#you can lead a horse to water but be careful where it spits it out

[armenelols]

So I just wanted to talk about the first time we see Elrond in LotR, in the chapter Many Meetings (which I just reread and my mind is exploding with thoughts, thus here I am writing this). He was, of course, mentioned a few times before that, and he did make an appearance in The Hobbit, but for someone who didn't read any other Tolkien books before, this was their first impression of him. And since Elrond is my number one Tolkien character, of course I take every opportunity to ramble about him and am already worried about the length of the post I'll possibly make about him after rereading the Council of Elrond. Sue me.

To start with:

"There they hastily kindled fire; for Glorfindel knew that a flood would come down, if the Riders tried to cross, and then he would have to deal with any that were left on this side of the river."

_________________

"'Who made the flood?' asked Frodo.

'Elrond commanded it,' answered Gandalf. 'The river of this valley is under his power and it will rise in anger when he has great need to bar the Ford."

- Fellowship of the Ring, Many Meetings

I love how this chapter just straight up tells us that Elrond casually goes around causing floods every time someone unwelcome tries to get to Rivendell. What were the two sieges of Imladris like? Did Sauron try to get into the valley, only to return back on the shore completely wet and spitting water? What about Angmar's armies in the Third Age? Were they just standing near the river for 50 years because every time they tried to cross it, they would drown?

Adding to that, in The Hobbit, Gandalf, the dwarves and Bilbo had some trouble getting into the valley because they kept going in circles (despite the fact that Gandalf was in the valley many times before) - they didn't get there until after the elves from the valley lead them there. I think some illusions were keeping them out, but I am not entirely sure, I would have to reread it.

What am I trying to say? That the siege back in the Second Age was probably just Sauron and his army getting repeatedly drenched and drowned or going in circles and getting lost. Adds a whole new perspective to Sauron's drowning during the Fall of Númenor. Every time he gets involved with the sons of Eärendil or their descendants, it ends with someone drowning. No wonder he tried to get rid of them so hard.

Also, I would like to remind everyone that Gandalf fully supports Elrond's floods and makes them into horse shapes because this is Gandalf we are talking about, of course he does

But I strayed off the topic entirely so returning to Elrond in this chapter and leaving Sauron back in Mordor.

Another of the things we immediately hear about Elrond is that he healed Frodo - that he tended to him for four nights and three days, to be exact. Yeah, this mightly lord of the valley who can just casually summon floods to get rid of ringwraiths, spend several days healing Frodo. Even Gandalf wasn't sure if Frodo could be healed. He could, simply because Elrond still had hope and tried his best.

Adding to this, we are given a nice description of him and told that Arwen is his copy but female, and she is also Lúthien 2.0, making Elrond male Lúthien is appearance. It's not important when talking about Elrond's personality but I still felt the need to point out that his beauty is on the level of I-can-just-start-dancing-and-singing-and-the-creator-of-all-evil-would-be-enchanted-by-me Yeah. Go Elrond.

Returning back to his personality, I would like to talk about it a little differently this time around - and that is in comparison to Elrond in LotR movies.

Personally, I have nothing against Hugo Weaving - I like him as an actor in the little I've seen him in, and he does a good job with what he is given. However, the script straight up turns Elrond into a different person - a person without any hope, an overprotective father, constantly frowning, unhappy. That is just - not book Elrond? At all?

The first dialogue with Elrond in this book is between him and Bilbo. Bilbo without fear teases him about telling him to wake up and Elrond is smiling and laughing the entire time they talk. This is the second time we actually meet him, the first time being the feast where we are given his description, and he is smiling the entire time. This is the first time we actually hear him speak and meet him close up and he is smiling and being 100% friendly with Bilbo.

And here I am, just wondering how exactly did the scriptwriters of the movies read this and proceeded to write him as a brooding elven father with zero hope in, well, anything.

The first impression we get of Elrond in LotR is him being kind, friendly, smiling, wise, caring and powerful, and I love every second of it. All of this despite the fact of how much he had lost in his life - even in this chapter, it is said that Celebrían suffered torment in the dens of the orcs (while mentioning Elladan and Elrohir). Why am I writing all this? Partly because he deserves more love and partly because every time any book mentions him, my head is exploding with thoughts. You are welcome.

[artemiseamoon]

Bandits in the Wind

Chapter 1: My Name is Ezra

Outlaw! Ezra x Dakota Snakeeye (ofc)

Words:1,507  | Credit: moodboard me, gif to uuushiny

My contribution for @autumnleaves1991-blog #writerwednesday

Warnings: I don’t think there are any, but just in case, it's a story about cowboys and outlaws, so corresponding subject matter will be discussed. In this chapter: dehydration, someone passes out and wakes up tied to a chair

An: imagine him with longer hair & a fuller beard. For now, this is a one shot since I have a full plate. But I plan to make this a short fic with mini chapters! Chapter 2 is in progress but not ready, so today I’m just posting the first one. Stay tuned for more.

To some this life was a lonesome road to travel, not for Dakota Snake- eye. Life was easier this way. Less obligations, less to live up to and prove.

Inviting it was not, this waterless land; wild, sandy, sweltering. Still, Dakota made it home. The sandstone canyons, desert blooms, and cacti felt familiar in a way, more familiar than any setting she’d ever known.

Even with it’s extremes, this hard land was beautiful and perfect for those keen on solitude. It was the ideal place for nomads, travelers, and bandits.

As the cloudless cobalt sky shifts to a midnight blue, Dakota’s ranch looms in the distance. She can feel her muscles relax as comfort draws near. Dakota was ready to rest her bones after a long day of traveling.

…

“Easy Pearl, easy -” she calms Pearl as they near the entrance.

It seems the uneasy feeling that suddenly took hold of her was shared by Pearl. Horses were intuitive, intelligent animals. And Pearl, she was damn near psychic. If Dakaota ever doubted her own gut, she always listened to Pearls.

It doesn't take long to see what Pearl is upset about. At her gates, an unfamiliar horse anxiously waits. She can see a few items scattered on the ground in the moonlight.

Once her feet hit the ground, Dakota takes hold of her pistol and scans the grounds. She cautiously approaches the horse.

“Easy darling, easy -” she holds one hand out, “and where did you come from?”

The beautiful yet unsettled horse turns its head, Pearl walks in the same direction.

“Stay here sweetheart.” Dakota gently caresses her before following Pearl's lead, just left of the property.

Seconds later, she comes upon a heap on the ground, soon discovering it’s a man. Dakota circles him cautiously, he doesn’t move. She gathers a stick and pokes at him, nothing still.

“Hmm, we might have a dead one Pearl,” she nudges him with her foot.

Dakota rolls him over and kneels down. After a quick check, she detects a faint pulse. From the state of his breathing and the tint of his skin, he was likely dehydrated, gravely so.

Dakota checks his pockets and coats, whoever he was, he was very well armed. Taking each weapon away, she goes inside to retrieve some rope. It doesn't take long to tie him up and drag him into the shed.

Once inside her home, Dakota cares for the horses and eats a small meal before checking on the state of the stranger.

When she returns, he’s barely coming to.

Dakota holds his jaw, pressing the canteen to his dry lips, “Drink.”

The man mumbles something, his eyes still shut.

When the water hits his lips he starts to wake slowly. It doesn't take him long to realize he’s bound, as he tries to reach for the water source with no luck.

“Slow down there, before you choke or spit it all up.” Dakota pulls away. The man follows with his mouth and nearly tumbles over in the chair.

Dakota takes a step backward and puts the water down, freeing up her hands for the pistol once more.  In a stern, steady tone, she speaks,

“What the hell are you doing on my land?”

The man drops his head, like it’s too heavy to hold as he groans. His dark brown hair is long, the mass of curls covered with dirt and sand. She notices a strange anomaly, a patch of rouge blonde hair.

He struggles to say something. All she hears is a series of dry moans and some sort of accent.

Dakota moves closer and nudges him with the pistol. “Speak.”

Groggy, the man lifts his head, tired brown eyes land on hers. His beard suffered the same state as his hair.

“Perhaps -”  he coughs, “ a little more Adams Ale could revive me, if you please?” His voice is barely working, he pleads with his eyes.

Dakota crooks a brow, “when was the last time you had something to drink?”

More dry coughing, this time with his whole body, she takes a step back without realizing it. He notices,

“Don’t worry your pretty little head. I'm not afflicted with any kind of illness or contageon. I’m simply dry as a dessert and in need of water. I can’t recall the last time I had…” he trails off, a far away look in his eyes.

The room goes quiet.

After a moment, Dakota retrieves the canteen and stands in front of him. She angles the open bottle to his mouth. He gulps down the rest of the water.

It trickles down his lips, beard, and down to his neck. The man smacks his lips together and makes a satisfied sound,

“An angel you are! One more day without and I may have met my maker. Not too sure they’d be keen to see me though.” He grins, seeming amused with himself.

Dakota doesn’t respond, she only stares at him. The stranger feels a slight sense of ease when she sets the pistol back in her thigh holster.

“Bluebell, is she safe?” He asks.

Dakota pulls a large bucket over and flips it. Once it's on the ground she sits ontop of it, keeping her eyes trained on Ezra. “Your horse?”

He nods softly. “Yes ma’am.”

Dakota winches, she never liked being called Ma’am. Shoving that aside, she settles her focus on him once more, “She’s fine. With Pearl.”

His grin turns into a smile, “Pearl and Bluebell..sounds like the makings of a tune-”

An impatient huff escapes Dakota’s lips, she leans forward, her elbows on her knees, “What are you doing on my property?”

He doesn’t reply right away.

His gaze eventually settled on her eyes, searching them with greater intensity. It’s only when her brow wrinkles he replies.

“Your urgency for my answer is understandable. Here you are, returning home after a long day to find a strange man nearly dead at your door.”

Dakota crosses her arms as she sits up. “Well, why don’t you get to the point then?”

“All business! From what I understood, this is no man's land. It seemed the best way for a ghost to remain a ghost. Little did I know, a fine piece of land rested here, on the edge of nowhere with an even finer host.”

Dakota narrows her eyes at him, a stern warning on her tongue, “if I were you I wouldn't get any ideas.”

He sits back, “it was merely a compliment. A woman like you living on all this land alone? I'm sure you are more terrifying than most men. Have to be, to stay safe.”

Dakota rolls her eyes and shifts in her seat. He continues speaking, not wanting to try her patience any further.

“Last thing I remember, I thought I heard a stream, Bluebell and I were chasing said stream when everything went black. Next thing I knew, I'm bound, quite expertly I may add, to an old chair in a barn, staring down the barrel of an impressive pistol”

He can’t read her expression but there’s a seriousness in her eyes. After a few seconds, she leans in closer, studying his face.

“Why do you look familiar to me?” Dakota asks.

He chuckles and turns his head, looking off in the distance, “and here I hoped to remain a ghost. I suppose, a ghost is never really a ghost? Someone sees them eventually.” He relaxes further in the chair. “I’m just a traveller, blowing through. I’m no treat to you, unless you force me to be.”

Dakota raises her chin, eyes steady on him.

“Seeing as you stripped my pockets bare, I’m sure you know more about me than you let on.”

“I know no one walks around with that much gold or that many weapons unless their in trouble, or looking for it.”

He grins, “you found my gold. I had that very well hidden.”

“I don’t know you, so of course I searched you, thoroughly.” Dakota stands infront of him again, this time grabbing his chin, “now that I think about it. It wasn’t too long ago I travelled through a small little town, maybe you heard of it, called Monroe and I swear, I saw your likeness on one of those posters. And if my memory serves me correctly, there’s a pretty price on your head.”

A tense silence passes as they stare at eachother. A bemused grin forms on his lips, he makes no effort to break free of her grip.

“Seems I’ve been had,” a shine appears in his eyes, “ In that case, my name is Ezra.”  

...

Chapter 2 is 30% done and in the works! We find out more about Dakota and outlaw Ezra. 

Permanent @readsalot73​​ @phoenixhalliwell​​ @douhaveabountyhunterspecial​@roxypeanut​​ @laketaj24 @lovinglokiforever​​ @nerdypinupcrystal​​ @tephi101​ @wigwitch​ @gallowsjoker​ @autumnleaves1991-blog​ @ladylothlorien​​ @lilangeldevil006​ @rosiefridayrogersunday​ @idreamofboobear​ @lv7867​

Pedro Pascal:  @agirllovespancakes​ @cinewhore @promiscuoussatan​ @thegreenkid​ @absurdthirst @marydjarin​ @ladytrashbird @mandilflorian @seasonschange-butpeopledont  @hayley-the-comet @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @fandomfic-galore​ @a-dork-in-black​ @sarahjkl82-blog @pascalisthepunkest​ @agentwhiskeypussyindulgence​ @lilangeldevil006​ @wondergal2001

Ezra @rzrcrst @agirllovespancakes​ @oldstuffnewstuff​ @opheliaelysian​ @voteforpedropascal​ @engineeredfiction @buckstaposition​ @holographic-carmen @readsalot73​ @cinewhore @charming-merlin​ @over300books

This: @valkyrie-of-the-light @insomniamamma @kesskirata

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Tag yourself

[ttuesday]

making it up to you

this is based on the anon I got a few weeks ago for some sub Micah <3

Summary: after you break Micah out of jail in Strawberry, he brings you back to his camp to make it up to you *wink wink*

Word Count: approx. 2,100

(NSFW)

It was a disaster. As you hightailed it out of Strawberry on your horse, you cursed yourself. Dutch had given you a simple task, rescue Micah. That was it. The mission wasn’t to shoot up half the town just cause someone took his precious guns. You knew when Dutch hears about what happened, he won’t be happy. Hell, you weren’t happy either, you were furious.

Micah rode ahead of you, leading you through the trees and to a secluded camp he had set up before he was thrown in jail. The camp was small, with the remains of a campfire, a single bedroll and an old wooden chair that looked as though it had been there for years.

“You still mad at me?” huffed Micah, dismounting Baylock

“You just killed half the goddamn town!” you exclaimed, not bothering to get off your horse “and for what, a pair of revolvers? Is that all you care about? Some old, worthless guns?”.

“You best watch that mouth of yours” Micah growled as he prodded his new black eye.

“Or what?” you snapped back “You gonna shoot me too?”.

“Don’t tempt me” he muttered.

“I’m done with this” you said, getting ready to leave. You were too frustrated to be around him and decided that going back to the main camp would be better.

“Good luck with that,” Micah chuckled lowly “they’ll be patrols out on all the roads by now, you won’t be able to pass without them recognizing you”.

You hated that he was right. After hesitating for a moment, you reluctantly dismounted and walked over to the chair. You’d be a fool if you left now. If you did, then Dutch would probably have to send Arthur to break you out of jail next. 

You sat down on the chair and crossed your arms, prepared to give Micah the silent treatment. Just because you had to stay didn’t mean you had to forgive him for the mess he made.

As the evening dragged on, Micah tried to speak to you a few times but you didn’t respond. “C’mon, how’s about you come play doctor and help me with this eye” he tried to coax you into talking to him. You ignored him.

Next he tried to rile you up, hoping that would get a reaction out of you. “Real mature of you,” he mocked “you still not talking to me?”. You didn’t reply.

Micah would never admit it openly but he cared about you, and this silent treatment was getting under his skin. To distract himself from the worry that he had messed things up with you, he lit the campfire.

You were one of the only people that actually tolerated him. There had been some occasions where one thing led to another and suddenly yelling at one another turned into passionately undressing each other while keeping your lips on his. At first it was supposed to be a one time thing when you were both out on a job but then it happened again before Blackwater… and then again in Colter

…ok, maybe it happened a few times in Colter but it was the most efficient way of staying warm. Maybe that’s why Dutch sent you, maybe he knew you were more than friends.

Finally, Micah sighed and decided to try and say something genuine. “You know, I uh… I do… care about you… and maybe I did lose my cool in Strawberry… I guess” he struggled to get the words out. You stayed silent, waiting for him to say more.

Micah walked over to you, leaning down to rest his hand on your thigh, his face inches from yours “Won’t ya let me make it up to you?”. Your eyes flicked down his lips as Micah hesitantly leaned in for a kiss, half expecting you to push him away. When you didn’t, he deepened the kiss and moved his hand up your thigh and to your length, palming it the best he could through your pants.

The kiss became more eager, his lips smashing against yours. Your hand came up to hold his cheek, subconsciously making sure not to accidently put pressure by his black eye. You were still mad at Micah but it was nice to finally get some more alone time with him. 

You broke the kiss and whispered against his lips “On your knees”. If Micah was going to make it up to you, you were going to be the one in charge and you weren’t about to let him off lightly. Micah was surprised by the authority in your voice but something that surprised him even more was how arousing he found it.

He obediently kneeled in front of you. As he got comfortable, you stood and undid your pants. Micah immediately reached for your cock as you took it out of your pants, his hot breath against your length making you more impatient by the second. You tenderly pushed his hair away from his face and held the back of his head. Micah opened his mouth wide and slowly licked a stripe up the underside of your cock. You knew he was going slow on purpose, trying to get you as flustered as possible. You rocked your hips forward, groaning as he started to suck around you.

Your grip on his hair tightened as you thrusted into his mouth. Micah gagged around your shaft as it hit the back of his throat. “Such a good slut for me” you said, pumping your cock in and out of his mouth. Micah’s brow creased, obviously not appreciating the comment. 

You pushed his head down until your entire length was in his mouth, his nose pressing against your skin. You could see him struggle to breath, not used to you being so deep in his mouth. Micah closed his eyes as he focused, trying his hardest not to gag again. Slowly, you pulled out. He gasped, taking a couple deep breaths before looking up at you. He had a small smirk on his face as he took your cock again.

Micah tried to keep his jaw loose as you roughly fucked his mouth. You rammed your cock as far as you could, before quickly pulling out again. You quicken your pace, losing yourself in the moment. You loved seeing your length in his mouth, seeing how he gagged and his eyes watered. It was all too much but you didn’t want it to end. 

You harshly tugged Micah’s hair, jerking his mouth away from your shaft. He stared up at you with wide eyes and spit smeared across the side of lips and on his horseshoe mustache. Oh, what a pretty sight. “Take off your pants” you ordered gruffly.

Micah did what he was told, quickly getting rid of his pants to expose his hard cock. He kept his shirt on which was barely kept closed by two flimsy buttons. You reached over to your satchel by the chair and grabbed your container of hair pomade. You didn’t have to tell Micah what to do next. As you threw your satchel over by the chair again, you watched as he got down on all fours, his ass facing you. You smirked, loving every second of this.

"Well you got into this position quickly" you teased, your hand on his ass cheek. Normally Micah was the one to tease you but on this rare occasion, you were the one in charge. Micah glanced over his shoulder to scowl at you, not used to being the one taunted. You leaned forward so that you spoke directly against the back of his ear "You know I'm not going to take it easy on you, Bell". You gave his ass cheek a harsh slap, smiling when a soft moan spilled from Micah’s lips.

You generously applied some hair pomade to Micah's hole before pressing a finger in. Micah lowered his head as you slipped your index finger in and out of him. You didn't waste time in adding another finger, curling and scissoring them as you did. A loud moan came from him as he began to rock his hips backwards, into your fingers. "Oh, you want more?" you growled into his ear.

He grunted in response but you wanted to hear him say it. "If you want something you're going to have to say it" you said, pulling your fingers out and resting your hand on his ass again. You roughly kissed his neck, leaving marks as you waited for him to say it. "I..." he trailed off "I-I want... I want you to fuck me". You smiled, leaning back to properly line yourself up with his hole "That's all you had to say".

You pushed your cock into his entrance, groaning as you did. Normally he was the one pushing into you, he was the one whispering filthy things into your ear but now you were in charge. "Fuck, you're so tight" you exhaled, giving him a second to adjust to your length inside of him. As you began to thrust into him, you gave him the praise you knew he needed. "That's it," you said, holding on to his hips "so good for me, fuck, you're so handsome like this".

You noticed Micah try and move one of his hands down to touch his leaking cock. You slammed your hips into him, stopping him from doing so. "Did I say you can touch yourself?" you questioned. He opened his mouth to reply but all that came out was a whimper. You couldn't help it as a smirk crept on to your face. You never thought you'd hear Micah whimper. You fucked him harder, your hips snapping back and forth.

You grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked it, making Micah crane his neck back. He gasped, his face scrunched up in pleasure. "Christ, you make the prettiest noises" you muttered, letting go of his hair and moving your hand down to Micah's cock. You wrapped your hand around his throbbing cock, drawing another moan from the outlaw.

You slowed your pace but continued to thrust deep into him, the tip of your cock rubbing against his prostate. "You should fuck up more often" you said, running your thumb across his slit "I like seeing you like this, a moaning mess". Micah choked back another moan, his mouth slightly apart as he craved his release.

"Now you can touch yourself" you said, removing your hand from his cock. Micah took over and began jerking himself off as you focused on fucking him, chasing your own high. Micah came first, grunting as he did and you followed quickly behind him.

You took a few seconds to catch your breath before gently pulling out. "You alright?" you asked, shifting your weight to grab a few rags from your satchel. Micah huffed as he started to move, his joints stiff. You quickly cleaned yourself up, tucking yourself away before going to tend to Micah. You softly kissed his body as you cleaned him off, murmuring words of praise. Micah leaned into you, savouring your touch. You ran your fingers across his body, appreciating every inch.

"You did real good, taking me so well" you said, kissing his shoulder. He scoffed, acting as though he didn't need the compliment but the faint smile on his face told you otherwise. "How's your eye?" you asked, kissing the side of his neck.

"Fine," he mumbled "don't think it's infected".

"You wanna lie-down for a while?" you asked, subtly admiring the marks you had left along his neck.

He looked at you with hazy, content eyes "Yeah, I'd like that".

You led him over to the bedroll and settled down for the night. You held Micah, your hand slowly trailing up and down his back with a blanket enclosing the both of you. Micah nuzzled against your neck as he drifted off to sleep, drained from the long and eventful day.

You didn't fall asleep immediately. Instead you gazed up at the night's sky and smiled. Yes, Micah was a hard guy to get along with, everyone knew that. But there was something about him you couldn't shake. You knew when the gang hears about the mess he made in Strawberry there'd definitely be some arguing but that was a problem for tomorrow. 

All you wanted to do now was enjoy the moment. Micah let out a small snore. You lowered your gaze to look at him and lightly kissed the top of his head. As you dozed off, the smile on your face stayed as you held him a little tighter.

[eclecticstarlightconnoisseur]

Paying It Forward

Good Evening all,

Ok, I know I haven’t posted the next chapter of Edinburgh to Boston. I am sorry about that. But it has been a pretty bad, horrible, no good end of the year for me. Hubby got sick again and I had to rush him to hospital. He needed heavy duty antibiotics.  He is now ok, but still very debilitated after his illness. Me? I have been taking care of him, going to work, and my characters have decided not to play nice with me. Hubs said I painted myself into a corner. Not exactly, I just haven’t figured out how to get them to do what I want them to do. And I am tired. Which is partially how this fic came about.  

I decided that I would start to read MOBY for two reasons. One, it has been some time since I read it and I am hoping that Bees will be out this year and I wanted to refresh my memory of what happened previously. Two, I was hoping it would help my writer’s block. It did but in an unexpected way. After getting to a certain point in the story, I went to sleep and dreamt the story you are about to read. It played in my head over and over, like it had to some out. So I wrote it and here it is.

Now that I said MOBY:  SPOILER ALERT!  SPOILER ALERT! If you haven’t read MOBY and don’t want to find out what’s going to happen, PLEASE DON’T READ THIS. The story actually draws on ABOSAA, ECHO, MOBY, and a tiny bit from the TV program.

As always I am indebted to @scubalass for her most excellent work as my beta. Also she contributed to the story which made it so much better. I’ll tell you at the end. I am also grateful to @gotham-ruaidh who told me it was different and good. And that I should go with it. The other important thing you need to know is it is written like one of Claire’s voice-over monologues. I know that people hate the monologues, but that’s how it was and I kept to it.

So I give you Paying It Forward. I hope you like it. 

