs seems to magnify itself. The place where her pinky should be throbs. Irrationally, she begins to fear losing it.

The wind rustles her bangs and park. It is a rather gentle breeze, but it may as well have been a howling gust.

She has to bite her tongue when Sokka and Zuko mumble something else to one another. She doesn’t bite it hard enough, “are the two of you having an enthralling time back there?”

Sokka seems to wince.

“Yeah, it’s a real party back here, thanks.” Zuko snaps back and Sokka cringes again.

“Well that’s wonderful, but maybe, we’ll make some real progress if the two of you stop fooling around and…”

“What’s wrong with you?” Zuko asks.

“What’s wrong with me!?” She grits out, bringing her forward march to a stop. She is cold, she is achy, she is stressed and frustrated and making no headway, and every time the wind hits her in just the wrong way she pictures her body curled up and frozen through and through beneath a heap of snow. She is breathing somewhat heavily, each and every rugged breath is punctuated with a smoky wisp. Her fists are clenched as far as the mittens allow.

Sokka places a tender hand on her shoulder. “You don’t like being out here.” It isn’t a question. “And you don’t like the quiet?” This is. “Because it makes you feel like you’re alone out here?”

It is jarring how accurate his guess work is.

“Are you sure that you don’t want to take a break for the night?”

“I don’t need a break!” She lashes out. “I need to find that compound.” She needs this to be over. She needs not feel relentlessly persecuted. “Sokka, I need to…”

His grip on her shoulders tightens and he gives a light half-smile. “You need to make real progress and you need something to take your mind off of…” he gestures around, “all of this.”

Azula nods. “It feels the same.”

“The same?” Zuko’s voice softens.

“No one talking to me. Only hearing the wind and snow under my feet.” She replies.

“If you wanted someone to talk to, all you had to do was ask.” Sokka says. “You know that, right?”

“Sometimes I forget.” Truth be told, she had begun to lapse into another time entirely. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Zuko asks.

“Nevermind.” She shakes her head. She isn’t sure how to explain what they had prevented by pulling her attention back into the present. “Your stupid conversastion, whatever it was, was actually helpful.”

Zuko sighs, “I don’t understand you sometimes.”

“Good.” Azula replies.

“I am so glad that we got to go with this group.” She hears one of the Imperial Firebenders mutter to his partner.

“It’s mighty interesting, alright.” Mutters the other.

Despite the ruthlessly biting cold, Azula begins to relax. Things fall silent again, but this time Sokka walks closely enough to keep her grounded. She finds herself linking her arm with his. If Zuko perturbed by their closeness, he makes no mention of it. Sokka certainly doesn’t protest the gesture.

They walk for some twenty minutes more when Azula finds herself squinting, looking off into the distance. She swallows hard. Out of the snow rises a boxy, concrete structure with visible piping running down its walls to beneath the snow.

“Signal the other teams.” Azula commands. She just hopes that they aren’t so distant that it won’t be seen.

[twdmusicboxmystery]

TWD 10x14: Details

Okay, let’s talk details! I’ll try to cluster these by character:

Negan/Daryl:

When Carol goes to see Negan and make a deal with him, he says he wants, “a T-bone, a beer, and a scoop of Rocky Road. 

Naturally, the beer reference caught my attention. But it also occurred to me that Rocky Road is ice cream. So, we can obviously link the beer to Beth, and the rocky road could be a reference to Daryl’s frozen yogurt “I never.” I don’t know how to work the T-bone in. Maybe it’s less about the meat and more about the T. As in, a cross. (@frangipanilove​ also pointed out that as ice cream is frozen it goes with the coolers/frosty cola theory)

Negan says, “I get it,“ at one point. Kind of small potatoes, but Beth dialogue always jumps out at me. During the “I don’t think she’s coming back conversation, Negan gives Daryl a canteen of water. Just the fact that water is involved in the scene is more evidence that this is meant to be a Beth reference. Negan also says, “I’m not bullshitting you.”

I also noted that when the three whispers (rule of threes) kneel to Negan, and he ends up shooting them, there’s only one bullet in the shotgun. I’m not trying to say anything in particular about that. But we can have the “I get it now,“ line, and then there’s one bullet in the shotgun (dude is shot pretty brutally in the face) and then of course there’s everything I talked about yesterday with him saying, “I don’t think she’s coming back.“ Just lots of Beth related details around Negan and Daryl here.

And as I said yesterday, I hope that’s a hint that both of their future arcs will intersect with Beth in some way.

Eugene/Ezekiel/Yumiko:

There’s definitely a fool/foolish theme going on here. I’m not entirely sure what to make of it yet, but it definitely is linked to faith. You often hear phrases about “a fool’s hope.” It just means believing when there’s nothing left to believe it anymore. So, you’re a fool to believe it. But that’s also the strongest form of faith. And we heard this theme over and over again this episode, both from Eugene and from Zeke.

Eugene and the bunnies. Actually lots of interesting symbols in this conversation. He says his mother grew up next to some train tracks, like the ones they’re currently passing. We saw train tracks not only leading to Terminus in S4, but also associated with Beth in Ty’s hallucination in 5x09.

Then he says his mother was a “pistol,” but she used to buy the bunnies for Easter, so he’s come to associate the chocolate bunnies with “family.” Beth, anyone?

Then Yumiko says, “we’re not really on a journey to find chocolate bunnies, are we?” He answers, “No. We’re on a journey for the future hope of mankind.” Yeah, seeing all kinds of Beth symbolism there.

There is that cage full of walkers that Eugene’s group sees. So, we have two walkers in cages and then a bird in the third compartment. I think we could interpret that several ways.

I think this Stephanie thing will lead to Beth and the helicopter group in some way. We just don’t know how, yet. So, the two imprisoned walkers could represent the two sheriffs (Beth and Rick). Then again, perhaps the bird represents Beth. In which case, the two walkers might represent Rick and Zeke, since I think I’ll three of them will be part of the helicopter group and have death fake-outs at some point.

The yellow rope is also interesting. Perhaps it suggests the three of them escaping imprisonment together?

Let’s talk in a little more detail about how they are foreshadowing Zeke’s death fake out. His horse collapses suddenly and Zeke sees a bite on it. I went back and watched the scene where Zeke was fighting the walkers. We don’t actually see the horse get bitten, but at one point, one of the walkers staggers toward Zeke from near where the horse is standing. So, I’m kind of thinking that’s where it happened.

And it’s similar to how they showed Carl getting bitten. As in, they didn’t really show it, but if you know to look for it then you can see where it happened. Zeke is very emotional and sweet with the horse. He keeps telling it, “it’s okay, it’s okay.“ Also Beth dialogue. And then he puts it down.

Another thing that occurred to me is that it’s almost as a parallel to Carol killing Lizzie. I say that because 1) he “puts it down,” obviously feeling heartbroken about it. 2) There’s a flower graffiti on the bridge pillar behind him. And 3) this episode is called, “Look at the Flowers.” Then, as I mentioned yesterday, he tries to get Yumiko to promise to leave him behind if he’s too weak and falls. She says no, but it still feels like something exactly like that might happen.

Yumiko has a cool line. She says, “I don’t know what lies ahead. Probably things none of us can predict. Or imagine.” Yeah, that still make me think we’re looking at a cure arc pretty soon. But it’s just a cool, very hopeful thing to say.

And let’s not underplay the fact that they’re camping under a bridge. We don’t see anyone fall off it or anything, but keep in mind that in Fear, Madison was kind of under/beside a bridge just before she disappeared. And I believe her “death” is a fake out as well.

Let’s address the Princess stuff. Look at the stuff in this picture with this walker. The first thing that struck me was that it’s sitting in a rocking chair. When the Governor went into the retirement home in 4x06, there was a walker tied into a wheelchair. So, different kind of chair, but visually it looks similar.

As I said yesterday, these walkers look a lot like the Rich Bitch walker from the golf club. If you zoom in on the table, there’s actually a mannequin abdomen, just like we saw with the Rich Bitch walker. There are also pink shoes, lanterns, a blue umbrella. Plenty of pink. The two at the table are holding cocktail glasses. Not sure what to make of the guy on the motorized scooter.

Upon seeing all the purple @wdway​ pointed out that purple is an important color where Advent is concerned. Here’s what she found:

So, purple actually heralds the coming of Christ. And blue, well…..

They walk past a food truck. It’s actually a burrito truck in this case, but in Alone, Maggie laid down next to an ice cream truck when she was waiting for Sasha. Because of the water and freeze symbolism around that (think blue coolers and frosty cola) we’ve always seen that as part of the Sirius symbolism.

Beta:

We definitely heard a lot of the hear/see/speak no evil theme. Beta keeps asking the Whisperers around him if they can hear Alpha speaking to him.

(When he takes her head off the pike, he cradles it like a baby. Yikes!)

When he gets to the western saloon place, he finds a note that says these two eyes see one truth.

And let’s talk about this western theme. We’ve seen it a lot in FTWD, and there are hints to it earlier on during S7/8, such as with the Smokey and the Bandit trailer and the Highwaymen. 

@frangipanilove​ found THIS ARTICLE for us in which AK talks about how S11 will have a huge western theme. So, this is all foreshadowing that will be paid off at some point. And let’s also appreciate that the word ‘sheriff’ has its origins in the old west. So while we’re still hoping we’ll see Beth alive before the end of the season, and not face another long hiatus not knowing, this may suggest that S11 will deal with old west things, including, you know, sheriffs. ;D

Inside the saloon, we see tons of interesting symbols. The semi-circular bar looks just like the one Beth looked for booze behind (where she found the peach schnapps) in Still. There is alcohol, spoons, musical instruments and equipment, a music stand, candles, a mini fridge, records, plenty of interesting colors. You name it, it’s a Beth symbol.

 We’re also wondering what he’s called Half Moon. It’s obviously symbolic, and the moon is linked to the Sirius symbolism, both because we saw the moon in Still and because of this picture from 4B of a dog chasing moon. We’re just not exactly sure how to interpret the half-moon thing yet. @wdway did some research I won’t go into here that also links it to Easter and resurrection. Just saying. ;D

There’s a battery next to his record player. And he uses the music to call the walkers. We’ve seen that theme lots of times before, and often associated with Beth stuff. In 4x01 at the Big Spot. With the green Gremlin car at Hilltop in S7, to name a few.

Beta says to Alpha’s head, “Thank you. I see now. Thank you.” Then he fixes half of his broken mask with skin from Alpha’s face. 

Carol:

It struck me that Carol hallucinating Alpha was actually a lot like Daryl hallucinating Merle in S2. Not just because of the hallucination, but also because the hallucination was razzing them, calling them names, and was obviously a representation of their own mind and the worst things to think about themselves.

One detail that jumped out at me is that when Carol is trying to get the boat down, there’s a pink blanket or tarp next to it. I thought of the Pink Theory, of course. Then Alpha says something interesting. She said that Carol even sent a letter to Maggie about Alpha. It’s kind of an interesting detail to throw in, especially because they don’t go into detail about it. It could foreshadow Maggie’s return, but I also think there must be a specific reason they mentioned this. I’m interested to see how that plays out.

The walker that tried to buy Carol crawls out of the river. And when it’s trying to get her, Alpha accounts, one, two, three.

Alpha also says, “My mother used to say everything works out the way it supposed to.” Yeah, that was something Mica said in 4x14, The Grove. Like, those exact words. So it’s kind of disturbing to hear Alpha say them. And that made me realize that her earlier, whiny apology, when she was saying, “I’m sorry you’re mad at me,” was supposed to emulate Lizzie in a super-twisted way. Remember, Lizzie got upset and started crying because she thought Carol was mad at her? Yeah, seriously traumatic, twisted stuff.  

Oh, and there’s another one of those. I caught that Alpha counted after telling Carol to the let the walker bite her. She says, “One…two…three.” I wasn’t sure what that was at first. I was just thinking Rule of Threes. But then I realized. If you go back to episode 4x02, where Lizzie and Mica’s father died, they counted too. They would say, “look at the flowers. One, two, three,” like they were counting breaths to calm themselves. So once again, hearing old lines in Alpha’s twisted voice.

 And one way I could kind of obliquely relate this to Beth is simply to point out that, while a lot of people in the fandom may think this stuff is ancient history, it’s truly not. The characters are still dealing with events from S4 and S5 in a big way. So why would we discount Beth from that? Well, TD definitely wouldn’t. ;D

Okay, Alpha says some really interesting things to Carol (all equally messed up). At one point, she says, “And now you can’t go back. They won’t accept what you’ve done.” So, the Can’t-Go-Back theme. We heard that a lot in S5.

