#those are the sort of baskets a bandit could hide in

[woodelf68]

Very handsome, very useful.

I'm happy to announce that this month I was finally able to buy Pirlouit a proper packsaddle! Doesn't he look very professional? And handsome. He receives a lot of compliments every time a visitor sees him all dressed up.

If he looks a bit wary in this photo it's because it was the first time I added the baskets, and as he'd never seen such large baskets before he wasn't sure they weren't about to eat him. His nervousness only took the form of twitchy ears though, there was no drama. (And he can be very melodramatic, so really he's been very stoical and self-possessed in the process of getting used to the packsaddle.)

He can also sulk for days if I make him do something he doesn't like (e.g. hoof care, which he seems to interpret as pointless torture), so I find it gratifying that every time we've used the packsaddle so far, he didn't try to avoid me the next day but came to greet me—he makes it very obvious when he is offended by an activity, and I'm glad that he seems to enjoy being asked to help carry things :).

When I bought the packsaddle I was a bit concerned about the girth being too small, because Pirou refused to let me measure his circumference beforehand (and I was pretty sure having to resort to some sort of girth extender would embarrass him) (but he does have a very round belly...)

But no; I was able to fasten all the straps—though I spared him the crupper strap at first.

I had to have two tall trees felled in the pasture (because of a project I will talk about in another post), and I also cut a couple of storm-damaged trees in my woods, so I spent a lot of time this year cutting & splitting logs. I now have several stacks quite far from my house, in places that can't be reached with a wheelbarrow, and my donkey's help is very appreciated to carry everything to the woodshed. Plus, the people who visit me are usually more into doing stuff with the llamas, so this allows me to give attention to Pirlouit too, while doing something useful.

Aren't you proud to be now in my Top 3 Most Useful Animals, Pirou?

... wait he's still grumbling about that one comment.

[brownandblackpearls]

🦇𝒯he  𝒱isitor (Alucard Tepes x BlackReader)

 PART 1 SUMMARY:

While trying to escape the clutches of criminals and cutthroats, you stumble across a castle beyond imagination. The corpses staked at the front aren’t enough to keep you out. But after entering, you begin to wonder what you got yourself into, and what the castle is hiding within its walls...

─── Alucard x black female reader

─── imagery + fiction

─── explicit smut

─── TW// slight gore, general mentions of rapists// Fantasy, vampires, hurt/comfort, enemies-to-friends-to-lovers, magic user, cute bats, gardening, cooking, cottagecore MC, castlecore Alucard.

☾ next.

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You fight through the underbrush of the woods, hurrying as quickly as your feet will allow.

They’re on your trail.

You’ve been evading these criminals from the last town you’d passed through, but they just keep stalking after you. They’d been all too eager to see a lone, beautiful woman traveling with no companions, no guides, and no guardians. 

They had tried and failed to corner you alone several times in the town and on the roads, but you haven’t made it this far on your own without some learned skills. A finger-bolt of lightning at one’s eye, a fire-heated palm tight on another’s wrist, swings of sharp dagger at all of their torsos, their throats. 

Anything and everything to escape. It’s not your first sticky situation, and it probably won’t be your last.

You know how to be quiet. How to hide. And when it comes down to it, you know how to swindle and how to fight, if need be. You try not to resort to that, not out of compassion or concern for the heathens that try to best you...no. You just know that you’re not as skilled as some of the rigorously trained ex-militia and rogue bandits that prey on loners in towns and off the roads.

You don’t know exactly what they want. A woman to toss around between themselves and torture before they descend on you like wolves? A new girl to sell on the black market? A pretty decoy to get carts and wagons to stop on the roads, allowing them to abush, raid, rape and kill as they please?

Whatever it is that they want, you’re not giving it to them.

‘They’ll have to catch me, first.’

You duck and dodge branches, bobbing and weaving through the trees before the forest finally begins to clear. You keep your hand on your dagger’s hilt, just in case.

Who knows what hides in the woods?

Finally, you come to a clearing run through by a small creek. The dense woods have seemed to disperse here, and now all that you can spy are peaceful glens and swaying flowers. Deer jump away through the grass, hares run into their holes, and fish shine from the stream. 

It feels…safe.

But you’re not one to be foolish, and so you continue on. Hoisting your basket closer, you can’t help but spy a garden as you pass through the glen.

Fat tomatoes hang on vine, bright orange carrot tops sprout from the soil, green onions, zucchini, berries and fruits….

…Someone has made a garden here. Hopefully if they’re the gardening sort, then they’re the safe sort. You quickly fill your basket with a few items, tuck some coins hidden near the stalks in apology for your ransacking, and carry on.

Finally, the glen ends, the forest stops entirely, and you stumble upon something entirely unexpected.

'A castle...? Out here in the middle of nowhere...?’

A grand, gothic castle of castles, spirals up towards the clouds in the sky. You gaze up at it in awe, sure that there is nothing else in the world quite so large or so spectacular. You’re certain that had the woods not been so oppressive and thick on the way in here, so wide and strenuous, that you would’ve spotted the castle for what it was miles and miles and miles ago.

You whistle low, impressed as you step forward. You take only a few steps before you stop.

A ripple in the wind draws your eye.

Two barely clothed bodies impaled on stakes tower before you, death etched onto their faces. The spikes go through them, hidden by the soiled shifts they wear and rising high up and out through their mouths. It is a grisly sight indeed.  Unfortunately, you’re no stranger to ‘grisly’ in these lands.

You move slower, more carefully than before.

Assessing the bodies, the blood is long dried on the stakes and the petrified flesh. Most of the meat is gone, pecked away by crows most likely, and the flesh that remains is hard and dried out. 

You have dealt with your fair share of monsters, but you’re not too sure you want to risk running into the one who did this. It was done with malice, strength, and a raw fury. A nonchalance for human life, it seems. Much like the same nonchalance shared by the evil men you run from.

You hear faint voices call from the trees. 

They’ve tracked you. And they’re coming closer.

“We can’t come here. It’s cursed ground. Don’t you know who this castle used to belong to?”

“Yeah, and they’re dead. No one’s seen em’ for ages. But I see little footsteps. Have a feeling the lass went this way.”

You freeze, glancing between the bodies, the huge castle door before you, and the mouth of the forest.

It’s the castle and its possible hidden horrors, or the men on your trail.

“Skin like ebony, that one. Pretty mouth, doe eyes. She’d sell for a pretty penny.. We wouldn’t have to raid for months.”

“…Or we could keep her to warm the cold nights.”

Your mind races, trying to choose. 

You could fight the men, still. But there are many of them, and just one of you. Your magic is somewhat abysmal without knowledge to guide you, and your dagger won’t measure up to prove the little sword skills you do possess. Your words will probably not get you out of this one, either. Not this time.

“I’d rather make her scream.”

“You would like that, wouldn’t you Macon? But you did that to the last one, and now we’re out here hunting a new lass instead of enjoying the old one.”

‘That’s it,’ you decide.

The castle it is.

You sprint away from the woods as fast as your billowing cloak and dress will allow, ignoring the foul smell of decay and passing between the bodies. You feel as though you’ve irrevocably crossed a line that shouldn’t be crossed, a decision made that can’t be taken back.

You will live with it, you decide. Better that, than capture.

Racing to the front of the grand doors, larger than the largest buildings you’ve witnessed in life before this day, you bang raptly against the wood and stone.

For a moment, nothing happens and you feel as though you will be caught right at the footsteps of this castle.

Then, you hear a doldrum, a creak and whirring of machinery and mass movement. The door shifts open just slight enough for you to slide through, making a gigantic noise in it’s wake. 

Quick as wind, you push through and fall to the floor, turning to see the grand door begin to shut closed behind you. 

The men stand before the staked bodies, unwilling to pass them and watching you as the doors close you out of their sight.

“You’d be better off with us murderers and thieves, woman!” One shouts futilely. “For even our hearts aren’t as black as the monster’s in those walls!” 

The door shuts him and the rest out. You harrumph and stand, wiping the dust off your dress and looking away.

Fuck him. And fuck his threats, and fuck his horrible little friends. Any black-hearted beasts you come across, you could handle well enough.

At least…that’s what you tell yourself to keep a brave face. Better that than nothing.

You look around.

The inside of the castle is larger than life, grand, and dark. Everything is clean and without dust as you would’ve expected from such a structure…an army couldn’t keep this clean…yet it feels unlived in.

For a moment, there is nothing but heavy, oppressive silence. You listen for a breath, a sound, but can hear nothing outside of your own increasing heartbeat.

You turn, looking to the top of the staircase.

Your eyes tell you there is nothing there, but your instincts tell you something else.

Suddenly, the lights of a thousand candles sweep on throughout the grand hall, illuminating a massive stone staircase and a figure standing at the top of it. You have very good sight, but the room is so large that you can barely make out the figure, even with the candlelight.

Nothing is said, the figure is motionless, and you begin to tremble. This must be the one who lives in this place…not an intruder or a vagrant. You don’t know how you know, but the figure is too large, too looming, and too confident even in its vagueness of detail for you to assume it to be anything other than the owner. 

The one who likely staked those unfortunate souls outside the walls.

You feel as if the mysterious figure is waiting for something, and you don’t know what to say. But something must be said.

Your voice is as steady as your fear will allow.

“My name is ———. I come from afar. I am…I am seeking refuge…if you will have me.”

“Refuge from the men outside.” 

The voice carries through the empty hall, lilting, low, and deadly. You hear hints of refinement in the speech but they are not enough to hide the white hot lethalness you sense underneath. A rage that you cannot even begin to place or name.

“Y-yes,” you stumble embarrassingly, affected, “from the men outside. They followed me here. I have nowhere to go.”

“And so you feel entitled to my protection.”

“No!’ You exclaim, shaking your head. You stopped expecting assistance from people long ago. The life of a lonely wanderer is just that...lonely. “I inconvenience you, and for that I apologize sincerely. Just…just refuge. I can be on my way after they depart.”

“To where...?” The disembodied voice says as calm as a pond at night, yet you feel the ripples that lie beneath.

“Nowhere,” you breathe.

“…And you come from?” The figure disappears like a mist, yet the voice remains.

“I…nowhere,” you gasp honestly, truly afraid now.

“Lies.” The voice spits viciously, sounding closer then far away, as if it’s bouncing around the space of the great hall.

“It’s t-true!” You insist, your trembling hands reeling in towards your chest in a futile attempt of protection from the unseen danger. “I hail from nowhere! I belong to nowhere! I have little. Just refuge, sir. A night, even!”

“I could grant you refuge,” the voice assumes, “or I could send you back out to those men and be bothered with none of you.”

“You wouldn’t,” you breathe, daring a chance to hope.

The voice chuckles humorlessly, dry as dead leaves.

“Perhaps,” it toys. “But I also wouldn’t allow a mysterious woman of mysterious origins to stay in my castle, learn of my ways, only to run back to the outside world and send a horde of farmhands sprinting over to slay me. Wouldn’t be the first time. No, I think I’ll keep you instead. Are you willing to make that bargain with the Devil?”

You pause, your mind blank. You search for an answer to reason with this...this...your thoughts race.

“Look, I know I’ve come into your abode unannounced and rather…rather rudely, making demands, but I must implore you—“

“—Answer me!” the voice barks, making you nearly jump out of your skin.

'That’s it.’

“You’re a prick, you know that?!” You blurt.

“…” You can hear the confusion in the empty air. “…Pardon?”

You push on, figuring that if you’re going to be staked by the unseen castle-owner or given up to the men outside, or toyed with any longer by any of this nonsense, that you may as well speak your mind one last time.

“You know good and goddamn well that I am not running into a fantastical, creepy castle of myth decorated by corpses on the front porch for the fun of it! As if I care or even believe some farmhands could handle much less defeat you when you can clearly impale full grown adults and work such a place as this—!”

“...”

“—And how dare you tease a woman scared out of her wits, can you even pretend to try to put yourself in my place?! Do you know how long I’ve been running from those idiots? If I had your strength I’d’ve staked them myself and added them to your lovely, little welcome collection as a visiting gift, because believe me, I’m sick of running from morons and monsters! I’m not above spilling blood! But as I said before, I possess little, and come from nothing, and journey towards nothing. From that, you can figure I can’t do much in terms of protecting myself besides running into large, spooky places and begging their arrogant owners for some rest—”

“.....”

“—So, I’d very much appreciate if you stopped toying with me and make your decision on whether you’re going to kill me, kick me out, or keep me, because I’m tired of trying to figure this all out by myself and I’m tired of the anticipation. So what’ll it be Mr. I-Like-to-Leave-Corpses-Outside-My-Castle-and-Harrass-Visitors?”

You huff after your rant, waiting.

The voice is silent for a long, long moment, before an accusing tone reverbs back to you.

“You’re the one who barged in—“

“—You’re the one who opened the door!” You return, throwing your hands out in frustration.

“I didn’t, the castle did.”

“Oh, well fuck me, then. I suppose I ought to thank the ‘castle’ and head back out to let those hoodlums try their worst. So long, strange sir! It was interesting, arguing with you.”

You turn on your heel, over this entire day, and knock at the door raptly. You tap your foot as you wait on the castle, arms crossed and dagger in your hand to strike the nearest hoodlum that likely awaited outside. What a day, you couldn’t believe this shit.

The machinery whirs once more and the door barely opens before a large, leather gloved hand reaches past your head and slams the towering door back, closing it shut. The strength the act takes is incomprehensible, you think. 

Inhuman, you realize.

The hairs at the back of your neck raise long after the presence behind you appears. You feel no breath on your neck, yet you know someone stands behind you. You can’t look away from the large, gloved hand on the door. You’re afraid to see exactly who stands behind you.

A man...? Or something else entirely….?

You try to speak but gasp instead, short and shocked.

Silence reigns before you get a hold of yourself and choke something out.

“Y-y-you’ve made your decision then…I presume...?” You stammer into a squeaking volume, your anger long gone and replaced by fear once again.

“Don’t make me regret it…” The voice sneers, close enough for the breath of it to shift your hair and the baritone to reverb over your skin. A chill runs up your back and you can do little to hide it. You feel as though the figure behind you is impossibly tall, imperceptibly assessing, and spying every single thing you do. 