The detritus of the woodland floor muffled the sounds of the Army advancing. Moldy leaves crackled and fragrant pine needles from fir trees helped to disguise their steps. But, it is not in the make-up of the military to travel quietly especially in the 18th century. Horses neighed and harness jingled. Goats bleated. Shot pouches and cartridge-boxes buckled to belts rattled and clinked  Wagons creaked under their heavy loads. Carriages groaned pulling the weighty cannon along. And, of course, there was Rollo, half-wolf, half-dog. The mongrel barked madly harassing man and beast alike as he weaved among them. The voice of my nephew, Ian Murray, called to the animal, “ Thig an seo cù .” Yipping with glee at the sound of his master’s voice, he raced to Ian’s side.  The sounds of infantry on the move certainly broke the peace of the coppice.

Our journey became hampered by the dense forest we traveled through. It was thick with trees, bushes, and bramble impeding the progress of the Continental Army as they marched toward Monmouth. Once there we were to muster with General George Washington and the other battalions.

Commanding this regiment is the newly ordained General James Fraser, my husband to whom I serve as company surgeon. I do admit it was quite a shock to first see him dressed in the full military regalia of a Continental Officer.  I began to tremble becoming a quivering mess when I first took him in wearing an officer’s dark blue and buff.

“Why does it always have to be you? Haven’t you, haven’t we given enough? Isn't it time for you to put down your sword and pistol?” I shuddered as I recalled the failed attempt by Charles Stewart to regain the Scottish crown which resulted in our twenty-year separation. The skirmish at Alamance that resulted in Murtagh’s death and the hanging of our son-in-law Roger which almost cost his life. The battle of Saratoga where I amputated one of Jamie’s fingers. Now, we were being pulled into another conflict. Was it too much to want to return to our simple life on the Ridge I wondered? But Jamie, my Jamie, is a highlander born and bred. A decent man, with strong principles and morals. He is a man of honor and that is not a small thing to be. I watched him as he sat at the head of the column, sitting straight and tall in his saddle like the true highland warrior he is. The breadth of his powerful back and shoulders would leave no doubt in anyone’s mind that he was born to lead, to command, to this moment in history. And command he would, braving the responsibility of leading his battalion to fight against the oppression of the British king.

Jamie knew the meaning of suffering, cruelty, and loss at the hands of the English. The loss of his home, his country, his own personal freedom came at their hands. And the loss of his family. He had quite the history with the Redcoats. Arrested for obstruction, escaping, then being recaptured. He ran afoul of a sadistic dragoon captain who had him flogged most cruelly one hundred lashes upon one hundred lashes. He escaped again and lived as an outlaw on the run instead of facing the gallows for a murder he did not commit.

Then there was Culloden. Where he, or should I say we lost everything. I was pregnant with our second child; our first child, a daughter, was stillborn. On the eve of battle, Jamie forced me to return to my own time for the safety of myself and our child. Jamie believed it would be his destiny to die in battle. Instead, he lived. Again he went into hiding for seven years living in a cave in Lallybroch. The Redcoats continued to harass his family, stealing what they wanted from the estate. They arrested Ian, Jamie’s brother-in-law as the Redcoats believed he knew of Jamie’s whereabouts. And there was the Highland Clearances which destroyed homes, Scottish culture, language, and their way of life.

Jamie was not driven to this war because of a need for revenge because of his losses, but rather he felt he was honor-bound as a father to take up his sword to protect those he loved. Even if those he loved lived centuries after him.

“Ye said that this was meant tae be Brianna’s home, her country, aye? Then I must do what I can for our daughter and her bairns. ‘Tis my duty as sire and grandsire to see that they will live free, Sassenach.”

And he would do what he must for Brianna, Jem, wee Mandy, and Roger. No matter the cost to himself.  

My mind completely focused on Jamie and our immediate future prevented me from noticing a tall man thin as a rail standing in the middle of the road blocking our progress. Immediately, Jamie’s second in command rode up next to his commander.

The man did not budge an inch. He was rather rough looking. Wearing a knitted cap on his head, his long greasy hair protruded out. A grizzled beard covered his face. His clothes were quite worn having been patched many times. He wore no shoes. In all, he looked quite primitive.

Suddenly, he moved with a decided determination; a man on a mission.  The man strode up to Jamie assuming correctly that he was the man in charge.

A strong downward breeze announced his presence. Most likely the man had not bathed in months if not years. The odor was enough to make your eyes water.

The old man came forward eyeing Jamie like an entomologist studying a new species of bug. Relaxing he gave a tug on his cap and briefly bobbed his head.

“Ye in charge here?” the old coot demanded.

‘Aye, I am. General James Fraser at yer service sir. Might I enquire to whom I am speaking?”

“Mortimer Hepplewhite the owner of this here land yer trespassing on. And I want tae know when ye will be gone.”

“Mr. Hepplewhite, we shall be off yer land as soon as may be. We need to travel off the main road for now as there have been sightings of English troops nearby.”

“Well, all yer clanging and stomping about is disturbing the peace of me home.”

Jamie turned around to look at the property. It had not been cleared for planting nor were there any animals grazing. All that stood in the distance was a ramshackle cabin with a lopsided chimney discharging an inordinate amount of smoke.

“I dinna see any crops, or animals grazing, or people that we might be disturbing, sir.”

“Not disturbing he says! Why I’ll have ye know me Arabella is in a right fit. She doesn’t care much for strangers.”

The recluse, a long-limb man, raised a heretofore unnoticed ball of fur and thrust it under Jamie’s nose. He focused on it intently causing his eyes to almost cross. It hissed, spit, and yowled with great ferocity.

It seemed that Arabella was a cantankerous cat. And was as ill-kempt as its master with matted fur and bald in spots. One fang hung outside its mouth and on closer inspection seemed to be missing an eye.

Mortimer drew the beast close to his chest whispering sweet words of comfort while tenderly stroking its scraggly fur. The cat settled in his arms and even began to purr.

Jamie called to his Lieutenant and leaned over to whisper in his ear. He nodded and rode off to follow his orders.

I sat on my horse watching this spectacle play out. Without warning, I felt the sudden loss of my cat and worried about his well-being. Adso was part house cat and part feral cat. However, he was my cat. He loved to jump onto my lap to snuggle and drift off to sleep. Or lie on the windowsill basking in a sunbeam tail swishing like a metronome. He did wreak havoc in my surgery at times but he was mine, a gift from Jamie. Adso was just as much a part of the family as any of us. So why couldn’t Arabella be this lonely man’s family?  Family is whoever you say they are.  

The Lieutenant promptly returned carrying a bundle which he handed to Jamie.

Jamie slid down from his horse and approached the gentleman.

“On behalf of the Continental Army, I would like tae offer ye recompense for disturbing yer peace. Please accept this small token from myself and General Washington. And for the lovely Miss Arabella, I make a gift of this fish just caught this morning.”

Jamie removed his hat and bowed to the man.

Mortimer truly wasn’t sure of what to make of this but graciously accepted the parcel. He removed his cap revealing a head of matted hair and returned the bow.  He replaced his cap, straightened his shoulders, held his head high as he strolled back to his home, a rich man. A man made richer not for what he received but for the respect given him.

Later that night as I lay in Jamie’s embrace I asked him what prompted his actions on the road.

“Do ye ken the conversation we had in the gardens in Philadelphia? The one about what happened between ye and his lordship?”

Did I remember, he wanted to know? How could I forget?

“Of course I remember, you said that you would mention it from time to time.  Am I to take it that this will be one of those times?”

“Aye, ‘tis. But not what yer thinking about,” he said with a sidelong look. “I’m speaking of how John’s friendship healed us during times of great need. Mine at Ardsmuir, Hellwater, and Jamaica. Yer’s when ye thought I died.” The topic of my hasty marriage to John (for strictly political reasons) was still a sore point to him. He understood it, but didn’t and wouldn’t like it.  

Jamie let out a sigh trying to collect himself before continuing, “Mortimer was naught but a poor lonely old man, Sassenach. And I did not do much for him. I gave him a wee bit of flour, lard, dried meat, apples, and some parritch.” Jamie stopped to think for a moment, “Oh, a razor, a lump of soap, and a fish for his mangy cat.”

“Are you saying that you did this because of the kindnesses John showed us?”

“Exactly so, mo ghràdh . I felt..it just felt like the right thing tae do.”

I raised my face to look at him, “There’s a term for that and it's called paying it forward .”

He looked quizzically at me trying to understand what I meant.

“What that means is when someone does something kind or helpful for you, you return that kindness to a different person instead of repaying the person who originally helped you. Did you know that the man who started this idea is alive now?”  

“Och, aye? Who is he Sassenach?”

“Benjamin Franklin. I think you would like him. He was a founding Father, freemason, inventor, scientist, and a printer.”

His eyebrows lifted at the mention of Franklin being a printer and a freemason. “I should like to meet this man one day. “

Jamie grew quiet as he attempted to digest this information. “Paying it forward,” he rolled the words around in his mouth tasting them. “Aye, that’s it. Just so, I was paying it forward.”

“Jamie, I think what you did was far greater than repaying a kindness. I think you gave him something more than he ever expected. You gave him respect and a way to restore his dignity.”

He leaned over and kissed me, “Aye, Sassenach, respect is something every man or woman deserves.” Jamie stopped to think for a moment, “No man wants to go about stinking if he can help it.” I knew he was thinking of his time hiding in the cave and as a prisoner at Ardsmuir. “There were days I thought I would never get the stink off my body, dirt from under my nails, or be rid of the lice. ‘Twas a small thing but it may make a big difference to him. Maybe it will help to restore his self-regard.”

The following day we resumed our journey. Once again a man stood in the road again blocking our path. There was something vaguely familiar about him. It was Mortimer, now clean-shaven, clothes washed having removed several layers of filth, and much less fragrant. He carried a pack strapped to his back probably containing all his worldly possessions. Strangely he carried a beautiful and well-maintained musket in his hand.

He approached Jamie, removed his cap, and bowed deeply.

“Yer Excellency, I have decided tae travel with ye fer a while. If ye dinna mind.”

“Yer presence is welcome, Mr. Hepplewhite. Find yerself a place among the men. This evening please come by tae see my wife. She is the physician of our troop. She will see tae yer physicking needs should ye have any.”

“I thank ye, sir.” Mortimer replaced his cap, lowered his head, and took a position among the rank-and-file.

Jamie smiled, a pleased look playing across his face. His arm raised and he waved us forward.

As the men resumed their march, a wee black puff ball of fur stuck its head out of Mortimer’s bag evidently Arabella had a wash-up too.

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

Thig an seo cù - Come here dog.

If anyone wants to know, Jamie’s white stallion’s name was Samson. And he sneezed violently when he sniffed Mortimer.

A little bit of history here. Benjamin Franklin lent Benjamin Webb a sum of money to start a business. He told Webb that when his business was successful and he had paid all his debts, he should likewise help someone else like Franklin helped him. In return, that gentleman would have to assist someone else like Webb helped him. Franklin hoped this would continue until some knave would stop its progress. The idea of paying it forward was born.

We can all thank @scubalass for telling me about Ben Franklin and Paying It Forward.  She is truly an amazing person and a fount of information and wisdom. I think that this added so much to the story and found it quite interesting.

Thank you for reading. I hope you liked it.

It is also on AO3 where I am LadyJane518:   https://archiveofourown.org/works/28907349

[nicolewoo]

Yo, Jamie!!! It’s almost done.

Pairing: King Roman Reigns X Female reader

Warnings: None

My average day was a controlled chaos. Everyone wanted an audience with the king, and I had to know what issues were pressing, which nobles I could and couldn’t talk to, and a million other details. All of these things weighed on me daily. Now, with my mother and the church pressing me to take a bride, I’d reached a breaking point.

 After I had yelled at a servant for no reason, Charles the Lord of Sussex and my most trusted advisor and friend, suggested we take a few hours to go riding this morning. He’d been right, too. A few hours away from the castle and the nobles was exactly what I needed.

 We’d tried to slip out before the sun rose so we could avoid anyone, but as we prepared to leave the grounds, the Captain of the Guard saw us. Christopher was a tall lanky man with almost no hair anymore and an unfortunate habit of rubbing his face when he was nervous. Now, as he insisted that the king should not ride un-escorted, his hand brushed over his face repeatedly.

 “Your highness, we have hundreds of nobles arriving this week. I’m afraid there will be more thieves in the forest. I’ve got plenty of guards on the road, but if you’ll be avoiding the road,” he eyed me suspiciously, knowing I never stayed on the road, “I insist you take a couple of guards.”

I begrudgingly agreed but told the guards to stay far back from us unless we encountered other people.

Charles and I enjoyed a very peaceful ride, stopping once for a cleansing swim in a river and to eat some bread and cheese Charles packed. “My friend, you’ve done me a great service today.” I said as I lounged shirtless on a patch of grass soaking in the sun.

 Charles cocked his head a bit as if surprised to hear a compliment. “It’s my pleasure, sire. You needed a break.”

 “I guess we should head back.” I admitted as I stood and finished getting dressed. Charles finished a minute before me and packed up the rest of the food. Once mounted on my horse, I hesitated to leave. “I wish I could do this every day, like we did when we were kids.”

 Charles smiled at me. “You were never destined to a life of leisure, Your Highness. God chose you to be a wise and fair king who is building a greater country and a greater world.” He whistled to the guards I’d forgotten were even with us, and they mounted their horses to follow us. “Besides, you’d be miserable if you lived a quiet, boring life.” We both laughed.

 Finding a slow trot, Charles and I continued talking, mostly about Charles’s sexual conquests. As a young, unmarried titled man, he had his choice of lovers in the court, and none of them ever kept his attention for more than a few months. Knowing I’d be married off one day in a probable political move, I’d chosen to be much less adventurous. I’d enjoyed the affections of a couple of women, but I never knew if it was because they liked me or the idea of becoming a queen. Now that I was king, I was too busy, too stressed, too careful. I noticed the ladies at court. There were a couple of fetching noble women, but none that sparked anything even close to passion.

 I knew it was time to marry. I wanted to get married, but for love. Instead, women from around the world were invading my castle, and I was to meet every single one of them in a week-long quest to find a wife. Not only would my attendance be necessary at every meal and every social occasion, I was to meet each potential candidate in person and in private (with a chaperone), a task I was dreading. Meeting after meeting of women throwing themselves at my feet trying to become the next queen.

 “Are you ok, highness?” Charles’s voice broke me out of my worry.

 “Just thinking about this week.” I admitted to him.

 Charles thought for a moment before talking. “I envy you. You’ll have your choice of women. If I were you, I’d bed whichever ones I wanted. You could have a wife and mistress by the end of the week.”

 Of course, he was excited about the prospect of more women at court. “My friend, I believe you’re going to bed many of them this week.” I chuckled.

 Charles laughed with me, “Not until Your Royal Highness has ruled them out as your future queen.”

 “Well then, I’ve finally found the worth of being a king. I don’t have to accept your discarded women.” I stopped my horse at a river so both of us could drink. Charles pulled up besides us and jumped off his horse too.

 Charles’s laugh rang out over the forest. “Would that be so bad?”

 “Your prowess is well known, and I’ve seen ladies after you’ve spent an evening with them. I’d be afraid I’d disappoint.” I said.

 Charles smiled shyly. “Sire, you know whomever you choose must be pure.”

 I laughed now, “Are there any pure women anymore?”

 “On my oath sire, I’ve tried to ensure there are no virgins in this country. That’s why we are importing new virgins from other countries to meet you.” Charles teased before becoming serious. “I have a great feeling about this week, sire. I honestly think you’ll meet a fetching young bride from some exotic country that needs an alliance with us and you’ll find some measure of joy in your marriage.”

 “An alliance?” I looked down in disappointment and patted my mare on the neck reassuringly. “I’m afraid that’s all my marriage will be about.”

 “I’m telling you sire,” Charles said as he bent low to fill his water skin, “I believe you will find someone who will give you a cordial marriage.”

 “Cordial? I guess love is too much to hope for.” I hopped back on my horse.

 Charles mounted his horse too and we began a slow trot through the woods. “That’s what the mistress is for.” I knew he was jesting, but the seriousness of the whole situation fell on me again as we rode.

 Why was I forbidden to marry for love? Why was I born to be king? “Let’s speak of other things. Our ride was supposed to distract me.”

  Charles was always quick to raise my spirits. “The delegation from the Arabian Peninsula is bringing you a dozen stallions when they arrive. It’s said their horses are the best.”

At my happy expression he continued. “As soon as they arrive, I’ll let you know. Maybe you can find a few free moments to go see them.”

That sounded great. “Thank you. Not just for letting me know when the horses arrive. Thank you  for today. I needed this.” Charles gave me a respectful nod as his answer. I inhaled the forest air, trying to etch the memory of it into my mind to carry me through this busy week.

“Care to race, Your Highness?” Charles challenged. I didn’t answer but tapped my horse’s side to gallop full speed. I heard Charle’s call of “Not fair.” As I took the lead. He caught up quickly and we raced for a long while.

Realizing I was only hastening my journey back to the castle and my royal obligations, I slowed us down again and we rode in silence for a few short minutes before we heard the ping of metal hitting metal.

“Let the guards go first” Charles suggested.

Metal on metal usually meant swords, so I agreed. I motioned to the guards, and they rode ahead of us for a minute. As we neared the top of a hill, one of the guards motioned that it was safe. I looked ahead and saw a carriage with a wheel off on the King’s Road. “Let’s go help.” I said to the guards.

Peter, a thin young guard with messy hair and a patchy beard answered. “Your Highness, I can take care of this.” He motioned to the younger guard next to him. “William can protect you on the way to the castle if you’d like.”

In that carriage was surely one of my potential brides coming to the castle to meet with me. Yes, I wanted to escape, but maybe I could sneak a peek. If she was fetching, it could go a long way to easing my fears. If she was unattractive, at least I’d be prepared for my meeting with her. I trotted closer to the guard and took in the whole scene in front of me.

Not only had the wheel fallen off; it was stuck under the now emptied carriage. The ladies in waiting and an elderly man I assumed was the driver were seated on a blanket off to the side while what seemed to be the lady of the carriage tried to lift the vehicle.

She’d managed to get a small log on a rock and was trying to pry the carriage up using her body weight. It wasn’t working, but from where I was standing, I got a full view of a truly amazing bottom swaying with her efforts. I was so amused, I pondered not offering her help just to see how she’d do.

 Just as I was about to speak, she defiantly stuck her chin out and looked around my guards locking her eyes on me. “Must I ask for assistance or will it be offered?” She spit the words out like weapons.

 She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen, despite the dirt all over her and hair falling out of it’s restrains and trailing down her neck. Her dress was beautiful despite the oil and dirt covering it. It was wrecked though.  

 She dabbed at some sweat on her forehead with a ragged piece of cloth and ended up smearing dirt on her face.

 Charles leaned forward a bit, “It will do you well to watch your tone in front of...”

 I interrupted, “The Lord of Sussex.” I had stolen Charles’s title, and he gaped after me in confusion. I shot him a look that convinced him to keep quiet.

 She seemed more contrite now. “My apologies, My Lord.” She curtsied a bit.

 I smiled down at her. “Think nothing of it.” I looked at Charles now. “Mister Brandon, Shall we assist this damsel in distress?”

 Charles smiled. “Yes your Lordship.” We dismounted and handed the reigns of our horses to the elderly driver.

 We made short work of lifting and replacing the wheel. After a quick survey of the road, the guards found a missing bolt. With that in place, the carriage would be fine.  

 “Why have I not seen you in court?” I asked as I held the carriage still While Charles and the guards.

 She exhaled haughtily “I’m afraid I’m not very welcome at court, nor do I care to go to court.”

 I lifted my brow “And why is that my lady?” I tried to suppress a laugh. She was so direct, so plain-spoken, unlike most of the women at court. Court could probably do well to have some women with backbones like her. It would at least make court more interesting.

  “I have an unfortunate habit of telling the truth.” I laughed hnow. Seeing that I was genuinely amused, Charles relaxed and laughed too.

 “Well now, telling the truth is a virtue, even at court.” I smiled as Charles chuckled under his breath.

 “My Lord, I’ve seen many things in court, but virtue isn’t one of them.”

I leveled her with my gaze. “Are you saying The King lacks virtue?”

 I caught a brief glimpse of annoyance in her voice.  “I said nothing of the kind!”

 “Are you saying the courtiers are without virtue?” I asked.

She blanched when she realized that as a Lord, I could be a regular at the palace. “My apologies My Lord. No. I simply meant that matters of piety are not a priority to all who attend the court.”

 I glanced over at Charles who was laughing under his breath at her stubbornness.” This is a fun game and one I didn’t want to end just yet.

 “Well, gentle lady, would 2 non-virtuous gentlemen of The King’s Court offer their assistance to a lady in distress?” I asked as I gestured to her now repaired carriage.

 “I tell you truly, sirs, that many in His Magesty’s Court would not assist, but to serve their own purposes.”

 I walked a step closer to her in a show of power, but instead of looking away, she stared me straight in the eye defiantly. “And what, pray tell, do I have to gain from helping you today?”

 “My Lord, I didn’t mean any offence to you or your friend.” She nodded to our party. “You have indeed done me a great favor today.”

 Was she finally breaking? “And what have I asked in return?”

 She smiled now. She was breathtaking when she smiled.

 @mindofasagitarius   @lclb13 @serenityfiretrash @lustyromantic @reigns-5sos @bigpsychicbagelauthor @omg-im-such-a-masochist @marlananicole @wickedsunfire

[tales-unique]

MEMORIES OF THE WEST

Two days. Two long, hot days you’ve been tied to this damn tree. Your mother would be turning in her grave over how easily you’ve gotten yourself caught by the O’Driscolls, even when you knew that they were notorious for prowling the roads leading in and out of towns. Craning your head you look up through squinted eyes to look at the sky through scattered branches, calm and clear, painted a beautiful gradient of orange, red and pink as the sun begins to set. Almost three days now and you’ve had nothing to eat or drink, something that’s starting to take its toll on your body and mind. Your head pounds incessantly and your stomach growls weakly, making you twist in discomfort. The bite of the ropes around your wrists soon stops the movement though and you wince at the sharp, stinging pain left in their wake. At this point all you truly beg for is death, and maybe this time you’ll get what you ask for.

