#you pull one secret out of Eadwulf

[demenior]

Belated wip Wednesday:

Fealty Eadwulf and Jester are just so 🥺💕 to me:

“Do you feel safe with me? I want you to feel safe with me.”

Eadwulf’s brows furrow into his trademark scowl, “keeping you safe is my job.”

“No, you take care of Fjord. Who takes care of you?”

Eadwulf scowls at the floor. Jester wonders if he heard her. Then, he glances up, realizes she’s still watching him, and stares at the floor. His scowl breaks.

“…you did. With the pirates.”

“And the healing,” she adds. It strikes her that she’s never hesitated to use her healing magic on him. The rest of the Nein always teased her about being reluctant to waste spells, but it’s never crossed her mind to not heal Eadwulf. The only person she does that to is Fjord.

Eadwulf nods silently.

“Did Astrid take care of you?”

The furrow in his brows is back, but it’s not for his usual scowl.

“Our methods are different.”

“How?”

Eadwulf glances at the blankets strung up over their heads, “not so much coddling.”

Jester stifles a giggle at the thought of Astrid and the other Scourgers making blanket forts. It’s like putting a funny hat on a lion. “No blanket forts?”

Eadwulf’s face relaxes to the point it may even be called a smile, “no.”

“And you took care of her?”

Eadwulf shrugs, “she is the Master. That is my job.”

“I think your Master is supposed to take care of you. Or else what good are they?”

Eadwulf’s shoulders come up, “Trent trained us well. We’re not soft. We don’t need pampering. Don’t mistake me for human.”

“You keep saying that.”

[whumpwizard]

Whumptber2022 Day 23: At the End of Their Rope (18+)

Bren had failed, he knew that. He should have been better, should have done better.  But he had slipped, and it had almost cost him and the other two their mission, and Astrid and Wulf had had to clean up the mess. But, it was fine. It was fine, because he was serving his penance.

Above him, he could hear the clinking of cutlery against plates, and the gentle dinner conversation of his Master and his fellow Volstrucker.  His own stomach growled with hunger, but that was not the most pressing pain in his body.  No, far more present in is mind was the pain of the tightly ties hemp rope that dug into his skin. He was tied below the dinner table, arms bound behind him in a reverse prayer position, wrenching his arms against their natural position. Then, Trent had bound his legs in a kneeling position with his legs spread apart, before firmly tying off the ends to the legs of the table. The arm and chest bindings, too, were tied off to the table, leaving Bren unable to so much as struggle in the bonds.

Dinner continued with no regard paid to the wizard beneath the table.  They chatted about classes, and about the mission, and about the food. They ate and drank, and not for a moment did they address him.  Of course they didn’t, he didn’t deserve it. He deserved only this pain, the aching in his joints and the numbing of his hands and feet, the painful tingling when he tried to adjust and move them.  If he had been better, then he would have deserved their company. But he hadn’t been, and so this was his penance.

Master Ikithon was a good man.  A strong man, committed to the betterment of the Empire, and it was Bren’s job to serve that ideal.  He had failed. He had hesitated and the mark had nearly escaped. How ironic then, that he could not escape this. That the bonds that held him in penitent suffering were so tightly wound.  It was fitting.

“Ah, well, it is time that I turn in.” Trent’s voice echoed above the table, the tone of dismissal clear. “Do as you wish with him, but do not unbind him.”

“Yes, Master.” Wulf and Astrid replied in unison. Bren felt his heart skip a beat, knowing that he was the one being spoken about.  He watched as Trent walked away, paying no mind to Bren as he left.  Then, slowly, he heard Astrid and Wulf’s careful steps as they approached him, standing in front of him.

“You really fucked that one, Bren.” Wulf said, his face hard, unreadable. Was he angry? Did he pity Bren? All three of them had suffered in a hundred ways for their sins under Trent, so there was at least a shred of empathy, surely.

“If he had escaped, that man would have spilled valuable state secrets. It was your job to hold him. What happened?”  Astrid asked, her tone accusatory, not unlike Trent’s.  Bren just lowered his head, ashamed.

“I do not know.” he said.  He felt the hand in his hair for a fraction of a moment before his head was yanked back up, a yelp escaping as Wulf forced Bren to look at him.

“You don’t know? If we hadn’t saved your ass we’d all be tied up and starved, Bren. And then he would’ve won. Is that what you want?”

“N-no! I didn’t…I don’t know what happened.  I…I will atone, though.”  Bren’s eyes widened as he saw Wulf start to undo the belt of his trousers, other hand never releasing the ginger hair in its clutches.

“Ja, you will.” He said, pulling out his cock, already hard. “I’m so fucking pent up from the stress of today. You’re gonna fix that.” There was no preamble as Wulf tilted Bren’s head back and forced his cock into his mouth.  Astrid just rolled her eyes.

“You are a fucking pig some days, Eadwulf.” she said. “I am going to bed.”  And she walked away, leaving Bren alone.

Wulf was rough as he fucked Bren’s throat, making him choke as he took the whole length of his friend’s cock. He hated to admit it, but he wasn’t exactly upset with how Wulf had chosen to use him. It wasn’t his first night on his knees for either of them, and if making his throat burn from sucking dick is was he had to do to make up for his missteps? It was certainly better than some of Trent’s plans.  Still, bound to the table as he was, the pain and discomfort remained in the forefront of his brain. Tears began to prick at the corners of his eyes as Wulf used him, from the lack of air mixed with the pain.  Bren knew he must look like some two-copper whore right now.

Wulf did not take his time in making use of Bren’s throat, and it wasn’t long before his thrusts became more erratic, and his grip on Bren’s hair became vice-like.  At the last moment, he pulled his cock out of Bren’s throat, and with a couple short strokes, came, spilling onto Bren’s face and chest.  He smiled, smug and proud of what he had done, looking down upon his fellow Scourger. Bren could feel his lips wet and swollen, the tear tracks down his face, and the hot, sticky cum that would sit on him until someone came to clean it off or release him. He looked up at Wulf, eyes wide. All he got in return was a light slap on the cheek.

“Guten nacht, Bren.” Wulf said, finally taking his leave as well.  Bren remained, as the candles burned themselves out, bound and sore and covered in cum. The night air was cold, and the darkness cloying, but Bren knew that this was truly what he deserved.

