#tunnels below the kingdom. these tunnels lead under the heart of the city in a giant cavern. here lies the darkness.

[monsterslament]

ugh i wanna talk about ocs but i dont even know where to start

[legaciestold]

@honorhearted continued from x

sounds reverberate throughout the tunnels under the palace, dirt and stones shifting and falling as a battle of magick and swords and dragon fyre encases everything above. her body feels numb, not even the bloody wound to her skin felt as she's half drug along, deeper and deeper until they turn and then begin moving upward again. 'would you truly let your father's sacrifice be made in vain?' sir ben's words ricochet within her mind, the image of her father's gaze as he'd pushed her into ben's arms so clear. the high queen was dead, a prince was dead. the high king was dying or dead, and she'd been forced to flee as men and women died in her name. it was wrong. oh it was so horrifically atrocious! the princess doesn't remember ben raising her hand to the painting to allow them passage. she doesn't remember her screams or the way she'd thrashed in his hold. 'be strong, lyli -- live for him...for your kingdom!' when she'd recall these moments later she thinks that was the moment she'd stopped fighting. when something else had taken hold of her, wrapping around the horror and encasing it in a broken heart, using it as fuel and deciding she had to survive. her people were dying. her father was dying but she remained and her other brother did too. the horrors of this night would be too horrific if such a toll held no purpose. if she died and her people were left to the venomous wrath of an evil witch to rule them in terror.

and so she had stopped fighting ben and instead began leading them through the labyrinth of tunnels until sounds and smells met their senses, day blackened out by rising smoke as they meet quickly waning daylight a distance from the palace, and her dragon standing high and tall at the ready. there's one man too, a man she'd always fondly seen tending to the royal family's dragon companions. he's wounded, she can see, the bodies of three others laying splayed across the ground where they'd worked to aid him in preparing the riding harness on apophis. if their princess was to take to the skies she would not do it without some precaution. without the best chance for her survival and escape. these people had given their very lives to ensure it. other dragons, wild, spiral through the skies as they clash with two who have been enthralled, covering the activity taking place below. apophis moves closer then, laying flatter as the man meets her and sir ben and urges them forward toward the dragon. everything happens in quick succession then. her forcing benjamin with a commanding authority she'd lacked in her previous shock to get onto the dragon first because she hadn't trusted that he wouldn't attempt to cause her to escape and stay behind and her following quickly after, seated in front of him. she seeks to grant the man who had ushered them forward some form of comforting words yet apo rushes onward as a dragon crashes feet from them and takes the man with him in a cloud of dust.

she wants to scream. this time she doesn't.

the battle had raged around them, apo maneuvering in the way sir poe had taught them never having intended for her or the dragon to have to use such teachings in practice. dragons flank them, dragons fall, the capitol is in ruin. there's a point when anger begins to overwhelm everything else, as she watches myra's men slaughter people in the streets below. she knows they can not stop their escape yet she does have her dragon lower toward the ground, a single command for fyre uttered, engulfing myra's men and their dying victims with it before they surge back into the skies and away from the city, out over the water and into the night. fyre did not care what it touched, it was brutal, but it could be wrath and mercy in one. she thinks that's the moment she truly became something new. when youthful innocence had been tore from her and fyre had remade her. the serpentine princess lyliana had never taken a life before this day. in fact she had strived to protect it even when a plot to take her own had once befell her. in the chaos of the usurping she had killed in defense. but in that moment she had killed as justice. she had killed as the queen they'd need her to become.

she'd nearly fallen off apo soon after, consciousness lost in the dampness of flight and apo's voice spoken into ben's mind to hold her before she slipped. much of the following hours had been cold and chaotic, any pursuers lost to the depths of the sea and darkness of the night. they nearly crash through the raised wards of the kingdom of eldenvale. sir poe had made it. he'd warned them. they'd prepared. soldiers meet them with prince jayson pushing past to meet her as she's passed down off the dragon. unspoken words passed between the last remaining children of a dead king and queen. chaos ensues when her uncle commands sir benjamin detained, untrusting of anyone so near to his niece and nephew when reports came of trusted friends having been turned against the royal family. the princess that would be queen can barely stand, though she rages immediately. authority in her voice that causes pause to even the warrior king-uncle before her. they let sir ben remain with her, escorted to rooms and only the carefully spoken words of her queen-aunt causing lyliana to allow healers into the rooms. they use their magicks to close their wounds and restore their skin though the fatigue and blood loss is not so simply remedied. that would take time.

the princess, like ben, argues the moment sir ben leaving the chambers is suggested by members of court though how she has the energy to have such powerful conviction in her upset is a wonder. they concede to her because they have to. the realms are in chaos but the high king and queen are dead. this girl may be exhausted and in turmoil yet she had become their queen the moment her dragon had made landfall. they call her 'her grace' in respect and in mourning, as a symbol of what was to come in the wake of what was transpiring around them yet the title is lost to her because she's beginning to fall apart again the moment the door closes. the moment the world and reality begin to enclose around her again. the moment she can't be strong as ben had commanded of her anymore. she doesn't remember anything after that. she doesn't remember the exhaustion consuming her or how she'd been laid in the bed. she doesn't remember refusing to let go of her hold on him either.

time passes, hours, as others in the castle move about directed by her uncle and aunt. prepare for war. prepare to protect the castle should myra send others upon them. they do not bother the chambers lyliana and ben occupy, not yet though the small trails of colors begin to play in the skies. it's early, extremely early when she awakens with a strangled scream upon her lips, her surging upward in the bed in horror as if she's back in the moment. her breath is labored, eyes searching wildly until they settle on sir ben. thankfully no one has heard her, no one but him and she knows as her light hues meet his that it wasn't a dream though she wishes it all had been some horrid nightmare. it had all happened. it was all real and the weight of that is gut-wrenching. "they're all dead, ben. she killed them. she killed them all and i want her dead!"

[real-jaune-isms]

RWBY Volume 8 Chapter 7 Review/Remix

Last episode before the holiday break. The long long long holiday break. And here I am only posting my review the night before we come back... I was having a lot of fun playing my new video games, okay? Let’s just get right into this with the joke everyone has already made. War: What is it good for? Actually a lot, if you can believe it. Only in this specific context though, because the warfare in the American streets these last few days is disgusting and emblematic of what has been wrong with the country for a while. A government leader sending his followers into the nation’s capital on a mission of rage and personal catharsis? Ick. At least in RWBY the tyrant isn’t attacking members of his own population... Oh wait, Mantle. :P

For a moment you might be fooled into thinking we’re starting back in the farmlands of Mistral, maybe getting another look at Oscar’s earlier life or seeing a little more of Nora’s mysteriously tragic past before she and Ren met. But no, these are the wheat farms on the outskirts of Atlas and Sabyrs are charging through like raptors through the tall grass in Lost World. A battalion of Atlesian soldiers, human soldiers I might add, stand armed to meet them. But even if they’re armed they are by no means ready. Monstra keeps coughing up a new wave of Grimm, and I do mean a wave, every minute or two and Atlas is pretty damn whelmed in the face of it. There are some big bots with guns standing in straight lines, but the majority of the defense put up by Remnant’s supreme authority on military power and strength is mortal men with fear in their hearts rather than expendable robot soldiers. And the big bots seem to be lined up in a way that the ones in the front block the ones in the back, so that’s just poor planning too. It’s just a concerning sight all together, and they are not efficiently handling the coming enemy. We cut up to Ironwood in his office, and it seems he is not dealing with this situation well at all. We know he’s under a lot of stress from all the recent events, but they are in fact mostly his own fault due to his poor decision making skills in times of crisis, and his single minded drive he calls a Semblance. Speaking of the eternally expanding list of Ironwood’s bad ideas, he decides to evacuate all the civilians into Atlas’ below ground subway tunnels. Fun fact: There were Apathy among the Grimm Monstra has been spitting out. Second Fun Fact: Apathy were last seen thriving and murdering in an abandoned underground tunnel system beneath a well. If one is familiar with fantasy television pop culture of the last decade, the Crypts of Winterfell might pop into your mind as a similarly poor place to hide all your unarmed women and children. Y’know, cuz in Game of Thrones they were facing a guy who could raise the dead as his minions and crypts are just tunnels full of corpses. Just saying, this could end up being a non-birthday massacre. Whatever captain of lieutenant Ironwood was talking to is hesitant to go along with this idea, but Ironwood puts his foot down by putting his fist down. And so his voice comes on over the city-wide PA system to tell everyone they need to get down into the subway for their own safety. Compared to the organized marching and relative calm of the poor folks down in Mantle, these rich fat cats practically trample each other to run and scream down the stairs. A father is concerned his daughter is going to get snatched up by a swarm of Lancers, but seems even more upset by the squad of airships swooping in to combat them. 

Speaking of airships, we cut to the one Marrow and Harriet are flying. The Ace Ops have arrested YRJ, because of course they did, and they all hear radio chatter as pilots are reporting in about how Monstra is too tough for them to pierce from the outside with any of the weapons available to them. Winter checks in over comms to report her team’s limited successes, and Ironwood tells her to stay on jailor duty for a bit. Yang snarks at Winter for continuing to follow orders despite the circumstances, but conversation is stifled by Monstra coming into view for the group. Jaune laments that the beast now serving as Oscar’s confinement is larger than they had imagined from a distance, and Vine continues to be rigid in his assertions as to just what Grimm can and cannot do. “Grimm don’t take prisoners” he says, as if that’s an irrefutable fact. It’s not like any Grimm have done anything new or unheard of recently, like talk or grow wings or exist within a river of evil sludge or shoot up miles into the air as a geyser or have gravity Dust crystals in their underbelly to fly, or as you are witnessing right now belch out ponds worth of sludge from with waves of Grimm are emerging to fight your ground troops. Yep, we definitely know every single thing a Grimm does, especially one brought here by the mistress of the entire Grimm collective who is commanding most of them here. You sure are smart, Vine... Yang continues to be riled up and ask they be let go to help, but Elm and Vine hold her in her seat. Ironwood is heard giving the Manta jets new orders and reveals Command is working on a solution for Monstra. Winter, naturally wanting to be kept in the loop, asks what that might be. He reveals the science team is putting together a bomb that might be able to take the whale out if detonated inside it. That means Winter and the Ace Ops will be delivering it into the literal belly of the beast. I don’t know if he intends for it to be a suicide mission with the bomb going off as soon as they’ve got it inside, or if it’s just incredibly risky to try and get inside Monstra at all, but Winter pales at this news and her eyes go wide before sadly drooping closed again. She composes herself and grows determined again as she accepts the new marching orders. Jaune and Yang are again audibly against these plans due to the risk to Oscar’s safety, but they are subdued as needed, though we see Winter’s act isn’t absolute and her hands are shaking.

Meanwhile, Salem is having the time of her life doing her best Mickey Mouse impression. Classical music plays as she conducts the waves of Grimm sludge out of Monstra’s mouth like the Sorcerer’s Apprentice playing conductor to the stars themselves. Emerald watched from a distance, and seems less than thrilled about the whole thing. She heads down the halls and has to use her Semblance to keep a Seer from noticing her and potentially reporting her going where she doesn’t need to be to Salem. And where she’s going is the door outside Oscar’s torture room. He’s coughing up blood, and Hazel is still insisting he start telling the truth before Salem loses her patience and just kills him despite how futile it’d be. Instead Oz starts asking some questions of his own: Does Hazel know why Salem sought to recruit him in particular? It turns out she approached him with the promise of making a new world order where there won’t be any kingdoms or Huntsman Academies. Oz just has to laugh at that naiveté. When Salem gets the 4 Relics, there won’t be a world at all. She’s been around for so goddamn long, all she wants is for it to end, and she thinks taking the whole world down is the only way to get it anymore. This just frustrates Hazel, and we learn why. He’s pretty damn sure Salem can’t die at all, because when she first approached him about working together he spent the better part of a day killing her over and over and over again. This man, whom we know from the Battle of Haven to have massive reserves of Aura and strength to endure and keep fighting, kept fighting until he was too worn down and exhausted to lift his fists again. And in that time of weakness and awe at her power, Salem made her sales pitch that even if he couldn’t kill the one leading the Grimm he could at least have vengeance on the establishment sending young people to their deaths against her. Oz points out that that’s exactly why she went to him, because she could make him believe this was the right way, that it would bring him closure. It’s what Ozpin deserves, Hazel argues, and Oz does not disagree. But does Oscar deserve it? Do the innocent people who haven’t been affected by Salem or Ozpin yet?  No, this isn’t for justice, this is personal. Because Salem said it would help Hazel. Has it?

We don’t get an answer to that, instead going back up to Weiss’ room in Schnee Manor where she’s reapplying Nora’s bandages. Still mostly unconscious, Nora mutters “Now what... am I good for?” I can think of a great many things Nora is useful for outside of her great strength and straightforward approach to combat, but its a damn shame no one has actually bothered to tell her that before now. Before Weiss has a chance to offer any, Blake and Ruby enter the room with cups of tea. I’m not ashamed to admit I initially thought they were hot chocolate cuz I’m not used to tea being that sort of amber color. Weiss admits that she’s done the most her limited medical knowledge can offer, and Nora needs more than that. Blake expresses her concern for the other half of their group, but almost slips up and says... well we’re just not sure, but we like to assume she was gonna say she’s especially worried for someone in particular. The shippers can fill that in how they like. Their moping is interrupted by May entering the room with some less than stellar news from Fiona and the others down in Mantle. They haven’t seen Yang’s team in a while, and with everything going to hell like this a search party is at the bottom of the priority list. She’s about ready to get back on the airship and head back down to Mantle, but Weiss protests and this sparks a debate. May points out that Mantle doesn’t have the luxury of the Atlas military protecting them so Ruby’s group and the Happy Huntresses are the only thing keeping the people safe from the chaos of the invasion, but Weiss argues that there are still people suffering up her and I have to agree. Just because a police force is around doesn’t automatically mean they’re doing the best job of keeping everyone safe. But Weiss pushes the wrong button by asking about May’s family. The Marigold’s were ashamed of the way their “son” acted, wanting to help the suffering down in Mantle. And so May would no longer let herself be called that, she became a woman proudly working as part of the Happy Huntresses for the service of the people. She kicked her Marigold name and reputation to the curb and her cousin Henry stepped up as the socialite snob instead. 