You glare at the returning party as they whoop and holler about their catch, turning their horses in circles in excitement while you stare wantonly at the deer they have. They catch you, of course, and one is quick to dismount and get right up in your face about it. “Got a problem, girl?” He’s a mean man that reeks of sweat and bad tobacco, the scent so sour you recoil as far away from him as your punished body, and the tight bindings, will allow you. “I’m starving!” You hiss, but it’s pitiful and he laughs. “Too bad. Ain't enough to go around.” “Liar! That’s a whole damn deer you got there! Please, I’m starving! I jus’ need a little!” Your hunger makes you desperate and he knows that. The grin he gives you is dirty and makes your skin crawl, twisting your body to try and get out of his reach. It’s futile, and soon dirt-smeared hands are roughly grabbing at your waist to pull you back in front of him. “Y’hear that boys?” He calls out to the others, laughing as they whistle while hitching the horses, “little thing is starving! Tell me girl, whatcha willing to do to get a meal, huh?” You turn your head away as he leans in close, fighting the urge to wretch. The feel of his hands sliding down to your backside, the heat of his breath tickling your ear and cheek, makes you want to vomit. “C’mon now,” he coos at you, “dont’cha want to eat? All I ask for is a kiss!” Despite his forceful coaxing and your limited range of movement you continue, by some miracle, to evade his crusted, cracked lips. Then, all hell breaks loose. All at once there’s the thundering of horses hooves on the dry dirt, bullets screaming through the humid air, warm splatter on your face. A hole right through your would-be rapists head, his wide eyes mirroring yours before he falls down at your feet, lifeless. You stand, rooted to the spot just as the tree firmly pressed against your back is as the others scramble to form some sort of meager defiance, but they’re no match. It doesn’t take long. Like fish in a barrel. The O’Driscolls barely had time to reach for their pistols before they, too, were gunned down. The horses, spooked, whine and stomp from where they’ve been hitched and you’re glad that they’re not hurt. One of the riders seems so too as he gets down from his own mount to inspect them. His figure is hazy from the dust but you can tell he’s tall and strong and attractive. You’re sure that he’s talking, too, but you can’t hear him. The ringing in your ears is too loud. Gunshots. Blood pumping. Adrenaline. You hazard another look down at your feet, the man's lifeless body draining out before you. His blood stains your shoes. You spit on his back. Good riddance. “Hey! Are you okay?” The voice, suddenly clear, startles you and you quickly flick wide eyes to another man approaching you. The second rider? He’s well dressed and attractive too, but you’re not about to swoon at his feet. “Get back!” You shriek, fear spiking. He stops, startled, while quickly holding his hands up in surrender. “Easy there, amiga, I won’t hurt you,” he states slowly. You don’t believe a word of it. Instead you try, in vain, to pull your hands free from the ropes so you can flee. He sees this and hurries over to you, cursing under his breath at the wounds you’re inflicting on yourself in your haste. You don’t care. You try to fight him; kick him, elbow him, even snapping your teeth at him in a bite that doesn’t quite reach. You don’t trust him. You can’t trust him. Pressure releases from around your wrists and you stumble sideways, suddenly free, the ropes cut by an intricately decorated and expensive-looking knife that somehow manages to miss your flesh. Now you’ve fallen onto the ground face to face with the dead man with a bullet hole through his head, the force of your struggling having caused your fall down. Ignoring the stinging, open burns to your wrists you quickly scramble to your feet. Hair stringy with stale sweat and fresh blood, clothes smeared and ruined, delirious with heat and adrenaline, you still try to run. Hands firmly planting themselves on your arms stop you before you’ve even started and you yell out, wanting to pull away but your body doesn’t respond properly. Short, jerky movements but nothing that actually helps. White hot panic floods your empty stomach as you realize you’re too weak and that the adrenaline isn’t enough anymore. You suck in a deep breath, eyes beginning to sting despite your best intentions. You will yourself not to cry in front of the quiet man before you, but again you fail. You whimper, trying desperately in vain to wriggle free. You babble pitifully, incoherently, with a quivering lip and glossy eyes; childish. But his dark eyes are kind, even after what he’s done, and he slowly lets you go, only to catch you when you stumble forward. “You’ve been out here too long,” he mutters, voice low and comforting, “heat, starvation, you’re weak. Come on.” He gently guides you to his horse, much to his partners annoyance. “Charles, what are you doing? We can’t take her with us!” He argues. “Can’t leave her, either,” Charles counters as he heaves you onto the saddle where you clutch at the saddle horn for dear life. The two men then lead the hitched horses, consolation prizes for the few minutes of trouble, as well as take the deer that had been caught. “Or do you want her death on your conscience, Javier?” Charles grunts as he tightens knots and secures ropes, eyeing his partner expectantly when he’s met with silence. The well dressed man, Javier, grumbles something you can’t hear and mounts his own horse, Charles following suit, coming to sit in the saddle behind you. “Didn’t think so,” he chuckles, low and smooth, and you lower your head to stare at the saddle horn gripped tight in your hands. You don’t say a word. Would it even matter if you did? It’s not like you’re in a state to challenge them, so you allow yourself to fall into unconsciousness lulled by the sway of the horse and the sounds of night insects rousing from their sleep. When you finally come to you take a look at your surroundings. Trees. Tents. Campfires. It’s larger and you feel your heartbeat quicken. You want to run but you can’t, you’re still on Charles' horse with the large man pressed in behind you, arms either side as he handles the reins. There are more people here, men and women alike, and you shrink back against Charles instinctively. “Where are we?” You ask hoarsely, throat scratchy and dry. “Home, for now at least,” Charles answers, pulling his horse over to a hitching post while Javier does the same. He barely disturbs you as he dismounts, helping ease you off the saddle and onto shaky legs. “Dutch won’t like this!” Javier grouses as he too dismounts his horse, allowing it to wander to a patch of grass to graze. Charles doesn’t answer, instead leading you towards three women sitting around a campfire. They’re having a hearty conversation when you’re put upon them, feeling awkward under their shocked gazes. They talk over each other quickly but the general consensus is who the hell are you and why are you here. “Ladies,” he lifts his hand to quiet them, the other gently squeezing your shoulder, “I hope you don’t mind taking care of our friend here? She’s had a rough couple of days.” You swallow, looking down at yourself. Bloodstained. Stinking. Traumatized. Rough doesn’t come close, you think. “Jesus, Mary, Joseph, Charles! Bring her here!” One of the women growls, ushering you to sit by the fire despite her anger. Probing hands go to touch your head, the side where your hair hangs limp with blood, but you pull away quickly. “Ain’t my blood,” you murmur and the women all share looks before the first, already stinking of whiskey, giggles with a snort. “I’d hate t’ see the other guy!” It’s an attempt to lighten the mood and you force a smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes and they notice. “I’ll go get you something to get clean with, a wipe down will do ‘till we can get you a real bath,” another offers in a soft voice, kind and smiling warmly. You watch her put the book in her hands aside as she gets up, eyes trailing after her. “That’s Mary-Beth,” the blonde introduces, “I’m Karen and that there’s Tilly,” she motions with a half empty bottle to the young woman opposite you. “Just what happened to you, anyways?” Tilly asks, leaning in from where she sits on a log, “Yeah, you look half-dead!” Karen adds, scowling when Tilly sends a glare her way. “I...” You cough, gladly accepting a bottle from Karen and tipping it back without so much as a thank you. Manners be damned, you were so thirsty! The alcohol burns down your throat and your eyes sting with tears but by God it was a welcome flood. Karen cheers while Tilly shakes her head, rolling her eyes. As you gasp for air Mary-Beth returns with a bucket of water and a rag, setting them down by your side. She’s also taken the liberty of bringing you some food. It’s nothing fancy, a small bowl of leftover stew and a crust of bread, but you gratefully accept and begin your ravenous feast. It’s definitely a sight for them to behold, but you are starving so they can excuse your table manners. In between shoveling spoonfuls of stew you listen to the argument you’ve caused, Charles and Javier’s voices are known to you while the others are new. They aren’t happy that you were brought to their camp, but Charles argues that you were in need and he wasn’t going to leave you traumatized and starving on the roadside. You smile to yourself, thankful that at least he cares. “Dutch is always so mad these days,” Tilly whispers as she moves to sit next to you. You spare her a glance before turning to look over your shoulder. Dutch, you assume, is the leader of this band of societal misfits. He points accusingly at Charles, then over to where you sit, and back again, while others interject to add their piece. “C’mon, I’ll help with your hair,” Tilly distracts you, turning your head away from the fray with warm hands. She fishes a rag from the bucket, ringing it out while giving you a small smile. Mary-Beth is assessing your wrists, no doubt thinking up a way to ease their soreness. “It’ll be cold, so don’t squeal now!” Tilly laughs and you bite your tongue when the water drips down the side of your face when she starts dabbing at your scalp. Mary-Beth giggles behind her hand at your scrunched up face and Karen starts to sing, merry with alcohol and new company, and by the time the bickering has ceased you’re looking as clean as you can be with just a rag and a bucket of water. Done with your hair and leaving you to wipe your face and neck, Tilly starts rummaging through her chest, sizing up old dresses so that you can change into fresh clothes. Mary-Beth takes the chance to wrap up your wrists with bandages after wiping them gently with a damp, soft handkerchief, apologizing when you wince or hiss. “There! This one should fit, and the colour looks good too,” she smiles, folding the dress up, as well as some other bits and pieces for you, including a pair of shoes not stained with blood. You hastily wipe your hands dry on your ruined dress and take the offered items. They feel freshly washed and soft despite the course material, nothing like the grubby dress you wear now. “You’re too kind,” you smile nervously, half expecting this to be a fever dream and you’ll wake up any minute tied to that damn tree with crows picking at you. It’s not a dream. Tilly tells you to bed with them for the night once you come back from changing, making room on their bedrolls so you can at least sleep comfortably. You’re surprised that Dutch and the others haven’t come over yet to force you out, but she assures you that it can wait until the morning since everyone needs sleep. In truth, you’re thankful for it — that way they’ll all have clear heads when they decide what to do with you. As you settle down you spot Charles walking to his own bedroll and offer a smile when he looks your way. He smiles back and bids you goodnight with a small tip of his head, and for once since your kidnap you actually feel comfortable enough to sleep among a band of strangers.

[hintofcolor]

If I’m in pain you are gonna feel it (I never got to tell him I loved him and it’s your fault)

Tim yells at Clark because he’s sad and misses his best friend

It was quiet. Cassie and Tim stayed back, while everyone else went up to the house, sitting under the tree that gave shade to fresh turned dirt and concrete slab. The trunk of the tree wide enough that they could sit side by side and still lean back against it. 

“Conner Kent,” Cassie read aloud the name on the tombstone, “the fact that that’s the name they went with makes me want to break the ugly thing.” 

“Go for it,” Tim responded as he leaned his head back and closed his eyes, willing the tears back in. He’s cried enough in front of people. “Maybe he’ll be offended enough that he comes back to tell you how rude it is to vandalize his grave.” 

Cassie chuckled, “If anyone would come back from the dead because of a hurt ego, it’d be Kon.” A small, soft smile settled on both of their faces.

They sat in comfortable silence just being in each other’s presence. They were the only two left. It hurt, but at least they had each other. It was nice, comforting, to just see the other. To watch each other’s chest rise and fall, to see their eyes flutter, tired and sad, glazed over with tears, but full of life. The sun turned a warm red and the sky lit up in vibrant colors. It was beautiful. It reminded Tim that Kon would never be able to keep the promise of showing Tim the sunsets in Hawaii

“You wouldn’t believe it man!” Kon beamed, “the sunsets and sunrises are unreal. It’s like they are fake. Like some one, I don’t know, painted them. I don’t know how to describe it.” Kon sat next to Tim on the water tower in smallville. Kon had flown up there, the whole ‘not being able to be himself’ thing weighing heavy. So they sat on the tower and Kon talked and Tim listened. When the sun started to set Tim smiled and made a remark about how beautiful it was and how he doesn’t see sunsets a lot because Gotham and pollution and such. Which in turn, made Kon start gushing about Hawaii. Tim turned to give Kon his full attention, while Kon sat with his arms resting on the barricade, his legs hanging over the edge, and his eyes glued to the sky. “You gotta see it I swear.”

“I believe you.”

“No I’m serious. I want you to see it for yourself. One day I’m going to take you to see a sunset in Hawaii. That’s a promise.”

 “I’ve got to head home.” Cassie’s voice breaking through the memories. “It’s been a long day, and it’s almost dark, I don’t want my mom to worry. Will you be okay? You can stay over at my place if you think your family will be to much.”

“Thanks Cass, but I’m okay.” Tim responded. A smile that didn’t reach his eyes settled in place. Like it belonged there. “I don’t think I’m through saying goodbye yet.”

Cassie simply smiled sympathetically. The look of his smile made her nauseous. She hurts too, so bad, but Tim has lost so many people already, she would give anything if she could just take his pain away. Seeing some one she loves in so much pain, knowing she can’t do anything about it, leaves her uneasy. As if she’s in pain for them. She wants to stay a little longer. Sit next to him, holding his hand, or resting her head on his shoulder, something to remind her that he’s still there, to remind him that she’s not going anywhere. She almost caved, sitting back down, staying with him till he was ready to go home. She even thought about going with him then too. Curling up in his too big bed, like how they all used to after a particularly difficult mission, leaving them feeling powerless and hopeless. All settled in one of their bedrooms, which ever was closest, just for the comfort of having other people around. They never talked, they just all silently got ready for bed and claimed a spot wherever was comfortable. However, she needed to get home to her mom, because as much as she loves Tim and wants to stick by his side, she really, really needs a hug from her mom right about now. To have her kiss Cassie’s head and tell her it’s okay, and that the pain just means that she cares.  

She flies off, refusing to go up to the old house. To many memories of the four of them are stored in that rickety barn and yellow home. She doesn’t want them tainted by grief. 

Tim watches her go. He leans his head back against the tree again. He was about to close his eyes when he heard footsteps approaching. He stood, perfectly ready to give whoever it was some privacy with Kon. Until Clark comes into view. An anger Tim didn’t even know he was harboring for the Kryptonian came bubbling to surface. Fast and Hot.  He pushed against the tree to stand up right and tall. 

“Are you proud yet?” He asked, venom dripping from every word. Clark turned to look at the boy briefly. Tim could see the guilt hanging heavy in his eyes. “He saved the world. Died a hero. That enough to convince you that he isn’t Lex? That he could be more than his DNA?” 

“Tim-” 

“No. I talk, you listen.” Tim spit. Clark recoiled, but stayed quiet. “You did nothing but push him away for absolutely no valid reason. What makes you think you have a right to stand here and grieve? When you were the one who made his life hell. For years, years Clark, I had to sit and listen as he doubted himself, doubted who he was, whether or not he was good, whether he was his own person. I watched him drive himself insane over his stupid DNA. Because of you, Clark! Because you couldn’t for three seconds consider that maybe, just maybe Kon is his own person. He had a mind, a beating heart, a soul, Clark, and you reduced him to a science experiment. You don’t get to stand here and act like this isn’t exactly what you wanted. Not when that stupid shield drug him down more than you could ever imagine” 

“I tried-” 

“YOU TRIED!? God Clark you can’t be this dense. The Kon you knew wasn’t even Kon! GOD! He changed everything about himself so that maybe, just maybe you would accept him! He died being a person he didn’t even recognize in the mirror. The clothes, that stupid t shirt and jeans, the hair cut, the glasses, his obviously dialed down personality. I can’t count how many times I listened to the same thing over and over, about how much he hated everything he had become, how didn’t feel like himself, how it was driving him insane. And every time I would tell him that there was nothing wrong with who he used to be and every time, every single time, he would respond with ‘Clark would disagree.’ All you did was change him into another version of you. Your opinion meant so much to him and you hardly even spared him a second thought. You wanna know how I know you didn’t try, because if you spent even five minutes talking to Kon like he was more than a clone bred to fight, you would know how much he hated Smallville. LOOK WHERE WE ARE STANDING! He couldn’t wait to get out of this place, and because you didn’t want to go through the, what, hassle? Of coming up with a story as to why he would be buried in someplace he liked. Buried in Hawaii? He is the in the one place that him feel even less of a person forever. God, Clark do you know how pathetic that is? How so royally fucked up that is? Do you know how angry he would be if he knew he had to spend eternity here? And yet you have the audacity to stand here and actually mourn him?.”

“I-” 

“I’m not done talking. You don’t get to mourn some one you wished wasn’t alive in the first place. We both know the only reason it hurts you so much is because this perfectly crafted ‘knight on a white horse’ person you created just took a hit. God, I wish in everything that some one would knock you off of that damn high horse. I am so sorry your hero complex took a hit. I am so sorry that you have to be the villain for once. That you couldn’t save Kon, whether it was from prime or himself. I am so sorry that you worked so hard to make Kon into Clark 2.0 only to have him die. I am so, so sorry that you regret not getting to know him. But that’s on you and only you. And that guilt you’re feeling, the guilt of not being fast enough. Of not getting there in time. Of letting some one die. Of some one dying thinking that you hate them. I get it. Trust me, I get it. A hundred scenarios running through your mind about how it could have been different, how you could have saved him. How you could have done better. How you should have kept them closer. When you are laying there at night, your stomach curled in on itself, your blood ice cold. The hot tears pouring down your face as some cruel reminder that you can’t escape from this. The type of guilt that has you hunched over the toilet, choking on your vomit because you can’t stop sobbing long enough and you’re body won’t let you do both. You don’t panic, you think if I go I deserve it right? You put on the cape and become sloppy and reckless because if you make it out, if you are able to go home and take them off, the pain will set back in. That guilt that is all encompassing, that drags with you all day and all night. Cause no matter what, you can’t wake up. That guilt? I can tell you with a doubt is the worse feeling you will ever feel. And I truly mean it when I say that I hope you choke on it. I hope you scream for help and no one listens. I want you to know what it feels like to be in so much pain while surrounded by people who make a living helping people. I hope people you consider family ignore your suffering. I hope that pain seeps into your skin. I hope the sound of Kon hitting the ground rings in your ears. I hope the sound of his heart stopping replays on repeat.” Tim’s voice breaks, tears are flooding down his face he can’t see anything, but he doesn’t care. He is so angry that nothing else matters. His voice drops to barely a whisper “I wish Kon were here. I wish he could tell you this himself. I wish he could tell you himself how much it hurt to know that you would never love him.”

Tim walked off, up the dirt road that lead to Kent’s long driveway. He paused at the old worn mailbox, before deciding to just keep going. He trekked down the long dirt road, with no clue where he was going. He knew Bruce would come looking eventually. He found himself lying on the cold metal walkway of the old water tower. He just stared up at the stars, like he was waiting for Kon to appear out of  the sky. He closed his eyes, tears still streaming down steadily and whispered the same thing over and over again. Maybe if he said it enough Kon would hear it. 

I love you. I love you. I love you.

[lovewillthaw-j]

Saving Elsa

An alternate in-movie fic (my first!). Set in between Anna climbing out of the cave, and waking the Giants. 

Inspired by Mego’s fanart, which also inspired my edit:

TW: depression, grief, drowning, hypothermia

Anna blinked in the sunlight. The beauty of the dawn in the Enchanted forest could not fill the enormous emptiness within her. She felt utterly lost without Elsa and Olaf. She knew she had to destroy the dam, but that would flood Arendelle and hurt her people. And besides, she had no idea how to destroy such a massive structure of stone without Elsa’s help.

Elsa. It hurt to think about Elsa, but as she stood there, uncertain about the next step, gradually, thoughts of finding Elsa’s body began to fill her mind till it overpowered every other thought. Even if she didn’t know where Elsa had gone, she was going to try. Anna knew she could not survive the torture of another funeral with no body to bury. She knew she had chased Elsa all the way to the North Mountain 3 years ago, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to give up without trying.

Retrace my steps, she thought. She lifted her head and looked around and was gradually aware of the sound of water flowing in the river. The river! I can follow it back to the path. She followed the sound of the water and gradually made her way to the river bank. The Giants were still asleep and she was careful not to wake them. Trudging along the bank, beyond ear shot of the Giants, she slowly made her way through the forest, stumbling a few times whenever she got distracted by thoughts of Elsa. Finally, she came to the spot where the boat had left Elsa's icy path. She recognised the branch that Olaf’s little hand had grabbed onto previously and felt a sting of pain. Reaching her hand into her satchel, she felt Olaf’s wooden arms and coal buttons. Tears streamed down her face, but she steeled herself and said to herself, I must keep going. For Elsa. 

A twinkle of ice crystals caught her eye. Elsa’s icy path had melted but there was still some lingering frost. She felt the ground with her hands and confirmed that it was cold and wet. I’m definitely on the right path, she thought.

Onward she trudged, on the path that she had so recently been on. She was hungry and tired and her legs and lungs were crying for a rest but she didn’t feel them calling out to her and pressed on. Finally she came to the stone at the last spot that she had been with Elsa, near their parents’ ship. Hot tears came to her eyes as she was reminded of Elsa's last hug and the last image of her parents before they died. 

The sounds of waves crashing on the shore became apparent and she was re-energised as she remembered that Elsa had mentioned that the Dark Sea was too dangerous, just before their final parting. Had Elsa tried to cross the Dark Sea?

She ran to the beach and faced the waves of the Dark Sea. Suddenly, she noticed Elsa’s boots and outer cloak neatly lying on a rock. She wept over Elsa’s cloak, caressing it with her hands and burying her nose in it, smelling Elsa’s scent. Time stood still as she clawed and groped at the cloak, the closest she had been to Elsa since the horrible separation a day ago. 

And then she saw them. Through her tears, she realised that there were footprints in the black sand, leading straight into the water. Elsa’s bare footprints. From the distance between the footprints, she surmised that Elsa had been running. She had run straight into the water. And now she was dead. Her body, lost at sea. Just like Agnarr’s and Iduna’s. A mindless fury took over her and she stood and ran to the water’s edge, screaming at the waves. 

Dark Sea!!! You have taken the lives of my parents and now, my sister!! What more can you take away from me!! I have no one to bury!! I have nothing left to live for!! Why don’t you finish me off too!!

So saying, she plunged into the water and swam as far as she could, fighting the cold and brutal waves. She felt her consciousness slipping away from her and in a haze, thought she heard a horse neighing. A horse? I must be hallucinating, she thought. Suddenly, the sea spat her back out onto the shore. Relentless, Anna tried to run into the sea again, but within a few minutes, found herself back on the shore. What was going on? 

Night had fallen and Anna was shivering. She was soaked to the skin and very, very cold. She had lost her cloak when she went down that waterfall. Momentarily giving up on trying to drown herself, Anna crawled back to the rock with Elsa’s cloak and boots, shaking violently. She pulled Elsa’s cloak over her and felt a moment of irritation when she realised it was so thin that it afforded no warmth at all. Thanks a lot sis, only you could wear a peekaboo cloak and not feel cold. Her muscles were cramping from the violent spasms and Anna felt that she would not survive much longer. Her eyelids closed and out of the corner of her eye she thought she saw Elsa’s boot moving by itself. 

Darkness. And then, warmth. And a crackling fire.

Hours had passed and she woke up to find herself lying by a roaring fire and a little creature was resting on her bosom. A warm, wriggly...Salamander?! It was Bruni!!

Bruni!! You’re here? You made a fire to keep me warm? Anna noticed she was completely dry and felt much better. She was so relieved to have a companion, even if she wasn’t sure if he fully understood her. She held him in her hands and continued to speak to him.

Thank you so much Bruni. How did you know I was here? Bruni jumped out of her hands and ran to Elsa’s boot and crawled inside, then poked his head out, licking his eyeball and staring at her as if to say, I’ve been hiding in this boot waiting for Elsa to return!! Anna laughed as she realised that Elsa might have stepped on Bruni if she had put on her boots while he was in it! Laughing felt good. She felt like she hadn’t laughed in years.

Now what? What could she do to find Elsa? Say Bruni, do you know what happened to Elsa? Bruni looked at her quizzically, not seeming to understand. Sigh, you don’t speak, do you, thought Anna. She stood up and walked to the water’s edge. Why did the water spit me out, she thought to herself. She stooped and dipped her hands into the water. At this, suddenly Bruni hissed and sparks flew out of his body. He ran towards her and chased her back from the water’s edge, little tongues of flame emanating from his body. What’s wrong Bruni? What did I do? Suddenly, the flames erupted from Bruni, but instead of causing a fire, the fire took the shape of a horse.

A horse, Bruni? I don’t understand? What are you trying to...

A sudden ROAR of water from the ocean rang out and a mighty water horse emerged from the ocean and stepped on to the beach. The horse looked condescendingly at Bruni and took a menancing step forward. Bruni extinguished his flame and ran away, but he couldn’t resist turning his head back and sticking his tongue out at the horse.

Slowly Anna realised that this must be the water spirit! She had only encountered Gale, Bruni and the Earth Giants. Air, Fire, Earth and Water. This explained the neighing sounds she heard when the water spit her out! 

She curtsied formally to the magnificent horse and said, I’m princess... err... Queen Anna I suppose, of Arendelle. You must be the water spirit. I’m so sorry for shouting at you just now, I'm just trying to find my sister, Elsa. Thanks for saving my life just now. The Nokk bowed to Anna and she strode forward and stroked the Nokk’s neck. 

Suddenly, the Nokk bent lower and indicated that Anna was supposed to mount it. Surprised, Anna mounted the horse, not knowing anything better to do. Wait a moment, she said, as the Nokk stood up. Can Bruni come along? I’m still cold. Neighing a snort of irritation, the horse nodded its head. Gleefully, Bruni ran and jumped into Anna’s hands and ran up to her shoulder where he perched himself. Anna felt grateful for Bruni’s presence, both for the warmth and the comfort of a familiar face. 

