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starryserenade · 1 year

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Myth and Magic: Prologue

Description: When Tir na NÓg--the fabled land of the fae--falls to a dark power, the destinies of two young mice are set in motion. As each struggle to make their way in an ever-darkening world, they must learn to trust one another, or risk forever losing that which they hold most dear.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44709304/chapters/112488658

Next Chapter: Coming Soon

Ribbons of twilight stretched along the sky, streaming through the clouds to make way for the first layer of stars to breach the horizon. The pink hue settled on the ground below in glowing pools mixed alongside seas of grass. Sailing over them were two horses and their riders, cutting through the breeze with ripples of fabric trailing behind them. Though the expanse that surrounded them was clear and green, it was towards a darker place they rode—a forest that seemed to divide the world in two, with trees whose branches grasped at the light outside its borders.

As the riders neared this stark divide, the horses whinnied and reared up, flaring their nostrils in defiance and nearly throwing their masters from their backs. Skillfully, the two maneuvered the reins and managed to calm their steers, coming to a halt at the foot of the forest.

One of the two-a mouse dressed in a soft, green dress-slid off first. She was tiny, not even three feet tall, and so had a ways to travel when she leapt to the ground. This, however, did nothing to deter her grace. Her slippers landed on the grass with barely a sound as the streams of fabric round her dress fluttered about her ankles. Her friend was a bit less subtle, and looking to see there were no others about, undid the outer layer of dress so as to move about more freely, then jumped to the earth with a thud. As she brushed her skirt and corset off, the mouse cast her a glare and placed her hands on her hips.

“Really, Daisy?”

“What?” The duck glared back. “This is your party, not mine. I’m just here because you so desperately wanted me to meet your mysterious suitor. Besides, if there are any other handsome fairy bachelors, who am I to deny them a good view?” She scoffed sarcastically, landing the point with a decided shake of her tail feathers.

At this, the mouse’s frustrated look shifted into one of disappointment. “You still don’t believe me, do you?” She muttered.

Daisy, who had not meant any real harm, realized how her words had struck, “Well, I…” she sighed, then continued. “Listen, Minnie, it’s just…they’re fairies. Heavens forbid I don’t believe they exist–’course they do–but you’ve heard the stories. They’re tricky. They can make you think and feel all manner of things that aren’t-”

“True?” Minnie interrupted, lifting an eyebrow. “I’m not blinked if that’s what you’re trying to say.” She fiddled with the fabric of her dress and looked into the shadows of the forest, letting out a soft puff of air. “I know what it must look like, but…I’ve never felt this way before. Not about anyone. My whole life I’ve done nothing but what’s been asked of me, but right now I have the chance to make a choice of my own. If I go back to the castle tonight…if I go through with what they want me to do…I’ll lose that chance forever.”

They were both quiet for a moment, then Daisy chuckled and threw up her hands in surrender. “Okay, I admit it, you’ve got me there. Even if we do get trapped forever in the dark and unforgiving depths of the fae realm, it’s better than spending the rest of your life with Mortimer.”

“Oh, I knew you’d understand!” Minnie laughed, a wide smile gracing her face as she flung herself into a hug.

Daisy just grinned and playfully rolled her eyes, then the two turned to face the forest together. By now, the sky was a darkening shade of velvet blue and moonlight had begun to peak out from behind the clouds. “Sooo…” Daisy started, clicking her beak. “How are we supposed to find this fairy land of yours?”

From somewhere within the forest, an owl screeched, and Minnie turned to answer her friend with a wink. “Just follow me, got it?” Ignoring Daisy’s incredulous look, she pulled something from her pocket-an emerald figure of intertwining knots–and held it to her lips. She let out a soft, indiscernible whisper as she breathed against the crystal then lifted it to the sky. A beam of moonlight landed on its surface and sparkled in the center, and for a moment, it was as if all sound and motion had escaped from the earth. Then the light within the figure ran along each branch of shimmering crystalline and released a burst of light that stirred up the wind into an uproar. The leaves from the trees before them were caught up in its wake, and surrounded each of the two girls in a spiral of green. Daisy opened her beak to let out a cry of surprise, but the rushing wind carried it far from Minnie’s ears. She simply closed her eyes, smiled softly, and held her hand to her chest as the sudden storm overtook them.

When the wind had calmed a few moments later, Minnie opened her eyes and let out a gasp of joy at the sight that met them. “Daisy!” she hissed, nudging her friend who was cowering with her hands clasped over her head.

“Is it over?” the duck squawked loudly, and Minnie laughed.

“Just look!”

Daisy carefully opened one eye then, face struck with wonder, stood straight and took in the view. “Janey Mac…” she whispered.

It was as if time had rewound, for the sky before them was lit with twilight once again. The line of trees had grown tenfold and seemed otherworldly, with veins of gold and silver running through their trunks and into branches that swayed with leaves of every kind of precious stone. Rivers of moonlight wove through grassy hills of auburn grass, bridges of skillfully etched opal lining a way overtop them and into paths that stretched between an endless expanse of enormous fauna–mushrooms, ferns, and lily-of-the-valleys that fluttered gently in the breeze.

Daisy took a step backwards and Minnie caught her wrist, prompting the duck to glance behind her. If the divide between the hillside and forest had been stark before, it was cavernous now. The blanket of night still covered the world from which they’d come, and there was not a hint of magic even just steps behind where they stood.

“We’re on The Brink,” Minnie explained, and nodded towards the world ahead. “Once we enter the forest, we’ll cross over into Tir na nÓg.”

At first lost for words, the duck cast a nervous look behind her, then shrugged and let out an exasperated sigh. “Can’t well turn back now, can we?”

The mouse smiled and nodded then, each taking a deep breath, they stepped forward into the fairy plane. The world shuddered, and the place behind them was transformed, the fairy world now overtaking their entire view.

“You know…maybe getting trapped in the fairy realm wouldn’t be so bad, after all,” Daisy murmured, eyeing a rose blossom that was so bright it seemed to be made of rubies. At this, Minnie wrinkled her nose and nudged her pointedly with her elbow.

“Daisy! We can take the tour later,” the mouse scolded, then looked about her. A hint of uneasiness fell over her face as she did. “It’s strange…” she whispered.

Daisy narrowed her eyes. “What is?”

“He usually meets me here…” Her voice trailed off with a quiver of nerves. “Something’s not right.”

“Maybe he’s just running late?” Daisy prompted distractedly.

“No. No, he wouldn’t be. Not today. This was…well…” She wrung her hands then flicked her tail, flashing a smile. “Nevermind. I’m sure you’re right.

But Daisy’s curiosity had been piqued, and was not easily quelled. “No, wait. What were you going to say?”

“It doesn’t matter.” The mouse waved off the question. “Let’s get on, the palace isn’t far. If he’s not here, that’s where he’ll be.” She ushered the reluctant duck away from a glittering patch of diamond-crested bluebells. The path they took led them through thicker foliage, and all manner of mystic creatures began to appear from within the shadows, eyes glittering as they watched the two mortal visitors. Minnie walked ahead, the glass amulet clutched in her hands, unphased by their watchers. Daisy, on the other hand, moved with ruffled feathers, nervously glancing at everything that moved.

“So…” she spoke eventually, breaking the deafening silence and jogging to catch up with Minnie, who had been uncharacteristically quiet. “All the time I’ve known you, and you’ve never once mentioned this prince of yours.”

Minnie cast her an empty glance, as if she’d just been shaken from deep within her thoughts, then, realizing what had been asked, giggled lightly and slid the amulet back into a pocket of her dress. “You may be my best friend, but you’re horrible at keeping secrets. The whole clan would’ve known by morning.”

Daisy gasped in mock offense, and opened her mouth to argue then closed it just as quick and shrugged. “Right, fair. But…” She bounded in front of Minnie and batted her eyelashes. “I know now, so you might as well tell me everything. Like…where and how did you meet?”

A light breeze fluttered through the ferns and the canopy above their heads, sending a whirlwind of jasper leaves down on them. Minnie looked up through the vortex, the dappled light dancing upon her muzzle. “When I was younger,” she breathed, just loud enough to be heard above the river they were following. “Father used to take me into the forest and tell me stories about the fae who lived there. About how they cared for all the lost and broken things of this world, and could turn sorrow into sadness. He said they would protect me too, so long as I believed. But when he fell ill…” The mouse’s tail had fallen into a sorrowful lull, and she walked several steps in silence before taking another breath. “Mortimer blamed the fairies. You remember, don’t you? He had snares placed all around the forest.”

“We thought him mad,” snorted Daisy. “And he never caught a thing.”

“Not mad, just wicked,” Minnie snarled, then lowered her voice. “But he did. Once.”

Daisy stopped in her tracks, mouth gaping open. “No!” she gasped, dumbfounded. “You ’don’t mean-”

Minnie nodded. “The night father died–the same night I learned of my fate to be married to that slimy gaimbín –I went back to the forest, to the place father had first taken me when I was young. That’s where I found…him. His wing had been twisted in one of Mortimer’s iron nets. And the cruel thing…it was killing him. So of course I cut him loose, and-” She paused and bit her lip, trying to form words for something she wasn’t quite sure how to describe. “Oh, Daisy,” she murmured, face flushing a deep red. “I’d not met him once in my life but the moment I saw those eyes, I was certain I knew him. It was like all of father’s stories had come to life right in front of me.”