This cannot have been an easy scene for Kdin to record, but we all need to give a standing ovation for her performance in it. Powerful words that likely hit very close to home. What a queen.

May is sure Weiss gets where she’s coming from with their families casting them aside in favor of a more obedient heir, her being replaced by Whitley after her outburst at the charity concert. Weiss wants to voice her disagreement, but May questions whose side she’s on in all this. Blake doesn’t like that, they’ve heard this talk about taking sides before and judging by her tone she’s none too happy to be hearing it now. May is about to give her a strongly worded piece of her mind too but Ruby stands between them to remind everyone there are no sides. All of humanity needs to be united, and Salem is the one creating the tension that’s dividing them so their real enemy is her. The only question now is how do they get out of this problem? The solution might be hiding just around the corner, literally. Whitley has been listening from behind the door, and he seems a little inspired.

Meanwhile Oz seems to have just finished telling Salem’s dark cursed backstory to Hazel, and it seems her final plan really is to have the world so divided and ruined that when the gods are brought back to judge it they will deem Remnant a failure and destroy it and hopefully her with it. Hazel seems less than inclined to believe this story though, he still holds a damn hard grudge over his sister. Oz is getting nowhere so Oscar asks to be put back in the lead, and so he is just as Hazel is about to wallop them again. Oz is willing to trust him so he can earn Hazel’s trust in return. So he goes right ahead and tells the big guy Jinn’s name and that it’s how you summon her for one last question. Hazel seems mad that Oscar gave up the info so effortlessly after all that, but Oscar asserts that he’s not telling Salem. He’s telling Hazel, and letting him decide what to do with the knowledge and the chance to gain deeper knowledge still. Pretty rad strategy. Wouldn’t you know it though, Emerald is still listening outside the door and heard everything. She goes to tell Mercury, but he’s busy packing a duffel bag for a trip to Vacuo. Guess Salem doesn’t need him here right now so we’ll get to see him again in Volume 9 or 10. He’s less than convinced that they should try and use this behind the scenes knowledge to go against Salem, cuz if Hazel couldn’t do it then why would he change his tune now? And why would they risk their necks too? It’s not like Oz was telling the truth, right? Salem isn’t really gonna destroy the world! But the teens get another surprise lecture from Uncle Tyrian: Of course Salem plans to destroy Remnant!! You couldn’t tell from the start? Everything about her screams end of the world, and it is beautiful! And if you thought she’d do anything different then you must really be crazy... Bold worlds from a psychotic serial killer, but we already know he’s unhinged. Mercury doesn’t much like getting this rude awakening though, especially since Tyrian will be the one going with him to Vacuo. Merc and Em share one last sad look, but he’s made his bed and now he’s resigned to lie in it. Bye bye Mercury, see you after Emerald has probably switched sides and will have to face you as an enemy...

Speaking of ships soaring through the air, we go back to the Ace Ops and YJR heading for Monstra. Yang is protesting the bombing plan since Oscar is still inside, but Vine insists they can’t afford to wait and risk further death and destruction. Jaune offers a side plan, send the three inside Monstra ahead of the bombing squad to scope things out for them and try to rescue Oscar while they’re doing recon. Marrow is shocked that they’d be willing to go into the literal belly of the beast alone, but Yang asserts he’d do the same for one of his teammates if they were in this position, right? He doesn’t have an answer for that. Elm argues that trading their lives just for one other person is stupid, but amazingly it is Ren who objects. Oscar is their friend, and they will do whatever it takes for someone they care about like that. A real turnaround from his attitude of closing himself off emotionally, but I guess he’s realizing how ridiculous it sounds coming from other people? Harriet gets out of her seat to do what she does best and start talking down to someone as naïve and wrong. Feelings are stupid, the job is what matters. When you lose someone you just replace them and forget about them. We find out that Winter is indeed meant to be the new leader instead of Clover, and before Marrow there was apparently a member of the team named Tortuga, but Ren is not about to let anyone tell him that someone is replaceable. You don’t say that to Team JNPR, and we definitely don’t say that about Ren... Not now. In his outrage, Ren suddenly finds... clarity. He starts seeing the world a little differently. In less cryptic terms, his Semblance seems to have evolved and he now sees people’s emotions swirling around them as colorful bursts of flower petals. Harriet is actually furious about losing Clover, she’s lying to herself and trying to suppress her feelings. She does not like being called out like that, but the rest of the squad needs to be put on blast. As opposed to Hare’s red petals Marrow is surrounded by blue that I guess would mean sadness or depression, Elm has orange and some red, and Vine is clouded with green. The meanings of the last two are a little less clear, but they’re all definitely feeling some strong things that they’re trying to hide under a calm façade. This is the reason the Ace Ops lost to RWBY, they’re all held back by trying not to connect with each other so unity and team bonds never formed. Elm does not like being told she’s a loser because she won’t make friends, but at least it’s a a reaction, which means he’s absolutely right. She’s about to deck Ren in the face but Winter steps in to get everyone calmed down. She looks these three “fugitives” over, and makes a decision. She’s going to trust her sister’s friends. They will get the teens in close and give them a small window of time to try and get in and out before the Ace Ops need to bring in the payload and blow it all away. Harriet is pissed Winter is giving these “traitors” a chance, and questions her decision thusly. But you’re outranked, you boob, and you can’t do a damn thing to stop her from showing human decency. They have a very tight schedule to attempt this rescue, and Jaune accepts that fully. The three get uncuffed and are given their weapons back as the ship lands at the front lines. Ren tries to appeal to the doubt and regret he can see in Marrow to get him to switch sides while the getting’s good. Marrow wants to, but he sticks to the job for now. Yang and Jaune head out first, while Ren lingers to tell Winter he knows she doesn’t want to be a part of all this anymore either, and we see a rainbow of many emotional petals around her head. Either she has a balance of many emotions in check and is the most levelheaded of the Ace Ops, or she has the most emotions repressed and her mind is a tempest of feelings that aren’t being addressed and may spell her end... take your pick.

As this militant Schnee considers her options, we go homeward to see Weiss and the others heading for the front door. May isn’t keen to stay her any longer than needed, and the kids need to make a choice about where she’s dropping them off. Either they go to the front lines here in Atlas or back down to Mantle to help with the chaos there. No other options, and especially no breaking their jailbirds out for an assist. May doesn’t have the optimism and heroic hope that Ruby still holds dear, she won’t entertain the idea that this can become a complete victory all around. This isn’t that kind of world. Either they help one place, or they help another. And even then, that’s no guarantee wherever they go will be successful at stopping the invasion. It’s very depressing, and it’s on these kids to accept the facts and make the hard decisions. If you take a look at the last few Volumes, Ruby does seem to have a bit of a habit of ignoring the dreadful possibilities/facts in favor of pursuing a hopeful and bold plan that could fix everything immediately so she doesn’t have to cope with reality and actually grieve her mistakes and losses... I’m not saying it makes her a bad character or that she’s wholly wrong for trying to see a bright side whenever possible, just that this is an unhealthy strategy for a leader with so much on her shoulders. But before anyone has time to make a decision right now, there’s a hard knock on the front door. Everyone draws their weapons and approaches slowly, before Weiss cautiously opens the door. In a most definitely welcome surprise, she is greeted by Klein!!! She missed him dearly, and apologizes for whatever fault she had in his being fired, but while cycling through personalities he assures her she has nothing to be sorry for since it’s all Jacques’ fault, the bastard. Turns out, Klein is here to use his medical knowledge to treat Nora. What, didn’t you know all butlers to heroic millionaires have field medic training? Alfred Pennyworth set the gold standard, I dare say~ But of course, Weiss didn’t call him and none of her friends know his number so who told him to come?... Would you believe it, Whitley is responsible and we could not be more proud of him! Weiss certainly is, and she gives him what might be his first genuinely loving hug in years. Klein heads upstairs to begin treatment, while the rest of the group share a hopeful moment. But this silence too comes to a crashing halt as there is further ruckus outside. This time Ruby answers the door, to see a smoking crater in the front driveway. RWB rush outside and kneel at the edge of the crater as the smoke clears. Penny has crash landed, and lies there in a pool of what we can only presume to be her green synthetic blood. All she has the strength left to do is apologize before she passes out and the screen darkens with her. There lies the end for the next 6 weeks, and we were left to panic and speculate all the while. Too bad I’m a lazy bugger who only got this review out now and there’s no tension left before the thrilling continuation comes tomorrow morning. So lets all get one last panicked sleep in before the living nightmares come for our girls! Penny is totally gonna be under Watt’s control, the Hound is coming, it’s all gonna be a huge damn mess... Can’t wait, can you?~

[mistraliprincess]

A Long Frozen Treasure

Don’t feel like I’ll be completing this at any point, to be honest, and it really doesn’t feel like anyone would totally care at this point. Just going to post it as it is, and if I ever do recover enough of a muse or motivation to come back to it, or to keep writing Kem’ at all, I’ll do a second part.

That muticolored shade... again. A fragment of herself jerking backward, away from the vibrant figure ahead of her and back to the city under siege of Grimm behind. It’s voice telling her repeatedly to stay away from the thing, to avoid it at all costs, all with a tone of fear to his voice. She had no fear of it, however, not now, not in this barren, cold land as she trudged onward to the mountain through a light snow storm, and with cover of her mists to keep her unnoticed by the beasts. 

The howling winds joined by shrieks from back in the direction of Atlas and Mantle, and explosions from both the Kingdom and the mountain that was her goal. Something had happened earlier, according to others, some explosion that set off the masses of dust that sat embedded beneath the earthly construct itself. Some still going off, even now, she could hear it, and see the various bursts of color rising above her fog cover. 

Yet, something had to be there, even after all the damage that had likely been done. She could feel the pull of it, a natural-feeling urge to go to what remains of the mountain. To find and obtain something which lies beneath, assumedly in the rubble. Or possibly now made available once more due to the destruction. It only aided her decision to do so when the multicolor figure began appearing before her, lingering as she made her way closer and closer, only to disappear whenever she got within a few feet. The being appearing again in the distance to repeat the process as she moves, like it’s trying to guide her to the mountain with her limited vision.

Kemuri felt she should possibly be grateful for her false eye, more so than she ever had been before. Without it, she wouldn’t be able to see the Aura-based figure that had been making itself present for a while now. Not only for  that, but for the multicolor shade’s presence. Not only did it seem to be guiding her, it was aiding in preventing her from being attacked by any of the many Grimm which rushed for the Kingdom past her, drawn by some force themselves. 

There’d been a few times now that she had seen some dark form quickly approaching from ahead of her among the dim sight that was the norm with her right eye. A shadow in her Semblance formed fog matching the same figure in her left, only for her to catch sight of the unknown form setting between herself and the approaching creature, making it hurt and adjust it’s path to go around and past the Huntress. Between it’s aid, and her Semblance, the only hinderance was the cold and the wind, which she pushed through with very careful, light use of the Branch of Flame within her Family’s Semblance to warm herself, and proper breathing to transition from it to that of Mist to renew the veil around her.

It took another hour before the Qilin found herself eyeing the mass of a mountain that once stood taller. Taking in her mist again to allow herself proper sight of what once was an in-tact mining site, but now was no more than a mess. Part of it lit aflame or electrified, some parts frozen over in massive spires of ice, and others even floating off the ground. The entrance to the mountain, likely having once been a uniform opening made by hand and tool, now a gaping maw of stone in various states because of the explosion. 

A keen eye, however, spots her a way in, past what rubble was in the way between herself and whatever was pulling her to it. One looking to be a tight fit through between three masses of rock that had fallen into place, which she could tell she could make her way through, even if it might make her chest a little sore. Though, she wouldn’t be able to bring Fractured Chrystal with her, it’s much too tall for how she’d have to enter through the opening. Something she was a little hesitant to do, but felt she should be fine with doing given how little chance there was that any Grimm survived the explosion that had occurred.

With a breath taken, and her large blade removed from her back to be rested against the larger of the three rocks around the entrance, she lowers herself close to the ground, eyeing the small opening ahead of her, and sets her hand to the cold rock beneath her to start leading herself in through the opening. Having to turn her body to squeeze through the tightest point while side-ways, with a slight groan as her chest is squeezed, but she manages through and out the other side soon enough. Taking a breath afterward as she lets the soreness in her chest ease and for her breathing to calm again. 

The area she looks out over that sits awaiting her is small, cramped by many of the smaller pieces of the mountain that had collapsed inward. A long moment, she can’t actually see a way through, not any that looks worthwhile or safe in any way. Especially not as, with the sound of an explosion close by and the smell of smoke, assumedly from a Fire Dust vein exploding, makes one of the small passages collapse, and makes a stone above her shift to make her space smaller.

A brief instance of fear takes her, but it’s quickly replaced when she feels that familiar tug of something within her trying to leave this place. To move away from something else, which she’s come to understand as a sign of the unknown figure’s presence. Turning her eyes about her surroundings, it takes a moment more for her to finally spot it. The brightly colored being standing like the height of the space is no problem whatsoever to it. Yet, more importantly, she spots it’s hand, extended and gesturing toward  an opening she can slip through, one which leads to a descent.

Kemuri approaches the space cautiously, the being vanishing as she gets within a foot from the opening, and she peers down the path it leads. A tunnel, dimly lit by some of the agitated Dust running the rock surfaces, but the bottom of it frozen over with a thin, yet noticeable layer of ice. One which, at her touch, her hand slides easily. This in mind, the Faunus adjusts, twists her body, fitting her feet into the opening, letting her legs down, and with one more deep breath she guides herself down and lets free. 

Her descent along the tunnel picks up speed quickly, even with how shallow the downward angle is, yet she finds it twisting some to the left. Bringing her just partly away from the mountain as she continues down and down and down. Some portions growing completely dark even, with gaps in the Dust veins before they return, at a few points even being replaced with electrical Dust, and one instance even gravity Dust, though brief, which pulls at her scarf and coat as she passes it, but she contains both articles without issue. 

The only bump in her path being a figurative one as, on her way, she feels a small bit of stone which likely was extended out from the roof of this tunnel scrape at her horn, just as she drops her head back to try and avoid it. Exhaling in a sigh before taking in a deep breath as the makeshift ‘slide’ continues, having unknowingly been holding in the one she took before beginning down.

It’s to her relief that she finds the end of the tunnel cone to sight past her feet and closing in fast. Soon enough, the small space she’s been sliding through opens up, giving way to a wider room which is much, much darker than the tunnel prior had been. Only a few veins of the Dust which filled the mountain and the path she had slid through being visible right near the end of it, providing just a small sum of light. Dim, low, but more than enough for the Qilin to make out shapes.