With a whoosh! the Nokk broke into a gallop across the Dark Sea, taking Anna’s breath away as she flew over the black waters. Where is the Nokk taking me? she wondered to herself. Did Elsa come by this way too? Bruni happily stuck his tongue out and enjoyed the sea breeze. In the distance, Ahtohallan emerged, it’s frozen river glowing brightly against the dark stone. Anna gasped at the magnificent sight of the magical river. As the Nokk passed between the reflective pillars of ice that marked out the path to Ahtohallan, she stared at her reflection and her wonder increased. A powerful force seemed to be situated within Ahtohallan and she felt it drawing her in.

The Nokk slowed to a trot and gracefully stopped at Ahtohallan’s beach. Dismounting, Anna thanked the horse and it splashed back into the sea, disappearing in an instant. Now what? Anna asked Bruni. In response, Bruni jumped off Anna’s shoulder and ran to the open doorway of Ahtohallan, which Anna hadn’t noticed. Okay, keep going forward. Anna strode towards the doorway and gasped as she saw the four pillars with the spirits’ crystal logos carved into them. Bruni ran up the pillar with the Fire emblem on it, smiling proudly at her as the pillar momentarily lit up with an pink glow. Okay, well done to you, said Anna. But you’d better come with me cos it’s really cold here, okay Bruni? I’m not Elsa. Bruni obligingly ran back to Anna and climbed onto her shoulder once more as Anna walked through the doorway of Ahtohallan.

On and on Anna walked within Ahtohallan, it’s magic getting stronger and stronger as she went deeper within. She wasn’t sure what all this had to do with Elsa, but she knew from Mother’s lullaby that in Ahtohallan, all is found, all the answers, and she was going to go as far in as she could and ask Ahtohallan where Elsa was. She came to a slippery tunnel and gingerly made her way across. However, to her consternation, the tunnel ended in a sudden steep drop into a huge cavern. She could see the tunnel’s continuation on the other side, but there was no way across. (Unknown to her, Elsa had recently come this way and had made her way across pillars of ice, however, these had all flurried away when Elsa froze to death) 

Bruni, what do we do now? asked Anna, hearing her voice echo in the cavern. I can’t get across this huge gap and I can’t see anyway to climb down there. Bruni cocked his head at her but didn’t seem to know how to help her. Nevertheless, Anna was bolder now after having met 2 spirits. Plus, she knew that Gale had had a special connection with her mother and Elsa had tamed Gale. She called out, confidently, her voice ringing in the cavern: Gale! GALE! Please. It’s Anna. Remember me? Please, I need your help. I know you are able to carry me to the other side.

With a flurry of tiny ice particles, Gale appeared and swirled around Anna, playing with her hair and tickling her sides. Her satchel momentarily flapped open in the breeze and the ice particles flurried inside, wandered over Olaf’s remains, and sailed out again. I know, I miss him too, Gale. Thank you for coming, now can you carry me -

With a gust of wind, in mid-sentence, Anna suddenly found herself floating in the air. Bruni was thoroughly enjoying himself as Gale transported them both over. Whoa! That was sudden, Gale. But thank you very much. Anna continued her trek into Ahtohallan, coming upon the great hall where Elsa had recently re-arranged the giant pillars of ice. The architecture of this place was breathtakingly beautiful. She passed through another doorway and came to an enormous cave where, unbeknownst to her, Elsa had recently seen Iduna and created the snowy images of memories, all of which had since flurried away. There was another dark doorway framed in snow leading out of the cave, which Anna walked into. This led to a downward sloping path, and terminated again in a steep cliff with a sharp drop. Anna strained her eyes to look at the ground below.

Suddenly, Anna spotted a tiny figure that looked like Elsa. An anguished cry escaped her lips. Elsa was far away, at the bottom of the cliff and she was not moving. In fact, she looked completely different and...white. White as ice. No no no no... This isn't happening...say its not true...

Gale, please hurry!! No sooner had the words left her mouth, Anna felt Gale carrying her down the cliff gently. It was very cold here, even Bruni’s warmth seemed insufficient to battle the biting cold. The descent felt like an eternity to Anna, and she knew Elsa had gone too deep, against Mother’s warning.

ELSAAAAA!!!!!!! 

cried Anna, running towards the cold, still statue of ice. She repeatedly called and called her sister's name as she hugged her cold body desperately, willing her to come back to life. Anna held Elsa's face in her hands, sobbing uncontrollably. She kissed Elsa’s frozen lips but nothing happened. Please. PLEASE. Ahtohallan, spirits, anybody. Undo this, this spell, whatever magic is going on here. Her voice sounded thin and empty in the bitter cold air.

Bruni! Can you warm her up? Please? Bruni gave her a sad look. She had never seen Bruni in grief before. Anna placed Bruni on Elsa's body, but Bruni did not even attempt to make any heat. Thoroughly exhausted and defeated, Anna clung onto Elsa and cried anew, tears flowing freely. This is the end, thought Anna. I can't bring Elsa's body back to Arendelle. She's become one with the ice of Ahtohallan. Oh how cruel can this be. I've come all the way here with the help of 3 spirits, which is pretty incredible, but in the end I'm sadder than ever before. I'm really ready to succumb now.

Her tears flowed down her cheek and dropped onto Elsa's cold, hard face. Suddenly, the tears glowed with light and were absorbed into Elsa’s face. The light from her tears travelled within Elsa’s frozen body and went towards Elsa’s heart. Then, a glow glimmered through Elsa's body and travelled up her left arm, which was frozen and stretched up to the heavens. It was only then that Anna realised how different Elsa looked, without her braid and in a totally new dress emblazoned with the spirit symbols. Had Elsa met the fifth spirit? Was Elsa THE fifth spirit?

A beam of light and snow came out of Elsa's icy hand, though it was feeble and much less powerful than what Anna was accustomed to. Elsa remained frozen stiff but the snow gradually collected and formed into...an image of her parents. The glow in Elsa's body then faded but Anna hardly noticed as the snowy images of her parents came alive and started speaking.

Iduna: Darling, I've been thinking. It might be time to tell Anna about Elsa. I can't bear keeping her shut out anymore. She's maturing now. She can be responsible.

Agnarr: It's not Anna I'm worried about. What if we let them get close again and the feelings are too much for Elsa? Joy brings out her powers as strongly as fear.

Iduna: But if anyone can find a way to help her, it's Anna.

Agnarr: You may be right about that. There's not much that girl can't do.

Iduna: Her love could hold up the world.

Agnarr: Lucky for the world. Okay. We'll tell her when we return.

The images of her parents stopped moving. Anna wept again, happy tears this time. This was truly a magical place of memories. She embraced the icy images of her father and mother with deep hugs, and felt their love pour into her anew, even though it had been six years since she'd last seen them set sail. Thank you. Thank you so much for that. Her mother's words rang in her memory. 

If anyone can find a way to help her, it's Anna.

Anna held Elsa by her waist, wondering what she could do. Her tears had somehow developed some power of their own when they touched Elsa, she realised. Could she do it again? On a hunch, she got down and placed one hand on the icy floor and kept her other hand on Elsa’s body, and she spoke out loud: Elsa, I love you. Ahtohallan, spirits, this is my beloved sister and I would do anything to bring her back. Please, show me something I can do.

Magically, the ground under Anna's hand glowed and ice crystals started to rise from the ground and coalesce into images! Anna gazed in amazement as a small-sized version of the dam appeared in front of her. But there was more. She could make out 3 blocky figures moving slowly towards the dam, in the distance. Suddenly, she realised she was looking at three Earth Giants and just then, they started throwing rocks at the miniature dam. As she followed the trajectory of the flying rocks, she saw a tiny version of herself running on top of the dam, dodging the rocks as they crashed into the dam, destroying it. Then the image faded away and morphed into a small version of Elsa, in her current frozen state, but coming back to life. The images then froze.

Anna sat down heavily, trying to process what she had just witnessed, here in Ahtohallan, the place of memories. She figured that she must be seeing "memories" from the future - visions. That didn’t sound too far-fetched, considering that Elsa had seen a memory from 35 years in the past. Momentarily, Anna wondered if she had gained powers herself and she absentmindedly tried to lift her hand and conjure up snow. Nothing happened. 

I don’t want ice or any form of powers, anyhow. I’m happy to be me and I just want you back, Elsa. She knew her request had been answered. She now knew how to save Elsa and how to destroy the dam. Now all that was left was to get it done.

Thank you, she breathed. Thank you Ahtohallan.

Elsa, I'm going to save you.

======

How this continues: with Gale and Nokk's help, Anna leaves Ahtohallan and re-crosses the Dark Sea, reaching the Earth giants. The story then continues as it did in the movie (Wake up!!!!!). With some important adjustments 1) Anna is not as sad when talking to Kristoff 2) When Elsa gallops toward Anna on Nokk, Anna is not sad, but surprised because she thought she would have to go back to Ahtohallan to get her. 3) When Elsa says “You saved me”, Anna replies “Yeah, I know!!!!” to which Elsa is shocked and then, Anna shares that she too has been to Ahtohallan. 

For those who aren’t aware, the scene of Iduna and Agnarr is directly lifted from the Deleted Scene, A Place Of Our Own. I just wanted to include it...

Headcanons applied in this fic - 1) 5th spirit’s powers are to extract memories from water; 2) Anna, as the other half of the bridge, can also communicate with the spirits and they help her get to Ahtohallan as she has no powers; 3) Anna becomes the 5th spirit for a short while - there was some transference when her tears fell onto Elsa; 4) Iduna is a memory, not a ghost; 5) Ahtohallan (Sentient) shows memories of the parents to the girls to comfort them and strengthen their resolve; 6) I was inspired by Rapunzel’s tears falling onto and reviving Eugene; 7) This fic features Brunanna heavily =) ; 8) I like the idea that Bruni and Nokk are “rivals” (water vs fire) and Bruni is cheeky towards Nokk.

[sidestone-urban-legends-old]

Sidestone is broken into two areas: the town and the forest. While most people live in the town, it’s not unusual for a few lost souls to live in the forest. Usually those who want to be left alone live in the woods, while those who are more social or lonely and want to fit in live in the town. 

Below you will find a detailed description of some areas that are important to the residents of Sidestone. 

A: Mundane Road

This road is named mundane because that’s what it is. To travel down this road means entering the world of the normal, or at least, what most humans on Earth consider normal.

This road is covered in thick mist. The closer to Sidestone you get, the thicker the mist, to the point where your hands are barely visible in front of your face. This is to keep the residents of Sidestone safe and keeps threats out.

Bless the people who actually manage to navigate the road and enter Sidestone without an invitation.

B: Nightmare Bridge

A creaky, old red bridge that crosses over Nightmare River. The holes in the bottom of the bridge trap the sounds of the roaring river below and make it sound like a thunderstorm on the inside.

Those who enter are spit back out the same side they’ve entered, meaning it’s hard for those outside to enter Sidestone, and those who come in are stuck in the town. The only way to safely make it across Nightmare Bridge is with the help of Thomas, who seems to always sense when there’s a visitor nearby.

C: Sidestone Square

During the day, this looks like just a pile of dirt. However, at night, the sky is lit with floating lanterns, and residents of Sidestone mingle together and converse about their daily lives. Calming grand piano music plays from somewhere, but no one knows from where.

In the center of the square is Spectrum Fountain. The water changes color during the night, making it a dazzling liquid rainbow display. If you stare in it long enough, your true self will stare back.

Festivals are often held in the square, the biggest one being The Autumn Festival. Candy, cakes, and pastries made special for the holidays are often available for anyone to enjoy, and games that capture the spirit of the holiday are scattered throughout.

D: Sidestone Town Hall

This is where Thomas takes all the new residents so that they can get registered to live in Sidestone. The building itself only operates when Thomas is inside, and should you enter when he’s not there, it’s an abandoned ghost building, literally. Better watch your step.

If you are simply visiting Sidestone, you will get a special bracelet that lets the other inhabitants know you are under the protection of Thomas himself and are not to be harmed. Only the wearer or Thomas can remove it. Do not take it off.

This is also where you can go to seek help, whether it be a rowdy neighbor or trouble outside of Sidestone. After all, those who enter Sidestone become part of the family, and family means no one gets left behind.

E: Sidetown

This is the living area of most of the residents of Sidestone, unless they choose to live in the hotel, of course. Most natives to Sidestone will refer to this area as Dead End Lane, because the pathways are surrounded by a high wall, and there’s only one way in and out.

Most of the homes are designed to accommodate their specific inhabitants, so inside the homes may vary. Some have large pools, while others dig under the ground. They all come in various colors, and some even change colors depending on the position of the sun.

For some reason, all the house numbers start with 8.

F: Mom’s

If you’re hungry, Mom’s is the place to go. Hosted by a woman that goes by the name of Mom, this is a restaurant, bakery, hot chocolate, tea, and coffee shop mixed into one. Most of the eating area is outside under a pavilion filled with comfortable seats and tables.

Inside, there are small, private areas for people to sit and relax in by yourself or with a friend. They are often filled with books and toys to stimulate or calm the mind, depending on what you desire.

All of the food and drinks inside are free of charge and all you can eat, so long as you are kind to all the guests who enter this safe space.

G: Stony Playground

The quirky name isn’t for show. All items in this playground are made of stone, from the smooth granite that makes the benches to the gravel that crunches under your feet. The park’s founder, Sarah, designed it to be made of stone in honor of their late wife, who she accidentally turned to stone many years ago. Her wife’s statue stands in the middle of the playground.

The playground features many things you would find on a playground, from slides to swings to a sandbox to a climbing set that towers three stories high. A merry-go-round plays cheerful music as the horses go round and round. 

H: Nightmare River

A winding river that splits the town in half, Nightmare River is the main source of Sidestone’s water supply. Don’t be fooled by its narrow appearance. The river itself is deeper than you can imagine. The main river leaves the town and disappears into Mindscape Forest, where it feeds Nightmare Lagoon with a fresh supply of water every day.

The river splits off and runs through the Sidestone Hotel then goes to an unknown area. Those who have survived being down this part of the river refuse to tell people where it leads, leaving it up to everyone’s imagination.

I: Sidestone Cemetery

Of course, all things have to die, but this cemetery isn’t like the others. This one is more of a memorial than a burial site. The stones that line the cemetery are all names of those who have called Sidestone their home. They are often filled with the names of residents who have been lost over the years, and if you mention their name to some of the older residents of the town, they’ll get rather sad.

However, should someone happen to perish inside of the town, there is a morgue toward the back of the cemetery for those who have passed. To raise the dead from here without permission is strictly forbidden. 

Memorial hours are every day from 9 to 10 pm.

J: Sidestone Hotel

A home for those who are just passing through or disappear from time to time but still visit the town frequent enough to need a place to stay. Run by one of the town’s oldest inhabitants, Cassie, this hotel is the perfect quiet place for travelers to rest their weary bones.

The hotel’s hallways are filled with webbed twists and sticky turns, making it easy for those inside to get lost if they’re not careful. If you do happen to get lost, seek the trail of spiders to guide your way. They are always running to Cassie, who is always in the lobby.

In the middle of the hotel is a lake fed by Nightmare River, offering a place to stay for those who prefer wetter conditions than a hotel room. The small pool of water also doubles as a swimming pool for residents who stay, though it’s swim at your own risk.

The hotel is thirteen floors high, but the doors won’t open on the seventh floor, and those who take the stairs are transported from sixth floor to the eight floor. Rumor has it the resident on that floor does not like to be disturbed.

K: Sidestone Library

Filled with rows and rows of books, the Sidestone Library has five layers and every book known to man. You can either read the books in the cozy reading area on the fifth floor or choose to take them home. All you have to do is find the librarian, Logan, and ask for a library card. 

Every afternoon at exactly 3am on the third floor, a violin will play to entertain guests who like to read to music. The music will be anything from lively to sorrowful, depending on the mood of its player. The music goes on for an hour, when it slowly fades into nothing, much like the person who plays the music. No one knows for sure who is playing the music because no one has ever found them.

L: Sidestone Park

A series of twisting paths that wrap around the center of the town, Sidestone Park is used by those who want to go for a casual stroll or sit in the grassy areas to relax. This is a lovely area to picnic in.

Be mindful of which path you take, for it’s easy to get lost, and it’s hard to find your way out again if you don’t know where you’re going.

M: Sidestone Hospital

For those who are injured accidentally or on purpose, Sidestone is trained to help anyone who enters its doors. While most of the town is inactive during the day, Sidestone Hospital runs 24 hours with a skeleton and ghost crew. The head of the hospital is Mara, a woman with a special talent for creative and often inhumane treatments.

For residents who desire more meaty meals, a cafeteria sits in the basement of the hospital. To enter requires a special key, as Mara doesn’t want to clean up the mess if someone who shouldn’t be there ends up on the wrong floor. She can’t use picked clean bones, after all.

The hospital has ten floors if you don’t count the three floors below the ground. The elevator takes you all the way to the top floor, which is often used to look over the whole town. Residents often go here to watch the full moon rise.

N: Sidestone Theater

A more recent addition to the town, the Sidestone Theater puts on a play for its residents every year on June 15. Mostly filled with volunteers, this three floored theater seats guests of all ages and sizes.

The leader of the theater is a new resident named Roman, who plays most of the main roles, and he is often accompanied by his good friend Janus, who can play practically any part.

The only rule of the theater is to remain quiet while the show is going on, unless you are encouraging the actors. It’s rude to talk during a performance, after all.

O: Sanders Manor

An old Victorian styled home at the mouth of the Mindscape Forest, Sanders Manor has been passed down in the family for generations. Its current owner, Thomas, is responsible for everything you see before you.

The home itself has 99 bedrooms, 24 bathrooms, a kitchen with cobwebs, a grand ball with no dancers, a never ending hall that seems to stretch farther than the house, an attic that makes horrific noises in the middle of the night, rooms that are completely upside down, and stairs that seem to lead nowhere. 

Only Thomas knows how to navigate the house, so it’s best to stay with him. You wouldn’t want to get lost in there, after all. He may never find you until it’s too late.

P: Line of Thought Pathways

A series of pathways that winds through Mindscape Forest and lead to Nightmare Beach and Nightmare Lagoon, this trail is only lit by the light of the sun or the moon. The path is long and winding, and it takes a whole day to walk around the whole thing if you stay focused. 

The path itself is made of dirt, and it sometimes disappears after a heavy rainstorm, so it’s a good idea to only travel the path once it’s able to regenerate itself. The pathways also change a lot, so be mindful to where you walk. Sometimes you can see the paths change before your very eyes.

Some mock pathways lead to dead ends, but these are not part of the trail at all. Be mindful if you step onto these tricky paths, for they will abandon you in the woods or lead you in a never ending circle.

If you stray from the path, don’t worry. If Patton takes a shining to you, he’ll gently lead you back to the path without going near you, but don’t thank him for his kindness.

Q: Mindscape Forest

A protective wood that surrounds Sidestone, the Mindscape is made with a thick redwood series of trees. The trees tower almost a mile high, and they are too thick for most people to see around. They are rumored to be over a thousand years old. Some are hallowed out and are turned into homes by its inhabitants, but they must ask the tree for permission to live there.

Those who don’t live in the town and prefer the solitude of a more private life, the residents of Mindscape Forest are as far from normal as you can get. Most choose to live just how they are and not blend into society. The residents themselves range from friendly to malicious, so it’s a good idea not to trust anyone who approaches you unless you know them personally.

Only enter the wood during the day if you don’t live there.

R: Nightmare Beach

A popular resting spot for those who prefer to bathe in the sun, Nightmare Beach is made of pure white sand and surrounds all of Nightmare Lagoon. The sand is always cool to the touch and is always soft. It’s perfect for making sculptures and castles. Just don’t bury anyone in it.

Sometime before the sun sets, there is a person that will sell you ice cream free of charge. They have any flavor you can think of, and they are usually a warning to residents that the sun is setting and it’s time to leave. Their name seems to change every day, but common beach goers refer to them as the Sugar Rush.

S: Nightmare Lagoon

A deep lake in the heart of the woods, Nightmare Lagoon is a bottomless lake that eats the water from Nightmare River. Many creatures inhabit the lake, but the most notorious is a quiet man named Remus, who protects the lake from anyone who should not be in the waters. 

The water seems to have a mind of its own and produces waves from seemingly nowhere. It’s always polite to ask before you enter the water. If the water accepts you, it will wave its water onto your feet. If not, it will recede, warning you if you enter that it will not be kind to you.

If the water likes you, its said that it will gift you a pearl from the dark depths that is more valuable than gold.

[oof-another-writeblr]

A Wish

Tonight I was hit with the inspiration to finaly write a peice of flash fiction I had the idea for like two years ago.

Across the mountains, within the forest of the fae that no man leaves, there is a pond. A pond as black as night, and still a death. But, within that dark abys the Moon Queen dwells; the great fairy that shall grant the wish of any that would find her – for a price. And yet, no man has left that forest… So, the story is told.

The forest did not have a beginning, no dark line of trees that blotted out the sun, rather it crept up on you. A grassy plain faded into sparce woodland, trees encroaching on one another one by one… until the sky was gone below a canopy of oak.

The Queen first noticed the chill in the air as the darkness of the forest enveloped her, like a cold, unwanted kiss. She stroked the neck of her horse, taking comfort in its oblivious mind and soft brown hide.

Without the sun, she could neither navigate or gauge the passage of time, and so took to marking the directions of trees and their branches, so as to track her direction and remain straight on her path – lest she be lead from its centre and taken for her hubris effort.

Gnarled roots and trunks thicker than ten men standing abreast began to fill the young Queen’s path, and soon her great stead could go no further. Not knowing when she might return from her quest, she took what supplies she could carry, and sent the horse back towards the plains below the mountain – if not into the care of the fae.

For three days and three nights the young Queen walked onward, pausing only when the dark grew too deep; being sure to always mark an arrow into the soft earth to guide her way at light.

As the final drops of water fell onto her tongue from the large canteen, between the rustling in the branches above she heard the faint movement of water. She climbed over the ancient, stretching root that blocked her way, and spied a shallow pool weeping from the base of the tree. The water was clear, and filtered into the air through soft sand, thirst tugged at her throat. Yet the Queen knew better than to drink water from the forest of the fae. She dropped down from the root on the edge of the pool, she saw a narrow stream that snaked its way along the roots and seemed to be following her path. With a final look into the glistening water, she swallowed down the spit in her throat and followed the glistening ribbon. Be it trick or sign, the water must lead somewhere, she thought.

The fourth night ebbed ever near, and soon the trickle of the stream, and the pebbles under her foot where the only guides to the Queen’s journey.

Her legs ached, her throat burned and belly twisted with hunger but on she went – for she had been through worse for less reward.

It was the glint of a star that caught her eye. Through a void in the black canopy above. Another. Then another. The great oaks grew less thick, their branches splaying open to the sky and their Moon. They seemed to part like soldiers, allowing her to enter the court of the Moon Queen.

Within the centre of the clearing, a dark pool lay. No reflection of the pale moon that hung in the sky above it, or the trees that reached up to meet the twinkling stars. Only the stream, slow as a dying breath, trickled into the water, with no wakes in its entrance.

The young Queen walked to the waters edge, calling out,

“I seek an audience with the Moon Queen. I am Queen of the kingdom across the mountains to the west.” She stepped back from the pond and waited.

As if a stone had fallen, unseen, a rippled moved from its centre, slow and rich like spilled wine. The ripples grew, crashing against one another as the water split and light as pale as moonlight shone fourth. From this light, a figure formed. A woman as tall as the great oaks that surrounded them and garbed in robes of starlight.

“You have done well, young Queen.” the Moon Queen’s voice flowed like nectar, “I have not been called upon for many years… but not for want of trying. I see all those who enter my kingdom.

“I thank you, great Moon Queen.” the young Queen said, kneeling in reverence.

“So, what is it you seek, little Queen.” the fairy asked, stepping from the pool to the bank, looming above the woman garbed in silver armour. The young Queen drew her gaze up and met the great fairy before her,

“I wish, for you to make me a king.”

A laugh broke shattered the silence of the night. “A King?” the fairy asked, “You are so fair, so strong, beloved by all, you could have pick of any man in the world… and yet you come to me seeking a man to marry?” She laughed again, turning as her pearlescent smile outshone the moon above.

“No.” The young Queen said, venom in her mouth, “I wish for you to make me, myself, I,” she thumped her chest, her gauntlet clanging against steal plated heart, “… a man.” The great fairy turned her gaze back down towards her, brows crossed but no malice upon her moon-shaped face.