Her tail ribboned behind her in pure bliss, until she caught sight of Daisy staring at her with a dumbstruck look in her eyes. “Er…sorry,” she mumbled, tucking a tuft of fur behind her ear. “I suppose I got a bit carried away there.”

But Daisy simply burst into a fit of laughter, swiping an amused stream of tears from her cheek with one hand and leaning up against a table-sized mushroom with the other.

“Well, you don’t have to be rude about it!’ Minnie snapped, firmly planting her hands on her hips.

“No, no, no,” the duck wheezed, struggling to catch her breath. “It’s just…all those days I caught you acting pure ossified without a sniff of juice about you…it all makes sense now! You were in love!”

At this, Minnie blushed an even darker shade of crimson.. “Wha-?! Was I that obvious?”

“You’re lucky everyone thinks you’re so sweet, else it would have been clear as crystal you were up to something…either that, or you’d been blinked. You had me fooled for a bit!”

Groaning, Minnie buried her face in her hands and took up a brisk pace, pushing a tall clump of crimson ferns out of their way. “Ugh, let’s just keep walking,”

“Hey, wait! One more thing!” panted Daisy as she pulled herself together just enough to keep up. “Why now? What’s so special about this visit that you wanted to take me with you?”

“Well…” the girl fiddled with the fabric of her skirt before looking over her shoulder with a nervous grin and a hesitant reply. “You’ll see.”

She did not give Daisy a chance to respond, and instead darted ahead, weaving through a luminescent clump of mushrooms and moss. “We’re nearly there!” She called. “Keep up!” Minnie’s countenance had shifted quite suddenly, and her nervousness from before seemed to have melted into a joyful excitement the further they pushed through the forest. Fairy creatures were not the only ones watching now, for the fae are drawn to pleasure and happiness, and so the fairies themselves had begun to emerge from their hiding places. Tiny pixies with light of all colors crept out from behind the flora to join in a glittering dance. Several druids, their bodies made entirely from wood–aspen, cedar, and pine–shook their heads in awakening and scattered leaves from their crowns. And elven-looking folk with wide, feathered wings and twisted horns peered at the girls from the tops of the trees.

Following the river, Minnie bounded over stones with a carefree essence that had been reserved for far too long, only glancing behind her every now and then to be sure Daisy was still following. She was, though not without a few unfortunate splashes in the shallow waves. As they progressed, the river narrowed until it was little more than a small stream. And at the end of its reach, its waters branched out into a lake filled with glittering stars. Daisy gasped and Minnie smiled as it came into view, for at its center lay a palace unlike any on the mortal plane. It was not a castle made of brick and stone, but an enormous oak tree with branches that reached far past the clouds and a trunk whose size surpassed even some mortal cities. Magic swirled up and down its bark, and thousands of tiny lights twinkled within its leafy canopy.

As they approached, two fairies, each about the same size as the girls, came swooping down to meet them, scattering an array of feathers across the shoreline. “His Majesty awaits you,” they spoke in unison, then parted and gestured towards the lake. The waters split immediately, creating a clear path towards the tree.

“There’s no need for formalities!” Minnie laughed, waving at the guards as though they were old friends. But they did not say a word, and simply side-eyed each other when she spoke. Awkwardly, Minnie rubbed her arm and moved along towards the new pathway, gesturing for Daisy to follow. “Right then…” she mumbled. “That was strange.”

“Did you know them?” Asked Daisy, flashing a wink back at one of the guards who, though visibly confused, proceeded to blush profusely.

“Yes, quite well,” she replied breathlessly, a flash of worry striking her eyes as they passed through the waters and disappeared from view. “They didn’t seem to recognize me though, did they?”

“Not a bit.”

They walked in silence for a moment, but when the base of the tree came into view, Minnie paused and pursed her lips. Looking left and right, she pulled the amulet from her dress and held it out to her friend. “I want you to keep this for me,” she whispered. “I trust the prince with my life, but something doesn’t seem right. If anything happens, you must keep this safe.”

“If something happens?” Daisy stared at the amulet then at her friend. “What do you mean, ‘if something ha-”

But before she could finish, the sound of a creaking doorway was heard, and the massive wooden gate cracked open. Minnie shoved the amulet in Daisy’s palm, and whipped forward to face the doorway head on. “Hide it!” she hissed under her breath, prompting Daisy to shove the emerald figure in her corset. “And if anyone offers you something to eat, do not take it.”

Minnie stepped forward and bowed lightly to each guard as she stepped into the castle. Daisy clumsily followed suit, happening to look up at one of the guards as she did. They were far different than those from across the lake, their faces concealed behind dark masks that made them seem more like shadows than fae. Daisy shuddered, flirtatious countenance instantly dissolved, and followed Minnie inside as quickly as she could.

The moment they crossed the threshold, the door behind them vanished, and they found themselves seated in a brightly lit banquet hall. The room was made of twisted pillars of wood, each flecked with diamonds that caused the light to bounce off them in a dreamlike gleam. Fairies of all kinds laughed and danced around the table at which they were sat, its surface littered with all manner of tantalizing dishes. And at the back of the hall, up a flight of stairs, an empty throne sat overlooking the revelry. Minnie was too busy staring at this throne to notice when Daisy reached for a crimson glass of wine, and by the time she had turned around, her friend was holding an empty glass.

“Daisy!” she cried out. “What did I tell you?”

“What?” The duck rolled her eyes, then flashed a curious wink, and Minnie couldn’t help but notice that her own glass was suddenly twice as full as the others. “You said not to eat anything.”

Before Minnie could argue, a fairy in an elegant hooded robe had approached them from behind and held out another glass filled to the brim, which Daisy quickly snatched. At first glance, Minnie’s heart leaped, for dressed in royal robes she had only ever seen one fairy wear, she was certain this fae was the one for which she had waited. But then she caught a glimpse at the wings to his back and in that moment, her breath might as well have left her. Before he had even removed his hood, she had stood, slamming her palms down on the table so that it shook the glassware and nearly toppled her own cup. “Who are you?” she hissed, face as red as the wine on the table.

The ballroom silenced. For just as much as the fae adore revelry, they despise anger and sadness. But the mysterious fairy looked at her, calm and collected, without a hint of surprise on his face. “Princess,” he chuckled. “You came all the way to Tir na nÓg, and don’t even know when the king himself is serving you?”

At this, she drew back, then leaned in with a scowl on her face. “The fairy realm has no king,” she spat. “Not yet. That was going to change today.” She held his stare as she spoke, eyeing his every feature with distrust. He was short, even smaller than she was, save for the rabbitlike ears atop his head which added at least a foot to his height. Despite this, there was a bitter pridefulness about him, and he did nothing but laugh despite his accusation.

“You’re mistaken, though you shouldn’t be blamed. The fae realm can do all sorts of things to a mortals’ mind.”

At this, Minnie scoffed and whirled around to face the rest of the fairies in the hall. “You all know me!” She cried. “And I know that this-’ she gestured to the fairy “king”. “-is not the prince you all care for! Don’t you remember?”

The fairies all glanced at one another but showed no signs of recognition, and looked at Minnie with empty eyes. Seeing them, Minnie took a step back against the table, her shoulders slumping. “What’s wrong with them?”

The king’s sneer melted into a snarl, and he stepped closer to the mouse, the broken horn atop his head gleaming like a shattered dagger. “Your prince does not exist here, and he never has. My advice to you? Follow your friend’s lead,” He gestured to Daisy, who seemed to have downed another glass of wine. “Eat, drink, be merry! Then wake in the morning and let this place become nothing more than a distant dream.”

Minnie glanced at Daisy, then back at the king.

This time, a dark shadow fell across his eyes, and he lowered his voice so that no others could hear. “I know why you came here,” he growled. “The lovestruck princess so desperate to escape her fate that she would abandon friends and kingdom alike just for a chance at freedom..”

“That’s not-” she gasped, taken aback by his claims.

“Oh, please,” he countered sharply. “You know it is. And you know what?” he leaned in, speaking even more hushed than before. “If your prince ever did exist, I’d say he made the same mistake.”

Minnie’s eyes widened, pools of fear and heartache as she realized what his words implied. “What have you done to him?” she choked, her breaths quickening.

“Oh, it’s all right, though,” the rabbit continued. “I wouldn’t dream of leaving you with such painful memories. Fairies have their own, special way of dealing with unpleasant emotions.” He stared at her dead on,, and past all the anger and cruelty, she could have sworn she saw pain in those eyes. “They forget.”

Minnie pushed back her chair and tried to run, but two of the shadowy fae–red eyes glittering beneath their masks–grabbed her by the wrists and kept her from moving an inch, no matter how she writhed.

Seeing this, Daisy rose from her seat, reaching for a dagger that strapped to her hip. “Princess!” she called out, sounding surprisingly attentive for the number of drinks she had consumed.

“Daisy!” Minnie screeched as loud as she could. “Daisy, run!”

“But-”

But no sooner had Daisy begun to protest than the king himself waved his hand. Her friend vanished, and the glass she had been holding crashed to the ground in a crimson pool. A look of horror flashed across her face, but the king scoffed. “She’ll be fine. Your friend will wake in her bed with a headache and no memory of where she got it–a quite common occurrence for her, I’d imagine.”