First of which, what looks to be the end of the slope she had been sliding along, the path curling upward along the wall to the right, giving way below her to drop to the floor of this new chamber. Preparing herself, she rolls close to it’s end to control her drop and catch herself on her feet upon the floor. Rising to a knee where she sees the second shape of note, a shrine of sort. One akin to that which sits in the corner of the garden back home.

This shrine is small, however, set right into a little concave opening within the wall of this opening under the mountain. Almost looking like it’s a part of the surrounding rock even, which is a little odd to see with the way it looks like it should be separate from the rock. It took her a moment to even notice the finer details, like the depiction of a Qilin upon it’s door, but it takes a moment more before, with a blink, she sees the multicolor figure standing before her. Between herself and the shrine, less like a guide as it had been before, and more akin to a wall now.

The Huntress able to feel like the thing was staring her down, ready to strike her, to kill her.  A feeling much like that she’d felt back against the shade when she first got transported to that unusual pocket of existence. One which, as she made her way to the mountain, she was sure the lay of the land matched that of the battlefield from then perfectly.

Yet last she fought, it took little time for her to lose to the Shade, and she could remember the pain of that stab into her heart perfectly. Could still see and feel the horrid scar the attack left as well. A mark on her body she didn’t feel she could ever be proud of in the slightest. Given how much the Shade that did such a thing to her feared this being, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to manage a victory against it. Certainly not like she had tried to against the other.

[onemilliongoldstars]

a crown seldom enjoyed - chapter 29

To maintain the fragile peace between north and south, Clarke of House Tyrell is sent to live in Winterfell as an act of faith between the two kingdoms. There, she is put under the protection of the first queen in the north, Queen Lexa of House Stark, Daughter of Wolves. A woman draped in steel and silver, wolves at her heels and rumoured to be a manifestation of the fury of the old gods; Clarke refuses to be awed be her quiet violence and cold smile. Instead of fostering unity, the meeting of the wolf and the rose lights a spark that spreads through the rest of Westeros, threatening to burn it to the ground.

29/33

clexa game of thrones au

read on ao3

---

Book Three- Chapter 8

Early summer in Kings Landing truly is beautiful. Before the days become so hot and muggy that you are forced to rest when the sun is at its highest, the city is engulfed in long, warm, dry days that seem to last forever and ever. When she thinks of her childhood in Kings Landing this is what she remembers: periwinkle blue skies, filled with hazy clouds, the sweet smell of flowers and fruit in the air, and days that never ended. Today is one of those days, and as she walks through the gardens of the Red Keep in her airy, flowing gown, she can almost forget the small circlet upon her head. Beside her, Lord Marcus matches her gait easily, and at her back are Octavia and Roan, their white Queensguard capes flowing. Despite the smiles and bows that people offer as she passes, she is not so naïve as to think that her fight for the throne is over.

“The nobles are beginning to wonder about Lord Pike’s whereabouts.” Lord Marcus’s voice is cast low to avoid them being overheard, and Clarke attempts to keep her expression as neutral as possible. “You will have to announce his arrest soon or appear a tyrant.”

“I will,” She pauses, smiles at a pair of passing nobles. “Everything is falling into place.”

“I don’t need to tell you that there will be outcry and opposition.”

“You don’t,” She agrees, calmly. “It is not those foolish enough to disagree with me publicly who I fear, it is those who whisper in private.” Her brows furrow and she sighs softly. “There will be many whispers and I must master them.”

“I will endeavour to find someone who can help with that.” Lord Marcus informs her, and when her eyes cut to him he offers a small smile and says. “That is what it means to be Hand of the Queen isn’t it?”

“Indeed it is,” She smiles at him and for a moment it is as if nothing has changed between them. “I am glad to have you, Lord Marcus.”

“I am glad to be of service, your majesty,” His eyes soften and he continues. “Your mother will be here soon.”

A sigh escapes her before she can help herself and she rolls her eyes when Marcus smiles. “I am aware.”

“She will be glad to see you,” Lord Marcus presses and she can only incline her head in agreement as they step into the dark rose tunnel, where the scent is so heady it makes her head swirl. She can’t help but think of her moments with Finn here, where she saw more the boy he was than the weak king he became and her heart thuds with pain. In the darkness they are more hidden and Marcus feels able to say. “You should be kind to her.” 

“I know,” Clarke hesitates, brushing her fingers across the petal of a drooping rose, heavy under its own weight. “I just- it will be strange to see her.”

“She is still your mother.”

“I’m not the daughter she left behind,” Clarke protests, “She always wanted to protect me and in the end… that isn’t what I needed.”

“You may think you are more your father than your mother, but I see much of her in you too.” Marcus gives her a slight smile and he seems suddenly older than he has before.

“Sometimes I forget that you knew her long before even my father.” Clarke considers him, “When she was just a girl.”

Marcus arches an eyebrow in her direction. “Your mother was never ‘just a girl’, she was utterly wild in her youth. I fear I was never able to keep pace with her games as she would have liked.”

 “I- I never knew that,” She admits. “It always seemed that she wanted me to be the perfect lady.”

“By forcing you to learn your histories and healing?” Marcus shakes his head, “She was preparing you, even if you didn’t know it. When she met your father she changed, he brought something out in her that I’m sure not even she knew existed. She was so very in love with him.” When his eyes flicker to her they are filled with pain and sympathy and she feels her heart ache. “His death almost shattered her.”

She considers his words in silence, letting the heady scent of the roses surround her. It reminds her of home, of Highgarden, and watching her parents smile at one another over their meals, as if they had a secret they wouldn’t tell.

“I wanted her here,” She murmurs, at last, unable to meet Marcus’s eyes. “I needed her.”

 Marcus nods slowly, and his voice is filled with understanding when he answers. “One of the sad facts of becoming older is realising that the people we thought invincible are just as human as we are.” He places a hand on her shoulder, something she is sure he would not dare to do unless they were alone. “Forgive her, if you can.”

When they step out into the gardens again, Clarke tells herself that it is the sunlight making her blink away tears, rather than Lord Arryn’s words.

They round a corner and Clarke feels her lips twitching into a smile at the sight of an ever familiar figure approaching. Lexa is flanked by Anya and Lincoln, Faith and Honour at her sides, and her usual dark jerkin is replaced today by a light linen shirt and waistcoat in the brightness of the day. Princess Arianna is walking alongside her, speaking fervently about something, but the moment their eyes catch Lexa cannot seem to tear herself away. Arianna cuts herself off when she sees that she doesn’t have the queen’s full attention, and follows her gaze with a slight smirk.

“Your majesty,” Clarke greets her when they meet on their path.

“Your majesty,” Lexa returns, and there is a softness to her gaze that bellies her polite tone. “Lord Arryn,” She adds, and Clarke flushes a little, her eyes darting to Princess Arianna.

“Princess.”

 “Your majesty,” The princess’s eyes are filled with mirth and Clarke hurries to speak before she can say anything too obvious.

 “Are you enjoying the gardens?”

“They’re lovely,” Lexa answers her, almost too quickly.

“Have you seen the reflecting pool?” Clarke’s eyes can’t seem to leave her face, watching the play of sunlight across her smile. “It’s quite wonderful on a warm day.”

“We haven’t,” Lexa’s smile only grows when Clarke says. 

“I would be happy to show you.” 

“Unfortunately I have seen the reflecting pool many times,” Princess Arianna puts in, her lips twitching, “I should find my sisters, your majesties.”

“I will accompany you,” Lord Marcus bows his head to them both, and Clarke watches as the pair fall into step together and walk away.

When she meets Lexa’s gaze, the woman gives her a rueful smile and says, “We were only recently with her sisters.”

Clarke’s brows twitch and she bites back a grin as they begin to walk together down the sloping path towards the reflecting gardens. “The Princess has always known more than she ought.”

“It makes her a useful ally,” Lexa adds, and Clarke nods her agreement. “How are you finding your hand of the queen?” 

“Lord Marcus is a good man, sensible. He advises that I have Pike’s trial soon.”  Lexa hums her agreement as they make their way through the orange groves.

“It’s only a matter of time before people find out, better that they hear it from you first.”

 “You’re right,” Her fingers slip up to touch at the chain around her neck, where the key to Pike’s cell is settled in her bosom. “I just don’t want to leave anything to chance, he has to die for all that he’s done.”

“The Gods are just, Clarke,” There is something so certain to her words that Clarke’s eyes flicker over to her again. “He will pay for his crimes.” There is not a flicker of insincerity to her, and Clarke shakes her head, a little awed.

“I wish that I could still trust in the judgement of the gods,” She says, wearily, as they step through an old archway and into the deserted courtyard that holds the reflecting pool. “They do not seem just or good to me anymore.”

“I know that they are,” Lexa counters, very quietly and reaches out to brush a touch over Clarke’s elbow, drawing their eyes back together. “They brought us back together when all seemed lost.”

 Her breath catches in her throat and she can’t help but think that here, in this small, sunlit grove, Lexa looks more beautiful than any woman ever has before. Lexa’s cheeks are flushed with her words, but she doesn’t avert her gaze, and eventually it is Clarke that has to pull her eyes away, because she knows that if she doesn’t their lips will meet again. They fall into step together, the guards stationing themselves by the archway, and Clarke leads Lexa towards the shallow pool at the centre of the courtyard, lined with low brick and filled with water so clear that when Clarke leans over it she can see her reflection between the still lily pads. 

“It’s lovely here,” Lexa breaks the silence, her eyes wandering across the courtyard to take in the oak trees with branches that spread wide and leave a dappling of sunlight on the sandy cobblestone floor below their feet. “Very peaceful.”

“Not many people come here,” Clarke admits, walking slowly around the edge of the pool. “Wells and I came a lot when I was a girl, it was a good place to find some peace.”

“I can imagine,” Lexa’s smile is soft and fond, “You spent a lot of time in the capital growing up?”

Clarke nods, reaching down to touch at a lily pad and bump it gently into its counterparts, watching as the motion sends a shiver through the still pond. “My father was here often and he brought me with him. I spent a lot of time with Wells.”

“You must be glad to have him back,” Lexa’s eyes do not leave hers, even as she perches on the small wall beside the pool, watching from across it as Clarke nods, her breath catching in her throat. 

“I am,” She cannot bear to keep their eyes together as they speak. “I- It is a little strange, after everything that has happened.”

“I can imagine so,” When she chances a glance at her, Clarke finds Lexa’s expression softly sympathetic. 

“He was my best friend,” With a soft sigh, Clarke rounds the other side of the pond and takes a seat at Lexa’s side. Above them jasmine grows around the trunk of the gnarled old oak and wraps itself into the tree’s branches, twisting and clutching like fingers and drooping down around them when it becomes too heavy. It’s white flowers bloom in little clutches, the scent heavy in the air and when Clarke’s gaze flickers upwards she can see sunlight glimpsing from between its thick foliage. “And now…” She meets Lexa’s gaze, considering for a moment, “Lexa, Wells has a son.”

Lexa blinks, and her eyes widen. “A son?”

“He’s the reason that Pike could make him go to Oldtown and be with the maesters, he’s the reason Wells didn’t run or confess or fight.” Clarke shakes her head, a low, rough laugh escaping her. “Wells was never one to be irresponsible but this…” Her eyes meet Lexa’s again, something desperate and raw in them. “Sometimes I think that if I were only born a man my life would be so different.”

“The world is not forgiving for women like us,” Lexa agrees, lowly. “Will Wells reclaim the throne?”

“He says he doesn’t want it,” Clarke half shrugs. “I can’t imagine…”

“And he will let you keep it?” Lexa’s hand slides hesitantly across the top of the stone wall on which they sit, her fingers glancing delicately over the back of Clarke’s.

“He will,” Clarke turns her hand over and catches Lexa’s fingers with her own, lacing them together, and a ghost of s smile flickers across her lips when Lexa’s breath catches in her throat. 

“And do you want it?”

Clarke meets Lexa’s eyes, the green so deep and lovely she thinks she can smell the forests of the north from here, pine and woodsmoke. “Do I have a choice?”

“We always have a choice,” Lexa assures her, gently, and squeezes their fingers. “I think you will make the right one.”

“When Wells and I were children we would play here all the time,” Clarke glances back at the small, peaceful grove, sunlit and lovely. “Once, when it was the middle of the summer and the sun burned so hotly everyone retired to their chambers, we stripped down to our undergarments and splashed in the reflecting pool.” She can’t help the laugh that slips through her. “Our Septa was so furious she nearly boxed our ears.” 

Lexa is smiling at her story and her thumb strokes gently over the back of Clarke’s hand. “You and he were good friends.” At Clarke’s nod she continues, “I am sure he will understand whatever your decision is.” 

“You’re probably right,” With a soft sigh, she allows herself to lean gently against Lexa’s side. There is no one to see them and she feels so world weary that she can barely stand the ache in her heart. Lexa’s hand curls more tightly around hers and she is glad that from here she can’t see Lexa’s face as she says. “I am glad you’re here, is that selfish?” 

“I’m glad I’m here too.” Lexa admits, after a moment of silence, and when Clarke glances up at her, she sees a flicker of worry and yearning in her eyes. 

“Marcus says my mother will return very soon,” She promises, her heart heavy with the words. “She is the only person left who can help me charge Pike, once that is done you can return to Winterfell knowing all is well here.”

“I’m not sure if I want to leave,” Lexa confesses, and it feels so soft and still, like something that should not have been spoken aloud. Clarke’s breath catches in her throat and she cannot tear her gaze away from Lexa’s face. “I worry about Aden and my home and my people, of course I do, but-” Her eyes meet Clarke’s and there is something earth shattering there, something that balances on the knife edge of heartache. 

Clarke’s fingers tighten around hers and Lexa swallows. They are so close to one another that Clarke can count the speckles of gold in her eyes, like a smattering of stars across the night sky. Lexa’s lips part, rosebud pink and so soft, and Clarke fears that she will not be able to stop herself when a voice from the archway breaks their reverie. 

“Your majesty.”

An exhale escapes Clarke, shivering from her chest, and she feels Lexa squeeze her fingers once more before she pulls herself away and moves to stand, wandering around the reflecting pool to gaze down into it. Clarke’s hand clenches into a fist at the loss and her pulls in a long breath before finally standing to face Octavia, stood in the archway to the courtyard. 