“Why?” In one, elegant movement, the fairy Queen laid on the edge of her pond, and the young queen stood to face her question.

“I do not want to be a woman.”

“Why?” she asked again, “I see all that happens beyond this land, you are as strong, as brave, as smart as any man. You have proven your greatness as a warrior, as a leader, as a Queen time and time again.”

“I know this. I have spent my entire life chasing strength. Changing by force and will the thoughts of those around me, the opinions of my subjects and those beyond my land and rule. Proving myself, proving women, to be as strong and as worthy as men.”

“Then why do you seek to betray that truth you worked so hard to teach?”

“I betray no one but myself in denying my own truth.”

You betray your family, your subjects… every little girl who has ever looked up to you and known that she can be strong too.” The young Queen shook her head,

“Would that too not be betrayed if I took my life?”

“Do you think that threat will sway me?” the Moon Queen scoffed,

“I do not, as it is not a threat… it is an inevitability of my misery.” The Moon Queen grew quiet at this and looked up toward her second face.

“You did well in reaching me, I shall grant you your wish, little Queen… But pray tell, what toll shall be paid. For I do not give my wished freely.”

“My throne, my kingdom, I renounce it to my sister.”

“Your sister?”

“Yes, I have taught her well. She is as fair, true and great as I… she will be a greater queen than I, no doubt or shame to cloud her mind. Does that settle your fear for the women and girls of my kingdom?” the young Queen asked, supressing her bile. The fairy nodded, slowly, and reached out to brush her finger, as long and wide as a man’s leg, across the young Queen’s face, and said in that voice like nectar,

“I grant you this wish, little King.”

It is said no man has left the forest of the Moon Queen… no man but one, so the story told.

[thepetulantpen]

Out Of Sight, Out Of Mind

(My blind!Geralt fic. I already posted this on my ao3, but I decided to put it up here, too. Enjoy!)

Plenty of boys are blinded in the Trials. It’s the price paid for tampering with vision enhancements, and it almost always ends with more boys dead- succumbing to complications, or put out of their misery.

Geralt is not one of those unlucky few. No, Geralt lived through the Trials- lived through more trials than most- and came out the other side mostly whole. 

So, of course, a fucking Bloedzuiger is what does it.  

Afterwards, he barely remembers the battle. His clearest memory is of getting acid in his eyes, followed closely by him blindly stabbing the damned thing to death and then stomping it into a pulp. In hindsight, it was probably already dead, but he hit it until it stopped making any sounds whatsoever, because he deserved a little overkill when it felt like his face was on fucking fire.

He doesn’t even feel panic in the moment of fading adrenaline. He’s made for survival and killing at the detriment of everything else- he feels nothing as the world fades away, filtering out everything save for the next steps, the next move. Just like a fight.

He finds Swallow by weight and smell, and drags himself towards the sound of a nearby river. Downing the potion and splashing water in his eyes does absolutely nothing, which is frustrating, but he’s not going to fix it by sitting around and cursing Destiny. It’s time to figure out how he’s going to make it to town and find someone competent.

He trips seven times, but finds Roach by her heartbeat. She’s a good horse, a smart horse, and with a bit of urging in the right direction, she follows the path towards the sound of people without issue. 

The healer he finds by smell alone, because he can’t be bothered to ask for directions in this state. It’s not a difficult trail- the potent herbs act like a beacon and Roach keeps them carefully on the road. 

The walk gives him time to acclimate somewhat, pushing through any remaining shock and pain to the calm clarity of a mission, same as any hunt. There’s a world of sound and smell around him, his senses just as strong as they’ve always been- possibly stronger when his attention is not drawn away by sight. It forms a map of sensations, coloring a world gone dark. 

A healer’s hut is in front of him. He can hear the wind- strong today, it was annoying until now- hitting the wooden walls, prompting little creaks of protest. The shape of it becomes clear in the places he hears resistance, the motion of the wind halting, and there is an outline where the wind whistles through the gap between the door and its wall. 

He leaves Roach to her own devices, trusting that she’ll behave, and finds the door, knocking loudly. Louder than necessary, but he thinks he can be excused on account of the spectacular evening he’s had.

The woman who answers- he assumes it’s a woman, based on the length of her hair, which he can hear brushing her shoulders, and the smell of flowery soap- only comes up to his shoulder, the subtle displacement of air giving him her approximate height in a blurry silhouette of awareness. 

“How can I help you, witcher?” She must not have been looking at his face because there’s a second of audible movement and she gasps. “Oh, dear. Come in.”

She takes his arm to guide him, which he probably doesn’t need, but he can’t be bothered to correct her. He’s had a long fucking day, and he’d rather not trip over a dining table, failing his newfound navigating abilities. 

The wet cloth against is skin is shockingly terrible, he feels each individual scratchy fiber. There’s more water on his face, in his eyes, and a smell of herbs that stings his nose. It hits him full force, and when he inhales, trying to identify them, he can practically taste them.

The woman’s heartbeat is loud, saying what her expression might’ve. He’d known that he could hear heartbeats, but had little cause to listen to them before, no reason to do anything but block them out on a daily basis. It takes him a minute to remember the rhythm of a human heart, gauge what’s fast, and decide what that may mean. 

She swallows and Geralt hears that in horrifying detail now that he’s concentrating, now that his senses are scrambling to compensate. 

“I’m not sure there’s much I can do.” 

The careful step process in his mind reaches its end, leaving him without anything to hold onto for a moment, scrambling for calm in the realization that there’s nothing to be done. He pushes down panic with a sigh, willing his mind to clear.

There’s always another step, always something to do. He just needs somewhere to recover, like any other injury. Somewhere safer than the floor of a stable, ideally.

He’ll be making an early return to Kaer Morhen, then.

“Wait,” the healer puts a hand on Geralt’s shoulder as he stands, a low note of concern and fear making her voice shake, “take this. I’ll show you how to use it.”

A wooden cane is pressed into his hands and he has to fight everything in him that protests the idea. Taking a breath, he allows the woman to lead him through the motion- tap, tap. Left, right.

It’s not sustainable- too visible, too obvious. Nobody will hire a blind witcher, but he can keep it strapped to Roach for emergencies.

At least until he figures out how to hear cracks in the ground. 

...

It’s pure luck that he happened to be close, planning on starting his winter early for lack of work. The trip up the mountain is a challenge, but it gives him a good idea of what his remaining senses can and can’t do. 

Everything has a sound, and that sound echoes until it hits something. With practice- and he has plenty, tripping over rocks and nearly falling off cliffs- he learns how to map out his surroundings in an array of newly audible shapes. Rain and wind make it easier, constant sound that cuts off when it comes in contact with something. More obvious than echoes. 

He uses the cane occasionally up here, where there are no witnesses. It eases the mental burden of processing every single sound, but it’s not something he could rely on in battle- or around people, for that matter. There’s not much kindness in this world for witchers or cripples, never mind a crippled witcher. 

The echoey halls of Kaer Morhen present a unique challenge in wide open spaces, sound that seems to stretch out endlessly. He stops at the threshold; head tilted to try and make sense of the room in front of him. He’s been here so many times, but now that he has to, he’s struggling to remember its precise layout. 

“Geralt? What the fuck are you doing here?”

Telling Vesemir what happened is the part he’s dreaded most. He forgets how damn quiet the man is, and it irritates him now, with no face to read. The pause after his story is extensive, leaving him straining to hear any clues. He catches the brush of hair against Vesemir’s collar- turning his head, maybe?

Finally, a sigh and Vesemir steps up to put a hand on Geralt’s shoulder. “Surprised you didn’t kill yourself on the way up here. Could’ve just sent a message, you know.”

Geralt isn’t so sure he could’ve- his handwriting was bad when he could see, and he doubts he could’ve gotten hold of a bird in his state. 

“I happened to be in the area.”

Another pause, he thinks Vesemir is giving him a look, then Vesemir is moving. “Come on, let’s sit down. Do you need help finding anything?”

“I’ll manage.” He moves steadily after him, hands forward when he senses an obstacle. Muscle memory helps, a little, in the most familiar parts of the keep. 

Vesemir doesn’t seem impressed, watching him feel for a chair in his room. 

“Do you need a cane, or something?”

“Already got a stick. Left it on Roach.”

A new sound- is that Vesemir rolling his eyes? He did not need to know there was a sound for that, but there it is, the unmistakable movement of eyeballs. “Of course you did.”

They sit. Geralt gets a sense of the size of the room first, then uses smells to fill in a few blanks- the paper and ink denoting books on the shelf, soap residue from a bath, Vesemir’s general musk clinging to the bed. He grounds himself on Vesemir’s heartbeat, a steady rhythm. 

“You could stay here.” Vesemir leans against his desk, making the wood groan. “Help out around the keep.”

Geralt snorts at the idea of cleaning or doing chores in this empty, lonely place. There’s barely enough for one man to do, let alone two irritable witchers. He doesn’t know how Vesemir does it without going mad- and he has books to read. 

There’s not much for him here, just an exasperated, and secretly worried, Vesemir. He could stay, and- not quite retire, but... make use of what life and skill he has left. 

It’s an offer that falls on deaf ears. Geralt can’t sit here and wallow, can’t sit here when he knows he could still be out there. 

“I just need the winter to adjust. Then I’ll be out of your hair.”

From the sound of his head shaking, Vesemir already knew he was going to say that. He thinks, if he spends enough time around the old witcher, he might find a smell for exasperation. 

“I’ll have to see you hunt, before I send you out there again.”

“Worried about me, old man?”

Vesemir doesn’t respond but his mouth moves- a frown? Definitely a frown. 

Beasts, it turns out, are the absolute least of his concern. 

The heartbeat, the smell, they may as well be announcing their position at all times. He has a feeling hunting at night is going to get significantly easier- no more Cat for him. 

The Kikimore’s legs creak with every movement, its jaws click before every bite, and Geralt learns, in the span of a battle, to recognize the near-silent gurgling sound as a precursor to the beast spitting venom. He feels a strike coming before it lands, the air moving subtly in warning, and finds himself ducking hits that might’ve been out of his line of sight. It’s like having eyes at the back of his head, except- well, he doesn’t actually see.

Vesemir nods his approval when he successfully takes down the Kikimore that’s acted as a pest too close to the grounds of the fortress, and brings them home dinner on the same hunting trip in record time, tracking heartbeats to bypass natural camouflage altogether. Geralt hears the movement, but Vesemir grumbles a verbal affirmation a minute later. Adjusting to more audio-heavy communication- for politeness sake. 

“Next test is gutting it. Think you can find a liver blind?”

...

“Any monster trouble?”

The bartender scoffs and turns to Geralt- presumably glaring. “We’ve got a notice board for a reason. Why don’t you check there?”

“I can’t read.” It’s a simple enough lie- not even a lie, really. He can’t, not anymore. 

The man mutters something to the effect of witchers being no better than beasts, but directs him to the alderman, who’s desperate enough to explain. Someone is sent to show him the main site of attacks, guiding him unwittingly- though, he could have found it faster by smell.

From there, it’s the same as it’s always been. The only challenge in the hunting process is harvesting the useful alchemical bits afterward. He can thank Vesemir for forcing him to spend the last several winters drilling on butchering blind, so he knows, intimately, the difference in smell between a heart and a liver. Dodging toxic parts to reach the valuable ones is still a little tricky- he’s been burned by acidic insides more times than he can count- but practice makes perfect, and he’s getting there. 

Hefting proof of kill on one shoulder, he puts his other hand on Roach. To anyone else, it looks like he’s leading her, but he relies on her to take his general direction and follow the road. He can hear where the town is, but finding the distinction between grass and dirt path is another issue altogether. On his own, without constant concentration, he’d wander off in a more direct diagonal, cutting through rougher terrain and calling unneeded attention to himself.

Reaching town requires bracing himself for the barrage of sensory information that crowds bring. With so many people around, navigating is far harder, but he lets the assumption that witchers are rude cover any vision-related blunders- bumping into people, cutting people off, ignoring people shouting at him.

Getting humans to believe he can see is shockingly easy, more likely due to the stupidity of humanity than any skill of his own. Nobody wants to get any closer to a witcher than they have to, so it’s a simple thing to keep his head turned away, avert his eyes, and mind his own business. 

The scars have faded to faint burns around his eyes- or so Eskel told him- leaving nothing for chatty whores or curious townspeople to ask him about. Most physical indicators of his condition have been wiped away; the only remaining obstacles being his inability to make eye contact and occasional struggle to not trip over barstools. 

He’s been discovered a few times, all of them equally unpleasant, but ultimately unremarkable. He can handle mocking and rocks- especially now that he hears them whizzing through the air, before they nail him in the back of the head- but he counts his blessings that he’s never had an incident notable enough to add Blind to his Butcher epithet. 

His routine doesn’t change much, sticking to his usual strategy of staying out of sight, as far from people as he can manage. He gravitates towards the dark corners, feeling the slight absence of heat in the sunless parts of the tavern. Blindness never becomes a weakness- there’s nothing to exploit, if they never even realize something is different. Being a witcher makes him uniquely invisible.

Nobody bothers him and he makes sure they never will.

Unfortunately, he underestimates the pushiness of a certain bard. 

He doesn’t even realize the bard lingering nearby is looking at him, or talking to him, until he’s sliding into the bench in front of him. He sensed his presence, sure, but he thought he’d be looking at someone else, talking to any number of other people in the tavern.

The bread in his pants is stale, and smells like it. It squishes and crumbles as he moves, probably getting bits stuck in the folds of silk so numerous he hears every slight shift, every wrinkle forming. He thinks the sharper, almost clicking sounds, are sequins against each other- another ridiculous, new sound to add to his catalogue.

“You must have some review for me.” His smile is wide enough that Geralt hears it without trying particularly hard. “Three words or less.”

For all he listens closely to his surroundings, he’s pretty sure he didn’t catch a single word of that song- much less enough for a review, were he inclined to give one. Once upon a time, he may have glared him away, but he fears his aim wouldn’t be good enough now, so he settles for tense silence.

Jaskier does not take no, or an implied no, for an answer.

...

Having Jaskier around is not nearly as annoying as he thought it’d be. At first, he was sure he’d have to dump him somewhere- the noise would be too distracting- but now, the sound has become something of a blessing. 

Like the wind or rain, it creates consistent feedback, bouncing off obstacles and forming a mental image of the area around him. It wraps around their campsite, chatter and music traveling into the forest behind them and dancing around tree trunks until the sound is out of even Geralt’s range. 

It makes nights like this, of Jaskier talking constantly and playing his lute intermittently, pleasant. As close to seeing as he ever gets, giving him a complete picture the world. 

Jaskier breaks his litany of nonsense with an abrupt, “Geralt?”

He actually waits for a response, which is a new and alarming development. Geralt hums and hopes that’s enough. 

“I was wondering- and I hope this isn’t too personal- what’s wrong with your eyes? They never really focus.”

Geralt hears Jaskier’s heart beat a little faster- nervous- and the more subtle sound of him biting his lip. As a rule, Geralt doesn’t disclose his condition to anyone who hasn’t figured it out, but Jaskier-

Jaskier could be sticking around. There’s no point keeping it. 

“I’m blind.”

A silence that he’s come to equate with facial expression- something too subtle to guess, he’s never cared to be precise enough for specifics- follows.

“Is that one of your weird jokes?”

“No, Jaskier. I’m really blind.”

More silence, a steadily fast heartbeat. It’s accompanied by the familiar, frustrating feeling of missing something, an irritation he’s trained to ignore, but has never quite mastered. Geralt sighs and turns fully to face Jaskier, meeting his eyes as well as he can.

“What are you doing?”

A creak of wood, Jaskier startling on the log and shifting too fast. “What do you mean?”

“You got quiet. Usually that means I’m missing something.” He tilts his head, considering. “You’re making a face, probably.”

Another moment of silence. He never thought he’d grow tired of these- let alone become annoyed by them. 

“Huh. I guess I just looked surprised, if my face matches my thoughts as well as I think it does.” Jaskier leans in, for a better look, maybe. If he squints enough, he might be able to see the scar.  “How long have you been, uh...”

“A long time.” He’s not being difficult- despite what Jaskier, and the inhale of breath preceding a scoff, might think. He doesn’t exactly track the date. “A decade, maybe more.”

“How-“ Jaskier clears his throat and Geralt hears the movement of his sleeve as he waves. “How do you do all this?”

“Witcher senses are much better than an average man’s. I use my hearing, mostly.”

The sound of fabric rustling and stretching as Jaskier scoots forward on the log, sliding as close to Geralt as he can without getting up. “How good? If you don’t mind me asking, that is.”

“You’d ask anyway.” Geralt swings back the last of his drink and turns back to the fire. “Really good. I can hear heartbeats, movements. The way air and sound move around things makes... an outline, almost.”

Jaskier’s heart beats a little faster. Geralt isn’t sure what that means; he strains to hear, but he doesn’t think Jaskier is smiling or frowning. 

“That’s amazing.” A grin- lips sliding over teeth. “No wonder you’re such a good hunter.”

There’s a jab comparing him to a wolf in there somewhere, but Jaskier doesn’t make the connection so Geralt just hums and picks up his swords, content to spend the rest of the night sharpening and oiling. He’ll keep the fire going, enjoying its heat, if not its light. 

They lapse into a silence that feels more comfortable, less tense than it was the first time. Then again, it’s not really silence- Jaskier is humming almost silently under his breath. Quieter than usual. 

“You don’t have to be quiet, Jaskier.”

Surprise, in the quickened heartbeat and sudden inhale. Shifting, as he sits up straighter. 

“Sorry! I thought it might bother you.”

“I’ll be fine.” Sensing- not through any particular sound or smell, but through his increasing familiarity with Jaskier- Jaskier’s disbelief, he tacks on, “I would’ve stopped you before now, if it was.”

Jaskier nods, then narrates, “Sorry, I nodded.”

“I can tell. I can hear your collar scrunch.”

His mouth falls open and he adjusts his collar. Geralt dutifully does not smile, and keeps his smugness to himself.

“Right, of course.” Jaskier pauses, then looks up again. “Could I ask you a question you probably won’t like?”

Geralt raises an eyebrow. “You’ve never asked permission before.”

“I was wondering, is there anything you can’t do? Anything I could help you with?”

He’s tempted to say no. He should say no. Jaskier probably wouldn’t even argue- too unbalanced around this subject- but he doesn’t want to. 

He wants to say, Keep humming. He wants to ask, Guide me. He wants to demand, Stay by my side. 

He doesn’t do any of those. Instead, he says, “Reading. I can’t read print on contracts. If you could-“

“Of course.” The buttons of his doublet clink together as Jaskier adjusts it, straightening it and puffing out his chest. “I’ll be your agent, of sorts. A very intelligent, shrewd negotiator, taking only the best monster hunting jobs. I’m brilliant at public relations, too.”

Geralt nods, and leaves it at that. 

...

“Make way! The mighty White Wolf is gracing your town with his presence, clear a path!”

The townspeople mutter amongst themselves, confused, but move right away at Jaskier’s tone, lingering curiously at the edge of the street through town. 

Geralt hates the attention, but he can’t deny that Jaskier’s little show is helpful. Particularly since this town is more crowded than most and Roach is struggling to guide him through without trampling anyone. 

Helpful. Unnecessary but- nice. Against his better judgement, he’s started to let Jaskier help more and more often. It’s dangerous, carrying the threat of developing dependency, but Jaskier never oversteps any boundaries and, sometimes, he’s just too tired to refuse. 

There’s been a distinct difference in the time he’s spent with the bard, bisecting his life into the uneven parts of before and after Jaskier. For one, his headaches have decreased, not having to strain to guide himself as often. People are nicer with a human- and a charismatic one, at that- around. They get to stay at better inns if Jaskier performs, and enjoy quality meals outside of rations or burned rabbit. 

He’s happier. There was a time when he thought happiness had been burned out of him, but he’s reminded of its fleeting presence in those special, few and far between moments that prove him wrong.

Well. Previously few and far between. 

“The man at the bar,” Jaskier starts in a dramatic whisper, still loud to Geralt, “is wearing an absolutely ghastly outfit. Geralt, we’re talking multiple primary colors, ruffles, and feathers.”

It’s easy to identify the man based just on his smell, wearing enough perfume to kill. “I imagine it matches his taste in perfume.”

“Gods, yes. I can smell it from here- I don’t know how you can stand it.”

It’s a test of his willpower, certainly, but then, on a few desperate occasions, he’s shoveled shit for coin. This, however, ranks right below those incidents, and right above the stench of a necrophage. 

Jaskier’s color commentary on the world fits right in with his usual chatter and fills in a few, albeit unnecessary, blanks on the decor, the attractiveness of barmaids, and other visual odds and ends. It transitions, at some point, into a story that’s so exaggerated he may as well have made it up and ends in musings about his newest song, which, inevitably, leads to him needling Geralt for details. 

Geralt just hums and tunes him out, focusing on the noise of the street outside. It’s a challenge to pick apart the individual moving pieces of a crowd but it’s enough of a distraction until Jaskier throws his hands up.

“You know, all of this,” Jaskier waves generally at Geralt’s eyes, “explains why you’re such a shit storyteller.”

He senses there’s more to this, can feel Jaskier winding up to something. It’s a quiet evening and a nice tavern, so he indulges. “Does it?”

“Well, I suppose much of the blame falls on me.” Rustling, and the clinking of several unidentifiable objects in Jaskier’s bag, as he fishes out his notebook. “I wasn’t asking the right questions.”

Geralt can’t tell what he’s writing, but he hears a few long drags of the pen and figures he might be drawing something. A box, maybe? A chart, a probably. A series of shorter scratches, for letters. 

Jaskier grins, wide enough that Geralt hears it without concentrating. “Right. Are you ready?”

“For?”

“Your role in the creative process. Now, what did the rotfiend smell like?”

Geralt scrunches his nose and braces for a complicated answer. “I’ll need a few more drinks before I get into that.”

Wordlessly, Jaskier waves for another round and the questions begin. It seems like Jaskier is determined to pick apart every aspect of his sensory experience and, as they get deeper in drinks, Geralt is willing to play along. He’s never talked about it, at length, like this and it’s fascinating to hear the things Jaskier can’t detect, the parameters of human senses that were lost to him long before his vision was. 

He talks until the candles stop giving off heat and his words start to slow, having detailed every smell, sound, feel, and taste that he can articulate. Sleep comes easy, after he lets Jaskier describe the pattern of the quilt and climb in beside him, warm and tired. 

Jaskier’s heartbeat, though faster than his own, forms an easy rhythm to follow into unconsciousness, sinking into a darkness he no longer registers. 

The next time they’re in a tavern, he listens carefully to Jaskier’s new song, lyrics filled with more sounds and smells than he’s used to hearing described. Where there was once brilliant colors and hideous monsters, there is now rich smells and vicious growls. 

He can’t help but smile, hiding it behind his tankard. 

How Jaskier worked rotting flesh into a chorus is beyond him, but it earns a clap. 

[betwecouldmakesome]

car full of moments untold

fandom: julie and the phantoms

pairing: luke/reggie/alex and julie/flynn

word count: 3,656

read here on ao3:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/27090439                         

Julie watches critically as Luke and Reggie seemingly play Tetris with everyone’s bags to get them to fit into the trunk of Alex’s Subaru outback. She isn’t sure why they have so much packed, they only plan on being gone 3 weeks. Flynn made sure to mark where their route and local laundry mats overlap so lack of clean clothes shouldn’t be an issue.

She also has a sneaking suspicion that one of Luke’s duffle bags is entirely beanies. She’s going to let it slide, knowing she’ll end up borrowing them.

She, however, won’t let whatever Reggie is trying and failing to smuggle into the car by hiding it behind his leather jacket, slide.

“Reginald!” Julie calls as she pushes off from the garage she was leaning against, hiding her smile when he jumps and flails. He looks to Luke for help, who shrugs and gives him a look, one she knows means “you’re on your own dude” before he heads back inside.

Reggie leans against the car and brings his hand up to hold his leather jacket closer to him, “Hey! Julie, fancy seeing you here, how’s it going? I’m doing fantastic, totally not doing anything."