Then she says, “Being out on your own, you’ve tried it before. They always pull you back. Wanting more. Love Motherhood. Death. But they don’t know what you truly want. Admit it. What do you want? What do you want? Say it. Say it.” Carol doesn’t admit to anything. 

And I had to sit and think what it is Alpha’s referring to that Carol wants. At first, I thought maybe it was forgiveness, and really, she needs to forgive herself. But looking at the intersection of the other character journeys, especially Zeke’s, I realized I was wrong. What Carol wants is death. She’d never admit that, even to herself, but she wants it to be overwith. 

And we’ve seen this from her before. She’s not one that would take her own life, but back in 6x16, when the Savior shot her, she was literally begging Morgan to either let her die or kill her. She won’t do it herself, but her world and the things she’s done have become too dark and too much for her to bear, and she longs for death.

Just then, a walker bursts from trees and grabs her. She kills it easily enough, but it reminded me of the walkers coming out of the trees at the gas station in 4x04. And that makes sense because Tyreese was going through much the same thing then as Carol is now, after losing Karen/Henry. And, okay, this is a total side-tangent, but I almost wonder if that was the rationale for putting Tyreese and Carol together in 4b. I mean, they were connected anyone because she was the one who killed Karen. But him transcending what happened and forgiving Carol was kind of a foreshadow of Carol’s much more protracted arc to try and transcend the things she’s done and the things that have happened to people she loves.  

It’s also important to note that this mirrors what I’ve always said about Carol in the Grove. She was talking about Lizzie when she said, “she’s too dangerous to be around people” and that whole speech, but she was also talking about herself. And this is another version of that. Alpha is saying it but that’s Carol’s own inner voice saying everything. So look at some of this dialogue in that light.

“It’s finally time... You always knew how this would end. No one’s coming to save you. Not Ezekiel. And certainly not Daryl. Not after what you did to Connie. Stop fighting. No matter what you do, you lose people. Sophia, Lizzie, Mica, Henry, Ezekiel… And if you go back, Daryl could be next.”

“I could never let that happen.”

“Your track record does not inspire confidence. Just look at the flowers, like you’re supposed to. One…two…three…

Just really interesting.

Okay, I’ll stop there. There’s probably more but you can all study the episode and find it. This is the kind of stuff that’s sprinkled throughout the entire thing and it’s all really interesting.

Thoughts?

[veliseraptor]

Got anything with Loki doing anything touristy? Gawking at a chocolate fountain? Going to another country to try food he heard was good there? Not realising when he'd crossed a border? Finding mortal magic users/teachers learning from them and hoarding their knowledge? sampling libraries? anything?

These Vagabond Shoes, 3.4k, post-ragnarok au entirely ignoring infinity war cause I can do that if I wanna

-----

Loki stays long enough to see that what remains of Asgard is settled more or less safely, confirms that Thor has things well in hand, and leaves. He writes a brief note - don’t follow me - sets the Tesseract down on top of it, changes his clothes to something less conspicuous, and hitches a ride with one of the curious mortals who has come to gawk.

She squints at him. “You look familiar,” she says.

“I have one of those faces,” Loki says. “Shall we?”

Maren - for so is her name - takes him as far as Drammen. From there he catches a train to Oslo, and books a flight at random. He could walk the shadow paths instead, but for some reason he cannot explain to himself chooses not to.

Thor will have noticed by now that he is gone. What does he think? Is he disappointed, or does he just sigh and accept that this is how Loki is: unchanging, ever himself, fickle and untrustworthy.

“Do I know you from somewhere?” asks the man sitting next to him on the plane.

“No,” Loki says flatly. “You don’t.”

When he lands in Bruges, the first thing he does cut his hair. The second is to buy a postcard with a photo of the palace - it looks rather pathetic to Loki, but he supposes it must be impressive. Hello from Belgium, he writes. I hope you haven’t already burned the village down.

He drops it in the mail, unsigned.

**

Loki purchased a phone, not because he had anyone he wanted to call (he didn’t) but because they apparently store vast amounts of information, and given all the things Loki doesn’t know about it is useful to have a means of looking them up quickly.

Perusing the options available in the store he visits, he barks an abrupt laugh when he realizes why the StarkPhones are so named. He interrupts the salesperson’s rambling to indicate them. “I’ll take one of those.”

Stark himself will have no idea, but it amuses Loki.

Armed with his new device, Loki spends a couple hours figuring out how to navigate it. It isn’t bad, as far as Midgardian technology goes. Almost respectable. A few modifications and it would almost approach Asgardian children’s toys.

Loki pauses. Those toys are probably gone. He doubts anyone brought one. All of Asgard’s technology, all of its knowledge...that’s gone, now. Perhaps forever. The library of texts stretching back millennia, the scholars and scientists and healers…

Loki hears a crack and looks down at the broken screen of his new phone. He mends it with a touch, his thoughts far away, the loss hitting him all over again. Humans move around him and for a moment he hates them, for going on with such indifference as though an entire civilization has not been swallowed by the Void.

For a moment, the itch to go back to Thor. To have some company in grief.

For a moment.

Loki brushes it aside and moves on. He searches things to do on Earth and finds a list of ‘50 Things to Do Before You Die.’

It’s a starting place.

Before leaving Belgium, though, Loki decides that easily the best thing humans have invented in the past 300,000 years or so is the chocolate fountain. Absolutely genius.

**

They call it the ‘Grand Canyon,’ but it isn’t half as grand as the one on Alfheim. Do you remember the name? I don’t. Too hot here, and crowded. Give Heimdall my love.

Loki isn’t sure why he didn’t leave the moment he realized that the first destination on his list was a desert. His shirt is sticking to his back with sweat, sunglasses threatening to slide down the bridge of his nose. It is brutally hot, and he feels a bit light-headed.

Retreating into the shade, he frowns at the milling crowd of tourists readying to ride a pack of animals down into the canyon itself. He might be tempted, but for that he is given to understand that the heat down there is actually worse.

“Are you all right? You look a bit flushed.”

Loki turns his head to look at the middle-aged woman who has sidled up next to him. She is wearing a wide-brimmed hat with a strap under the chin, and looks quite fresh and untroubled by the heat. Loki gives her a tight smile.

“I’m fine,” he says. “Just not used to it, I suppose.”

“Just be careful,” she says. “It can really sneak up on you out here!” She pats him on the arm and moves off, leaving Loki to wonder what, exactly, it is.

The tourists mount and begin their trek. When Loki is sure none of them are watching, he shifts into a vulture and launches himself into the air, riding one of the thermals up, looking down at the winding snake of the river below.

**

To His Majesty King Thor: Humans certainly like to describe things as ‘great,’ don’t they? My guidebook calls this ‘the Great Wall of China.’ The local name seems to translate similarly, though perhaps more specific - 10,000-li long wall. I am sure the linguistic ins and outs of Midgardians are of great interest to you.

It has its own sort of beauty, I suppose. The food here is interesting. Different. I am enjoying it.

In Huaibeizhen, Loki dreams of Thanos.

It is not, needless to say, a pleasant dream.

He is on Sanctuary, wedged into a corner, shaking and crying silently. He has been punished, but cannot remember why; he only knows that he is afraid, and in pain, and desperately lonely. He yearns for safety, for comfort, for home.

You don’t have a home, sneers a voice in his mind. Ebony Maw’s says this is your home.

Childishly, he wants Thor. But he knows, in his bones, that Thor doesn’t want him.

He wakes with tears streaming down his face, sobs catching in his throat. For a moment, he hovers on the edge of taking the shadow-paths, fleeing to Norway, to Thor. He smothers the urge brutally, digging his nails into his palms and breathing shallowly until he calms.

He won’t go back. He doesn’t know if he ever will; hasn’t decided yet. He hasn’t decided much of anything, only that he cannot, or will not, stay still.

And yet he misses Thor. No, that is wrong: saying he misses Thor is as inadequate as it would be to say that he misses breathing. He is that central, that vital, that involuntary.

If anyone asked, Loki thinks he would tell them that was why he was running. To prove that he can.

**

What sort of a name is ‘Whitsunday’ for a group of islands? Not one that conveys anything about them, certainly. I went sailing today. Rather disappointed by the lack of whales, but I did see a saltwater crocodile. Magnificent creatures. They would not be out of place on Asgard.

Would not have been. It is strange to miss a place I spent so much time hating. It is strange to miss a person I spent so much time hating.

I hope you are well.

The weather is turning on the southern half of Midgard. Loki looks up how it works: the tilting of the planet as it spins, each hemisphere tipping toward or away from the sun, a top spinning through space. He watches a diagram of it, mesmerized by the movement. It isn’t full winter, but no one else is swimming in the clear water. It is cold, but the cold doesn’t bother Loki.

There are reefs, but many of the inhabitants seem to have retreated. He does see a creature moving gracefully through the water, almost like a bird. A manta ray, he learns later.

He borrows a sailboat, just a touch of persuasion convincing the owner to let him take it out alone. It is similar enough to vehicles Loki has experience using that he can fly across the water, the wind in his face.

It feels like freedom.

**

Why do they come here? A city buried in ash, frozen in the moment of its destruction.

Do you see it in your dreams? Asgard, burning. And I set the flame.

Loki does not stay long in Pompeii. It makes his skin crawl. It makes him think of Hela, and Surtur rising from the Eternal Flame, and Asgard, Golden Asgard, Eternal Asgard, annihilated. Asgard is not a place, but a people, Thor said, more than once, as though it was a talisman. Maybe he is right. But it was a place, for many long years. And now it is not.

Funny, isn’t it, that he tried to destroy a hated Realm and failed, and succeeded in destroying the one that, despite himself, he loved.

**

I am staying in a cave. Apparently that is the done thing here, along with hot air balloon rides and what they call ‘fairy rock chimneys.’ They bear no resemblance to anything one of the fae would build, I must say, though they have their own beauty.

A cave, though! Really.

Tomorrow I think I will try one of the hot air balloons, though it seems to me a fairly absurd and inefficient form of transportation. I do not think that is actually the point, but it is distracting when one might simply fly. But it is, as the humans around me keep saying, the experience.

You should travel sometime, Thor. See this world it seems we now must live upon. Of course, I suppose the King of Asgard has little time for such frivolities.

I think that you might like it here.

Cappadocia is an interesting place, different again from anywhere else he has gone. Loki goes into the underground churches, as suggested by the friendly concierge at his lodgings, but the moment he steps into the close, dark rooms he begins to sweat, fear wrapping tight around his throat, and he has to retreat quickly.

Ashamed, he stands outside, shivers running down his spine.

“Claustrophobic?” Asks a woman standing nearby. She sounds sympathetic, but Loki still looks sharply in her direction.

“Beg pardon?”

She gestured at the opening. “That’s why I’m not going in. Small spaces give me the creeping horrors.”

Claustrophobic. He never used to be that. Or, well - he didn’t particularly like it, but it didn’t give him...the creeping horrors. Things change, he supposes. Another thing to thank Thanos for.

He forces a thin smile. “A bit,” he says. “Excuse me.”

All in all, he prefers the fairy rock chimneys. There is something fanciful about them, for all they cannot compare to the true architecture of the fae. Too solid and heavy, where their work is light, almost ethereal, and yet full of sharp edges that cut the unwary.

Loki’s always been fond of the fae, though most of the time they did not return the feeling.

He was right about the hot air balloon, though. It is stifling and slow, and he itches to launch himself from the basket and spring into the air, wheeling in spirals, higher and higher until the air is too thin to breathe and he turns and plummets downward.

He does not. But he closes his eyes and imagines it, almost feeling the wind ruffling his feathers as the world dwindles below.

**

Look! Something older than we are. And still standing. Remarkably durable. They call them ‘the Pyramids of Giza.’ It seems they buried their kings within them.

The sand here gets everywhere, and I’ve burned my nose. It’s bright red. Hideous. I also rode a camel today - they are, quite possibly, the most peculiar creature I’ve encountered so far on Midgard, and remarkably poor tempered.

I don’t think I like deserts.

Egypt is new, and different again from anywhere else he has been. This is one of the fascinating things about Midgard: the variety. One Realm, and yet a myriad of differences. So many ways in which they separate themselves. It is absolutely fascinating.

