#the sword accepted his tears to determine his worthiness to wield it

[phantom248]

So many of us joke how he cries beautifully and others too (who doesn't loves a beauty who cries prettily lol) but this is one of the things I liked about it. That your strength is not being in the strongest or being masculine or being the best fighter, it is in being steadfast and trying your best to make your own choice out of the few available to you. That it is fine to cry, you can grieve too, that there is strength in tears too.

It wasn't his awsome sword wielding skill or cool jumping around or going through a training montage, it was his grief. It took Zhuo Yichen's tears to prove to the sword that he was worthy of wielding it. That his tears were not a sign of weakness, they were his strength too.

And I love it that they did this with almost everyone in the show, not just Zhuo Yichen. All of them had traumas, they had grievances, and instead of shoving it away and becoming the traditional "Ice prince cool protagnist with dark past" that many shows do, all the Fangs of Fortune ensemble found strength in their dark, sad past and continued moving forward.

Bingyi has many descendants, but only a few can be acknowledged by the Cloud Light Sword. Those who are acknowledged by the Sword will empathize with it. The Cloud Light Sword will then become his fate weapon. Having a fate weapon means that as long as the sword is intact, its owner stays alive; if the sword is destroyed, its owner dies.

[excaliburwielded]

YOU HELD YOUR HEAD LIKE A HERO, ON A HISTORY BOOK PAGE. IT WAS THE END OF A DECADE, BUT THE START OF AN AGE.

gavin stenhouse, bisexual, cis man + he/him → isn’t that arthur pendragon? i hear that they're king arthur from the sword in the stone. i hear they’re 38. they seem to be chivalrous & protective, but also reckless & destructive. their aesthetics include showing off his fighting skills, golden hair in the wind, glowing eyes and a glowing sword.

BASIC INFORMATION

FULL NAME: [ ARTHUR CLUDWR CLEDDYF PENDRAGON ] NICKNAME: [ THE ONCE AND FUTURE KING, KING ARTHUR, SWORD BEARER, ART ] AGE: [ 38 ] GENDER: [ MALE ] PRONOUNS: [ HE/HIM ] FAIRYTALE: [ KING ARTHUR, THE SWORD IN THE STONE ] ETHNICITY: [ BRITISH, WELSH, CELTIC ] RELIGION: [ PAGANISM ] LANGUAGE, IN ORDER OF PROFICIENCY: [ WELSH, ENGLISH, IRISH, SCOTTISH GAELIC ] ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: [ BIROMANTIC ] SEXUAL ORIENTATION: [ BISEXUAL ] SEXUAL TEMPERAMENT: [ DOM-SWITCH ] SEXUAL POSITION: [ TOP-VERSE ]

RELATIONSHIPS

SIGNIFICANT OTHER: [ TBD. ] PARENTS: [ UTHER PENDRAGON. IGRAINE PENDRAGON. ] SIBLINGS: [ MORGAN, HALF-SIBLING, UNBEKNOWNST TO ARTHUR. ] FRIENDS: [ MERLIN. MORGAN. LANCELOT. ]

PHYSICAL TRAITS

FACE CLAIM: [ GAVIN STENHOUSE ] EYE COLOUR: [ BLUE ] HAIR COLOUR: [ BLONDE ] HEIGHT: [ 1.92 METRES ] BODY BUILD: [ ATHLETIC, BUFF, MUSCULAR ] FACIAL HAIR: [ BEARD CENTRED AROUND THE MOUTH, EXTENDING TO THE SIDE OF HIS FACE. ] TATTOOS + PIERCINGS: [ tba. ] NOTABLE PHYSICAL TRAITS: [ VARIOUS SCARS OVER HIS BODY FROM TRAINING AND BATTLES ]

PHOBIAS AND DISORDERS

PHOBIAS/FEARS: [ TBA. ] MENTAL DISORDERS: [ tba. ]

PERSONALITY

INTELLIGENCE: [ SMART. KNOWLEDGEABLE. ] LIKES: [ SWORDS. GALAVANTING AROUND. SCALING CLIFFS. FIGHTING. ] DISLIKES: [ DARK MAGIC. LONG COURT SESSIONS. SCHEMING NOBLES. ] ALIGNMENT: [ CHAOTIC GOOD ] POSITIVE ATTRIBUTES: [ DETERMINED, CHIVALROUS, PROTECTIVE, FIRM LEADERSHIP, JUST ] NEGATIVE ATTRIBUTES: [ RECKLESS, DESTRUCTIVE, COCKY, ROGUISH ]

COMBAT INFORMATION

WEAPONS: [ EXCALIBUR. WOODEN STAFF. EXCELLENT HAND TO HAND COMBATANT. ] POWERS: [ LATENT MAGIC. SUPERHUMAN STRENGTH AND SPEED WHEN WIELDING EXCALIBUR. MINOR MAGIC CHANNELLED THROUGH EXCALIBUR. ]

AESTHETICS

AESTHETICS: [ SHOWING OFF HIS FIGHTING SKILLS. GOLDEN HAIR IN THE WIND. GLOWING EYES AND A GLOWING SWORD. FAST HANDS. RIDING OFF INTO THE SUNSET. KEEPING THE DOOR OPEN. CROWN ADORNED WITH JEWELS, OCCASSIONALLY FORGOTTEN. POLISHING HIS SWORD. PRISTINE ROBES WORTHY OF HIS STATUS. RUGGED LOOKS WHEN NOT IN COURT. SWEATING WITHOUT HIS SHIRT ON. ] INSPO: [ KING ARTHUR, KING ARTHUR: LEGEND OF THE SWORD. ] LYRICAL INSPO: [ I HAD THE TIME OF MY LIFE FIGHTING DRAGONS WITH YOU. // CAUSE BABY, I COULD BUILD A CASTLE OUT OF ALL THE BRICKS THEY THREW AT ME. AND EVERY DAY IS LIKE A BATTLE, BUT EVERY NIGHT WITH US IS LIKE A DREAM. // THERE WILL COME A SOLDIER WHO CARRIES A MIGHTY SWORD. HE WILL TEAR YOUR CITY DOWN, OH-LEI, OH-LAI, OH, LORD. ]

KINKS

KINKS: [ BREEDING. COLLARS. LEASHES. VERBAL FEMINISATION. WORSHIP. OBJECTIFICATION. COCK WARMING. RESTRAINS/BONDAGE. PUBLIC. SOMNOPHILIA. GAPING. OBJECT PLAY. ] ANTI-KINKS: [ VORE. SCAT. INFANTILISM. ]

BIOGRAPHY

[ wip ]

when his father, uther was poisoned and the throne had been seized by the leaders of the coup. merlin took arthur away to be raised in secret by the knight and lord sir ector, with the boy being unaware of his true heritage. merlin would later befriend arthur as the boy became of age and grew into a man. a man that had mastered the art of various combat techniques and styles, becoming extremely proficient with a sword, and hand to hand combatant — as was fitting of someone of royal birth.

with the help of merlin, events unfolded which led to arthur, now in his 30s, learning about the truth of himself and his royal blood. arthur's greatest feat and catalyst of learning about his heritage turned out to be the pulling of the legendary sword, excalibur, from the stone. the blonde struggled with the revelation for a time but eventually came around to it and accepted both his royal heritage and his destiny. with his chivalrous leadership and kinship with people, arthur amassed a large following to his cause and name. and with excalibur's might and power, and loyal knights and followers behind him, the rightful king stormed camelot to liberate its people from tyrannical rule and oppression. arthur then claimed his crown and throne, born for the role he assimilated well and ruled justly and righteously. even so, arthur still constantly yearned for adventures and often dresses down in something more comfortable and taking his horse out for a ride to places unknown.

eventually with the prophecy of ruin upon their kingdom, merlin brought all of them to a new realm, now named avalon, where the king has to begin his kingdom anew.

[ note: guinevere is not in my (current) portrayal and backstory, so if anything does end up happening it takes place after the inhabitants of camelot have moved to the new realm. ]

[sunfloweraro]

I am asking about your book!

I love your fic writing, so I’m very excited about the prospect of a book!

What’s the plot? Who are the main characters? Any fun lore details you’re bursting to share?

(Also November in Australia is evil, I’m dying, how are you holding up?)

YES okay so:

The plot:

Edwin, heir to the throne and very-soon-to-be king, is sent on a quest by his father to prove himself a worthy future king: he must journey far to the west of the kingdom and defeat a terrible evil threatening the kingdom. With the help of Meghan, a royal knight in training, Atla, a physician, and Soarn, an archer, he sets out on this quest, but the longer they travel together, the harder it becomes to keep secrets hidden. And when they finally reach the end of their journey, they discover this great evil isn’t all that it seems—and neither is the king.

The characters (AKA more detail of the above):

Edwin:

- my prince character! He’s 19, almost 20

- Speaks relatively ‘proper’ initially, until the others infect him with their speech patterns

- autistic

- Disabled, but no one except his immediate family know of it. There was an accident when he was 7 which wound up with his leg being crushed by a statue, and even though he’s healed now, it’s permanently weakened and causes him pain, either from flare ups or when he uses it too much (or both!) He blames himself for the accident.

- Best (and only) friend is Meghan. They’ve known each other since they were 4-5 and are extremely close. No romance between them, although Edwin had a little crush on her when they were very, very young, before he found out she doesn’t like men. They laugh about it now.

- Related to the above note: he also gets very jealous when Meghan is with her other friends. His father never allowed him to make other friends—Meghan pushed her way into his life anyway.

- Terrible at taking care of himself. Forgets to eat/sleep a lot

- Does not have a good relationship with either of his parents, but he is desperate to make his father proud, hence why he so readily accepted this quest.

- Used to have an older brother. When a prince from a neighbouring kingdom visited, he and Edwin hit it off quickly. Edwin snuck him into his rooms to keep playing, and when he fell asleep, the other prince stole his master keys, snuck into his brother’s room, and smothered him with a pillow. No one ever believed Edwin when he tried to share the truth. He very much blames himself for his brother’s death.

- Cannot fight for the life of him. Uses a dagger for self-preservation, but again, not good at wielding it

Meghan:

- My royal-knight-in-training character! 19 years old.

- Best friends with both Edwin and Atla

- Comes from a family of scholars. Her parents have aided the king many times and her mother is one of his trusted advisors. She was expected to follow in her parents footsteps, but she prefers to protect from the front lines, and pushed to get into knight training. Her parents do not approve of this

- A handful of months before the book starts, she ran away from home due to her parents attempting to tear her away from her training. They had a fight, and she never went home. She lives on the streets and can’t bring herself to tell Edwin when he’s already got so much on his plate

- Silly, smart and strong, she’s determined to enter into the royal guard and keep Edwin safe when he ascends. She worries about him a lot. She’s also very soft!

- Butch lesbian

- Determined to protect others to the point of self-sacrifice, and is not kind to herself when she fails (which comes from her parents never accepting this choice of hers)

- She tends to have trouble listening to others—once she sets her mind on something, that’s how they’re doing it. This causes issues between herself and Edwin later on, as well as with Atla.

- Miiiight get a teeny crush on Soarn, until she realises the other girl is aroace. (Edwin has the same issue, and they both laugh about it together)

- Fights with a sword primarily, but can use anything as a weapon in a pinch

Atla:

- My physician character! Their age is… ahem. Technically 18, but their body has been in the world for over 300 years. I will elaborate below.

- They’ve been training under the head physician since they were 13, and excelled to the point where they are now one of her assistants. Very useful on this quest.

- Nonbinary!

- They have godly heritage on their mother’s side, giving them golden eyes, hair, and two golden wings upon their back at birth. They were a cherished secret in their village, bringing good luck and always eager to help their community. They took to healing quickly, using magic granted to them from their godly wings to mend broken bones and nasty gashes. However, a terrible man found out about them and moved to the village, befriending them swiftly. They played together in the forest often, until one day, the man led them into the forest and tore their wings from their back. He then buried them alive to get rid of the evidence and used the magic from the wings to trick the kingdom into accepting him as their leader. He also uses the feathers from the wings to stay alive for far longer than any human should

- 300 years later, the gods bring Atla back to life, feeling their unfortunate ending was unjust, and Atla is deadset on revenge, but they have no way to get close to the man who killed them… until this quest is shared with them, five years after they were brought back to life

- Their wings were not brought back with them, and they now have chronic back pain where their wings used to be

- They were taken in by two loving mothers into a massive family, and they love their mamas, but… they miss their first family, and their village. But that’s all long gone now

- Best friends with Meghan, and would kill for her if need be (“I’m a healer, but—“)

- Can speak to animals. No one else knows this yet

- The cook of the group! They cook a lot of old family recipes to help themself feel close to the family they will never see again

- Fights with a hammer! A lot of rage piled up within them from their unjust death and then consequential revival.

- Has… ulterior motives for being on this quest.

Soarn:

- My archer character! She’s 17, almost 18

- Transfem! and aroace!

- She is a Desikah (a race of magical folks in my book who look similar to humans for the most part, but also… a little off. They each drift toward a certain type of magic at birth (fire, water, earth, shadow or light) and very few may wield two kinds of magic. Soarn herself is an earth- and light-type Desikah. The Desikah are very much hated due to a terrible reputation built up by the king (and maintained using magic) and hunted if they are ever caught. But they’re actually a very peaceful group, who care deeply for the world around them and everyone and everything in it.)

- No one but her father (human) knows she is a Desikah (from her mother’s side) and she will not tell anyone for fear of being slaughtered

- Has an animal friend! Her name is Maipa, and she is a Felivus (think, a cat with the back legs and wings of a raven), a magical race of creatures known for their healing abilities and intelligence. (She and Atla talk a lot). Soarn saved Maipa when she was just a kit, mending her broken wing, and Maipa imprinted on her and will stay with her through thick and thin, until death

- Her mother passed away when she was young, and her father is very cold towards her. He taught her how to hunt, however, and she wields her bow expertly, her connection to the earth aiding her in shooting true and striking her prey every time.