“Whatcha got there?” she asks, purposefully ignoring his question and pointedly looks at his hand. Now that she’s closer, she can make out that the something he is holding is moving.

“What? this?” He lifts his hand and chuckles nervously before rubbing at the back of his neck, “it’s just uh, my binder? Yeah! my binder! I wanted to make sure I have a few extras on the trip just in case?” It sounded more like a question then anything.

Julie hums, knowing the boys made sure their binders were the first bags packed. They even checked to make sure they were in the car three times.

It only takes 13 seconds of making direct eye contact with him before he cracks, which to be fair, is a new record for him.

“Okay! Stop giving me the disappointed mom face.” Reggie sighs. He pulls his hand out from underneath his jacket, revealing Miss Petunia, his pet corn snake.

Julie continues to stare at him, slowly raising her eyebrows higher.

“Okay! Okay I’m going” He turns around heading back inside, presumably to give Petunia to Carlos who agreed to take care of her while they were away.

Julie sighs, this is going to be a long trip.

                                     «»

They haven’t even made it out of Los Angeles before it starts.

“Why does Luke get shotgun?” Reggie complains, shoving his upper body between the two front seats.

“Because I won rock-paper-scissors.” Luke says, shoving Reggie back by his forehead. He sounded way too proud for someone who won a child’s game that involves no skill.

“Why is that how we always decide things? I always lose” Reggie pouts, crossing his arms across his chest. 

“That’s why we do.” Luke laughs, quickly flattening himself against the door when Reggie lurches forward again.

“Hey! Cut it out. Reggie put your seatbelt on, you can switch with him when we stop.” Alex interjects, his gaze flickering between the road and Reggie.  

                                   «»

They’ve only been back on the highway ten minutes when Julie slurps down the rest of her slushie, noisily sucking on air at the end. It only takes a few seconds of her shifting around before she leans forward and announces her need to pee. Reggie and Luke quickly agree with her, although Luke looks sheepish about it.

“Seriously?” Flynn asks, raising a less than impressed eyebrow.

“Why didn’t you go at the gas station?” Alex also is not impressed but his eyebrows are less expressive then Flynn’s.

“I didn’t have to go then” Julie defends, Luke and Reggie nod in agreement.

“This is why Flynn is my favorite.” Alex complains. Although he changes lanes to get off at the next exit, so it doesn’t hold much weight

                                  «»

It is pushing half past nine before Alex decides they’re done for the day. They planned on driving until eleven but there are only so many road games that he can take. If he had to listen to one more game of eye spy, he was going to drive them straight off a bridge. Flynn, the goddess she is, finds them a motel to stay in with two available rooms and reads off the directions to him.

For the first time since they left, silence takes over the car when they pull up to the motel. The place is creepy looking, like straight out of a horror movie.

After spending about a good twenty minutes trying to convince Reggie the motel is not haunted and that they won’t die, they cautiously make their way up the old rickety stairs leading to the second floor. They all jump when a loud clang echoes out from the alleyway and quickly scuffle up the rest of the stairs and into their respective rooms.

Alex lets out a relieved sigh, locking the door behind them and looks around the room. It’s not as bad as he was expecting. There is a weird smell he can’t, and doesn’t, want to identify, but it looks relatively clean.

Reggie comes out of the bathroom with Luke right behind him, both now having taken off their binders, changed into pajamas, and brushed their teeth. Reggie drops his backpack at the end of the bed and flops next to it, immediately grabbing the tv remote, “I’m so tired, driving is exhausting.”

Luke shoves at Reggie till he groans and moves to the top of the bed. Reggie takes the side farthest from the door and Luke lays beside him, taking the middle as he called dibs on it, “You didn’t even drive, Alex did all the work.”

Alex listens to them bicker while he brushes his teeth, dreading going back out there. He might have been the one to convince Reggie the motel wasn’t haunted but that does not mean he wants to sleep closest to the door. He spits out the mouthwash and heads back into their room, not at all surprised to see Reggie already asleep cuddled into Luke who looks seconds away from passing out himself. Alex smiles softly and shuts off the lights, he leaves the tv on but turns the volume down. He slides in next to Luke, who immediately, even in his half-asleep state wraps his arm around him and pulls Alex closer to him, burying his face into Alex’s neck. It doesn’t take Alex long to fall asleep, the comfort of laying with his boyfriends outweighing the worry of being haunted.                           

                                  «»

Julie and Flynn wait till ten am for the boys to wake up before giving up and going to explore the town on their own. They walk down main street, hands intertwined, weaving their way through the crowds of people, stopping at any store that catches their eye.

So far, they had stopped at a local café for coffee, a bookstore where they got books for themselves and for each of the boys. Their favorite spot so far was a thrift store that they spent most of their morning trying on the most ridiculous clothing items they could find. and were now googling places they could go next.

Flynn keeps her attention on her phone as she walks, googling places they could go next. She glances up once and awhile but mostly relying on Julie to make sure she doesn’t run face first into a pole. She hums in question when Julie tugs at her arm, only to get her arm tugged on harder in response.

“Look!”

“What? Is there another dog in a stroller?” she asks, locking her phone and sliding it into her back pocket.

Julie grins and points across the street, “We have to go there.”

Flynn eyes where Julie is pointing and grins back at her, letting Julie pull her across the street to where a tiny tourist trap store is.

The bell rings when they push open the door. The person behind the counter jumps at their arrival, startled by the bell, and plasters a smile on their face before just nodding at them in greeting and goes back to flipping through their magazine.

They decide to split up and peruse the shelves for Knick Knacks. Looking for gifts for their families and funny things for the boys.

Julie ends up getting Carlos a snow globe with a ghost inside, her dad a joke book, a pair of earrings for her tía, some shoelaces with rainbows on them for Alex, and two cowboy hats for Luke and Reggie. 

Flynn gets her mom a scented candle gift set, her dad a 1,000-piece puzzle of the town, her older brothers each a screaming goat figurine and a world’s okayest brother coffee mug, an assorted pack of stickers for cryptids for Alex, a pair of socks with ostriches on them for Luke, and a kid leash for Reggie.

 (She got him a stuffed horse as a real gift but the look on his face, and the laughter from everyone else, when she hands him the leash is worth spending the extra money.)                                                                                                  

                                  «»

It takes 3 days and too many coffees and red bulls for them to get Alex to let Julie drive. 

It takes an additional 15 minutes for them to convince him that they will not, under any circumstances, let Luke drive, before he hands over the keys and climbs into the back with Luke and Reggie, falling asleep in seconds.                                                                                                                                     

                                   «»

They are somewhere in Arizona when it becomes evident that it is too hot to keep driving. The temperature pushing 106° Fahrenheit and they are sweating through their t-shirts, hair sticking to the nape of their necks. They are practically all climbing over each other to get out of the car when Alex slows to a stop, having found a river nearby to stop at. Reggie and Luke collapse on the grass under the shade of a tree, leaving Alex, Flynn, and Julie to rummage through the bags for their bathing suits. They jerk upwards with a yelp when Julie throughs their swim trunks and tank tops at them, managing to hit them right in the face.

Luke is the first one changed and immediately runs towards the water. He dives under as soon as it’s deep enough before coming up again just as quick, a wide grin on his face as he shakes out his hair.

“Last one in has to pay for dinner!” He yells out.

The rest of them all share a look before sprinting towards him, letting out battle cry’s as they hit the water                                                                                                                                    

                                    «»

After spending a few hours having chicken fights and wading through the water they decide to camp out beside the river for the night. Alex makes a quick trip to the nearest store to get the supplies to make sandwiches and s’mores, Reggie and Flynn oversee the fire while Luke and Julie set up their sleeping bags.

They settle into their sleeping bags, the sound of crickets chirping, the river flowing, and the crackling of dying embers from fire the only noise, everyone silent as they look up at the stars. It’s dark, the fire barely going anymore, the moon and bright stars now their only light source. It’s peaceful and reassuring in a way the city could never be.

“What if we didn’t go back?” It’s Luke who whispers it, but it doesn’t matter, they were all thinking it, this is the most relaxed they’ve felt in forever.                                                                                                                           

                                     «»

They take lots of pictures during their trip, snapping them whenever they get a chance. Photos of Luke, Flynn, and Julie passed out in the back seat, cuddled up and drooling on each other. Videos of Reggie yelling “Horses!” and pressing his face against the window every time they drive by any and Alex saying “if you do that one more time, I swear I’m going to crash the car” every time. They take pictures of themselves at every state sign they pass, and every landmark they visit. They take pictures of the scenery, the sun rising and setting. There are videos of them singing along to the radio at the top of their lungs. They have videos of every dumb stunt the others try, videos of them joking and laughing. They take as many as they can, trying to capture every moment, hoping to savor as much as they can.                                                                                                                                       

                                    «»

It takes Julie and Flynn 5 days to realize Reggie and Alex never call their parents.

It takes a few more for them to realize Luke doesn’t answer when his do.                                                                                                                                      

                                    «»

Julie and Flynn are leaning against each other drifting in and out of sleep, Luke already snoring in the passenger seat when they get startled awake by Alex swearing loudly and slamming on his breaks before making a U-turn.

“Alex! What the hell?” Julie yells, smacking the back of his headrest repeatedly.

He swats at her hand halfheartedly, “We forgot Reggie at the last stop!” 

They all exchange a look, knowing they will never hear the end of this.                                                                                                                                      

                                  «»

Alex knows, rationally that it’s dumb to worry. Reggie can take care of himself, but there’s still a hollow feeling in his stomach as he pulls back into the run-down gas-station. He sure they’ll laugh about it later, just another funny story to tell, but the silence that hangs in the air as they pull in to see Reggie nowhere in sight is chilling.

As soon as the car is in park, they all spill out, running across the parking lot and into the building.

Reggie is fine, of course. They find him sitting on the checkout counter, kicking his legs back and forth as he chats with the cashier who’s working. He beams when he notices them, waving at them with the hand he is holding a hotdog in.

“Hey guys!” 

Alex is the first one to react. He rushes forward and pulls Reggie into a tight hug, lifting him right off the counter, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

Reggie hugs him back at laughs against his neck. “Took you long enough.”                                                                                                                                     

                                   «»

They get ten miles down the road before Reggie clutches his stomach and groans, “I’m gonna hurl.”

They pull over three more times for him to throw up before deciding to stop for the night.

Reggie swears that he is never eating another hotdog again.                                                                                                                                     

                                  «»

It’s six am, raining and gloomy out as they leave the motel. It is entirely too early after checking in after midnight. Alex wordlessly hands the keys to Julie and climbs into the back, Reggie and Luke both still half asleep following him.

They don’t wake up for another few hours and even then, it’s not by choice, it’s by the girls shaking them awake. Flynn hands the cardboard tray with 3 coffees back to them and goes back to quietly talking to Julie.

Reggie yawns and takes a sip of theirs, leaning forward after to kiss the girls on the cheek in thanks.

“It’s a Them day.” They say, slouching back against Luke. They only stay awake long enough to hear the groups hums or mumbled “okay’s” in acknowledgment.                                                                                                                               

                                   «»

They get a flat tire in the middle of nowhere. A straight stretch of road going for miles and big open fields going as far as they can see.

“Shit,” Alex swears under his breath and looks to Reggie hopefully, who shakes his head and looks to Luke, only to get a sheepish shrug in response.

“Shit.” Alex repeats, louder this time.

Julie and Flynn exchange a glance before rolling up their sleeves, “We’ve got this, boys.”

“How did you know how to do that?” Reggie asks in awe, as the girls stand back up while wiping the dirt of their hands. The flat tire now replaced by the spare.

“My mom taught us.”

“We’d be lost without you.” Luke grins.

Flynn pulls him into a side hug and ruffles his hair, “Damn right you would.”                                                                                                                                    

                                    «»

Alex pokes at the paint on his cheeks, checking to see if it was dry. He had rainbow stripes on one side, and purple, white, and green on the other. He had been the one put in charge of doing everyone’s face paint and he had waited to do his own last. Luke had the demiboy flag painted on one cheek and the ace flag on the other. His nails painted pink, yellow, and blue, and is wearing a crop top with a trans flag wrapped around him like a cape. Reggie had Alex paint the genderfluid flag and trans flag onto his face, and his nails painted with the bi flag colors. Julie has the demigirl colors on one cheek and the bi colors on the other, with an ace flag wrapped around her. Flynn has dark orange, light orange, white, pink, and dark pink, representing the lesbian flag painted onto both cheeks.

Alex reaches around Reggie to grab his trans flag, the last part of his outfit, and wraps it around his shoulders. 

Julie claps her hands together, getting everybody’s attention, “Everyone ready?”

Reggie lets out a shout of excitement, grabbing Alex and Luke’s hands, lacing his fingers with their own and tugging them out the door. Julie and Flynn follow them, shaking their heads and laughing as they watch all three of them try and walk down the narrow staircase side by side.                                                                                                                                      

                                   «»

“I’m dying.” Reggie gasps out, dramatically flinging themself over a rock.

“We’re almost there, it’s just a few more minutes.” Julie reassures them, the rest of the group taking the opportunity to stop and rest. All of them had woken up at five am to hike a mountain and watch the sun rise. The trail was about two miles, and this was the third time Reggie had announced that they were dying, although this one was more dramatic than the others.

“You’ve been saying that for the last 20 minutes!”

“Well this time I mean it.”

“Luke.” Reggie whines, drawing out the name as they shift their gaze to Luke, who is pouring some of his water over his head.

“No.” 

“Babe! Please, I’m dying here.”

Luke sighs and rolls his eyes before crouching down, not being able to resist Reggie’s puppy dog eyes, “Hop on.”

Reggie cheers, jumping up onto his back, “Have I told you how much I love you?”

“I think you should remind me.” Luke grins, tilting his head back towards Reggie.

“Maybe I will.” They laugh, leaning forward and press their lips against Luke’s, smiling into the kiss.

“Hey!” Alex calls after them, “I’d like to be reminded too.”

“You were going to let me die, you don’t get any kisses.” Reggie looks back over their shoulder, sticking their tongue out at him.

“Well I’m the one carrying the food so maybe you should reconsider.”

“Are you bribing me?”

“I don’t know, is it working?” Alex asks.

“Yes. Yes, it is.” Reggie slaps at Luke’s shoulder, telling him to let them down.

Julie and Flynn make their way around them, wanting to make it to the top of the mountain in time.

Reggie skips down to Alex and wraps their arms around Alex’s neck, pulling him down to kiss them.

“So, can I have a snack now?”

                                   «»

“Guys,” Flynn looks at the scene before her in exasperation, “I was gone for literally five minutes.”

“We know, help now scold later.” Reggie shifts, trying to yank his foot out for underneath Julie

“How did you even manage this?”

“We couldn’t decide which one of us got to sit in the cart and we thought we could all fit.” Julie peaks her head out from behind Luke. She blows a piece of hair out of her face so she can see, only for it to fall right back.

“You too, Alex?” Flynn asks.

Alex shrugs, looking guilty, “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“You’re apart of a human pretzel!”

“We won’t do it again, just get us out. I have to pee, and Luke is crushing my bladder.”

“Hey! at least you don’t have Reggie’s knees in your back,” Luke argues, “and I’m not even that- wait, Flynn are you taking pictures?”

“Oh yeah, definitely” She nods.                                                                                                                                       

                                   «» 

“That’s the fourth store we’ve gotten kicked out of this week.” Flynn complains, glaring at the grocery store.

“That’s not too bad.”

“Luke, It’s Wednesday.”

                                     «»

They sit on a pier in silence, feet dangling off the edge as they lean with their upper bodies over the bottom railing. The sun is setting, gradually receding into the waters below. The sky is more purple than red now, further indicating that their night is coming to an end. 

It had been a few hours since they made their way away from the carnival that was bustling with activity to somewhere quieter. Further away from the bright lights and loud music, the yells excitement and overwhelming noise of big crowds of people all talking and closer to the sounds of waves crashing against shore and seagulls squawking.

Julie picks at her cotton candy, ripping a piece off and hands it to Alex, who accidently dropped his into the ocean below them.

“Maybe we don’t go back.” Again, It’s Luke who says it. He sounds more confident this time.

“Are parents would kill us,” Alex says. He looks down awkwardly when Luke looks at him pointedly. 

“Okay, Ray would kill us.”

“Hey! Ray’s cool, he would never.” Reggie objects.

“We can’t just not go back, right?” Alex looks around at each of them, “Could we?”

Flynn shrugs, “I hear Maine is really pretty in the Fall.”

                                    «»

Ray is cool and he does not kill them. His exact response is “I get it, I’ll miss you! Stay safe and be careful. Send post cards. And because I’m being so cool about it, you get to be the one to tell your tía.”                                                                                                            

[jedi-mabari]

Runaways

Word Count: 2158 Warnings: None, A/N: I wrote this as a secret Santa gift for @sawyer-craft and I am just to proud of it not to share it. I hope you like it, and I hope you have a wonderful holiday season!

Summary: Molly and Sadie run away from the gang, planning to take a train from Valentine. But something gets in the way. Will they make it out? or will they have to return with their tails tucked between their legs? _________________________________________________________

Molly had spent all day sneaking back and forth from hers and Ditches tent, carefully hiding her bags in a bush by the horses. She had been careful not to be seen, and easily came up with excuses when someone asked what she was doing.

The sun had gone down and the campfires had been lit. Molly sat at the table furthest from my chuck wagon, moving chunks of potato around her dish. She smiled up at Sadie as she sat down across from her. Sadie took a large bite of Pearson's stew, making a face before spitting it back out.

"I am not going to miss this," she said quietly, so only Molly could hear.

"Me either," Molly said, scooping up a spoonful before letting it drop back into the dish. They both sat quietly for a minute, stirring the stew around the plates.

"Is everything ready," Sadie asked after a long moment of silence. Molly nodded, fighting the urge to look over her shoulder at the bush where she had hidden her belongings.

"Yes," she answered, watching a slice of carrot turn to mush. Sadie reached across the table, grabbing Molly's hand.

"Good, we'll wait for everyone to go to sleep. I think Karen is on guard duty. We should be able to bribe her." Molly nodded, grabbing Sadie's hand back. "We're so close. Just a few more hours and we'll be out of here." They shared a smile, and Sadie stood up, dumping her plate of food behind a tree.

Molly ate a few bites, struggling to get them down, but knew she'd need her strength. She took her dish to the tub, dropping it into the water before heading back to Dutch's tent. It was late enough that Dutch should have already been stretched out on his cot, but it was empty and he was missing. Molly knew he must have been snooping around the younger girls in the camp, or he had managed to get drunk enough to fall into Grimshaw's bed. Despite knowing she was leaving, she felt a spike of jealousy knowing he was spending her last night in camp in someone else's bed.

She shook the thoughts from her head and stood up, making the cot so it looked like she hadn't been there at all. She puttered around the tent until she could no longer hear the chatter from the campfire or the lyrical sound of Javier's guitar. She poked her head out of the tent, seeing several members of the gang asleep on the bedrolls. She forgot that they were going to be between her and her escape. She could barely make out the shape of Sadie on the other side of camp, gathering Molly's and her own things.

Molly crept out of Dutch's tent, walking as quietly as she could, her skirt bunched up in her hands to keep it from swishing and making noise. She managed to make it to Sadie without waking anyone up, and the two women embraced.

"We're almost there," Sadie said, lifting Molly's last bag. "I've got the horses packed, all we have to do is get out of camp." Molly was practically buzzing with nerves, her hands twisting a bit of her shall to keep them from shaking.

Sadie handed Molly her last bag and the two of them walked over to the horses. Sadie grabbed the reins and led the horses away from camp. They had almost made it out when they heard a distinctly male voice call out to them.

"Where the hell do you two think you're going," Sean asked, and Molly spun around to face him. Her stomach was twisting in knots. She was running over all of the things that could go wrong from here. Sean could alert the entire camp and their escape would be ruined, or he could shoot them both seeing their leaving as a betrayal of Dutch. But what he does instead is make a joke.

"Are you two sneaking off for some girly fun," he asked, a letchy smile on his face. Molly rolled her eyes, stomping over to him. She grabbed the front of his grimy shirt, shoving a finger in his face.

"You listen here you letch," she snapped quietly. The amused look on Sean's face fell away, and he held his hands up. "You aren't going to mention having seen us, or I will personally kick your scrawny ass."

"I meant no disrespect," Sean said, shaking his head, "honestly. I was just joking. No one'll hear it from me." Molly let go of his shirt, wiping her hands down her skirt, taking on her ladylike posture again. Sean swallowed hard and looked back to camp.

"Please, Sean," Sadie said, looking over at Molly. "It don't take a fool to see where Dutch is leading this group. If you were smart, you'd get out too."

Sean opened his mouth to respond but Sadie had already grabbed Molly's hands and was heading away from camp, leaving Sean standing alone, slightly confused. The tree's thinned the closer they got to the road, and Sadie stopped, checking to make sure they were alone. She helped Molly onto her horse first before stepping into her saddle.

"We're going to ride to Valentine, then from there we'll catch the train out of the territory." Molly nodded, and they headed down the road, following the railroad tracks towards the small cattle town. It wasn't long before the lights from town came into view. Molly and Sadie rode up to the train station, and Sadie instructed Molly to stay put. Sadie dismounted from her horse and walked up the ramp to the ticket window inside.

Molly watched through the window as money and a couple slips of paper exchanged hands. When Sadie come back outside, her lips were pressed into a thin line of disappointment as she walked back to Molly.

"The next train ain't pulling in 'til morning. We should get a room down at the hotel for the night." Molly nodded as Sadie looked around, her hands clutching the tickets tightly. "Come on I guess," she said, jumping back up into her saddle. Something in her tone set Molly on edge, sent her mind a turning, wondering if Sadie was having second thoughts about leaving. Molly remained silent as they carried down the road to the hotel. Sadie and Molly dropped their bags bags at the hotel, ordering a room for the night before taking the horses to the stable.

Sadie dropped a handful of bills into the stable master's waiting hand to assure the horses were well taken care of for the night. Molly looped her arm through Sadie's, carefully making sure the the coast was clear before before the two crossed the road. They had almost made it to the steps when three men ran into them.

Sadie stopped, standing protectively in front of Molly as she took in the look of the men. They all wore dark clothing, and looked like they had spent their lives living rough. Sadie's eyes landed on the green bandanas around their necks that marked them each as O'Driscolls.

"You should watch where you're going, lassies," the one in the front said, smirking in a way that made Molly's stomach turn into a ball of nerves. Sadie and Molly stayed where they were as the three men circled around them and walked behind the hotel.

"Go one inside," Sadie said, her eyes not leaving the spot where the three O'Driscolls had disappeared behind the building. Molly grabbed Sadie's hand and shook her head.

"Sadie, don't. We're this close to getting away. Don't give that up for those three." Sadie didn't look at Molly as she tried to convince her to stay with her.

"I'll meet you in the room," Sadie said, pulling herself away from Molly. Molly stood in the street as she watched Sadie follow the outlaws into the dark. She shook her head and wrapped her arms around herself before going into the hotel.

The man behind the desk led Molly to the room her and Sadie rented for the night. He waved her in and closed the door, telling her to come to him if she needed anything with just enough of a smile that told her it would be better if she didn't. When he was gone, Molly began to get ready, waiting for Sadie to come knocking in the door. But by the time she had dressed down for bed and braided her hair to keep it contained while she slept, Sadie still wasn't back, and Molly was beginning to worry.

Molly woke up to a hard knock on her door. The sun was just coming up, and the room was beginning to lighten, and Molly stretched across the bed to find it empty and cold, meaning Sadie hadn't come back to the hotel.

"Miss, you asked to be woken up. The train is due at the station in about an hour." Molly chewed her lip, wondering if Sadie was going to make it or if she had found something more important.

"Thank you," Molly called through the door, sliding out of the bed. She filled the basin on the dresser with water to wash her face and help style her hair. She put on her green dress and made sure she was ready to get on the train when it arrived. She gathered her bags and went down stairs, stopping at the front desk.

"I hope you enjoyed your stay, ma'am," the clerk said, folding his hands on the desk.