Loki has been reading about the history of this place. It is old, and looking at the ruins of its history he can feel the weight of its age. Stretching into a distant past that no one here can remember. They were here before Odin was born, when Bor still reigned. If his reckoning is right, they were here before Svartalfheim was made desolate. Built to reach toward a sky they couldn’t touch.

“Did you know that these were built by aliens?” A young man standing next to him says. Loki snorts involuntarily, and he turns toward him.

“Skeptic, are you?” he says. “The research-”

“Don’t be absurd,” Loki says. “Nobody was even visiting this Realm for tourism until very recently. You overestimate your relevance.”

Perhaps it was not the best idea to say that. The man and both of his friends are now staring at him with strange expressions. One of them squints a bit.

“Your relevance?” he says cautiously. Ah, damn.

Loki flashes his teeth. “That’s what I said,” he says, and moves off, veiling himself from sight after a few strides. He can’t help but turn around to look; the gaping expressions are undeniably satisfying.

It lifts his mood for the rest of the day.

**

Dear Thor: I am sending you two postcards together, this time, to show you both the inside and outside of this church. They have been building it for 137 years. There are a great many churches on Midgard, it seems. Many in this city alone, but this one seems to be unique.

It is certainly very large. The designer has been dead for nearly a century, and yet they labor on. It isn’t for him, though. This is what I have come to realize about humans, I think: they are always looking for something larger than themselves.

Then again, I suppose we are, too. We look to the Norns. I wonder if the Norns look to something else again? If they have their own stories that guide them, that drive them.

Have I bored you yet?

The food here is very good. One thing that can certainly be said for Midgardians: they do very imaginative things with their cuisine.

The pillars inside the Sagrada Familia make Loki think of trees made of stone. He stands, staring upward, listening to the sound of echoing voices.

It reminds him, a little, of Asgard. Starker, sparer, stone-not-gold, but there is something in it nonetheless of glory and splendor, designed to overawe and overwhelm. It is meant to make one feel small.

Loki filters out the decorations, replaces the altar with a throne. On a whim, he spreads an illusion of gold sweeping up the columns, over the ceiling. There is gasping, pointing, shouts - a moment later he lets it fade and slips out, feeling oddly bereft.

He goes to a restaurant down by the water and orders paella. There is an ache in his chest. For some reason, he is thinking of his mother.

That grief still feels unfinished. A piece carved away from him he will never get back. A resolution he will never have. A goodbye he never had the chance to give. When he thought he was dying, Loki reached for her, stretching out his arms, lo, there do I see my mother; lo, she does call to me.

But the circle didn’t close. He rose again, to live on.

Loki feels, suddenly, very far from home. He pays for his food, and leaves it mostly untouched.

**

Your Majesty,

I couldn’t send this directly from Antarctica. Limited post, apparently.

It is very cold here. Jotunheim cold. There is a challenge to go swimming in the water, and when I dove in I changed. It was a disconcerting feeling.

Do you understand why I tried to destroy them? It was because I believed it would destroy that part of myself.

It is easier to say these things in writing than aloud. I am sending this before I can unwrite it. I wonder, sometimes, if you read these at all; if they reach you only to be tossed into the fire. Or if you do read them, scowling, shaking your head.

I miss you. There, I have said it. Make of it what you will.

It is not easy to jump in. Even knowing that the cold won’t hurt him, not really, his body still rebels against him. Still, Loki braces himself, breathes deeply, and dives.

It takes his breath away. For a moment, there is fear - I am going to freeze, I am going to die - and then it washes over him, like shedding his skin. It feels good, it feels suddenly like this is where he belongs, like this cold is a part of him and he is a part of this cold.

He surfaces. He has gone far enough away from the others that his strangeness would not be noticed, leaving an illusion in his place, and he is glad he did it. If his resistance to the cold would cause comment, surely this shape would as well.

For he knows without looking what skin he wears. His stomach turns, nausea rising in his throat. He fights it down.

It doesn’t matter, he thinks. It is just another shape you can wear. It does not determine your destiny.

But he crawls out of the water, back onto the ice, and changes back. It feels strange, suddenly, like his skin is too tight and he doesn’t quite fit inside it. The feeling passes, but it leaves him unsettled and in a sour mood.

The postcard he writes to Thor, back in Rio Grande, is longer than usual, and afterwards he feels raw, exposed, and full of nervous energy. He lies awake most of the night, and when he sleeps dreams fitfully of falling, of Thor prying his fingers loose from Gungnir one at a time.

**

Thor,

I don’t know how to come home.

I need you to meet me halfway.

He boards the boat at Alesund. It has been six months, half a year, and the seasons are turning toward the winter now, but the last gasps of summer still linger. He could still run. There are more places to go, more things to see. But there will always be a tether that pulls him back. Binding him, but holding him back from madness, too.

For a millennium, he and Thor have circled each other, trapped in orbit like Midgard and its sun. Loki tips away, and then back, but never breaking free. But if the sun keeps this planet bound, it also keeps it alive.

Geirangerfjord is as splendid as promised. The mountains tower on either side, breathtaking and beautiful, and the sky is clear and bright. He sees a few seals off the side of the boat, poking their heads up and then vanishing with barely a ripple. Loki’s fear grows steadily, a living thing in his chest. He does not know how Thor will greet him. He does not know if Thor will greet him at all.

Maybe it would be best if we never see each other again.

The ship pulls in at Geiranger. Loki holds back, waiting for everyone else to disembark first. He leaves slowly, like a man walking to his doom, and scans the dock.

Thor is not there, and it is only in that moment that Loki fully realizes how much he needed him to be.

He takes a deep breath and descends anyway, pulling out his phone and idly checking off another destination. He’ll stay the night, he thinks. Just in case.

“Loki,” he hears, and looks up sharply.

There he is, striding down the street. Heads turn around him, looking from him to Thor and back again, and at least some of them will put together the pieces soon, but Loki can barely think of that. His thoughts are swallowed up, utterly blank, and he can only stand frozen, eyes wide as Thor bears down on him with large, energetic strides.

He cannot breathe.

“Loki,” Thor says again, and lunges, dragging him into a hug, crushingly tight. Loki’s nose is pressed against Thor’s shoulder. His lungs constrict and release. He hears Thor take a deep breath and sigh.

How easy it is. How natural, this.

“Come home,” Thor says. His voice is muffled, but it vibrates in his chest, and he does not let go.

Here and now, Loki doesn’t want him to.

“Yes,” Loki says.

[always5hineee]

The Final Bell- Chapter 6: The Sickness and the Cure

Chapter warnings: Mild language

Word count: 1492

Story is also available under Taffysamg on Quotev and Wattpad.

To see the full chapter list, go to the “Final Bell” Tab on my page.

-----

       Morning came all too soon for Y/N, groaning as her bones popped within her sleeping bag. She was pulled from her slumber by the crackling grease and entrancing smell of breakfast. Hey eyes opened just enough that she could see which boys were up. She knew Doyoung was still asleep because she heard the snoring from her side. It only took a tiny head tilt to see the fire. Yuta and Taeil were sitting together, talking about something. Taeyong sat across from them, keeping the fire going in its early stages. Among the mutters, she started making out bits of conversation.

       "Should we wake them up?"

       "No, it's fine. The guys will get up on their own."

       "What about Y/N? She might sleep for years."

       "Yeah, but I feel bad waking her up..."

       "Worst case, we can just pick her up and put her in the van, right?" This was met with tired laughs. She couldn't tell who was saying what, but she was already embarrassed. Once she was sure the discussion had switched away from that unnerving topic, she crawled out of the bag, stretching.

       "Oh, Y/N! You're up!" Taeyong noted, calling her over. By the time she had risen, most everyone was awake. Taeyong, Taeil, Yuta, Jaehyun, and Mark were all standing near the fire. Haechan was clearly awake, but unwilling to leave his bag. Doyoung was sitting atop his sleeping bag, messing with some sort of metal contraption. Jungwoo was the only one missing- not in his sleeping bag or by the fire.

       He explained that they weren't allowed to eat until their issue was put to debate and vote. Everyone groaned, trying to cut in. Jaehyun was the first to get his outburst through.

       "Dude, I'm starving." He dramatically leaned over.

       "Yeah, and Jungwoo is missing." Haechan added.

       "He's not missing, you toddlers." Taeil reprimanded them. "He's just in the van."

       "Y/N, would you mind going to get him? I'm worried Jaehyun might try to eat someone if we don't start soon." Yuta asked her politely. Narrowing his eyes, the other boy pointed.

       "You're first on the list, Yuta." Eager to eat as well as get away from that little mess, she headed towards the van. A few wooden posts had been set up, so it wasn't hard to cross the river. Unable to see through the tinted windows on the car, she grabbed the handle and heaved the door out of the way.

       Jungwoo was in the first row, holding two glass vials delicately. He had assumedly been about to combine them, but the loud slamming of metal jerked him out of his focus. The liquid spilled onto the car's seat, creating a soft hiss.

       "Ah! Y/N! What are you doing?!" He asked, shoving the glass under his leg to hide it from view.

       "They asked me to come get you for the vote. What are you doing?"

       "Nothing! Just chilling!" He said, laughing awkwardly. "We should go!" Before she could argue, he catapulted out of the vehicle, running across the dirt and jumping the river to greet the other guys. With a sigh, she closed the door, starting towards the fire as well.

       "Okay, just to reiterate-" Taeyong said, sitting down and motioning for everyone to follow suit. "We can either stay here and set up a permanent base, or we can head Northeast to the ocean and find an island." From here, the debate quickly sparked up. It sounded like Jaehyun was the only one really fighting the move to the ocean, along with Taeyong staying neutral.

       "It's so risky, trying to traverse that much land unharmed. At least if we have a base, we'll have a way of operating and more familiar terrain to work with. The other plan is just a mad dash for the coast!" He argued, making fair points.

       "Yeah, but we're going to get to the point where we can't fight anymore." Yuta said with a hint of sadness in his voice. "What then?"

       "We die with honor?" He posed.

       "Jaehyun!" Everyone shouted in unison.

       "What? It's better than dying in the next week! Or old and alone!"

       "Wouldn't the water act as a barrier?" Y/N offered, trying to calm Jaehyun down as well as subconsciously show him they weren't enemies.

       "It's not deep enough." Yuta explained. "Sure, zombies don't like water, but it's not as if it kills them. They'd muster up and cross the river eventually. Or worse, figure out how to build a bridge."

       "Okay, fine," Jaehyun continued, "But what about all the flaws of getting to an island? First of all, there aren't any functioning satellite towers, so GPS is out. Even if we find a map, none of us have any nautical knowledge. You just expect us to learn how to navigate and pilot a boat, and be quick enough about it that we don't starve to death in the middle of the sea? Hell, for that matter, what if we can't find a boat?"

       "We'll just have to take that risk." Taeil shot, "It's not like we're stupid, we can figure it out. Plenty of these abandoned-ass towns have libraries. We can get maps there. And I'm sure Doyoung has downloaded something that could help, right?" They all looked to the self-appointed tech person who hadn't offered an opinion the entire conversation. It took him a moment to realize they were expecting a response.

       "Oh, uh... I'm sure I could find something..."

       "See? It'll be fine." Taeil finished. "Arguing is pointless, let's just vote."

       "Alright, all votes for staying here?" Jaehyun was the lone "I", accompanied only by the crackling flames. "All votes for leaving for the ocean?" There were only a few convicting voices, the rest muffled or silent. Some of these included Taeil and, surprisingly, Haechan. Still, no matter how many, it was more than one.

       "Sorry, Jae, you've been outvoted." Taeyong said apologetically, looking at him with a bit of understanding.

       "Hey, no worries man! This could be fun!" Haechan added, putting an arm around his shoulder.

       "Yeah, dying is so fun." He grumbled, shoving the boy, "Get off me." Deciding that he just needed time, Taeyong decided to continue with their scheduled plans.

       "So we'll head East, but we still need to stop and gather supplies, raid, things like that. For now, we'll eat, head to the nearest town, and pick up some stuff. We're almost out of gas, anyway. Sound good?"

       "Finally, some fucking food." Jaehyun muttered. The rest agreed as well. While they were eating, Y/N watched Jungwoo put down his plate, glancing around before standing to walk away. Suspicious, she followed him. She tentatively walked behind him for a few minutes, tailing him into the woods. Finally, he came to a halt, slowing his breathing.