You feel the presence lean in over your shoulder, a mouth right next to your ear.

“…or you will regret it, visitor. That, I can promise.”

You gulp loudly, nodding your assent without turning around. You feel frozen to the spot. The hand withdraws and your shoulders unclench only a fraction. You feel as if a predator had been standing behind you, and has decided not to destroy you...for the moment.

You wonder if you are right, and why your cheeks suddenly feel so hot when your heart is beating so fast in terror...?

“I’m going to clean the trash off of my porch,” the voice states eerily. “Don’t touch anything until I return.”

As quick as a blink, the presence disappears entirely. 

You finally turn around, alone and confused.

There is nothing but the large castle hall, looking back at you.

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AN: Do not under any circumstances copy, repost, or edit any of my work. If you see someone do so, please let me know.

☾ next. 

☾ check my blog for more imagines.

[psalloacappella]

scherzo

Day 2 Prompt:  Cooking // “I didn’t know you had that habit.”

@sasusakublankperiodweek

Ao3 | FFN | ↓

“You miss him — don’t deny it! You’re a softhearted man.”

“I plead the fifth.”

Quiet laughing, shared only in a small clearing at the edge of the world, filthier than they like but close to the salt and earth and sea, nothing in between them but love and a basket of peeled fruit.

The first time she does it, Sasuke is quite sure he’s succumbing to blindness, or at least some degradation of sight. Must have been a trick of the light.

The second time she does it prompts a double-take.

On the third time he looms up behind her as she crouches near the fruit basket, and can’t help the incredulous sigh that escapes him, which startles her; in hindsight, his approach was a poor choice of abrupt entrance into her space, considering she’s been putting a sharp object so close to her lips.

Discarded rinds flutter to the forest floor as well — as butterflies, as kaleidoscopic confetti littering the ground beneath them from her produce peeling.

“Sasuke-kun!” The knife falls to the dirt with a keen metal pitch. “Don’t scare me like that!”

“What are you doing, Sakura?”

“You said your vision was fine,” she says with a pout. “Making dinner, obviously.”

“And . . . have you always done that?”

“Done what?”

A rustle and sigh, not wanting to give form and shape to the action. Plucking up the knife now spattered with dry soil, she gently cleans it against the material of her thigh and settles into her haunches properly, seeming puzzled. Flame of the small makeshift pit of fire popping merrily, a boiling stone pot waiting to be fed previously-peeled vegetables. Between her thumb and forefinger she dangles the knife absentmindedly.

Maybe it’s a silly worry — maybe he’s just hungry. Brow furrowing, he decides to tell the truth in his sometimes brusque way.

“Just be careful with that. And anyway, where’d you pick that up? Seems like something our teammate might do.”

When her eyes flash for a moment, bright in the fading daylight, he considers that so far out from the main road, no one could hear him scream. Ah, stupid response.

She rolls those elegant green eyes in a long, mocking arc, and blows a strand of long pink hair out of her face. Both of them are a bit scruffy, a long way from an inn or even a village, off the grid for a while after encounters with persistent bandits. Possessing renowned abilities and not exactly strangers to the world after being honored post-war, they concluded they may have overdone it in their retaliation.

And, propping up the bodies afterward near a visible post near the road (gently, of course, and with all limbs intact!), they decided to travel light and low the following weeks.

They’ve watched each other transform into slightly more feral versions of one another. It’s not unwelcome, the smudges on her face and the ragged edges of her hair beginning to reach her waist. He wonders what he must look like to her; brutish, perhaps, although by the way they’re so close at night, perhaps not.

She’s not exactly the same girl he left behind.

“Is poisoning the way you wanted to go, darling?”

Sasuke blanches. “Sakura?”

Flipping the knife and catching it again, she aims the point at him. “Do not compare me to Naruto, or there will be a tragic accident here indeed.”

He’s done this before, stumbled into a flippant comment that he doesn’t expect to get her going. Well, he’s learning.

“In fact, don’t compare any woman to Naruto,” she adds, wrinkling her nose. “Not if you prefer living.”

Sasuke tamps down a snort that could be laughter. He doesn’t usually stop her rants — they’re sort of endearing.

“Listen, I know you were wandering around the world with your own . . . aims,” she says, waving the knife around again, “but I did an absurd lineup of missions while you were gone:  reconnaissance, medical dispatch, undercover — yes, I did, I see that smirk of yours, and don’t you know women tend to have much, much higher completion rates than the men on those?”

Yes, Sasuke knows all these things, but getting her heated, sometimes, is a joy and entertainment in itself that he’s at least been smart enough not to admit. Assumes she’ll discover it eventually, the way he quiets down in the face of her temper, the shameless way he’s realized he watches her eyes and lips and an angry rouge simmer up through the skin of cheeks and chest.

“Not to mention I’m usually the only kunoichi on those missions, or at the very least outnumbered; do you know what it’s like to bunk with a whole damn bunch of you? Gods!”

Jabbing the knifepoint in the basket next to her laden with a colorful bouquet of chopped produce, it comes up with a piece of apple, which she points at him in a vaguely threatening manner.

The sight of this particular fruit sends a strange pang throughout, plucking at a string in his heart in the vein of a vibrating and resonating harp.

“And if you’re worried about me hurting myself,” she says with a sharp tongue cluck, “I’ll have you know — but you should already know! — that I’ve performed countless surgeries, sewed up hundreds of bodies, been horribly poisoned, pinned like a cushion, and sure maybe I have picked up a gross habit or two from Naruto, but you know what being around him is like, he rubs off on everyone, and the point is,” and now she takes an angry bite of the apple chunk that’s still speared through with the knife, chewing angrily, and waves the uneaten half at him some more, “I am perfectly capable of using knives, and at total and complete liberty to lick the knife when I’m done! It isn’t the worst thing you can put in your mouth anyway. You’re one to talk:  You put all sorts of inanimate things in your mouth, even when I offer to help you, you were bandaging wounds with your teeth for gods’ sake!”

Just about spent, she seems to burn even brighter in the dusk. Sasuke thinks of fruit on hospital floors, the earth splitting beneath his feet:  She is at once something gentle, something fierce.

When she tosses the knife back into the fruit basket and the spearing of a cleaved, unlucky fruit chunk sounds between them, Sasuke’s too slow to hide his smirk and knows he’s been found out.

“You think this is funny! Oh-ho, you think it’s hilarious when I’m mad, don’t you? When I defend myself?”

Sasuke shakes his head, lackadaisical. Settled in and sated like a large jungle cat. “I didn’t want you cutting yourself. That’s all.”

“Could’ve saved me the rant, then,” she mutters. Her stomach growls louder than she anticipates, and she presses her hands to her face and groans. “So embarrassing! I’m hungry, dirty, fucking vagabond vogue and you just sit there and you look so, ugh, self-satisfied.”

Sighing, she tumbles back into a sitting position and cards a hand through her long hair.

“I shouldn’t have compared you to Naruto,” he offers, still fighting a smirk. “It wasn’t what I meant in the slightest.” He pauses. “I . .  like you this way.”

“Oh, what way?”

“ . . . scrappy?”

“You mean filthy?”

“Strong?”

“Should’ve known that by now.”

“Indeed.”

“Bandits? A lil’ thing called the Fourth Shinobi War? Naruto’s ribs?”

“Ah, now who’s bringing up the idiot?”

“You miss him — don’t deny it! You’re a softhearted man.”

“I plead the fifth.”

Quiet laughing, shared only in a small clearing at the edge of the world, filthier than they like but close to the salt and earth and sea, nothing in between them but love and a basket of peeled fruit.

“Perhaps . . . I did speak out of turn.”

Sakura leans back on hands, tosses her head to the sky to beam at the budding evening stars.

“I do appreciate it, though. You caring, I mean,” she adds. “But I promise I know my way around sharp objects.”

Something slips from his lips in undertone, a quiet remark that draws her mischievous green gaze.

“That too,” she says. She tosses her long, wild hair over her shoulder and meets his eyes head-on.

Staring back and channeling the same crackling heat as the fire a few feet away.

“So,” she says triumphantly, eyes aglitter, “shall we discuss, over dinner, the bad habits involving your mouth, Sasuke-kun?”

[kingbennyboyyy]

benny’s RWBY rewrite: the relics & maidens, part 1

hello again! it’s been a little bit, but i’m back as a reward for getting a long-ass essay done! this will be the first of probably several plot-related changes i’ll be making to the story, starting with something with a lot of potential: the relics and the maidens. i’ll be going into my personal rewrite of the story of the maidens, and then their powers, and how they interact with the relics and vaults.

this will be the first part: the origins of the maidens, story-wise. the second part will be the mechanics of the maidens and relics, and how they interact with the story at large.

if you’re still interested, there’ll be more under the cut!

so, the first thing i’m going to do is alter the mythos surrounding the maidens. i like the idea of a bunch of girls visiting a hermit, but i’d like to expand upon it. firstly, i’d like for the hermit to have a bit more character. i’ve opted to name him kurloz, as he’s a bit different than most of the other ozma reincarnations we’ve seen, and i wanted his name to reflect that.

the hermit is a hermit for a reason: he’s come into his own, realizing that he isn’t really himself, but i also think that he keeps himself sequestered away because he really doesn’t know what to do. this is where the maidens come in.

the gods of light and darkness outlined four virtues that define humanity: knowledge, creation, destruction, and choice. i want to add to these virtues that they can be used for evil as easily as they can for good. the four maidens, along with being manifestations of seasons, should also embody these virtues strongly, both in their original iterations, and in the people who hold the maiden powers. these virtues connect the maidens and the relics: the relic of creation will only grow into its full potential in the hands of the spring maiden- the embodiment of creation. i did also swap the relic/maiden lineup, but i’ll go into that as well.

so, the story goes as follows:

long ago, a hermit lived deep in the forest, in a cabin away from all of civilization. his home had the strange ability to attract those who he wanted to speak to, and deter those he didn’t. the winding woods around his home were mazes to those with impure intentions.

during the winter, the hermit was visited by a young woman. by her opulent dress of blue and white silks and lace, she was a noble, the heiress to a faraway throne. she greeted the hermit politely, and he knew after a bit of talking that she was wise beyond her few years. they spoke for a while about science and art, the advancements the hermit had missed in his decades of hiding. the hermit, satisfied with what he’d learned of the maiden, asked her a question: in a world gone mad, what would she do to fix it?

the maiden replied, “share your knowledge with the people of the world. you cannot vanquish an enemy you do not know exists.” the hermit, who had been paralyzed by fear because of his knowledge, was surprised. the maiden continued, “knowledge eliminates fear. it shows you that all there is to fear is the unknown. the only choices that matter are life or death. all else are reached with knowledge.”

the hermit sat with this insight for a time. as the maiden stood, he asked that she visit again in the middle of the next year, when the sun was at its highest. she politely agreed, and with a bow, she left the hermit with his thoughts.

as winter changed to spring, and the flowers began to blossom, the hermit was visited by another young woman. by the dirt covering her overalls, and the strength in her body, she was a humble farmer. she carried a bushel of fresh fruits, and ran toward the hermit, offering him a few of what she’d harvested. in the blooming grove, they spoke of the beginnings of spring, what would grow and blossom, and what would be done with all that emerged. the hermit, amused with the maiden’s enthusiasm, asked her a question: in a world gone mad, what would she do to fix it?

the maiden thought as she chewed a tart she’d made. smiling, she replied, “the world is mad, sure, but look at all the good in it! we must take the seeds of goodness, plant and nurture them, and wait for better to grow.” the hermit, who had seen new worlds war with one another, was surprised. the maiden continued, “everyone has to work together to create a better world. i can’t tell you alone what better looks like, just as you can’t tell me that either.”

the hermit sat with this insight for a time. as the maiden gathered up her baskets and bags, the hermit asked that she visit again in the middle of the next year, when she sun was at its highest. after leaving the hermit with a bag of seeds, she agreed, and bounded back into the woods, leaving the hermit with his thoughts.

as spring turned to summer, and the heat took the forest, the hermit was visited by yet another young woman. bandits had somehow found their way to his home, but a huntress, identifiable by her masterful combat prowess, managed to defeat them. rather than dispatch them, she scolded them for attacking a defenseless old man, and shooed them away. the maiden, armed with masterfully-crafted weapons, was patched up by the hermit as she spoke about everything she had done, the people she’d saved and killed. the hermit, stricken by the maiden’s perseverance, asked her a question: in a world gone mad, what would she do to fix it?

as she rolled her stiff shoulder, the maiden replied: “make up your mind! you claim to care so deeply for the strifes of the world, and yet you sit and do nothing but think! you let the world burn while you ruminate.” the hermit, offended by the gall of this maiden, was speechless. the maiden continued, “get off of your ass, leave this little shack, and do something.” 

the hermit sat with this insight for a long time. as the maiden gathered up her weapons and tightened her bandages, the hermit asked that she visit again in the middle of the next year, when the sun was at its highest. she grumbled out an agreement, and after thrusting a simple firearm into the hermit’s hands, she left in a huff.

and as the leaves crinkled and turned yellow and brown, and the cool breeze of autumn took the woods, a final young woman visited the hermit. she was silent, almost shy as she simply sat on the hermit’s porch, with an unreadable expression on her face. the hermit emerged, offered her tea and company as she sorted through what she felt. in an attempt to break the silence, the hermit asked her a question: in a world gone mad, what would she do to fix it?

the maiden bit the inside of her cheek. after a moment of silence, she replied: “this world is broken beyond repair. if it seeks endlessly to destroy us, maybe we should destroy it first.” the hermit, having sequestered himself for fear of doing just that, was appalled. seeing the hermit’s fear, the maiden continued, “we’ve ruined this world. we war and kill constantly. maybe if we burn everything down, something better will grow in the fertile soil.”

the hermit sat with this insight for a long time. as the maiden stood, she confessed that someone she loved was taken from her. the hermit offered his condolences, and asked that she visit him again in the middle of the next year, when the sun was at its highest. she only gave a nod before she vanished back into the woods.

the middle of the next year came quickly enough. the hermit, excited about the return of the maidens, had set out food and drink on his porch. the maidens from winter, spring, summer, and fall arrived in sequence, bringing their own gifts for the hermit. the winter maiden brought a collection of all the hermit had missed in his hermitage. the spring maiden brought cakes and tarts, all made from the produce she’d grown. the summer maiden brought a set of weapons, a sword and bow, for the hermit to use as he wished. the fall maiden brought tinder for the hermit’s fireplace, for the coming autumn and winter.

at the end of their feast, the hermit revealed himself to be a powerful sorcerer of old, who had been waiting for someone to prove themselves worthy of his power. the sorcerer granted the winter maiden power over ice and cold, and the power to use her intellect to keep her enemies at bay. he granted the spring maiden power over plant, flower, and vine, and the power to create flora to aid in her companion’s fights. she granted the summer maiden power over wind, and storm, and the ability to choose who to blow close, and who to sweep away. he granted the fall maiden power over fire, and the ability to destroy the enemies of the new world she wanted.

the magic of the maidens, over time, was shaped by the strength of their wills. the virtues they embodied gave their magic a type of sentience, that would seek out those who exemplified their virtues. in time, the maidens learned of the relics from another oz, and used their combined powers to create vaults that only they could open. the winter maiden's lamp of knowledge was kept in the first’s home nation: mistral. the spring maiden’s staff of creation was kept in the second’s home nation: mantle. the summer maiden’s crown of choice was kept in the third’s home nation: vale. the fall maiden’s sword of destruction was kept in the fourth’s home nation: vacuo. the academies built above these vaults were informed by the maidens, and the governments kept close tabs on where their respective maidens were. the goal was to keep the maidens and relics separate, until a significant threat called for them to be gathered. after all, the maidens were the only people alive with the power to present the relics to the gods, to summon them to judge the state of the world.

with that, i hope you enjoyed my retelling of the maiden myth! i’ll be going into how this influences the story in the second part of this mini-series.

if you have any feedback, feel free to send me an ask!