- She joins the quest later on, saving Edwin from a blow from a bandit that would have ended his life. She and Edwin do not hit it off well initially (entirely on Edwin’s part) but they both have terrible fathers, and they bond over that.

- She does not have a lot of self-worth initially, due to her father and the terrible community she grew up in. (the others will bash self-worth into her eventually).

Fun lore details:

OKAY SO. The king is clearly a terrible man, but it’s much worse than you think. Hundreds of different races of magical creatures used to roam the land, until the king used the magic in the feathers of Atla’s wings to cast a massive spell upon all humans in his land—one that imbued a deep hatred and distrust in any magic. The creatures were hunted nearly to extinction and banished from the lands. Why did the king do this? He felt magic of any kind was a threat to him and his rule, and he is very much a power-hungry, evil man.

Some magical creatures still live in the kingdom, one most humans don’t know of at all (Atla knew of Felivi as they were around when they were first alive). But most have been forced to other kingdoms, or into hiding—there is an underground community of thousands, hidden away beneath the desert, that the king has no idea of. And they would all love to get revenge on the man who forced them out of their homes :)

(And thank you for asking! November has been MISERABLE. We’ve been hopping between wet and freezing, and then scorching hot and humid T.T I, naturally, have come down with a cold because of the jump in temps. Hoping you’re handling it better!)

[bigsoftmarshmallow]

How would Tears of the Kingdom Ganondorf react and feel about meeting the other Ganondorfs (Wind Waker, Ocarina of Time, Twilight Princess, and Hyrule Warriors) and Demise (From Legend of Zelda Skyward Sword)?

Tears of the Kingdom Ganondorf Meeting Wind Waker Ganondorf

Reaction: Tears of the Kingdom Ganondorf would view Wind Waker Ganondorf with a mix of sympathy and curiosity, recognizing the wisdom born from defeat but also the potential weakness in accepting it.

Feelings: Sympathy, curiosity, and slight condescension.

Scene: In a serene garden filled with ancient symbols, Tears of the Kingdom Ganondorf meets Wind Waker Ganondorf, who is deep in thought.

"You embraced defeat to find peace," Tears of the Kingdom Ganondorf remarks, his voice carrying a hint of condescension.

Wind Waker Ganondorf looks up, a calm smile on his face. "I found wisdom in understanding my limits."

Tears of the Kingdom Ganondorf raises an eyebrow. "Wisdom is valuable, but so is unyielding strength."

Wind Waker Ganondorf chuckles softly. "Then may you learn to balance both."

Tears of the Kingdom Ganondorf Meeting Ocarina of Time Ganondorf

Reaction: Tears of the Kingdom Ganondorf would see Ocarina of Time Ganondorf as a reflection of his own early ambition and drive, feeling a sense of kinship and mutual respect.

Feelings: Kinship, respect, and understanding.

Scene: In the ruins of an ancient temple, Tears of the Kingdom Ganondorf approaches Ocarina of Time Ganondorf, who stands amidst the fallen stones.

"We share the same unyielding spirit," Ocarina of Time Ganondorf says, his gaze intense.

Tears of the Kingdom Ganondorf nods. "And the same desire for ultimate power."

Ocarina of Time Ganondorf smirks. "Together, our strength could be unparalleled."

Tears of the Kingdom Ganondorf grins, a fierce determination in his eyes. "Then let us forge our destinies as one."

Tears of the Kingdom Ganondorf Meeting Twilight Princess Ganondorf

Reaction: Tears of the Kingdom Ganondorf would see Twilight Princess Ganondorf as a kindred spirit with a strategic mind and ruthless nature, feeling a competitive urge but also a potential for alliance.

Feelings: Competitive respect and potential alliance.

Scene: In the twilight shadows of a dark fortress, Tears of the Kingdom Ganondorf meets Twilight Princess Ganondorf, their eyes locking in mutual recognition.

"You wield power with a calculated precision," Tears of the Kingdom Ganondorf observes.

Twilight Princess Ganondorf's lips curl into a slight smile. "As do you. We are two sides of the same coin."

Tears of the Kingdom Ganondorf steps closer. "Shall we test our strengths or combine them?"

Twilight Princess Ganondorf's eyes glint. "Let us see where our combined power can lead."

Tears of the Kingdom Ganondorf Meeting Hyrule Warriors Ganondorf

Reaction: Tears of the Kingdom Ganondorf would be intrigued by Hyrule Warriors Ganondorf's raw power and martial prowess, seeing potential in their combined strength.

Feelings: Intrigue and strategic interest.

Scene: In a grand arena filled with the echoes of past battles, Tears of the Kingdom Ganondorf approaches Hyrule Warriors Ganondorf, who is surrounded by his war trophies.

"You harness raw power with unmatched skill," Tears of the Kingdom Ganondorf remarks.

Hyrule Warriors Ganondorf nods. "And you channel the mystical forces of the land."

Tears of the Kingdom Ganondorf's eyes narrow with interest. "Together, we could control both the physical and the mystical realms."

Hyrule Warriors Ganondorf grins. "Then let us unite our powers and reshape destiny."

Tears of the Kingdom Ganondorf Meeting Demise

Reaction: Tears of the Kingdom Ganondorf would feel a profound respect and awe towards Demise, recognizing him as the primal source of their shared power. He would also feel a strong desire to prove himself worthy of this legacy.

Feelings: Awe, reverence, and ambition.

Scene: In the heart of a blazing inferno, Tears of the Kingdom Ganondorf stands before Demise, whose presence exudes overwhelming power.

"You are the origin of our strength," Tears of the Kingdom Ganondorf says, his voice filled with reverence.

Demise's eyes blaze with dark fire. "And you are my vessel, bound to my will."

Tears of the Kingdom Ganondorf bows his head slightly. "I seek to surpass your power and carve my own destiny."

Demise's laughter echoes through the chamber. "Then prove your worth, and perhaps you shall."

[troublesometrollhunters]

Redeemed Morgana General Romance Headcannons

She survived her redemption after smitting Arthur, releasing his soul finally letting him be free. But now she must live with the guilt and shame she feels. Her pain and her anger is the reason everthing has happened. Hate destroyed Arthur and it destroyed her. Now she must fix all the things she's done and build trust with people who despise her. Good thing she has you too help.

Trust is hard to earn and takes time to build. Morgana has hurt so many people, lashing out from her own hurt. She has many apologies to make and many bad habits to break. One day she will be forgiven but until then she must work hard to prove she is not who she once was.

Hisirdoux grew up in the Castle when Merlin took him in. He knows the old Morgana, you know the old Morgana, and your both determined to bring her back. She had so much good in her and all her ideas brought light to the world. She is a powerful mage with strong opinions and if she focused her magic and passion on the right things she could make the world a better place.

Toby is surprisingly the first one on the Trollhunters Team to reach out. He knows what it's like to loose your family and he also knows evil people can become good. Aarrrgh is weary of her but when she gets on her knees apologizing for giving Gunmar power, for allowing him to hurt his people, and not taking better control of what King Arthur was doing to trolls Aarrrgh knows she means it. She is forgiven and he promises someday she will have his trust but for now they are merely allies. Not friends yet but... soon. Aarrrgh understands pain and hurt, he understands becoming something your not and he knows Morgana can fix her past mistakes just as he did.

Aarrrgh, Toby, Hisirdoux, and you now have a big job ahead of you. Now you must help the others trust or at least tolerate Morgana and show that she is no longer a threat. One battle where she helps defeat her brother and save Hisirdoux's life isn't enough on a never ending list of all the bad she's done in the past. She will have to work hard to make up for what she's done but helping defeat her brother was a good first step.

Jim and Blinky are next. It takes Aarrrgh Toby and you to help push them but Jim slowly understands why Morgana has done what she's done and he does his best to forgive her. He was there when Morgana fell, he was there when she protected him and Claire. She was a radical woman stuck in a time where she had no true power. Forced to submit to people who did not have her beliefs and forced to be someone she wasn't. You buffer their conversations and soon Jim finds himself going to Morgana for advice and trusting what she tells him. It's not a lot but it's a start.

Blinky is hesitant but he bonds with Morgana over their shared love of books and writing. Morgana explains to him when she was a young girl she'd spend hours in the library reading books. In the castle they were one of her only soliaces. You and books that is. They talk about old authors and history long forgotten by humans. Blinky gives Morgana an old book she mentioned loving and it's a slow way towards amends but it's a gesture to show she's getting there and it's enough for her. When she tells you what happened its enough to make you tear up as Morgana reads the book to you, sharing a tender moment and celebrating a step in the right direction.

It takes some time for Jim to regain his confidence with everyone encouraging him. But when he finally does feel ready Excalibur is his to wield. Morgana focuses on the magic part of the blade and unlocking it's power while Blinky helps retrain him to fight with a bigger and different shaped sword. He no longer posseses Merlins amulet but Morgana assures him he is worthy of her late brothers sword and he is still a Trollhunter. She never thought she'd work with one of Merlins champions but she'd rather work with Jim than any other Hunter.

As Jim trains with Excalibur you have one last apology to give. Claire. Claire thinks you've put a spell on her friends and is very defensive when either you or Morgana come near her. She thinks your a spy and you only want to trick them, that your friendship is built on lies. It takes time and patience but eventually Claire tells you why. She opens her heart about the possession and the Shadow zone and how Morgana hurt her and there's a lot of yelling but it's okay. You and Morgana understand. You comfort the girl thanking her for her vulnerability and her strength.

You decide to give the team time to reflect on everythings thats happened. Morganas made her apologies and has worked towards redemption now its time to let the others think of what she's said and take some time for yourselves. You propose a little vacation into town. You want her to learn about what she's missed and see how different the 21st is from the 12th.

It's time for Morgana to see the New World. It's something Morgana can't even believe. Woman have rights to their bodies and have so much more freedom than she ever did. There are so many more inventions and food is much more accessible. The streets are clean and the people seem happy. However out of everything you show her the local cafe bookstore has got to be one of her favorites. Something old mixed with something modern she enjoys the baked goods and loves the strange drinks as she browses the many books. Any dates now happen there where she can catch up on a few hundred years of reading or at the cinema where she sees the books she reads come to life.

Hisirdoux is the first to visit you on your self imposed excile. He brings wine and snacks and you and Morgana are never one's to turn down a fun conversation about magic. You talk about books, spells, potions, and Camelot. You reminesce late into the night about the good old times and Douxie assures you, your both doing great.

When you come back after a few weeks the group is happy to see you both again. They'd all missed Morgana and you and even Claire admits she missed having another female wizard around. It takes awhile but she eventually moves on accepting Morgana is no longer evil. The Trollhunters they all remember but they forgive.

Blinky asks Morgana about the books she's been reading while Toby and Jim ask her for stories about Excalibur and Camelot. Claire soon joins in having questions about magic and Aarrrgh chuffs watching curiously. Morgana still has the pain of her past haunting her but she's never felt more assured she'll heal or that everything will be okay.

It's a slow path to redemption but with you by her side to smooth things out its not as slow as it'd be alone. As you take her home she gives you a kiss. If theres one thing she missed most while she was locked away, it was you.

[the-blue-fairie]

A Gift

AO3

@fericita-s @the-spaztic-fantastic, I continue my incredibly angsty insights into Iduna. This story is incredibly personal to me and was difficult for me to write, so I hope the effort I put into it shines through. I’ve talked with @themountainsays about this piece and I hope you find it resonant. Thank you all for taking the time to read my work and telling me what you think.

As I said, this piece is important to me.

***

They say she's calm, they say she's kind They say she never speaks her mind

She saw him seldom, the red-haired war-king.

She was only a child. The gold of the Forest occupied her thoughts more constantly than the figure of a foreign king, come to converse with the elders – but his countenance still left its impression…

Like hewn stone, but flesh.

Affable.

She remembered her father going with the company to greet him, cautious but earnest – the happiness of hope on his lips.

Still, she remembered the whisperings too – the whisperings among her people she was too young to understand but understood.

A gift, he had promised them. A gift of peace.

A mighty dam.

(Accept the gift.)

A cajoling figure flashing before her memory – a childhood glimpse only made more pronounced by the portrait hanging in the castle gallery now – a… dignified… face.

Affable. Cajoling. Dignified.

Words. Arendellian words.

Arendellian words that bled onto her tongue… but did not leave a bitter taste because… because…

Because they became her words.

Her words. The queen of Arendelle’s words. Arendelle’s words.

Cajoling.

There was a hardness to such a word, like the blow of a quarterstaff wielded by her kin… and yet not like that because a quarterstaff struck with force while cajoling coaxed a thought like a strike but coaxed it smilingly… so that perhaps it coaxed another thought as smiling as itself…

Cajoling had an edge like an Arendellian sword to cut the throat.

In using the word cajoling, Iduna ran a blade across Runeard’s throat – ran it delicately, wet the blade only lightly with drops of blood.

Yet, in using the word, she… didn’t… do that.

To subtly doubt while lionizing was still to lionize.

She was Arendellian now.

(Was she?)

(Who was she?)

She was Iduna, queen of… this land…

She loved Agnarr.

Agnarr loved his father.

Loved his memory, honored the memory of him…

She had passed Runeard’s portrait in the gallery a hundred times…

She honored his memory too.

There was dignity in his painted brow.

A king’s brow.

Like Agnarr’s, like his son’s… and yet… not like…

(Whisperings.)

Runeard would have used the word cajoling to describe himself.

Affable too. Dignified, certainly.