       "I know someone's following me." He called suddenly, spinning to try and catch whoever it was. Frozen behind a tree, she stood stone still, eyes clenched shut. "It's useless, just come out." She exhaled with disappointment. No point in hiding it if he knew. Walking out from behind the tree, he looked surprised.

       "Y/N? What are you doing?" Sighing she held out her hands defensively.

       "What were you doing in the van, Jungwoo? And why are you walking out into the woods all alone? It's really strange..."

       "Okay, first of all, I was going into the woods to piss- that is, until you showed up." He said, annoyed. Oh... she hadn't thought about that.

       "Fine, maybe you were! But you were definitely doing something weird in the van!" She accused. At this, his glance shifted away. "Ah-hah! I knew it. So what was it?" He walked closer to her, lowering his voice.

       "Look, if I tell you, you can't tell anyone else, okay? I don't want to get anyone's hopes up." Hopes up? She nodded, eager to hear his explanation. He looked reluctant, but finally said, "I think I may be on track to finding a cure for the zombies. Of course, it would only work if the body was still in good enough shape to still be alive should it be reverted, but-"

       "A cure?!" She shouted, eliciting a panicked look-around from the boy. "Jungwoo! That's incredible! I knew you were the medic, but I didn't know you were that good, I-"

       "Shh! It's just an experiment! This is exactly why I didn't want to say anything!" He begged. "Please just keep it between us! I couldn't imagine if Ty found out only for it to fail..." She mimed dragging a zipper across her lips.

       "Your secret is safe with me." They stood awkwardly for a moment, before he cleared his throat.

       "Um, would you mind?"

       "Huh?" He made a displeased face, looking around at the woods. "Oh! Yeah, yeah... sorry." She hustled out of the woods with her head down, leaving him in peace. A cure... how interesting.

Go to Chapter 7

[ktavey]

Peter Parker swept through the sky- arching up, high above the New York skyline. Peter loved those small moments; the split second it took for gravity to take over his accent, like a moment frozen in time. Despite all of the trials and tribulations in his life, web-slinging made him truly grateful to the little spider that bit him. The sun was setting, coating the sky in a soft baby blue fading into pink, with wisps of cloud spotting it. It was unfortunate that his passenger didn’t share his appreciation- Harry Osborn just remained rigid and terrified in his arms, face buried in his shoulder, despite the beauty. The moment ended far too soon, and they fell down, down, down.

A distant grumbling, not unlike thunder, gathered behind Peter, and Peter couldn’t help his smile. Of course, Norman took the bait. Peter liked to imagine that Norman had long since realized that Peter’s antics were more often about irritating him and stealing moments with his son than anything truly nefarious. And even if he didn’t, Peter sincerely hoped Harry realized this.

No such coherent thought was on Norman’s mind, however; Spider-Man had taken his son. Snatched him away from him right in front of him. Anger burnt inside Norman, watching Spider-Man freefall with his petrified son in his grasp. Spider-Man had taken his son, had touched his son, treated his son like a plaything. The knowledge burning inside of him, and Norman urged himself as fast as he could go- he would take his son back from that fucking menace, no matter what it took.

‘Spider-Man!’ The words ripped from Norman’s lungs, easily loud enough to be heard over the glider and space. ‘Release my son!’

‘Ooh.’ Peter’s response was quieter, meant only for two people. ‘You- you don’t think I’ve upset him, or anything, do you?’ Peter cooed at Harry, who did not respond. Harry dug his blunt fingers tighter into Peter’s suit.

‘Hey! Gobby!’ Peter spun around on his webs. ‘Let’s play hide and seek!’

Peter generally tried to avoid high-speed chases, as they typically meant some miscellaneous do-gooder super-hero was trying to beat him for street cred, or to drag him to prison. This time it was different- this time Peter was being helpful, he was being a friend. He and Daredevil had had a fun little ‘friendship’ going on for a good few years. Every so often they would do favours for each other and had an uneasy alliance. So if the man asked him to distract a common nuisance and enemy for a while, who was Peter to say no? And truly, it was nice to have an excuse to snag Harry. It had been so long since Peter had spent any time with him, and Peter had been getting bored with his usual routine. Nowadays, most of his time had been consumed by studying; earning and ‘earning’ money to both keep studying, and keep Aunt May in the best hospitals. Adult life was busy and expensive. Peter had been struggling to find the time and energy to instigating chaos and discord he craved. Just last week, Peter had stooped to leaving messages claiming the Green Goblin/ Dr Octopus was here in the wake of his bank visits, that was how off his game he was.

However, the plus side of this was that the infrequency of his antics had caused Norman to let off the guards nannying his son.

           ‘Spider-Man! Give me back my son or face my wrath!’ Norman’s roar was carried on the wind, miraculously undistorted by the noise and distance.

           ‘Oh, he sounds mad.’ Peter muttered. ‘You don’t think he’s upset or anything, do you?’ Peter directed the query to Harry, who remained silent. Sometimes, Peter didn’t know why he tried. At the very least, Harry wasn’t struggling, making it easier for Peter to just enjoy the contact and the warmth of Harry’s body. Peter moved a bit faster, shifting to hoist Harry up. He felt Harry flinch, or perhaps shiver with the movement. Affectionately, Peter patted his hair- he wasn’t going to drop the silly goose.

‘Hey, Gobby!’ Peter held Harry in the air like a trophy. ‘If you want him back, you have to catch me first!’ The Green Goblin roared at Peter again, and Peter fell into a free fall, relishing in Harry’s fingers instinctively curling into him. Peter navigated between the buildings of the city with ease; while the Goblin’s glider was built for speed and agility, it still had nothing on him. Peter led a winding pathway that Norman would struggle to follow. The sound of the glider started to fade as Norman fell behind. Peter took refuge behind a dumpster, carefully placing Harry on the ground. Peter spun webbing across Harry’s mouth. Harry stumbled away from Peter and fell to the ground, staring at Peter with unabashed terror. A shadow of guilt passed over Peter as he watched Harry scrabble at the dirty ground, struggle futilely with the webs. Peter jumped lightly to his side and placed a hand on his shoulder. Harry flinched. Had he always been so scared of him? Peter shook off the thought and let the knot in his gut subside. Harry was overreacting, he told himself firmly.

           Peter smiled brightly at Harry, his own impassive lenses meeting Harrys eyes, which remained a gentle hazel, despite Harry’s stricken expression. ‘C’mon buddy! We’re not done yet!’ This time, Harry started pushing away from Peter, fingers clawing ineffectively into his suit and blows ultimately useless. The moment Peter stuck his head above the skyline Norman bore down on them. Peter tossed Harry into a fireman’s carry, disregarding his squawk of protest.

‘Gobby!’ Peter waved a free arm. ‘Let’s play catch!’ Peter could not hear Norman’s enraged ranting this time. Peter dived forward, now wanting to end his game. Peter led them both on a winding journey towards Brooklyn Bridge, darting back away from it every so often, not wanting Norman to realize where they were going. Although, Peter mused, dodging a blast, Norman was likely to furious to engage in any such rational thought. ‘Careful Normie-kins! I have a passenger!’

Harry clung to Peter, muscles rigid with terror. Despite the inherent danger the super-villain posed, Harry could believe that he wouldn’t drop him. He and Spider-Man had been doing this heart-stopping dance for years, and he hadn’t hurt Harry once. Not on purpose at least. Spider-Man had once started falling mid-swing- on the way down Spider-Man had gone out of his way to protect him, but it still had cracked a couple of his ribs. That fragile trust wasn’t enough to stop Harry’s head from spinning or his stomach lurching. Harry screwed his eyes shut, forehead pressed against the red suit. Harry felt himself be set down again, and cautiously opened his eyes.

Harry instantly regretted it. East River sparkled from dizzily far below him. Perhaps in another, calmer setting Harry would have enjoyed it. They were high enough that the sound of traffic was a distant mumble, and an autumn breeze blew around them sweetly, the river a brilliant cobalt blue. Harry’s heart thudded in his chest, which had started to ache from the stress. Harry could hear the rumbling engine of his father’s glider. Harry screwed his eyes shut, imagining what it would be like to have a picnic here. Harry remembered loving the picnics he had experienced as a small child, before his mother had died. Harry breathed as steadily as he could, trying to imagine he was there now.

Spider-Man spoke beside him, ripping Harry form his thoughts. ‘Olé Olé.’ Peter said, and grinned wickedly under his mask, watching Green Goblin speed toward him, and loosened his grip on Harry. Harry wriggled his leg around and kneed Peter in the crotch as hard as he could.

Peter reflexively shoved Harry away with a screech, and Harry stumbled off the edge. Norman shoved Peter to the floor and turned into a dive to catch his son. Peter swore, arms around himself, and swore again. Peter grimly crawled to the side, scanning the still water for movement. Norman rose from the water and punched Peter into the water.

Harry watched the rippling water where Peter had disappeared with wide eyes. ‘Is… will he be okay?’ Harry squeaked out.

‘Unfortunately, yes.’ Norman growled.

[the-walking-memelords]

A2 - Chapter 6: Search for Safety

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Series is rated M

Word Count: 2528

Clementine finds herself reintroduced to the horrors of the world outside her secluded home.

Read it on Ao3!

Read it on Wattpad!

The smell of pine sap permeated the air as the fallen green needles crunched under her boots. The hardness of the ground below her was the only real indication that this was a paved road as leaves and branches masked the abandoned route. White clouds formed in front of their faces with every exhale as the chilly morning air clung to their skin. The clouds above their heads danced with the strong winds as they darkened with every passing hour.

I hope we find the others before that storm hits.

Eli followed along in silence, hands jammed into his pockets and seemingly locked inside his own thoughts. Clementine walked behind him, not willing to let him out of her sight just yet. She wanted to trust him, she really did, but caution was required with someone unknown and unpredictable. 

Clementine had decided that she would do what she could to help the boy, but if he tried to throw it back at her, she wouldn’t hesitate.

Louis led the way with AJ at his side. The two of them talked in hushed voices that couldn’t reach her ears, but AJ was smiling, so she wasn’t worried.

Eventually, the trees grew sparse as they approached a hint of urbanization in the seemingly endless forest. At least in the forest, you could pretend all was right with the world. Untouched wilderness remaining uninterrupted by humanity. But approaching something like this, shells of burnt-out cars overtaken by vines scattered and crashed along the cracked pavement. The faded yellow lines that once divided the lanes became ignored as this flurry of people rushed to get away from the first of the walkers. The cars sat rusted and charred, crushed together in nearly unrecognizably twisted clusters.

The four of them walked past the automotive graveyard, ignoring the unmoving jaws of the scorched skeletal figures slumped in the seats. Their remains fused to the very material. 

A small, high-pitched gurgle was barely audible from one of the cars. It was a minivan. Red paint chipped and melted in the front half leaving the back to be weathered down but more or less intact. Another wheeze came out of the heat-shattered window.

The four of them stopped as the shuffling of the agitated walker became more apparent. Louis and Clem looked at each other as they gauged the possible threat.

Louis stepped forward silently, reaching his bat out in front of him as he tapped the metal under the opening. 

A small, bony hand gripped the edge on the window frame, unconcerned about the glass shards digging into its skin. The face of a child appeared over the frame, half of her face burned to a crisp with an empty eye socket. The other side that still had some remnants of functional flesh was twisted into a dark scowl. Locks of thin and matted hair hung from a ponytail still tied in a bow with a stained yellow ribbon. The little girl lunged out of the window, the glass tearing into her yellow dress staining it with her nearly black blood and holding her in place.

Clementine stared at her with eyes filled with shock. 

Why did it have to be a kid?

Even now in her 20’s, seeing a child as one of them made her think of how close she came to being just like that. She would have been dead in a week if Lee had never found her. Dead, and turned. Without ever knowing what was happening around her. Just like this little girl. 

Maybe that’s why the kids always made her hesitate. Killing an adult walker was more dangerous and more difficult, but she would never stop for even a second. But a kid? Looking into their blank eyes triggered a flash of all of the kids she knew to appear with those eyes in place. 

Looking at this little girl’s white, unfocused eye made her think of every kid she watched die.

She could feel Louis’ sympathetic gaze on her. Clementine forced herself to find more interest in the mud on her boots than the dead child and shook her head. Out of her peripheral vision, she saw Louis’ boots walk towards the van as the growls intensified. There was the shing of a knife and then silence. One final thump and it was all over. When Clementine looked back up it scene was as empty as it had been when they arrived, save for a piece of torn yellow fabric stuck to the broken glass.