[wordsablaze]

27~ Ransom

Magic and Misery Merlin might use magic to help Arthur but he rarely uses it to help himself, which leads to an awful lot of misery… written for whumptober, enjoy!

A/N: my friend got me in a wholesome mood so this is more fluff than angst, blame (or thank) them ^.^

-

Arthur has a reputation.

Everybody had always known that he was brave, skilled, stubborn, and genuinely good at heart. But slowly, they also came to know that he was fiercely protective, protective of his people, his knights, and most importantly, of Merlin.

It was never explicitly questioned - probably because challenging the whims of the crown prince was a risk nobody wanted to take - but rather, observed and learned.

Very quickly, the people of Camelot, no matter what status they were, knew to leave Merlin to his own devices. It definitely helped that Merlin was maybe the kindest, most loyal, and ridiculously helpful person that most people had ever met.

Most people were more than happy to see the boy from Ealdor grow closer to the Crown Prince, especially since their interactions were often a source of amusement, admiration, and awe.

But there would always be some that acted with a selfish combination of malice and greed.

Unfortunately, those people tend to act in the dead of night.

Merlin has no chance to fight back as someone materialises from the darkness and roughly places a hand over his mouth, a dangerous scent filling his senses as his limbs weaken and his eyes flutter shut.

He dimly wonders what it is this time - whether this is a result of his life as Merlin or Emrys - before he drops the basket he was carrying and falls unconscious.

The forgotten object clatters quietly to the ground as Merlin is harshly manoeuvred away, the ones responsible dragging him into the cover of the night as they retreat, sharing smug smirks and taking their time manhandling their target.

"Has anyone seen Merlin?" Arthur asks the next day, joining Lancelot and Gwaine where they're stood to one side of the training field.

Lancelot glances up sharply, concern filling his eyes within seconds. "What do you mean?"

"I haven't seen him all morning," Arthur explains, frowning; he'd thought Merlin had simply woken up late and chosen to join the knights instead of meeting him in his chambers.

At that, Gwaine raises an eyebrow. "Merlin would never miss training."

The three of them share an uneasy look before Leon jogs up to them. "Sire, there's someone who wants to speak to you."

Knowing that Leon wouldn't suggest leaving their training session unless it was something urgent and absolutely unavoidable - in other words, to do with Merlin - Arthur follows without missing a beat.

As do the other Knights.

There's a young girl waiting for them near the gates.

As Arthur approaches, she seems to relax, giving him a small, hopeful smile. "I knew I was right! I knew you'd help!"

Arthur glances at Leon before nodding at the girl. "Of course. What is it?"

The girl's smile falters as she pulls out a basket Arthur hadn't seen from behind her back and offers it to him. "It's Merlin's."

Elyan inhales sharply and takes it from her, well aware that Merlin wouldn't just leave it lying around, then glancing up in confusion when he finds only herbs inside, nothing to indicate why the girl has the basket in her possession.

"Do you know where he is?" Percival asks softly, ever the gentle giant.

The girl nods, then promptly shakes her head. "I don't know who it was, it was so dark and I was about to go over and say hello to Merlin but they came out of nowhere and-"

Leon steps forward, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Hey, slow down, there's no rush. Tell us what you know."

"They just- they put something over his mouth and took him… they said they'd send a message and then they went south and I didn't know what to do, I'm sorry!" The girl looks ready to cry.

Arthur nods at her gratefully. "Thank you for your help. Really, I appreciate that you came forward."

Lancelot smiles at the kindness in Arthur's voice before winking at the girl. "Don't worry, we'll have Merlin back in no time."

The girl nods, smiling again before mumbling something about telling everyone else and disappearing. Choosing not to think too much about who she's going to tell, Arthur turns to the others.

"Well, looks like training will have to be relocated for today."

Without Merlin, though, it takes then twice the amount of time to organise horses and set off, the six of them not exactly knowing where they're going, their destination being only Merlin.

It turns out whoever had taken Merlin isn't the smartest.

Their camp isn't even slightly difficult to locate and Arthur just about rolls his eyes at their stupidity as he spots the smoke. But his amusement is taken over by anger when he hears loud laughing; how dare they laugh when they've hurt Merlin?

"We'll be quieter on foot," Elyan murmurs as they get closer.

The six of them tie their horses to a few trees and approach where the group had stupidly taken camp to assess the situation, all of them equally as outraged when they see Merlin tied to a tree, a woman with a knife pressed to his neck crouched in front of him.

He looks alright, Arthur notes, aside from the bruises.

Of course, the rope securing his gangly frame to the tree practically boils Arthur's blood, but he's glad he can't see any serious injuries; at least it isn't like other times where he's found Merlin halfway through death's doorway.

As Arthur and the knights watch, Merlin makes an incredulous face before glaring up at her, clearly disagreeing with whatever she's saying but not wanting to move due to her weapons.

Arthur moves to help him without realising it but Leon grabs his arm, holding him back as Merlin winces and jerks his foot away from the woman. Apparently she'd been hiding another knife.

There's something odd about Merlin's expression as his eyes follow her second knife but Arthur can't place it. The other knights have clearly noticed the same thing because Lancelot's frown is deep enough to make him look five years older.

"Something's wrong with Merlin," Gwaine comments, voicing the concern they all share.

The woman moves away but not before pressing the knife harder into Merlin's neck and leaving a thin red line in its wake. Merlin only bites his lip and lets his head fall back onto the tree, his posture relaxing slightly.

Only then does Arthur figure it out.

This must remind Merlin of the witchfinder.

He curses quietly but strongly, finally pulling away from Leon and making his way around the camp so that he's behind Merlin, the other knights guessing his plan and spreading out so they can jump in at a moment's notice.

Arthur waits until he thinks it's safe before quietly moving so he's beside Merlin.

"I let you out of my sight for one evening, Merlin…" Arthur whispers.

Merlin freezes, letting out a slow exhale. "What are you doing here?"

It takes Arthur a second to realise he'd even said anything, he's so subtle.

"What does it look like, idiot? Rescuing you!" Arthur hisses, torn between appreciating that Merlin is unharmed enough to question him or just being annoyed at his reaction.

He can almost feel Merlin roll his eyes. "They only want gold, they don't care for Camelot's secrets."

Arthur pauses.

"Gold?" he echoes.

He must echo it too loud because one of the men turns around and he barely has enough time to duck behind the tree before someone's walking their way.

Merlin coughs loudly to cover it up, sticking his leg out to make it look as if he were trying to trip the man up, trying his best to annoy him into forgetting what he'd intended to do.

It works.

The man growls and crouches so he can grab Merlin's jaw, squeezing until Merlin can't help but wince, still refusing to make a sound.

"Do you think me to be stupid?" The man all but snarls.

Merlin just shrugs awkwardly, unable to speak with the man stopping his jaw from moving, and it takes all of Arthur's willpower not to reveal himself and punch the man until he truly feels stupid.

"Play games with me again and I might forget I'm meant to keep you in good condition," he warns before pushing Merlin's head to one side as he leaves, bringing his foot down on Merlin's injured ankle as he does so.

Merlin bites back a gasp, letting his eyes close as he breathes heavily for a moment, focusing on slowly moving his jaw to try and lessen the dull throbbing.

"I'm going to kill him."

"Don't be a cabbage-head, Arthur," Merlin mumbles, keeping his head ducked so anyone watching can't tell he's talking.

Arthur exhales, trying to think of a plan, pleasantly surprised when he hears Merlin chuckle.

"I can feel the effort it's taking you to think of a plan. Just wait until they're all asleep," Merlin tells him.

Pulling a face at Merlin even though he can't see it, Arthur shakes his head. "What if they try something?"

"They've been ordered to leave me in good condition, remember?" Merlin reminds him.

Arthur sighs somewhat dramatically. "If they hurt you…"

Merlin clears his throat to cut him off. "I know, you can play the knight in shining armour."

They lapse into silence once they've stopped quietly laughing, Arthur briefly sneaking around to tell the other Knights the plan before returning to his spot behind Merlin's tree.

He forces himself to still as someone else, clearly a little drunk, approaches Merlin.

"Can I help you?" Merlin asks, sounding perfectly bored.

A girl who seems rather young for the bandit sort of life sits in front of him and buries one hand in his hair, almost playing with it as she frowns. "So, what is it about you?"

Merlin shrugs, more worried about Arthur being able to avoid losing his cool and revealing himself.

"I mean, you are pretty…" the girl continues, a wistful tone in her voice, "but you're also just a servant so that can't be it."

Merlin bristles, clenching his jaw.

Arthur also bristles, wishing he could stop those words from having been said at all; Merlin is far more than just a servant.

"I know people that would pay a lot for eyes as lovely as yours," the girl adds, staring at him with an uncomfortable intensity.

When Merlin says nothing, she prods his stomach, smiling in satisfaction when he gasps and curls into himself a little. "And you're not a mute. Nobody wants them back when we take them."

Arthur's frown deepens as he listens to her, wondering if this whole ransom thing is a business that's running right under his nose. He makes a mental note to look into it when they get back to Camelot.

The girl giggles as Merlin yelps and Arthur wishes he could see better.

"Do you think your prince will pay for you?" The girl asks and, if Arthur didn't know better, he might have called her tone innocent.

Merlin glares at her, pulling his head away. "You clearly don't know much about him."

"Then tell me!" the girl laughs, placing her hands on either side of Merlin's face. "Tell me what makes you so special!"

"Get your hands off me!" Merlin mutters instead.

"Not unless your ransom is paid," the girl all but chides, laughing again.

Unless?

Arthur glares daggers into the tree. As if there were any chance that he would let Merlin be taken from him without doing everything in his ability to get him back, whether that involved swords, gold, or anything else.

"Shouldn't you go and rest?" Merlin asks bitterly, trying his best not to meet her gaze.

The girl just giggles, shifting. "What if I'd rather spend time with you?"

Merlin huffs in irritation, clearly giving up on staying silent. "Don't get attached, I'll be gone soon."

"What makes you so sure?" The girl drawls.

Arthur had managed to control his rage so far but hearing Merlin hiss in pain after she asks that is too much and he steps out from behind the tree, his sword coming to a stop on her neck as he smirks.

"I do."

Merlin grins up at him.

Pushing the shocked girl away, Arthur cuts through the ropes and pulls Merlin up, stepping in front of him protectively.

The other knights take this as their cue to emerge, holding the leaders at swordpoint so nobody dares to move or attack them. A group of angry knights is not something most people want to face.

As the others successfully intimidate the bandits, Arthur turns to Merlin with a fierce smile. "You're not just a servant."

Merlin nods, rubbing his arms.

And he'd been right in the end, the others had all started to drink as night had drawn closer and, all things considered, the rescue mission goes incredibly smoothly.

"I could have handled that," Merlin grumbles as they get back to the horse, limping slightly and contradicting his own statement.

Lancelot gives him a funny look and nudges him lightly. "We don't doubt you for a second."

"But someone has to be the damsel once in a while," Gwaine laughs, releasing their horses.

Merlin just rolls his eyes but Arthur coughs pointedly, not quite happy with that. "Merlin, you may be the most incompetent servant I've ever had but I need you to know… I would have paid anything they'd demanded if it had come to that."

The smile that blooms on Merlin's face is, in Arthur's opinion, simply priceless.

"Thank you," Merlin says softly, glancing around their group gratefully.

"Anytime, Merlin," Elyan replies on behalf of everyone.

They hadn't been smart enough to bring a separate horse for Merlin so he ends up sharing with Arthur, which neither of them particularly want to complain about.

"Does this mean you care about me?" Merlin teases as they set off.

"Perhaps more than I should," Arthur murmurs, surprising both Merlin and himself with the confession.

Merlin just wraps his arms around Arthur in response.

If the other knights notice their matching blushes and poorly hidden smiles, they don't comment on it.