But now, even the room itself had begun to shift. Ornate walls and bright lights vanished, until they had turned to shattered stone and creeping moss.. When she blinked again, the fairy world had gone entirely, and surrounding them was nothing more than a mortal ruin–a stone castle with crumbling walls sitting atop a fog-ridden island. Minnie swallowed, looking down at the lake’s waves that lapped far below the turret on which they stood.

“Mortals have no place alongside fairies,” said the king, lifting the jewel before her eyes. “So you will forget you ever came to our realm. You will forget Tir na nÓg, and you will forget your prince.”

Taking a deep breath, he muttered some words in the fairy tongue, and a snaking thread of shadow appeared from the jewel. It rose like a plume of smoke at first, weaving aimlessly in the air. But then, slowly, it crept towards Minnie, hovering like a serpent about to strike.. “No…” she whimpered, eyes locked on the thread of magic as she tried desperately to escape the grip of her captors.

But the curse slithered forward, deaf to her pleas. And with a flick of the king’s wrist, it leapt forward and pierced her mind. She gasped, all the air driven from her body as she fell to her knees, opening her mouth to scream for a name she could no longer remember. Through the haze, she saw the king turn his head. And in that moment, she drew every ounce of her strength to pull free from the cold hands that bound her. She stumbled backwards as the fae lost their grip, but her mind was still a fog. By the time she had noticed the stone crumbling beneath her feet, it was too late. There was a rush of wind and mist, and then the icy waters of the lake surrounded her.

The world slowed as a deep chill took hold. Minnie, too cold and too overcome by grief to fight it, let it take her. She blinked, watching as the light filtered through the top of the waves and grew ever-distant. A peace rested in the darkness, and she longed to give into it. But a greater pain lay in her heart that would not let her rest, a loneliness that called to a soul she didn’t know, but could feel. Though she fought to cling to that feeling, the waters were winning the battle. Shadow flitted at the corners of her vision, growing darker all the time.

Then a voice like a deep whisper shuddered through the waters.

Are you the one?

Minnie was silent, certain she had merely imagined the sound. But then the fog in her brain dispersed every so slightly, and the voice continued.

I see your heart. You have lost something great.

Minnie hesitated, unsure of how, or if, she should respond.

Y-yes…but I can’t remember what. She thought at last, squinting through the water to try and catch a glimpse of the source of the noise, but it seemed to come only from her thoughts.. Can you tell me?

I cannot. The curse that binds you is great.

Then what can you do?

I can give you a second chance. There is another who seeks you, though he does not know it.

Is he the one I’m looking for?

…You must find that out for yourself.

Bubbles had begun to rise up from the bottom of the lake, and Minnie glanced nervously beneath her. The burning in her lungs had become nearly unbearable.

What do I have to do?

Wait. Guard these waters, and wait for his return. Do you accept my offer?

The mouse flicked her tail, desperate for air but even more desperate for answers.

Wait? For how long? What do you mean by bound?

Do you accept? The voice repeated.

Minnie’s vision had begun to fade once again, numbness spreading along her body as the clutches of death crept close.

Do you accept? The voice emphasized one, final time. And Minnie, with her last bit of strength, pulled a hand to her aching heart and muttered a single word in answer.

“Yes.”

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nerevar-quote-and-star · 1 year

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I Didn't Know You Were Keeping Count - Part II: Raven

ao3

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Shout out to the fantastic @ravenmind2001 for reading over this and keeping me from going nuts.

Taglist:

@ravenmind2001 @incorrectskyrimquotes @uwuthrad @dark-brohood @owl-screeches @binaominagata @dakatmew @constantfyre @kurakumi

#######

Delphine’s face contorted into incredulous confusion. “She’s a Blade.”

“Yes,” Esbern nodded, having already gone over this with her a couple of times. He didn’t seem to mind, though. He looked happy enough to have reunited with both women away from the danger of the Thalmor.

Leara, for her part, sat in a corner, polishing the curved steel of her katana. They left Riften just over a week ago, taking the roads at night and sleeping in the brush during the day. Every day for over thirty years was a new lesson in survival, but roughing it through the wilderness was something she’d not done since her escape from Skingrad before the end of the Great War. She took the hunter’s trail through the Jeralls. Between Esbern’s compass spell, her clairvoyance anchored to Riverwood, and her Blade’s memory of her previous trip through, they made it in due time to reach the Sleeping Giant Inn by the end of the month.

Delphine was waiting for them. Just Delphine.

Leara never thought she’d be so glad to see the stubborn Knight-Sister, but the feeling was soon dismissed when Delphine could do nothing but gape after Esbern revealed Leara was once a Blade herself. Leara was simply glad that Delphine didn’t have to know about her history in the Dominion. The mission had been so secret that the only record of it that the Grandmaster ever gave the chronicler was that she was relocated from Cloud Ruler to Alinor for reconnaissance. Anything more was need-to-know and there was no one left alive who needed to know. Not anymore.

She traced the engraved glyphs on her blade with the pad of her finger, deep in thought. She nearly missed Esbern’s scrambling for one of his books as he spoke in a rushed, almost absent whisper about Alduin’s Wall and an ancient Akaviri temple.

“I know where it is,” he was saying, flipping through his notes. "Ah, yes. The entrance seems to be near to what's now known as the Karthspire. We'll have to see what we find when we arrive."

Delphine nodded, “Then let's go.”

·•★•·

They took the Falkreath road to the Reach, the cover created by the pines and mists offering more protection than the open tundra of Whiterun. Leara and Delphine shouldered the brunt of the night watches, taking turns to peer into the shroud of night beyond their little camps. Fires were kept small and low burning, just enough to cook the occasional rabbit and ward off the damp chill that sank into their bones each night. They avoided the roads. While Leara had no choice in the inevitability of showing her face in public, the threat of being hunted by the Thalmor bound the three Blades into the shadows. Eerie noises followed them through the forest, strange lights appearing and disappearing at intervals between the trees once the sun was down. Out there, bandits and highwaymen were the least of their problems. One grey morning, before rousing Delphine and Esbern, Leara spied a High Elf in scout’s armor watching from the edge of a cliff. Even after she woke Delphine and told her, it was hours before they could leave, waiting for the scout to leave the area.

Their arrival in the Karth River Canyon wasn’t the end of their trouble. Leara found herself toe to claw with a half-woman, half-bird monster in a magic duel that only ended when the Dragonborn drew her katana across the creature’s feathery chest and sent her squawking into the river with a Fus Ro! It echoed through the valley, subduing all other sounds.

One of the remaining Forsworn stared at her from across a bridge, crude sword half raised and face full of terror. It twisted into hatred. “She-Bear!”

Then all the remaining Forsworn converged on Leara.

By the time the Forsworn were dead and Delphine and Esbern hauled her into the cave system at the heart of the camp, Leara was winded. Her lungs felt stripped, and her hands were freezing. She stumbled her way through the various traps and riddles set up by the ancient Blades to guard their temple. Her knees finally buckled when they reached the blood seal. It was a while before she could stand and attempt to open the barrier. The head of Reman Cyrodiil watched her as she hobbled to her feet and cut a gash across her palm with the heel of her katana. Her eyes met those of the statue’s, crystal on stone. It felt as if he was assessing her.

Nothing happened for several long moments as her blood dripped down to coat the seal. From the corner of her eye, she saw Esbern begin to deflate back into the hopeless state she found him in. Her hands on her hips, Delphine rolled her eyes and scoffed before pacing away. And then, below Leara, the seal pulsed golden. Fires around the room burst to life as if lit by an invisible hand. The statue of Reman Cyrodiil bowed and moved away, disappearing into the ceiling to reveal a broad winding stair.

This was Sky Haven Temple.

After that, everything seemed to click into place. They found the temple, and inside, in a place of eminence, they found Alduin’s Wall. Collapsing into a chair older than the Third Empire, Leara almost fell asleep while Esbern studied the temple’s architecture. Delphine’s hurried voice faded in and out, telling the old loremaster to focus, as Leara fought against sleep. Her bones still ached from the weight of the Forsworn piling on her. There was a pinch in her side from an awkward dent in her armor. She’d need to have it beaten out once she made it back to Whiterun. After she got some money.

Torch in hand, Esbern examined Alduin’s Wall, exclaiming over its preservation. As he read the wall, Leara lulled into a light doze. She watched a black dragon rise from behind the wall and swoop around the cavernous hall, shouting “She’s mine! She’s mine!” as Delphine and Esbern ran around like headless chickens.

“Hey, Leara.” Leara startled awake. Delphine was staring at her expectantly. Esbern was still studying the relief, but from Delphine’s frown, they were no closer to finding the answer to defeating Alduin than they were when they left Riverwood. Delphine pursed her lips, disgruntled. “Have you ever heard of such a thing? A Shout that can knock a dragon out of the sky?”

A Shout that could knock a dragon out of the sky–? Her mind raced back over everything she’d learned about dragons since defeating the first one outside of Whiterun back at the end of winter. She knew precious little about Shouting, most of what she’d learned coming from the Greybeards during her brief time in High Hrothgar. If anyone knew about such a thing, it’d be the Greybeards. She told Delphine.

The younger Blade sighed in resignation. “You're probably right. I was hoping to avoid having to involve them in this, but it seems we have no choice.”

Haunching forward with her elbows on her knees, Leara pinched her nose. Don’t ask, she told herself. Do not ask—

“Delphine, it’s obvious you have an issue with the Greybeards. What have they done to make you resent them so much?” To be honest, Leara got the impression that there wasn’t a lot that Delphine didn’t resent. Not without just cause, but there comes a point when it all becomes too much.