She can rest now.

You didn’t know her. 

Just don’t think about it.

“Let’s keep moving.” Clem said plainly as she took the lead.

---

The rushing rapids of the river could be heard from quite a ways away even over the whistling of the winds. The road approaching the substantially large steel bridge became even more clustered with abandoned vehicles lost to nature. 

The fence separating the solid ground from the cliff’s edge was nearly non-existent at this point, leaving little to prevent someone from talking the steep and long plunge should they get too close.

The bridge seemed like it was the site of another panicked tragedy that was never resolved. The lone trailer of a transport truck laid perpendicular to the road, sitting on top cars it must have rolled onto.

“How do we get through?” AJ asked as they surveyed the trailer caught in both sides of the bridge’s supports. 

Clementine walked to the edge and peered around. Looking down, barely visible in the water was the cab of the truck.

We go this way and we’ll end up down there with the driver.

“If the others made it around this thing then we’ll find a way too.” Louis said confidently as he looked around for a way across.

“What if we don’t.” Eli spoke for the first time in hours. 

“What if we don’t find a way through? What does that mean?”

“It means they didn’t go this way and we have to look somewhere else.” Clementine responded, looking him dead in the eyes. She refused to consider the alternative. 

A burst of thunder echoed in the distance. A warning of what was to come.

“We won’t be able to track them well in the rain so let’s hurry up and look around.” She walked past both Eli and AJ.

Louis sat crouched next to one of the crushed cars, rubbing something between his fingertips.

“What did you find?” She asked as she crouched next to him. 

“Blood.” Louis’ fingers were covered in the sticky red substance.

“Living blood.”

Louis pointed ahead to the area underneath the trailer. It was a gap a few feet wide and tall that was a straight shot to the other side where it was boosted up by the car. A small yet sharp piece of metal stuck out from the side, covered in red that dripped to the road below.

“It’s still a little wet, so it’s not old. And it’s too light to be a walker’s blood.” Louis reasoned as the light from the other side of the bridge became a small beacon of hope as he rambled on.

“The spike is easy to see normally, but if someone was in a hurry, if multiple people tried to get through at once, or if someone couldn’t see very well, they could easily get cut.”

“You think this is where they got through?”

“I know it.”

From what she could see, the other side of the bridge was clear. A few dead walkers littered the road as well as…

Shit.

A mess of orange hair whipped around in the wind, the body it was attached to limp as the walkers.

No.

She’s too tall.

It’s not Ruby.

“Something happened over there.” Louis said.

“Let’s check it out.”

“I’ll go first.” A voice came from behind them. 

Eli stood with a determined look in his eyes, and a hunting knife in his hand.

“I’ll look for walkers or signs of people being through here.” His determination faltered and revealed a tone of desperation in his voice.

“I can help.”

What is he trying to prove?

“Fine” Clementine relented. “I’ll go second, then AJ, then Louis.” Clementine stumbled onto her hands and knees as she crawled under the metal trailer, keeping in mind the sharp debris around her. This thing’s been solid for over a decade, what are the odds it falls now?

Her thoughts were halted by the boy frozen in place in front of her. Clem was about to ask what the matter was when she heard something unexpected answer her.

A horse whinnied from somewhere near the end of the bridge accompanied by the muted arguing of two men.

“What’s the holdup?” Louis asked from the other side.

“Gravediggers.” Eli growled.

Clementine squeezed in beside Eli to get a better look. Two men wrapped in fang-marked cloaks pulled a horse-drawn cart. The first man made a beeline to the dead woman, holding the sides of her head in his hands and bowing his head.

“She gonna come back?” The second man asked as he grabbed one of the walkers and threw its body into the cart.

“No.” He replied.

“Somebody put a bullet in her head.”

“Let’s just get her home and get her in the pit.” The second man said as he came to console the other.

“Word is the boss had his eye on her. She’s better off this way.”

“That don’t make this right.” His voice broke as he scooped her up in his arms.

“I’m sorry, Charlotte.”

The man placed her into the back of the cart gently as the other threw in the last walker. Just as quickly as they arrived they pulled the horse alone a side trail and disappeared into the trees.

They waited several minutes under that trailer to make sure the men would not return. When they determined that they had truly left, the four of them crawled out to survey what remained of the battle scene.

“What the hell was that about?” Louis asked, breaking the silence.

“Scouts don’t usually go alone with just walkers. She probably had a partner that booked it and left her to die.” Eli explained with a dark expression.

“Gravediggers pick up the bodies. Human or Walker. You’re worth the same to Wolfgang.”

---

They walked for a few miles along the road as the trees faded into abandoned fields which opened up for the outlines of a few buildings to appear in the distance. Thunder continued to periodically boom across the sky, getting closer and closer as the clouds threatened to unleash the storm upon them.

A truck stop sat next to a few large retail buildings. As soon as their shoes hit the parking lot they realized they weren’t the only ones headed to the old Save-Lots.

A sizable herd had converged in the wide-open area. The sounds of nearly a hundred of the dead drowned out anything else as they wandered aimlessly.

So much for this place.

“I don’t think they’re here.” AJ said as he held his binoculars up to his eyes.

“Theres so many.”

“Do they look like they’re trying to get inside?” Clementine asked.

Who knows how long they’ve been here.

Could’ve been days, could’ve been hours.

We can’t give up on this place yet.

“The front doors are all boarded up. There’s a few standing close to it but they’re not hitting it.”

“Whether they’re here or not we gotta find a place to hide before those clouds break and we get drenched.” Louis pointed out. As if on cue, the sky lit up with a flash of lightning followed by the crash of thunder.

“No time to backtrack. We gotta go through them or around them.”

AJ handed Clementine the binoculars. Looking through, walkers surrounded nearly every building. Though thinly spread, there was no getting in anywhere without being seen.

“Looks like there’s less around that smaller building past the Save-Lots. If we have to hold up here tonight it should be easier to clear and less likely to be noticed.” Clementine pointed out.

“Now for the gross part.”

---

Slicing her machete down the abdomen of the fallen walker released a burst of foul air around them that made her stomach turn. Clementine bit her lip as she stuck her hands into the gorey mess, trying not to breathe as she stained her red shirt darker.

I liked this one, too.

Louis gagged and spit off to the side as he made sure AJ was good and covered. Eli didn’t hesitate to join in, smearing his face first before his clothes. He’d probably done this more often than any of them, being covered in guts to move walkers from place to place.

“Alright.” Louis said as they all donned their camouflage.

“This is where we’re starting. We all know where we’re going. Don’t clump together but don't spread too far apart. Got it?”

“See you on the other side.” Clementine squeezed Louis’ hand and nodded to the boys.

---

There was something surreal about walking through a herd. Being surrounded by the creatures that had hunted her for most of her life yet being utterly ignored. Walking as one of them, but the only one with a purpose in mind. The only one who knew where she was going. It made part of her wonder what drove them. What could they feel if anything at all? 

Was it a hunger? 

A rage?

What force made them walk one way while she walked the other?

Once the years numbed the horror into normality it sparked a morbid curiosity. Sadly, she knew she would never have the answers to any of her questions.

Where did they come from? And why? What made them tick? How did they manage to bring the entire world to its knees?

Now’s not the time for idle thoughts.

A cold droplet landed on the tip of her nose as Clementine gazed up at the foreboding dark clouds over her head. A second droplet hit her cheek and rolled down her face as more followed. The rain began to fall quickly as it soaked everything around her.

Clementine looked around her frantically for any quick way out of the herd, but everywhere she looked the dead swarmed. She wasn’t even sure what way she had came from anymore. Desperate but trying to maintain her composure, she pushed through the walkers wherever she could, trying not to attract too much attention while also getting the hell out of there.

There was nothing. No one. She resisted the urge to call out to the others. How far had she been separated? 

So much for sticking close…

She didn’t have time to worry no matter how much her heart wanted to. Her time was limited as the dribble slowly began to turn to a downpour. A red puddle formed underneath her as her camouflage began to wash away. 

She bit her lip and forced her breath to remain steady.

They’ll notice me soon.

Find a way out, Clementine.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the abrupt grip of a hand on her shoulder.

[mianite-3-unofficial]

Answered

They walked along the river for hours under the hot, grueling sun until Lev stopped in their tracks.

“This is useless,” They growled, “There’s no bridge. Can’t be.”

“Then how are we going to get across?” Sonja asked.

Lev shrugged, looking across the river.

“No clue. There has to be somewhere to cross, somewhere”, they said, accent thick.

“Don’t you have a map? Or something we could use to make a boat?”

“No,” Lev said sadly, their covered face unreadable, “Didn’t bring much- I think this river is new. Strong magic users can do stuff like this. Or, I’m taking a completely opposite route. Geography is... strange. Sun rises in, er, west, right?”

Sonja put her hands on her hips.

“You’ve never been here before, have you?”

Lev shook their head.

“No. I mean, I’ve been to Vatredas, but not in many, many years. It’s not safe for me anymore.”

“Why, because of your father?”

Lev nodded.

Sonja gave what she hoped was a sympathetic look, and turned to the river. Too wide to swim, really, and none of the trees would be tall enough for a bridge. Without her wand or armor or even her Thaumonimicon, there was no getting across it.

“How could someone make a river with magic?” She wondered aloud.

“Oh,” Lev answered, “Magic is... strange. Might not be the same from where you fell from. There are books on magic, yes, a fuck ton in Vatredas, but lots come from the gods. Lots comes from nature, or emotion. Executioners of Ianite or anyone who’s had their good reading time could do this.”

“Really now?” Sonja said, tone skeptical, “You’re saying if I have an emotional breakdown by the river it’ll part?”

Lev shook their head, “No, I don’t think it works like that. Um. Maybe... maybe there’s magic we could use? Make the water part? Or make a little bridge we could walk across.”

“I haven’t the foggiest fucking idea,” Sonja sighed. “Do you have magic?”

Lev said something in another language, gesticulating wildly for a bit before self consciously pulling their hood a little farther down their face. Sonja stared at the river. Vatredas was somewhere across this river, her friends were somewhere across this river. And it was like falling, all over again, seeing only a mirage of hope, unobtainable.

She could’ve turned around. Could’ve walked away, followed the rope back to safety. But there was no rope to hold her.

She clasped her hands together.

“Listen here, Mianite, you fucker. I don’t care that you don’t know me, I don’t care that you might be different here, like last time. I need you to- no, I demand you to get us over this river, asshole. I demand you take us to Vatredas, to my friends.”

She unclasped her hands, letting them hang loosely by her sides. Both of them stared at the river, Sonja expectantly, Lev with pity.

“Sonja,” Lev murmured, tone sympathetic, “He won’t answer, he’s, er, somewhere. Like Dianite. It’s Ianite’s doing, I don’t... have the right words to explain it.”

Suddenly, they scuttled away from her.

“Shit, Sonja!“

“What?” She spat.

“Fucking- uh, um, spider! On your arm!”

Looking down, there was, in fact, a spider. Not that big, especially when compared to the ones that used to attack them at night. Sonja growled in frustration, flicking the little white spider that decided to rest on her arm into the river.

It floated down, hit the water, and stayed there, bobbing. Sonja stared at it. It seemed to stare at her with all eight eyes, and she was overwhelmed with the feeling of being watched.

Quietly, she walked to the riverbank, crouching by the edge of the water. She reached out, brushing her finger against the spider in the water. It started writing and steaming, Sonja jerking her hand back, falling against the riverbed. Lev quickly rushed to her, but she was frozen, watching as the water around the spider started to freeze over, thick, white ice forming and freezing against the proud summer heat, solid as marble.

Hundreds, thousands of spiders started to crawl out from the brush, from the forest. All small and white like the first. They crawled along the ice and tossed themselves off, each of them freezing more water, hissing and crackling as their tiny bodies became nothing more than ice, freezing in a smooth, orderly pane.

Sonja stood, an impossible to remove smile on her face. Mianite listened. He actually listened.

“What did you say about him not answering?”

Lev stared, slack-jawed and unbelieving.

“Fuck,” they whispered, “Fuck.”

“Come on,” she said, “Let’s walk across.”

Sonja held her head up high, taking one step onto the ice. It held steady under her. Lev quickly joined her on the ice, almost slipping, but thankfully steadying themselves.

“What if it melts?” Lev shakily asked.