- 

like/reblog but please don’t repost, thanks! masterlist

[gaamagirl565]

Matters of the heart ep 10

Matters of the heart

Episode 10

First impressions

{OPENING CREDITS}

{open to morning in old corona; rooster crows and pans to Isaiah waking up; start reprise of “when will my life begin”} {Isaiah} Ugh. 7:15 it’s morning once again time to get up Go downstairs and eat whatever dad has made Go outside and get started on my chores Feed the pigs, milk the cows and now it’s 8;45 Time to get the eggs from all the mother hens Let sheep all out of their tiny pen Pick some fruit, and read, and just basically Wonder when will my life begin And I’ll keep wonderin’ and wonderin’ 

and wonderin’ and wonderin’ Just when will my life begin… Ugh… {end song with Isaiah kicking a bucket then promptly grabbing his foot} Isaiah: Ow! {cut to the edge of the forest and noremoth is looking over at old Corona} Noremoth: Corona...ick...The name always leaves a bad taste in my mouth… Cassandra: I would ask why but I feel like you're going to tell me even if I don't… Noremoth: a kingdom full of self-righteous people... too high and mighty to even care about helping those less fortunate.  they speak as if there's some sort of Heaven on earth and then they turn around and ignore your existence when you truly need them… Cassandra: that's not completely true… Noremoth:  and yet your past begs to differ sweet vessel… Cassandra: call me that again we will have problems. Noremoth:  temper temper... you know your mission correct? Cassandra:... yes… Noremoth:  good girl... repeat it, please. Cassandra:... infiltrate Corona get the Moonstone shard and leave. Noremoth:  that's a right and remember we're not here to diddle daddle... get it and go. Cassandra: You told me about the person who has it and let me just say I knew this person at one point and he's not going to give it up easily so how do you expect me to get it? {Noremoth unsheathes his sword} Noremoth: by any means necessary of course!  and don't forget if you try and tell anyone of what's going on... let's just say you won't want that. {Cassandra’s eyes flicker in color for a second; Cut to Isaiah in the orchard with a basket and a book} Isaiah: ughhh!  I'm never going to get this right!  it says to keep my knees leveled and balance but how am I supposed to do that when I can't even pick up the sword! {Ruddiger yawns and Isaiah walks over to a tree with a long sword resting on it; not to far away from him is a stump with a log on it} Isaiah: Okay... hold sword firmly in hands and swing forcefully down...Ruddiger,  if this kills me I want roses at my funeral, thank you! { he closes the book and picks up the sword; Cassandra appears from behind a tree that immediately Retreats behind it upon seeing him; Isaiah attempts to lift the sword} Cassandra: what on Earth is he doing? { Isaiah lifts the sword over his head but the weight causes him to fall  onto his back and drop it} Isaiah: Whoa!!...owwww…. { Cassandra cringes and walks over to him} Cassandra: what are you doing kid? { Isaiah immediately jumps up and tries listing The Sword in the defensive position} Isaiah: who are you!? I've never seen you around here before! are you a threat!? Cassandra: Okay first of all… { she sweeps out her leg knocking Isaiah's legs out from under him making him fall back to the ground} Cassandra: your stance was all wrong... secondly the sword is way too heavy for you you wouldn't be able to lift it further than your head if you tried I'm surprised you were even able to do that... this is a claymore kid… Isaiah:... it's my family's Greatsword... Cassandra: uh-huh... you do realize greatswords nowadays are practically decorative right? not actually used for fighting anymore. Isaiah:.. that would explain why it was so dull… { Cassandra helps him up and pulls out her own sword which is much thinner and medium-sized; she hands it over to him} Cassandra: there.  Better? Isaiah: yeah I'm actually kind of surprised at how much lighter this one feels. Cassandra:  your stance was all wrong your legs were crooked. don't Point them inward.  Point your knees outward and lift with your knees only curl your back when you're going to swing.  as for your aim might be a little more difficult for you considering your eye... your depth perception must be crap. Isaiah: hey! Cassandra:  I'm just speaking the truth kid… { she moves behind him and Maneuvers him into the correct position} Cassandra: there... Try it now. { Isaiah eyes her curiously before going to swing;  he cuts the log in half perfectly} Isaiah: I..I did it..I DID IT! Cassandra:  you sure did kid. Isaiah: thank you,  Miss... I didn't catch your name Cassandra:  my name is Cassandra but you can call me Cass. Isaiah:  I'm Isaiah... {cut to them sitting under a tree and having lunch together laughing} Cassandra: wow.. that is... quite the way to get a scar… Isaiah: yeah I probably should have thought that one through… Cassandra:  when I was younger I knew a kid not too much older than you and he almost crashed me with this giant robot thing… Isaiah:  geez that kid sounds unstable! Haha! Cassandra: yeah... haven't seen him in years... so do your parents know you want to be part of the royal guard or… Isaiah: my dad knows he tries not to show up but I know he's nervous about me joining... I never got to tell Mum… Cassandra: Why is that? Isaiah: I lost my mom when I was really little.  she was killed by Bandits… Cassandra: I'm really sorry about that kid… but you still got your dad right? what does he do? Isaiah: he's an alchemist mostly… {Cassandra looks shell shocked} Isaiah:  apparently he used to do a lot of traveling before I was born and he's best friends with the queen. Apparently she got him out of a lot of trouble when he was younger he won't talk about that though. brings up bad memories you know?  Miss Cass? {cut to Cassandra crying and looking shocked} Isaiah: Miss Cass? what's wrong? are you okay? { Cassandra looks over at him and wipes her tears away} Cassandra: Yeah... just something in my eye… Isaiah: I can tell you're lying trust me that's a line I always use. {Cassandra looks away from him} Cassandra: look all I'm going to say is... I know your dad... or rather I knew him. we were good friends once. Isaiah: really!? Cassandra: let me guess your dad's name is Varian? Isaiah: Yes!  my dad is Varian! when was the last time you two saw each other!? { Cassandra Shuffle uncomfortably} Cassandra: look kid...I’m kinda here for a reason...and it’s not... Isaiah: no yeah I totally get it!  hey you know what we're supposed to be visiting the capitol tomorrow!  why don't you come with me! you guys could see each other again! Cassandra: um kid I… Isaiah: please miss Cassandra? I'm sure it would make my dad really happy to see you again! {Cassandra look sadly at him and then back at the forest where the cult is waiting then back at him; Isaiah is looking up at her with hopeful eyes} Cassandra: alright... I'll meet you at the castle tomorrow…. 

Isaiah: that sounds great! I'll see you there tomorrow! I better return the Greatsword to my family's house before Grandpa realizes it's missing! Cassandra: *Chuckles*  yeah that would probably be a good idea… Isaiah: see you tomorrow miss Cass! and thank you! {her eyes flicker in color and pink magic crackles around her for a moment} Cassandra: Sorry little guy... you're not going to enjoy this at all... { cut to a giant barn where men are loading heavy sacks of grain  to store for the winter} Varian: If we follow this plan we should be able to keep enough grain to last us through winter... I've also put aside some seedlings to test on to see if we can come up with a better Harvest next year. Quirin:  good idea... and maybe we could…. Varian: dad? something wrong? Quirin:  slowly look over towards the northern border of the field... try not to make it obvious… { Varian does as he's told and sees a small group of people in armor trying to hide amongst the trees} Varian: I know those people... I know that armor...Noremoth... it's the cult… Quirin: you mean...that group you were fighting all those years ago? Varian: I thought they died out...they hadn’t made a move in years… Quirin:....I’ll gather the men. Tell them to gather their swords. Varian: don’t make any moves yet...Wheres my son? Quirin: he was out in the orchard. Varian: By himself!? They could have him already! Gather a search party! We need to-ah! {He turns around and Isaiah is right behind him} Varian: Isaiah! Oh, thank goodness! {he grabs him and checks him over} Varian: Isaiah did you see anyone? Did you speak to anyone? Isaiah: uhhh...no...why? Varian: We need to go to the castle! C’mon! Isaiah: Wait what!? Why!? Varian: Isaiah there are things I need to discuss with the queen and I want to keep an eye on you Isaiah: b-but dad- Varian: no buts Isaiah! In the wagon, now! Isaiah:...y-yes, sir... {Cassandra watches from the orchard and walks away with a sad but determined look; cut to Varian keeping the horse at a gallop through Corona’s main roads making people dodge} Isaiah: Ah!...D-dad slow down! You’re gonna hit, someone! Varian: sorry buddy no can do! {He gallops past the guard at the gate} Guard: what the-!? {he pulls the reins to stop the horse; he rushes out and grabs Isaiah and runs carrying him into the castle;  when he reaches the throne room he sets Isaiah down} Varian: Go find princess lily! Find her and both of you go to her room and lock the door! Don’t come out until I or the king or Queen come for you understand!? {Isaiah nods and runs away as Varian runs into the throne room; cut to the royal gardens} Isaiah: Lily? Lily!? Where are you? Lily: hmm? Isaiah: LILY!? {Lily gets up and jogs over from the bench she was reading on} Lily: what? Stop shouting! Isaiah: C’mon! We gotta go! {He pulls her hand} Lily: What why? What’s going on? Isaiah: I don’t know but I think the kingdom is under attack Lily: What!? Isaiah: my dad rushed us here and told me to protect you so come on! {They run through the garden heading to the main door but they hear running from behind} Isaiah: Quick into the bushes Lily! {He puts her in the bushes and picks up a thorned branch and hides; he waits for the person to get close enough before he jumps out and knocks their legs out from under them and points the branch at the once their down} Cassandra: nice job, kid... Isaiah: miss Cass? How did... how did you get here without the guards…? Cassandra: that doesn’t matter now...do you know where your dad is? Isaiah:... why? I thought we agreed we'd meet here tomorrow…? miss Cassandra what's going on? Cassandra: look Isaiah I don't have time!  I know I promised you before but things change… Isaiah:... what are you talking about? Why do you want to see my dad now if you were going to see him tomorrow? Cassandra:... just tell me where he is…I don’t want anyone to get hurt... Isaiah: I…!? {Varian, Eugene, Rapunzel, Lance, and Various guards burst into the courtyard pointing their weapons} Rapunzel: C-Cass? Varian: Cassandra? What? Eugene: Okay I'm confused I thought you said there was a threat… Varian: there was.. I'm sure of it I saw them on the northern border of old Corona! {Cassandra suddenly looks like she's in pain as she holds herself slightly; Noremoth watches from a ways away} Isaiah: M-Miss Cass? Are you okay? {Pink crackles of magic surround her and she grips under her head} Cassandra: please... no... not now… Rapunzel: Cass? { suddenly everything is deathly quiet and Cassandra looks up with pink irises and green scleras;  Varian’s eyes dilate in fear} Varian: no... {Cassandra grabs Isaiah and presses a dagger to his throat; cut to Noremoth and he looks visibly disturbed; cut back to cassandra} Isaiah: AH!...M-miss...Cass? I...I don’t Cassandra:  like I said kid plans change. {Varian begins to panic} Varian: Cassandra please don’t! Cassandra: listen here Varian... you have something that we need... and I think you know exactly what I'm talking about… { Varian puts his hand over one of his vest pockets} Cassandra: Bingo... and let me make this perfectly clear if you want your kid to live I’d just hand it over. Varian: Please Cassandra...he’s just a child...let him go… Rapunzel: Cassandra you don't understand what you've missed in the last couple of years Isaiah is a literally all that Varian has please let him go! Cassandra: Oh Thank you Rapunzel! you reminded me of something!  Here Varian!  I've been meaning to return this to you! { she tosses over Estelles necklace and burying catches it;  he begins visibly shaking} Varian: H-how did...how did you…? Cassandra:  let me ask you something there and did you lie to your son or did you seriously not know? Isaiah: Daddy what’s she talking about? Cassandra: Oh my gosh you really didn't know, did you?   let me tell you it wasn't easy especially that Duke... barreling out of the carriage like that attempting to protect her... it was actually kind of romantic that brings me to a question.  what was she doing with a necklace with your name on it and such a romantic message on the back? wasn't she already married to that Duke? oh my do I sense a scandal? {Varian looks up at her filled with rage} Varian: you...you killed her… {Isaiah looks shell shocked and confused} Isaiah: W-what? Cassandra:  yes indeed I did... we've been calling it a practice round if you will... I was quite new to this power that I now possess.  I needed to learn to control it however it appears I'm “unstable”  however I would have never been able to find that out if it weren't for the lovely duchess so thank you!  thank you for sending them my way. Varian: I’LL KILL YOU! Eugene: Varian trust me I get it but... Rapunzel: We need to keep our heads. Varian: She killed Estelle! I’ll destroy her! {Isaiah begins shaking and whimpering} Cassandra:  tell you what I'll make you a little deal... you give me the moonstone shard and I'll give you back your boy do we have a deal?

{Varian looks Isaiah in the eyes} Isaiah:...Daddy… {Varian reaches into his pocket and takes out a small vial with a glowing shard} Cassandra: Perfect...AH! {Cassandra lets go of Isaiah and falls in pain letting Isaiah run over to his father; it’s revealed an arrow has pierced her shoulder} Cassandra: What in the hell… {Cassandra looks over to see Adira with Princess Lily behind her} Cassandra: you know there are some people that are nice to see you again and then there's you… Lance: that’s my Lady! Woohoo! {Noremoth rushes in and stands between them} Eugene: Now who is this guy!? Varian: Noremoth… Noremoth: Varian you wretch… {he holds up a vial of something} Noremoth: Backup all of you!  if I drop this we all go up in smoke! Rapunzel: what do you want… Noremoth: I want to leave in peace rather than pieces... and I'm taking our vessel with me… Rapunzel:  her name is Cassandra! {Eugene holds her back} Noremoth: eh, tomato...tomato... The point is we are leaving and you will not stop us... understood {Everyone is silent as Noremoth helps Cassandra up and waves his glove, making a portal; the walk through it and leave} Varian: Isaiah are you okay!? {Isaiah sobs loudly into his Father’s chest} Rapunzel: Is he okay!? {Adira walks over and examines his neck} Adira: ...He has a slight cut on his neck but nothing that can't easily be healed. Varian: shhhh...Isaiah...I’m here...it’s okay. I’m here. Isaiah: D-daddy… Varian: shhh..oh baby boy….it’s okay… {Varian looks at the necklace in his hand and down at his son then at his friends before shedding a few tears himself} Varian:...It’s okay...We’re okay… {END CREDITS}

[creampuffqueen]

The Anarchy Sisters- Chapter Four

Sorry it’s been so long since I’ve actually posted any real writing! It may be midnight on a Sunday but I’ve had less sleep before and I was inspired enough to finish the chapter tonight. 