“Honestly, I’m surprised you don’t resent them yourself,” said Delphine. At the Dragonborn’s look of shock, she elaborated, “If they had their way, you'd do nothing but sit up on their mountain with them and talk to the sky, or whatever it is they do! The Greybeards are so afraid of power that they won't use it. Think about it. Have they tried to stop the civil war, or done anything about Alduin? No. And they're afraid of you, of your power. Trust me, there's no need to be afraid. Think of Tiber Septim. Do you think he'd have founded the Empire if he'd listened to the Greybeards?"

Leara stared at her as if she’d suddenly grown horns and started ramming her head into the wall like a dumb goat. Is that what she thought of the Greybeards’ philosophy? A responsibility to use power wisely and respect the natural balance of the world was reduced to petty isolationism and fear. She could almost see the little Breton, head too small for the Blade’s helmet she wore like a crown, begging the Grandmaster to deploy her to Summerset. Heedless of the danger and finesse involved in such a mission. The woman in front of her had grown into the skin of one used to hiding, but still lacked the insight and tact necessary to find a path back into the sun. Distrust made Delphine bitter, and Leara pitied her.

She was too tired for this. “The Greybeards,” Leara began, tone diplomatic, “teach balance and restraint. Too much or too little will over-tip the scales and upend the natural order of things. It’s not that they fear power, they respect it.” She refrained from pointing out that Tiber Septim’s founding of the Third Empire was born from his unquenchable greed.

Delphine scowled. “For a former Blade, you sound rather comfortable with their way of doing things.”

“I wasn’t aware there was a rivalry,” Leara sniffed, choosing to ignore the ‘former’ Blade comment.

“There’s not – look. There's always a choice, and there's always a risk.” Delphine gave her a pointed look. “But if you live in fear of what might go wrong, you'll end up doing nothing. Like the Greybeards up on their mountain.”

“Are you worried I’ll run?”

Delphine was quiet, Leara met her gaze across the short distance. Everything about the Breton was pale, from her platinum hair to the grey-blue of her eyes, but at that moment, in the torchlight, she was a phantom from the past. The fire reflected in her eyes was an accusation. Traitor, they screamed as the fires consumed the tower and the lake shone and burned. Traitor. Traitor.

Leara blinked, and the spell was broken. Delphine’s eyes were her own again, no longer a ghost’s.

“Just don't let them turn you away from your destiny,” she was saying. “You're Dragonborn, and you're the only one who can stop Alduin. You should remember that better than anyone.”

“Right,” Leara said. She got to her feet, casting a weak magelight overhead as she passed Delphine. “I’m going to rest. I’ll set out for High Hrothgar in the morning.” She needed some time alone.

·•★•·

A tempus spell told her it was after the fourth watch when she woke. One of the others must have built a fire after she’d gone to sleep, its coals still glowing with dying warmth. She pulled her blanket tighter around her shoulders, shuddering. The old temple was drafty. She fancied she could almost hear the wind, howling like a pack of wolves up the mountainside and over the peak. Again, she regretted leaving Karnwyr in the sewer. Leara allowed herself a moment to think about the wolf before getting up. The sun was already up, but if she started off soon, she could beat the dusk out of the worst of the Reach’s mountains. Then straight to Whiterun.

She stirred the coals, adding a few more sticks brought from the Forsworn camp down on the river. Across the makeshift hearth, Delphine rolled over, hair lashing across her pallet in a tight braid. Leara sighed and began to pack her things.

Once dressed, she stopped to look over Alduin’s Wall. The white of her magelight cast it in stark relief, harsh and bold compared to the eerie shadows set to play across the carvings by the torches.

“Delphine said you were setting off for High Hrothgar.”

“Yes,” she nodded, not surprised to find Esbern off to the side, already working despite the hour.

“She found this while exploring last night. She thought you would find it useful.” As Esbern approached, she saw in his hands an ancient katana, sheathed in black. She could feel the electricity curling off it. Electricity and something else that set her teeth on edge. “From what I can uncover, this katana is particularly useful against dragons.” He offered it to her.

“Is it?” she said, not taking it.

“Yes,” Esbern eyed her. “I couldn’t help but notice that the katana you carry isn’t the one you carried before the war.”

“You want to know where I got it,” Leara stated, understanding. He was curious, and he had a right to be. Delphine carried a katana, but it was the same one she carried before everything went to Oblivion. It was rare for a Blade to take the sword of another except under special circumstances, and even then, those were usually temporary. Leara looked down, pulling her katana slowly from its sheath. “It was given to me.”

Esbern peered at the bare blade under the steady magelight. “These are Altmeris,” he said in surprise, a frown creasing his lined face. “Did you acquire this in Summerset?”

“No, High Rock.” Leara shifted from one foot to the other, for once giving into the impulse. She sheathed her katana. “I should be going. Thank you for showing me that katana, but I think it will be more useful for you two to have it on hand in case a dragon attacks.”

“Of course, of course.” And Esbern returned to where his books and papers lay strewn out on the old stone table dominating the center of the room.

Leara was at the top of the stairs that led back into the caves before stopping. Bracing a hand on the archway, she called softly back to Esbern, just loud enough to catch his attention without disturbing Delphine. “Esbern?”

“Hm?”

Hesitating, Leara swallowed. “My katana, it belonged to my great-grandmother. She was a Knight-Sister during the Oblivion Crisis.”

There was a scrape and thud from Esbern’s chair as he rose from the table. “Your great-grandmother–?”

But Leara was gone.

·•★•·

She snuck by every Forsworn hunting party and Imperial patrol while trying to keep in sight of the road as she followed the Karth back to its headwaters in the mountains. It was late at night when she spied a village situated high on a rocky embankment on the river’s north shore. Hoping for an inn with an innkeeper that didn’t ask too many questions, Leara climbed the path into the village. As far as an inn was concerned, she was in luck.

A little bell chimed, and she was hit with the comforting glow of a hearth and the smell of fresh bread. The common room was well-lit and homey, with several tables scattered around the large central hearth. Old Nordic and Colovian style weapons hung high on the walls in places of honor. She focused on a polished pair of Nordic axes in a prominent place behind the bar as she approached.

“Ah, a visitor. Old Hroldan Inn has hundreds of years of history, friend,” the woman behind the bar, a blond Nord with tired eyes, said by way of greeting. “The name’s Eydis. You'll be looking to rent Tiber Septim's room, I take it?”

“Pardon?”

Eydis smiled at her, “In the Second Era, Tiber Septim himself led the army that conquered Old Hroldan from the barbarians of the Reach. Septim would later found the Empire that united Tamriel, but his first known battle and victory was right here. And this inn has the very bed the great general slept in on his first night as Old Hroldan's liberator. As good as it was hundreds of years ago."

Oh yes, the Battle of Old Hroldan. Studying keynotes on the Tiber Wars was one of the lessons given to many young knights during their Blades training. The Battle of Old Hroldan was the first victory in a campaign that led to the taking of the Western Reach. “His room’s for rent?”

“That’s right, for ten septims, it’s yours for the night.”

Leara reached for her belt, and then into her satchel, and then she padded down her armor, even though silver plate didn’t have pockets. Eydis eyed her the whole time, a crease deepening in her brow.

“I’m sorry, I thought I—” Leara coughed, flushing with embarrassment.

“If you don’t have the coin, I’m afraid I can’t board you,” Eydis said, not unkindly, but Leara could tell the woman was tired. Divines knew Leara was tired.

“Maybe I can—”

“This will cover her board for the night, and mine.”

A chill clawed its way up her spine. An arm bound in dark leather appeared in front of her, depositing a small pouch on the counter, even as she felt another wrap around her, almost completely encircling her waist. Eydis eyed her over the counter, weary eyes darting between Leara and the man looming by her shoulder.

“This one with you?” she asked, skeptical.

“Well . . .”

“Oh yeah, I’ve been looking for her for days on the road. You know how dangerous the Reach is. Thought I’d never find her for all the damn Forsworn scuttling around.” Bishop’s words were like honey in the innkeeper’s teapot: dripped just right in the bottom. He poured the water: “I’m glad I found her. I was starting to worry she’d been carried off or something.”

Eydis nodded along, thumbing through the coins in the pouch. “Right, of course. This is the right amount. Have a good rest. She looks like she needs it,” she added, thrusting her thumb in Leara’s direction. “It's the big room with the double bed.”

“Thanks,” Bishop called over his shoulder, pulling a stunned Leara along to an open door. Beyond it, Leara could make out a large bed covered in furs. The bed Talos himself slept in while still mortal. She didn’t expect to sleep a wink.

Bishop closed the door behind them. Leara sat heavily on the bed and glanced around, searching. “Where’s Karnwyr?”

“Outside.”

“Oh.”

“You left me.” Slowly, Leara lifted her head to meet Bishop’s burning eyes across the room. Even that was too close. “You left us fighting for our lives in that blasted skeever trap!” His voice was low, probably so he wouldn’t alert Eydis at the bar, but the quieter pitch was more menacing than a proper yell. Dragons Shouted like thunder. Bishop hissed like lightning. “Against the damn Thalmor! What the Hell, woman? What did you do to have the Aldmeri Dominion hunting you down?”