And even if cajoling was not amicable, even if affable was not kind, the words had the hints of amicability and kindness.

More than hints, in fact. Affable was a better word than kind. Affable was good-natured. By nature, good. Good in nature. Good in heart.

An Arendellian sword would not wound the phantom-memory of an Arendellian king.

The master’s tools will never dismantle the master’s house.

Sword-words did not make a long-dead king bleed – and if they did, even the lividest of scars is dignified.

(Is that resentment?)

(No!)

Runeard was a good man.

A noble father to a nobler son.

(Then why the whisperings in her heart?)

(Her heart was in the wrong.)

(Accept the gift.)

(A gift of peace to strengthen our waters…)

Iduna distrusted any gift in which there was no choice.

Any gift given with the illusion of choice.

(Accept the gift, says the warlord-king, or else you are ungrateful.)

(Accept the gift given in benevolence. Only the ungrateful refuse such a gift. You have the choice to accept the gift, but if you do not choose to accept the gift, you are branded. Marked.)

(Scars are dignified upon the face of a king…)

(What about the face of a queen?)

(She would wear her scars proudly to stand in defiance…)

(No, she wouldn’t. She was of Arendelle. Coward. Coward with some vestiges of strength.)

(But… Elsa…)

(What about scars on the face of a queen that was to be?)

Elsa was too young for such scars…

And yet she had them – not the scars upon the mottled face of a war-king or the silver scars of the Northuldra in battle… scars that ran deeper… too deep to be seen upon the flesh… scars like her mother’s…

Splintering from the inside, bleeding from the inside with no scars on the skin.

At the age of eight.

Iduna’s world shattered in youth – but she had more time in brightness than this…

She knew what it was to feel broken – as Elsa did, as Anna did.

Anna’s smiles concealed the shards, Elsa’s solemnity…

Solemnity was an ugly word, smiles uglier.

(Mama, I’m scared Anna thinks I don’t love her anymore.)

(Mama, why doesn’t Elsa love me anymore?)

(Mama, tell Anna I love her.)

(I will, sweetheart.)

Iduna loved her daughters so very much…

The question had stirred in her, holding baby Elsa in her arms, the question of choice.

What choice does a baby have in any of this?

(A gift to Iduna. A gift of the spirits.)

(Accept the gift the spirits give in benevolence. Only the ungrateful refuse such a gift.)

(It’s not mine to accept or refuse! It’s Elsa’s! She’s not some pawn you can use to celebrate my worthiness!)

(This isn’t about me… This is about her. About Elsa. About Anna. You don’t have to wipe Anna’s tears, hold her as she weeps. You don’t have to try to hold Elsa close only to have her fly from you.)

(Scream and you are ungrateful. Scream to the heavens and the heavens return only lightning, black waves rising like a nacken, white thunderbolts the glint of its eyes… It doesn’t matter that you love your daughters, doesn’t matter that they are in pain, it’s not your place to question why…)

(“Only Ahtohallan knows…”)

(“Canst thou draw out leviathan with an hook? or his tongue with a cord which thou lettest down? Canst thou put an hook into his nose? or bore his jaw through with a thorn?”)

The blood-words she tasted on her tongue, Arendelle-words, were red as the blood-beads on Runeard’s imagined neck, blood-beads shed by a fine sword, Arendelle-wrought, that she drew forth for want of a staff…

For want of a staff? Had she not given up the staff?

That was how they took you – not by steel, not even by the seductiveness of affability, but by making their guilt your own…

Colonization of the mind.

So that your cutting of their throats… cut you, red as poison…

Maybe the master’s tools had a chance of dismantling the house after all, but he’d carved his roads so deep and red – red as poison – into your bleeding mind that your own guilt paralyzed you, but if she saw the root of that paralysis, why did the guilt still run bloody?

Iduna dipped her head into the waters to wash away the blood. The blood was of Arendelle, the waters were of the Forest – but when her head sank into the waters, the nacken’s eyes stared up at her and they were cold as Arendelle steel cutting her people down…

Was this colonization of the mind?

Perhaps – to a degree – but she recognized it. If she recognized it, then she could see beyond it, see clearly… but when she looked beyond, she saw how the waters did not cleanse.

If it had been because the spirits deserted her, Iduna could have endured that.

If it had been that Iduna was ashamed of the spirits after living too long in Arendelle, she could have endured that as well – because in recognizing her shame, she would have combated it, realized the worth of her own people again…

But Iduna was not ashamed of the spirits.

Iduna knew the worth of the Northuldra, never forgot it.

And, if part of her was ashamed of herself, she saw through that and understood the folly of that shame.

She did not recoil in shame, but plunged herself into the cleansing water that spilled throughout the shadows of her mind like the fountains of a dwarf-kingdom, subterranean and deep…

She turned to the spirits for solace… and the spirits were there… but their presence was a terrifying thing in itself, for a guiding force guides the darkness as well as the light.

(Everything is God or God’s thought – not merely the good, but the evil…)

(But to claim the evil as well as the good, the spirits would have to acknowledge their own cruelty, and they would not do that.)

She knew that the tints of chapel stained-glass were shining at the edges of her mind now, casting strange hues upon the faith of her childhood…

(The God of stained glass was as cruel – and indeed, it was his cruelty reflected back at her from the eyes of the nokk that terrified her – no, not terrified her – made her angry.)

She saw those pastel emanations for what they were… and still the presence of the spirits offered her no peace…

Even as they tried… oh, they tried… but how do gods bring peace when their actions are the heart and root of the wound?

They do it as Runeard did, she assumed.

(But what of free will? Our gift did not determine your choices, or Agnarr’s choices, or Elsa’s. We are not determiners, though we craft a design…)

(Free will? Before consciousness? Before birth? Free will with a pattern woven before Elsa even opened her eyes – and if that was only a part of a pattern, still it necessarily informed what was to come, positioned a child like a pawn…)

(Positioned her for good. There is a Purpose even for this pain…)

(Is that supposed to comfort me? Knowing that at the end of the path there is a Purpose – as though that makes all the pain worthwhile, makes Anna’s desolation worthwhile, makes Elsa’s broken sobs worthwhile?)

(We are not determiners, though we determine… Our gift did not determine your family’s responses to it…)

In that moment, Iduna felt like a child.

A helpless child on the back of a cart feeling in her heart that something was wrong in her.

A helpless child hearing screams of rage against her people and taking them to heart.

A helpless child hearing that this was somehow her fault and the fault of those she loved…

As a child, she had curled inward.

No longer.

(Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare.)

Iduna knew her own failings.

She knew her mistakes.

She did not seek to ignore them, hide them, mask them in martyrdom.

She had always thought the spirits different than the God of stained glass. Nature did not have a Purpose. What was, in nature, simply was. Nature did not exist to impose its Will. Yet, here the spirits were, imposing their Will…

Seeing the cruelty of the God of stained glass – the rose-window gouts of gore, the sun-whiteness of the speared side, brilliant and blinding – in the lightning-brilliance of the nacken’s eyes was an obscenity.

(Our gift did not determine the choices made by…)

(Made by me? A daughter of the People of the Sun – cut off from family, from home, from father and mother… Made by Elsa? A child? Nature is the world and the world influences, the world leaves scars, and I can bear that if I accept that is simply the way the world is, without the prejudices of humankind, but if you tell me there is a Purpose, then you speak to me in the hierarchies of the God of stained glass…)

Determine was a word of equivocation – like affable and like dignified. It was a word the powerful declared to the low, a word that distorted what the low were trying to say, a word that placed the blame on the victims of pain as though they made their choices in isolation, as though the world did not influence…

(I know your Will did not determine our choices, but it did influence them. You say determine to evade the point – to have mastery here. You were never ones for mastery, not that I thought. I was wrong.)

The trick of the mighty was to make their guilt your own, but Iduna did not feel guilt.

She stood as her daughter would stand on the mountaintop, casting her gloves to the sky – but not in premonition, not in parallelism. Premonition, parallelism was design – design like the gold leaf on the hilt of an Arendellian sword.

In her waters, deep and true Lay the answers and a path for you

(As though answers made amends.)

(They know better.)

Iduna thought of her children, thought of herself.

(No, we know better.)

We know because we have lived it.

We know because the pain is ours.

Silence in the House of Judgement.

Elsa choking on her own sobs…

The lands choked by the dam…

(There is a path, a destiny for your children. The voices trembled in their chorus. They will come to know why.)

“That doesn’t make it right,” Iduna whispered to the darkness – and the sobs of her daughters reverberated in the void.

[drax-is-inthefandom]

What kind of father are you?

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Decades.

That was all the time since the last time Kanjigar acted like a father to Draal.

Decades in which he only behaved with him like the Trollhunter, not like his father.

The change had been progressive.

It started with Kanjigar's refusal to continue taking him with him to his missions as Trollhunter, it continued with the rejection of training offers, the father-son evenings in the bar stopped, the interaction between the two became minimal. He even stopped calling him son, it was just Draal.

And he said he was fine.

He said he didn't care about that change in his father. But for someone who knew him, as she knew him, it was obvious.

His pained look was obvious every time he saw Blinky and ARRRGGHH!! go or return next to his father, the grimace of annoyance that formed on his lips when the sound of metals colliding in the Forge filtered to the rest of the Trollmarket, how his voice lost volume and strength every time he exchanged words with Kanjigar.

How he was fading, how je was changing, since his father decided to walk away.

She was fed up.

She grew up alongside Draal, grew up seeing his relationship with his father, their pride in each other, and knew firsthand how much Draal admired Kanjigar - She just couldn't stand idly by!

One day when she saw her lifelong friend duller than normal after a confrontation with Kanjigar, she felt his living rock burn like magma and decided to act, demand answers to what was happening.

Draal the deadly might not be one of talking about his feelings.

But Imah the determined was ready to show the fangs to defend them.

He found Kanjigar in the Forge of Heroes, training with Daylight against the mechanisms presented by the arena.

- Kanjigar! – The Pion called him just as she saw him touch the ground after a dodge jump against an obstacle, and she approached him without caring that the mechanisms were still active, she knew she could dodge them.

- Imah – The Trollhunter greeted her with a shake of his head, keeping Daylight on his back and heading to the controls of the Forge to deactivate it and not risk the minor in her walk. – Something wrong? You don't usually show a face in the sand by yourself –

That he didn't dare mention Draal as her recurring partner in the Forge increased the troll's anger. She sighed, took a breath and tried to cool her mind, it was a subject in which the fangs were better not to show them ... At least not yet.

- Yes, well, nothing happens in itself. I just wanted to talk to you, Kanjigar – Her tone of voice and confident gaze gave him the message that what she wanted to talk about was serious, so he disregarded his armor, leaving the Trollhunter guarded and showing Kanjigar instead.

- I hear you – The minor stood before him, staring at him, organizing her ideas for a few seconds.

- Why did you decide that stopping treating Draal like your son was a good idea? –

She didn't want to decorate the theme, or put a pink filter on it. She wanted to confront Kanjigar directly, so they could get a quicker solution, she didn't mind the reaction of surprise at her uncensored question, she wanted answers.

- Answer me, Kanjigar. At what point did you decide to stop being Draal's father? – With that questioning, the older troll's expression went from surprise to outrage in the blink of an eye. Imah did not flinch, that was how determined she was to get answers to his abrupt behavior towards her son.

- I will never stop being Draal's father, Imah – Kanjigar's tone was firm, serious and hard, worthy of an authority about to put in his place a subordinate who was just crossing the line.

- Then why did you stop treating him as such? – And Imah's tone was just as firm, serious and hard, worthy of a minor who was not afraid to confront the authority if she was sure that it was wrong – I am not blind, Kanjigar, nobody in Trollmarket is! Draal as if this was a Changelling that you were forced to accept into your home! – Kanjigar knew the minor's dislike for the Changellings, so their comparison made him especially unpleasant.

- I will not allow you to question my actions as a father, Imah, you have no place in my decisions, understood? –

Kanjigar hoped to end that conversation with that wake-up call, he was the Trollhunter and he was one of the trolls who helped raise the Pion in front of him, he hoped that that authority was enough to cut off the minor's insubordination, he was even ready to retire from the Forge. But Imah was not going to accept any of that.

- I take place being the only one who seems to care about Draal apparently! What do you think he is? Some kind of golem that doesn't hurt at all about what you do to it? – Kanjigar stopped his withdrawal upon hearing that Imah did not accept the conversation as finished – Draal is hurting! He doesn't show it because of his damn pride, but anyone who knows him well knows how he feels inside! He is hurt that his father is driving him away, it pains him to see the troll he has idolized and adored all his life walking away from him overnight! You're hurting him with your distance, Kanjigar! What happened? Why this change? At what point did your son stop caring that you neither look at him nor speak to him? By Deya’s grace, I'm sure you haven't even realized how much he’s been breaking his back to improve his sword skills because he thinks his current self is not worthy of you! What kind of father are you? -

The memory of the previous night returned to Imah. The helplessness he felt upon hearing Draal's true feelings at the situation Kanjigar put him in returned.

- Draal, did you sleep something? –

She had stayed up late looking at the books available in Blinky’s bookstore, she had concentrated so much on her reading that when she finished she expected to return home in complete silence, because she was sure that all the inhabitants of the Trollmarket would be sound asleep. . When she heard the familiar sound of metal against metal coming from The Forge, it was needless to say she was surprised.

Finding her lifelong friend training at such hours was not at all in her plans.

- I'm fine, just a little more training – The spiky troll was breathing heavily, a slight tremor in his arms as a result of the effort he had put into these was noticeable and even his posture was that of someone who was already having difficulties bearing his own weight . Who knows how long he had been wielding the sword he was training with before Imah found him in the Forge at such hours.