[sundayswiththeilluminati]

I LOVE your meta on how essek was the perfect asset and want to ask the follow-up question in your tags: how do you think it went down? The agreement between Essek and the Assembly? And I think the fandom was convinced Essek would be disposed of after the peace talks — how do you see his future if there was no intervention by the Mighty Nein in 97?

ruvi-muffin asked:

What are your specific thoughts abt how ludinus recruited essek??👀👀 oh Person who knows a surprising amount of spy stuff 🙏🙏🙏👀👀👀

Anonymous asked:

PLEASE share your specific thoughts about how Essek was recruited, I'm so intrigued!

Anonymous asked:

Hello yes i am very interested in these very specific thoughts about how Essek got recruited? All these things about how actual intelligence works/uses their assets/how that ties to Essek and the M9 is really interesting :D

Thank you all so much for asking me the specific question I wanted someone to ask. I had to write and rewrite this post a half-dozen times because I kept going off on tangents about other Cold War spy stories so trust me there’s plenty more where this came from.

For reference, my original post on what made Essek an ideal recruitment target and why the M9 were the ideal counter to it.

First off, this is all based on real-world intelligence ops and is only as relevant to the campaign as Matt Mercer cares to make it. Having said that *slams notebook on table* BUCKLE UP, KIDDOS.

There are two ways Essek may have been recruited: he approached the Assembly or the Assembly approached him. I think the Assembly approached him. Not to be too hard on the guy, but Essek said it himself: he’s kind of a coward. I can’t see him mustering up the nerve to take that first step. Plus his espionage seems to have focused specifically on the beacons rather than dunamancy as a whole; that sounds like the Assembly to me. The beacons specifically offer the prospect of immortality and the Cerberus mages are arrogant enough to assume they can figure out dunamancy themselves if they have a beacon in hand. There’s no way the Assembly haven’t been trying to beg, borrow, or steal those beacons for centuries. Essek may not have even been their first try - just the first that worked. 

Chronologically, Essek would have popped up on either the Assembly or the Augen Trust’s radar quite early as I assume they keep tabs on all powerful Dynasty mages. As they followed his career, the Assembly would have ID’d Essek as a perfect target for recruitment as a spy, and then further for ego-based recruitment. Recruitment for espionage is a slow process - even slower in a fantasy world where some races reasonably expect to live 500+ years. Many intelligence agencies will do a sort of light meet-and-greet just to start a file on various people who might years later be of interest. The Assembly would have cultivated Essek as an intelligence asset with the same degree of time and care - and using some of the same methods - that Trent used to turn the Blumenthal trio into assassins. 

If they followed a modern playbook, they would have made contact with Essek anywhere from 2 to 10 years before the theft - nothing underhanded. A Cerberus mage approaches him at a negotiation or conference and strikes up a conversation. Then it’s increasing “chance” encounters to get Essek familiar with the handler, play the “we’re both mages, really we’re on the same side” angle to earn enough sympathy & trust to start talking regularly. Once the channel’s open, the handler and asset meet and/or talk routinely while the handler assesses the target’s motives, weaknesses, and the possibility that they’re a double agent. 

Espionage proper then starts with small favors, acts Essek can rationalize as victimless or even helpful to the Dynasty. In this stage the handler is getting the asset comfortable with engaging in espionage. They reward the asset for what feels like minimal moral trespass. For Essek that would have been praising his research, encouraging avenues of investigation they knew the Dynasty had shut down. Having meetings with Ludinus plays right into the ego trip - the Head of the Assembly himself is taking the time to meet with him! The Assembly gets how important this work is! That keeps Essek isolated from Dynasty members who might convince him to take a step back and builds loyalty to the Assembly over the Dynasty.

Once an asset settles in, espionage becomes easier. Routines get established. Moral hurdles have been overcome. Now the asks get bigger and the rewards get sparser. The handler will suggest larger acts just to get the asset thinking about them, since the more they consider “just hypothetically” how to pull it off, the more likely it is they’ll do it. This is where the idea of stealing the beacons would get introduced (though of course it’s been the goal all along.) I’ll bet the Assembly hinted at all the study that could be done if they could just get to the beacons in person, constantly bemoaning the lack of access. By now Essek sees the Assembly as colleagues in arcane pursuits, kindred minds, unlike the boring, stuffy old mages of the Dynasty. Of course he could outwit the Dynasty’s security and get the beacons to the Assembly - he’s a prodigy, a genius, everyone says so. And it’s not like he was stealing all of them. The consecuted would be fine. Everyone would be fine.

None of this is intended to absolve Essek of personal responsibility. But it provides a context for his actions, and for why he might regret them so much even though he apparently did them willingly. Asset handlers are very, very good at drawing someone willing to commit minor transgressions into far greater crimes. Look at how Trent shaped Caleb, Astrid, and Eadwulf. He didn’t order them to execute their own parents on day one. He spent years coaxing, tempting, and coercing them into darker and darker crimes, letting them rationalize their own actions at each step, preying on the same vulnerabilities as Essek: isolation (separating the three from other students, telling them their work was secret), ambition (the promise of great arcane power, of shaping the Empire’s destiny), and ego (”we were going to keep the empire safe,” telling them they were gifted, they were chosen).

So how do IRL spies rationalize their actions? Those who spy for reasons of conscience or ideology have done the rationalizing ahead of time, but everyone else has to get there somehow. Some who spy for revenge tell themselves it’s what their superiors deserve, while others tell themselves everyone’s doing it. Some just need a lie to get started (most commonly about who they’re spying for), while others have to keep up the charade all along. Let’s look at a few cases similar to Essek’s that demonstrate just how slippery the slope can be.

Aldrich Ames, a long-term CIA officer slash double agent for the KGB, got suckered in by thinking he could control the situation and wasn’t really hurting anyone. Ames had chronic financial trouble related to excessive drinking & his wife’s lavish lifestyle and in 1985 came up with a plan: he would essentially con the KGB by selling them a minor amount of classified info that he deemed “virtually worthless.” In April he set up the exchange and the KGB paid him $50,000, enough to satisfy his immediate debts. But after actually doing it Ames said he felt he’d now crossed a line he couldn’t step back from, and continued to sell information to the Soviets. By the time he was caught he had, by his own admission, compromised “virtually all Soviet agents of the CIA.”