Just a beware, it’s shorter than some of the others, because it just felt like a good place to end it. Either way, I hope you all enjoy it, and I know I would enjoy any feedback this gets :)

Yes, I have read Supernova and know this is definitely not canon compliant, but it was meant to be an AU anyway, so there.

Read this on Ao3 Here!

~~~~

“Adrian!” Ten-year-old Max Everhart stood on his tiptoes to wave to his older brother down in the lobby of HQ. Renegades milled about anxiously, as they had been doing ever since the parade had been aired on TV. 

Adrian and his teammates made their way up to the quarantine as fast as they could; though it was more like a snail’s pace, with the amount of people they had to push through. Max noticed with a start that Danna was missing from the group.

“Hey there, Bandit. What’s up?” Adrian stood with his hands casually in his pockets, but Max could still see where his fingers were fiddling with his marker. He was nervous about something.

A thousand questions were burning in his mind, but Max shoved them all aside and brought up the most important one. “Are Dad and Pops okay?”

The question seemed to make Adrian relax a little, which made Max know his answer instantly. Still, it was nice to hear it from someone’s lips.

“Dad and Pops are fine. And so are the rest of the Council.” Even Ruby and Oscar seemed to breathe a sigh of relief at Adrian’s words. 

“And what about everyone else? Civilians? Did the balloon damage any buildings?” Max couldn’t help the near-interrogation of his brother. The parade had been broadcasted live all over HQ, but after the assasination attempt of Captain Chromium and The Puppeteer’s balloon, the camera crew had instead rushed to help, leaving everyone in the dark about what was going on.

“The only injuries that we were told of were from people tripping over each other trying to get away. Nothing serious.” This time it was Oscar who answered, leaning on his cane as he spoke. Max wondered if that meant he was tired.

“Adrian, can you draw me the balloon?” Max made sure to use the certain smile that he reserved for things like this- asking for his older brother to draw him something he probably would say no to.

And sure enough, Adrian sighed, but pulled out his marker. His sketch of the balloon was rough, but with Adrian’s skills, even his rough drawings were better than the average person’s masterpiece.

 The balloon was slowly pushed through the glass, and when Max reached over to grab it, he let out a soft gasp and a “woah”. The balloon was floating, despite the fact it was made of glass. 

Max grinned at Adrian, holding the basket of the balloon delicately, so it wouldn’t float away, but so it wouldn’t shatter either.

“Thanks.” Adrian shrugged, like it was no big deal- like anyone could just casually make a drawing come to life and float through the air. It never failed to amaze Max how humble his brother was.

Max brought the balloon over to his ever-growing rendition of Gatlon City in glass. He put the balloon into the street that the parade had taken place in, where several miniature glass sculptures of the floats were. Adrian had drawn him some that morning, allowing him a sneak peak at the surprise floats.

He placed a few glass figurines inside the basket, weighing the balloon down enough that it hovered a few inches off the ground. Max turned around and gave a thumbs up. Adrian smiled back, and waved, and then walked off to join his teammates. 

And though he was turned away, Max thought, for a split second, he had seen a concerned frown cross Adrian’s face. His brother was bothered by something- something he wasn’t telling anyone.

He felt a small pang in his chest, like he did every day. Every time he wished he could step outside his quarantine. He knew it was for everyone’s own good, but he still couldn’t help but feel slightly resentful, of everyone. Because anyone could go ask his brother what was bothering him, chase him down if need be, and anyone could go and hug his Pops, and Max couldn’t. 

Max was aware, like he was every day, that he’d give up everything in an instant. All his powers, he’d lose them. If only he could be normal. 

He trailed away from the glass city, feeling tired. Tired of hoping and wishing and feeling sad for himself. Adrian and his team didn’t look back, but Max did. And he wished that, for once, maybe they’d look back.

But of course, Max couldn’t begrudge them. He couldn’t. They were Renegades, true, working, Renegades. Not like him, his title only and honorary one. Adrian and his team had work to do. And with the assassination attempt on the Captain, it seemed their work would be cut out for them.

He sulked back to his bedroom; if one could call it that. Was a curtained off section in a glass quarantine a bedroom? The floor, like the rest of the room, was totally glass. The only area that was truly private was the restroom, and that was so small he was practically in the sink while he used the toilet.

Max was curled on his bed, still in his pajamas, ready to take a nap so maybe he wouldn’t feel quite so sorry for him, when a loud rap on the glass shocked him out of it.

He pulled himself off the bed and the comforter decorated with comic book panels, and trudged to the window.

When he saw who was awaiting him, he didn’t bother to hide his groan or eye roll. Maggie.

The girl was standing with her arms crossed, like she always did. Maggie could be a nice girl… every now and then. Max could count said instances on one hand.

“Magpie.” He started neutrally. 

She sighed, not moving her arms. “Bandit.”

“Do you need something?” He asked, growing slightly annoyed.

Maggie sighed again, shaking her head. Her dark hair was cut to her collarbone, and it swayed with her head when she moved it. Max found it distracting.

“If there’s nothing you need, I’m going back.” 

“No, don’t go. I do need something from you.” As Maggie spoke, her own teammates crept up to the quarantine, looking pityingly at Max.

Linette, alias Spitfire, made her way to Maggie to stand by her and look mildly threatening. Daniel, alias Worldwide, stood off to the side more, though he didn’t look any less upset.

“Great.” Max muttered under his breath. “What can I do for you, oh so mighty Magpie?”

“If you’re going to be annoying then I won’t ask.”

“Fine by me,” Max retorted, “I don’t really care if you talk to me or not.”

Linette elbowed Maggie sharply, earning a muffled curse from the other girl. Linette leaned in and whispered something, and Maggie groaned audibly, but uncrossed her arms.

“We want a favor. It’s not just for me, it’s for my team, too.”

“Hit me.” Max sighed. “What is it now?” It wasn’t like Maggie generally asked for things. In fact, she was typically very independent, and so was her fledgeling team. Max knew the trio was working hard to gain respect from the older Renegades. But even so, Maggie was being annoying, and he wasn’t going to just take it. 

“We want you to talk to those dads of yours, and ask them to send different teams for the cleanup that’s bound to happen later. We’re sick of cleaning up messes. We want to be on patrols, or even just part of a night watch team.” Maggie bit her lip, then stopped and put her face in a scowl when she saw him notice. 

Max felt a sudden burst of sympathy for the girl and her team. He thought about how he’d feel if he was on a team and only ever got to do cleanup, after all the action was over. 

“Fine.” He conceded. “I can’t promise their response, but I will promise to ask them.” Maggie cracked something that was possibly akin to a smile, if you squinted hard enough. Next to her, Linette grinned unabashedly. And Daniel bumped his fist against the glass walls, like Adrian and Oscar sometimes did. 

The girls of the team trailed off, Maggie practically dragging Linette away, as if she couldn’t stand to be near him any longer, but Daniel stayed for a moment longer.

“You know, Bandit, Maggie isn’t always like this. She’s cool, most of the time.” He brushed his turquoise-tipped hair out of his face, which gave Max the bizarre thought that maybe he should dye his hair. 

“Well, I have yet to see any proof of that, so-”

Daniel snorted. “Fair enough. See you later.” The boy trailed off, humming something to himself in a foreign language, fiddling with a necklace on his throat. 

And even though he didn’t specifically want those friends, Max couldn’t help but speculate that having friends his age, instead of people nearing adulthood, might be nice. 

Yeah, he thought, watching Daniel and Linette and Maggie skirt through the crowds in the HQ, it might be nice.

~~~~

Later, when most everyone was in bed and most of the excitement of the day had died down, Max sat cross-legged on the floor of his quarantine and played cards with his dad.

They were playing Battle, which was Max’s current obsessive card game. His dad refused to teach him Poker or Blackjack, and Speed got boring after a few rounds. Battle was a game of pure luck, and Max could appreciate that.

“Battle!” He said with a grin, placing down a four of spades as Hugh placed down the same number, but in hearts. Hugh smiled back at him and placed three cards facedown. 

Max locked eyes with his dad and counted down dramatically, “Three, two… one!” The cards were flipped over, and Max cackled as he saw he had the larger one. He swept Hugh’s pile over to his and sorted through them quickly, adding them to his deck as he went. 

“A king! And a ten, and… an ace!” Hugh groaned, though the smile didn’t leave his face. The pair went back to slapping down cards and pushed them towards the other, Max’s deck increasing rapidly.

They had another battle, in which Max lost, but only gave away bad cards. They fell into comfortable silence in the almost-darkness of the Renegades HQ.

“Battle.” The cards were pulled, then they were flipped, and Max laughed again as his father gave away another ace. He showed off the card with a smirk, and Hugh chuckled. 

“Damn, Max, you’re lucky tonight.” Then he slapped a hand over his mouth, before quickly correcting himself. “I mean, dang, Max.” The ten-year-old boy snorted.

“Dad, I’m not that innocent. You should hear the kind of things Adrian’s team says. Ruby has a really filthy mouth sometimes, you know.” Max placed down another card to keep the game going.

“Well,” Hugh said, “I’m going to have to talk with your brother. They shouldn’t be using that kind of language around you-”

“Dad, don’t. You’re being such a dad.” Hugh rolled his eyes.

“Max, I am your dad. This is my job.”

“Well, Dad, can I dye my hair?” Max asked, using the same endearing grin that had worked on Adrian earlier.

“What? Where did that come from?” Hugh sighed as he lost another card to his son. 

“Daniel has his hair dyed blue. Just the tips.”

“No, you’re not dying your hair.” He stated firmly. “You’re ten years old, Max. Daniel is what, fifteen?”

“He’s twelve, Dad. And he’s the oldest of his team. Maggie and Linette are both eleven.”

“My answer is still no. And battle.” Max placed down three cards, noticing with a smirk that Hugh only had three cards left. He made sure to make a big show of removing one of his cards so he could rub it in his face that he was winning.

Hugh won the battle, much to Max’s dismay. Even so, he still had nearly the entire deck.

“Speaking of Daniel’s team, they asked me a favor today.” Max started out as nonchalantly as possible. He wanted to ask Simon, because he knew his Pops was a little more lenient with the younger teams, but Hugh was here now, and it needed to be asked.

“And what would that favor be?” Hugh won three rounds in a row, and Max had to hold back a curse. He had been so close to winning; he couldn’t let Hugh make a comeback now.

“Well, they wanted me to ask you if they could get another duty besides cleanup. They said they’re sick of cleaning up others’ messes and missing all the action.”

At that, Hugh stopped playing, pinning Max with a serious, Captain Chromium Look. Max gulped.

“Max.” Hugh started. “This isn’t okay. I don’t want people trying to get in with your dad, me, or the rest of the Council through you. You aren’t a go-between for complaints. I’m going to go talk to them.”

“But Dad,” Max countered, “Why do they have to be on cleanup all the time? They have really useful skills; I mean, Linette can breathe freaking fire, but you don’t want her on patrols?”

“It’s not a matter of abilities, Max. They’re kids, hardly older than you, and while it’s noble that they want to help the Renegades, I don’t want to risk their safety.” Max hated that he made sense.

“Alright. But don’t get them in too much trouble, please? They’re pretty nice- or at least some of them are.” Hugh nodded, the Look fading off his features as he reached out to ruffle Max’s shaggy hair.

“I promise I won’t. And now- can you beat that?” Max looked down to see Hugh slap a two of clubs onto the glass floor. The man snorted, obviously amused, until Max placed down another two, and the look changed to amazement. 

“What are they odds?” He muttered, placing down cards for another battle. Max won with a ten, leaving Hugh with one card. 

Max’s dad placed his final card, a six, and Max put down a jack. With a cackle, Max swept away the card and held it triumphantly over his head. Hugh groaned as his son danced away with the deck, holding up his win for the very few people still in HQ to see. 

When he sat back down, panting from laughter, Hugh leaned in to give him a hug. “Gotta go, bud. It’s late, and you need to get to bed.”

“Yeah.” Max conceded, feeling a yawn coming on from the mere mention of sleep. “But Dad, can I ask you something first?”

“Of course, Max.” 

The yawn happened, and his face scrunched for a moment, but when it was over he looked up to his dad. “Can you maybe consider giving the younger teams some other duties? Like, not all the time, but maybe every now and then? Just so they don’t get so bored?”

Hugh was silent for a moment, but he finally sighed and said, “I can’t promise, because it takes some work to rearrange the schedules, but I will consider it. That I can promise.”

“Thank you, Dad.” He let Hugh pull him into a tight, bone-crushing hug, and melted into him. It was so nice to be held.

“You go to bed, Max. We have a long day tomorrow.”

“Cleaning up from the parade?”

Hugh grimaced. “That, but other things too. The Renegades Trials are coming up in a week.”

[swordmeetssorcery]

Getting Out Of Town

“I hear you’re the one to see for getting things out of the city gates without mayor or baron being the wiser.”

The man had approached literally hat in hand. Middle aged and thick in the middle, sweating through his coarsely woven clothes, he stood by the table, wringing his hands in his cap. The one he addressed occupied a corner table along with a handful of well dressed but rough looking folk. Their conversation stopped and they turned as one to glare at the newcomer who realized he’d apparently made some breach of etiquette.

A woman with scars on her face as well as her knuckles reached for her dagger as she growled “You have a loose tongue, baker. Yes, I know who you are; I’ve seen you. Aefsheen, would you like me to remove that tongue before it does any damage?”

“No, Danniven. I don’t think that’ll be necessary. Well… yet, anyway. Friends, give me the table, please. Danniven, do please keep an eye pointed this way, though.” As the others left the table, the mustachioed and goateed half elf with the purple eyes and shoulder length blonde hair motioned to the chair recently vacated by the sullen Danniven.