“Then we swim across,” Sonja said, surprising even herself with how confident she sounded.

The water flowed harmlessly under the sheet of ice, Sonja marching across the bridge of ice. Just another river to cross, just another forest, then the wilderness would be gone and Vatredas would reveal itself. She could already feel their arms around her again.

“I’m coming,” she murmured to herself, “I’m on my way.”

The sun glinted harmlessly off the ice.

[writingonthemoon]

Old Clothes Part 5

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4

Word Count: 2981

Warnings: Mentions of death, religious comments, and a tiny bit of blood??

Author’s Note: I am so, so, so, so, so sorry about how late this part is.  The combination of school and work has been kicking my ass so far, but Ia good cry later and I’m getting the hang of it now.  I hope you all really enjoy this and the next part will hopefully be out by the beginning of October.  Share with everyone you think would enjoy this!  Thank you all so much once again!

Old clothes start to fall apart. Why wouldn’t they? Not only have they been worn by strangers until they no longer fit what they wanted, but they’re the wall between the wind and bare skin. The wind becomes a friend while sprinting. Running becomes a part of life when there’s something always following close behind. It nips at heels like the wind at the nose and follows the trail as if it were a breeze through tunnels. The swooshing of the trees pairs with the pounding of feet on dirtied roads. My mother had gotten all too used to the feeling.

     I used to be a kid. A real kid who would play and play until the moon had come to join me. Of course, I wouldn’t play in the dirt, but I had dolls that had been passed down to me that were from my grandmother’s childhood. Sometimes they would be a family who would be caught in a bind and have to flee town. Other times they would be adventurers that would travel the forests and mountains in hopes of something incredible. There were three stuffed in my pockets that night. My few favourites I couldn’t bear to part with. The Queen, the Witch and the Warlock.

     They weren’t always magical or royal, but it was my preferred way of storytelling. I once had a King and Princess and Prince and many others, but I lost them all to the inferno of my failure. My collection was down to three and I’d continue to attempt an expansion but to no avail. The twigs I would tie together for villagers were snapped in two underfoot and the rock giants glued together with mud would crumble with a gentle breeze. No, my travelling circus would remain a silent trio act, performing for an audience of one with the ringmaster lurking overhead. I played God to a world of mortals and the strings of fate were in my hands. Ironic that I played the role when it did not exist. Either that or I removed myself from the game, becoming a passive onlooker to the cruel roll of the dice that decides the ends of all.

     It was velvet, the regal dress of Her Majesty. A brilliant red with gilded embroidery that made her shine in the light. The back of her crown was delicately laced with her hair, keeping it floating atop her head while she saw over the proceedings of the executions of traitors. Wicked was the witch who dressed in white, her silken cloak billowing behind her as she awakened her powers in the storm. Lightning struck her staff of ivory and scorched the hearts of her enemies. Lichen crawled upon the robes of the wizard, his stiff beard gaining knots and growing worse for wear as he cast spells of whimsy from the oak branch he called a wand. Black tweed melted him into a shadow during dusk and caused looks of doubt in the dawn.

     Sometimes I was the Witch, bringing misfortune unto myself and others in my wares of hope. Other times the Wizard and I were one, my adventures casting spells of joy on those surrounding me as I twisted them into fairytales. Mostly, though, I was the Queen. Her immunity against the forces of society and the corrupt morals of the world mirrored my own permanence in the land of expectations and lies. I had to guard the people around me to keep myself from persecution, just as she had to protect her subjects to assure her survival on the throne. We were equals in the way we thought with logic and reasoning and how we fought with carefully chosen statements and hidden suggestions. But would it be enough? Would it all be enough in the end? Or would we have to stare down the executioner’s blade and meet Death after too many evasions?

     My fingertips burned while I sat on the bridge overlooking the river that ran beneath. With the city finally sleeping and the Moon cold and grey, I allowed myself a reprieve. It was only a moment, but a desperately needed one at that. My mind was free to wander as it seemed fit while I rested and it chose the chilling sights of the afternoon. Albert, Ben, Charlie. Their faces were frightening but warmed my heart like a fire warms your toes. Ah yes, the August afternoon felt more like an autumn evening, one that sends a shiver down your spine but spreads a blanket of comfort over you. That anecdote was backed up by a coming patter of rain that landed on myself and the pavement beside.

     It was cooling, the rain. I relished in it’s frozen embrace, leaning back to ease my turmoil. Soon it was a heavy downpour like the sky had turned the faucet full on. If there were others in the streets, they would be scurrying for cover like rats from the light. My body drew me to stand, gazing at the clouds as if they were the Sistine Chapel. The beauty was greater than all the work in the Louvre. Nature could never be captured so precisely outside of the moment.

     "Hey! You!“ My head snapped across the bridge into the borough of Brooklyn, where a figure stood in the shadows, the rain soaking them the same as it was me. The pending confrontation had me frozen in fear. This sort of thing had never happened to me when I had to fight before, but the events of the evening had changed more than just my record.

     Footsteps approached me quickly, the person drawing nearer and nearer. Puddles splashed as I began to make out features of the face. Dark brown eyes shone with kindness in the night and messy black hair was hidden beneath a sopping hat. I thought it strange his shirt lacked sleeves. Then again, it wasn’t the oddest thing I’ve bared witness to.

     "What’re you doin’ out here, Miss? Youse gonna get a cold.” There was something about him that resonated with me. It wasn’t the running, no, certainly not. There was a lost look reflecting in his pupils, one of someone who had nothing more to lose but wished with what little hope they have that they did.

     "I could say the same thing about you…“ I trailed, not knowing what name to use for the boy in front of me.

     "Graves, Miss. Everyone calls me Graves.”

     "Of course, Graves. But why are you out here chastising me for when the same thing is happening to you? You should be of under some blankets sleeping.“ I waved my hand in the direction he came from.

     "I was just heading back ta the Lodgin’ House over there in Brooklyn from visiting my Ma and Pa, but I came ‘cross you. It was nice out b'fore.”

     I mumbled, “But then…” before putting the pieces together. That was it. He was set adrift at sea the same way I was, not knowing which way was home or if it still existed. “I’m so sorry.” My hand met my lips, covering the shocked expression.

     "Nah, it’s fine. I got all the Brooklyn Newsies wit me.“

     "Of course.” I shook my head to clear out pestering questions, “it’s just… I lost my parents too and I know how wrong it can feel. If I may, without intruding, offer my condolences.”

     "Thank ya.“ He tipped his cap at me, “Now, can’t let a lovely lady like you stay out in the rain like this. Why don’t you come back to Brooklyn with me?” He started walking away before I responded, obviously expecting me to follow him. My feet were glued to the ground, though, and there was no way I’d be moving so soon. Graves kept rattling on, “Youse can stay on the girl side of the house until mornin’. Well, I say girl side, but it’s just Rafaela and Joey. I think you’d like Raf. She’s a little rough ‘round the edges, but once she warms up to ya, she’s a real sweetie. Joe’s just a ball a energy. Ya neva know what she's—” The lack of trailing footsteps caused him to stop. His eyes met mine and I could sense the hurt at that moment.

     "Sorry, Graves,“ I plucked my feet from the ground, "I got lost in thought there for a moment.”

     I was soon at his side, my gait wanting to outmatch his, but my lack of knowledge besting my body, “'Bout what?”

     "You’re lucky to have so many kids supporting you with this loss. I was alone when it happened to me. No siblings, no aunts or uncles or friends. Just me and the forest.“ It wasn’t a lie because this broken boy didn’t warrant one. He just wanted the best for everyone, so I let him have a peek at my vulnerability, but not enough for him to dethrone me.

     "That… I’m sorry. Nobody should go through that alone.”

     "Eh, it was years ago. There’s nothing I can do about it now. All I can do is keep moving forward. One day, I’ll make it out.“ Make it out of life and reunite with my family. That’s been the goal for years. See them again.

     "Well, I’m definitely sorry then.”

     "No need to be.“

     The two of us carried on in silence, but not for long. I guess the Brooklyn House wasn’t as far as I assumed. Perhaps it was easy being close to the bridge for selling rather than further away. You’d get the morning and evening rush of people coming and going to and from work. Whoever got the bridge as their turf, on either side, must make a fair wage from all the workers. I’d assume it to be the higher ranking Newsies would get the top spot before the lower ones, who were probably left with the quieter corners and empty shops.

     "Here we are.” Graves’s announcement brought me out of my thoughts of Newsies politics if there even was such a thing. I gazed up at the subject of his presentation. The building wasn’t much different from the one in Manhattan, but it was burgundy in colour from exposed brick and there was a different air about it. “Come on in.” The door was held open for me while I scurried inside out of the rain that had somehow fallen harder in my last few moments outside.

     It was calm on the inside. No shouting or running or fooling around. Two girls caught my eye and I assumed them to be Rafaela and Joey. Then they saw me and became worried. The two rushed over in their red-toned dresses that looked too short to be appropriate. Both my hands were grasped as they led me around the building and into a room not much bigger than a broom closet. A bunk filled half the room and the door took up much of the other half.

     "You poor thing! Graves knows betta than ta make a lady stand in the rain.“ The one girl with dark hair fretted about the room while speaking to me.  She was obviously looking for something to give to me so I could warm-up. Her accomplice, whose hair was covered with a loudly patterned scarf, gave me strange looks as she rifled through a small sewing basket that was slightly mounding with ill-matched clothing all in the same scarlet hues. I couldn’t tell if she was trying to figure out my size or if I was a spy.

"Here you are,” an old rag was presented to my face, some drops of blood stained the once white fabric, “An’ Rafaela there,” she, who I assumed to be Joey, pointed to the one with the headscarf, “should have somethin’ picked out for ya to wear while your clothes dry. I’m Joey.” The energy radiating off her was enough to chase the chill out of my core.

     Rafaela faced me fully, a dark blue skirt and white blouse held in her hands, “Sorry, but these were the only things that would fit.” There was an accent behind her words. It was one I hadn’t heard in a very long time, but that was mainly because I was British as ever.

     "Oh, you’re Spanish?“ Rafaela nodded, "It’s beautiful there. I hope to return someday. I got sidetracked last time I was there and accidentally forgot a project I was working on. Shouldn’t be too much of an issue to complete it… unless somebody’s found it.” My fear started to manifest at the possibility of my paintings being found. What would the locals think?

     Joey and Raf laughed, “I was actually born in Puerto Rico, but my parents were both from Spain. I would love to visit one day and see where they grew up.”

     In a single bout of happiness, I made a wild suggestion, “You and I just might have to go together then.” We giggled as Joey made a sound of offence, “You too Joe. I’m telling you two, we’re going to live like Queens in Spain one day.”

     "Go change! Then we can sit by the fireplace and keep you warm until Spot arrives.“ Rafaela ushered me towards the restroom across the way, leaving me to wonder about this 'Spot’ she mentioned.  Most likely their leader, but what type of leader were they?  The charismatic Jack Kelly?  Or were they more stoic or friendly?  Time would tell me soon enough. 

     It wasn’t a terrible skirt. It was a little short around the ankles and I needed my belt from my dress to keep it up. The shirt did fit very well, even if the shoulders were smaller than fashion dictated.  They were normal, I suppose, when you look at an actual shoulder.  I do think I was quite well put together in my new outfit.  Almost like a higher-class working girl.  Those entertainment reporters dressed fairly similar.  All I needed was a smart little bow and I could pass as anyone with credentials.

     The moment the cold knob of the door left my fingers, I heard an exclamation from Joey, "Oh, you look fantastic!” She ran forward and took my hands, "Rafaela can do your hair once we get downstairs.  She’s amazing at it.“ I was pitched forward at a sharp tug from both girls.  Next thing I knew, I was seated on a worn footrest that could collapse at any moment.  My white ribbon was pulled from my hair and I was brought back to memories of my mother doing my hair for me, then my sister practising her own styles and Jesse playing with it lightly as we travelled.

     "Do you care if we get rid of this ribbon?  It’s so old.”

     "NO!“ I was too loud in my protest and drew eyes towards myself, "No, uh, please use it.  It’s all I have left of my sister.” A small ‘oh’ came from Rafaela asher and Joe proceeded to release my hair from its tangled bonds.

     The three of us spoke quietly as light tugs pestered the back of my head.  Slight laughter entered the conversation but never dominated.  I enjoyed it, the homey feeling that filled the room.  A hasty fire crackled off to the side, my dress laid out in front of it.  The rain poured outside, warding off all who dared be in the streets so late.  A soft smile graced my face and my eyes were closed in bliss.  This was the perfect moment, even if I knew no one around me.