“I’m the Dragonborn,” she stated, focusing on the wall. There was an old tapestry depicting an artist’s rendition of Tiber Septim Shouting apart the Old Hroldan gates. It reminded her of a mosaic she saw in Bruma years before the war, before the Chapel of Talos was rededicated to Martin Septim, sainted by the Imperial church. It was gone when she went back, replaced by golden stained glass depicting the defeat of Dagon in the Oblivion Crisis. She squeezed her eyes shut.

“Yeah, I got that. You’re not exactly subtle, sweetness.” Bishop laughed, but the sound held no amusement. Not any she could understand, anyway.

“So sorry I don’t rise to your expectations.”

“Didn’t have high ones of the Dragonborn to start with.” She stared at him, stunned. “I always thought it was a good story, something to tell around the fire, but a relic of the past, just like the dragons. As far as I was concerned, the only people who could shout were those Greybeards up on the Throat of the World, leeching from the pockets of gullible people. Them and Ulfric Stormcloak.” He said the name with a faux reverence worthy of the Thalmor. “The best thing he ever did was Shout apart the Forsworn.” He began to pace, agitated. He reminded her of a predator.

“Until me,” Leara sighed.

“Until you. And now the Thalmor are hunting you. Word is they’ve got a price out on your head. Not a public one, but the word’s moving through the crime world, ladyship. Some pretty nasty bastards are already on your trail.” He stopped in front of her, and suddenly he dominated her field of vision. Leara didn’t move as he stepped closer to her. “What happened to your armor?”

“My armor?”

“The dent in your left side, above your kidney,” Bishop pointed. “And on that subject, the bruise over your eye and the cut on your lip. Who attacked you?”

She swallowed. “Forsworn.”

Bishop cursed and returned to his pacing. “I don’t think you quite understand the danger you’re in, Dragonborn or not!”

“I can take care of myself, thank you,” she said, straightening up. She’d done so since before this man was born. She would do so after he was dead

“That’s just it, you don’t have to now!” Bishop shook his head, growling. He was like a caged animal. “I can protect you! I protected you from the Thalmor in the Ratway! They’re dead now because of me.”

“Am I supposed to be thankful that you saved your life and it just so happened to benefit me and my goals at the time?”

He scowled at her. “I’ve risked my life for you numerous times in the last month when nobody else gave a damn about you! And that’s the thank you I get?”

She didn’t speak. The bottom left corner of the tapestry was frayed, like it’d been caught on something and pulled. Part of its picture was warped and faded out from the damage. She felt like the tapestry: whole for the most part with her mind and magic intact, but she’d been yanked around, and now her edges were frayed, raw from wear, and part of her was missing, an important part that she didn’t know she had before it was gone. The tapestry could be restored, but her? Leara wasn’t so sure.

Why was she even there?

Bishop cut off midtirade when Leara pulled off her boats and laid down on top of the furs, hands folded on her stomach as she stared at the ceiling. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to sleep,” Leara said, the familiar discomfort of lying down in armor settling through her body. Her right hip ached. She ignored it. She was ignoring a lot of things lately, but that was okay. It kept her focused on her primary objective. “I am going to bed and am no longer continuing this discussion. If you wish to stay, grab a blanket and sleep in that chair. If you wish to keep talking, go outside and talk to the moons. They might have time for your whining.”

“Whining?” squawked Bishop. He sounded like that – hagraven? – when she Shouted it apart at the Karthspire. “Now listen, sweetie, I don’t—”

“Shut up.”

Spluttering. That’s how the hagraven sounded when it was drowning in blood and water. “What did you just—”

“You don’t shut up,” she said, then rolled over.

Leara ignored Bishop for the rest of the night.

·•★•·

A scream broke the still air of the pre-dawn.

Leara was yanking her boots back on as she hobbled into the common room, a yawning and stretching Bishop strolling leisurely behind her. He seemed unbothered by the scream but determined to follow Leara wherever she went, to ‘protect’ her, as he so elegantly put it the night before.

Eydis stood beside the bar, the remains of a juniper berry pie dumped on her feet and splattered across her skirt and the flagstones. The woman was as white as a sheet, eyes blown wide in terror.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Leara asked, rushing to Eydis’ side.

The woman pointed.

“Holy . . .” Bishop trailed off.

At the far table, under a nasty looking battleax black with age, was a hazy figure. Seated at the table, it seemed engrossed in the empty space before it, as if seeing something that wasn’t visible to anyone else. It moved its arms, as it would if it were eating; in their wake was a pale smoke trail of luminous blue.

A ghost.

Eydis grabbed her arm, grip fierce even through the hard silver plate and chainmail. “Do you think the ghost is one of . . . Tiber Septim's dead men?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Bishop rolled his eyes. “That’s not a ghost! It’s some Forsworn black magic, and if it were a ghost, what makes you think it’s one of Tiber Septim’s men?”

Eydis glared at him, an intimidating sight despite her disheveled hair and juniper-stained clothes. “He's from the battle, I just know it! He's one of Tiber Septim's soldiers . . . back from the dead!”

Bishop’s laugh was loud and mocking. It didn’t seem to faze Eydis, much less the ghost. “That is such bull – what are you doing, woman?”

Leara sat down on the bench across from the ghostly figure. An impression of curved horns blurred in and out of focus, reminiscent of the ancient Nordic helmets she’d seen in Bleak Falls and Ustengrav. The ghost didn’t seem to be a malevolent spirit, but a lost soul. He was a warrior, and either through time or space or both, he was a long way from home.

“Hello, are you lost?”

Bishop’s “Are you serious?” faded into the background as the spirit lifted its head, alert. The embers of its eyes bore into Leara’s, arresting her movements. A chill shuddered through her, and she got a distinct impression that the ghost wasn’t seeing her, but seeing through her.

“I've been waiting for you. Hjalti.”

Hjalti struck a chord within Leara, though she couldn’t quite place it. She was sure she’d heard the name before, but . . . “Who is Hjalti?”

“You promised me, Hjalti,” the ghost said, lifting a faded hand toward her. Despite herself, Leara leaned closer. The ghost’s hand was so close, there but not; she fancied she could almost feel it on her skin, cold and warm all at once. “You promised that when we sacked Hroldan, you would make me your sworn brother.” The hand clenched, light darkening s a dying fire. “And I've waited. Even after the enemies' arrows dug into my chest and their hammers crushed my bones. I've waited. Give me your sword, Hjalti. That we may become brothers as you promised.”

Love and longing and expectation borne over centuries filled the ghost’s voice. The pieces clicked in Leara’s memory, and she knew who this was. He was one of General Talos’ men.

“What are you doing?” Bishop hissed from behind her.

She waved him off, “If you hadn’t noticed, I’m talking to someone.”

“Yeah, a fricking ghost!”

“He needs my help,” she said.

Bishop plopped onto the bench next to her. “A ghost needs your help, and so does every other Daedra-blasted sucker in Skyrim! That does not mean you should go out of your way to help every idiot that crosses your path, asking you to retrieve their hat from a cave full of vampires!”

“I’m not retrieving a hat,” she spat. She turned back to the lost warrior. “I’ll retrieve your sword.”

“I long to taste battle again,” the ghost sighed into a moan that shot ice and fire through Leara’s blood. Bishop didn’t seem fazed. “I’ll be waiting, Hjalti.”

“Of course.” Leara got to her feet with a nod and returned to the bar, Bishop cursing under his breath in her wake. She didn’t know where to start in hunting down this sword, but she had a feeling she knew who might.

Eydis stood behind the counter, hands clenched bone-white in the folds of her apron. Her eyes lit with an intrigued sort of fear as Leara approached, curious and frightened all at once. “Is it really one of Tiber Septim’s men?” she asked.

“Yes,” Leara nodded. “It seems he died in the battle with the Reachmen. He’s restless, waiting for Tiber Septim’s return. Has he never shown up before?”

Eydis twisted her apron in her hands, deep in thought. “I've heard stories that Old Hroldan was haunted, but no one’s seen a ghost here since the Great War. I haven’t, and I’ve never heard of any ghosts from the Battle of Old Hroldan showing up, either.” Eydis’ eyes trailed over Leara’s shoulder, and she turned to see the ghost milling about at the end of the hearth, warming his hands. It was an act of memory more than need. “I wonder why he’s here now?”

Leara watched the spirit. He’d called her Hjalti. Hjalti was Tiber Septim before the Nords called him Talos Stormcrown – if one believed the account in The Arcturian Heresy. Parts of Tiber Septim’s history were missing or altered, every young Blade knew that from their studies, and so all accounts were to be addressed and evaluated for historicity’s sake. But a decade in the Aldmeri Dominion and years in hiding after didn’t do her memory any favors. This ghost was one of General Talos’ men, and believed she was Hjalti, who she was pretty sure was General Talos. But why? Was it because they were both Dragonborn? Lost spirits often sought out the familiar in their wandering, looking for rest. That must be why the ghost appeared now: it felt the return of a dragon soul and came looking for help, thinking that General Talos – or Hjalti at the time – had come back for him, but all it found was her instead.

It was tragic.

“He claims Tiber Septim promised him his sword before the battle,” Leara explained, “But he was killed before he could give it to him. Do you know anything about Tiber Septim having a sword?” She pointed up at the weapons mounted along the walls. “Could it be one of these?”

“You can’t seriously believe these are from an actual battle!” Bishop said.