“What is it, Octavia?” If there is a bite of harshness to her voice she is only glad that it isn’t shown in her expression. 

“There is an envoy here to see you, from the Iron Bank.” 

Clarke’s eyes widen, and she turns meet Lexa’s surprised gaze as the northern queen crosses the courtyard to stand by her side. 

“The Iron Bank? Your letter can’t have been that fast.”

“He awaits you in your private quarters, your majesty.” Octavia’s eyes flicker between them, and Clarke feels curiosity burn in her gut. 

“Maybe they came of their own will to meet the new queen,” She muses aloud, and Lexa nods. Her fingers glance over her sword. 

“May I accompany you?” She asks, and Clarke knows how difficult it is for her to pose the question. 

“Of course.”

---

When the doors to her private solar are swung open, the first thing she sees as she steps inside is Lord Marcus. He is stood near the window speaking with a figure whose back is turned, and he smiles upon seeing her enter, bowing his head respectfully. 

“Your majesty,” He greets her, “I was just welcoming Cage Wallace, the representative sent by the Iron Bank.”

“Thank you, Lord Arryn.” The words die in her throat, her body freezing like ice as the figure turns to look at her. Though his hair is cropped short like all of the Bravossi bankers and he wears the expensive, dark coloured robes that Dante Wallace had worn, his face is utterly unmistakable. It is the face of the man from whom she had squeezed the life the night of her wedding. 

Her mind spins, struggling and before she knows it she has taken a minute step backwards. Her fingers grasp for her dagger but she does not wear it. The man’s eyes are utterly unmistakable, dark with thick eyebrows above them, age just beginning to leave its lines in the creases of his face. He looks out at her passively and she grasps for something to say, anything at all. Lexa beats her to it. 

“Are you well?” She is looking at her with concern and her own fingers are dancing across the pommel of her blade. Her gaze is searching and hard, reading the terror in Clarke’s features, and Clarke’s gaze flickers from the man professing to be Cage Wallace to Lexa and back again. At her side, Faith growls low in the back of her throat. 

“Are you, your majesty?” Marcus has come to stand beside the man and Clarke has to bite back the urge to grab him and drag him away. 

“Do you have anything to prove that you are who you say you are?” She asks at last, and her voice shakes just slightly. 

“Of course,” Lord Marcus’s face clears, though Lexa’s does not, her gaze still fixed to Clarke curiously. “You are wise to be safe, your majesty, but I have met Cage Wallace before several times with his father and though my eyes are getting older I still recognise him. I can vouch for him.”

“I believe you met my father Dante,” The man speaks at last and Clarke’s heart beats even faster. “He brought you wine, as he recalled it, and was rather taken with you.”

The words settle within her like a rock in her stomach and as she runs her eyes over this man she knows quite suddenly that they are all in danger. There is something about him that prickles her skin, and makes Faith snarl and snap, and when her eyes find Lexa and Marcus again a shiver of fear runs through her. 

“I’d like to speak to Cage Wallace alone, if you wouldn’t mind.” The pronouncement surprises everyone, not least Lexa who stares at her, eyes wide. 

“If you wish, your majesty,” Lord Marcus says at last, beginning to gesture people from the room. Only Lexa remains, her gaze hot against Clarke’s face. 

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to remain?” There is a note of confusion and frustration to her voice that Clarke tries her best to ignore. 

“Quite sure,” Clarke gives a nod, and when Lexa goes to protest again talks over her, her voice as hard as she make it. “Leave us if you would, Queen Lexa.”

The man’s eyes dart to Lexa with interest when Clarke says her name and it is all she can do not to launch herself across the room and rip his eyes from her face for even daring to look her way. Eventually, Lexa nods unhappily and walks from the room, bristling with fury. Honour accompanies her, but Faith remains at Clarke’s side and for that Clarke is immensely glad. 

The moment the door shuts she spins on her heel and grabs at the ornate gold vase on a pedestal near the door. It is heavy and unwieldy, but she is sure that she could smash it through the man’s skull if she had to and that is enough for her. Faith’s growl becomes a low, rumbling roar of fury, and Clarke scowls at him, holding the vase high and ready. The man stares back at her, unmoving and unaffected by her violence. 

“Who are you?” She demands on a hiss, and in the bright sunlight the man puts his hands behind his back and regards her with an utterly blank expression. 

“A man is no one.”

The words perplex and baffle her and she bristles at them, her grip on the vase not dropping. “No one is no one. You have- your face-”

“My face is not my own face.” The man says, quite simply and terror curls through Clarke’s heart at the words. 

“You’re a- you’re a faceless man,” She concludes aloud, her breath almost choking her. 

“A man is no one,” He says again, and then continues, “But for your court, I am Cage Wallace, banker of Braavos.” As he speaks something in his voice and manner changes, a sly smirk curling at the corners of his lips. “Cage Wallace is well known here, though not well liked. It was easy enough to find his way in the castle and get an audience with the queen of the south.”

“And you’re here to kill me,” She concludes, proud that her voice doesn’t shake. “Properly this time.”

“A man is not here to kill you, Queen Clarke.” His manner drops again, becoming unnervingly calm and blank. “It is not what the Many Faced God wills.”

“The Many Faced…” Her arms are beginning to ache but she cannot let her grip on her weapon go. She has not fought this hard to be baited into an easy kill now. 

“A man cannot kill out of anger or fear,” The assassin explains, his voice measured, as if he were talking of the seasons or the harvest. “To do so is to steal from the Many Faced God, a man may only kill when the price is right and the Many Faced God wills it.”

“And he- he does not will my death any longer?” Clarke feels spun out, like a child with her eyes blindfolded and twisted in circles.

“He does not.” The assassin confirms, nodding once. 

“Why not?” She can feel her voice ricocheting up with anger and fear. Where he is so emotionless and blank, she finds her own feelings bubbling to the surface despite herself. “Why change his mind now?”

Here, the assassin does smile just slightly. “Twice the Many Faced God has been asked to give you the gift of death and twice you have evaded him. You have evaded the gift that comes for us all.”

“It- it was three times,” She can’t help but correct him. 

“No, it was twice.” The man lifts his hand to his face and with one pinch he draws the face he wears away and sets it upon the long table between them. Beneath it is at entirely different face, with light eyes and darker skin. She knows enough not to think that it is the man’s real face. “Cage Wallace came to us from the Iron Bank and asked the Many Faced God for your death three times. Twice the Many Faced God tried to give you the gift of death and we did not succeed. When Cage Wallace came the third time, we refused him. It was clearly not the will of the Many Faced God for you to die.”

“But- but Cage’s face changed when I killed him, he was one of you.” Clarke protests, furiously, her grip on the vase slackening just slightly. At her side Faith is still growling softly, her hackles raised and her fur bristling. 

“Cage Wallace found out enough about us to know our craft,” The man’s face twists with displeasure, the most emotion Clarke has seen from him since she stepped into the room. “He fooled one of our novices and stole a face. It seemed he thought a face was all it took to kill someone.” A ghost of pleasure crosses his features. “You proved him wrong.”

“So why are you here?” Clarke cannot tear her eyes away from him. “If not to kill me, what do you want?”

“A life was taken from you using our craft.” He reaches into his robe and sets a heavy iron coin onto the table between them. “You are owed a life Clarke of House Tyrell. Choose one and the Many Faced God shall take it for you.”

With trembling fingers, she reaches out and takes the coin from the table, turning it within her hands. On one side is a man, whose face is blank beneath his hood, and on the other side are words. 

“Valar morghulis,” She reads aloud, her brows furrowing. 

“All men must die,” The assassin translates for her and she can feel his expectant gaze resting on her. “You may pick only one, however.”

Her eyes stay fixed to the heavy coin, turning it over and over in her hands, her fingers finding the grooves and ridges. She has had so many enemies over her time, so many people whose death would serve her well and now when faced with the choice she cannot think on one name. Pike sits on the tip of her tongue, like a habit, but she knows that if he were to be killed by an assassin he would only become a martyr to his cause and rally his people behind him. A wet nose pressing against her hand pulls her from her thoughts and she looks down to see Faith’s large head at her side, eyes gazing up at her. In that moment she knows what she will do. 

“I don’t want you to take a life,” She says finally, her voice low. Her eyes flicker up to meet his. “I want you to save one.”

He blinks, a flicker of surprise in his gaze. “Save a life.” He echoes, “We are assassins.”

“You owe me a life,” She reminds him, immediately, and curls her fingers over the coin. “I choose this one.”

He stares at her for a long moment, thinking on her words, before finally nodding. “Alright then, Queen Clarke. “We will protect a life for you. Simply say their name.”

She takes a deep breath and runs her fingers over the words on the coin again. All men must die, but they are not men. 

“Lexa of House Stark, the Queen in the North.”

---

When the Faceless Man leaves, she slips her way down to Grand Maester Orrin’s chambers, where the body of her attempted assassin lies upon a cold stone slab as the old man attempted to discover anything about his mystical powers.

When she steps into the room, a torch held aloft, her breath splutters. The face of the man on the slab is utterly blank, and upstairs in her chambers she finds that the assassin had left the face of Cage Wallace, perfectly preserved.

[blankdblank]

Faithfully Yours

Bring him home by Luke Evans , the final Prompt, and she left the most heart breaking for last, so here’s an old idea i’ve had for a while

…

Warning, battlefield c section mentioned, not really gruesome in being done but haunting to the oc who performed it i’ll ad -- around it

...

Five years, was all that stood between you. Servant to King Dior, his personal messenger as your Father stood as his Personal Guard and your Mother stood as Handmaiden to Queen Nimloth. Between messages you were free to your own leaving plenty of time for you to absently pass the shop of your focus with the blonde as equally set on stealing delivery paths to the Palace himself to steal glimpses of you. Two servants of varying stations meant to keep you separate but well below the Nobles you all served.

But fire came raining down form the sky and while your parents raced one way you raced the other. A trip to Gondolin had been planned and things were mostly packed so in a stolen path into the armory while the forces scattered a baggy set of mithril chain mail was taken and slid under your hunting garb you donned when the Princess Earwing felt the urge to test her bow and was in need of someone to *cough, cough* ‘outdo’. Vases flew and looking more like you were expecting you raced into the crowds fleeing the city through the paths your cousins were guiding them through after refusing to chase after the stubborn Princess shouting for the Feanoreans to come and face her themselves.

You were not an idiot, you had seen those flames and heard the cries of their assumed foes before and had no wish to remain, simply tore the shimmering stone from her hand and knocked her out allowing her other servants to carry her off in a sack to safety while you carried your own treasured hoard. All night you raced and finally came to a stop seeing the endless plumes of smoke filling the sky in the distance while echoes of the shouts of failure wafted on the breeze. Turned to face the sight pale blue eyes still locked on your back neared you admiring the flickers of moonlight lighting your white golden curls laying in a frayed leaf and twig filled braid down your dirt and soot coated back of your armored shirt over the bright red light that had lit you up in a pinkish hue in his brief glimpses in your fleeing.

Clearing his throat you turned and his mouth went dry having your silver speckled purple eyes on him, “Ada said we have room in our tent, Naneth smells rain.”

“Oh,” you glanced to the tent seeing his mother standing there with a soft encouraging grin, “Thank you.” Again your head swiveled and you stated, “I doubt they are here, however I cannot help but look…”

“I understand. I am certain when we cross Helcrax and arrive in Lindon proper name records will be taken for those who are misplaced.”

You nodded and flashed him a weak grin, there were no tears, no, you had far too much hope just yet to accept that end. Inside the open tent you ducked and accepted the corner they offered, laying your bag down they watched your hand remain fixed on your belly narrowing their gaze until they saw the armored cloak of yours unhooked and baggy mithril raised with the slip of an arm out the sleeve to free the sleeping toddler Princes from the slings draped around your neck and shoulders.

Thankfully they had slept the whole way and remained sleeping still with only peeks of their periwinkle eyes glancing up at you to close again as you brushed their white curls from their faces. There in that tent a promise was made, you now had two brothers and your place now was with your cousins who led the escape eager to keep up the ruse. With your family so close to the ruling family none really could say otherwise it wasn’t true past a knowing few unwilling ever to endanger the children you had stolen.

.

God on high

Hear my prayer

In my need

You have always been there

Helcrax seemed to never and bore the only cold your kin would ever suffer, but you and your cousins in the line tapering back to Ulmo’s only child forged ahead burrowing tunnels with swipes of your hands in turns forming tunnels the masses walked through until you tired yourselves out. Waking topped in thin layers of snow you burst free and begun your rounds again until a flash of green appeared on the other side of your icy wall letting in a gust of warm air through the endless tunnel closing in behind those in the back from the growing storm blocking you from the few Noldor forces chasing after your numbers.

Lindon held nothing but pain in no openings for you or real sense of space for your kin leading to your joining those who decided to head East, mainly those of lower rank not accepted well in the nearly full lush society. Another endless stretch led you past the lush green plains and hills and the Misty Mountains blocking off those on the other side until a curious band of dark and fiery haired Elves peered out of their forest and issued their curious shimmering expelled kin an invitation to dwell in their lands.

It is hard to say how but on the road new ranks had been set and Orophin now headed your people. His generous nature and disposition led to the Silvans accepting him as their King as well in the construction of the new kingdom to house your kin and theirs alike. But still alliances were kept and when it came time to choose Head Servant to the King one choice was clear. The twins were tasked to grow one day to sit on the Council and were cared for by the Queen herself in her adoration of the boys to keep them close and protected always within your view.

 He is young

He's afraid

Let him rest

Heaven blessed

.

Battle was imminent and to stave off a countless stream of attacks the King had taken to locking himself away with maps and pouring over plans to try and save his men, though little to no plans ever saw completion in his deteriorating consciousness and mental capacities to follow. There were no Elves, but orcs and Goblins to face here in battle and the inexperienced King seemed to be teetering near his end. At the end of his parchment coated desk with scattered maps between he shifted a page for Thranduil to get a better glimpse of in hopes of hearing his opinion on the matter when the door opened and you walked through with tray in hand you set down right on top of the map making the King stare up at you in a weakened glare from his exhaustion.

“Nieninque! I did not call for a meal!”