While some assets just need a lie to get started, others require a delicate dance of self-delusion. Col. George Trofimoff was an Army officer who ran the center where would-be Soviet defectors were assessed & questioned. Trofimoff, a Russian émigré at a young age, was chronically in debt. In 1969 he renewed his acquaintance with his stepbrother back in Russia, now a bishop in the Russian Orthodox Church, and began to pass secrets in return for money - but he and his stepbrother never framed the transactions as such. Trofimoff described their meetings as, “very informal. ... First, it was just a conversation between the two of us. He would ask my opinion on this and that--then, he would maybe ask me, 'Well, what does your unit think about it?' Or, 'What does the American government think about it?’” His compensation was similarly informal: “I said I needed money. ... And he says, 'I tell you what, I'll loan it to you.' So he gave me, I think, 5,000 marks and then, it wasn't enough, because I needed more. ... Then he says, 'Well, you know, I'll tell you what. You don't owe me any money. And if you need some more, I can give you some more. Don't worry about it. You're going to have to have a few things, this and that.' And this is how it started.” Trofimoff could pretend to himself that he wasn’t really spying - just having a chat with his stepbrother - and wasn’t really getting paid for it - just borrowing a little money.

This got longer than I intended it to be and there’s still plenty to talk about, so I’ll save the rest for a second post. Next time: what happens long-term to espionage assets? And what happens if an asset regrets their actions and/or attempts to cut off contact with their handlers?

(This accidentally turned into a series on Essek & IRL espionage: Parts 1, 2, 3, 4)

[omniscientwreck]

Some of the best things to come out of me and my roommate's high school AU conversation:

- Caleb is a quiet nerd who spends most of high school denying party invitations to study, he's taking AP classes and doing university prep constantly

- Beau skipped from grade 4 to 6, she's the student who's involved in so many things nobody has any idea when she sleeps

- Veth is the single meanest person in the school except for to Caleb and this nerd Yeza who she met because they were lab partners in AP chemistry

- Mollymauk has been at the school for forever, he's failed every single class not because he isn't smart but just because he can't be in the right place at the right time. When he has English he's hanging out in the band room but when he has art he's in History class.

- Essek Thelyss plays clarinet and oboe. He listens to Baroque music and is incredibly pretentious about the superiority of both JS and CPE Bach to any Romantic era composer. He also likes New Wave. He does have a secret playlist on Spotify full of Carly Rae Jepsen, Lady Gaga, and Brittney Spears.

- Fjord is on the football team and nobody knows why, least of all him. He tries out for the school musical as a joke in the 11th grade and finds out he's actually really good at singing and enjoys it.

- Caduceus Clay graduated a few years ago but he comes back to visit teachers and the Nein who he made friends with often. If an adult is ever needed the Nein call him and he's always there within 5 minutes

- Yasha had a rough time with puberty and went through a phase where she was very angry and reclusive and alienated herself from her previous friends. Now that she's found the Nein she's more outgoing and the sweetest person you'll ever meet. She walks absolutely everywhere and somehow always arrives before everyone else.

- Jester Lavorre is everyone's friend it doesn't matter who you are she probably knows your name and at least one thing about you. She's the stereotypical art student who seems to be friends with the art teacher but it's not at all inappropriate. She's a master of bathroom graffiti and even though everyone knows it's her she's never been caught.

- When they talk about the dangers of weed in health class the teacher is going through slang terms for it, one of which is Uk'otoa which becomes a meme with the class.

- Nobody has ever seen Mollymauk Tealeaf arrive to a party. When the energy shifts from 'nobody is drunk and everyone's a little awkward' to 'we've had a couple drinks and everyone is having a great time' you'll know he's there. You just turn around and he'll wave at you from another conversation he's having.

- When Caleb finally does start going to parties you can almost always find him arguing with Yussa over some matter of academia. It ends with them in the backyard doing dangerous magical stunts and getting hurt. Essek sometimes tries to referee but often gets sucked into the showboating.

- Whenever there's a bake sale Yasha and Jester collaborate on dozens of different desserts and they always sell out immediately.

- Beauregard plays auxillary percussion in band because playing only one instrument isn't enough for her brain.

- Mollymauk can technically drive and he does frequently, his car is always inches from a breakdown and he frequently gets distracted. Fjord is a great driver and owns a truck for no discernable reason. If Caleb ends up driving he usually dissociates into the middle distance, not dangerous just not as fun.

- Pumat Sol is the shops teacher that everybody loves. Kids will take shops specifically to hang out with him and make cool shit.

- Beauregard frequently gets in trouble for calling teachers fascists in class and Essek always agrees with her.

- If Beau and Essek are in an English class together they will often overtake the class with an argument. Essek reading into gay subtext, Beau reading into capitalism critique subtext, and Caleb trying to explain why they're both right. The Great Gatsby was a nightmare.

- Beau and Yasha spend ages flirting before finally making out at a party at which neither are drunk. They then go on to found the queer students club and are elected prom queens.

- One time Caleb expresses mild interest in learning a woodwind instruments and joining band. Essek adjusts his schedule to be five minutes late leaving class in case Caleb ever takes him up on his offer to teach him.

- Fjord and Veth are ruthlessly cruel to each other and anyone who doesn't know them would think they hated each other. However, there's a theatre kid named Marius Lepual who they both despise and frequently team up against.

- Molly and Essek run the school's rumor mill. They do a good job of telling Jester or Beth exactly the right tidbit of information to have things blown wildly out of proportion. By the end of any given week there are 5 different versions of the same rumor spreading and nobody knows what's true.

- Jester decides the group chat names.

- One time Yussa and Caleb end up making out at a party when Essek isn't there. He gets jealous and doesn't speak with either of them for two weeks.

- Jester's parents are the ones who will buy the alcohol as long as they promise to drink at home or call them if anything goes wrong.

- Astrid and Eadwulf have been Caleb's friends from middle school. They abruptly transfer to a different school across the city during grade 11 and Caleb is eventually adopted by Jester and Veth and inducted to the Nein after Jester dances with him at a school dance because he's sitting all by himself.

- Molly's catchphrase is 'i have a guy' and he can get anything. Your car ran out of gas at 3am and no stations are open? He'll be there in 15 minutes with a jerry can. You need a paper for 12th grade English on Catcher in the Rye? Give him a day.

- Mario Kart tournaments always devolve into Veth and one other member. Controllers have been thrown and friendships nearly ruined over blue shells.

- The year the Nein graduate the staff are so worried about their senior prank that they nearly cancel class. The prank doesn't happen and they're lulled into a false sense of security until the next fall when they retroactively pull off the most elaborate prank in the schools history.