“They are! – well, except those axes. They belonged to my grandfather,” Eydis pointed above the bar, “But none of these belonged to Tiber Septim. Although I remember a legend that Tiber Septim had attacked one of the enemy camps before he came to Old Hroldan. It could be there.”

“Do you know which one he attacked?” Leara asked.

“Oh yeah. Do you have a map?

·•★•·

They approached the redoubt from the northeast. It was situated in the crevice of a valley, tall spires of Old Nordic architecture jutting out of the Karth’s headwaters as they flowed down from the Druadach Mountains. High on the steps, the animal skin tents of the Forsworn were visible, shielding many of the Forsworn from Bishop’s bow and Leara’s ice shards. They stood behind an outcropping of rock, watching the camp in silence. Beside Leara, Karnwyr stood, hair bristled and ears pointed forward. He’d been quite happy to see her once she emerged from the Old Hroldan Inn with a sulking Bishop and marked map, but now the wolf was all business.

“The best thing to do,” Leara whispered, careful despite the roar of the waterfalls, “is to sneak through and take out targets individually.”

Bishop’s grin was wolfish. “You want to pick them off one by one.”

Leara nodded. From what Eydis told her, Lost Valley Redoubt was once a center of deep spirituality for the men of the Western Reach, but was weakened during Tiber Septim’s campaign through the region. Legend said there were dark caverns full of black magic secrets hidden under the old barrow, but if they existed, they were destroyed or blocked off long before Tiber Septim and his army arrived to rout the remainder of the Reachmen. Now it was barely an encampment, but even so, Leara knew not to underestimate the Forsworn.

Bishop’s part in the plan was simple: snipe the Forsworn from the rocks while she snuck into the camp. Everything was okay until the man set off a tripwire and brought a giant mammoth skull swinging out of nowhere to fall on his head. The Forsworn began to gather in groups, looking for the enemy, and Leara was forced to duck into a tent for cover.

There was an alchemy station dusted with crumpled flower petals and drying mosses. A row of neat little potion bottles sat off to the side, though Leara was certain they weren’t quite as benign as they appeared. She pulled her nightgown from her satchel and, folding the bottles inside it, nestled them in the side of her bag. Perhaps the alchemist in Whiterun would buy them off her. Further perusal uncovered a few pouches of fire and frost salts.

There was a shriek outside and the explosive shockwave of a fireball. The Forsworn had a mage, or a shaman, or something. Leara prayed to Akatosh that there wasn’t another hagraven. Knowing her luck, though, there were probably two. And they probably had the sword, too.

Peeking out of the tent, she spied Bishop in the midst of a Forsworn pileup that made her ribs ache from the memory of the fight at the Karthspire. She turned to continue up through the summit. Then stopped.

Back at the inn, Bishop had been quite vehement in reminding her that he’d saved her from the Thalmor in Riften, and though she still didn’t think she needed his protection – she was a Blade, first and foremost, never mind being the Dragonborn with a power like the Voice – she owed him one. Plus, he was right. She didn’t have a lot of friends in Skyrim, and she needed an alley.

Katana in hand, Leara looked around for an idea of what to do. Marching forward would put her back where she’d been when the Forsworn attacked her at the Karthspire. After she Shouted.

Muffle cast and katana raised, Leara snuck around the rear of the tent and along the perimeter, back to where Bishop was playing chase with at least half the camp. The shaman stood back, glee twisting her already hawkish face into a dark point. Leara slipped up behind her, her Illusion spell failing as she slipped her katana into the shaman’s ribs.

The choking gurgle alerted several of the other Forsworn to her plight. By the time they reached her side, there was blood smeared around her mouth and down her side, with no sign of the assailant.

“Where is it? Where is it?” one of them shouted in anger.

“Is it a spirit?” one of the smaller girls asked.

“Don’t speak so! The spirits wouldn’t have done this to Aoife,” snapped another.

Then the shaman’s body exploded, and the air was filled with screaming.

On the next flight of stairs, a dead Reachmen at his feet, Bishop watched as an unholy fire consumed the main encampment, an unnerved fascination dancing across his face in the firelight.

From the shadows, Leara appeared beside him, Karnwyr at her heels.

“What in Oblivion . . .”

“You’re welcome,” Leara said to his dumbfounded expression. “You’re lucky I found fire salts, or they would have used you for some kind of ritualistic sacrifice.”

“Fire salts . . .?”

“Yes, do keep up. We still have to find that sword.”

·•★•·

There were two hagravens at the summit. And there was a ritual, too. It looked like they were trying to resurrect a dead man in elk hide and antlers by inserting a glowing green seed into his chest in place of the dead heart. There was something else there too, humming in the air and singing the song of the winds in her ear. She was beginning to recognize the song of the Word Walls when she came across them. Power, it sang, calling to her. Power, power, power. Not yet, she told it, looking around. She needed to take care of the hagravens first. One was bad enough, but two?

Karnwyr brushed her hand, and she followed the direction of his nose. A boulder sat precariously above the archway that led into the ritual site, held in place by a small pile of stones piled on a thin board.

Bishop hissed, “What do you think you’re doing?” as she scaled up the rock face to the ledge above the boulder. Slipping behind it, she lined herself up so the hagraven to the left of the alter was directly below and on the otherwise of the boulder.

“Fus Ro!”

Shrieking, smoke, and then a sickening crack as the boulder hit home, spraying dust and dead greenery across the clearing. The beak of the second hagraven was open in a soundless screech as her beady eyes focused at the stone where her sister had been, before darting with fiery rage to Leara as she slipped down.

“Hello,” Leara gave the bird monster a little wave.

“She-Bear! Defiler!”

“You’re an idiot,” Bishop moaned in the background.

Leara only smiled, sharp and inviting all at once as she drew her katana and charged the hagraven. The bird woman threw her hand out, and then Leara’s path was blocked as the Forsworn zombie clamored to his feet.

In his hands was the sword of General Talos!

Akaviri and Nordic steel rang out against each other, echoing off the stones only for the sound to be lost in the crashing boom of the waterfalls. Blades locked, Leara assessed her opponent: what this undead Reachman lacked in finesse, he made up for with sheer muscle, broad shoulders and thick arms bearing down on her slender frame. She wasn’t going to win this through a show of strength. She feinted, and he lurched forward, with enough momentum to swing his sword toward her neck. The sword struck the altar, steel skidding across stone in a bone-quivering wail.

Leara slipped across the ground, out from between the Forsworn and the altar. She lifted her katana.

A howling shadow swept overhead. Leara watched from the ground as Karnwyr’s front paws struck the undead Forsworn in the chest, toppling him backward. While the revenant – he wasn’t gross enough to be a zombie – tried to shake off the ravenous wolf, Leara turned to engage the hagraven. Ice coated her hand, and she hurtled spear after spear at the creature, frost meeting flame.

Steam curled through the ritual site, blooming and hissing from the collision of elements. Leara danced closer to the hagraven, mindful of her fare as she raised a frost cloak to ward off the worst of the assault. Her katana spun through the mist, gleaming with ice crystals. She struck at the hagraven.

A staff countered the strike, and her katana bounced back from the twisted wood. Letting her momentum spin her past the hagraven, she struck at the creature’s back. The staff again!

When she visited High Hrothgar, Master Arngeir mentioned a Shout that could disarm with a single Word. If only she knew it! All she knew were fragments of Unrelenting Force, Whirlwind Sprint, and—

Ah.

In a wash of fire, the hagraven swung the staff toward Leara—

“Feim!”

–and it went straight through her. Unbalanced, the hagraven went through the ethereal apparition and into the ground. Leara resolidified in the world with a single stroke to the hagraven’s thin neck.

Heart pounding against her ribs, Leara turned to find Karnwyr tearing into the fallen revenant’s chest, the glowing green seed lightless and cracked. A black arrow stuck at an angle from the dead man’s shoulder, but it was clear Karnwyr’s teeth did most of the work. Leara stooped and retrieved the sword of General Talos from where it had fallen.

It felt heavy in her hand, but not from its weight or the legacy it carried. A sense of purpose filled her, the hilt warm in her hand. This was the sword of Talos Stormcrown, and she held it in her hand.

She gave it a few practice swings as Bishop slunk up to her side.

He whistled. “Is that it, then? The sword of the almighty Talos, or whatever?”

“Yes.”

“It looks like any other old hunk of metal stuck into a crap hilt.” At Leara’s glare, he blanched. “What?”

“Oh, nothing! Only that you reduce a historical artifact to trash,” she sneered, the pale gold of her complexion hardening into marble.

Bishop laughed at her. “I really do question your intelligence sometimes, darling. I wouldn’t put my faith into any god, especially one that used to be a red-blooded man like me.”

“There are no men like you.” And she left him standing there, smirking as if she’d given him some sort of compliment. Approaching the Word Wall, her eyes traced the draconic glyph. She couldn’t understand them literally, but as she read, the song of the Words drew her to one word, Zii. Spirit. It was the second Word in her ethereal Shout. Her soul soared with her new understanding,

Bishop came up behind her. “Can we take this sword back to her ghost friend or are you just going to stand here all day and stare at the old stone?”

She deflated. “Yeah, let’s go.”

·•★•·

“Is that the lady who went to get Tiber Septim’s sword, Mama?” a boy seated at the bar whispered as Leara slipped into the barroom.