Instantly your head tilted and Thranduil’s lips pursed in the crossing of your arms, “I noticed!” You had never so much as cleared your throat loudly in his presence since first you had spoken and never had spoken so boldly to him since his being named as King. “You have not taken any meal for a week now and for my own safety I have made inquiry into quarters in Lothlorien. After all if the King cannot protect his own health how is he to defend the safety of his people.” On your heel you turned and dropped your hands to your sides to open and close the door behind you in your usual peaceful silent manner so opposite to your previous behavior.

In a near growl the King plopped into his seat behind him leaving his stunned Prince lost for words watching him lift his fork and stab into one of the tiny boiled potatoes in the veggie mix beside the strips of seasoned chicken and ham he bit into and mumbled to himself around each bite clearing his plate then stormed his way off to bed. Heavily he dropped and did not wake for nearly a day but when he had a stunning plan marking no casualties at all came right away to him and with it a basket of sliced fruit came to your door with a highly thick apologetic note.

It was never mentioned what you had said outside his family and it would be a lie to say it had been the last. You were granted that freedom, it was never in malice or contempt of anything past their loss of common sense easily set right again.

.

Bring him home

Bring him home

Bring him home

A heart is quite a resilient thing, to break and break and still go on beating. That barrier remained and for all the clear respect you held it was never to be that he could be yours, a trip to Lothlorien sealed that in your very soul burning the words on the walls of your heart. The Prince found his Princess, a cousin of King Amroth’s wife Nimrodel, who upon return caught on right away to the sting of poison flowing through your body in a flinch of your gaze to the ground in bowing your head greeting the new Princess, who in all but eye color and the looseness of the waves in her waist length hair compared to your wall of self controlling curls often pooling into your face even in a complex braid. Instantly she felt your pain and then never a trace of it again in the more startling burial of it behind your unnoticed façade with tears none but you and the stars on your nightly stroll along the isolated peaks bore witness to.

. -- (skip ahead to the next dashes if you like)

Fire again came and with it the departure of the armed forces. Under guard of the twins Queen Taule left for Lothlorien and a few days behind her you and the heavily pregnant Princess traveled after in full caravan of guards. It seemed to come from nowhere, a hidden bear trap snapping the wheel of the carriage making it tip signaling your holding the Princess safely from the crash and taking the pain for yourself. Armed and free of the carriage you led her and the lone guard to safety, or tried to, two whistles flew and pained groans sounded. Instantly the guard was gone and the Princess collapsed to her knees gripping her belly as the arrow in her shoulder released its poison. Panting from the shock of it you stopped and turned to face the trio of orcs still on your tail, one by one they fell and echoes of more approaching nearly a mile off.

At her side onto your knees you fell teary eyed knowing how little you knew of correcting black arrows or mending injuries such as this in her own teary sobs realizing how this would affect her husband. A dagger was pressed into your palm and your eyes fell to it as she whimpered, “Save my child.” Your eyes met hers and tears rolled down your cheeks from your wide eyes, “That is an order! We have little time left before they are upon us, save my child! Only you I trust him with, only you! Only you could love them as I have.” Inhaling sharply she lowered your hand to her belly she had already torn the silk and tulle layers draped across it, “Now!” A stick she found was pressed between her teeth as you could see her glow waning already, if the poison wouldn’t kill her she would fade before you could manage this.

Screams filled the growl filled forest as the trees surrounding you fought to buy you time, a few moments was all she got and tearfully she held her crying son swaddled in her shawl she had kept clean between her raised knees. Just like that she was gone and again so were you, with all you could carry of the supplies running until you had to stop at an impossible tide restrictive river blocking your way. Gently you washed him clean along with the shawl you hung to dry while using another you had taken to keep him close to your heart hoping he would remain silent. Though hunger eventually hit and with it another discovery came, a faint glow in the stream whispered to you to nurse the child and surprisingly milk was granted to you enabling you to do so. Tearfully you kept your word keeping him fed, warm, clean and quiet, hiding him in a sling under your cloak as you found the way into Lothlorien.

Silent and slightly broken you took a corner of the hall granted to the visiting servants and guards remaining silent and distant with your hood drawn worrying many passing you in the word of King Oropher’s fall stirring up screams from Queen Taule doubling at the news of the injured return of her son. All seemed to be lost and silent you remained still feeling the blood on your hands from the act you had been ordered to commit.

-- 

On the moment of his arrival the Prince now King had ordered a search for his pregnant wife when news that your caravan had never arrived, one that returned with news of the butchering of the Queen taking his unborn son so far from his due date. He ordered the room be cleared, he wanted to be alone. Everything had changed and in his mind all had been lost, for nothing with regrets of the issue to evacuate the Royal Family from Amon Lanc.

Silent and alone you went catching the gaze of the twins, who broke the King’s solitude to inform him you had arrived, possibly with an explanation. Straight through you were ushered and in the dropping of your cloak he saw at once you had witnessed all that had occurred. Straight to his side you went in his stunned silence as he struggled against tearing his stitches to sit up and hold you tightly to ease your pain. With trembling lips you drew in a breath then eased back your cloak parting his lips in seeing the familiar shawl in your arms. Down you sat breaking rank so he wouldn’t injure himself, on his chest the boy was cradled in his own approaching sobs from the tears filling his eyes.

Broken and in a gasp you spoke, “I’m sorry!” Again you exhaled drawing out the Queen’s personal dagger in another cloth still bearing your prints and her dried blood, “So very sorry!” Again you gasped a breath and in a soft whimper of the boy the twins peeked inside with parted lips seeing the King kissing the head of his premature son far bigger than he should have been showing he had been well fed and protected since his terrifying birth. “I could not remove the arrow, and more were coming, and she ordered-,” Your lips quivered again and tears poured down your cheek as your body began to slide off the bed so you would be on your knees. “I killed the Queen. I fully accept-,”

Harshly his hand gripped one of your thighs and jerked you back up onto the bed to lay at his side, right where he held you tightly and closed his eyes in a sniffle while his son nodded off to the sound of his heart beat. Tossing the dagger to the ground he kept his hold on you and the pair of you wept for your losses until you fell asleep to be discovered by the former Queen in her arrival with food and fresh bandages. Tears fell from her eyes as her stirring son allowed her to take hold of the infant freeing him to dry your blotchy cheeks and pull you closer to his side closing his eyes again.

No punishment was to be taken, not when elation spread that the Prince, however a gruesome method in doing so, had been saved. Clearly you had expected to face execution but in being granted milk by the Valar Ulmo the title of Queen Mother had been granted to you along with the protection and nursing of the young Prince the former Queen herself had chosen you for. Hours he had thanked you when you had first woken and a familiar tale you had told of your mother had told you of the trees with the tiniest leaves in the first breath of spring bringing the most hope had secured the name for the tiny boy, the tiny green leaf that brought so much hope to the people for better things to come one day.

As often as he required to gradually learn all that had been said or done by or around you the King soon learned all and gained even more respect and adoration for you in all you had endured with still such kindness and love for the infant you were intertwined the life of eternally.

 He's like the son I might have known

If God had granted me a son

The summers die

One by one

How soon they fly

On and on

And I am old

And will be gone

.

Times were growing tough and once again the prince found himself witness to your temper in his own struggle to put off sleep to dig through papers having stacked up in his weeks of healing. The cool sting of metal now unsheathed form his very hip found his own sword to his throat. Up his hand went and around your wrist it wrapped, clearly he could disarm you and yet when his eyes met yours he relented slightly uncertain of why.

“Bed, now.”

With a sigh he said, “I must finish reading these reports.”

“Either way you are near to dropping, if it is what it takes I will read you to sleep.”

Relenting to your will as his father had done the blade was traded for the reports and a new tradition was shared, him in bed as you read the reports he required each night from a stool along the wall until he fell asleep. Soon there had been plans to construct a second Palace in the Northern peaks and between trips to oversee that his time was most spent with you and his son.

The boy loved you, whole heartedly and between nights laying up staring at the stars with the both of them, climbing trees and running through fields of tall grass and flowers none could ever tell him he was anything but yours. Yet his teens had come and gone and with adulthood came with a curiosity for the Elleth that had carried him when it finally settled in that you and his father were not bound and both clearly was suffering from that fact.

 Bring him peace

Bring him joy

He is young

He is only a boy

 With walls came puppets and spies. Sauron and Melkor, both disguised for many held no sway over your knowledge of them in their many visits to King Dior. Shadows spread and in a try to find the best plan to alert the now haze minded King you had no clue how to waken. Away you had to go, past the band of Dwarves and Hobbit once you had been captured in your flight their shouts sounded as you were beaten unconscious and chained in side the cage with the tiniest Dwarf now cowering at the fiery gaze of the metal clad puppets now patrolling the halls of the kingdom.

The pair left returning to guide the Elf King to march upon the mountain himself for the gold inside to wipe out his armies, a troubling task itself even with the haze his mind was under. A fiery haired Elleth far too distracted in searching the skies slipped back inside in time to see your capture and in their flight snuck in to bring down the puppets and use the keys to let you and the company free.

Behind her the Prince had snuck and into your barrel he jumped refusing to leave while Tauriel lingered with Bilbo to help him into a spare barrel for the ride to Laketown. A trade of rings after one of gold was spotted in passing left the Hobbit elated at the sapphire ring able to shift him into a white dove whenever he wished and back again just the same, much preferred over the shadowy paths his left him wandering.

A bargain had been struck, another ring granted, one to freeze the giant beast and any of fire hoping to attack them enabling them to break apart with axes without trouble in return for humoring the Elf King and drawing things out as long as he could without drawing blood. Away you turned and sighed seeing Legolas staring you down, “You are mistaken if you imagine I am letting you go alone.”

Turning away you mumbled, “We can add this to the list of reasons to execute me.”

Instantly spurring up an argument lasting hours between the duo against you until Tauriel finally asked, “Just where is our destination?”

“King Thorondor’s domain.”

Legolas excitedly asked, “The Eagles? We’re going to see the Eagles?!”

.

The excitement died however at the straight climb up the endless peak for days on end finally a landing was gripped and you crawled up onto it and helped the duo up after you only to knock Legolas down at a swooping talon ended foot slashing to Legolas, who you covered. “WHO DARES ENTER OUR DOMAIN?!”

Kneeling forward nearly to the ground you replied, “Please forgive me, I have come to request your aid.”

“What task could possibly lead you to imagine we would aid you nameless Elleth?!”

“We have discovered Sauron’s Ring and require aid in entering Mordor.”

A round of screeches sounded as you all gripped the cracks in the ledge you were on in the gusts their flapping wings stirred up. “HOW DARE YOU BRING THESE MATTERS HERE!”

A sudden lurch to Legolas had his eyes widen and you jerk him down again to cover him as he squeaked out, “Naneth!”

“Don’t hurt them, please! I led them here! Don’t hurt them!” Gripping him tightly under you the shadow of the giant Eagle above you inspecting the pair of you and Tauriel curled up at your sides for a moment.

Above you the Eagle King spoke firmly, “Leave and never return!” Silently you nudged the pair back to the long climb down and quietly you vanished from their keep and you especially did not speak until you reached the bottom and you sat down in the snow bank there drying your lingering tears from the shock of what had happened.

To yourself you muttered, “I hoped they would help.”

Legolas crouched before you saying when your eyes met his, “Naneth, we will find a way.”

Tauriel nodded, “And they will greatly regret not aiding in our adventure.”

With a nod you stood and mumbled to yourself, “Adventure…” Continuing on the path taking you to the distant plumes of smoke and ash.

 You can take

You can give

Let him be

Let him live

If I die, let me die

Let him live

.

Atop another peak you crouched eyeing the flaming darkened city making Legolas’ eyes go wide until you said, “The river.”

They both looked at you and you pointed out a tiny river flowing under the Eastern wall making Legolas ask, “The river lets us in, then what do we do about all of them?”

With a smirk you answered, “We break the dam.” His brow inched up and you showed him the dam located half a mile from the river used to power a great deal of machines parting their lips. “You can wait here, if you wish.”

Tauriel, “We are not abandoning you, Queen Mother.”

Legolas, “Naneth, you should know well enough the stubbornness of Elves to question our loyalty to you.”

.

Oddly frigid water led you inside to follow the currents to a set of rocks you used for cover to start the path to the dam with tossed rocks far in the distance to spur up distractions to remain unseen. Up a rocky path you climbed and to a set of mechanisms you climbed a built in ladder and broke the securing bolts and seals of the pipes around the dam building the pressure making you cling together in the wall of water crashing down into the city stirring up a call to open the gates. That however would take time, and you used it to your advantage to muster up a raft you bent the water to urge it towards Mt Doom. Up the ridge you ran and after tossing the ring away into the lava the pair pulling the raft helped you ease it into the water at your sign and held on for you to ride the waves of water pouring out through the gates.

Earth cracking below you had you leaping off at the last moment to roll to safety and spend a few elated giggling moments on the edge of oblivion before rolling to your knees for the walk home again. A shadowy path however led you right into a trap, one of riders from Gondor who had seen your path to the darkened now disappeared city. The ring had bored deep into the minds of those corrupted and it would take time to free those minds and with Gondor being so close the effects were so much stronger. Hard shoves and blows were given until you again were thrown into a cell coughing across the cold stone floor with the duo in separate cells across from you staggering to their knees shouting your name at your slow rise.

Eventually you did after a few room settling moments and spat blood into the corner in your wincing rise to your feet at the nearing of another guard. A sudden grip of your braid and tug on his chain mail sleeve to bring him in reach had your braid around his neck parting the lips of the duo across from you listening to his heart slow as he stopped struggling. Right after he slipped unconscious you let the chokehold loose and grabbed the keys on his belt freeing yourself and them after. Through the city muffled shouts and cries came with every person knocked out along the way until you were finally in possession of your things and free again to slip into the night on the moonless night.

The race however came to an abrupt end in your steadily slowing pace to a trot and near collapse bringing the attention of the duo to the dagger you had sutured in your thigh, the blood loss from which had your eyes rolling back in a slump forward. They tried to catch you, but a much larger foot did instead. Far from over head in their path of monitoring the tasks and paths you had taken a pair of Eagles had followed you, one now carrying you and the other, who snatched up Legolas and Tauriel.

Bring him home

Bring him home

Bring him home

 Execution was the last of your worries, or would be had you not been unconscious. Locked inside your apartment you were seen to on the hour every hour as the Prince and Tauriel were questioned thoroughly by the King. It wasn’t the corruption, the shadows or even the number of people having been locked away to send his stomach churning, but the thought of finding your blood stained apartment, now scrubbed clean, without any sight of you, his son or Tauriel.