- When the rest of the Nein are in the 11th grade Molly just fucks off for a year. None of them know where he went, they keep receiving oddly nondescript postcards telling them he's fine and having a blast. When he returns the next summer all he says when they ask where he was is "don't worry about it"

[criticalroleisdestroyingme]

Oh Death

She said to me

"Oh, Death

Come close my eyes, woah"

I know, I'm more fool than wise

After losing the Mighty Nein in Nicodranas, Astrid and Eadwulf are sent on their next assignment. Tracking a loose end in the Frozen North, they stumble across a few more surprises, and the pieces start to add up.

The aforementioned songfic of "Oh Death" by SUGR?. Canon divergent at the end of C2E131. Written from the perspective of a highly angsty Astrid with plenty of Blumendrei and Shadowgast. Advice for Essek based on this post by @slayerscake.

A note to those who count the words of Sending - I kept it accurate to where Matt took a pause for Astrid’s Sending back to Jester, of 26 and 24.

Read more below!

Oh, when I see her looking at me

You best believe

She's only looking past me

What a mess Bren left behind him before he again vanished to the North. It took a full day for Trent’s ire to settle from a raging forest fire into a controlled burn, sending his operatives to seek out their trail. Curiously, Trent did not allow any others into his vault to pick up any trace of Bren - he must have found the amulets, otherwise the search would have been simple. It didn’t take a spymaster to determine what else Bren must have spirited away to send him on such a determined chase, and Wulf quickly agreed that whether intentional or not, Bren now had in his possession the most damning evidence of the enhancements all Volstrucker wore beneath their skin.

Was this their chance to finally…? Bren hadn’t reacted the way she hoped during their meeting, eyebrows furrowing as she had quietly whispered her seditious musings in his ear. He didn’t trust her, didn’t trust them, of course he shouldn’t, Wulf added. She bitterly hoped their actions in Nicodranas would cement that trust, but maybe Bren no longer operated on their wavelength. He couldn’t, shouldn’t allow himself to trust his compromised classmates, only using them for his ends before moving on to that thing that was so much bigger, so much nobler. His eyes never truly met hers as they waltzed, staring through her skull, focused on his own goals, convinced he would be saving the world. She had shared the contents of the meeting with Wulf, of course, but not that wave of guilt that had surged through her for forcing her ambition onto him, collapsing in the alleyway after leaving the dancehall. He had moved on, had so many bigger things to deal with than the crimes of a single man and petty politics.

After dispatching two agents to the coast to board a ship, she was again summoned to Trent’s side with Wulf. Darktow, really Bren? The ruse had seemed so obvious from their clandestine conversation about his goal, but her master was determined to contain the leak and to Trent, no lead was worth overlooking. Trent had hissed that their next assignment was to pay a visit to that Crick loose end, since they were clearly too compromised to be trusted with more important missions. The traitor’s position was confirmed via scry to be in the heart of Eiselcross - fortuitous to be so near to Bren’s destination. Maybe after they dispatch the Shadowhand, they could seek him again, Wulf suggested, and finalize plans to rid the world of another corrupted mage.

She said to me

"Oh, Death

Come close my eyes, woah"

I know, I'm more fool than wise

Her trail goes cold a few hours after they pass through the mountain range ringing the crash site of Aeor, but they’re nearly to Kryn outpost, which was still the best place to check first. Recent reports indicated the drow was getting twitchy (reasonably so, she thought), so it came as no surprise that he had procured divination wards on his latest visit back to Ghor Dranas. Strange that he had not engaged them until after his position was reconfirmed in the frozen north, and the coincidence tickles the back of her mind. She and Wulf decide to press on towards the outpost regardless - to relay this to Trent before confirming the target’s position by eye would earn them a scathing reply.

Easily obscured by invisibility, they slip past the spires of ice ringing the Xhorhassian outpost once they arrive. After around fifteen minutes, they spot the Shadowhand as he exits his chambers and rushes to the storerooms, reemerging a few minutes later with supplies for travel and a heavier mantle. Good, it should be a simple task to take out him and whatever scouts accompany him, rather than dealing with the entire outpost. He lingers outside his chambers, discussing something with the captain of the guard too quietly to be heard from their position on the outskirts. Wulf creeps forward to listen in as she maintains her position, memorizing the guard patrols out of pure habit. She’s making a mental map of the outpost when a familiar but unexpected voice creeps in.

“It’s me… Jester-” whispers into her mind, followed by… a fit of giggles? “Hey, I don’t know if you’re alone. If.. you’re.. not-” another fit. How did Bren’s companions get anything done? “-and you’re following us…” the longest pause yet. Should she start her reply? What did the woman even want? As she opens her mouth to speak, eyes on the perimeter for any unforeseen patrols, it finally comes in. “Clear your throat,” she chokes out amid giggles, “if you’re not following us.”

“I’m so very…” lost? Disturbed? Overwhelmed by the lack of any meaningful information presented in those twenty-five words? “Confused.” She settles on. “What did you say?” Entertaining further conversation in spite of her location may not have been wise, but she couldn’t help herself, needing to know Bren’s next move.

“Sorry-” Warranted. “I need to know if you’re following us. If you know where we are. What’s the plan with you guys? Hope you’re alone! If you’re not-” the message cuts out. She rubs her temples, considering her response a moment. How to impress upon her the importance of what her party now carried with them, what she wanted them to accomplish? This was going to take more than one message, she thought, pulling her wire free from her components.

“A Volstrucker has never disentangled from Trent before. No one who knows what he does, how he breaks us, has shared their trauma with the world,” effortlessly continuing her response with another Sending, “with the king. Imagine the threat you are to him, now that you carry respect of both Crown and Kryn. So, yes,” she concludes, “he’s invested.” Was it enough? No further response.

“Who was that?” Wulf’s voice shocks her as he returns, still cloaked in his invisibility.

“Bren’s companions. The tiefling.”

“Ah,” he grunts. Lingers in silence for a moment. “Will he…?”

“I don’t know,” she admits. Glad to still be invisible, despite Wulf knowing exactly the look on her face. Probably has the same look on his. Her hand reaches out, contacting his upper arm blindly, then gives it a rub. “Later. Our target?”

“Too far, too quiet. Something about the ruin; an entrance his rangers are guarding.”

“Well then, we will have to make our move during his journey to them,” she replies, not keen on chasing this wizard into the depths of Aeor. A grunt of agreement, and they settle together, crouched on the icy ground, awaiting further movement of the traitor and his forces. A few more minutes and the guard captain nods and walks away, barking orders in Undercommon to his men, and the Shadowhand floats alone outside his door. His hand raises to knock, lowers, raises once more, then softly taps the door before opening it.