     A creak of the front door alerted me to someone new and the following hush told me of their importance.  The Brooklyn leader, Spot.  I went to turn my head but was held back with a short ‘not yet’ from the girls behind me.  My position was held until I was told.  I quickly stood and glanced at the soaking wet boy who stood in the entryway.  He was short, even shorter than… than most.  The echoing of my shoes was still heard as I stopped before him, my hand outstretched to greet him.

     "Spot, correct? I’m sorry for intruding on your turf, but Graves here,“  I gestured to the boy in the shadows watching the two of us.  He was brought forward by social protocol, standing adjacent to the gap that separated me and Spot, "said I should get out of the rain and that it was perfectly alright if I stayed here for the night.  If not, I can leave now.”

     "No,” he put his hands up in a simple gesture, “it’s fine.  I’m Sean Conlon, but people call me Spot.” I thought I sensed an Irish accent mixed with the language of the streets, but I could’ve been wrong.

     "Well, I think you’ll learn I’m not exactly ‘people’.“ I sent him a shining grin in an attempt to break him and I almost did.  The questions patched up the cracks before I could tear the protective wall down.

     "Graves,” his head swivelled, “who’s this?  ‘Cause I like ‘er.”

     "Oh!  Yeah, yeah right, this is, uh, this is… What’s your name?” Graves gave me a look as he realised I never quite introduced myself to him.  I prided myself on that accomplishment, my posture straightening the slight amount.  I enjoyed pulling the wool over the eyes of others.

     I took a breath, readying myself for whatever would come next, “It’s nice to meet you, Sean.” My hand met his in a swift shake and I felt a million eyes pierce my skin and a fiery heat sear my back.  Whichever one of the angels that had arrived was not on my side, just preparing to send me to the Devil.  Even if there was no God to pray to, I sent one out for help as I spoke my next words, "I’m Odette.  Odette Tuck.“ 

[goodlucktai]

put your empty hands in mine

chapter six: the lucky cat

natsume yuujinchou pairing: kitanishinatsu word count: 2639 summary: Kitamoto and Nishimura are soulmates, to absolutely no one’s surprise. But they’re also soulmates with a very shy boy who lives somewhere far away, who writes to them in tiny, careful letters right before bed, who apologizes when the mimicry of bruises pop up on their arms and backs because of him. And that’s a surprise to a lot of people. read on ao3

x

“Ugh, Takashi,” Satoru says with distaste. “I can’t believe you’re friends with Shibata.”

Takashi gives him a guilty smile, but finishes tapping out a reply to his new email anyway. While he’s distracted, Atsushi shoots Satoru a warning look over the top of his head, and Satoru rolls his eyes.

“I’m just saying. I was gonna beat him up for being a jerk, and I can’t do that if Takashi’s friends with him.”

“He’s not so bad,” Takashi says in his soft, insistent way. “He apologized for taking my phone, and he makes the other kids leave me alone. School is a lot more fun now.”

Satoru can feel himself relenting, because Takashi’s eyes are so big and brown that it’s impossible not to melt under them, and that’s annoying. He crosses his arms and sulks at the river, and sulks a little harder when Atsushi says, “Ignore him, he’s being an idiot. I’m glad you have a new friend, Okashi.”

Takashi still turns a little pink when they call him by a nickname, but that’s ninety percent of the reason why they do. He puts his phone away and lifts his bare feet up out of the water, crossing his legs and leaning over until he’s comfortably slumped against Satoru’s side.

Then he pulls out that orange marker of his, the cap squeaking as it’s twisted off. Satoru can’t resist looking down at his own hands as Takashi’s familiar handwriting appears on the inside of his left wrist.

Satoru watches the characters form, and sounds them out in his head as they do; su-ki da yo.

“Ughhhh,” Satoru says again, with even more feeling this time. He throws his arms around Takashi and topples them over sideways, squeezing him hard and rolling him into the muddy bank, mostly so he won’t notice how red Satoru’s face probably is. “That’s so cute! It’s annoying!”

Takashi’s alarmed yelp morphs into helpless laughter as he struggles to get free. Atsushi scoots aside to avoid their tangle of limbs and doesn’t lift a finger to help him.

It’s the best summer they’ve ever had, because Takashi is visiting for a whole month before the next school term. He got to meet all of Atsushi and Satoru’s friends, and they all liked him immediately-- even grumpy Adachi, who doesn’t really like anyone that's not Tsuji. They’ve spent countless hours playing tag in the tall grass, and begging cool treats from storekeepers, and filling their pockets with bugs and crushed flowers and little frogs to bring home to Mana.

Takashi brightens with every afternoon he spends in the countryside under the beaming sun, until his skin is a gold that matches his eyes, and his grin is waiting just around every corner. Satoru wants to keep him here forever, until he forgets what it was like to be shadowed and sad.

“Mom’s gonna be mad at you,” Atsushi says dryly, when they’ve run out of energy to wrestle anymore. “She already did the laundry today.”

“We can just hop in the river and get all the dirt off,” Satoru retorts. “It’s so hot today we’ll be dry again before dinner.”

Beside him, Takashi suddenly goes still. He sits up quickly, all the playful vibrance gone out of him to make room for something tense and alert, like a rabbit that senses a hawk in the sky. Satoru follows his eyes, but there’s nothing to look at; just a stretch of riverbank they have all to themselves, and an empty bridge over the water.

But still--

“Something’s there?” Atsushi asks. He’s already getting to his feet, reaching down with both hands to pull Satoru and Takashi up, too. “Where is it?”

“On the other side,” Takashi says quietly. He’s staring at the opposite bank. “I don’t think it wants to cross the river. If we hurry we can get away.”

Satoru will never understand how people see Takashi like this and still call him a liar. He’s looking at something-- his eyes are moving inch by inch to follow it, wherever it’s going. There isn’t anything faked or forced about it. Atsushi is still holding their hands as they pull away from their comfy spot by the water, and Takashi points them in the direction of a little footpath that wings toward the treeline.

“There’s a shrine up there,” he says. Somehow he knows better than Satoru does where all the shrines are, and Satoru’s the one who lives here. “We’ll be safe at a shrine.”

The first time something followed him, he told Satoru and Atsushi to go home without him. They scolded him so much for even thinking they’d leave him to deal with a mean ghost by himself that he never brought it up again. He just holds their hands tight and pulls them along, as quick as he can without tripping them up, dodging low-hanging branches and jumping over protruding roots.

They spill out of the trees and onto a wider path, and nearly bowl Tsuji and Adachi right over.

“What in the fresh hell are you doing?” Adachi snaps, shuffling to hide the fact that he’s holding Tsuji’s hand. Any other time, Satoru would be delighted. “Natsume, don’t let them drag you around.”

“Everything okay?” Tsuji asks, as unflappable as ever. He’s frowning a little bit. “Are you running from someone?”

“No,” the three of them chorus, which is probably the most suspicious thing ever. Tsuji, class president and resident mom friend, narrows his eyes at them. “We’re just showing Takashi around,” Atsushi adds more convincingly.

A branch snaps somewhere behind them, and Takashi jerks an involuntary step in the opposite direction, yanking his soulmates with him.

“Anyway, seeya,” Satoru says by way of farewell, and the three of them take off again before their friends can get a word in edgewise, tearing up a slight incline and diving into the cover of some heavy brush. “Jeez, the one time there are other people walking around in the woods-- why would you walk around in the woods? Weirdos!”

Atsushi laughs breathlessly. “We hang out here every day!”

Their meandering route finally leads them across the shrine stairs. They head up, bare feet tapping the sun-warmed stone, the red torii gate looming in welcome just a few meters ahead.

Looks like we made it, Satoru thinks victoriously--

And then wind roars behind them, like a hunting creature. Takashi makes a strangled sound and pulls them to the left sharply. Satoru’s foot catches on something around ankle-height and he goes sprawling with a startled squawk, and he drags Atsushi right down with him. Takashi manages to stay upright because Atsushi does the sensible thing and lets go of his hand, but his face is pale.

“Um,” he says, sinking to his knees gingerly. “Do either of you know what this was for?”

Satoru picks himself up with a groan to get a look at what Takashi’s talking about. The fair-haired boy is holding two ends of a snapped straw rope-- probably the thing Satoru tripped on. Its little paper streamers are crushed and dirty, now.

“It’s a shimenawa,” he goes on, looking at the two of them beseechingly. “It’s-- like a ward? Or a barrier? Do you know if-- it was here for an important reason?”

“You broke it,” a gruff voice behind them says. All three of them flinch wildly, and Satoru and Atsushi both spin around, ready to plead their case to whatever old man happened upon the scene, because it was an accident!

But there isn’t an old man. There’s just a little wooden shrine, with more of the paper shide streamers hanging across the door. Satoru blinks, and looks around for whoever spoke. Atsushi crawls over to where Takashi is kneeling and says, “Hey, what is it?”

He grabs for the hand Atsushi offers him. He looks terrified. The doors of the shrine are rattling now, as if there’s something inside trying to burst out. Satoru looks down at the broken rope on the ground, thinks of what Takashi said about a barrier, and has a realization that comes in the form of a succinct, internal, oh no.

The doors burst open.

There’s a lucky cat statue inside.

They sit there frozen for a moment, staring at the innocuous porcelain figurine. It stares right back, with its waving paw and painted smile. It’s so anticlimactic that Satoru lets out a huff of laughter, and Atsushi’s tense shoulders slump in relief, and Takashi says, “Well, thank goodness for-- “

The shrine explodes.

Wood bends and snaps, a plume of stirred dirt rising like a cloud, and the three of them duck closer together to keep it out of their eyes. Satoru squints from behind his hand, though, watching the round figure of the calico cat come to life.

It lands next to the splintered remains of its home and squints at them with its dark, slitted eyes.

“You’re not going to cower at the sight of me?” it asks, in the old man voice from earlier.

“You’re not very scary?” Takashi replies. It comes out sounding like a question. He’s probably used to spirits that are scary. The cat huffs, like it’s amused.

“Little brat,” it says, not entirely unkindly. It waddles a few steps forward to give Takashi a sniff. Atsushi is tense, clutching Takashi’s arm with both hands, but Satoru isn’t sure what he’s so freaked out for. It’s a fat old cat-- if it tried anything, they could just throw a rock at it or something to make it go away. “You smell like another human I know. You look like her, too, but she was bigger than you are. Nowhere near as runty.”

“He’s not runty,” Satoru says, offended. “We’re ten, this is as tall as we get!”

The cat gives him a once-over. “You’re the brat that broke the barrier. Well done.”

“It wasn’t on purpose. And if I’d known what you were like beforehand, I’d have hopped over that old rope and left you stuck in there.”

Atsushi is making a sound like he’s dying, but Satoru ignores him. He’s not going to be polite to anyone who decides to be mean to one of his two favorite people in the world, and he doesn’t care if they’re humans or one of Takashi’s yokai.

The cat doesn’t look too bothered, anyway. It seems like it would take a lot to impress it one way or the other. And then Takashi is leaping ahead of the conversation to say, “What human do I look like, maneki-neko-san? Who was she?” so Atsushi doesn’t get a chance to call Satoru an idiot, which means Satoru won that round.

“Her name was Natsume Reiko,” the cat tells him. There’s something odd about the way it’s looking at Takashi, as though it’s sizing him up for something, or making some kind of decision about him. “She must have been a relative of yours.”

“I think that was my grandmother’s name. I’ve heard some of my relatives talk about her,” Takashi says slowly. “They don’t say nice things. Was she-- like me?”

“She was. She could see ayakashi, and she was always alone.”

“That’s not like Okashi, then,” Atsushi interjects abruptly, apparently having kept quiet for as long as possible. “He’s got lots of friends.”

“We knew he could see ghosts before we even met you,” Satoru says. He doesn’t add “so there” even though he wants to. “That’s why we were running through here like crazy in the first place.”

The cat blinks once, twice, unhurried. It says, “Something chased you here?”

“Yes,” Takashi says. “It was-- big. It had long, tangled hair and one eye in the middle of its face. There was a smaller yokai with it, with, um-- sort of wide, feathered ears? Like a dog’s?”

“Do things chase you very often?”

“Yes, ever since I was small. That’s why I was going to the shrine. They don’t bother me there.”