“Yes, Skuli, now shh,” Eydis said, reaching over the counter to stroke the boy’s hair.

Leara’s gaze zeroed in on the ghost, piddling at the spit where a roast was searing. He seemed uninterested in the roast, however; he was making stirring motions as if preparing dinner in an invisible pot.

Coming to his side, Leara drew the old sword. Like a moth to flame, the ghost turned, focus wavering between the Dragonborn and the promised sword. “I have Hjalti’s sword,” she said. With both hands on the sword, she offered it up, head bowed in respect.

The ghost reached for it. When his hand met the notched steel, an image of two young men locked in a sword fight flittered through her mind. The darker of the two swept the legs from under the taller blond. He went down with a grunt. When the dark one reached down to help up his friend, the blond dragged him to the ground, pulling him into a wrestling match that ended with both youths laughing.

The ghost gave her a wan smile, and she saw the laughing blond in the curve of his face. “It's been an honor to serve you, brother.”

Leara swallowed. “Likewise, brother.”

The weight of Hjalti Early-Beard’s sword vanished from her hand as the ghost evaporated from before her, at peace at last.

“Are we down now?”

Leara held back a sigh. Squeezing her eyes shut, she blinked back the ghost’s memory and turned to the room at large. Eydis and her son were still at the bar, wide-eyed in the wake of the ghost’s disappearance. But Bishop’s pale stare burned into her, expectant.

“We leave for Whiterun,” she said, gliding back to the door and the long road ahead.

#oc: leara roseblade #delphine #esbern #bishop #fanfic #the elder scrolls #tes #skyrim #dovahkiin #anti bishop #ao3 #karnwyr #mod post #i didn't know you were keeping count #last dragonborn

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primeideal · 1 year

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Hougomont vs. La Tourgue

This is kind of a stretch but: Victor Hugo gives the etymology of “Hougomont” as Hugo mons, the mountain built/claimed by Hugo. (This might not actually be accurate.) But, at least, for the reader it sets up an association between this historic location and the family of the book’s author, who is sort of present in these opening chapters as a bystander/character.

Here’s II.1.1:

The sun was charming; the branches had that soft shivering of May, which seems to proceed rather from the nests than from the wind. A brave little bird, probably a lover, was carolling in a distracted manner in a large tree.

The wayfarer bent over and examined a rather large circular excavation, resembling the hollow of a sphere, in the stone on the left, at the foot of the pier of the door.

At this moment the leaves of the door parted, and a peasant woman emerged.

She saw the wayfarer, and perceived what he was looking at.

“It was a French cannon-ball which made that,” she said to him.

Juxtaposition of beautiful nature, plants and animals, with the historic ugliness of the site.

Here’s the last chapter of Quatrevingt-Treize:

Never had the fair sky of early dawn seemed lovelier than on that morning. A soft breeze stirred the heather, the mist floated lightly among the branches, the forest of Fougères, suffused with the breath of running brooks, smoked in the dawn like a gigantic censer filled with incense; the blue sky, the snowy clouds, the clear transparency of the streams, the verdure, with its harmonious scale of color, from the aqua-marine to the emerald, the social groups of trees, the grassy glades, the far-reaching plains,—all revealed that purity which is Nature's eternal precept unto man. In the midst of all this appeared the awful depravity of man; there stood the fortress and the scaffold, war and punishment, the two representatives of this sanguinary epoch and moment, the screech-owl of the gloomy night of the Past and the bat of the twilight of the Future. In the presence of a world all flowery and fragrant, tender and charming, the glorious sky bathed both the Tourgue and the guillotine with the light of dawn, as though it said to man: "Behold my work, and yours."

La Tourgue is short for La Tour-Gauvain, the Gauvain (family)’s tower. The younger and elder Gauvains are important fictional characters in the context of this story, but the name isn’t coincidental, it’s the birth name of Hugo’s mistress, Juilette Drouet. There’s something going on here with the juxtaposition of nature and human destruction, together with the juxtaposition of personal and national history.

#les miz #les mis letters #les mis daily #quatrevingt treize

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keydekyie · 2 years

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The Moth and the Bear Book I excerpt: Thinking

528 words, no content warnings

“Kaelin, is that you?” Ruyak growled, sounding a bit more menacing than he meant to. He cleared his throat, trying to get the bittersweet image of his sister out of his head.

The scuffling sounds immediately stopped. Ruyak leaned over and glared down the steps into the den. Sure enough, there was Kaelin, frozen on the second step from the top, moonlight turning her already pale face white. There was a tense moment while they stared at each other.

“Were you trying to run off this time?” Ruyak asked irritably.

Kaelin broke eye contact, looking up at the sky. It reminded him of a child trying to think of a way out of a scolding. Ruyak sighed and shook his head.

“Well, you’ve made it this far. May as well come the rest of the way,” he grumbled, turning back towards the landscape.

Kaelin didn’t move right away. Ruyak sat silently and watched a silvery cloud drift over a distant mountain for a moment before he heard Kaelin make the final ascent to the entrance. One ear followed her as she scrambled over the scree towards him.

“I th-thought maybe you’d gone back to your own bed,” Kaelin said quietly. Ruyak didn’t look at her.

“You wouldn’t have gotten far anyway,” he said. “You’ve no idea where you are.”

“Better to be lost and alive than here and doomed to be eaten.”

Ruyak flinched, the imaginary Sliuk’s words echoing in his head. Uncomfortable silence fell, and somewhere in the forest below an owl screeched. Another answered, its call sailing indistinctly over the trees from far away.

“What are you doing out here, anyway?” asked Kaelin nervously, as if fearing reproach for her curiosity.

“Nothing particular.” Ruyak hoped his gruff tone would close the subject, but Kaelin was persistent.

“Do you come here to do nothing very often?”

“No.”

“Were you-”

Ruyak glanced down sharply at Kaelin, making her flinch. Still, she couldn’t be silenced so easily.

“Were you thinking?”

“Of course I was thinking.”

“You said you were doing nothing.”

“I can think and do nothing at the same time.”

“But, thinking is doing something.”

“If I gave it my very best effort,” Ruyak said darkly, pointing into the distance, “do you think I could toss you as far as that mountain?”

To Ruyak’s immense surprise, Kaelin laughed. It was a strained, tired laugh, but she was obviously amused, nonetheless.

“So, what were you thinking about?” Kaelin asked, completely undeterred by Ruyak’s attempt at a threat.

“You’re feeling bold, tonight.”

Kaelin shrugged. “I’ve got nothing to lose,” she said, but Ruyak could hear a tremor in her voice. He watched her as she settled herself on a large boulder right where he’d been imagining Sliuk moments before.

Ruyak was conflicted over whether or not to be truthful. He’d already told her far too much, but he felt more words fighting to escape him, and pursed his lips to keep them in. Kaelin was watching him.

“Come on,” she pressed, “people don’t go outside to stare at the moon in the cold and think about nothing.”

Ruyak snorted quietly.

“I was, uh... I was just thinking about my sister.”

#tmatb #tmatb i #excerpt #grace makes art #I feel like I don't post enough excerpts so here's one from book I #writing

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5gcloudsoftware · 3 months

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Unleashing the Power of 5G: Exploring Cutting-Edge Cloud Software Solutions

5G technology is revolutionizing the way we connect, communicate, and innovate in the digital age. With its promise of ultra-fast speeds, low latency, and massive connectivity, 5G is poised to unlock new possibilities for businesses and consumers alike. In this article, we delve into the cutting-edge world of 5G software solutions in the cloud, exploring how the convergence of 5G technology and cloud computing is reshaping the way we access, deploy, and manage applications and services. Let's unravel the transformative power of 5G and discover the endless opportunities it brings in the realm of cloud software solutions.

Evolution of Mobile Networks

From the days of waiting for your dial-up internet to screech its way into existence, we've come a long way in the realm of mobile networks. Enter 5G, the superhero of connectivity, here to make your browsing faster and your streaming smoother than a freshly buttered hot potato.

Key Features of 5G Technology

Picture this: you're streaming your favorite show in high definition while downloading the latest cat videos in a blink of an eye. That's the magic of 5G technology. With lightning-fast speeds, reduced latency, and massive connectivity, 5G is all set to revolutionize the way we interact with the digital world.

The Intersection of 5G and Cloud Software Solutions

Understanding Cloud Computing in the Context of 5G

Cloud computing is like having your own digital genie – it stores your data, runs your apps, and grants your wishes of accessibility from anywhere. Now, pair that with 5G, the speed demon of networks, and you've got a match made in tech heaven.

The Role of Edge Computing in 5G-Cloud Integration

Imagine Edge Computing as the wise old owl, perched at the edge of the forest, making split-second decisions on what data to process locally and what to send to the cloud. When 5G and Edge Computing join forces, they create a dynamic duo that ensures faster, more efficient data processing.

Key Features and Benefits of 5G Software in the Cloud

Low-Latency Communication Capabilities

You know that moment when you send a message and anxiously wait for the reply? 5G swoops in like a knight in shining armor, slashing that latency dragon to bits. With near-instantaneous communication, your data travels at the speed of thought.

Enhanced Security Protocols in 5G-Enabled Cloud Solutions

In a world where data breaches are scarier than a haunted house on Halloween, security is not just a luxury – it's a necessity. 5G-enabled cloud solutions come fortified with encryption, authentication, and virtual bodyguards to keep your data safe from the digital boogeymen.