“First things first. Never talk openly about any business that can get a person thrown into gaol or dungeon. Danniven’s less friendly than I, but more friendly than some. You’ll save yourself a lot of grief to remember that. As to my business, it’s mine to know. I don’t know where you get your information, but for argument’s sake let’s say you’ve heard correctly. Who are you, aside from a baker, and why are you trying to move pastries out of the city gates under the noses of our fine watchmen?”

“Oh, sir! I do apologize – I swear upon my life I meant no harm. I’m Orthis Greenleaf, and it’s just that I’m quite desperate, you see. It’s not my baked goods I’m looking to sneak out of the city. Have you ever smuggled people?”

Aefsheen’s hand dropped to the dagger on his belt. “Fuck off. I don’t work with slavers. Leave now, and be quick about it lest I let Danniven have her way after all – she hasn’t spilled blood in so long she’s antsy. Or I may skewer you myself.”

“Sir, no. Nononono…

It’s my own son, sir.”

“I’m intrigued. Continue, but stop calling me ‘sir’. I’m no lord.”

Greenleaf stammered on “Of course, Mr. Aefsheen. My boy, he meant no harm, y’see. There was a youth; barely begun to have a peach’s worth of fuzz on his chin, and he was stuffing sweet rolls in his pockets and ran from the shop. Well, of course my boy Errod ran after him – we can’t afford to feed thieves; we barely support ourselves most days. Well, he caught up with the kid and gave him a sound whopping about the ears and retrieved our merchandise, what hadn’t been smashed flat in the pursuit and scuffle.”

“Completely understandable. What’s the problem?” Aefsheen interjected.

“Yeah, well. Turns out the young rascal’s noble born. Was just out stealing sweets for a lark. Found out what happens when you get caught with another man’s property down in our part of town, eh? Well, by the time he gets home, he has the story all twisted to say that he’d merely complained about the flatness of the rolls and that my boy thrashed him over the insult. Of course he had his squashed ‘evidence’ in hand to back up his case, so his lordship father talked to his friend the judge, and they’ve sentenced my boy to a year in the dungeon, but they say they’ll send him to the headsman’s block if he doesn’t show himself within two days.

Mr. Aefsheen, he’s only fifteen himself, and no thug nor thief. He’s only ever played children’s games and worked in the family bakery. He won’t survive a year there, especially knowing he did nothing wrong.

I’ve heard tell of sanctuary settlements where one can pay an entry fee and hide away until matters like this are either settled or forgotten about. Is this true? Do you know where one is? Could you get my boy there?”

Aefsheen took a long draught of his mead, thinking it over. The story sounded plausible. True, the man could be a spy sent by the guard. But that seemed an excessive amount of trouble to catch one smuggler in a city full of larger threats. Plus the man didn’t seem like a spy – he’d nearly shit himself when confronted by Danniven, and still seemed nervous. The half elf was inclined to believe the story. Plus, he hadn’t had a job in a while, and his resources were dwindling. He had a lifestyle and image to maintain, after all. He was inclined to take the gamble. Then again, as the man had said, he had limited resources. How would he be able to pay both Aefsheen and the Sanctuary Guild?

“Alright, Orthis. Again, purely for the sake of conversation, let’s say I’m the kind of man to do the job you need. You do realize it’s not charity work, don’t you? And, hypothetically speaking of course, if these sanctuaries were to be more than rumor, well, they’d definitely cost money as well. You yourself stated you do well to support your family most days. How would you propose to pay?”

“I was hoping to work out a sort of barter arrangement, to be honest. Mr. Aefsheen, I could provide you food for free. If you can save my boy from the chopping block or the dungeon, I’d feed you for life if that’s what you demand. As for those that would hide Errod, I do have a bit of coin saved aside. I’ll send it with him and hope that it’s enough.”

Aefsheen took another pull on his goblet, and motioned the serving girl to bring him another and one for Orthis. Free food for life seemed a good deal if the baker and his family could live up to it. Sure, he traveled most of the time, but having food provided for his mother would surely ease his expenses quite a bit.

“Orthis, I can’t speak for the Sanctuary Guild, but as for my payment, I believe we can work something out. Now, before we get into the particulars, I want to warn you that although I travel and am away most of the time, if at any time you inform on me to the guard, or to anyone, or in any way try to renege on our arrangement, Danniven will pay a midnight visit to you and your family. Now, let’s put aside that serious bit and enjoy a drink while we iron out the details.”

It took a couple of days’ worth of inquiries and bribes, but Aefsheen was able to confirm the baker’s story. A local minor nobleman apparently wanted the boy’s head on a stick. Upon obtaining that information, he met with Danniven to put a plan in motion.

  Orthis and Errod walked out of the bakery in the dim, predawn light, Errod carrying a small bindle of clothing under his arm and Orthis pushing a cart full of various loaves of bread and sweets. Aefsheen stood by a large covered wagon, wearing a traveler’s cloak over simple and rugged clothing, looking much more like a wagoner than he had when Orthis last saw him. “All right, gentlemen, if you’ll follow me to the back here. There we go, young lad. Up into the wagon with you.”

Orthis and Errod looked inside the wagon and took in its contents: assorted cookware hanging from hooks on the framework of the cover, a couple of rolls of bedding tucked into a corner, a bundle of what looked to be flatware and drinking vessels in another corner. Sturdily built floor with broad benches along the sides. “What if the guards happen to look inside for him? Are you just going to cover him with this load of bread?” Orthis seemed dubious.

Aefsheen laughed “Well, in a manner of speaking, yes.” He climbed up past Errod, and fidgeted with a nail in the floor by the bedrolls. Very subtly, a trapdoor lifted ever so slightly in the floor. Aefsheen caught the edge of it with his fingertips and lifted it, revealing a hidden cargo space just big enough that two adults could lie down inside it and almost be comfortable. “Errod will be just fine in here for an hour or so. We’ll load the bread into the wagon and no one will give it a second glance. Once we’re out of sight of the gates, I’ll let him out and he can ride in the back until I’m sure I wasn’t followed, then he can move up front with me and ride in the open air.”

“What if you are stopped and questioned, though?” “Orthis, this is far from my first time passing through those gates with contraband. I have a legitimate cargo for them to see, so there’s really no worry about me being detained. Just in case, however, I will have an unseen escort to the gates. You haven’t even noticed your old pal Danniven in the shadows across the street, have you? Or the friends accompanying her, for that matter. It’ll be fine. Also…” He lifted the driver’s seat bench to reveal the storage space underneath it, and pulled up the hilt of his rapier. “I’ll wear this along with my dagger once we’re outside the city and free from legal restraint. I also have a bow and a quiver of arrows in there which ride in the holder you can see beside the seat, so I’m not worried about bandits, either. Now, just remember to deliver the fee to this address.” Aefsheen handed him a slip of paper. “I’ll rarely be there, but that’s where the food is to go every morning. Avoid being seen or talking to the lady who lives there, but if you’re ever asked about payment, just say it’s been taken care of. And remember, she’s watched, so keep your bargain.

“Now, Errod, into the box with you, while your father and I bury you in bread.” Aefsheen laughed, but neither Orthis nor Errod seemed to appreciate the use of the word “bury”. Father and son said their goodbyes and embraced before the younger climbed into the hidden hold, clutching his bindle. Orthis handed him a small bag of coins. “Hopefully this will be enough to buy you lodging for a bit, son.” Once the trapdoor was back in place, Orthis could no longer make out its outline, despite knowing where to look.

Within a few minutes, the wagon was loaded with baskets of bread and sweet rolls. Aefsheen shook Orthis’ hand and reassured him that the boy would be fine. He climbed up to the driver’s seat and shook the reins, and off they went down the cobblestone street, as the morning sky reddened into dawn. Orthis just barely saw the movement in the shadows across the street, moving off in the same direction as the wagon.

As he expected, at the gate, the guardsmen merely waved him through – just another traveler leaving the city.  They didn’t even bat an eye when he stopped to drape the baldric holding his sword over his shoulder – it was a perfectly routine sight to them. Once past a rise in the road, he pulled over and moved enough of the bread to open the trapdoor and let the boy out of hiding. Aside from frazzled nerves and minor bruising from the rough cobblestone streets, Errod was fine. Once they passed the first crossroad, Aefsheen invited the boy to move up front and get some air along with his first glimpse of the world beyond the gates of Oakyard.

Errod marveled at the sights of the land: wide open farmland, as far as he could see on either side of the road, being tilled by men behind donkeys or mules pulling plows, dotted here and there with small thickets of forest. He saw various animals from his perch on the driver’s seat - various birds, both game and predators, as well as deer and rabbits, none of which he had ever seen outside a butcher’s shop.  Once they saw a small group of men hunkered by a fire along the side of the road. Aefsheen took the bow out of its holder and laid it across his lap as a precaution, and handed his dagger to Errod. They kept a wary eye on the ragtag group, who turned out to merely be travelers stopping for a rest, or at least bandits who’d decided the modest looking wagon wasn’t worth the risk the bow presented. At any rate, the pair rolled on past without incident and shortly returned the bow to its holder and the dagger to its sheath on Aefsheen’s belt.

As the sun began to set on the western horizon, Aefsheen pulled the wagon off the road and behind a small stand of trees so as not to be noticed from the highway. They built a small fire and Aefsheen handed a bedroll to Errod. They ate a supper made from preserved meats that Aefsheen had stored away, augmented by bread baked early that morning. The night passed without incident, and they broke their fast with some of the sweet pastries.

The Great Road they traveled was part of the vast network of such highways commissioned by the ancient King Rothnik to connect the capitals of the five baronies after conquering neighboring kings and making them barons under his rule. His idea was to make the transportation of trade goods and troops easier and quicker, and it worked fairly well. At least when it was maintained and patrolled. Both of which fluctuated from barony to barony and generation to generation. At any rate, the large flat stones used to pave it made for much easier going than a regular dirt road. By the end of the second day, they came to the North River.

As they approached the North River crossing, they saw the village of Stickbridge on the southern bank. Stickbridge was not much more than a way stop for travelers and a supply point for local farmers and craftsmen. It was getting late, and Errod was afraid Aefsheen might stop in town for the night, and voiced his concern over being noticed as a fugitive.

“Relax. It’s some local man with money who wants you, not the Baron. That nobleman is unknown here, and his reach doesn’t extend this far. Nobody here would even know about you. And with no reward, they wouldn’t care, either. But don’t fret – I plan to drive on through this town anyway. But if all goes well, we won’t have to camp another night, though.”

The Great Road served as Stickbridge’s main street, and Aefsheen hardly slowed the wagon as they rolled through town ignoring both the gawking stares of farmers and the hawking calls of tavern keepers trying to draw business.

The sun was setting as they exited the village, and in the waning light, they could just make out the edge of a lake off to the east. As they came upon a flat section of ground that looked hardened and rutted from frequent use, Aefsheen turned off toward the lake. Errod wanted to ask him about the turn, but a look at Aefsheen’s tensed jaw told him the question was likely best left unasked.

“There’s said to be a safehouse near the lake. I’ll be honest with you – I believe it’s here, but I’ve never visited it myself, and I don’t know how welcoming they are. However, providing sanctuary is their business, so they’ll talk to us at least. I just don’t know if that small sack of coin your father gave you will meet their fee. We’ll find out.” A glance over at the boy showed he was spooked at the thought of not being allowed in. “It’ll work out one way or another, Errod. I made a deal with your father to get you to safe hiding, and if it’s not here, I’ll find a place for you elsewhere. You don’t get far in my business by not honoring agreements."

They were making their way along a path that was barely more than earth packed hard from hooves and boots between two wagon ruts. Errod could barely see twenty feet in front of them in the gloom, but Aefsheen’s elf-descended eyes could make out some sort of fortification ahead, just past the trees and before the lakeshore.

Even as prepared as he thought he was, Aefsheen’s sharp eyes didn’t see the man until he stepped out into the road. At the sight of the chainmail clad dwarf, Aefsheen instinctively reached for his rapier. When an arrow from an unseen bow struck the side of the wagon, he released the hilt before drawing the blade. The dwarf stood steady, war pick hanging loosely in his relaxed grip. “Who are you, and what do you want here?” demanded the bearded warrior blocking their progress and taking a step closer to them.

“I’m called Aefsheen Silverthorn of Oakyard, and my traveling companion would prefer to remain nameless for the moment, if that suffices.” Aefsheen answered, then continued speaking in a sort of language Errod couldn’t make out. It was odd to him, because he knew about half the words coming out of Aefsheen’s mouth, but the phrasing and context made no sense to him whatsoever. It was very confusing and a bit dizzying to try to decipher. The dwarf answered, and they went back and forth for a few minutes before he stepped forward and retrieved the arrow from the wagon and slipped back into the cover of the foliage.

 “What was that all about?” Errod inquired. Aefsheen explained: “There’s a secret tongue, nearly universal throughout the kingdom of Pentalohr among folk of certain professions. It’s based on the Common language, but it uses misdirection and invented words so that the uninitiated can’t eavesdrop on private discussions. Had I spoken plainly, we may very well have been buried in these woods or sunk in that lake by morning. As it is, I’ve gained us progress to the gates at least. Let’s see what awaits us there.”

 As they exited the wood, they saw a massive, walled estate ahead of them, against the backdrop of the lake beyond. They could make out the rooftop of a large central mansion along with several other buildings. There seemed to be room within the fortification for more buildings that perhaps just weren’t tall enough to be seen above the wall. And fortification seemed to be the right word for it. It was no fortress to withstand a military siege, by any means, but it had high walls, at least fifteen feet tall, with arrow slits flanking the massive front gate. The tops of the wall had broken glass set into the stone to prevent scalers from easily climbing over, and at the base of the wall was a trench filled with sharp brambles.

 Aefsheen’s sharp eyes just caught a glint of reflected light off the edge of an arrowhead being aimed from inside one of the archer’s posts as a lone man, finely dressed and unarmed, strode out to the middle of the bridge that spanned the trench.  