It was right there, always right there. How he loved his Wife so easily, she was the version of you he was allowed to project his adoration onto, and what was worse she knew it, mentioned it often his bond with you he brushed off as friends. It was always more, the pregnancy news that sent him full panic at, now he realized not being yours, calmed when you were the one to find him off riding on his Elk in a faked need to scout supplies for a gift. You said he would be a great father, a great King, but he never wanted her, it was all yours. None of this would be here without you, his father surely would have lost it all, none could have passed Middle Earth or the Misty Mountains, and surely wouldn’t have passed Helcrax.

There was such a peace when you were named Queen Mother, everything felt right, but that damn bed, that damn empty bed he no longer realized as you read him to sleep and bled into his dreams only to shatter him at waking alone. He had found peace with you. A peace shattered when your bloody limp body was left in the middle of a garden by Eagles followed by his son and Captain of the Guard behind you to share how you had been injured.

.

The weight weighed heavily on Legolas, he swore he had seen a dagger in that final hall be drawn on him and you made the Man go flying with your punch, you were safe, you were supposed to be safe. But he didn’t get it, you loved him, and he meant more to you than life itself. Thranduil repeated the very sentiment you had shared with him when he confronted you about his birth mother, when you had given him the still bloody dagger expecting him to take revenge. But he dropped it and clung to you. Teary eyed he sat watching his father leave after the tightest hug he’d ever received from him that stirred a lingering ache in his ribs. You chose his barrel, the sturdiest and least likely to leak, you chose his portions always bigger than yours, you covered him when facing the Eagles and pled for their safety saying nothing for yourself.

That was love. Unflinching and selfless. Life was meaningless if he wasn’t safe and happy, you knew there would be sadness but he had time to be happy again if you fell in his place. So much had been sacrificed and it all returned to every pained glance you never knew he saw. He knew your smile, your laugh, the pure joy exuding from you when you were with him, and then is father would come and each glance, word and step closer or apart held a weight he couldn’t place, the same the opposite way. It never ended the tension and finally that dam was to break and he would make certain that all left unsaid would be unspoken somehow. It all had to come out, or surely you would drown from the blood seeping out of your torn open heart.

..

Quietly he sat replaying each moment he had missed sharing all he thought of you and as you slept, just as in your absence he wrote it all out for you. One journal turned to two and on his reach for a third after two weeks asleep your eyes opened and he stood crossing to plant his knee on the bed, “You are never to leave these walls again.”

Inhaling sharply you took that as your eternal imprisonment until his hands claimed yours in your reach to surrender to being bound and they were planted over your head in a warm kiss melting into forty three after ending with his settling at your side reaching for the first journal as you panted, “How long have we been back?”

“Two weeks and two days. Now rest.”

He opened the journal and you asked, “Shouldn’t you-,”

“Shhh. You will rest, and you will listen until I have read it all and long after until you have shared it all as well, by then the wedding service will be prepared.”

“Who is getting married?”

“We are.” Kissing you in a nestling hold to draw you closer to his chest for him to rest his cheek on top of your head and begin to read.

All –

@himoverflowers​, @theincaprincess, @aspiringtranslator​, @sweeticedtea​, @ggbbhehe4455​, @thegreyberet​, @patanghill17​, @jesgisborne​, @curvestrology​, @alishlieb​, @jogregor​, @armitageadoration​, @fizzyxcustard​, @here2have-fun​, @lilith15000​, @marvels-ghost​, @catthefearless​, @imjusthereforthereads​, @c-s-stars​

Hobbit/LotR – @abiwim​, @jotink78​, @pastelhexmaniac​

X Thranduil - @evyiione​, @sweetlytenacious25​, @tigereyesf​, @pastelhexmaniac

[alchemistc]

my heart still beats, my skin still feels

an: siiiiighhh. This one’s for you, @nowforruin.  (title yanked from ‘running with the wolves’ by aurora because i’m a predicable sob)

There is something curious about this Jon Snow. She’d thought as much the first time she laid eyes on him - smaller than she expected, lean where she had imagined girth, short where she expected a great hulking tree of a man, prettier than most the men she’s ever seen.

They called him King in the North, and Daenerys had expected broad shoulders and a mean face, a man who might tower over her in an attempt to frighten her, someone with hard eyes and a hard face.

Jon Snow has so far defied all her expectations.

He shouldn’t surprise her, considering the legions of men who follow Daenerys Stormborn wherever she takes them - across barren seas of sand, into battle against rich and powerful men, across an ocean most had always thought an insurmountable obstacle. She is a tiny thing, really, in the scope of the world, with delicate features and a face that, when she looks upon it, has not aged in accordance with her experiences. And yet, men follow her still, look upon her with both awe and terror - respect, even, and as she begins to know Jon Snow she begins to understand the perspective of all those who have bent their heads in deference to her.

It is an inconvenient revelation for her. She finds herself catching his gaze as it darts away from her; finds herself hiding a smile as he comes to stand beside her in his heavy furs and cloak seemingly unaware of the different climate or perhaps merely unwilling to look less a northerner; and sucking in a deep breath as his hand curls over her forearm and he dares to guide her along in the direction he’d like her to go. And when Tyrion’s brilliant mind fails her, when she has lost and she cannot see a way forward, it is Jon Snow’s council she seeks out, it is his soft and low voice; the humble shock in his eyes as she asks what he would have her do; the way he does not stumble over his harsh words; the way he questions her concern for the people even as he reminds her of her desire to do good, to be better, to change the way this world works.

They call him King in the North, and sometimes, Daenerys wonders if perhaps it is a lucky thing this man is a bastard who will likely give his life in this fight of his - surely if he were a trueborn son all of Westeros would be in his grasp by now.

------

He thinks of Stannis, the cool, harsh Stannis Baratheon, as he is escorted to his audience with the Dragon Queen - and as he looks upon her for the first time, he imagines Stannis sitting on this opulent throne, imagines the starkness of his face, and is immediately certain Stannis never sat where she now sits. It should be absurd, the picture of this young woman with her stern expression and steel back, silver hair gleaming against the stone behind her, but he stops short at the sight of it, of her, and even as her titles rattle off the walls around them he finds himself watching her.

It is no surprise he finds himself immediately at odds with her - he had expected as much when he agreed to this meeting - and yet he is disappointed too. Disappointed in himself for rising to her challenges, disappointed in her for refusing to listen to his words.

It makes no sense, at first, this rolling anger beneath his skin, the sharp ache of annoyance as they go toe to toe and she does not pay heed to his warning - she is a queen, just like any other, and he has never had much time for royalty, for the expectation of fealty, for monarchs so enamored with their own power they forget who they serve.

As he grows to know her better, pushed and shoved in that direction by his advisors and her own, he begins to understand why he’d taken so poorly to her reticence at first. He saw something of himself in her - this woman who triumphed over so much strife, who rose to conquer cities and earn the love of her people - he’d wanted her to believe him. He’d seen her dragons, her stature, seen the way that the Dothraki held themselves back at her silent command, heard the pride in the voices of those happy to serve her, and he’d hoped she might believe him.

The following days and weeks become difficult - he is a prisoner here, and despite the freedoms he is given he paces and he stares out into the vastness of the horizon and he wonders how he can convince the dragon queen of one more fantastical thing.

It feels a bit like fate to find the carvings amidst the dragonglass, and as he leads her through the tunnels, his sense of determination stems as much from his hope to find level footing with this woman as it is to show her further proof of his claims.

“I’ve seen you staring at her good heart,” Davos had said, as much a warning as a gentle ribbing, and at the time Jon’s response had felt like enough, but now he watches her as she takes in the stories of the Children of the Forest and he knows he is well and truly fucked. No time for that, he lies, even as he thinks of the jut of her chin and the fire in her eyes.

He’s known strong women before. Plenty of them, from the time he could remember knowing a difference between men and women. The hardness of Catelyn Stark had never stopped him from acknowledging the strength of her love for her children, from understanding how far she’d go for her family. Sansa, a girl who’d longed for pretty dresses and a handsome prince, had been through hell and back and come out the other side to fight the same fight her mother had - resilient and fierce, clever and brave. And Arya - he had to hope she was out there somewhere, too stubborn to die, too fearsome to let the world defeat her. Even Gilly had left an impression on him - she’d beaten the lot she’d been given in life, and fought to be more than she was. Brienne of Tarth, and the Wildling women he knew, even Cersei, much as he hated her - all these women had proven time and again they had the grit to defeat the roles they’d been gifted by unforgiving gods.

He tries not to think too hard on Ygritte, but her memory comes to him too, and he wonders what she’d say, how she’d laugh to know Jon Snow has found himself once again in the orbit of a woman with as much stubborn conviction as he. She’d hate him for it, he’s sure.

Daenerys is a woman apart from those he’s known before, and he cannot let himself wonder why. Even as he thinks on her, there are things more important that should occupy his mind, things he forces himself to remember - the terror of seeing the dead rise, the dread of knowing how few men there truly are to fight this war, the knowledge that he will most likely fail without the help of this woman. The North will fall, and the rest of Westeros after it, and the nothingness of death will fall upon them all.

There in that cave, guiding Daenerys by her arm, the firelight bouncing off stone walls, he thinks of Ygritte again, of her boldness and the way she’d shuddered and fallen apart in his arms. Of the way he’d felt alive, truly, blissfully alive and free, even though it was all a sham, a lie to secure the safety of the Wall.

He feels it again standing with Daenerys. Since he’d come back, he’d fought only out of duty, fought because it was the only thing he knew he could do well - but as she spits his own words back at him and holds his gaze, a fire blazes under his skin, and for a moment he forgets the lords of the North, he forgets the cold blackness beyond life, and he wants to live.

She begs his advice outside that cave and despite the antagonistic nature of their relationship he offers his frank opinion. It is not to stop her from destroying cities or burning the people of Westeros, it is not because they will need every able body to defeat the coming storm.

He tells her not to attack the people because he needs her to be better than that: a fair leader, a good woman. Because he trusts in the kindness of her heart.

No time for that, he tells himself, while her men assist in the mining of dragonglass and she rides off to battle. There’s no time for that, he repeats in the back of his mind as he stands atop the cliffs, watching a beast out of Nan’s horror stories soar above him.

No time for that, and his hand shakes as he pulls it free from it’s glove, and strokes his fingers over thick scales, his breath coming out in short puffs, overwhelmed by all of it, unsure what had overcome him, what desperate need had made him reach out to touch.

No time.

------

He is steady as he reaches toward Drogon, and through the shock of seeing anyone dare come so close to one of her children (Tyrion, Tyrion had done it, she remembered, but Tyrion was a brave drunken fool, Tyrion held her respect, her trust most days, and here was another brave fool). She finds herself drawn to the sight - her blood racing, heart hammering, she cranes to take in what is happening below her.

She has never felt the need to share this experience with another - never thought anyone would try, but as she dismounts and Drogon takes flight again, she looks upon Jon Snow and tries to hide the eagerness in her voice to hear his thoughts on the experience.

Her mind wanders then to other experiences shared between them, things that have set them apart from the rest of this world. Yet he plays down the words spoken in the heat of the moment, and she hides her disappointment, unwilling to truly examine why she yearns to uncover the mysteries of this northern bastard who holds the claim for a large part of her kingdom.

She could just as easily have him executed - burn him in dragon fire as she had those southron men who refused to bend the knee, order his head taken from his neck like his father’s had before him.

And yet.

He had come to her in peace, has shown her respect and even at times patience and understanding. He has been humble, though certainly not deferential, fiercely protective of his people - he wanted nothing more than the support of her armies and the protection of the people she meant to one day lead.

He had stood before Drogon, the fiercest of her children, and Drogon had seen no artifice in Jon Snow.

Shaken as she is by that realization, it rattles her calm, makes her stare at him longer and harder, makes her notice how much she’s grown to respect him, this man who refuses to bend the knee and desires her help all the same.

And then Jorah is returned to her, and in that blaze of happiness she forgets herself for a moment, lets emotion slip past her mask

His hands tremble when he reads the letter sent from Winterfell, and in that moment he is entirely too human for her: breakable, easily killed. She has to swallow so her voice does not waver as she reminds him of his place, but they both know she will do nothing to stop him.

The entire room knows it.

Daenerys has never felt more powerless, and she hates him for it, hates Jorah Mormont and Jon Snow, hates Tyrion Lannister and the Red Priestess for ever suggesting an alliance with the North could be beneficial.

She hates them all, for their bravery, for their council, for the weakness they all share in their desire to serve the realm - for earning her respect even when she meant not to give it.

And still, her crisp nod is enough to send them all down a path she is not certain they can return from.

------

It’s a fool plan, and he knows it long before it all goes wrong, but it’s all they’ve got, and even as he sends Gendry back towards Eastwatch he wonders if there hadn’t been a better plan. If he’d waited a bit longer, spent more time with Dany, might he have convinced her to bring a dragon to begin with?

That’s what he’s asking of her now, isn’t it? Time is not on their side, and no matter how much he might like her she’s no warrior. But she alone controls the greatest weapon in all their arsenals, and she alone might be able to get them out of this foolhardy mess.

He’d seen the way she looked at him, the way she’d held back as they said their goodbyes, and he’s no great judge of women’s desires, but something tells him she will come. For the realm. For Jorah Mormont.

If he adds his own name to the list, no one else has to know about it.

When she does come, in a fiery blaze of glory, he knows Tormund is right. For so long he’s known only terrible rulers, or dead ones, and here now in the desolate north, surrounded on all sides by creatures of death, Daenerys Targaryen has come - no doubt against the wishes of her advisors, no doubt against her own sense. She’s as recklessly foolish as he is, and as he watches her astride the great beast, burning the dead to ash, he feels a kinship stronger than any before it.

At least, as it all goes to shit, and he plunges into the ice, towards the same watery grave as one of her dragons, he can be certain she will continue this fight without him.

------

The loss of Viserion sits heavily upon her, and so she tries not to think of it.

It’s an easier task than she might have expected, the grief shoved aside in favor of her worry for the man she’s already risked far too much for. He is pale, his breathing not quite steady, his eyes closed in slumber as Ser Davos buries him in furs and orders men about. She’s seen the scars, knows without having to question it just what has happened to him - the pieces coming together as her mind races - Davos’ words about what he’s sacrificed for his people, the appearance of the Red Priestess and her conviction that Jon Snow was important in this war, the bordering on suicidal nature of the way he fights.