- Draal - It wasn't until she deactivated the training mechanisms and approached her friend that she could notice the wounds that he had all over his body. What kind of training was he doing there? - A little more nothing, you are going to stop right now and you are going to let me heal you whatever you have done to yourself –

Draal tried to reply and continue, but such was his exhaustion that it took only a light tug from Imah to remove the sword from his hands and an even more delicate push to make him sit down.

- Now what got into your head? Why are you training like you're going to fight Gunmar himself in the morning? - He didn't say anything, just looked away from Imah's worried eyes, the troll felt her heart shrink.

- Draal, please - She took his arm and took out a pair of crystals from the bag she carried on her belt to be able to take care with these of the wounds that the troll had around his rocky skin, taking special delicacy from those located near the crystals that decorated his body – If something is happening, you can tell me, you know you can trust me with everything–

She took great care, both in her movements to heal the troll's wounds and in her words to convince him to open up with her, but it was a matter of time before she could open his friend's heart.

- I just want to be strong, Imah – That was what he answered to the Pion, just after she finished putting on the last bandage on his body.

- Draal, you are the strongest troll in all Trollmarket

- You know it's not like that, father knows it's not like that. – The mention of Kanjigar stopped Imah's heart, especially because of the pain that Draal mentioned.

- He must have realized my weakness, that's why he no longer see me as worthy of acting like his son. – His words were full of darkness, a darkness that was reflected in his features, the only brightness that he deigned to show was from the tears that Imah was sure he was containing. – I will strengthen myself, Imah, I will recover my value in his eyes. I will be strong enough not only to be worthy of being the son of the Trollhunter. – Imah could not finish processing what Draal told her, she could not finish understanding how such a determined statement could be heard so ...

- I will be the next Trollhunter – ... Sad.

A stomp of Kanjigar returned Imah to the present. For a moment she had forgotten that she was face to face with him.

- Imah, protégée of Vendel, you are getting into issues where your jurisdiction is null and where your words are extra. Right now you are going to stop this unsolicited and misplaced criticism, and it is an order not only as Draal's father but as your Trollhunter. Enough. Already. – How she hated that he used his title as Trollhunter to impose his word.

- Well, I know very well what to do to have your precious jurisdiction – Imah's claws were shown and Kanjigar's amulet shone to the east perceiving the minor's intentions. Both trolls let out a slight growl against each other, just waiting for the next action from the other.

- Imah! –

Any possible result was avoided by the convenient intervention of Vendel, leader of the Trollmarket and guardian of Imah. His presence was enough to relax the posture of the two trolls present, at least enough that it didn't seem like they were about to go against each other's throats.

- What kind of behavior is that towards the Trollhunter, Imah?

- I was not dealing with the Trollhunter, I was dealing with Kanjigar – Imah's response and haughty posture earned her a bad look from Vendel and a snort from Kanjigar, neither were happy with her attitude.

- Kanjigar, I apologize on behalf of my protégé, whatever the problem may have been, I am sure it was a misunderstanding and an overshoot of Imah because of her bad temper – She was going to claim, it was noticed by how she opened her mouth, but Vendel's gaze was enough to silence her, even if she didn't want to. Kanjigar stared at her, deciding his reaction to what had happened.

- ... No problem, Vendel, she is still young, I can understand her behavior - A nod from the old troll and a snort from Imah were his answer. – But I hope this problem doesn't happen again –

She was not looking at his face, but Imah knew that Kanjigar's gaze was fixed on her. It was not just a request, it was an order. She snorted again, knowing that if she growled she would get into more trouble than she already was.

- If this has been fixed, I must retire, Blinkous and Arghamont must already be waiting for me at the Gyre. With permission, Vendel, Imah – And with his head held high, as if nothing had happened, maintaining his posture worthy of the Trollhunter, Kanjigar withdrew from the Forge, leaving Vendel and Imah alone in a tense silence between them.

- … I-

- You will explain to me right now what your intentions were, your reasons and I hope you have good arguments for not extending your punishment for more decades than I have already planned

- Sorry? I'm not a whelp anymore, you can't ground me!

- Either you start talking now, or I will start to consider centuries instead of decades –

[talesofealdancynedom]

Amadeus Rosethorn, in fairy robes; He’s an all grown up professional travel paladin!

Tale 17: Calliope Cwenfyre, Amadeus and Andromada Rosethorn (chapter 2 - Amadeus 2/5) part 3. Stories of True Love

self harm

Amadeus Rosethorn was a fair boy from a wealthy wizard family. The wealth came from the large property of Rosethorn manor, and its magic garden, in which homed rare and exclusive plant fey for centuries. The traditions of watering, singing, gathering, and preparing these botanical treasures, was a long running family tradition that effected the whole magic community. Amadeus was the only heir of the Rosethorn manor; As his mother was the only remaining owner of the assets, and did not want more children.

Though born in the Grand West, his half Far South heritage would make one suspect Amadeus, and his father Gemini, to look far more different than they were. Unlike his father however, Amadeus was born a pale as snow without having to go dark. No magic charge was required to change his colours to the nearly unnatural; Which should have been the first sign he was a mage. His father, Gemini Wintersleep, was the witch of the magical forest village of Pepperidge, in the Grand West. Gemini got his magical political position by local recomendation, as he was well known and liked. Amadeus was a single child, with prestigious parents, and a lot of expectations to live up to.

Amadeus’s mother wanted him to marry a girl who was also in a magic house; and he never quite knew why. It came with extracurricular grooming, to give heritage tours of the property, manage finances, please the tree fey, and have proper formal etiquette. His mother obsessively raised Amadeus in hopes he would be a responsible owner of the old property, that supplied the world with rare magic herbs. If he wasn’t a capable successor, Rosethorn manor would be claimed as heritage site, by the government of The Grand West. Which was a group of wizards that did not know how to care for it properly. But Amadeus’s life on Rosehtorn manor was about to get better. When Amadeus was six, his aunt Tchichi and cousin Rah, moved in from the Far South. They were refugees, as his uncle was being abusive. This gave Amadeus a sibling, but no escape from his mother’s form of love. She wanted him well off; even more then he already was. He was not spoiled, because Gemini refuted his mother’s wishes to give him needless niceties, and though Amadeus should know what things are worth. And be vaccinated. In general, Amadeus became a balanced nobleman, and knew what he was worth. Financially and globally.

At thirteen, Amadeus was unaware of how bad the pressure to be the next Rosthorn owner bothered him. Desiring control, as he could not determine his future, Amadeus began to take his feelings out on an awkward boy he passed while biking around the Capitol. Amadeus had been sent to study magic at the acclaimed paladin academy of the Grand West. Only the best for for his mother’s little boy. Unknown to Amadeus, the boy he bullied was rejected, or more prevented, from attending magic school like him. This was Morgan Cyendom. Amadeus would go to no end to prank or ridicule Morgan, about his magical failure and crushed dreams; usually while taunting him, by using magic in front of him. Amadeus would intervein Morgan’s yearning to visit the wizard markets, almost daily. They kept crossing paths outside magic districts. Unknown to Amadeus, Morgen went home, after an entire day of ridicule, to a mundane bungalow to be beaten roughly for being tardy, as his family assumed, he had been around magic. Morgan was not allowed to use magic, as a family tragedy made his parents to fear magic; and thus, his safety around it. Over time, violence was used as a deterrent.

Meanwhile, Amadeus would go home on the weekends, to the luxurious Rosethorn Manor; It had two large magical courtyard gardens, back and front, which homed the precious mythical flora. The black marble block walls surrounding the property, were topped with rose engraved gothic pearl spikes, and matching front gate. The mansion was also black: wood stain, tiles, carpet, flooring, and wallpaper. The exception being accents in each room that where white, such as: furniture, floor bords, window frames, curtains, and rails. Amadeus resided with his loving parents, aunt, and caousin; and there was lots of room for everybody. Amadeus and his cousin Rah might of well have been twins, given how close they were. Inside this beautiful heirloom, it was safe and wonderous; the exact opposite of Morgan’s situation at the time. When Amadeus or Morgan went home, Morgan said nothing about his bully or going near magic. And Amadeus didn’t mention how he loathed his life’s expectations, and how it led to him tormenting a stranger. However, when his parents found out, Amadeus was expelled from the paladin academy, and placed in the troubled youth and international magic school, outside his home village.

In third year, at his local magic school, Amadeus saw Morgan again. thus, he attempted yet again to taunt him. Morgan seemed to have arrived in classes out of nowhere. It was rumored Morgan had disappeared for about two years, and was placed in the academy by the government. He also brought a lovely lady, Emilia, and his cousin Regina; both of which limited Amadeus’s opportunities to get at Morgan. Morgan now had a familiar, a girlfriend, and was attending the same classes as Amadeus. Morgan quickly became the school’s top seer, and proved himself capable with a sword, and communing with fey. It provoked Amadeus. Falling in love with Scarlet Stankild, who was a lovely heartman with a Dalmatian familiar, and being the school’s top paladin, was not enough. Amadeus was convinced he was not worthy of his family’s fortune or prestige; even if in the back of Amadeus’s mind, he knew he was loved regardless of his accomplishments. Amadeus was at an age where comparison is a plague. Amadeus wanted a familiar, be able to use impressive spells, and have a good reputation like his parents. He felt like Morgan was getting ahead. This poor quiet boy Amadeus ridaculed in the capitol, was on par with his years of training and work. Amadeus was livid. Then, Morgan turned out to be a mage; a person in a magic house, who are born with more magic flow, that wield old, powerful, and forbidden magic.

“That boy at the academy is wearing me down.” Gemini said at dinner. “This Morgan Cyendom, who is a mage; making my job incredibly difficult. Even if he is just another troubled student, and only a seer that restores ancient books, I don’t want dangerous magic in my community; Though I respect his talent. The government is breathing down my neck, as the Grand West can’t sweep this under the rug.”

“You usually don’t disclose work details; this must be a really big deal. I wonder how his family feels…” Amadeus’s mother said. Everyone turned to Amadeus.

“He should be in your year Amadeus. Best you stay away from him for now. The witches want him isolated in Pepperidge, at the academy; to give him an education and support that may prevent him from becoming corrupt and dangerous. Which is likely from what I’ve read.” Gemini said. Amadeus thought he had material to work with; information to pull himself above his rival. Magery was cheating and punishable.

After school one day, Amadeus followed Morgan onto Tiberius Gate, which was just down road from the academy. Morgan had opened Tiberius Gate, and now lived on the gate with his uncle, aunt, and cousin. Amadeus stalked Morgan right into the epicenter of the magic forest, for one more chance to snap at Morgan in private. Just before the tower’s steps, Morgan turned around.

“Why are you following me?” He asked. Morgan was connected to the gate after opening it, and thus felt anyone who was on it. Morgan remembered Amadeus, but gave him the benefit of the doubt. This interaction turned out to be nothing like what either of them were expecting, or intending. Amadeus began to shout and point at Morgan, but his words went from malice to tears.

“Why do you get a familiar? A girlfriend! Powerful magic! An entire magic forest! Two legendary lost swords, by just summoning them! You’re an incompetent, scraggly, worthless wizard! How does a nerdy bookworm, who has never been to magic school, achieve all this! To come to this school, even when you practice dark magic, makes me disgusted. My dad should have Master paladin Melida Daigandun, or Estella Celestine, arrest you! But instead, the Grand West forces him to hide you here. Why do you get those things so effortlessly!?!?!” Amadeus yelled. Most would expect Amadeus to be calm and eloquent, like a spoiled brat, but instead he was in tears of defeat. It would be fair to assume that Morgan would confront this intruder without mercy, yet instead, he put a comforting palm on Amadeus’s shoulder.

“You don’t need a familiar, or be a mage, to be a powerful wizard and paladin. You already are one. I had no idea you were so upset; Is that why you were so mean? Your family must have put a lot of pressure on you to fit a mold, and accept your family inheritances. It didn’t take long for me to hear about it; I wasn’t stalking or anything. Actually, I hear a lot of good things about you; it’s kind of sad you don’t see it.” Morgan said. In all those years Amadeus had tormented him, Morgan had never once wanted to, or did, fight back.

“Want to meet a beast king?” Morgan asked, in a chipper tone. He stood up and reached out to Amadeus with a smile.

“What?” Amadeus said.  He had no clue what a beast king was. Before he could ask, Morgan had grabbed his wrist, and pulled him across Tiberius Gate toward a wolf statue. This work of art was a door that led into the shadow veil. The numb gray ether of Ealden Cyndom that is made of, and is the source of, all magic.

“You said in fey studies, you liked the tree and wolf kingdoms right? Eobreth the Aliki Wolf you see me with sometimes, is the eldest prince of the Wolf King; and my first fey friend! He knows a thing or two about the hunt! The symbol for the wolf kingdom in the rune for hero or king warrior. You might like to meet the Wolf King; since you want to be a great warrior and noble.” Morgan said.

To Amadeus’s surprise, he felt no fear. While common folk or wizards would panic and curdle in the submersion of the shadow veil, mages found it comforting and calm. To them it was like a depravation tank. Looking up, Amadeus saw a giant armored wolf, which Morgan introduced as the Wolf King. The Wolf King was so large, with such a booming growl, and grand shining armor, it was terrifyingly radiant. Morgan then began introducing Amadeus as an acquaintance. Amadeus began to panic in confusion; he was certain Morgan and himself were supposed to hate each other. Yet, Morgan appeared to be doing him a favour. Amadeus barely heard what the Wolf King said. The shadow veil became the least of his concerns.