Speaking plainly, this newcomer said “State your business, and be quick. I was about to have my dinner.” “I don’t need sanctuary for myself – I’m merely transporting the lad here. Although if you’d allow me, I’d gladly pay you for a night’s lodging and a meal rather than go back and have something surely inferior in Stickbridge. “ “We aren’t an inn or pub here. We provide sanctuary from hunters, whether it be for a night or a year. I’m sure you know our fee. No? Well, then: half of your valuables, and you help with day to day labor while here. Open your wagon and let me see the contents.” Aefsheen led the man to the back of the wagon, careful not to let his hands stray too close to sword or dagger. He opened the flap to display the baskets of bread and pastries.

“In addition to a meager amount of coins, the lad works for his father as a baker, and brings this load of loaves, rolls, and pastries to supplement payment.”

The man addressed Errod “And why do you seek sanctuary, boy? What have you done that’s so bad? Tell me the truth, and hold nothing back – I’ll know if you lie. I ask because those who come here are usually a bit more hardened and weathered than you appear to be.”

“Sir, my name is Errod and I beat a boy who was stealing our wares. He turned out to be the son of a noble in my city and lied to his father about the circumstances of the fight. The nobleman has a judge friend who has sentenced me to a year in the dungeon, or beheading if I didn’t turn myself in by dawn two days ago.  My father scraped together all the coin our family had that wasn’t owed to suppliers for the bakery and sent me with Mr. Aefsheen here to find safety away from Oakyard.”

 “Aesfsheen, is it? How did you get the boy past the gates? If they wanted his head on a pike, surely they guards were told to look for him. Did you just pile baked goods on top of him and get lucky?”

“I don’t think they expected Errod to have the means to leave the city. They didn’t bat an eye at me at the gate. Besides, I have ways of moving things from place to place unseen “. Aefsheen replied with a crooked grin.

 “Show me. Now, before the sun is all the way down. Don’t waste my time, traveler.”

 Aefsheen, thinking about the arrowhead he’d spied earlier, felt he had no option, so he moved the bread aside and flipped the catch to reveal the hidden compartment. He explained that since the space didn’t extend to the edges of the wagon, one would practically have to crawl underneath to notice it, and gate guards rarely were motivated enough to get their uniforms muddy. He also pointed out that the benches along the sides of the interior were hollow and that most people didn’t even think to check them. “For particularly valuable cargo, I’ll cover the floor of the wagon with something distasteful and sometimes smelly. Like leaking barrels of fish, or manure. And for those that do insist on checking, well…” He patted his scabbard. “I haven’t lost a cargo yet. I may have had to find a different route, but I’ve always delivered.”

The man held out his hand “Aefsheen, my name is Celigg. I’m the Senior Guildmaster at this house. I’m impressed with your ingenuity and I’d like to invite you to be my dinner guest and to stay the night after all.

Young Errod, do you bake, or do you just help haul dough?”

“Oh, I’m no apprentice, sir. I’ve been working in the family bakery since I could walk. I didn’t serve a formal apprenticeship, but I know enough to run a bakery myself. Pa’s even started teaching me the accounting part a bit. I know my way around a kitchen, too. Can’t stuff a roll with sausage or bacon if you don’t know how to cook those, eh?” “Errod, this may be your lucky day. For one thing, we’ll take all this bread as your payment. If you stay on as our guest, your work will start the day after tomorrow. However, as it happens, our old cook died last week. Nothing sinister; he was an old man. But it does leave us shorthanded in the kitchen. If you’re interested, and if you cook as well as you say, we may take you on. Curb your excitement, boy. You don’t even know what this offer means yet. It’s no job you can wander away from in a few months’ time. It will require a longstanding commitment to the Guild. Don’t worry yourself over it tonight, though. Eat and relax. One of my guild brothers will explain everything to you tomorrow and you’ll have plenty of time to think it over.

 As they ate a hot dinner of freshly hunted pheasant and vegetables grown on guild grounds, Aefsheen took in the richly appointed dining room and furnishings. “Benefits of the station” according to Celigg and his two co-guildmasters. They explained to Aefsheen that each house of the Sanctuary Guild was governed by a triumvirate of masters: a spell caster, a man with strong ties to the criminal underground, and a warrior. This provided each house with connections to a local network as well as coordination of both physical and magical defense. They seemed very interested in Aefsheen and his wagon. He explained how he’d designed it with the help of the master of his local thieves’ guild in Oakyard, where he’d grown up.

 “Aefsheen, we have a package we need delivered to Seaspray. It needs to be delivered in secret. We’ll provide you with the address and the name of whom to ask for when you arrive. Do you think you can do that?” “Of course I can. In addition to my fee, I’ll need some sort of decoy cargo. I’ll look very suspicious coming into a trade hub with no merchandise. If you don’t have anything, you can pay me extra to cover purchasing something along the way.”

 The guildmasters at first seemed taken aback that he’d ask for extra money, then the obvious warrior of the three threw his head back and laughed. “You have some large stones, boy! I think I like you.”

 And thus began Aefsheen Silverthorn’s association with the Sanctuary Guild.

(Copyright 2020 Robert Worth Cadenhead, Jr)

[faejilly]

Tides of Grief

so. literally over five years ago @leahazel​ prompted some Theia Hawke/Meredith Stannard because, idek, we are evil and appreciate some fucked up power dynamics? And the world needs more f/f fic. Or something. anyways. I wrote a scene rather than a story, but I liked it both in and of itself and as a concept and have over the years occasionally written another “Theia Manipulates Powerful People (probably with sex)” vignette... they’re all here on AO3 in case you’d like to go in order. They kind of make more sense that way. As much sense as Theia ever does, anyways.

This one takes place between Act II & Act III and is for @thedivinemissema​ because she helped. And also because Bran. Because we love him. For once Theia may not be the one manipulating the room... 

The guard's voice was sharp and flat and meaningless. It ought to have meaning, right? Did everyone, didn't they used to... She thought about breathing. Didn't think about how heavy her shoulders were, how long it took to fill her lungs, to empty them again. Realized that while she'd been thinking about breathing she'd forgotten about her face, she couldn't ever forget about her face, she knew that, she knew better, she was better than this...

She had been better at this, once upon a time.

That ought to worry her.

Lots of things ought to worry her.

Instead her feet ached and her shoulders were too tense and her hands were too limp by her sides. She didn't have anything left to spare for worry.

The people around her were so dim and dull, shadows against too bright walls. She nudged one, and it went precisely where she'd wanted it to go; whispered to another and tilted her head to listen to its footsteps as it fled.

Such dull little pieces, so easy to move.

The guard was gone.

She'd dealt with it.

Hadn't she?

Dear Maker, she had to have dealt with it, what would happen if she hadn't, who would be around the corner, what might...

She had. She had, she had, she had dealt with it. Of course she had. She dealt with everyone.

It was so easy.

So impossible.

Impossible was still easier than opening her eyes every morning.

People ran away from her. That was still easy. Had it always been so easy, had they always been so fragile, so easy to push away?

She used to have to think about it, didn't she, who wanted what and how to...

The least notice for the most reward.

She used to be...

She was on the wrong side of the windows now, they were all looking out at her, hidden behind the sun's reflection, the shadows of the walls, it was supposed to be the other way around, she was supposed to be watching them, wasn't she?

They were going to watch, now, forever, she was never going to be able to hide again.

No, no, she'd always be able to hide. She could do this. She could, she would, she was doing it.

They were nothing to worry about, no one was left to fear. No one to fear for. Not really.

Why was she afraid?

They were nothing. Most people were like the sock-puppets Bethany and Carver used to make from bits and pieces snagged from the Leandra's darning basket, their lives like the stories children would tell each other.

Such silly voices as they popped them up over the edge of the table.

Such mismatched little pieces to make a whole, scrapped cloth patches and ears and hair, eyes different colored buttons, crooked unevenly stitched mouths, holes worn in inconvenient places.

Was there a convenient place to be worn through?

Hawke wondered what had happened to her puppeteer. She used to have one? She didn't, she hadn't, she was much too hollow, a sock, abandoned on the floor, forgotten.

The other puppets didn't seem to notice that she was empty. They didn't look at her the same as they used to, no, more of them were afraid now, more of them knew... but they didn't know that she was even weaker than they were, that she was empty. They couldn't know, or they wouldn't jump when she looked at them, wouldn't dance when she gestured, as if afraid of what she might do.

She supposed it was good they were afraid. They'd stopped asking her for help with that gang or those bandits or the mysterious whispers that grew in the shadows in Darktown. What was she going to do about shadows and blood and bandits and thieves?

She was just a sock.

Nothing to be afraid of...

No one to be afraid of here.

Except for Bran.

He actually looked, and she'd been trying to avoid him, avoid the looking. Bran always looked, always saw, always knew, knew as much as she used to, knew more than she did, now.

She wondered if Bran still knew how to sleep. She used to know how to sleep. Maybe Bran had figured out how not to dream. He'd always been a smart one. Maybe she could ask...

No. He was too smart. She wasn't supposed to let the smart ones notice, not now, not here... but he'd asked her to come and if she didn't someone else might look, someone worse.

Was there worse than Bran? His eyes were so very dark, heavy and still sharp, unlike the odd blunt feeling in her chest like she was over-stuffed.

Wasn't she empty yesterday?

She wasn't sure which was true, which was worse.

Is there worse left in the world?

Probably not.

Father, Bethany, Carver.

But just in case. She still had to be careful. Somehow. Didn't she?

Mother. Cafall?

The world was nothing if not inventive in its cruelty.

Gascard.

She used to like that about it.

Saemus, Marlowe.

No. She'd never liked cruelty.

Isabela. Merrill?

She used to be able to use it.

The Arishok.

Why was she so unable to deal with it, now that it had turned around and used her?

Useless.

Bran wasn't prone to useless.

And Bran still wanted to see her, thought she was good enough, thought she could do... something. She used to always know what people wanted, didn't she? She didn't now. Did she care?

She wasn't sure.

There was just enough of her left to realize she was worried about that, at least. She needed to be sure of something, anything. One fixed point that wouldn't shimmer away before her eyes.

She needed to know if she could still... anything.

She went.

Bran didn't greet her, only waved her to a chair and then glared over her shoulder 'til she heard the door click shut behind her.

She hadn't gotten rid of that guard. Bran got rid of that guard. Bran was still Bran. She felt her spine ease, just a little, as she almost relaxed back into her chair.

Bran leaned forward at his desk, elbows pressed neatly into the gaps between the paperwork, fingers steepled in front of him as he looked at her.

She let him look. She waited. Maybe he'd think she was looking back. Probably not.

Bran would always be Bran.

His eyes closed, and he sighed. He leaned back, pressing his fingertips to his forehead for a moment before he opened his eyes again.

"I never thought I'd miss the old Hawke."

Hawke didn't know what to say to that. She remembered they'd used to enjoy the sharp glint as they'd glanced at each other across a party or a meeting. She used to count the number of times she could make him roll his eyes and hide her smile.

If she hadn't remembered, she wouldn't have known he was lying.

She always knew when someone was lying. Not anymore.

"Is she still in there somewhere?"

That was a direct question. She had to answer direct questions or people tried to ask more, or people stayed and watched, or people tried to see her. She couldn't let that happen.

She shrugged.

Because that was helpful and exactly the sort of clear response that would get someone to leave her alone. She almost wanted to roll her eyes at herself.

Bran made a pained sort of scoff in the back of his throat, and it was so very clear and curt and precisely how she thought she ought to feel about her own behavior that she felt herself smile, just a little.

Bran's eyebrows lifted, and he pushed his chair back with a soft rub against the carpet, stood and walked around the desk.

He didn't stop there though.

Everyone stopped there, now, everyone always kept some space around her, just enough. Enough for what, exactly, she couldn't seem to recall, but it was enough.

Enough to pretend they were choosing to stay away, enough to pretend they weren't afraid when they were, enough to pretend they didn't know what she could do, what she was.

He took that extra step, he wasn't afraid of what she was, he put his hands on the arms of her chair, thumbs actually touching her arms, leaned in until she was completely boxed-in. That probably ought to scare her. Once upon a time it would have offended her. Once upon a time she would have killed someone for that, or kissed them. Both. Neither. Something. She would have done something. She would have thought of three different options, she would have calculated them all and then picked one.

Maybe not the smartest one, but she would have found one of them interesting enough to try. Once upon a time she had been able to choose what she wanted, and why, and do something about it.

Now she just sat and waited. She still knew how to wait.

Bran wouldn't waste her time. Bran never wasted his own time. Bran was worth the wait.

"She is still in there, isn't she?" Bran was still talking again. Talking about her. She let him. "The one who fucked or blackmailed half of Hightown? The one half of Kirkwall was in love with and the other half terrified of?" He leaned in closer, his lips almost brushing against her cheek, her ear, as his voice dropped, low and soft. "I was always impressed by how those halves seldom correlated as one would have expected."

"Impressed, really?" She knew how she would have said that a year ago, arch and leading, how she would have expected this conversation to end.

A year ago this conversation never would have begun, a year ago no one would have dared, but now her voice was soft and empty and entirely more honest than was safe.

But Bran was safe. He'd always been safe. He'd always known who she was, what sort of person she was, had worked with her and argued with her via one single sharply lifted brow, conceded to her on rare occasions with the barest crooked dip of his chin.

He'd always known.

He always knew.

He was the only one left who knew. The only one who could see her. Who still bothered to look.

Bran was the only one left.

Bran pulled back enough to look her in the face, and something shifted in his eyes, in the line of his shoulders, and she felt the sigh rise up from deep inside him before it wafted gently towards her skin.

"I am sorry for your loss, Theia." He shifted again, hands holding her cheeks, warm and smooth, and he kissed her forehead.

She sensed him stand, the glide of his hands against her skin before they slipped away, the shift of warmth that she couldn't quite feel moving further back, but her eyes were closed, and her throat burned, and she could feel the trail of a tear escaping from between her lashes to travel down her cheek.

She couldn't quite sob, couldn't scream or yell or wail, couldn't let the grief out, not now, not here.

But she could tell it was there, packed tight, filling her full, too full, too much to bear, she'd have to cry soon. Have to take the time. Have to break a few things, probably, once she was safely behind the Estate's walls.