"It was very nice, thank you," Molly said, sliding the room key across the desk. She glanced around, hoping that Sadie was walking through the door, but frowned as the door remained closed. "Did a woman come in earlier," Molly asked, hoping Sadie was in town and just buying supplies for the train ride.

"Can you describe her?"

"She's the woman who rented my room for me last night," she said, and the man shook his head.

"I'm sorry miss, I haven't seen her since last night." Molly nodded and picked her bags back up.

"Thank you for the room," Molly said, turning and walking out of the hotel. She walked up the boardwalk, passing the bank and the gun shop before turning down the road towards the train station. She set her bags down under a bench and sat and waited for both Sadie and the train.

She began to panic that Sadie wasn't there yet when the train came hissing to a stop in the station. She grabbed her bags and stood, hoping to see Sadie among the crowd as people filed onto the train. She flinched as the attendant called out that the train was about to leave, and she felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes as it dawned on her that she was either going to have to stay, or go on without Sadie.

She stepped into the train, blinking back tears as she made her way to a secluded seat. She smoothed her hands down her skirt, trying not to let herself cry as the train started to pull away from the Valentine station.

The train had almost reached the heartfield oil fields when Molly felt someone sit down next to her.

"Please leave me alone," Molly said, not looking from the window.

"I'm sorry I didn't meet you at the platform," Sadie said. The moment the voice registered in Molly's mind, she spun around and her mouth fell open as she stared at Sadie. She looked like she had had better days, with a black eye so dark it didn't look purple and a split in her lip that made the Mississippi seem narrow.

"How did you make it onto the train?" Sadie shrugged, wincing as she tried to smile.

"I managed to jump on just as it was pulling out. One of the guards had me stay in the back car until they found my ticket." Molly grabbed Sadie's hand, lacing her fingers with the other woman's.

"I wish you hadn't gone after those three," she said, gently touching her hand to Sadie's cheek, her thumb hovering over the cut on her lip.

"I'm sorry for worrying you, Molly," Sadie said, looking around to make sure no one was watching them before lifting Molly's hand to her lips, "but where we're going, you don't ever have to worry about that again." Molly blushed and scooted closer to Sadie.

"And you'll never have to worry about O'Driscolls again." Sadie smiled and nodded.

"No O'Driscolls, not Van der Lindes, what are we gonna do with ourselves," she asked, chuckling as she pressed her lips against Molly's hair. She closed her eyes and felt the heavy weight of exhaustion push her towards sleep. And with Molly's arm wrapped around hers and their hands clasped together, Sadie gladly let herself drift off into sleep.

[vesperlionheart]

Lady of the Blackthorn Trees

Happy belated birthday to @frostmarris​​! I hope you enjoy the first part (1/3) of this magical fantasy themed SasoSaku!

They had bound his hands with black horse hair, knotting it over his wrists in elaborate knots that he’d never be able to get out of on his own for how they blocked his magic. The enemy had done their homework and come prepared this time.

Good for them.

Sasori couldn’t bring himself to care that he was on his way to die. What was the point in grieving for such a sad and ruinous life anyway? He had lost his treasures, been run out of his homeland, sent to a foreign continent thanks to his cousin’s strange magic, and chased by every thief with a dagger from Darksprawl to the port cities. His family was likely dead while the Akatsuki group was setting themselves up pretty on the falcon throne across the world. He was a fool to have believed them in the first place. 

It was probably better for everyone if he didn’t live long enough to hear about how royally he had fucked things up an ocean away.

“Hey, you there,” one of the guardsmen called out. Sasori lifted his head enough to stare out his bangs at the other man, but it must have looked disrespectful since he felt the guard’s fist in his hair, pulling forward. Sasori cursed and fell on his knees, out of his seat while the other guards laughed.

“A shame he’s a man, I would have enjoyed myself more if we had a pretty woman,” the guard mocked.

“You think we’d get so lucky twice in one week?” another one jeered.

“The lot of you are disgusting filth. Get the criminal on his feet and lead him to the barracks. We’re not going to be wasting our breath anymore on this,” the captain bellowed before spitting in front of Sasori on the ground.

That’s when Sasori looked up to see where he was. He saw the long walls encircling the small military encampment, pitched with tents around a crudely constructed office towards the back.

The barracks Sasori was left to was a set of cages left out in the open, exposed to the elements but tucked away in the back corner. The whole camp would be able to see him in his cell, but only if they bothered to turn around and look.

 He was pushed in and tumbled into the rotten straw, scratching his hands on the stones hidden within.

“Hey, you had ta use the black rope on ‘em. Shouldn’t we use the irons?” one of the younger soldiers asked his senior.

“Irons can rust and chip but the black rope will always survive, lad. You must not have much experience with the magical prisoners. You lot seem to think the stronger the lock the safer you are, but take a look at this mess here.”

“Sir?”

“Picked him up for murder. Sure they were only rouges and thieves he cut into the throats of, but its a good enough reason for us to show off how much more competent we are than those White Lilly bastards. Look at us, we caught a foreign mage in a tavern with only two men and the element of surprise!”

Sasori refused to turn around as the story of his capture was exaggerated for the younger soldiers. The truth would never come out from their lying mouths so it wasn’t worth it to listen to them. The most honest they got was when they admitting the arrest was more to show off than to protect the peace.

The Darkguard of the latest mad king was reaching farther and took over a settlement protected by the Order of the White Lillies, an order of knights who served the high king from a kingdom too far away to care about. The politics didn’t matter to Sasori as he had no personal ties to anyone or any land, black or white, it didn’t matter what color their armor was, they were all the same to him.

“What kind of magic does he have?” someone else asked.

“We ain’t taking the ropes off to show you.”

“It probably was nothing,” someone else jeered. “You just like to feel good about yourselves so you dressed some lout up as a mage? Yeah right.”

“Jeter, you bastard son of a weasel, put your fists up and say that again!”

Sasori closed his eyes and settled into the hay while the camp laughed at the scuffle outside his cell. Even if he tried, he knew there was nothing he could do and nothing he could use to fray or break the black rope he had been bound with. Even with a knife, nothing would free him until the knot was undone…an impossible task for someone left in the bindings.

If he hadn’t been alone maybe he never would have gotten into such a dire situation, but there was no such option for a foreigner like himself. After his last great betrayal, he wasn’t willing to trust anyone who wasn’t family.  

Poor Gaara. Temari and Kankuro were at least old enough to maybe hold their own, but Gaara was still young and unable to master his wild magics. He would be either consumed alive by what he couldn’t control or slaughtered by whoever put himself up on the throne. Kankuro’s puppet magic was good, but largely undeveloped, and Temari…actually Temari wasn’t one he needed to be worried about. Out of all of his cousins, she was the most proficient in her magics. She was just too stubborn to realize when she was outclassed and outnumbered.

Would they blame him? He had failed to protect his birthright. The falcon throne was being used by an usurper and his family was dead or worse thanks to his blind ambitions. He should have known better than to trust that snake’s lies about immortality without lichdom or necromancy. What a fool he had been.

He hoped they killed him quickly. Sasori was too bored left alone in a cell with only his thoughts and regret to keep him company.    

The day quickly paled into dusk and then the bonfires were lit. Dinner was had and food was passed around, though nothing was spared for Sasori apart from stale bread and a bit of water. The dark seemed to draw most of the guards out for one last drink or story before they retired. Inside the fort they all felt safe.

The hairs on the back of Sasori’s neck all stood up and he tensed inside his cell, recognizing the static of building magic. It was a thick magic, stretching far. When he looked up he couldn’t see where it came from or what was causing it, but there were moths settling on the bars of his cell, clinging to the fortress walls, and perching atop the high points and banners left aloft. The hum of magic was strongest around them.

“What-?”

A younger solider had stepped backwards and crushed a moth under his heel and out of the carcass a spill of magic grew colored quartz crystal up over the man’s heel, up his leg, and over his thigh before encasing his entire body in a jagged prison of red and pink that swallowed up his scream.

A dozen different moths detonated on their own and grew into mammoth crystals that sealed up the exist and threw colored light across the encampment. The screaming rose along with the chaos before a still came over the camp.

The months on his door hadn’t moved or detonated, as several others hadn’t, but the insects didn’t move even as their magic grew. It gave the men time to gather their weapons and arm themselves.

“What is it?” someone shouted.

“Where is it?” someone else yelled in response.

In the chaos some of the fire had spilled out of the pit and caught one of the sitting logs up in flames, but spread no further. It cast longer shadows that changed the terrain to the natural eye.

There were curses as the men turned and searched, fanning out with their swords and bows drawn. Even their commander was out of his tent, looking wary. He shouted encouragements and cursed their coward enemy but it did little to erase the men’s fears.

“I hope it ruins you,” Sasori chuckled darkly, feeling the first tickles of delight in his belly.

When one of the guards started to cough and double over his neighbors noticed in time to watch his body explode in a shower of blood and gore, torn open with sharp, growing crystal. One of the nearby guards fell back on his ass and the stain through his pants was visible.

“At the front!” the commander shouted, pointing to where the thickest cluster of crystals started to glow.  Several heads turned in time to see what Sasori had already been watching. 

There was a cracking sound as a pair of delicate hands reached out through a wound in the crystals and pushed apart the two sides. There was a snap of new magic as a figure pushed herself out of the quartz and emerged atop a platform of ghostly white.

The trail of her glittering pink gown caught the firelight and Sasori could see the design of moth or maybe dragonfly wings beaded into its sides when she moved. There was a petite clack of her heels touching down atop the crystal before more crystal sprouts grew up like spores to make a staircase down to the ground for her.

Sasori knelt in his cell, watching the unearthly beauty emerge in all her finery. Her hair was the color of cherry blossoms, but it had been gathered up and held together with a crown of white and pink quarts shards, thin and long enough to make her look like something holy and haloed. Even from so far away Sasori could see the color of her eyes, as they caught the firelight and glowed with a personal magic of vibrant emerald.

“Y-you’re not from the white lilies,” someone shouted, sounding more confused than scared at the sight of a woman.

She didn’t respond right away, but took her time to look over the men in front of her, turning her head this way and that way, spotting the other soldiers who cowered behind tents and crates of rations. She looked Sasori’s way and the wave of magic made him tremble. If he hadn’t already been on his knees he would have gone down from the look alone.

“Who was the one who raped and murdered the village girl?” she asked, voice as calm as deep water and just as dark.

There was a whisper amongst the men, questions hissed between them in their confusion. What villager? What girl? They weren’t rapists so why would she ask that?

“No matter,” she breathed out, exhaling more magic the men couldn’t see. “He’s here and all of his fellows are complicit. You will all die for his sins.”

“Bitch!”

She didn’t flinch as a swarm of wings rose up behind her and assailed the men in front of her, halting their advance. A thousand different wingbeats hummed in the air, drowning out the hows of anguish from those too slow to get out of the way.

Someone raised their sword her way but she didn’t even look in his direction as the earth split and his body was impaled on a thin obelisk of red crystal.

She raised her hand and the earth trembled before the men in front of her were lifted into the air. A flick of her wrist contoured them horribly before dropping them back to the earth, folded unnaturally backwards.

Sasori watched, rapt and amazed as she turned men inside out and displayed the enormity of her power over the soldiers. She was without mercy, leaving men to bleed out and die on spears of quartz, while other were devoured alive by carnivorous beetles. With others she used magic to brutalize their bodies before finishing them off.

With the last few straggling soldiers she had to walk out after them, as they ran screaming for the walls, desperate to climb to safety. She let them get halfway before their heads slipped from their necks and soaked the ground with enough blood to turn her white crystals pink and her pink crystals red.

The stables were loud with frightened horses but she ignored them in favor of turning towards the cells. That’s when Sasori noticed he was the last living human left in the camp apart from whatever avenging goddess she was.

“You are not one of them. Why are you here?” she asked.

Sasori had to swallow before speaking. “As an example.” He held up his bound hands and she seemed to recognize the black rope for what it was.

“A creature of magic, or are you a learned magician?” she queried, tilting her head so that the dangling earrings tinkled against each other.

“I have learned and practiced my family’s arts, divine lady,” Sasori answered. “The men of this land would call me a mage or a sorcerer.”

“This land?” she echoed. Without motion or command some of the crystals around his cell glowed brighter and he winced under the light, used to the dark of his corner.

He heard her inhale and knew she saw the foreign features of a native to the Golden Desert. True he was pale, but his eyes were desert colored like the eyes of his mother and father before him.

“Then, spellbinder,” she spoke, dimming the lights, “what brought you so far across the sea?”

“The rushed magics of my cousin. Our family was cast out and to save me from execution they did what they could,” Sasori explained without mentioning the falcon throne or his royal heritage. Maybe it was obvious since he knew magic passed down through the royal family exclusively, but it felt wrong to speak of what he once was. He was no longer a prince or a exalted practitioner of the arts.

“What is your name, spellbinder?” she asked.

“Sasori.” He bowed his head and dared. “And who might you be, divine lady?”

When the noisy bars to his cell creaked open he looked up to see she hadn’t moved but was still staring down at him with a contemplative look to her eyes. “You may call me Sakura. I am little more than you are as a practitioner of magic, but I fear I am far older than you could guess.”

“My lady?”

“Sakura,” she softly corrected. She gestured to the open door and beckoned him forward. “You will need someone other than yourself to undo those knots, won’t you? Come here and let me do so.”

“You are too kind,” Sasori could only whisper as he stood and approached.

With only a blur of movement to watch, she took the knot and twisted it before her magic forced its way into the binding and nullified their passive magic. She then yanked on one band and the whole thing came undone.  

 She turned over his wrist and rubbed her thumb across his pulsing vein where a rash showed off where the ropes once had been. With the passing of her thumb across his skin the rash abated and the hurt went with it.

“Where will you go now, Sasori?” She reached for his other hand and he didn’t protest.

“I will…I will continue to wander.”

Forming words became difficult in her presence. She was dressed like a queen and carried herself like a god, but the way she held his wrist and traced his wounds was soft like the caress of a lover. He struggled to think up an answer to her question as different thoughts distracted him; so close he could smell her.

“You have no home here and no destination to guide you after here. What of your homeland? Do you not wish to return?”

Sasori closed his eyes and forced his head to shake. “No, I…I would only be returning to die with how I am now. There is nothing for me there, no matter how I wish it were otherwise.”

“So what of your ambitions here?”

He blinked hard, distracted by the color of her lips and how they matched the blush of her gown. “Here?” Sasori echoed. “I…there is nothing for me here.”

“Then come with me. You are young and not without merit in the craft of spell working. Your veins of magic speak to this.” When Sakura spoke the thrum of her magic brushed up against his and he felt it like the stroke of fine rabbit fur-just as vivid. It made him shiver.

“With you? Why would you suggest such a thing? I could be of no good to you with my own young abilities. You are far older and stronger.”

“Oh yes, that isn’t in question,” she chuckled. “But I have trained others and take no delight in casting out a hopeless man to die from lack of ambition. Come with me and make something of yourself. I would assume at one point in your life you enjoyed the study of it, didn’t you?”

Her words provoked a memory of the libraries in the palace. He remembered running down their halls and vowing to his mother he would read every book they had before he died, even the ones about magic only the adults could access. She had laughed but never doubted him.

Now he wondered if the library still stood. Had they burned it?  

“I was once quite fond of books,” Sasori quietly admitted. “But I still can’t understand why you would help me. I’ve done nothing for you and there are plenty of pathetic men in the world who drink themselves into oblivion and wait for death like an old friend.”

Sakura’s lips split in an honest laugh as she reached for his face, curling her fingers under his chin. “Yes, what you say is true, but how many of them are runaway mage princes who look this good?”

Sakura’s dress while she messes up the guards 

[theheartsmistakes]

The Last Night Part X

(Author’s Notes at the End)

But if you’re just joining us, here are the other parts:

Here is Part I

Here is Part II

Here is Part III

Here is Part IV

Here is Part V

Here is Part VI

Here is Part VII

Here is Part VIII

Here is Part IX

PART X

The iron gates to the Institute rumbled open as James took the corner off the street nearly destroying the trumpet on one of the angel statues that had already been replaced several times in the seventeen years that James has lived there. Xanthos dripped sweat as he came to an abrupt stop outside the front steps to the institute door, just behind Matthew’s automobile that still had all of the doors left wide open.

James jumped down from the driver’s seat and skid on the loose gravel as he grabbed the coach door and yanked it open.

Lucie grimaced when the sun illuminated the inside of the dark cab. Her eyes were red and swollen, her hands covered in something too dark to be blood. His stele gripped in her hand as James grabbed Cordelia underneath the arms and positioned her in a way that he could easily lift her off of the cab seat.

With her head tucked beneath his chin, he could faintly feel her breath against his throat. He tightened his grip on her, offering her some of his own strength, or at least the comfort of knowing that she was safe now and help was coming.

The doors to the Institute opened as he climbed the marble steps. He was met with the worried expressions of both of his parents.

“James.” Will whispered as he reached out towards Cordelia. “What happened?”

“Where is Lucie?” Tessa asked, her eyes drifting over his shoulder.

“She’s in the carriage,” said James, as he adjusted Cordelia in his arms. “Are the Silent Brothers still here? She needs to see them urgently. There is no time.”

“Up the stairs,” said Will, leading James towards the curved staircase that led to the second level. “They arrived sometime this morning, but no one knows who summoned them. Jem said that a message arrived for them to come to the London Institute urgently and that there had been an attack. About half an hour after they arrived Alastair was brought in and they warned us that Lucie and Cordelia were still missing and that Belial might have something to do with it. James, please tell me that you can explain some of this?”

Will quickly followed after James up the staircase while while Tessa ran to assist Lucie behind them. Will barked orders at the house servants to tend to the horse outside while James took the stairs two at a time careful not to jostle Cordelia, but by the small whimpers she made he knew that it was inevitable.

They took a corner and climbed another small flight of stairs that deposited them into a hallway that was crowded with people. The closest to them was Christopher, standing with his back to James and in front of a crumpled Thomas on the floor. Anna sat on the floor beside him with an arm around his shoulder. Matthew, who has been leaning beside the Infirmary door, pushed off from the wall and ran to meet James. He cursed at the sight of Cordelia and quickly moved out of the way while Christopher ran forward to open the infirmary door for James to rush through.

Three silent brothers were gathered around Alastair’s head. James could hear their whispering in his mind, but couldn’t make out the words they were speaking, when a familiar voice cut away from them.

“James.”

“Uncle Jem,” said James as he came to stop in the center of the room. “Please, you have to do something quickly. I don’t think she’s breathing.”

“Lay her down here,” said Jem as he motioned for a bed opposite Alastair’s. Three more Silent Brother’s emerged and began to swarm around Cordelia as James carefully placed her on top of the white sheets. Her skin had become impossibly ashen; her lips tinted blue; she looked like the shell of the person that he used to know.

James kneeled on the bed beside her. His hand gripped hers and squeezed, but her own remained limp inside of his own. Not even a flex from one of her perfect fingers.

Inside of his head he resumed his quiet pleas for her to live. To breathe. To fight.

Beside him, Will put a hand on James’ shoulder. “Follow me. We should let the Silent Brothers do their work.”

“I want to stay with her,” said James. “Please, someone should be with her.”

“I will not leave her,” said Jem, inside James’ mind. “You should listen to your father. It is best if we can perform our work without interruption. If anything is to happen, I will let you know first.”

If anything is to happen.

If she were to die, he means. If she doesn’t respond to their treatments. If James was once again too late. He hesitated to release Cordelia as tears trickled down his cheeks. He leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to her temple. She smelt of ashes and dust with only a hint of the warm floral scent that used to come from her.

Behind his closed eyes he could see Cordelia inside the Hell Ruelle, dancing under the red tinted lights, flecks of gold glistened on her skin and in her hair, and her cheeks fluffed with excitement and life. He could see her walking with Lucie in the park, her hair falling out of the tortoise shell clip that attempted to secure her delicate curls. He could see her eyes dancing when she called him the leader of the Merry Thieves. He didn’t notice it then, because of his own blindness or because of the bracelet, but her belief in him burned like a witchlight in perfect darkness.

The thought of never seeing her like that again made it difficult for him to breathe.

Will led him out of the infirmary and back into the hallway where the rest of his friends were waiting. But once out in the hallway, James broke away from them without a word, his eyes on the dried blood that covered his hands, when he nearly collided with Grace Blackthorn. The usual surge of emotion that once blinded him to everything else except her was non-existent and replaced by a bitter rage that had him tightening his hands into fists at his sides at the mere sight of her. When she stepped into his path, he paused for only a moment, before he skirted around her and continued stalking towards the stairs.

Grace’s voice followed him. “James, please, I need to speak with you.”

“Not now, Grace.” James threw the words over his shoulder.

Grace moved quickly so she fell into step beside him. “Please, I don’t blame you for not wishing to speak with me and I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t of the utmost importance.”

James’ steps did not falter.

Grace grabbed him by the arm before he could descend the stairs and turned him towards her on the peak of the top step. Her eyes widened with realization. “You removed the bracelet.”

James kept his eyes on the floor. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her out of shame, humiliation, betrayal. He wasn’t sure.

Grace lifted his sleeve exposing his naked wrist.

“I supposed you’ll be wanting it back.”  James reached into his pocket and pressed it into her hand.

Grace looked down at it. Her already ghostly complexion had somehow become even more pale. “But—How? That’s not possible.”

James swallowed heavily. Every muscle in his body urged him to turn around and keep walking, but the words formed on his tongue before he could stop them. “I had something real.” The words spit from his mouth like venom. “Someone real. And because of you, and whatever you’d done to that bracelet, I was too blind to see it.”

Grace caught him by the shoulder. “Will you allow me to— James!”

But James broke out from underneath her grip and ran down the stairs with no sense of hope or direction in his mind.

* * *

Lucie’s hands shook with Cordelia’s blood still covering them; caked underneath each of her nails and buried in each cuticle bed and shallow line of her palm. Every rune she drew into Cordelia’s skin glowed for a moment and disappeared no matter how much Lucie willed it to do its work and heal Cordelia just enough that they could make it back to the institute. She couldn’t help but wonder if they had become parabatai sooner if any of this would have happened.

An even sicker thought entered her brain. If Cordelia had never become their friend, the friend of the grandchildren of a prince of hell, then none of this would have happened to her.

Lucie knew she should get out of the carriage and follow after James and Cordelia, but she couldn’t bring herself to move. A sob ripped from her throat and she couldn’t even bury it in her hands. It just filled the empty space around her as James’ stele clattered down from her lap onto the floor of the carriage.

“Lucie!” Tessa stood in the doorway of the carriage. “Darling, are you all right?”

Lucie swallowed another sob that threatened to emerge from her throat and clenched her jaw until she shook. “Yes,” she answered. “I’m not hurt.”

Tessa nodded and extended her hand for Lucie to take. Lucie tightened her grip on the fabric of her gear though, afraid to put one of her hands into her mother’s. She knew her mother had seen her fair share of blood before, but Lucie didn’t want to share the responsibility of Cordelia’s blood with anyone else.

When she emerged from the carriage, Tessa quickly tucked her into her side and hurried towards the institute door while several servants emerged to tend to Xanthos who’d dragged the carriage home with one damaged tire and looked positively tired and exasperated from his travels.

Lucie let Tessa lead her up the stairs, asking a maidservant to warm some water for a bath for Lucie. The maidservant hurried ahead of them to start preparing. Lucie allowed her mother to carry most of her weight as her legs felt like they’d been filled with sand. Her skin itched and crawled. Her chest ached and her throat felt like someone was squeezing it with an iron fist. All of her thoughts raced like a thousand thoroughbred horses sprinting around a track.

When they arrived in Lucie’s bedroom, Tessa helped Lucie out of her gear and carefully unpinned her hair and down came handfuls of orange sand sprinkled across the floor.

Tessa quickly brushed the material off of Lucie’s shoulders. Lucie could see the questions spilling through Tessa’s mind, but Tessa only offered her daughter a small smile and led her towards the bathroom.