“A boy mage like you, from a house of the tree kingdom, is before me wishing to be a grand hero? Come here, I will give you something special to me, that will give you better control of your magic; and give you the ability to transform into one of my children. You will have their abilities and magic as well.” He growled. “You need only make a pact with a wolf child. I think it should be a moon serval. I made these children from my essence, to be guardians of weary travelers; it would suit you well! In a pact with my child, you will oath to let my brother King Mage Morgan be your friend, and guard those you love well. Be careful though; if a fey dies inside the warg mage who is enfeyed with it, will die too. Do not be burdened by grief, or betray your pact.” The Wolf King proposed.

In awe, and not objecting to the offer, Amadeus irrationally agreed to the pact. As the king said, being imbued, or enfeyed, with the magic of a consenting contracted fey, made a person a warg; someone who could turn into a fey at will. It also gave them properties of that fey and more magic to work with. It was a kingly gift to a paladin. When they returned to the day veil, Amadeus thanked Morgan.

“How can I ever repay you? After all I’ve done to you. I am in your favor, and a paladin at your side in any quest. I am so sorry for treating you poorly; I do not deserve your kindness.” Amadeus said.

“It’s ok Amadeus. I know bullies only lash out because they hurt too. I was never mad, I had bigger things to deal with,” Morgan shrugged. “Guess this means we’ll be friends at school tomorrow?” Morgan laughed. Amadeus nodded yes.

Morgan and Amadeus had been friends for a few months; and in that time, they had talked to each other about their lives and troubles. They both turned out to need that. Amadeus had also begun to pick up some magery, now that he knew he was one. Morgan had all the resources he needed. But the whole time, Amadeus felt a particular ache in his heart after learning Morgan’s full story. At lunch break, Amadeus saw scars on Morgan’s forearms during an arm-wrestle with his cousin Reggie. Amadeus was shocked in guilt. His friend Morgan, that he once bullied every day, was being beaten and deprived of his dreams at the same time. Morgan needed help, and Amadeus had no clue. When Morgan needed a friend most, Amadeus was making his life worse. He was bullying a broken man shamelessly. If he had known, he would have been that friend. Amadeus’s apology to Morgan was well received, but did not provide the closure Amadeus needed. Now he felt like a terrible friend.

When Amadeus went home for the weekend, he found Rosethorn manor occupied by his family and friends. His dad was a good host, and these fancy parties were nothing new. In fact, Amadeus used to like them; that’s how he met Scarlet. His father was at the door to greet him when he walked in.

“Son, you look so sad. It’s your birthday, and I organized you a nice little party. What’s wrong?” Gemini asked. Amadeus had forgotten it was his birthday; being so focused on his guilt.

“Oh, that’s why there are so many people here. I guess I forgot. I have a lot of things going on.” Amadeus said.

“I know. I hear from Rah you have been doing well in school, and made some new friends. I’m glad he changed his mind, and decided to peruse magic with you.” Gemini smiled. This did not make Amadeus feel any better. His mother intervened, and rushed Amadeus upstairs to his room. She was so frenzied she didn’t notice Amadeus could have used a hug.

Upstairs, His mother showed him to his room. On his bed were his heirloom fairy robes, white and black, and styled for a mage of the tree kingdom.

“I think your big enough to wear these now! Happy birthday Amadeus.” She said hugging him. Amadeus loved them; he had waited years to receive them. They were authentic, and were thus likely made by the Fairy King, for a mage ancestor. But looking in the mirror, no matter how perfect they were, all he saw was someone of privilege who was a terrible friend.

Gemini went upstairs to check on Amadeus; he was taking so long to get dressed, and looked unwell when he went to change. Gemini found Amadeus crying in front of the mirror in his room.

“What’s wrong? Your robes look lovely, and we’re about to have dinner. Do you need to talk first?” Gemini said, sitting on the bed and making a spot for Amadeus. His mother had been called downstairs after helping Amadeus put on the robes. And Gemini returned to see how his son was holding up. Amadeus leaned in, and gave a sigh.

“I hate myself. I am a terrible friend. My friend Morgan said I am a mage too; and we get along so well, yet it feels so fake after all the time I spent bullying him. And now it’s like he forgives me; he even took me to the Wolf King to become enfayed, and be a better paladin. I don’t deserve it. I care about him now, but the damage is already done; and it’s partially my fault. I could have done something. I could have been there for him.” Amadeus cried. Gemini was not impressed; being a wizard of high standing, who was against magery, did not take well to his son’s words. Even if he loved Amadeus. His father had no problems with Amadeus being a warg, but befriending a mage and studying old magic was unacceptable. At his own party, Amadeus’s father reprimanded him by ordering him to sharpen and polish his heirloom sword. Making a child do something harmless they don’t want to, is often enough negative reinforcement for trivial matters.

Amadeus’s mother was a Rosethorn, but Rah and his father were in the fairy kingdom house of Wintersleep. The old dull magic blade was incredibly valued by Gemini. Gemini wanted Amadeus was to inherit it, but he knew it should belong to his cousin Rah; who was still a Wintersleep in line to get it. Amadeus was having a terrible day. Then he realized he had been presented with an opportunity; legendary magic weapons are made by warlocks, who are mages. He would need to use magery, in front of his family, to restore the sword.

Having a new friend in Morgan, and irritated at his father’s dismay when he needed support, Amadeus proceeded to use mage methods to restore the blade. Any emotions attached to being a perfect Rosethorn predecessor were put aside. Enfeyed with a wolf child made his senses as sharp as all feline and canine fey; Amadeus used a winter steel tuner, to flick the blade and listen to the vibration of the sword. Like a crystal, the sound of every substance has its own frequency, its own flow of magic. Knowing frequencies was used in alchemy, and identification of magical properties. In school, Amadeus learned to recognized the sounds. The sword was also winter steel. Reading the runic, he determined the maker, and identified the blade by a few database searches of the digitized ancient books Morgan had translated. The blade could only be sharpened in a specific way. Warlocks always gave their magic creations intense security measures, to keep anyone who they were not intended for, from using them. Amadeus performed the following with some help from Rah:

           “To sharpen and use this blade that turns all it cuts clean to ice, and I name the Is Sabre of wintersleep; must place it in a transmuted silver basin lined with the names of the winter beast kings along the inner rim, and filled with water transmuted by magic men. Then add the blood of one to inherit it as they sing the song of the frozen lake under a full moons light. As they watch it freeze, and its basin melt. Upon the last note the ice will break, and the heir may pull the blade from its icy sheath; restored once more to original form, power and glory.”

Amadeus handed the sword in mint condition to his father, and walked away from his own birthday party, with Rah and Scarlet. They then proceeded to the tower on Tiberius Gate, to spend the rest of his birthday with Morgan, Reggie and Emilia. He would rather be playing teen party games, then sitting in a room of adults talking about politics. Amadeus never let go of the regret he felt for torturing Morgan, nor his oath to protect his friends as a paladin. He wanted to there for  all their quests.  

Amadeus would tell this tale to Calliope, and his daughter Andromada, when he babysat for Morgan and Emilia. Calliope was Amadeus’s favourite out of Morgan’s four children; because she was the most like her father. Calliope had that sparkle, that reminded Amadeus why Morgan was his best friend. It reminded him of his dreams, oaths, and gratitude. Morgan and Calliope had the same precious glimmer of wonder, curiosity, and kindness, that needs to be protected and nurtured.

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[darnloveablecharacters]

Prove Me Wrong, Part Seventeen: Heart of Orcrist

Series Summary:  Caithwistë, born from the only known pairing of an elf and a dwarf has spent most of her life in hiding. When an old friend, (or a certain meddling wizard) finds her in the woods, everything changes. Now, she will have the chance to prove the world wrong about her value. A ‘The Hobbit’ fanfiction based off of the following imagines from @imaginexhobbit: This One is the basis of the story, and This One and This One will be added in later. If you recognize it, it belongs to Professor Tolkien or Peter Jackson. But, as usual, the story and all of the mistakes are my own!

Prove Me Wrong - Masterlist

Chapter Notes: Sorry fam, no Thorin in this one but some conversations that are pretty dang important! Also, this is this imagine in its true form.

Warnings for this chapter: none

Tagged: @imaginesreblogged @chevycastiel1967 If you want to be added just let me know!

Caithwistë stepped lightly into the pavilion and stopped in her tracks. The tall Elf was standing on the balcony, bathing in the bright moonlight. She appeared to be glowing, as if she were the embodiment of light itself. Caithwistë had heard enough stories to know exactly who this was, and she let out a soft gasp in awe. “Lady Galadriel.” She breathed.

Galadriel turned slowly to her and smiled, grey eyes twinkling. She was the most beautiful woman Caithwistë had ever seen. “Caithwistë, long have I wished to meet you.” She said, gracefully stepping down the stairs. She stopped in front of Caithwistë and regarded her curiously.

Caithwistë fought the urge to fidget under Galadriel’s gaze. For the first time in her life, she wished that she had chosen to wear one of the gowns that Arwen had picked out for her. “It is an honor to meet you, My Lady. May I ask why you would seek out one such as myself?” She asked uncertainly.

Lady Galadriel remained silent, still watching her as if she were waiting for something. A brief flash of doubt crossed her eyes, but it disappeared quickly before she answered. “Lord Elrond has told me much about you, young one.” She said thoughtfully.

Caithwistë furrowed her brows and was unable to contain the bitterness in her voice when she asked, “You wish to know more about the half-breed?”

Galadriel shook her head and frowned. “I cannot see your mind.” She said quietly, seemingly frustrated. This caught Caithwistë off guard, but she remained silent. “Lord Elrond is also unable to see your future.” Galadriel continued as she turned and walked slowly back to the balcony.

Caithwistë considered what she said but wasn’t sure what to make of it. “What does this mean?” She asked calmly.

“I do not know.” Galadriel said, turning back to her sadly. “Perhaps we cannot see you clearly because you are not tied to a single fate. You may have the power to change the course of the future.”

Caithwistë couldn’t speak as her mind processed the possible meaning of Galadriels words. How could she change a future that is already uncertain? Why would she, of all people, be the one to have this power if it were true?

“The others are on their way.” Galadriel said, snapping Caithwistë out of her daze. Galadriel was smiling again. “Thank you for meeting with me, you have given me much to consider. Go now and rest.” She said, dipping her head.

Caithwistë bowed respectfully. “Thank you, Lady Galadriel.” She said, mind still reeling. As she left the pavilion distracted, she nearly ran into a man dressed in white on the stairs. “Pardon me.” She said politely before moving to the side to let him pass.

The mans eyes narrowed and he regarded her coolly before turning up his nose with disinterest and walking passed.

She watched his form disappear with an unexplained unease before running to her room.

~

The sun had risen and Caithwistë looked out of her bedroom window over the valley. Galadriel’s words were consuming her when she heard a soft knock at the door.

“Come in.” She called out, still distracted.

She turned and watched Lord Elrond walk in silently, hands clasped behind his back as a regarded her. He shot a quick glance at her packed bag and returned his gaze to her. “You mean to follow the dwarves.” He stated simply. It was not a question.

Caithwistë sighed. “You think I shouldn’t follow them?”

Elrond smirked. “On the contrary, I think you are meant to be with them; However, you should not travel in the wild so improperly armed.” He said, pulling his hands from behind his back and producing a sword. Caithwistë stepped closer to him, eyes darting over the weapon he was holding out to her. It was sheathed in the most beautiful scabbard she had ever seen, and the hilt was lined with an intricate pattern of rubies and sapphires.

Caithwistë took the blade from his hands delicately and unsheathed it, letting out a soft gasp as she saw it for the first time. It appeared to be a slender copy of the sword that Thorin had found in the troll caves. She could tell that it was well made, strong for its shape and size and bore the runes of its maker down the center.

Elrond watched her reaction proudly. “This blade has been in my family since the First Age; do you know of its history?” He asked as she tested its balance.

Caithwistë glanced up at him, startled. She shook her head solemnly and Elrond nodded, pacing as he told the tale. “Orcrist had been intended to be a perfect mate to Glamdring in size, shape and everything in between; however, as the Smith worked to lengthen the blade, it split under his hammer. You must understand, the Elven Smiths at the time were unmatched in skill. They did not make mistakes, and this was unprecedented. When the King who commissioned the forging saw the broken blade, he could see that it was a mirror of his own heart that had been split with the death of his beloved wife. He commanded the Smiths to complete the forging of both pieces, keeping the unique shape that the destruction had created. They were the first of their kind. He kept the larger blade, Orcrist, for himself but hid the smaller away, never to be used until his heart was whole again. Eventually, it became known as Emel-o Orcrist. When the king died and Orcrist was lost, the protection of Emel-o Orcrist was passed to his daughter, Idril. My Grandmother. It is now under my care, but it is time for it to move on and reunite with its other half.” He concluded, stopping in front of Caithwistë.  

Caithwistë’s eyes widened in shock as she took in his words. The sword had been protected by his kin for centuries, and he was entrusting her to be the first to truly wield it. She shook her head in disbelief and slid it back into the sheath. She held it out to return it to him, unable to meet his eyes. “I cannot accept this; I am not worthy to carry it. It should be passed to one of your children.”

“That is what I am doing.” Elrond said firmly. He pushed the blade back and Caithwistë met his determined gaze, tears forming in her eyes. “I love you as one of my own, Caithwistë. As long as Thorin is the rightful bearer of Orcrist, this blade is yours to wield. It may only be used to protect the one that makes it whole.” He warned. He then placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and smiled warmly. “Mithrandir is waiting for you at the gate, it is time.” He said with finality and took a step away from her.

Caithwistë strapped the sword to her back gingerly and picked up her pack. She stepped to the door but hesitated and turned to Elrond one last time. “Thank you, Lord Elrond. I will protect it.” She promised before leaving the room.

~

Mithrandir smiled as she approached. “Are you ready, My Dear?” He asked kindly.