“He’s not alone in there,” Wulf interprets easily. She squints her eyes, trying to block the glare of the snow and ice to spot the reason for his hesitation, but the low-lit room gave up no secrets before the door closed behind him. Another minute and the door reopens, and neither Volstrucker notices the Shadowhand’s relaxed shoulders as he drifts out, sucking air through their teeth at the sight of who follows him.

Oh, I- I- I- I- I- I- I never wanted anything as little as I want this now

Oh, I- I- I- I- I take my pistol, gonna make you proud

“We should have known, we should have fucking known-” Wulf spits as they tail the group to the northwest, the pair’s white cloaks obscuring them well at this distance.

“Shh! Let me think.” Her words bite at her own tongue, mind racing. It was so obvious - Bren’s party spent so much time in Xhorhas, were so close to the Bright Queen herself that their word alone was enough to halt a full scale attack on the capital. Of course they would know the Shadowhand, at least know of him, and with their connection in the North from the Empire extinguished, of fucking course they would be allying with the Dynasty once more. The source of the Shadowhand’s protection from divination was now also unfortunately obvious - he had been recruited by the team to go stop the supposed end of the world.

This was going to get messy. It would be impossible to take out the Shadowhand without alerting Bren to their presence. How could they convince Bren to work alongside them to expose Trent if they ended up in battle against him? “Scheiße,” she hissed, Wulf growling in agreement.

She wondered what the Shadowhand would be getting in return for his assistance. Protection from the assassins hot on his trail? Yes, but surely this master manipulator would have gotten more out of the deal than that. The drow had fooled his entire country, betrayed his own religion, just for the sake of some arcane research.

She smirked, jaw clicking into place. That’s it. He’s a traitor to his own nation. Make him confess to it, surely Bren would want him dead as well after learning their ally was a conspirator with the Assembly, had stolen the beacons his group worked so hard to return to the Kryn. They could still make this work, and come out of Eiselcross both having completed their current mission and securing Bren, all of them, as allies in their next.

Wulf growled again, pulling her from her thoughts. Looking back at the Shadowhand, he had fallen in line with Bren and was conversing while they pressed onward, taking comfort in a glowing orb he held outside his mantle. Bren had moved in shoulder to shoulder with the drow, leaning in and wrapping his hand around the drow’s forearm in a supposed bid to get closer to the source of light. His group carried on ahead of them, saying nothing as they snuck glances back towards the pair. She felt her cheek burn where Bren had previously leaned his face on hers during their waltz. Wulf was saying something but the blood pounding in her head was far too loud.

She said to me

"Oh, Death

It's way too wet on your cheeks to be nothing"

But what does she know?

Really, what does she know?

The troupe had slowed for a short rest now, and she crept closer unthinking, Wulf trailing behind her. The cold wind whipped her hood back and pulled her light locks free, carrying snips of conversation back to them. “The- I’m sorry, the lesbians?”

“Yes, Yasha there and Expositor Lionett. They’re quite capable on the frontline, and often I find the best means of dealing damage to the enemy is through enhancing their abilities and staying out of sight. So ja, buff the lesbians.” Concluding with a pat on the Kryn’s forearm, Bren appeared to finally spot his hand’s location and jolt back, sheepish grin mirroring one she had not seen for years since she caught him and Wulf outside her dormitory door with a bottle of whisky and a proposal. That pink tint to his cheeks is visible from here, betraying his intentions so plainly. Betraying them. Betraying her.

“I- I see. Any other... tips I should be aware of?” the Shadowhand had asked, looking to the rest of the group and quickly pulling the orb back towards himself once Bren had released him, before thinking and proffering it to the others. Her own cheek stung still. To her side, Wulf reached over and too-gently touched it, rubbing away a layer of ice built up. The half-orc sat up from his resting point across from them, putting his hands towards the orb without any comment on the pair’s previous position.

“Ah, yes - while Jester is a cleric,” he intoned, leaning towards the blue tiefling gently, “try to go unconscious near Caduceus.”

“Fjord!”

“What?! You prefer a more… proactive approach to battle!”

Soothing with a hand on her shoulder, the gray firbolg also leans in and places a teapot atop the orb. “The Wildmother is interested in preserving the natural cycle of life, and if it is not your time, She will not let you pass. At least, not while I have anything to say about it.”

Bren had pulled away now, eyes softening as he looked between the drow and the rest of the group. She drew a wire from her pocket and she took a breath, steeling herself before casting Sending once more.

“Bren.” He stiffened stick-straight. “Do not be alarmed. Wulf and I are approaching your position.” She paused. “Just us. We wish to speak.” She does not trust herself to use the remaining words without stumbling.

“Caleb? Trent again? Or...” The Cobalt Soul expositor perked up, but Bren had lifted a hand to her and shook his head.

“Astrid.” Came clear into her mind as she heard the monk curse in the distance. “If it is just the two of you, please approach. I’m sure our company raises questions.” A pause of his own. “You could have told Jester you were here.”

Overlapping Bren’s voice, Wulf whispers, “What are you doing?” but she’s already stood tall and pushed her hair from her eyes.

“Just trust me.”

Oh, I- I- I- I- I never wanted it to be this way

Oh, you know I- I- I- I hold on to everything you say

“Shadowhand to the Bright Queen, Essek Thelyss. Please meet my, ah, associates Astrid and Eadwulf of the Dwendalian Empire.” Bren gestures. They had all stood as the Volstrucker approached, remaining in their previous circle, but the halfling had drawn her crossbow from her hip and the dark woman had also unsheathed a gleaming blade.

Careful with his words, as if his present company could be spooked like a horse, the Shadowhand spoke with low, smooth tones. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” His eyes betrayed his tone, flitting towards each of Bren’s group in turn. “To what do we owe this visit?”

She smiled coolly. “There is no need for deception here, Herr Thelyss. In fact, it would benefit us all to be forthright. You needn’t pretend this is our first encounter.”

These words should have shook the Kryn to the core, so blunt and expository, the jaws of her trap slowly ratcheting open. His demeanor had not shifted, however, as Bren glanced between the two. “Fair enough, Madam Beck.” The Nein jumped slightly at this, far more than her initial reveal. Had Bren never shared her last name with his companions? “And Mister Grieve, I assume you are well?”

“Well enough in this frozen waste,” was Wulf’s gruff reply, arms crossed to the left and slightly behind her, but within her field of view.