But it was her grief, her plan to start to let it go. She was her own master again, no longer waiting for a hand to steer her.

She wasn't sure how long that took. Her cheeks felt tacky when she lifted her hands to rub her face; more tears had fallen, and it had been long enough they'd almost dried. She sniffed, and opened her eyes, and looked at Bran, calmly sitting behind his desk, writing something.

She'd heard the faint scratch of his quill on paper while she'd been... recovering.

Her throat still burned as she swallowed, and she didn't know what to do with the strange ache between her lungs that she suspected was gratitude.

Bran looked up again, and set his quill down.

"It is nice to see you again, Hawke."

She felt the edge of a smile again, felt the amusement shiver deeper than just the surface. Felt the sorrow still waiting beneath it. She'd been gone awhile, hadn't she?

"I am afraid," the barest flick of his fingers, a shadow in his eyes; he was telling the truth, real fear there, however well hidden, "that I must request your assistance."

"You helped me," she started, but he cut her off with another sharp flick of his hand.

"For entirely selfish reasons."

She swallowed her smile, and bowed her head. He was nicer than he wanted to admit. She could respect that. "What do you need?"

"A Viscount."

She reared up at that, eyes widening as she stared at him.

"As I'm not going to get that—" there was the barest shiver of grief in his sigh, and she wondered if anyone had offered condolences for his loss.

"You need someone to keep the worst of Hightown in line?"

He shrugged, hands spread wide in as eloquent a façade of false-humility as she'd ever seen Varric manage.

"Anywhere in particular I should start?"

"The Courts are having some difficulty staying on schedule," his head tilted as if he was searching for a polite euphemism for every day is a chaotic fuck-up; she'd been out of it but not that out of it. The Lords Magistrate had been too cautious after the Viscount's death, had been trying so hard not to draw Meredith's attention that their staffs had run entirely wild.

"Lord and Lady Emerian will be no trouble." The Magistrate's Council was supposed to be a Council of equals, an uneven triumvirate to avoid stalemate.

But the Council, everyone knew, really answered to the Emerians.

The power behind the power.

She'd been good at that.

She'd cultivated them to help her deal with Magistrate Vanard and his petty attempts at revenge after his son's death; and they really were quite easy to deal with... Lord Emerian was a voyeur, preferring the show to the action, while Lady Emerian preferred the company of other ladies, so they'd had quite the difficulty in producing any heirs.

Hawke had enjoyed fucking the lady while her husband watched; she usually managed to get a few rounds in before the Lady was loose enough to be easy and the Lord was hard enough to finish up his business. It had taken only three tries before the Lady was in an interesting condition, and they'd been pleased enough with the experience to keep an eye on the Courts for her, to make sure any cases against her compatriots slipped through the cracks, above and beyond the leash she'd requested for Vanard.

If their history was not enough to convince them to take the initiative to control the Courts, she'd be willing to help them get a spare to support their heir. If even that wasn't enough, she had enough evidence of their arrangement to induce them to behave.

She did so enjoy a foregone conclusion.

Bran slowly lifted one eloquent eyebrow. "I am gratified to hear it. Please do not give me the details."

Gascard would have been delighted by that story.

She swallowed, and blinked, and nodded to Bran to continue.

He didn't speak immediately, and she wished for a moment she was still too numb to notice the slick feel of fear down her throat, a hint of nausea for her nerves. "You have the responsibility of the Viscount's office without the authority," she began, a delicate lift at the end of the sentence to encourage him to finish it.

"There are offices that are used to doing the work to keep the city mostly running, that can continue to do the work as before, as long as no one interferes." Bran's gaze was dark and level and terrifyingly steady. She wasn't sure how he'd managed to cultivate the reputation of a dissolute dandy with a stare like that, capable of terrifying most of the Keep into good behavior.

It was even effective on her. She'd hate to disappoint him. "You mean as long as the Templars don't interfere."

"You are the only person who is likely to successfully distract our dear Knight-Commander."

Hawke clicked her tongue at him. She didn't think Bran meant any of her usual forms of distraction. Stannard wasn't afraid of blackmail, and seducing the woman probably wouldn't work a second time. "You mean I make an excellent scape-goat."

"I think you're clever enough to avoid any inclinations towards sacrifice." He shrugged again, though this time his shoulders were clearly evidencing his regret.

"You hope I avoid sacrifice." Her eyes narrowed at the barest shift in his weight. "You just don't have anyone else with even half a chance who you can afford to lose."

"I did not wish to put it so baldly."

"We so seldom use five words when twenty might do?"

His answering smile was rueful. They were too much alike to be deceived, the either of them. Of course he'd sacrifice her to protect what was his.

Of course she'd try her best; her pride wouldn't allow her otherwise.

"I'm sure I won't need to keep you appraised of my progress." She stood, a drop of her chin in lieu of a proper bow or curtsy.

"I'm sure either success or failure will be egregiously apparent."

She stepped closer, leaned across his desk until she was almost as close as they'd been when he'd surrounded her in his chair, leaned further until she could brush a kiss into the air beside his cheek. "I am also sorry for your loss, Bran."

He blinked, his eyes dark and shining before he blinked again, and bowed his head.

"Thank you, Theia."

"Good-bye, Seneschal."

[orlandodell]

“...I feel I owe you all a story,” Orland said aloud to the room at large. He was still sitting in bed. Rosalina has been kindly placed within arm’s reach, and he took the opportunity to take her into his arms and run his bandaged fingers over her strings. It hurt, but he wasn’t about to let that stop him. “I fear that I have been a rather poor bard as of late... I don’t believe I’ve told you any. Not really.”

He took a minute to fiddle with the lute’s tuning pegs, allowing a smile to cross his face as he glanced up at his friends. He couldn’t believe they’d all waited for him. He didn’t imagine all four would stand vigil outside his prison the way that they did... He looked at Vassa, the first to greet him with an affectionate embrace when he’d emerged, who’d tended to his self-inflicted wounds and cleaned him up. At Naut, who’d refused to let him exert himself, who understood his plight, who’d carried him back to the inn. At Livvy, who’d kept him company, offered her sympathies, fretted over him, gave him her trust. And at Vyth, who’d made the grim promise to break down the door and rescue him had he taken longer... These acts made him feel... well...

“My adventures have been plentiful and exciting, but my favorite story is about my first true quest. Undertaken alone and of my own accord. But the story begins nearly two decades ago... Long before Vassa here was even a twinkle in his mama’s eye~”

He grinned at Vassa especially, then strummed a chord.

“This is the story of how I fell in love~”

“The village of Celosia was quite beautiful, you know. Always springtime, it seemed! Full of fresh, vibrant beauties! The flowers, the trees, the birds and bees and butterflies... and also, of course, the girls~”

“Now you will not be surprised, I think, to know that I held many a lovely lady in my arms in those days! The charms of Orland O’Dell are not easy to resist! And so they were not in those days... I’d courted nearly every girl in the village at least once— had enjoyed their warm embrace, the sweet scent of honey and cream upon their breath, the taste of strawberries upon their lips... A sweet serenade was offered to each, and I had a merry time for many a year!”

“...But there was one girl my music and poetics never seemed to reach. The good mayor’s youngest daughter, stoic and proud and unwavering in her indifference— My dearest Cornflower. She was gone most of the year, off studying at her fancy school in Briarmore. But when she returned, I always greeted her warmly. But my invitations to moonlit strolls, to secret liasons lit by the golden sunset, to dances at the harvest festival... all went unheeded!”

“It was... vexing. But not for long, as I had many other ladies to occupy my time with. I was never lonely, you see. Or so I thought.”

“The good mayor... saw fit to, er... revoke my status as a welcome member of Celosian society around my eighteenth year. And so I lived quite happily in the woods in the outskirts of the village for quite some time! My disguises and illusions helped me walk amongst the people whenever I desired, anyway! And so I continued as I always had.”

“But I now had... a friend. My darling Cornflower felt... pity, I think. For my exile was— well... It’s not important. A story for another day, I think. As it was, I had at least managed to garner her interest! And so she visited in secret, carrying baskets of goods so that I might not have to steal (although it didn’t stop me!). And she would sit with me a while. To our amazement, we found much common ground between us.”

“My romantic poetry had never won her over, but she did enjoy the bardic tales I would weave, having gleaned many from the storybooks I’d managed to scrounge up. As it turned out, Cornflower knew many of them already! Even filled in the gaps in a few of my songs. We spoke of heroes from long ago, of the dragons we hoped to face someday, of the places we wished to see. We spoke of the flowers we both so loved, of the frustrations we felt, of the mysteries of our missing mothers...”

“I also regaled her with tales of my continuing romantic conquests. She seemed unmoved by them. If I wanted a reaction out of her... I was not getting it. I did come to realize that I felt... different with Cornflower than I’d ever felt in the arms of any of the women I was constantly praising in song. Although we’d never kissed, never held each other, never even touched— I felt closer to her than any. Though physically, we may have never brushed each other, our souls, I felt, were very much entwined. Our spirits dancing in time to the tune of our most kindred hearts!”

“How could I let such a beautiful and all-encompassing feeling go unsung?!”

“And so, I waited until the moment was right. The sky was red as the rose, the clouds hanging low and glittering with gold lace along their fringes. The trees were in bloom and the air was sweet and heavy with heather-scent. The breeze carried my Cornflower’s hair along, caressing her dark tresses, dancing and teasing on the wind. Her eyes, dark as a starless night and ever piercing, focused and intense. Utterly enticing. I could not stop myself. Taking Rosalina into my arms, I broke out into my most passionate and ardent heart-song!”

“‘How I do love you!’ I cried! ‘How wonderful is life, that the universe would bring such a creation as you unto me! I love you more with every breath, with every wild beat of my heart, proud and strong! Your smile dims the dawn and brightens the darkest night. Your voice like the echo of time, ringing out and whispering meaning to creation! Would that I could die tomorrow in your arms than live a thousand years without having ever known you! My love, my spring rose, the gift of the universe!”

“And my Cornflower, she looked at me, utterly stunned. Lost for words. Rosalina’s last dying note echoed on the wind, leaving nothing but a ringing silence between us. And I waited.”

“‘Orland,’ she said, and my heart leapt! For there is no more beautiful sound in all the world than somebody you love calling your name! ‘Orland,’ she repeated, and I held on, hardly daring to breathe, awaiting the magic words that would unite us at last.”

“‘You fool,’ she said. ‘How dare you say such things to me?! You have never seen me smile, not once! You weave words like a spell, but they’ll not entrap me! For I know better! You cannot be in love with me. For you have already pledged your heart to another. Yes, you are in love with love! There is no room in your fool heart for anything but that!’”

“...And she stormed off. I did not see her for weeks, and I feared that I had... broken something. In love with love! What a notion! And yet, I knew her words rang with truth. I truly had never seen her smile. I was naught but bluster and wild imagination. But now I had a problem that poetry could not fix! You cannot imagine how it vexed me, tortured me, completely undid me.”

“For how could I convince her of my sincerity when I had already said the same sorts of things to the dozens upon dozens of girls I had already loved and left?”

“I thought, ‘I’ll do something grand! Cornflower loves a hero... I shall prove myself one!’ For Cornflower had a precious keepsake of hers stolen, kept hidden from her by some mighty enemies. I could get it back for her! Only then could she accept my love!”

“And so I set out to Briarmore, with naught but Rosalina at my side. My illusions and disguises were my greatest asset! I stole in, lied my way through the ranks of this most heinous group, located my lady’s most precious brooch... and as I snatched it, I was caught.”

“I had not yet learned to fight. And these seasoned bandits were not inclined to go easy on someone like me. I felt the sting of many blades, but I can only imagine it was my love for Cornflower, my burning desire to escape and see her again and return her beloved mother’s brooch that I found myself wriggling free! My face and arms bore the record of my brave deed, and I smirked to think of Cornflower’s stunned expression upon seeing them. How noble! How dashing! I ran home— or rather, I ran to my former home.”

“I climbed the ivy along the side of the Town Hall, climbed to the window of the topmost bedroom! The one I knew my Cornflower would be sleeping soundly in... And as I looked inside, I saw her, fast asleep. And on her face— ha! The loveliest smile I had ever seen... Alas... She only smiles when dreaming. At that moment, I knew the last thing I wished to do was make that smile disappear.”

“...I stole in as silently as I could. I placed the brooch on her bedside table. And I left. Returning to my makeshift home in the woods, I treated my wounds as best as I could, applying makeup to cover them. And I went back to life as before.”

“You can imagine my amazement when I heard a familiar voice coming from over the hills. ‘Orland!’ Cornflower cried, and I saw her running excitedly down to meet me, brooch in hand. She was burning to discuss the mystery of its return with somebody, and her excitement must have, fortunately, outweighed her anger with me.”

“Can you imagine how difficult it was? To remain silent? To nod along and smile and swallow up all that pride. How torturous! To hide that I was the one to bring her such joy. But somehow... I knew. Perhaps it was a whisper for the universe, telling me that this was something I should keep secret. Cornflower’s joy, it turned out, was its own reward. And my heart felt warm... for I knew it was enough.”

“...But the universe rewards true love. My Cornflower, as I may have mentioned, is outstandingly intelligent. Perceptive and intuitive and smart as a whip. It did not take her long to notice the makeup on my arms. On my face. For her to see past my fake theories on how her brooch came to find its way back to her. For her to put together, in her mind’s eye, the truth of the matter. I consider myself a wonderful actor... but I could never put anything past her.”

“...She kissed me then, as no other woman had ever kissed me! I swear I felt the very earth come to a standstill! Every color of the rainbow burst before my eyes and the wind howled in triumph! For who would’ve known that she had loved me all along?! Simply afraid to give in to the feelings... because I was so fickle and flighty.”

“But I loved her more than my pride... as I do now.”

Orland set Rosalina down in his lap, the soft melody dying out as her strings continued to vibrate, a remnant of his final chord.

“As much as an advocate as I am for the power of words, even I am forced to concede that sometimes actions speak much louder.”

He glanced the party over, his eyes landing on each of his friends in turn. He ran a hand through his curls and offered them a bright smile.

“I shall not forget!”