Caithwistë took a final look at Imladris to say goodbye before steeling herself and nodding to him. “I am more ready than I have ever been.” She said with a confident smile.

Translations: Emel-o Orcrist (Sindarin) – Heart of the Goblin Cleaver (kinda, still fiction lol)

Authors Note: no pressure Caithwistë, I’m sure those both were totally normal, everyday conversations in Middle Earth right? 😐

Also, one of the things that I LOVE about the movie is the look of appreciation on Thorin’s face when Elrond hands back the sword AFTER explaining that it had been forged by his kin. Like he legitimately understood what it meant for Elrond to give it back without hesitation. Such a cool moment 😊

Also, also, turns out I’m one of THOSE writers. When I’m struggling, I write the bits that I’m most excited for. I have the final 2 chapters and epilogue written and ready to edit, basically all the BOTFA dialogue, 2 full chapters from TDOS and the last “scene” from TUJ (even though it’s actually a book moment and not a movie moment.) Random non-relevant FYI, Dáin is freakishly fun to write and I can’t wait until we progress to the parts with him in it!! If we keep plugging right along at the rate this is flowing together, I may have this done in a month or so! #FEELSGOOD.

[mrs-mystica]

Fight For Me [Prinxiety]

Pairing : Roman and Virgil (Romantic)

Author’s note : This was a challenge for me. I had a hard time to write this, but I really wanted to write this story. Hope you’ll enjoy it!

Masterlink

Human/Medieval AU(?)

Third Person POV

In a kingdom, far, far away, there was a king and a queen, who ruled over their land with a lot of care. They wanted nothing but the best for their people, and they always stood by their principles. This also applied to both their sons, Roman and Remus. There was a tradition that was passed from generation to generation in the royal family. To be sure to have the best of the best on the throne, princes and princesses were trained from their young age to the art of the sword and self-defense. All potential heirs had to go through this training, no matter their position . And their other half also had to be worthy. But how to be sure that a strong individual would be sitting on the throne next to the royal heir? To win the hand of the princes, a duel against them must be won.

Contenders would be coming from all across the land, even from distant lands, just to test their luck to win a place on the throne. Men, women or non-binary people, it didn't matter. Anyone could challenge one of the princes. The crown was open for every challenger. But the princes wouldn't let the place next to them to anyone. They trained, and trained, to make sure that they could repel any contenders that they didn't like or find worthy of their love.

The two princes had different views toward this tradition. Remus hated it. People would continually come at the castle door to challenge him. He knew they weren't there because they thought he was particularly good-looking. He knew that he didn't care enough of his appearence, his hair being always messy and his clothes usually being ripped or stained. Thus, he knew his challengers were lying when they told him they were blinded by his beauty, that they wanted to fight for his love. He hated those hypocritical good for nothing, and for a long time he took an immense joy to make them bite the dust. But it became boring after a while. So he had an idea. He declared that he would fight to death anyone who would challenge him for his hand. You either win his hand, or you die. Needless to say that it worked pretty efficiently.

On the other hand, Roman thought this tradition had its charm. He found the idea oddly romantic and he was determined to find his soul mate. Normally, princes and princesses would only accept one challenge a day, but Prince Roman thought that the more he fought, the more he had the probability to find the one who would win his heart. He would fight anyone who would show off the slightest interest in him. He fought so many people that he ran out of pretenders. Annoyed and bored, he would wander in the little town near the castle, his sword sitting in his scabbard, searching for someone to challenge. It was pretty uncommon for a member of the royal family to wander near the villagers, and it was even less common for a prince to challenge people for his own hand. Prince Roman surely was one of a kind.

On one of these days, he would witness scenes of the everyday lives of his subjects. An old woman selling fruits, children playing tag together, a man kissing a woman on the cheek, a cat sitting on a roof and watching the humans from above... Prince Roman likes to watch the town moving around him. It helped him fight the boredom from not fighting. It was all he would do in his free time. Either training, fighting or trying to find someone to fight him. Maybe he was a little obsessed, he thought.

A sound caught his attention. Someone was begging someone else to stop with a broken voice. The prince was alerted by the voice and he followed it. In a dark alley, between two stores, he saw one man holding another one, while a third one would kick their victim in the stomach. Two of those men were laughing and the broken voice belonged to the other one. He looked hurt, but there were no tears in his eyes. He was looking at his aggressor with a stare filled with hatred. Roman could feel a shiver going through his spine, although he didn't truly understand why. He didn't know the man in front of him, but as a prince, it was his duty to intervene and to protect his subjects.

- HEY!

He called out the men. The two attackers jumped and froze when their eyes saw the prince. Roman had already unsheathed his sword and he pointed it at the men.

- This is a royal order. Release him. Or else...

Filled with fear, the two men dropped their victims and flee the scene as fast as they could. The poor man fell on the ground, cursing as he touched to cold hard ground under him. He rubbed his stomach, trying to make the pain go away. The prince put back his sword in its scabbard and approached the man.

- Are you alright, my dear citizen?

He put his hand in front of the man, palm facing the sky, inviting him to take it to help him get up. The man looked at the prince, and it was at this moment that he truly saw him. He had thick black hair who partially fell onto his face. He had deep black eyes, beautiful eyes that he couldn't help but to stare at. And those lips. A thought came through his head, noting that he sure had pulpy lips for a tough looking guy like him.

Both men stared at each other for a moment, until the dark man finally took the hand and got up. The prince was hypnotized by the man in front of him. He only managed to say two words.

- Fight me.

He didn't realize how weird it would sound out loud. The thankful look on the man's face was quickly replaced by fear. Roman cough, trying to break the awkward vibes that were now suffocating both of them.

- What I mean... is... erm... You know who I am, right?

The scared man carefully nodded, afraid that saying the wrong thing would make him ending up between the guard and the tip of the sword. Roman sighed. He definitely didn't mean to scare the man like that.

He couldn't place another word that he was interrupted by two newcomers. Two other men appeared in the alley, both wearing glasses. One of them was wearing a tie and the other one had a cardigan attached around his shoulder. They both were wearing blue clothes, one baby blue and the other navy.

- Virgil! Oh Virgil! There you are!

One of the two men covered the distance that was separating him from them and he hugged the dark man. He looked relieved.

- I'm so happy to see that you're okay!!! We were so scared! You didn't come home at your usual time and we were afraid that something had happened to you!

It was only when the third man, the one wearing a tie, put a hand on his shoulder that the newcomer realized there was someone else in the alley. He broke his embrace and gasped as he recognized the prince.

- Oh my lord! Prince Roman!! What gives us the honor to be blessed by your presence?

The man laughed nervously, clearly uncomfortable by the royal presence. He wondered what he was doing with his precious son Virgil. Did something happen? He sure was worried.

The prince took a dramatic pose, his hand in the air, trying to look awesome and at his best. He smiled, showing his perfect teeth.

- I, the wonderful and brave Roman, am here to challenge this man in a duel for a place by my side on the throne.

The two newcomers looked at him like he was hit on the head or something. Now Patton was sure that something had happened. But the prince, really uncomfortable, didn't let him the time to speak that he spoke again.

- Tomorrow, when the sun rises, you will come to the arena next to the castle, and you will duel me in a sword fight. I look forward into fighting you, Virgil.

He gave the dark man his sweetest smile before leaving the scene. Virgil. It was a name he was not ready to forget.

***

The three men were now back in their home, all sat at their table. What was once confusion had turned into fear. Virgil was panicking.

- What the HELL am I suppose to do?!

- It's okay, it's not a big de--

His second dad, Logan, tried to reassure him, but Virgil was too far gone. All the emotions he was feeling, it was too much for him. The prince was awesomely good looking, he felt helpless when their eyes met, he was speechless and unable to say anything, blinded by his beauty. And since their encounter, he couldn't stop thinking about him, even thought it was only an hour ago. And it seemed he made a great first impression to the prince because he now had a chance to challenge him for his hand. But what if he threw it? What if he messed up? Prince Roman was the best sword wielder of the entire kingdom. Did he even stand a chance?

- The ONLY thing I can wield is a knife! Tomorrow will be a DISASTER!

Patton wanted to reassure his son so bad, but he didn't know what to say.

- I will never be happy. This is a chance of a lifetime, and I'll blow it...

Logan hated to see his child like this. Suddenly, he got up, went out of the room and came back with two swords.

- I will train you.

The two men looked at him with a confused look. Logan sighed, but kept his determined look in his eyes.

- Ok, I've never actually wield one of these, but I've read plenty of books about the art of the sword. With some training and experimentations, I'm sure we can transform theory into practice.

With tears still in his eyes, Virgil looked at his father, unsure. Logan gave him a reassuring smile.

- We will get through this, together. And if you lose, you will at least have given your best. What do you think?

It took Virgil some time to take a decision, but he looked at his brother, a determined look now in his puffy eyes.

- Alright. Let's do this.

***

When it was finally time for the duel, Virgil hadn't slept at all. He and Logan had trained all night, trying their best to execute what was in Logan's books. He wished he had more time to prepare, but he had no choice. Adrenaline was already going through his veins when he arrived in the arena. A wave of anxiety hit him when he stepped into it. Virgil thought he looked ridiculous. Since he didn't have an armour of his own, he had to borrow someone else's and it definitely was too big for him. He was floating in it. It sure wasn't ideal, but what other choice did he have?

The seats were all taken, a lot of people had gathered to watch the daily dual of Prince Roman. They were loud, really loud. They didn't seem to notice him at first, they all seemed busy talking at each other, waiting for the show to start. The dark man looked through the crowd until he finally saw his family. Logan and Patton were waving at him, giving him thumbs up to tell him that everything was going to be alright. At their sight, Virgil relaxed a little and the tension that was building up through his body decreased in intensity. Virgil continued to examine his surroundings. He then saw the royal family, sitting above all the other. Virgil noticed that they all looked bored, especially Prince Remus. They didn't seem to have noticed him yet, so Virgil assumed it was probably because Roman was having these challenges daily and it must become boring after a while.

Trumpets started to play, announcing the beginning of the show. The whole crowd went silent, their attention was now entirely focussed in front of them. A well-dressed man stepped into the arena and went in the middle of it. Virgil then noticed the big circle on the ground. He wondered what it was for. The man looked at the piece of paper in his hands. He started talking loudly, trying to be heard by the whole arena.

- Ladies, gentlemen and other precious citizens of our great kingdom, I welcome you all today for this ceremony wher--

- Cut the formalities and hurry up, ringmaster.

The king's voice was firm and loud. Virgil was surprised that he could hear him so clearly, even though he was really far away from him. The poor man in front of him was shaking in fear, not expecting to be cut by the king himself like this. He continued with a shaky voice.

- Yes my King. Everyone, please welcome today's challenger, Virgil Sanders.

The man invited Virgil to approach. The crowd was clapping and screaming, loudly. Carefully, he approached the man and stood next to him, waiting for the next instructions.

- And now, please welcome warmly our ''Really Obviously Muscular And Nice'' Prince Roman into the arena.

The cheers coming from the crowd were even louder. He looked at his right and saw Roman entering the arena. The man didn't think it was possible, but the prince looked even better than when he met him in the alley. He was wearing a big armour that was entirely painted white, with little golden ornaments along the line. He had the red logo of the kingdom painted on his chest and back. As the prince approached him in the middle of the circle, he could only think of how the armour was highlighting his attributes, especially his face. When Roman was finally next to him, they stared at each other, and the prince gave Virgil a tender smile. He was really happy that the mysterious man hadn't back down his challenge and that he was willing to give it a shot. It was worth a lot of points in Roman's book. Maybe he finally found the one he was looking for after all? He wanted him to be, but he refused to give up his hand easily. He had to fight him, like all the others before him.

- The rules of the challenge are simple. The two challengers must duel with their swords until one of them exit the circle traced on the ground. The last standing person in the circle is declared the winner. Do you, gentlemen, accepts the terms of this duel?

Both of them nodded, without looking away from each other. Virgil smirked, which destabilized the prince. He quickly regained his confident look and winked at Virgil. The arbitrator asked them to take a few steps back and to unsheathe their weapons, which they did. The arbitrator was ready to start the duel.

- En garde. Prêt? Allez.

And the duel started. Both men looked at each other, their knees bent a little so they were ready to jump at any moment. They were moving to their right, not stopping to look at the other, trying to evaluate their opponent. They were both on the defensive, waiting for the other to strike first, ready to strike back. Virgil's anxiety was at his highest, but he was not paralyzed by his own fears. It seemed that, for once, his anxiety decided to be on his side. His fight or flee instincts were kicking in, and he had no intentions of fleeing. His heart was beating like madness in his chest. It was like he could see everything, every little detail, every sound, he could sense it all.

They continued to walk in circles for some time. Roman was the first to move. He took a step forward, in Virgil's direction, and he executed a lunge, trying to hit his opponent's right. Virgil was quick to parry with the guard of his sword. Their faces were close for a second, which destabilized Virgil a little. He quickly made a leap backward when he noticed that Roman was trying to press his sword against his in an attempt to touch his chest with the tip of his sword. Virgil was careful, he was getting closer to the line on the ground. Roman charged again and their blades crossed a few times, emitting sharp sounds each time. It was pretty clear that Virgil was lacking experience with the sword. His movements were clumsy at times and his defense had serious weaknesses. If it was a duel to death, he would've had a lot of opportunities to pierce through his heart. Knowing his opponent was inferior to him in the art of the sword, Roman got cocky. He thought he could end this duel anytime he wanted, but first he wanted to play a little bit with his prey. Roman leap back and opened his arms, taunting Virgil to come get him. The dark man didn't fall for the trap and instead taunted back the prince. It made Roman giggles.