“Then please, join our circle,“ came Bren’s voice, shaking surely due to the cold. She stepped forward at the invitation, and took the space to his other side, the halfling stepping aside but cautiously keeping a hand on the base of her crossbow. “Come now, Veth, there’s no need for that among friends.” Wulf stepped through the circle, taking a position next to the firbolg he liked so much during that dinner before. “We have plenty to share, and I’m sure they do as well.”

Bren always had such a way with words, she thought. Certainly better than Wulf, a perfect voice to tug at one’s heartstrings. He could say so much with so little. If there is any love left between us, cursing his words as they came back to her. Perhaps he was even greater a manipulator than the spymaster to his right. Plenty of love was left, it seemed, but how much belonged to her?

“Ohmigosh Astrid, we are so happy to see you! Why didn’t you say you were close before? We could have been traveling together this whole time!“ the tiefling bubbled, a little too enthusiastically. She was no fool.

“My apologies, Jester.” She gave another cool smile, then directed her gaze around Bren to settle on the drow once more. “There were matters we had to confirm before we could make our presence known to you and Bren.” He stiffened alongside Bren, glancing down at the other wizard with a question in his eyes, and her smile turned slightly more predatory. “Herr Thelyss, might I inquire as to your business in Eiselcross? Seeking additional Beacons, I presume?”

The level of confusion did not rise in the group as she expected, however. The Shadowhand’s eyes narrowed and turned back to her as she pressed further. “Had the Martinet not already promised to share our research?”

“Astrid.”

Bren stepped forward, blocking her line of sight to the Kryn.

“Caleb, please.” A dark hand touched his shoulder (how dare he, her fingers twitched), pushing the man back towards his previous position. “Madam Beck,” he continued, “your insinuations would be quite dangerous in almost any circle but this one.” His shoulders back, he lifted slightly higher off the ground. “I am not interested in being toyed with. Clearly you were sent to dispose of me, so go ahead. Complete your business. But do not waste my friends’ time with your attempts to reveal that which is no longer concealed from them.”

He knew? Bren fucking knew? They all knew what this man had done and walked out into a frozen hellhole with him? Showed him trust, and affection of all things? Her mind swam, staring her target in his face as she searched for any fracture, any sign of weakness. He can’t possibly have told them everything. How could they forgive him for starting the war they had foolishly pledged to end on their own? How could Bren trust him, but not-

“It’s true, Astrid.” Bren said softly in that verdammt voice. “We caught on before the peace talks out at sea. Lord Dezran Thain,” he gave the honorific a teasing lilt, “was a bit too careless. He should not have chosen to be a lord in a city in which he did not know of its main attraction.” He smiled towards Jester.

“Yeah, I don’t know of a single person from Nicodranas who doesn’t know my mamma. Sorry Essek,” she winked at him. He gave an awkward smile in response. Silence hung over the group for a moment.

Wulf finally piped up again. “Well, you’re correct that we were here to kill the Shadowhand.” The group quickly tightened at his words, apart from the firbolg who still stood beside him casually, focused on making tea in that pot on top of the orb. “But... how we do that now is a mystery to me.” His lazy glance cast over her, then Bren, then narrowing briefly on the traitor. He gave a shrug as he unceremoniously sat in the snow. “So let’s talk.”

“Yes, I think there’s much to discuss,” the firbolg said, pulling the now-warm pot from the orb and beginning to pour cups. He smiled towards her sympathetically, somehow looking through her and reaching across the circle with a mug before sitting back and offering another to Wulf. She took it delicately, glancing at the pattern of soft petals on a dark branch.

As the other cups were passed out and the group slowly sat back down, Wulf popped open his flask and poured his whisky into the cup until it reached the brim, then capped it and flicked it across the circle to her. Barely looking up from the cup, she caught the flask mid-air with practiced precision, choosing to take a swig from it directly rather than sullying the tea. A calloused hand with blackened fingertips entered her view from the left as she tilted her head back down. Requesting, but not demanding. Too kind, too tender, and it made her heart ache as the liquor burned her throat. Not meeting his eyes, she passed the flask along.

“Prost.”

Oh, k- k- k- k- k- keep your pity to yourself

Oh, I'll make you wish that you didn't love someone else

[fluffmonger]

On Der Katzenprinz:

I've wanted to talk about this since Liam read the story thursday night, but today is the first time I've been able to sit down and look at the scene again. So! What is so important about this little fairytale besides the fact that he read it to Jester?

Caleb Widogast processes the world via stories. We have been shown this time and again, right from the first time he tells us anything about his past. "Let me tell you the story of how I killed my mother and father." He says, setting it up like an old tale. "Every Junge und Mädchen of the Empire knows the story of the dreaded Waldehexe" he says, and tells us how his childhood was stolen through this allegory. And later, this is confirmed, when the story appears in his tower, that this is a story near and dear to Caleb, that maybe he changed some but...

This leaves us with Der Katzenprinz. This is a story that he left in the tower, left with his friends as a way of telling them who he is, and what's shaped him. And of course he reads it, shares it, because it's a betime store meant to be shared, read aloud.

I've seen a few theories floating around that this is totally a secret story about Jester and the Traveler!! But I don't think that's the case, despite certain similarities. This is first and foremost a well worn tale, that Bren's mother, Una, read to him often as a child. It was likely a favourite story. And more often than not, our favourite stories are stories that we relate to.

Now I don't think it's as much if a 1:1 allegory as Die Waldehexe is. But I think it's fair to extrapolate some things from this. I believe Bren was a sickly or frail child, much like the boy in the tale. I think he was very close to his mother as well. In the story there is no father, and Caleb has mentioned his father was minor military. Between this, and some of how he comforts Luc before they leave with Veth a few times, I think it's fair to assume his father was often away in deployment, working for the Righteous Brand. And obviously, cats are Caleb's favourite animal to the point of being a special interest, it isn't hard to imagine young Bren with a flesh and blood cat, making him dance in his back paws with a. Little hat on his head.

It isn't hard to imagine him feeling weak compared to others, lonely, only reading the few books he could again and again, making up his own stories while practicing magic or letters or something else and his mother worked and father was away.

Which of course.... Begs the question, who was his Cat Prince? Was it perhaps Astrid and Eadwulf, finding him and pushing him to embrace life again after a period of illness? Was there a different fey? Or was the cat prince simply a metaphor?

Or could there be another connection, one we've only touched on lightly? Could his cat prince be a Corellon? A god of magic, springtime and the fey, a god who's power helped heal his broken mind, if what he remembers is true, which seems to be the case. Trent was shifty about whether he actually controlled those circumstances, it could have been a lie between the lines. Caleb is magic and stories, art and beauty, and everything Corellon stands for. He was raised in the light of the dawn father, and that has left its own scars. But he still has his stories. He is still telling them.