Atsushi’s hands squeeze where they’re holding him, and Satoru leans into his back a little more. They can’t be there with him all the time, as much as they’d like to be. He lives so far away from them that he has to handle the scariest things all by himself. All they can do is comfort him after the fact, try to cheer him up when he gets quiet and sad, write reminders to him in colorful ink that no matter what, he’s never really alone.

And that’s nice and all, but when a monster chases you home from school and looms over your bed at night and whispers your name from every corner of the house, it’s not much.

“Hmph,” says the cat, and then it crawls right into Takashi’s lap.

Takashi gasps, perfectly stunned, and Satoru can’t say he expected this turn of events either.

“Um,” Atsushi hedges. “Maneki-neko-san--”

“Come up with a better name for me than that, brats,” it grizzles. “That’s a mouthful, and it’s none too creative. Your heads must be full of cotton.”

While Satoru is offended and Atsushi is getting that way, Takashi looks somewhere between hopeful and delighted. “A name?” he asks, lowering his hands slowly to the calico fur. “Are you going to stay with me?”

“That’s right,” says the grouchy cat. “Not because I want to-- I have better things to do-- but I owe your grandmother a favor. She’d curse me from the afterlife if she knew I let her little descendant get into trouble on his own.”

“This thing reminds me of Adachi,” Satoru mutters. It’s not a compliment, and Atsushi turns away to muffle a snort behind his hand. “So you’re gonna look after him, is that what you’re saying? Why don’t you just say that?”

The cat glares at him. Satoru has never been less impressed by a glare in his life. Takashi bites his lip, looking worried. “Um, I don’t think my guardians would let you stay, neko-san. They don’t-- they’re not-- “

“They don’t have to let me do anything.” It folds up its paws and puts its chin on Takashi’s knee, every bit as though it’s settling in for a nap right then and there. “I can make myself invisible to most humans, you know. It’s only in this form of mine that your little friends can see me.”

“Lucky us,” Satoru mutters.

“Satchan,” Atsushi laughs helplessly.

But Takashi is enamored. He likes cats, Satoru remembers. He sends them pictures of the strays he feeds at the park.

He’s kneeling there in the dirt, damp and muddy from an afternoon spent by the river, barefoot because they didn’t remember to pick up their shoes before they went running off, his arms full of a fat talking cat that they accidentally broke out of a warded shrine, and none of these things seem particularly strange to him.

If anything, he looks happy.

“Can I call you Nyanko-sensei?” he asks eagerly, which is exactly the sort of adorable thing Satoru should have anticipated he would say.

The cat grumbles a lot, but it doesn’t look displeased, and it’s exactly like when Adachi rolls his eyes at Tsuji, who literally everyone knows is Adachi’s best friend. Takashi scoops it up when he climbs to his feet, and turns to throw a beaming smile at his soulmates, hugging his new cat to his chest in both arms.

“Wait till I tell Shibata!” he says brightly.

“Ugh,” Satoru replies, remembering to be annoyed about that.

But he has to admit, even if he’ll never say it out loud, that it’s nice knowing Takashi’s got some people looking out for him when Satoru and Atsushi can’t. Even if one of those people is an annoying reformed bully, and the other is an annoying talking cat.

[dumbgopher1]

Dancing on Ice part 1

Loki/ OFC, Avengers Assemble-esk, (I refuse to acknowledge the pain of infinity wars)

The Avengers were not happy, Thor had brought Loki back to Earth to serve out a term of service. Apparently Odin had thought that Loki would learn his lesson if he was banished to the same planet he had tried to take over, with most of his power gone. Like with Thor’s banishment he would get his powers back when he was worthy of them.

Great parenting right?!

Anyway, The avengers weren’t happy, Loki wasn’t happy, the only person pleased with the situation was Thor who was happy to both have his brother back and to spend more time on Earth. For the most part Loki just slunk around the Avengers mansion keeping out of people’s way— unless to torment them — or reading.

One day as he was trying to find a quiet place to read he happened upon a large empty hanger. When He stepped into the hanger, instantly his feet slipped out from under him. He placed his hand on the slick surface of the floor, it promptly turned blue showing his true skin. He jerked his hand away and gazed around the hanger. Seeing a figure moving quickly and smoothly around at the far end he got up, slowly gaining his balance on the slick ice that covered the floor in a thick sheet.

The figure began moving towards him, spinning making large lazy loops or fast movements. It was a woman he could tell wearing jeans, a sweater and tall boots, she was pretty her short brown hair pulled up into a tiny ponytail with bangs hanging over her face. She seemed to have— what were they called— headphones in. She hadn’t yet noticed him but when she did her gliding movements faltered for a split second before she came to a flourished stop in front of him showering him with tiny ice fragments. Loki noticed then her skin was abnormally pale almost with a blue undertone as if she was early stages of frostbite.

She took out her phone tapping the screen before pulling her headphones out, “do you need the hanger for something? Cuz I can clean up and leave if you want”

Loki liked the sound of her voice, it sounded like hot spiced cider and whiskey.

“Who are you I haven’t seen you before?”

She stuck out her hand—Loki noticed it was gloved— “I’m Ember Foxe I’m live and work here”.

“Ah one of Stark’s pets” Loki said starting to loose interest and ignoring her hand which she dropped.

“I am nobody’s pet! Who are you anyway?”

“You don’t know who I am?”

“I’ve been a bit cut off from the world” she answered cryptically

“I am Loki”

“Like the Norse god.”

“Yes”

“Awesome, now if you are not going to kick me out of the hanger I’m gunna go back to skating” when she said that Loki looked down at her feet noticing the fine blades on her boots.

“Skating?” When he asked that she laughed

“You’ve never skated before I thought you said you were from Scandinavia”

“No”

she smirked, “Would you like to learn?”

“Sure” he was very curious at this point

“Ok I'm guessing you don’t have skates” she looked up at him for conformation and he shook his head, “ok just don’t be alarmed”

She took off her gloves and got down on one knee in front of him, reaching out her hands she touched his boots. “This is one of the first things I learned how to do, I hope you don’t mind a little cold” thin sheets of ice covered his boots and moved down ending in thin blades similar into hers. He suddenly felt very unstable, as she stood.

“Now I’m going to smooth the ice it will be easier for you if it’s clean, stay there”.

She skated backwards for a few feet before bending and touching the ice with her fingertips and the lines from her passing disappeared. She replaced her gloves and skated back towards him.

“Ok give me your hands”

“What” Loki was a little incredulous

“Give me your hands I’m going to teach you the basic principle. It is easier the first time if someone helps you”

“Right” he growled, she gently pulled his book from his hand and slide it towards the door seeing his gauze follow it she reassured him “don’t worry the ice is dry and won’t melt until I want it to your book will be fine” she took his hands.

“Ok now step forward onto your right foot and push off with your left one” he did and they glided a few feet she skated backwards in front of him. “Good now keep doing that but alternate feet” they made one round of the hanger.

“Do you think your getting it?” She asked as he began to feel more confident

“Yes” Loki replied

“Good I’m going to let go now”

“Alright” he was feeling very confident, right up to the moment that she let go and skated away, He wobbled.

“Now remember, movement helps with the balance if you stop you have to shift your weight to start again”

She began skating circles around him as he wobbled offering tidbits of advice. Once he nearly fell backwards but felt a finger between his shoulder blades just enough pressure to keep him upright until he gained his balance. Soon he could skate around confidently, nothing fancy like what she did but pretty good.

“You’re doing really well” she offered

“You are a good teacher” he said losing his armor of snark in the fun of the activity

“Well I wouldn’t say that the last person I taught fell a lot and took me down with her a couple times cracked one of my ribs” she laughed

“How inconsiderate of her”

“Nah it was fine, she just wasn’t as graceful as you”

“Thank you”

Just then a voice called out across the hanger, “Ember get over here”,

It was Mr. Stark,

“Coming Mr. Stark” She turned and skated to the door where Tony stood, arms crossed glowering. Loki slowed to a stop then the ice disappeared and she trotted to Tony, he grabbed her and started scolding her, as he pulled her out of the hanger, but not before casting a glare over his shoulder at Loki. Loki got his book and went to sulk because the one person who had treated him kindly in the mansion would no longer after Stark talked to her.

-x-x-x-

Tony pulled Ember along,

“You need to stay away from him”

“But he’s kind to me, didn’t judge me at all”, her eyes were big. “Can you stop pulling my arm”

He didn’t let go nor did he stop pulling, “I don’t are how he treated you Ember, he is a villain and if you want to keep your place here and my protection you’ll stay away from him.”

She looked down, “yes Mr. Stark”

“And what have I told you about using your powers so frivolously”

“I’m sorry Mr. Stark I just missed skating”

“Boo fricken ho! Kid keep your power to yourself and keep your head down. Now I need you to clean the lab.” He stopped at the door to his lab and opened the door to her. Once she entered he closed the door and left.

-x-x-x-

As Ember cleaned the lab all alone, she began to wonder about Loki and what Tony had said. She had been isolated along time, didn’t know what Loki had done to earn Tony’s anger but he didn’t seem like such a bad guy. But while Ember wanted to judge Loki by he actions word her instead of what others said, she couldn’t loose this place to stay, if she did she would be on the streets again, on the run from Hydra. The irony of Loki calling her Tony’s pet hit her as she wasn’t plowed to do anything without Tony’s permission nor was she allowed to leave the mansion. Totally dependent on Tony’s beck and call and not allowed to interact with anyone. She decided she would stand up for herself, in a situation he couldn’t dismiss her.. Once she had finished cleaning. She went to her room, and crawled into the space under her bed. The tightness of the space, and the darkness comforted her, being hidden and the fact that no one could sneak up behind her eventually lulling her to sleep.

With sleep came dreams, not the dreams a young woman should have of expensive presents, attractive suitors and success in a chosen field, or even the strange Alice and wonderland-esk dreams that those with strong imaginations enjoy. No, these were nightmares of painful memory.

-x-x-x- dream (7 years prior)

“Look at the creep, god what a loner”

“I heard her parents were so disappointed with her they killed themselves”

“That’s just cruel Ales”

“Yeah not cool Ales”

“What, you guys are just as mean”

“But joking about her parents is just wrong”

“Whatever”

Ember heard the girls on the other side of the hall talking about her, she couldn’t wait to be done with high school and it’s pathetic drama, the hierarchy which would disintegrate after graduation in two weeks. Yeah maybe she was different, wore black almost exclusively, and didn’t have any friends at school, but that didn’t mean she was a freak. She just worked at the ice rink her grandpa owned and knew there were bigger things in the world than high school. Ember also knew how her parents really died. They had been in the military, mom in the air force, dad in the marines and both died in combat. She was proud her parents fought. Her grandpa had made sure she knew why and what they were fighting for.

Dream shift to the next December

It was cold and snowy, just slushy enough that the roads were wet and slick but the rivers and ponds not frozen over. Ember was running with her head phones in, just when she got to a bridge, a car spun out of control the back end spinning around and hitting her sending her flying over the side of the bridge into the water below. The water was cold and dark stealing’s her warmth. She could barely see the grey light of the day between the chunks of ice on the surface of the water. Desperately she tried to reach it but the current quickened by the melted snow of the day pulled her under into the darkness.

That night the river froze and Ember’s body with it, but she did not die. The cold awakened a latent mutant gene in her DNA, causing her to change. When she broke through the ice the next morning, she was miles from Home, down river. Her phone was long since dead and water logged and it seamed as if there was no warmth left in the world for her as she trudged up river in the direction of her home. It took her four hours of walking and constant shivering to make it to a town. Her long hair had frozen stiff and her skin had lost all color. When she got to the ER, the nurses jumped to help her when she said she had fallen in the river and one was kind enough to let her use a phone to call her grandpa.

He didn’t answer the first call nor the second, nor the third. On the fourth call, a man picked up the phone, “hello”

“Grandpa! I need you to come get me I’m in (sometown) at the ER”

“Who is this?”

“Wait who is this why do you have grandpa’s phone”

Chuckles “so you’re old Davie’s Grandkid huh, knew he’d gone soft.look kid your grandpappy isn’t worth shit and just got what was coming to him. If you know what’s good for you you won’t come home. Just run, run, run, because revenge extends to Davie’s family as well. And I’d hate to rough up a cute kid like you.”

The line went dead. And a line of ice crept up the IV line until it was completely frozen.

-x-x-x- end dreams

Part 2 coming soon