He quickly covered the distance between them and assaulted his opponent with a series of quick hit. It was too fast for Virgil and he couldn't parry them all. His plate chest was assaulted and he had to take steps back at each hit. Virgil knew he was getting dangerously close to the line. Roman knew his strategy was working. When he got Virgil close enough to the line, he took a step back and prepared his next move. The crowd was cheering and screaming his name repeatedly, it boosted Roman's confidence. He wanted to finish in beauty with a Fleche. It was a hit or miss situation. Roman gained momentum and rushed in Virgil's direction. But Virgil had noticed that the prince was preparing something. And when Roman struck, Virgil was ready and he immediately moved to his left. Roman had already crossed his legs and it was too late to go back. He tried his best to regain his stance, but Virgil pushed him forward with his hand, dooming Roman to fall forward.

- Halte!

The duel had ended, Roman had crossed the line. The crowd had become silent, and for a moment, Virgil was afraid he had done something wrong, but then the crowd screamed and cheered, louder than they ever cheered before in the duel. They were screaming his name, ecstatic to have a new prince. Virgil felt so proud, a big smile had appeared on his face. He went next to Roman and offered him a hand, to help him get up. The prince giggled and took the offer, getting up, hands in hands with the man who had just won his heart. They gazed at each other and, for once in his life, Roman wasn't angry to have lost.

- Well done, my dark prince.

They were staring at each other, smiling like idiots. The prince put one of his hands on Virgil's cheek and whispered to him as he got his face closer to his.

- I'm happy it is you.

And they kissed, sealing their fate together as lovers and future husbands.

3267 words

A.N. : I have an idea for a bonus scene staring Deceit and Remus in this universe. If this is something that would interest you, please tell me !

[sammim91]

My fanfic for day three of Chrobin week 2019. This is a shorter one but i still think its cute. Hope you enjoy. Link to Ao3 down below as usual so if you could go and give me some love there too, id appreciate it.

Day Three Prompt- Longing and Pining

Pairing- Chrom and Robin(F)

Whenever she wasn't looking, he would stare at her. Whether she was sat talking with Lissa, having tea with Maribelle, or playing chess with Virion. Chrom would watch her, fascinated, his heart aching for her, longing for her. Yet he was a coward. He couldn't bring himself to tell her how he felt. How much he loved her. How his every waking thought was of her, and his dreams haunted by the touch of her that he would never have.

She was the light in his life, the one thing he regretted dragging into this war, the one thing he felt unworthy of. Hands like his, fit to only to be used to wield weapons, to kill, weren't worth to hold her.

So he settled for this instead.

And it tore him apart.

Whenever he wasn't looking, she would stare at him. Whether he was training, his body dripping in sweat, his breath rugged, or he was simply stood across the table from her, his head down as he poured over the strategy before him. She would watch him, and her heart would ache. Yet she was a coward. She couldn't bring herself to admit to him how she felt. That she loved him. How she had loved him from the moment he had found her in that field. And she was miserable, because she knew she could never have him.

He was a prince, strong, brave, compassionate. She was a commoner, an amnesiac without a past. She was barely worthy to walk behind him, let alone beside him.

So she settled for this instead.

And it tore her apart.

Chrom couldn't remember when he first realized he loved her, hell maybe he always had, yet he had been so dense, so distracted by war that he didn't notice at first. Yet it had hit him harder than one of Frederick's shield bashes during a training session.

He'd been surveying the camp one afternoon, his eyes constantly on guard for Risen, when he'd spotted her out of the corner of his eyes. She was sat, as she usually was, a massive book on her lap, her head low, her brown hair a dark curtain, obscuring most of her face from view. He'd watched her raise her head, frowning, then smiling when Lon'qu sidled up to her, albeit reluctantly. They spoke, and Chrom noticed they appeared comfortable around each other. Robin laughed, brushing a strand of her hair out of her face. She stood, and nodded, before accepting the practice sword the Myrmidon held out to her. And for the briefest of moments, when Robin's finger tips grazed Lon'qu's hand, Chrom felt the snake of jealousy bite his heart.

In that moment he realized he wanted to be the one she trained with, the one she smiled warmly at. He wanted to be the one to give her all the memories she had lost out on.

Instead, he had bottled those feelings up. After all, surely a beautiful, smart and wonderful woman such as she was already spoken for. Surely she had already accepted proposals from Gaius, or Vaike, or maybe even Lon'qu. Surely he was already too late.

Robin could remember the very moment she realized she loved him. It had hit her harder than that time Sumia had tripped while carrying all those books, which had proceeded to hit her directly in the chest. She loved Chrom, probably always had, from the moment she had opened her eyes and his beautiful blue eyes met her brown ones.

She had resolved to tell him once, only to back out, coward that she was. She'd made her way towards his tent, determined to confess her feelings, to let all the emotions that had been weighing her down, that had been interfering with her work, that had caused her to lose sleep, before him, and if he rejected her, well she could deal with that...somehow.

Yet when she arrived at his tent flap, ready to make her presence known, voices inside had halted her actions. Spying through the gap in the flap, Robin spied Chrom, bent over the desk inside his tent, his hands tracing across the map on top of it. And behind him, Sumia. She couldn't quite make out their conversation, but Sumia's face was plastered with a goofy smile, and warm pink cheeks. She placed a hand on Chrom' shoulder, and he turned his head, smiling up at her.

And in that moment, Robin had fled, feeling tears prick at her eyes. She'd ran past Lon'qu, who was took shocked at her emotional state to inquire if she was alright. Sully and Virion had called out to her, worried, yet she had carried on running, until she was out of breath, her body gasping for air, tears streaming down her face. The usually composed Tactician had fallen to the ground, letting all her heartbreak break free, before wiping her face, and walking back to camp like nothing had happened, brushing off the concern of her friends.

It had been stupid to think he wasn't already taken, I mean he was handsome, brave, and friendly. Of course he had already ensnared someone.

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

Chrom was doing his usual late evening walk around camp, trying to clear his head. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. Today had been torture. All day spent in Robin's company as they planned a strategy for tomorrow skirmish, trying not to let the smell of her hair, sweet and floral, invade his every thought. And when she had taken her coat off he tried not to stare at the curve of her hips, her breasts, but he wasn't exactly being subtle. He was pretty sure Frederick had noticed, and possibly even Lissa.

He stopped walking and sat down on a log at the edge of camp, hiding his face from view.

He had to stop doing this. He had to stop torturing himself.

Robin was never going to be his, and he had to accept that.

"Hey Blue," Gaius' voice caused him to jump. The orange haired theif looked down at him with amused eyes. "What'cha up to?"

"N-nothing," the prince stammered.

"Really," Gaius smirked. "That's exactly what someone who is doing something they shouldn't be would say."

"I said I'm doing nothing!" He hadn't meant to shout, and instantly felt guilty.

"Peace, Blue," Gaius held up his hands in mock surrender. "I meant nothing by it."

"Sorry," Chrom sighed. "I'm just under a lot of stress right now." Gaius hearing his commanding officer sound defeated, glanced at the bluenette. He looked pale, had bags under his eyes, eyes which scanned the camp as if he was looking for something in particular. When Gaius followed his line of sight he smile knowingly. Chrom was watching Robin, where she sat across camp. She was in deep conversation with Donnel, her nimble fingers helping the farm-boy turned soldier to make traps to catch rabbits. The breeze blew through her brown locks, and her face was a rosy shade of pink.

"Don't worry about it Blue," Gaius popped another lollypop in his mouth. "I understand perfectly." The Prince smiled weakly, before standing up and walking away. "Bubble's is quite the catch isn't she," he murmured under his breath when he was sure Chrom wouldn't hear him.

"So all you gotta do is loop this 'er thing through here and there ya go, all finished," Donnel was speaking, Robin knew that, yet she wasn't concentrating. Instead she was watching Chrom.

Just moments ago, he had been speaking to Gaius, although he had looked annoyed and she wish she knew why. Out of the corner of her eye she had seen him stand and walk away, his head hung low, his shoulders slumped in defeat. Her heart had throbbed at the sight. She had never seen him look so depressed, and she wanted nothing more than to run after him and try to cheer him up. Yet she stayed where she was.

That wasn't her job.

Chrom wasn't hers to comfort.

"I'm sorry Donnel, I wasn't listening," she smiled apologetically at the boy. "What were you saying?"

"Oh it were nothin' important," he smiled.. "You okay Robin? You seem distracted."

"I'm fine Donny," she smiled at the young boy. He had removed his usual pot off of his head, his brown hair a fluffy mess that became almost cloud like as the soft breeze blew it. His big brown eyes were warm and friendly. Their similar appearances meant you could easily mistake the boy for her younger brother, had their skin tones not been completely different. She reached over and ruffled his hair. "Guess I'm just tired."

"Were you thinking about Chrom?" His next question floored her, causing her to cough.

"W-what! I-I wasn't thinking about Chrom, why would you say that?"

"Cause you and him spent all day in a strategy meeting, an' now you both look all tired."

"Oh yeah, right," Robin was aware her face was probably really beet red, and she turned her face away, hoping Donnel wouldn't notice. After a second to compose herself she turned back to him. He was gazing at her worried. "I'm fine Donny, your sweet to worry." She glance down at the rabbit snare in her hands, grateful for the distraction. "Now why don't you show me how to do this one more time."

"Oh sure Robin, no problem." Donnel's worry vanished, replaced by his happy go lucky smile once again.

They spent another hour talking and making snares before Robin decided to call it a night. Donnel watched the Tactician leave, watched her slink past Chrom's tent, noticed the small sigh that left her lips as she stared longingly at the tent, before disappearing inside her own tent.

"Those two really need ta admit ta their feelings," he shook his head in disbelief, before turning back to the task before him.

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

"I say we hold an intervention."

"What, no way, that wont work. What we need to do is lock them in a room somewhere and let things take care of themselves."

"Gaius! That's ridiculous. Maybe we should just have a word with Robin. Things can't carry on as they are."

"That's true. I mean they are clearly both in love with each other, everyone knows it, except them. It's so frustrating, I just want to see my brother happy"

"Then we shall help them Darling. How about I put a pot of tea on and we can all try to come up with a solution to help those two."

The group of Gaius, Lissa, Maribelle, Sumia and Donnel all nodded, sitting down in a circle and trying to come up with a plan to help the two smitten idiots that were Chrom and Robin finally admit their feelings for each other.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19815820/chapters/46987882#workskin

[burnsopale]

Burgeoning ch2, Ralf/Johnny

Title: Burgeoning, part 2 Pairing: Ralf/Johnny Rating: G for now Summary: Ralf’s guest continues to be a headache, but he is intriguing too.

Author’s notes: ARGH BLARGH. This one was hard.

Ralf was determined that he would not let himself be distracted by the guest in his castle, which, naturally, meant he could think of nothing else. After trying and failing to concentrate on his studies, he took the car all the way down to the stadium building site to check up on their progress, but he couldn’t shake his own restlessness. For the first time in years he felt like he might miss out on something back home, and he soon returned.

But McGregor apparently slept through the day.

By dinnertime, Ralf was exhausted for no reason and ready for the day to be over. He had a stack of letters with him that he intended to go through during dinner, and then he would go to bed.

To his surprise, it was not Johan, but Beate who brought up the day's dish. She came in with a bounce in her step and a tray with three different soup tureens.

He waved away the napkin she tried to tuck into his collar. “Why so many?”

“Oh, I didn’t know what the poor dear liked, so I made him some different ones, but then he liked them all so much I ended up making more of everything.”

She pulled the butter dish and basket of rolls a little closer to Ralf’s plate.

“Am I eating McGregor’s leftovers?” Ralf asked slowly.

“Oh, don’t be picky,” Beate chuckled, giving him some side eye. “It’s not like you pay attention to what I usually make for you.” She ladled up a bowl of mushroom soup and left Ralf to it.

He stared after her for a while before picking up the spoon and trying a mouthful. The soup was creamy and warm, rich with flavours. Ralf detected onions, parsley, various herbs and spices, and of course, the earthy, tangy mushrooms. It was delicious.

“I do pay attention to my food,” Ralf said to no one in particular, before picking up the first letter and tearing it open.

Rather than go to bed as he had intended, Ralf ended up in the little lounge; one of the letters had been from the chairman of the board and he wanted to reply right away. He was writing the email when there was a distant crashing sound and the faint beginnings of a cry from somewhere above him. The cry rose in volume and then with a yelp and a crash, Johnny McGregor came tumbling out of the fireplace.

“Ouch, ouch, ouch!” The boy climbed gingerly to his feet, stretching his bruised back. He had his blade in hand and took a moment to check it for damages. Then he noticed Ralf. “HA! I found you!”

“You also found the castle’s defences,” Ralf said.

The boy dragged a hand through his hair. “You’ll need to reset the springs on the axe blades, and I knocked over a suit of armour, and pulled down a curtain.” He wiggled a bare foot. "And lost a slipper."

“Johan will see to it. Why are you wandering the halls? Are you leaving?”

McGregor looked at him. “… Do I look like I’m leaving?” He was still wearing Ralf’s father’s nightgown. It fit across his shoulders, but hung all the way to his calves. The white cotton was stained with soot and the buttons had been torn off.

“I suppose it was too much to hope for,” Ralf conceded, turning back to his laptop. He felt unusually disturbed by how underdressed the boy was. There was something indecent in the smooth, white throat and naked ankles, and the way his chest rose and fell under the thin cotton with the heavy, deliberate breath of the sick.

“I told you I’m not going anywhere until you accept my challenge.” McGregor held out Salamalyon.

Ralf rubbed his temples. "And I believe I told you, I do not grant rematches."