Jon Snow’s not in love with me, she’d told Tyrion, more to convince herself than anything else, but she’d seen the way he’d looked at her after Viserion fell, seen the set of his shoulders as he turned toward the Night King, heard the tremor in his voice as he called for her to leave.

When all is settled and the man shuffle past her out the door, when only Davos remains, staring down at the king he’s chosen, eyeing the rise of fall of his chest beneath the furs, she takes another step into the room. Ser Davos seems only then to realize she is there, and he startles.

“Your Grace,” he says, and she fights the quirk of her lip at the tone of it, a gentle chiding in his voice even as he dips his head towards her. “Forgive me, Your Grace, but he needs rest.”

Daenerys swallows, nods, and takes another step into the room. “I won’t wake him, Ser Davos.”

The man opens his mouth, shakes his head and closes it. When she glances up at him, his expression nearly gets a laugh out of her, and she can imagine inside his head are nothing but thoughts of the stubbornness of those he has surrounded himself with. If he knew her better, she has no doubt he’d make those thoughts known, but he slides around her instead, and she listens to the heavy footfalls as he moves down the hall.

In the quiet, Jon’s breathing sounds ragged and shaky, and she takes three steps closer to the edge of the bed before she’s even realized it.

There is something about Jon that makes her forget herself, and even if it’s only for a moment, it is something she has not experienced in a long time. Through everything that has happened in the last few years, she has held herself stern and unyielding, concealing every thought that crosses her mind and every emotion felt - the sadness, the anger, the heartache - until she worried she’d lost the ability to feel those things entirely.

Now, she looks at this man, this man who has died and come back to fight for his people, this man who has spent months now listening to her demand his fealty in return for her help and still found the nerve to ask her to come for his party beyond the wall.

He’s a fool. A brave, honorable fool, and her heart aches to think she nearly lost him too.

When he wakes, she is by his side, alternating her gaze between the pinch of his brow, his face solemn even in sleep, and the curl of his hand by the edge of the bed; so close she could reach out and grasp it.

And then he speaks, the first words out of his mouth not a thank you, or anything pertaining to the Night King or his own near miss with death.

No, it is an apology. An apology for the mission they undertook, and the loss it caused, and even as her eyes well with tears he reaches for her hand, earnest and true, likely to the very bitter end.

She wants so very desperately in that moment to allow herself this comfort, to curl her fingers into his palm and stay there with him, to cry the tears she has yet to shed, to let him see her, beneath the masks and the steel and the fire of her eyes.

But she cannot. She has suffered a loss not only for herself, but for her people as well, in this battle she had not truly believed in until the moment Viserion fell. If she allows herself the comfort of the promise in his eyes when he looks upon her, she will not be strong enough to face the coming storm.

When she pulls her hand away and tucks it into her lap she grasps it beneath the one he’d held. It is a poor substitute.

------

“Do you understand?”

He doesn’t know why it sticks out to him, why, as he thinks on her (and gods does he spend far too much time stuck in this fucking bed thinking on her) the admission is what he goes back to. Her promise to fight with him, the way she’d stared at their clasped hands, the very fact that she’d allowed herself to break down in front of him, even for a moment - all of that he spends less time contemplating than he does those words.

He’s spent enough time on them to know they didn’t come from a desire to make him feel guilty - she hadn’t said them in order to gain pity, and as he turns them over and over again, there’s truly only one reason that comes to mind.

Years ago, it might have been a blessing, hearing those words from a woman he thought of the way he thought of Daenerys. His greatest fear with Ygritte hadn’t been of breaking his vows but of putting a bastard in her, forcing another child to grow up in an already shit world with that word a burden on it’s shoulders. 

He was a bastard boy, with no land to inherit, no room to become a great man like his father, and so he’d gone to the Night’s Watch, where at least he could be and honorable man. Benjen had told him he didn’t know what it meant, to give up the chance for a family, and he’d scoffed and thrown it aside, ready to devote himself to something that meant a damn thing.

Since Ygritte, he’d not thought on it, too busy to even contemplate such a thing. Until Daenerys. Until he looked at her and saw the fire in her eyes, the fierce loyalty she commanded, the desire she carried within her heart to truly help the people of this land. Until Jorah had told him to pass Longclaw down through the generations of his kin.

He’d thought on it then - a babe in his arms, a child to teach to fight, to love, to stand fierce and tall and brave against a world that would always try to drag them down. A girl or boy to hold close to his heart, who could carry on a legacy of their own making.

It doesn’t matter.

When she curls her fingers around his, and whispers the hope that he is right about her, when she holds his steady gaze and tells him to rest, already drawing back into herself, it doesn’t matter.

He will fight for her, with her, until his very last breath, and he will admire her in whatever way she will allow. He’ll stand by her side against the coming storm, and he will not let it matter. Her legacy will outlive her, children or no. He won’t allow any other possibility.

[idreamofasriel-blog]

Metal Slug-Demon Song Ch 12

The Girls didn't have so much luck either on their search and it didn't help that they got ambushed by Caroline's remote control plane that tried to gun them down on the spot. They stayed out of sight and moved through the darkness and stop moving when the engine of the plane grows loud and start moving again when it's away. “You're okay, Eri?” Fio contacted her through Radio, “I'm fine, Fio. We need to find a way to regroup and get out of sight for awhile.” Eri replied. Fio turns her radio back on, “Okay, meet me at the subway entrance, it'll give us plenty of covers till the plane is gone. Be careful.” “Same to you.” Eri's radio goes quiet and Fio looked around for a better route to avoid that plane again, she heard it coming and ducked into a doorway as it flew by and carefully stepped out. She looked both ways and studied the plane's pattern and ran out to another hiding spot, she can see the subway entrance but there were a few hiding spots for her to duck into and she has to act fast. Fio took off running again and gasped when she saw the plane chasing after her to shoot her where she stood. She judged how fast the plane was going and then jump out of the way just in time when a hail of bullets came raining down on the road. Fio threw the door open of an old opera house and quickly scurry away from the windows to hide behind a ticket counter. She was waiting for the gunshots and the plane swooping in to blow up the whole building but nothing happens and the plane oddly flew away from the building. “That's odd, I thought she'll blow me up along with this building.” Fio whispered and she saw the Ptolemaic Army emblem carved on the door after she got up to peak out the door. She closed it shut again and gone back to hide behind the ticket counter to think. She wondered if the place has a map of the city and she looked around the drawers and tables for one and she smiled when she found one tucked away in a mail slot and open it. There's a path she can take through the backstage of the opera house and go through the back door and then make her way to the subway entrance through a parking lot building. It was perfect and Fio took out a pink marker she carries with her and trace out her path and tuck the map away into her vest. Fio opened the doors to the auditorium and closed them quickly. Her heart was racing and she hoped that she wasn't spotted by the people inside. She opened the door ajar to look inside and she can see Dragunov and Yoshino talking in the middle of the stage with their soldiers dragging equipment around and checking weapons over. “So he escaped from the subway tunnel and roaming free in the city. We better move in and catch it quick before the Rebels or the PF Squad finds him first.” said Yoshino and Dragunov loaded her sniper rifle with darts, “Don't worry, we came more prepare this time and he's not going to get away from us this time.” “What do I do?” Fio asked herself and glances around for an answer to her problem. She found a set of stairs that leads to the second floor of the auditorium and she can see the stage better in the audience booth and looked up and spotted a catwalk that might help her sneak passed them and headed back to the ticket counter to find a map of the place and found her escape route of the place. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves and follow the path to the catwalk and thanks to Eri for teaching her how to pick locks, Fio unlocked the cat walk's door with no problem and quietly pushed it open and stepped onto the catwalk. “Okay, Fio. It's like Mae with the power lines in that one game you played. Walk straight and don't look down.” She took it easy and slow and by doing that, she can hear more of the conversation from Dragunov and Yoshino, “Any word on the demon's where about and how much time do we have left before daylight?” Dragunov asked and Special Force checked their calculation, “Less than two hours, ma'am.” he replied and Dragunov had a sour expression on her, “Then we better moved out before he escapes and heads back to the Regular Military base to change back.” “I'm with you, Dragunov. It was easy to take him down back in the sand kingdom and capture him but he put up quite of a fight at the Ikari Warriors' headquarters.” Yoshino smirked. Fio didn't understand what they were saying at first but she is one clever girl and put it all together and her eyes widen and everything was making sense and can't be in denial over it either. Marco being found in the alleyway unconscious in the Sand Kingdom and the sudden illness of feeling tired all the time and being found in the garage waking up. Even the odd craving for raw meat and how aggressive he got over a piece of meat he was caught gnawing on. “They're hunting for Marco.” Fio lips quivered and she moved as fast as she can and she flinched greatly as the air was filled with a loud distress scream from a woman that grabbed both of the women's attention, “Caroline!” They shouted in unison and they jumped off the stage and dash for the exit with their troops following behind, now this is Fio's chance to make her escape and meet up with Eri. She ran across the catwalk and she can see the exit in view. The whole building is violently shaking and Fio grabbed hold of the railing and screamed when Caroline's plane came crashing down in flames and taking out a lot of buildings with it. Metal was groaning and bending against its will and Fio heard ropes snapping and metal clanking against stuff underneath her and her feet slipped right when the Catwalk collapsed. She held onto a bar on the catwalk rail and whimpered. The Catwalk jolted and Fio yelled and couldn't hold on forever. She tries to use the railing like a set of ladders but the whole thing gave up holding on and plunged Fio to the stage below. Fio doesn't know how long she's been out but she did felt someone's warm breathing on her face and she was scared to open her eyes to see who it is and she slowly opens one eye and her vision was blurry to see who it was but all she can make out is a big mass with glaring yellow eyes and a sound of thin metal clinking against each other. She reached out and felt something metallic in front of her and grabbed it before passing. “Fio?” “Fio!” “Are you okay? Please wake up!” A pair of hands shook strongly enough to wake the young woman up and Fio slowly opened her eyes and her visions cleared up to reveal Eri. Scared but relieved for her best friend waking up and hugged her, “Oh, thank goodness that you're okay. You didn't show up at the subway entrance so I came looking for you. I even saw Dragunov and Yoshino come running out of this Opera house and figured that you were there as well. Talk about making a good call.” She smiled a bit and helped Fio up. “Can you walk?” Fio nodded and she notices that she was clutching something in her hand. She wasn't sure if she wants to look at it even if she knew the answer is under her fingers. “What you got there. Fio?” Eri pointed at it and Fio looked at her gravely and open her hand up with one finger at a time, “The answer to who our mystery demon is.” she whispered with anguish and Eri gasped when she saw the name on the dog tag. “We better find Tarma before it's too late!” she said and she helped Fio off the stage and they headed toward the exit. Fio was dead quiet while following Eri and she looked at the dog tags again and grasped it. She's trying to fight the tears back, “Why would they do this to Marco?” she softly spoke and closed the door behind her.

[hallowedmasamune]

FFXV/Pokemon Drabble Part 1

Here’s a little bit of a story I started. I’ll probably write more on it in the future, but with school and everything I haven’t had the time to really get myself invested in working on this. I hope whoever reads this enjoys it.

If this story interested you, I’ve recently opened commissions. You are more than welcome to message me regarding any requests you might have!

              Any time that he could get a moment to himself and away from the servants or anyone else, Noctis would explore what he could of the castle and escape from “your Highness” this and “Lord Noctis” that. He understood that he was the prince of Lucis, but everyone pandering to his whim was getting old. There were moments where he just wished to be alone, and the only way he could achieve that was to sneak away to places of the castle people didn’t think he would be. He wondered if it ever worried his father, but he just assumed that his father was too busy being king to worry anything about Noctis’s well being.

              The castle was immense, so Noctis was sure that there were many places where he hadn’t been before. He wished that he had a map of the castle so that he could keep track of where he had and had not been before. Regardless, he was going to spend any time away from people exploring and enjoying his time alone.

              There was a space in the garden that he remembered looking suspicious, so he began to head to the garden, making sure to avoid anyone that might be roaming through the halls. He knew that there was probably a reason for no one telling him about these secret areas, but that made him even more inclined to find them and discover what was hidden.

              Through the garden, he found a path through the windows to an area that he had been to before, so he avoided that area for the moment. There was another path that he didn’t travel on too often, so he focused on following where that path went. It seemed to go through the garden like normal, showcasing the bushes and flowers that flourished in the garden.

              The path began to lead back to the castle away from the garden, so Noctis began to look for something among the bushes that stood out as odd. All he could see were flowers and the city outside of the window. The sun had not reached the middle of the sky yet, so he knew that he still had some time to explore before anyone would start to notice that he was ‘missing’.

He was hoping to find something, but it seemed like everything was pretty normal in this area of the garden. He began to head back to the castle, disappointed at not finding anything this time. The thought of heading back to princely duties and homework from school didn’t appeal to him at all, but he didn’t think that wasting his time here would be beneficial to him.

A small sound suddenly stopped him in his tracks, making him turn to where he was looking for a secret place. He wasn’t exactly sure what the sound was, but he definitely heard it and knew that it was something worth looking into...hopefully. He turned back to the area, making sure to check everything that he could for a secret entrance or anything that stood out.

He heard another sound, and it only fueled him to keep looking in order for him to find out just what it was. Rummaging through the grass, he felt a sudden cold object that felt like metal brush against his hand. When he found it again, he realized that it was a handle to a door that was disguised to look like the grass around it. Noctis wondered how he had missed it before, but quickly dismissed the thought and pulled the door up. Under the door, he could see a tunnel that led toward the castle, but went down below where he was.

Noctis took a quick look around to make sure that no one saw him or was looking for him, and then he quietly slipped into the door and began making his way through the tunnel. In contrast to the grass above, the tunnel was made of metal and cold to the touch. The space was rather small, so Noctis was forced to crawl on his hands and knees through the tunnel, but he was adamant about discovering what was hidden in this new area.

He had no idea how long he had been crawling through the tunnel, but it seemed to take quite a while before he saw another opening besides the one that he came through. This opening led to another area, but this area was more open than the tunnel that Noctis was in. He stayed silent for a moment to try to listen and make sure that no one else was around and would spot him, then he opened the doorway into the new area and slid through as quietly as he could. He fell to the floor, wincing when his feet touched down. He didn’t just how far above the floor he was in the tunnel, but luckily it wasn’t a large enough fall to seriously hurt him.