More than anything, the boy cared for his mother, and wanted to go back to her. And the prince let him go. The cat is not like trent or the assembly who demand loyalty beyond blood, who trap and hold and break. The cat prince heals, restores, brings hope and honors love. And I think that is why Caleb still holds this story close.

The pages are well worn. He was a sickly boy once, and then a broken man. But now he has danced again, as he once danced. He steps forward day by day with his friends. And he opens up, in little ways, he puts his heart into stories and says "here, let me show you this. Let me show you my heart and youth."

And of course Jester reaches back, pulling out the relation, the similarities to her own story, because she too knows the world through story and song. She who bought tusk love and invested in the idea of a fairytale practically the moment we met her. Stories can mean different things to different people, and that is their power. But at the core, there is one heart, and it is something that can be so personal, a way of being known without spelling things out.

Caleb relates to the world through stories, and Bren used stories to feed his hopes and dreams. And now Caleb passes these same stories to his friends. "Please know me. Please see me. This is my heart, be gentle with it."

[ladynightshade30]

Too Late for the Gods

Author’s Notes: It took me a long time to finish this. Mainly because I was working on getting my original story, Red, ready for my editor so I can publish that in the fall. But this is part of a soulmate A/U that I am working on called, “My Heart’s Lighter Soul” which I hope to have up at some point. Not 100% sure of this. I might go back later and rewrite the fight scene. But here ya go @fuchsiagrasshopper my entry for your celebration! Ivar/Eadwulf (OC) 

The constant shifting of Ivar disturbed her sleep and she moaned softly before he settled back down. She waited a moment before allowing herself to drift off to sleep again. Only to be awoken by more shifting from her husband.

“What’s wrong Ivar are you in pain?”

“No, my Sweet Fox just thinking.”

“About what?”

“Our life? And what will come next for us.”

Eadwulf sighed and sat up in bed looking down at her husband. His face lightly lined with age and his dark hair streaked with silver. They had been married for nearly thirty years and while it had been a rough start she did truly love him. And he was still as handsome as he was when they first met.

“And what about our life and our future is on your mind?” She asked, stroking his cheek.

“How well it’s gone.” He whispered, staring into her eyes. “I always worry that our Gods will take you from me. And I will be prevented from seeing you.”

She smiled. “I doubt you would allow that to stop you from seeing me.”

“What about you?”

“I told you I believe our Gods are friends and will allow us to be together even after the world ends.”

“Will you stay with me in Vahalla?”

She smiled, “Of course. I told you, I won’t let you be alone in this life or the next. I will always come to you sooner or later.”

Ivar dug his hand into her hair and pulled her closer for a deep kiss. She moaned against his lips and shifted in order to straddle his lap; while his hands pushed up the bottom of her nightdress. His hands trailed up the inside of her thighs and along her hips, over her back into her hair.

“I have never deserved your love,” he whispered when they pulled apart to breathe.

She shifted, causing him to groan as she sat up careful of his legs before admitting. “Perhaps not at first but you do now, my Snake.”

“I want you to come with me.”

“Where?”

“On the boat. When I die. I want you at my side. Not just a slave but you as well.”

“I’m not fucking your men when you die Ivar, so you had better hope we die close enough together to be on the boat with you.”

“You better not woman.” Ivar grinned as he pressed his lips against her neck. “And I feel it in my gut that you and I will die on the day.”

“Do you?”

“Yes. Have you not heard I have the same gifts as my mother.”

“I am sure you do.” Eadwulf groaned as he trailed kisses down to her shoulder.

“Ivar!” Hvitserk shouted barging into the room.

Ivar scowled and turned his attention to his brother. “This had better be good brother.”

“We’ve gotten word of assassins in the area.”

“What?” scowled Ivar, gently pushing Eadwulf off of his lap. “Do you know who they want to assassinate?”

“We managed to capture one but as of right now he is refusing to speak.”

“Take me to him,” Ivar said as he climbed from the bed and pulled on his braces.

“Be careful both of you,” Eadwulf said as they headed out the door.

“Don’t worry about us dear wife,” Ivar said before turning to the guards. “Make sure no one gets in.”

“Yes, my king.”

Eadwulf sighed and slipped deep beneath the covers trying to return to sleep until Ivar returned to her side.

“Who sent you?” Ivar asked again as he stared at the man who was secured to a chair and bleeding pretty much everywhere.

“Go to hell heathen,” he gasped.

Ivar rolled his eyes and nodded to his brother who drew a long slash against his chest causing the man to bite back a scream. “I admire your courage, Christain. You would have made a good Viking. But it’s alright to let go now.”

The man’s reply was to spit in his general direction.

“I have a feeling he won’t talk brother.” Ubbe said. “Let’s stop wasting our time and just kill him and see if there are any more.”

Ivar stared at the man. “Send him to his god.”

Ubbe nodded and made one final slice through the man’s throat.

“Keep me updated,” Ivar said. “I am going to check on Edawulf.”

“I’ll go with you,” Hvitserk said as some of the men dragged the corpse away. “We still don’t know how many more there are.”

“There is no need for you to accompany me.”

“Ivar take him with you.” Ubbe said before adding. “He will be one more person to protect Eadwulf.”

“I don’t need help protecting my wife.” scowled Ivar.

“Ivar.”

“Fine,” Ivar grumbled, storming off with Hvitserk following behind.

“Now,” Ubbe said to one of the guards at the door. “Let’s get rid of this trash.”

Ivar and Hvitserk had barely made it back to the longhouse when they were attacked and quickly separated by more men, which quickly turned into a brawl in the brothers’ favor.

“Who sent you?” Ivar screamed into the face of one of the men. “Who are you here to kill!”

“Ivar!”

Ivar froze at the sight of Eadwulf in the arms of one of the other men. “Release her!”

The distraction was enough for the other men to grab hold of him and his brother keeping them both from going to her. 

“Give me a reason I should release the traitorous whore!” The man replied, digging the knife into her skin until he drew some blood. “You should want her dead so she can continue to spread her legs for you from her throne in hell.”

Ivar snarled and threw his head back, breaking the nose of the man beside him. The action was enough for him to throw one of his knives at the man holding his wife. As the man dropped to his knees choking on his own blood he brought Eadwulf with him, slicing her throat open. 

“No!” Ivar screamed.

“You bastards!” Hvitserk snarled from where he was being held.