The boy broke off to cough before taking a step forward. "All I hear is a clucking chicken. I will defeat you and restore my honour, so fight me already, you coward!"

Ralf rose abruptly. That word. He still couldn't hear it without his blood boiling. "Am I to understand that you did not show me your best game in the tournament? Did you give it less than your all?"

McGregor frowned. "Of course not."

"And was there anything worthy of critique in my conduct?"

"No. I don't see-"

"So you agree that the two of us fought our best battle, fairly and without any outside interference."

"Yes, but-"

"Come with me." He stalked to the door and left the room without bothering to see if the boy was following. Up a staircase, to the right on the landing and two turns later Ralf could unlock the door to the armoury. Once inside, he turned on the lights and gestured for McGregor to go on ahead.

"Beyond the far door is my private Beyblade dish. It was built here so that I would always have to walk past my family history before entering that room. I never train without having first been reminded of the glory that Griffolyon has already reaped on the battlefield."

McGregor looked around at the arms on the walls, the portraits and the suits of armour. Then he turned to look at Ralf. "My sacred beast is no less than yours, except in height. Quit bragging."

Ralf bit down on simmering irritation. "My point is that one, I will not offend Griffolyon by offering him a carcass to feed on, and TWO," he raised his voice to stop McGregor's protests, "A duel between two knights was fought, fairly and with passion; no honour can be lost in such a fight, so you have none to regain. WHY THEN-" Again, the boy had opened his mouth to protest. "Why then do you insist on this rematch?"

McGregor shut his mouth. His cheekbones were flushed.

He was silent for so long that Ralf's irritation mellowed, and he found himself just looking at this boy in his sooty nightgown, a boy with only one slipper on, whose autumn-red hair was tipping sideways, but whose back was straight and whose lavender eyes burned with determination. And sickness.

"Why do you need this so much?" Ralf whispered, almost to himself.

McGregor drew himself up to his full height. "I am Johnny McGregor, knight of the Queen of England, dragon of Scotland. I am not some corpse and you will not bury me." His voice rose in volume until it bounced off the walls. "Who are you to deny my challenge?"

Ralf sighed. He thought of his illustrious ancestry, the knights who had wielded in battle the swords and shields displayed in this room, and he considered the mighty castle that rose all around him, his fortress and his burden, but naming these things clearly would not impress upon this stubborn boy that he would never get his wish.

So instead Ralf said, "I am the blader who beat you at your best."

The slipper hit him in the chest, and by the time he had picked it up, the door had slammed behind Johnny McGregor, Scotland's fevered dragon.

[weeklyhumorist]

The Prophecy Speaks Of “The One”

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Shortly before the great prophet Garglejeans was beheaded by Hoagie The Elder he prophesied that the “End Of Days” will take place sometime after our people were enslaved by Gloopy The Giant Moose of Flugendorf. He said that there will come a time when a great man will lead us into the final battle against him to deliver us from persecution and to usher in a new era of peace.

‘The One’ will be a humble, quiet man inconspicuously camouflaged into society. But, the virtuous ones with righteous hearts and noble minds can identify him by his purple skin and colossal antlers. He will be a great warrior that is kind to his faithful, but merciless to his foe. His followers will have their thirsts quenched by his holy liquids while his foe will be stuck drinking regular, stupid water like idiots.

He will be hot. But, more in a ‘cute’ way instead of a ‘daddy’ way. I mean I’d still TOTALLY do him, but in a nicer, gentler way.

He will possess extraordinary abilities and will be exemplary in both the written and oral traditions of our people as well as slicing a person in half with a really sharp sword. He will be able to move things with his mind and could change the sex of a donkey just by winking at it and giving it the finger guns. It is believed that once every generation there is a person born with the potential to be the chosen one and will be called upon when the time is right.

The Secret Counsel Of Vulvatine has determined that you have the potential to be ‘The One’ and would like to test you to see if you will be the one to shepherd us into the new age. There will be three tests, should you choose to accept them and they will not be easy. They will require immense sacrifice and a great deal of pain and suffering.

First, you must be willing to undergo the ritualistic Cave Beating Of Friends where we spelunk you into a cave and beat you with sticks until you can successfully name all six primary characters from the cast of Friends and the actors who played them.

Then, you will have to wrestle a cranky yak to the ground naked while singing that goofy part of One Week by the Barenaked Ladies where they’re talking about a Chinese chicken or something.

Lastly, you will have to withstand the Seven Days Of Zod where you will stand atop very narrow pole thirty five feet above the ground on one foot surrounded by fire and sharp metal spikes. There will be a crowd screaming, “Zod! Zod! Zod!” and throwing tomatoes at you for seven straight days or until you politely ask for someone to let you down. Once you do that you will have past the test.

From there you will be escorted to The Rock Of Dwayne Johnson by Gus The Wizard who will lay you down and cover you in oils so he can massage your body while his companion Louis sings some sort of Gregorian chant to you. We don’t know why he does this. Gus isn’t a wizard; that’s just what he calls himself cause he likes to give massages and tell people he has magical hands. This isn’t really a part of The Prophecy either, but he’s a really nice guy and we thought it would be nice for you two to meet at some point because we think you’d really hit it off!

When you return from your massage The Counsel will bestow upon you the legendary Potato Of Destiny. This powerful weapon can only be held by those worthy enough to wield it. This is the weapon in which you will march onto the mountain to defeat Gloopy The Giant Moose Of Flugendorf.

Once you have vanquished the beast we shall bury it where it lies and build a great temple on its grave. Odds are we won’t like the location of the temple so we’ll tear down the temple, exhume the beast’s body and rebury it someplace nicer and rebuild the temple on its grave again. Let’s shoot for a place like Colorado or Montana cause I really like to ski.

There will be statues built and songs written in your honor. When you die we will see to it that Gus is there to massage you into the afterlife and we will hold a funeral fit for a king. People from lands far and wide will be there to honor your memory and to feast on a lovely assortment of finger foods.

People will tell their children stories of your bravery and worship you like a God, because you won them their freedom and you paid the price for their salvation.

So, to you I make this toast. Here’s to you and your potential.

Godspeed Chosen One.

  The Prophecy Speaks Of “The One” was originally published on Weekly Humorist

[botwriter]

Rewritten, Chapter 24: The Master Sword

Read this on FF.net or Ao3  ➜

The Master Sword was the last thing Link needed before going to take on Ganon. Over the last few days, an incredible momentum had been pushing him forward, and he felt like he was hardly able to keep up with it, like he would be swept off his feet at any moment. The four beasts were done. He had regained his memories. He remembered, finally, and he knew now why the sword was so important and where it would be resting. But then, he also knew that it would not be easy to get.

♪

He stood near the military camp Sheikah Tower and stared out at the Lost Woods, surrounding the Korok Forest like a moat. He could see the Deku Tree, pink in springtime blooms, sitting in the middle. Knowing where it was was not enough, however - the lost woods required a more methodical, more in-tune approach.

The woods were oppressively foggy. Firelight was provided on torches, the sparks lifting and floating eerily into the mist, a sign of where he was meant to go. Link took a breath as he stared into the darkness, and it stared back at him, a challenge and a welcome all bundled up in one. Am I still worthy?

With a quick breath and a burst of determination, Link headed into the woods between the two torches. He could see another a little ways away - and then another, the sparks drifting to and fro as they led him deeper and deeper into the woods. Shivers sat on his back that wouldn’t go away, eyes on his shoulder, shadows disappearing behind trees as he looked to spot them. There was no need to be paranoid. When he’d first come, there was an unspoken trust he felt for the trees, a feeling that maybe he wouldn’t return… and that was okay. It was the risk he took, to be the chosen one. He wasn’t doing this for himself.

The last torch stood ahead of him, silhouetted by a large tree with bare branches creeping down like hands towards Link as he stood beneath it, not defiantly like when he first arrived, but like an old friend. With a small smile and a whisper of thanks, he picked up the torch that rested against the tree, and lit it carefully in the torch.

The sparks flew in one direction or another. As subtle as it was, Link knew he couldn’t take his eyes off of it, or he’d be sent back in some uncomfortable way back to the beginning and have to re-do everything. He stopped every few steps, making sure he was still going the right way, and finally his path began to focus in one direction. Taller trees sat ahead of him - the sky was beginning to peek through the fog now, and there was only one way to go. He put the torch out and continued forward, finally pushing through the grey and the damp to find himself in a sunny, welcoming haven.

♪

Link couldn’t hide the relief he felt, and he shook in a shiver as he finally left the Lost Woods behind him. Koroks greeted him, spinning with their leaves and peeking in and out of bushes as he past them. Glinting in the light, ahead of him, was what he’d been looking for - the Master Sword. It sat in the rock, where it had before, and Link took a moment to stare at it. How had it come back? On its own?

As soon as Link let his hand rest against the handle - it was familiar feeling, and smooth - he was struck with a powerful set of flashbacks. Zelda’s voice was back - telling him he was the light. That he was the fate of Hyrule. It hit him hard, and he staggered back from the sword, staring at it in shock as the sounds of the forest came back into focus. And a voice. A loud voice.

“Who is that? Did I doze off again?”

Link looked up quickly - the deep voice of the Deku Tree was somewhat familiar, but still new. His face, etched into the bark, wrinkled in concentration as he peered down upon Link. There were no real eyes on the tree, and yet Link felt himself being judged to his core.

“Well well… it’s you. You finally decided to return.”

It felt as though a knife entered his heart on the word ‘finally.’ Link swallowed.

“Better late than never,” the tree continued, seeming distracted, yet his gaze never left Link. “After 100 years, I’d nearly given up hope on seeing you again. Even my patience has limits, you know.”

“I’m sorry,” Link choked, trying not to break down. His memories felt fresh, and raw, despite having just gained them back. It hurt to think that he had failed not just himself, not just Hyrule, not just Zelda, but even beings like the Deku Tree… had been let down by him. The tree remained silent.

“I must warn you… the sword stands as a test to anyone who would dare attempt to possess it. You may have wielded it 100 years ago, but you failed in your duty as the Chosen Hero… as you are now, I cannot say whether you are worthy or not. If you sought to free the sword in any sort of weakened state, you would surely lose your life where you stand.”

The tree paused to chuckle, a deep laugh that was not sinister, but one that had seen fate and destiny twist before. Link knew it.

“Best of luck, young one.”

Link looked down at the sword. It wasn’t just a sword, it was an entity, a friend, an extension of himself and his soul. Despite his insecurities, he knew deep down that it was just him. That he had to get redemption. Not honor, not revenge, but he had to right the wrongs that had befallen Hyrule. He had to destroy Calamity Ganon and save Zelda and do it all not just for himself but for everyone. And… for her.

He gripped the sword again, without hesitation this time. Holding it tight and stern with two hands, he began lifting it up out of the stone. It moved slowly at first, but then gave a little - Link felt his heart writhe in pain and he remembered the first time he had picked up the sword. He had passed out, waking up on the stone the next morning with the sword laying in his hands - hopefully that wouldn’t happen again, or he’d be losing precious time.

Still, it hurt just as much as the first time. Each pull of the sword sapped at his energy like nothing else, cut his spirit, tested his resolve, and pushed him further and further to the limits of what he knew he was capable of. But Link thought of the Champions as he pulled. Daruk’s endurance, Urbosa’s fury, Revali’s skill, Mipha’s acceptance… each of them had taught him something, and they weren’t really gone. They had waited for him because they knew he was the one. Even the Deku Tree. Even Zelda.

When the sword was finally released from its home, Link let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding in. The blade was longer than he remembered, stronger, but it greeted him enthusiastically nonetheless as he held it close to his face, to his heart. He lifted it to the sky to catch the sun, and so he could send a message to Zelda - I’m coming for you.

As if in response, a memory - not his own, but one of Zelda’s - graced him.

♪

It was Zelda in her dirty prayer dress. Clearly it was just after Link had been taken to the shrine, because she was covered in mud and soot, laying the sword down at the foot of the Deku Tree. She knew that Link would be back, and she knew that his memories would be gone - wait. Link didn’t have time to focus on the thought that Zelda, loving him and being loved in return, knew that sending him there would make him forget. Did she know that he would regain them as well? Or was it simply the risk she was willing to take? It shouldn’t have surprised him - he knew she would do whatever it took for Hyrule, she knew that he would die for it. But still, the heartbreak was there, in her voice… knowing that the Link who woke up in a hundred years would not be her Link, not yet.

The Deku Tree had discussed with her what she was planning to do next. Zelda knew where she had to go - and the Deku Tree was right. The strength in her dedication, the resolve she held, was focused enough that she could achieve anything. And this was right after their incident in the swamp - she’d gone all alone with the sword to the forest…

In the memory, Zelda asked the Deku Tree to relay a message to Link, and he desperately tried to hear it, but the tree cut her off. “Now then, words intended for him would sound much better in the tones of your voice, don’t you think?” And she had agreed.

When Link came back to, he found himself wiping more tears from his face, but there was no shame in it. He had to reunite with her, had to do whatever it took. More than anyone, Zelda had believed in him all this time, and that would be all he needed to take down Calamity Ganon.

“What you just saw happened where you stand 100 years ago,” the Deku Tree said, looking happier than before now that Link had sheathed the sword - clearly worthy. “After you departed from the sword, the princess thought to bring it here, where she knew it would be safe under my watch. She continues to fight, trapped deep within the confines of Hyrule Castle. Her heart cascades with faith that you will return. ...She has a smile like the sun… I would do much to feel its warmth upon me once again.”

“Me too,” Link replied. “You can count on me this time.”

“I know I can, for you have proven yourself worthy,” the Deku Tree replied, “now go, child. Do not rely solely on the Master Sword’s power. You will need your own courage and strength of heart for the battle that lies ahead.”