The room he landed in was made of material similar to the castle’s halls, but instead of grand hallways and elegant rooms, this place seemed devoid of life and very cold. Noctis assumed that this was a place similar to a laboratory or something of the like, and continued down to further explore the area. He spotted desks, computers, giant monitors, and cabinets that were more than likely locked from intruders such as himself. He could also see files scattered on the desks, but one peek at a file showed little information that interested him. He did see something about a thing  with an unknown origin, but he quickly became bored and put the file down to continue his investigation.

A sound, the same from before, made him pause for a moment. It seemed much closer than before, and he could feel his heart beat faster with excitement. He wanted to know so badly what could possibly be down here, and he didn’t wish to leave until he figured it out.

The sound came from straight ahead, so he quickened his pace and began to follow the sound, ignoring any other files and things that lay on the desks. He heard it again and again, each time the sound being louder and louder. He knew he was on the right track, and he held no interest in even considering that his life may be in danger from whatever was down here.

Finally, Noctis came across an area of what appeared to be cages and operating tables, with instruments that he didn’t recognize scattered around the room. The thought of what could be in the cages caused him to freeze for a moment, but that pause was short lived when he heard the sound yet again and immediately moved to find the source of it. There was one cage that was set apart from the rest, standing alone against a wall adjacent to where Noctis entered the room. In the cage was the source of the sound: a creature.

Noctis had never seen anything like this creature before. It’s body was mostly black, with its front feet that were similar to the feet of birds and a dark green and its back feet that resembled a dog or cat and matching its body color. Bits of navy blue parts that appeared to be armor covered the back legs’ shins, top of the paws, and flanks, and a tail that was vertical that was similar to a fish. Silver fur hung loose under a brown helmet that covered the creature’s face, and Noctis couldn’t help but notice a hatchet-like appendage that lay on top of the helmet. The creature seemed to be asleep, but Noctis made sure to keep calm and do nothing to disturb it. He wondered what exactly the creature was and why it was down below the castle, out of sight. He assumed that his father knew about it, and thought about asking him about it the next time he saw his father.

Noctis decided that it would be in his best interest to leave the creature alone, so he decided to try to come back another time when the creature was awake. He had difficulty containing his excitement as he wandered back through the tunnel and back to the garden; he had truly discovered something amazing today, and his head spun with millions of questions about what it was and why it was down there. He thought about telling someone about it, but he decided that it would be his secret and kept it to himself.

-

“I don’t think any of these will work either.”

The next day was another early one for Noctis, as his father wished to find him a partner Pokemon as soon as possible. Most people in the kingdom of Lucis, especially in the city of Insomnia, found a Pokemon that they were attached to by spending time with different Pokemon and seeing which one would connect with the person better. Noctis, however, was a rare case. He had a difficult time connecting with any Pokemon that was presented to him, and he nor anyone else wasn’t entirely sure what the reasoning could be. It wasn’t that Noctis had a hatred or even a dislike for Pokemon; he loved Pokemon, and spent much of his free time researching and discovering new Pokemon on the Internet or walking through Insomnia. There were even Pokemon that roamed freely through the garden in the castle, and Noctis was friendly with each of them. But none of the Pokemon that he encountered seemed to connect to him, and he didn’t seem anymore attached to a Pokemon than someone would a simple flower in nature.

“You seem particularly fond of Pokemon like little Riolu here. Are you certain, Noctis?”, Noctis’s father, Regis, said to him as he pet a nearby Riolu. The small Pokemon was certainly cute, and Noctis did enjoy reading about it.

Noctis shook his head. “I don’t really feel anything special with it, Father.”

Regis looked down at the Riolu, who understood the situation and drooped its ears. “Ah, don’t worry, little one. Neither of you are at fault here. There is just another friend waiting for you in the future.” The Riolu barked, and it seemed to cheer up slightly.

Regis called off the Pokemon, and they all returned to one of the daycares in the city. Noctis waved at the Pokemon, thinking deeply about why he couldn’t seem to connect with any Pokemon that he had encountered. It upset him deeply when he went to school or other places and saw people, children and adults alike, walking or hanging out with their Pokemon. He wanted to experience that kind of relationship with a Pokemon, yet it seemed to be something that he couldn’t accomplish.

“Thank you for trying, Noctis. You will find your partner soon.”, Regis said in an endearing tone.

“Why is it taking so long for me to find a Pokemon? What am I doing wrong?”, Noctis said quietly.

“You are doing nothing wrong, son. This is not something that just happens when you or a Pokemon want it to. It has to happen when it needs to.”

“It’s just a waste of my time. I’ll just stick to games where I can catch and use whatever Pokemon I want.” When he finished his sentence, Noctis turned away from his father and began to head to his room. How did his dad know what it felt like to wait so long for a partner? What made him suddenly feel like he understood how Noctis felt? Noctis could feel his hands clench in anger.

[suedaviesposts-blog]

New Journey Mural by Alice Pasquini 276 First Street near Grove Street. This is part of a series of 3 murals–the other 2 are in Rockaway Beach and Inwood NY

When you think about a day of street art, Jersey City Street Art probably is not at the top of your mind. You’re probably thinking about going to New York City to Bushwick or Harlem or the Bronx. For more on NYC street art, you can read my post: Bushwick Street Art and The Bushwick Collective. You might even be thinking about Philly street art. If you only go to NYC or Philly, you will miss out on the fantastic Outdoor gallery of Jersey City Street Art. You’ll also be missing out on many other New Jersey Street art locations like Newark, Asbury Park and elsewhere.

Jersey City street art is being created all over the place. There are hundreds of murals and tags–both “officially sanctioned” and unofficially painted. And, tags and graffiti are in many spots as well. It is short ride on the PATH train to get to the heart of Jersey City to see amazing street art.

Where to Go to See Jersey City Street Art

While there is street art all over Jersey City, some of it is more accessible via mass transit than other places. The most accessible Jersey City street art is in downtown Jersey City, Grove Street and Jersey Heights. There are also some stunningly large murals right outside of the Holland Tunnel.

In the past 5 years more than 70 murals have been painted. These murals have been painted by well-known local, national and international artists from around the world–Eduardo Kobra (Brazil), Shepard Fairey (US), Pixel Pancho (Italy), Fintan McGee (Australia), Faith47 (South Africa), Case Ma’Claim (Germany) and local artists Distort, Mustart, Mata Ruda, Fermin Mendoza, Catherine Hart and others.

Bowie by Eduardo Kobra, Brazilian artist, on Jersey Ave

Kingdom by Distort is massive mural at 580 Marin Blvd. near the Holland Tunnel.

Jersey Street Art starts right after the Holland Tunnel

Recent two very large murals that have been painted by Kobra and Distort right near the Holland Tunnel. Kobra is a Brazilian street artists who has painted all of the world. The kaleidoscope effect is his signature. It was painted right after Bowie died and is 180 feet tall. Many murals in JC are very tall.

Distort spent 40 days painting Kingdom, a massive mural telling the industrial history of Jersey City on Marin Blvd, near the Holland Tunnel. It is 200 feet by 80 feet and is believed to be the largest mural in New Jersey. Green Villian organized the project with funding from the Jersey City Mural Art Program. Mecca and Sons Trucking owns the 100 year old building.

Pawn (Shaun Edwards) is a Jersey City artist. He has been active in JC for the past 15 years and has some very creative and political murals. You will see another one his murals in the last section.

Jersey City Street Art Under Route 139

Natural Springs by Shepard Fairey. This mural is below 139 near the Holland tunnel.

A few blocks away just south of the entrance to Rte 139, you will find another series of murals.

It’s tucked away, almost under 139 ramp and would be hard to find if you were not living in JC. Among the artists in this spot are Sipros, Shepard Fairley and Pawn.

Shepard Fairey has two murals in Jersey City. The most recent is Natural Spring under route 139. He is most known for creating the Obama

Jersey City Street Art Mural by Sipros near Holland Tunnel and Route 139.

Hope 2008 poster. Fairey was one of the founders of Graffiti Park in Austin, Texas (see my post on Graffiti Park.). A few years ago, he painted The Wave in Downtown Jersey City as a nod to Jersey City’s relationship to the water and the new cultural wave in the City.

Sipros is a Brazilian street artist. He also has painted with The Bushwick Collective and all over the world. If you drove through the Holland Tunnel before the Presidential election, you may have seen his Trump as the Joker (from Batman) mural.

Jersey City Mural by Pawn. Underneath 139

    Pawn is a local Jersey City Street artists who has painted all over the City.

Street Art Near Grove Street

There is a lot of art in and around Grove street, particularly near the pedestrian plaza. Below are four murals that I like–one by Case Ma’Claim and the other by Fintan McGee. The mural at the top of this post by Alice Pasquini is also in this area.

Jersey City Street Art. Mike Maka Mural. On first Street near Newark Ave

Jersey City Street Art Mural by Case Ma’Claim. 200 Newark Street

Remembering the Clouds by Australian Street Artist Fintan McGee. 191 Bay Street

Case Ma’Claim (Andres Von Chrzanowski) is a German artist who often paints hands in a style that combines surrealism and photorealism. He has been a leading street artists since the mid-1990s.

Fintan McGee is from Australia and often paints murals with an environmental theme. This mural is a little out of the way, but very worth seeing. He has works in Buenos Aires, Bogota (Columbia), Baton Rouge, Miami, Jakarta, and Ireland. McGee is often compared to the legendary street artist Banksy.

Born in Russia, Mustart (Ivan Petrovsky), has lived in the US since he was 14. He has murals all over JC. The name Mustart is a way of saying that he must do art everyday.

Mike Maka is another artist that is all over JC. This frog mural is near Grove Street. He is based in Australia and has had shows and murals all over the world.

Jersey Heights Street Art

Jersey Heights has a great deal of street art. You can get there by a long uphill walk (or a long flight of stairs). Alternatively, the light rail and buses go there.

If you elect to walk, you’ll want to take the PATH train to Hoboken and then walk up

Hip Hop Tunnel Mural by Will Power on Ravine Road (New York Avenue) tunnel.

Hip Hop Tunnel Mural by Will Power on Ravine Road (New York Avenue) tunnel.

Hip Hop Tunnel Mural by Will Power on Ravine Road (New York Avenue) tunnel.

Ravine Road (also know as New York Avenue). On that route, you’ll pass through Hip Hop Tunnel. This is a tunnel that is covered in street art from the entrances to the inside. It was painted by Will Power and it 150 feet long. It is amazing to see.

Mata Ruda is a Costa Rican immigrant This is in the Heights at 211 Bay Street.

Mata Ruda is a local artist. In this mural, he depicts an anonymous immigrant by only showing the bottom half of his face.

Originally from Costa Rica, he came to the US by way of Venezuela. He work is on display in the Newark Museum, El Museo Barrio (Harlem) and in street art murals in Russia, Puerto Rico, Ukraine and Mexico.

Downtown Jersey City Street Art

Giraffe by local artist Catherine Hart. 137 Newark Ave.

Downtown Jersey City is full of street art. Catherine Hart is a local street artist from Jersey City by way of California and Austin, Texas. The Giraffe mural is whimsical and fun to see. Catherine  has worked on murals in Kentucky, Texas, Tennessee, Kansas, New Jersey and North Carolina.

Black Sheep by Pixel Pancho in Downtown Jersey City. 143 Christopher Columbus Drive

Pixel Pancho is an Italian Street artist who paints internationally. His signature is robot characters. Reportedly, he depicted himself in the painting as the robot boy/black sheep.

Beau Stanton is originally a California native now based in Red Hook Brooklyn.  Jersey Crown portrays some of the iconic buildings of JC–the old city hall, powerhouse, the railroad terminal. He has painted mural in Bushwick as well.

Gaia grew up in NYC but is now based in Baltimore. He has done murals on all 6 continents. This mural was controversial because he painted over another existing mural that was peeling.

Native Mural by Gaia in Downtown Jersey City at 151 Newark Ave

Where Did All This Art Come From?

Graffiti and street art have been in Jersey City for decades. Most of it was illegal, some of it very beautiful, some of it political, some personal and others resisted categorization. In 2013, Jersey City was in the midst of widespread gentrification and the City wanted to support this effort. Along came the Jersey City Mural arts program.

Mural called Jersey City by Fermin Mendoza. On Route 440

The program was funded by a Clean Communities grant which also supported an anti-littering initiative called Stop the Drop. It was also part of the Keep Jersey City Beautiful program. It’s stated goals are to cut down on graffiti, beautify neighborhoods and involve the local community. Many people would like to see the community more engaged in the location and development of the mural arts program. In addition, it is reported that graffiti artists who are caught “in the act” by the police are required to do community service with the Mural Arts program. Setting up street art in opposition to graffiti is problematic politically as well as a fruitless tactic.

Jersey City Street Art Mural by Mustart. On Coles near Maxwell

Savage Habbit Murals Project and Green Villian are also players in this arena. Savage Habbit’s stated goal is to strengthen the dialogue between the local communities through public art. There are many Savage Habbit connected murals in Jersey City. Green Villian is a group of social entrepreneurs that came together in 2009  in the old Clorox Bleach factory in Jersey City. They now have an art gallery and often collaborate with the Jersey City Mural Arts program. The Kingdom mural was a project that they organized.

New Jersey Street Art Around the State

There is the street art in other areas of Jersey City. Ashbury Park has a thriving street art scene. Newark Street Art boasts the largest mural in the country along McCarter Highway. Camden, Hoboken, Union City and many other places have growing street art communities.

Getting to Jersey City

Jersey City Street Art

There are many ways to get to Jersey City. The PATH is the subway that runs from New York City to Jersey City. There are stops at Exchange Place, Grove, Hoboken and elsewhere.

There are buses from Port Authority in New York that go to Hoboken and places in Jersey City. By car, Jersey City starts right after you exit the Holland Tunnel. There is a good online map of street art in Jersey City on the Jersey City Mural Arts Program website. Their list there is not exhaustive and only includes the projects that the City has sponsored.

My favorite way to see street art is to wander around and get lost. Or, ride a bike and see what you see. This is how I’ve stumbled upon many of the street art murals depicted in this post. I hope you come by and experience Jersey City Street Art.

  10 Reasons to See Exciting Jersey City Street Art When you think about a day of street art, Jersey City Street Art probably is not at the top of your mind.