Once inside the tub, Tessa busied herself with soap and calming incense while Lucie drew her knees up to her chest and allowed her mother to wash the sand from her hair and the blood from her skin, paying particular attention to her hands and arms. The water turned a startling shade of pink by the time Tessa helped Lucie from the bath. It was a strange thing, but Lucie wanted to stay in the water a bit longer, as if somehow Cordelia remained with her that way.

What a terribly grim thought, but Lucie thought it nonetheless.

Once in a fresh cotton frock and nestled under the heavy quilted comforter of her four poster bed with her wet hair pleated by her mother’s gentle fingers, Tessa sat on the bed beside Lucie with her arm over Lucie’s legs.

“Would you like for me to stay with you awhile?” Tessa asked as she brushed a finger down the curve of Lucie’s face. “I don’t mind.”

Lucie turned her water rimmed eyes away from Tessa and looked towards the window where the heavy curtains were drawn.

“It’s all right, darling.” Tessa cupped Lucie’s face in her hand. “It’s all right. You’re safe now. Cordelia is getting help. You did so well, my darling, you did so well.”

“I couldn’t—“ Lucie took a deep breath as the tears flowed from her eyes to be caught by her mother’s gentle fingers. “I couldn’t save her.”

“But you did what you could do,” said Tessa. “And you brought her to the help she needs.”

Lucie grimaced. “Oh mother, don’t you see? It’s our fault.” Lucie brought her arm over her eyes. “It’s all our fault. If she dies it will be because of me.”

Tessa straightened the covers over Lucie, a habit she adopted Lucie realized when her mother felt that there was little else she felt she could do. When she spoke again, Lucie could hear the pain in her voice. “No,” said Tessa. “No, this is not your fault. This is not your doing.”

“He took her because of me,” Lucie cried.

Tessa pulled on Lucie’s arm. “You? What did he want with you? I thought it was James he was after.”

Lucie sucked in a breath. She wanted to tell her mother everything. The words were practically sitting on her tongue, the anvil weighing on her chest lifted just a bit. But the thoughts drifted back in: what would they think of her? Their  daughter who could raise and command the dead. What would they say? They’d protect her, she was sure of it, but at what cost? If they knew Belial was after her they’d die trying to protect her from him. They’d lock her into an even smaller cage then they condemned James too, because she was a girl, and couldn’t possibly defend herself against a prince of hell.

No, no she could not tell anyone.

The anvil slammed back down.

Lucie let her arm fall back down to her side. “He wanted to get to James through Cordelia and I. It was a dramatic miscalculation on his part, honestly. I’m not sure where he is getting his information from but his sources are sorely lacking in accurate information.”

Tessa’s eyes narrowed just slightly causing Lucie to hold her breath, but her expression relaxed. “What did he say to you? What is it that he wants?”

“World domination,” Lucie shrugged.

Tessa made a small noise. “It seems a strange thing to want, doesn’t it? Complete control over an entire world. I have enough difficulty being responsible for three people’s lives, I cannot imagine being responsible for an entire civilization.”

“I don’t think it's the responsibility he wants,” said Lucie. “It’s about possession. It’s control. He’s powerful, but he has limitations. He’s not human and what did Lucifer envy most of all?”

“Humans.” Tessa nodded. “God’s most perfect creation.”

Lucie reached out and took her mother’s hand. “We’ll not let him. I think he’s trapped wherever he is. He can’t reach us on his own and that buys us some time. We can come up with a way to kill him—“

“No.” Tessa’s voice grew stern. “No, I do not want you involved in this any longer. None of you. You’ll let your father and I worry about this. This is our fight, not your own.”

“Mum,” Lucie attempted to argue, but before she could Tessa released her hand and stood up. “You’re to keep yourself away from this, do you understand? I’ll spend no more time on this. Get some rest and come downstairs when you’re feeling up to it.”

Lucie nodded and watched her mother turn to leave. “You’ll come and get me with any word on Cordelia?”

Tessa nodded and urgently left the room.

Sleep and all manor of rest alluded Lucie. She laid in bed staring at the crown molding around the perimeter of her room. Herons were carved into the wood with long vines hanging from their mouths. When decorating her room, her mother and aunt Cecily tried to convince her that the dark wine burgundy wallpaper she had chosen was an awful dark color for such a large space, but it made Lucie feel like Mary Shelley writing in a dungeon about many impossible creatures. She kept her space simple. Hand painted pictures that Cordelia brought her from a trip to India hung on either side of the bed. When she looked at them, she felt like a world traveler, having seen these places herself. Her bed linens were an off-white with golden stitching with no bed ruffle because she liked the dark distressed wood, and it was easier to slide a copy of her manuscript under when one of her parents came into the room to tell her to go to sleep.

She found solace in her room the way James found it in the library, but tonight it brought her no such relief.

Her thoughts raced with images of Cordelia and Belial. His long fingers stretching out towards her flashed whenever she’d close her eyes. She wished she’d figured out a way to kill him when she had the chance. When he was standing right in front of her. Now, she’d have to wait.

“Why didn’t you tell her?”

Lucie sat up in bed to find Jesse standing at the end of it, a translucent shadow with the glow of the fireplace glowing through him and behind him.

Lucie exhaled heavily and clutched her chest. “You must stop doing that.”

“My apologies,” said Jesse, a smirk lifting at the corner of his mouth. “I thought you could feel my presence.”

Lucie adjusted herself with her back against the headboard. “No, it’s me who should be apologizing, my mind is preoccupied at the moment. I’m afraid I’m not myself. Jesse, I cannot properly thank you for helping me last night. I wasn’t entirely convinced it would work, but it seemed worth a shot. You saved me yet again and at a large expense to yourself.”

Jesse shook his head, but Lucie went on. “You could have been lost in there, in the shadow world. Your soul could have been trapped there forever. And still you did it anyway. I’m afraid that I owe you for a lot more than just my own life.”

“Lucie, you owe me nothing.”

“I do,” insisted Lucie. “I am going to find a way to bring you back.”

“Necromancy is a dark magic,” said Jesse. “One that is not easily forgiven by the Clave. It’s too dangerous. I came here to tell you to stop.”

“To stop—“

“Yes,” Jesse said firmly. “I blame myself for all of this. I let you entertain the idea of bringing me back, because I liked the idea myself, and I like you. But I realize now that I’m only a danger to you the closer we become and I cannot allow something to happen to you.”

“Jesse—“

Jesse took a step backwards. “Your attention should be on stopping Belial, on being a Shadowhunter, and a writer, not on something that has proved to be impossible. Please, Lucie, I need for you to understand.”

“Well, I don’t,” said Lucie. “I don’t understand at all. I won’t stop trying, and frankly, I think you’re being incredibly indecent at the moment. I may have lost my friend tonight, I will not lose you too!”

“Cordelia's life is flickering,” said Jesse. “It’s weak, but it’s still there. She’ll need your attention when she wakes up. Please know how sorry I am, but this is absolutely for the best.”

“Is this because I used you to escape Belial?” Lucie couldn’t stop the tears from spilling from her eyes. “I won’t do it again. I promise. I’ll command some other ghost next time. I’ll be more sensitive, I--.”

“This is why.” Jesse walked around her bed and grabbed her arm, but his hand went right through her like vapor. “I am dead, Lucie. My sister has ruined her life because of me. My mother is on her way to prison. You will not be the next tragedy that befalls because of an attempt to save me when it may well be futile. And while I couldn’t stop them, I can stop you.”

She tried to reach for his hand again, but her fingers went straight through his.

“I am sorry,” said Jesse slowly, she thought she felt the cool wisp of his breath on her cheek. “Life is for living, Lucie, not for the dead. It’s time I find my peace with it.”

“No.” Lucie swung her legs over the side of the bed, but when she stood up, he was already gone.  

(If you want some more feels added to the sadness that is this chapter give Light of Love by Florence + The Machine a listen. It inspired most of the conversations in this chapter. It really helped me get into the Herondale mindset. I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. Don’t hesitate to leave it some love! Next update is coming Sunday 6/14.)

[noladyme]

The Frog Princess. Chapter 10

She had no wish to be bound down to anyone, but Y/N none the less found herself being dragged across the continent; to marry King Foltest of Temeria.  Instead of pomp and spectacle; she was accompanied by the witcher, Geralt of Rivia. Their travels would bring both monsters, lust, love; and heartache. All sound tracked by an endearing buffoon of a bard, named Jaskier.

TW: Violence, language, sexual themes. Rated M.

10

Within seconds we were surrounded by elves on all sides. There were arrows pointed at us from all directions.

“My king!”, the woman holding down Jaskier said. “Do I cut him?”

Filivandrel turned to face her. “I don’t know yet”, he answered. “How is my lute treating you, bard?”. Jaskier was shaking from fear. “G-good, your majesty”, he stammered. “She’s wonderful. I’ve never played better!”. The elf crouched next to him. “I have heard of litigious and frivolous songs; not ones I had thought would be played on it”. Jaskier began stammering incoherently. “I should have you made a castrato”, the elf sneered, and the woman moved her knife to Jaskiers groin, pressing against the fabric.

“Filivandrel”, Geralt roared. “What is this about? Why are you here?”. Filivandrel patted the womans shoulder; and she got off Jaskier; who covered his precious gems for a second; before getting up, and running to stand behind Geralt.

“I am here to see the future queen of Temeria”, Filivandrel said. “I was told she would be travelling with you”. He looked at me. “But it seems all you have; is a frog”. Geralt pushed me behind him. “Could you have your people put their weapons down?”, he said calmly “We hold no threat”.

Filivandrels face turned angry. “You hold the same threat as every other human we cross”, he snarled. “You steal; and you kill; and you take what is not yours!”. Geralt bared his teeth. “What have we taken this time?”.

Filivandrel sat by our fire; and looked at Geralts boiling draught. He spat into the pot. “This was once elven land”, he said. “Everything was once elven land”, Geralt snarled. “We can’t change the past”. Filivandrel looked at him. “No”, he said. “But we can change the future”.

He turned his attention to me. “Come sit with me, frog”. The way he said frog was completely different from how Geralt used the word. The elfs way was dismissively; like that was what I was. A frog.

I stepped forward to do as he had told me; but Geralt grabbed my arm. “Let her go, witcher”, Filivandrel demanded calmly. I nodded to Geralt; and went to sit with the elven king.

“Did you know this?”, he asked. “Did you know that everything was once elven land?”. I nodded. “Yes, your majesty”, I said. Filivandrel frowned. “Do not call me majesty. A king must have land. Ours was stolen”, he said. “Call me Filivandrel”. “Filivandrel”, I repeated. “Good, frog”, he said.

He poked at the fire with an arrow. “I am looking for a woman. She is on her way to marry the king of Temeria”. “Oh?”, I said dismissively. “What do you want from her?”. He narrowed his eyes at me. “I am going to convince her to turn around. Move south. Join Nilfgaard”. I felt Geralts eyes on my back. “Why?”, I asked.

Filivandrel stood, and walked over to Bayrd. “Is this your horse, frog?” I nodded. “Come”, he said; and untied my stallion from the tree he was hitched by. I walked over to the elf; who saddled up, and reached for my hand. I took it, and – almost as quickly as Geralt would – he pulled me into the saddle behind him.

“Stay with them”, Filivandrel said; and a smaller group of the elves surrounded Geralt and Jaskier. “We will take their weapons for safe keeping”. “Filivandrel!”, Geralt roared. “Hold your tongue, mutant!”, the elf growled, before turning to his men. “And bring my lute”.

I heard Jaskier gasp; as Filivandrel kicked at Bayrd, and we rode away – leaving my lover and friend behind.

---

We rode through the night; zigzagging. It was clear that the elves did not want me to be able to find my way back, should I try to escape. “Where are you taking me?”, I asked. “Somewhere safe”, Filivandrel answered; refusing to answer any more questions.

Soon after dawn, we arrived at a glade; bustling with movement. Elves, dwarves – and a few creatures I recognized from Thrudes stories as being sylvan – were training with their bows and knifes, and preparing food and leathers. There were tents made of skin; and I was brought into one of these tents by a pair of angry looking halflings; no taller than my hip. Filivandrel followed me into the tent.

“Do you have a weapon?”, he asked. I clenched my jaw, considering my next move. “On the horse. The sword”. I looked down, deciding. “And a knife, in my boot”.

One of the halflings snatched my sgian-dubh; and handed it to Filivandrel. He turned it over in his hands. “A Skelliger knife; but a nilfgaardian sword and horse”, he chuckled. “Careful, frog. You are looking more and more like an empress already”. He turned to the halflings. “Tie her up. Don’t hurt her”. He left them to their task.

I was tied to the pole in the middle of the tent; my hands behind my back. It felt like hours before a young – at least I thought she was young – elven woman stepped into the tent, with a bowl of water, and a cloth. “The king wants to know that you are comfortable”, she said without looking at me. “I’m tied up among strangers; whom I don’t know whether will kill me or sell me for coin”. The woman walked over to me, and began washing my face and neck. “It is not for me to say”.

The elven king stepped into the tent, carrying a small leather sack. “Is she well?”, he asked the woman. “She has questions, my lord”. He sighed, and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Thank you, Ineolin. You can leave us now”. The woman nodded her head; and left the tent.

Filivandrel opened his sack, and pulled out an apple. “You must be hungry”, he said. “Well, you did spit in my dinner”, I sneered. “That was not your dinner, frog. That was stolen magic”, he replied calmly. I shook my head. “I don’t know what you are talking about. If I am here to be raped and tortured, get it over with, and send me back to my friends”.

Filivandrel looked almost disgusted. “I have no desire to lay with a filthy human”, he sneered. “Especially not one that is covered in muck from days of travelling”. “Then why – pray tell – the fuck am I here?”, I yelled.

Filivandrel dropped the apple on the ground in front of me.

“You have been promised to Foltest”, he said calmly. “But those plans have changed. I have promised you to Nilfgaard”. My breath hitched. “You don’t know what you are doing!”, I gasped. “What is your gain from helping Nilfgaard in their war?”. He half smiled, looking almost apologetic. “Peace. For my people”. I shook my head frantically. “There will be no peace with them. Only death and destruction”.

The elf crouched in front of me. “There is already death and destruction. This way; my people will have a fighting chance to survive in what is to come”. “Filivandrel…”, I tried.

“Do you want to marry Foltest?”, he asked dismissively. “I hear he’s old and ugly. This way, you will have a young husband; one who is strong, leads many men; and will give you children that will not have inbred family members”. I looked at him angrily. “I want to marry no one”, I said.

He went to leave the tent again. “Is that what... O’Dimm has offered you?”, I called after him, making him stop in his tracks. I’d been right. O’Dimm was a part of this. “That you will have peace? That your people will be allowed to roam free across the continent; without fear of being persecuted?”. He turned to look at me.

“It will never happen, Filivandrel…”, I said.

He crouched in front of me; and struck me hard across the face. “Your people – and the people they are allied with – burn our homes”, he spat at me. “They rape our women, and crush our children’s heads under their boots”. I clenched my jaw. “And for that they deserve nothing but contempt and punishment”, I said. “But Nilfgaard will not be different”. He shook his head. “You speak of what you do not know, woman…”.

I breathed deeply, and reminded myself that I was speaking to a king; whether he wanted me to call him one or not. And he was a king who seemed to care deeply for his people. “I speak of things I have never seen, but have been told to me”, I said. “I have lived my life sheltered in a Skelliger castle; surrounded by men who celebrated the death of your kind with the wine you made yourselves. I have heard stories of young elven women enslaved; raped until pregnancy; and then had their bellies slit, to remove the child that had been forced upon them”. Tears began running from my eyes.

Filivandrel fell into a seated position. “You have heard of these things; but never done anything about them”, he said quietly. “And what power did I have?”, I cried. “I have been shipped across the ocean to marry a man, not of my choosing; to possibly have him do the same to me… because he will own me. I have no right to anything of my own”.

The elf sighed. “So, we are not so different. We are both forced to do things we do not want”. I looked at the ground. “You don’t want to give me to O’Dimm…”. He shook his head. “It is what must be done”.

I looked at him poignantly. “Do you know why he wants me for Nilfgaard? For the Usurper?”. The elf looked me in the eyes. “He will force Cintras allies to retreat”. “Yes”, I smiled through my tears. “And he will have me. I have powers… ones that I do not know much about myself. I think they will use me to strengthen themselves…”. Filivandrel narrowed his eyes at me. “You’re a sorceress”, he sneered. “No”, I sniffeled. “I don’t know magic. But if it is forced upon me; I might do things… things I have no wish to speak of”. “And you would do them against your will?”.

“I would never…”, I sobbed. “I don’t want to be a part of something like that”. I sighed, and tried to calm myself. “The Usurper will never treat your people the same as he will humans. You will continue to be hunted and killed. But if you give me to him; he will have even more power to do so”.

The elf stood up. “If you are so dangerous to me – tell me – why should I not kill you now?”.

I sniveled hard; and wiped my face against my shoulder. “If that is your will; it is in your power to do so”, I said. “But burn my corpse, and send it to my homeland. I would rather be ashes strewn from the walls of Kaer Trolde; than a weapon against you, or anyone else”.

Filivandrel exhaled and looked down at me. This is a better end than I would have in Nilfgaard. I closed my eyes; and lifted my chin, to prepare for the king’s knife. There was a rustling; and when I opened them again, I was alone.

---

I fell asleep against the pole; my body and mind drained from my meeting with Filivandrel. When I woke, the tent was dark and cold; as there had been made no fire for me.

After a while, the elven woman – Ineolin – came into the tent, carrying a knife.

“He’s asked you to kill me?”, I sneered. “No, human”, she answered indifferently. “He’s asked me to feed and clothe you”. She cut me lose from the pole; and finding my legs after having sat for so long, I followed her out of the tent, and towards a larger one; wherein two other women – one of them dwarven – were waiting.

“Undress”, the dwarf said. I didn’t have the stamina to argue; so, I did as I was told. The women began washing me; a very strange sensation, as I wasn’t used to anyone but Geralt touching my naked body. They were quick and proper about it, not lingering in any areas; and in the end I was as clean as I’d ever been. Wearing a towel around my body; I was sat on a stool; and the second elf began braiding my hair down my back. Even though it had only been a short time since I’d left Skellige, it felt like it had grown quite a bit. I ate bread and venison; and drank a whole pitcher of water.

Without noticing it; my clothes had been disposed of; and I was given new ones. Looking down myself; I was now wearing brown, close fitting, but much more flexible pants, than the ones I had received from Ajvid. They had leather patches on the knees; and were tied together on my hips, with leather string. There was a white shirt – woven closely for warmth; and another brown leather jerkin – this one more fitted for my frame, and laced in the front. The hem of the jerkin went almost to my knees; making it resemble a short dress. My grey cloak had appeared; and someone had stitched fur to the inside of it; to make it warmer. I realized I looked almost elven.

I thanked the women; and went to shake their hands; but none of them would touch me again.

Fully dressed, fed and clean; Ineolin led me out of the tent, and towards a large fire in the middle of the camp

Jaskier sat by the flames; cradling his – well, Filivandrels – lute. When he saw me, he gingerly put it to the ground, and ran up to embrace me. The bard had never hugged me before; but I welcomed the warm show of affection. “We thought we lost you!”, he said. “They had to tie Geralt down with three ropes to stop him from chasing after you”. I looked at him with fierce eyes. “Where is he?”. Jaskier nodded towards a large tree at the edge of the camp. Geralt and Filivandrel stood there in what seemed to be deep conversation.

It took everything in me not to run to the witcher; instead, I walked as fast and as graciously as I could. Before I made it within 30 yards of him; Geralt turned his head; having heard my approach. My breath hitched; and I almost began crying. Geralt had no grace in his approach to me. He ran up, and took me in his arms; almost lifting me from the ground. “Stupid woman”, he breathed into my ear. “You stupid, stupid woman!”.

“Witcher!”, Filivandrel called to us. “We are not done”. Geralt groaned. “Yes we are. We are leaving”. “Not without finishing our discussion!”, the elf said. “Put down the frog”.

Geralt released his hold on me and walked back to Filivandrel. “What do you want?”, he growled. “Your word”, the king said. Geralt grunted. “I have given you my word, Filivandrel. I will not speak of this place to anyone!”, he snarled. “Not yours, witcher”. He turned to me. “Hers”. Geralt looked at him, confused. “What do you mean?”

Filivandrel walked up to me; and stared into my eyes.

“You were never here”, he said. “You know nothing of our dealings with Nilfgaard… and you will never give yourself over to them”. I looked at him hard. “You have my word”; I said. He nodded.

“I apologize for striking you, queen frog”, the elf king said. “You gave over your weapons willingly; and you did not try to escape”. He sighed. “You cried for our children and women; and you told me stories... I wish you had not. I believe you are not an enemy of me or my people. I shall never call you friend… But whatever should happen; I will not call you a foe”.

I half smiled at him. “Thank you for your… hospitality”, I said. His eyes warmed, and he handed me my sgian dubh; which he’d held on to. “Be a strong queen, and remember the stories you told me. I hope they will guide you in your reign”.

We were led from the camp, without any attempts by the elves to disguise the way back. They – as I – knew that Geralt would easily be able to find it, if he so wished. I was sure that the camp would be gone in the morning.

---

We stopped at the bottom of a hill the next afternoon. We hadn’t spoken much since we left Filivandrels camp; except for Jaskiers occasional nagging about his sore ass. He’d gone to tinkle; and left me and Geralt alone for a while.

The witcher looked solemn. “We need to move faster; we’ve already lost a full day”, he grumbled. “Yes”, I said, looking across the planes in front of us. “O’Dimm could still be near. Filivandrel saw him just a few days ago”, he continued. “You’re right”, I agreed. “We cannot take so many breaks”. “No”.

He went over and looked at my face. “What’s wrong?”, he asked; running his thumb gently over the bruise the elf king had left under my eye, when he struck me. “They hate us so much”, I said. “The elves…”, Geralt nodded. I looked at him. “And they have good reason for it”. My voice hitched. “I’ve always known… but to see them in front of me… just wanting to survive…”.

Geralt seemed unsure what to say. “Being hated… is easier when you don’t have to face the people who hate you”. I nodded. “Temeria or Nilfgaard…”, I continued, “… either way, the elves, the dwarves… all of them. They will continue to suffer”.

He put his arms around me. “I am not one for discussing the lesser evil”, he said. “But I think that what you are doing, is it. If you don’t marry Foltest; you will spend the rest of your life running from Nilfgaard, and their purpose for you. As a queen of Temeria, at least you can hope to make a difference”.

I put my arms around his waist; and pressed my face to his chest. “Run away with me”, I whispered. “Where would we go?”, he chuckled. “Back to Kaer Morhen”, I smiled. “You could kill monsters for the local villages; and we could raise a bushel of the children of surprise you’d demand in payment”. I heard the laughter come from deep within his chest; from where my ear was pressed against it. “There aren’t many villages around Kaer Morhen”, he chuckled. “And the castle is mostly ruins”.

I smiled; and looked up at him for a second, before letting my eyes hit the ground. “But would you?”, I asked quietly. He held me hard against him. “I would, little frog”, he whispered and kissed the top of my head. “I would”.

I sighed, and took a step back, releasing his grasp on me. “But Cintra would fall. And then the rest of the northern kingdoms. And Skellige…”. Geralt grunted and looked down. “We are going to Temeria”, I said. “You are walking me through the gates of Vizima; and you will hand me over to Foltest”.

He met my gaze tentatively “But I have you until then?”, he asked. I nodded. “And we’ll be written on each other’s lives after”, I smiled.

He took my face in his hands, and kissed me.

“Why did you call me stupid?”, I asked, narrowing my eyes. He clenched his jaw. “Filivandrel would not tell me what you spoke to him about”, he said. “Only what his plan had been. When I saw you almost unscathed and with new clothes, I thought…”. “You thought I’d agreed to it”, I said. “I didn’t know”.

I raised my eyebrows at him. “I’ll make you the same promise I made the elf king”, I said. “No matter what happens; I’ll never willingly go to Nilfgaard”. He grunted and nodded.

Jaskier came running down the hill then; still buttoning his breeches. “Geralt!”, he called. “Geralt, you need to see this!”.

Geralt turned to face the bard. “Stay here”, he growled to me; and began moving up the hill. “To Hel with that!”, I said, and followed.

---

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