Eadwulf lay in a pool of her own blood as it poured from the wound and escaped her mouth as she choked on it. One of the men holding Ivar back, slammed his foot into the back of his knee, breaking the bone and causing Ivar to collapse to the ground where he repeated the action with his other leg. The man grabbed hold of Ivar’s hair and pointed at his wife. 

“We are going to kill you Ivar the Boneless, but first we are going to give you the honor of watching your wife die and then we will desecrate her corpse.”

Ivar screamed in fury and slammed a knife through the man’s jaw, ripping it out violently. He then threw the man to the side and crawled over to his dying wife. But the remaining man followed him and just as he was about to reach her he slammed his sword through Ivar’s chest.

“Try reaching her now,” He mocked only to start gurgling as he fell over with an arrow sticking out of his back more arrows came sailing freeing Hvitserk.

“Ivar! Eadwulf!” Ubbe shouted running to his brother’s side with others not far behind.

Hvitserk scrambled to his brother’s side and helped him over to where Eadwulf lay and joining their hands together

The hand on Ivar’s shoulder roused him and he blinked staring up at Odin.

“Allfather,” he breathed.

“It’s time to go.” He said as he pulled Ivar to his feet.

Ivar looked down at his dead body and turned his attention to Eadwulf, who was standing beside a tall man with dark skin and hair. His golden-brown eyes were staring at them as if he knew every little secret they both held and his lips were turned upwards into a warm smile.

“Allfather,” the man said, nodding to Odin.

“Nazarian,” responded Odin.

The Nazarian turned his attention to his wife and placed a hand on her shoulder. “It is time to go now Child. Do not worry you will see your husband again soon.”

Eadwulf nodded and stepped forward to give Ivar a kiss before she allowed the man to lead her away.

“Worry not,” Odin said to Ivar. “The Nazarian is right. You two will indeed meet again.”

Ivar nodded and felt himself being lifted up into the air before the earthly world and his brothers were lost to him.

When he woke next he found himself in a field staring up at the blue sky.

“You’re awake,” Eadwulf said excitedly appearing at his side.

“I guess you were right,” he said with a grin holding her against him. “Nothing will keep us apart.”

[ariadne-mouse]

prompt 23 for caleb and astrid maybe?

#23 - a hug that some might consider ~too long~ (815 words, bittersweet)

When a new branch of the Angel of Irons cult sprang up in Rexxentrum, the Mighty Nein found unusual allies in Astrid and Eadwulf.  The pair had showed up out of the blue - to a site the Nein had thought secret - to offer their assistance.

They were powerful.  If the scars on Caleb’s arms were evidence of Trent Ikithon’s long history of experimenting with magical augmentation, the tattoos on Astrid’s and Eadwulf’s arms were evidence of his success. They seemed to have extra spell slots when they shouldn’t, and could cast lower-level spells to a disproportionately devastating effect.

Caleb was grateful that these abilities were focused on a common enemy.  However, he knew that their demonstration was an implicit warning of what would happen if the Mighty Nein decided to turn against Trent Ikithon directly.  By the way Astrid and Eadwulf kept a close eye on him, making sure he was watching - he knew it was also an invitation.

You could have this power too, their eyes said. Come home, and it’s yours.  Come home to us.

It would be a lie to say some part of Caleb didn’t desperately want it.  Not the residuum tattoos, necessarily, but everything that they represented: that old scars could give way to new power, that old bonds could be repaired.  That what was lost could be regained.

By now, however, Caleb’s desires were far more complicated than that.

I have found a home in the Mighty Nein, he thought.  Something new.  Something good.  There is more than one path forward.  Mine will never include going back to Trent Ikithon.

As much as Astrid and Eadwulf wanted to convince him to stay, Caleb wished equally that he could sway them away from Trent’s employ.  They were not unthinkingly loyal - in fact, he imagined there was very little loyalty in the reasons they stayed with him - but he knew they would be difficult to persuade.

Caleb tried anyway.  He had always been weak for those he loved.

When the new Angel of Irons sect had been dealt with, he pulled Astrid and Eadwulf aside and made his case.  Eadwulf clapped him on the shoulder, companionable and kind.  His refusal, too, was companionable and kind.  Be careful, he said in his gruff baritone.  More warning than threat, Caleb thought.

Astrid lingered.  For a few moments, she and Caleb simply looked at each other.

Caleb felt a sharp pang, remembering the years they’d both left far behind.  Precious moments stolen together.  Shared dreams.  She knew what he had been before Trent Ikithon had twisted and broken him.  He knew what she had been, too.  He could still see glimmers of that girl in the woman before him.

“Don’t let Ikithon destroy you,” Caleb pleaded. “He will, if you let him.”

“He underestimates me,” Astrid replied, smiling slightly.  There was a teasing glint in her eye. “Careful you don’t do the same.”

“I would never,” Caleb replied. “I have never.  But his game - it doesn’t matter how powerful you are.  If you play with his rules, you lose.  Everyone loses.  Our country.  Our home.  Our people.  They lose, too.”

His frustration must have shown on his face, because she sighed, her gaze full of a gentle sadness.  

“I know that you’ve suffered,” she said. “But what we’re building will be better.”  Caleb hated the cotton-swaddled softness of it.  He wanted her to scowl, to be angry, to show him she understood the way Trent Ikithon spread rot wherever he went, whatever he touched.  

He shook his head. “Not if he has any part in it.”  He put his hands on her shoulders, imploring. “Come with me, Astrid, please. Don’t help him do to others what he did to us.  Help me fight him, and heal the awful wound he’s made in our country.”

Astrid tilted her head, eyes full of compassion, but still unmoved. “You can’t save the girl I was,” she told him, cupping his cheek.  “Anymore that you can save the boy you were, Bren.”  

“I know,” he said.  “It’s not about that.”

They stood at a stalemate for a long moment.

“I should be getting back,” Astrid said.

“This is goodbye, then.” Caleb replied.

They embraced.  It was a familiar motion - muscle memory untouched by the long years.  Caleb tried to put all his unspoken words into it.  All his regrets.  Their shared youth was like last year’s rosebuds preserved in an old book: precious and fragile, a memory frozen in time.  It would fall apart if they handled it too much.

He held on as long as Astrid would let him.  But when she pulled away, he let her go.

“Be seeing you,” she said, that glint back in her eyes. 

Caleb knew the next time they met would likely be on opposite ends of a battlefield, one way or another.

“Good luck,” Caleb replied. “You’ll need it.”