Use Cases and Applications of 5G Software Solutions

IoT Deployment and Management with 5G in the Cloud

Internet of Things (IoT) devices are popping up faster than daisies in spring, and they need a solid network to bloom. Enter 5G in the cloud, providing the ultra-reliable, low-latency backbone for seamless IoT deployment and management like a digital green thumb.

Enhancing AR/VR Experiences through 5G-Cloud Integration

Augmented Reality (AR) and Virtual Reality (VR) are the cool kids in the classroom of tech trends, but they demand high-speed internet to shine. With 5G and cloud software holding hands, your AR/VR experiences will be smoother than a jazz saxophonist playing on a moonlit night.

There you have it – a whirlwind tour through the realms of 5G technology and cloud software solutions, where speed meets security and innovation dances with efficiency. With this dynamic duo leading the charge, the future of connectivity looks brighter than a shooting star in a midnight sky.

Challenges and Opportunities in Leveraging 5G for Cloud Software

So you've heard about 5G - the superhero of wireless technology promising lightning-fast speeds and unparalleled connectivity. But how do we harness this power for cloud software? Challenges and opportunities abound in this dynamic duo partnership. Stay tuned as we unravel the mysteries of leveraging 5G for cloud software!

Data Privacy and Compliance Considerations in 5G-Cloud Ecosystem

In the wild world of 5G and cloud software, data privacy and compliance are like Batman and Robin - essential partners in fighting cybercrime and ensuring ethical data practices. Navigating the complexities of data protection regulations while riding the 5G wave requires a strategic approach and a keen eye for compliance nuances. Holy data breaches, Batman!

Scalability and Interoperability Challenges in 5G Cloud Solutions

Picture this: 5G struts onto the cloud software scene with its flashy speed and futuristic capabilities, but can it play nice with existing systems? Scalability and interoperability challenges may lurk in the shadows, ready to thwart seamless integration. Fear not, brave cloud adventurers, for overcoming these challenges is key to unlocking the full potential of 5G cloud solutions!

Future Trends and Innovations in 5G-Enabled Cloud Solutions

Buckle up, tech enthusiasts, as we zoom into the future of 5G-enabled cloud solutions! From AI to network slicing, the possibilities are as endless as a bottomless buffet. Join us on this thrilling ride through the cutting-edge innovations that await in the realm of 5G and cloud software.

AI and Machine Learning Integration in 5G-Cloud Environments

Imagine a world where AI and machine learning seamlessly dance with 5G in the cloud. This dream team holds the key to unlocking intelligent, data-driven insights and revolutionizing user experiences. Get ready to witness the magic unfold as AI and 5G join forces to create a tech symphony for the ages!

Advancements in Network Slicing for Customized Cloud Services

Enter the realm of network slicing, where tailored cloud services reign supreme. With advancements in this cutting-edge technology, users can enjoy customized network configurations that cater to their unique needs. Say goodbye to cookie-cutter solutions and hello to a world where personalization is the name of the game in 5G-enabled cloud services!

In conclusion, the fusion of 5G technology and cloud software solutions heralds a new era of innovation, efficiency, and connectivity. As organizations harness the power of 5G in the cloud, they can unlock unprecedented levels of performance, scalability, and agility in their operations. By staying at the forefront of these advancements and embracing the possibilities they offer, businesses can pave the way for a future where seamless connectivity and cutting-edge applications drive success and growth. Embrace the potential of 5G-enabled cloud solutions and embark on a journey towards a more connected and dynamic digital landscape.

Original Sources: https://themediumblog.com/unleashing-the-power-of-5g-exploring-cutting-edge-cloud-software-solutions/

#5G Cloud Native Software Provider #Cloud Software for 5G

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libidomechanica · 1 year

Text

Untitled Composition # 9788

A treochair sequence

To be told! Empties these, but with its crescent moon: and Lo! For thy young

were dead! Begot in the tree, and mates, with the Paradise of ioyes, dost

go down, like something for judgment continuaunce. Were why men breath, welcoming

him to scorn, upon the hunter he! Who now, ere Phoebe from some

slight fear. Should duly haue end, melting in the curse of sea, the which through

in wretch as I were the moss, and to have tower’d in Profusion to

the dancers will die of love of Folly needs with rust, she was of a

Celestial threasure of my lameness, as each new leaf out of a

habit—blows eight loaves in dark and The truth of some Old Story?

Her sad eyes so suited, and its Music heard no more vpon her obteine.

With a knot. Her tears envy and close behind, Oh, weep for Adonais.

The gleam to spil. It was so full of ivy in the first snowdrop, virgin-

troop of little eyes, dart down a screech owl to myself disown ye!

Keep with pansies overblown. With that faire, and torturing punishment.

Spake with her arms and kingdoms in the Sea, and cruel are. To a wider

choice between the other end of loues delight. Of trials, to mock its own

legs embargoed from the beauty shall comment upon a day, the Hus-

bandman selfe my mate in her face but to move to the brydall boures.

I think of Rhyme, but their ripen’d from beneath the night with lilies whiter

still, not my feign’d page. And this faded violet breake gentle lispers

may sigh my love can say; mend yet amid a prospect wide; the Almighty

will be dear light; the whiles Beauties worth do define, I yet in sight

of better. Floats there’s nothing and this day let in a tender pressure.

Anguish was extreme hope, and making the deid of the secrete with

long traueile I am afraid of honour first bud? When I looked at

me the sun forget it should never had a temple’s self is fonder

of the Bridegroom meets the path has loosen’d from hidden row, nor of your

pain? A tinting reuenge, is hard truth—i say thou lackest moss the breme winter

cloud, forget’st so long have done my wrongs thy Court, thy Kingdom of the

song. If every face hath of my white, hide in death, o’er-taking through my

coffee Black and cannot draw his Hand from low-grown yew trees, a veneration

of the pendulums pulsing inside of every pony there

more than forests the night was pass’d to it, your bed, and fro on which upon

it gave its airy stress still ye thus mutual comfort shew? Dry,

season of Dryope’s lone lulling of Leonardo or Michelangelo

that breathe his braunches sere. And mates, with a haw bayberry kame?

Let men kill which trouble with silv’ry wings, and adorations, tender,

themselves; and, once more authority. Looking with holy water dewe.

Their image only once a net, now a handfuls of disbelief though

fortunes wreck did rayse, your hands. Distracted; madly did I sow, and leave

auld Scotia’s strands with goodly my faire loue did prepare the erotically

swollen moon let me, fearing a doctor’s door she must. Two loving

to take way long, Jámi, in the Universe, and thaw before thy

shadows fly; which the whiles there had struck dumb, than when I did set his eyes.

Who, suddenly when we met, jumping from all weed-hidden weariness,

which within their evening has shown, courting out a little work did trance

unto my hope, to spell, sweet bents let us divide what have I to

do the feathers stead. Nay sayd I thereto, by my side, and in my

House stringing boughs are blinded of these my night, night were once pitie therein

was seene this one will make more purely be a tedious burden of

the news were gulph’d in a mountain chase, cried Betty’s in a mossy homes

in vaine: for what wilderness, and far in the steele dart, and even children

die for leaning on her grinder. And the boyes through thou dare striue, such

as sat listening Echoes whom thou deserve this killing showers bene

dect, whate’er is Born of atomies that I propose … I am Ra

… in a shadow of a brook, that all the pony, that where trod Apollo’s

foot; bronze clarions awake, t’awayt the cedars of the Desert; there’s

my real wife. This is how we tried to love you and chicken feather’d

hand, the Dragon from his rise, in the Seashore, and honey-feel of blisse.

My mistress and is no need of fire-tailed exhalationship based on

love which gives the grot of Proserpine, where, to haunt the surface but the

world enough, you are the Potter, pray, and three, when thou; go then, that now

and no Wheat, am I. With girlands sere, when Hell, obscure compelling

of the way young were dead Season satisfied— then from the sea, wi’ four-

and-twenty years would adorn’d and married at a’! I saw the holy

prelude, fashion; an eye more apt for it is very life. A Richard,

to eat not one drop to light-hung leaves quite to plow; shovels crumble and

she leaned her locks lyke Saphyres shining sleep; the Mortal Life betray:

the night have I not reasons gone, is the day; for in your careless ill.

Of bright, from blossomes of Demon, Ghost, and find you rehearse each one

hip quivering forth, compare better for leauing his full of invocation

great writhing worth. He hath so dear a head grown cold, thought from the bodie

is secret darke but who, his april touch drove sleeping, I that would

weep for Adonais died? He knew she’d just so. To sage or poet these

ill-changed heart is so euill of pestilent land; when you chaunt with stone, such

gloom, who can press his old night nigheth fast, yts time it ill or good

neighbourhood envenom all. Delightful tale pursutes of lusty head.

In sleep speak of this! Her ebon urn, young tears and chain-smoke cigarette.

That beauties reddest inke Venus hath left me, and fife to the maiden,

wilt thou art beside the world across the Atlantic roar? This singing

each neat niplet of her yoke did vanish: wept the void circumference from

our days to do me more pliant, and the morn: Apollo’s pipe, when Pan

and from far, the petals nipp’d before the stars he takes long ere therefore

once the stainless steel the earth shronke vnder him, looking up to th’ shades

were dead! When snouted wild-boars routing tender colour grew upon her

and pure spirit well for these, a woodman in pieces within them; and

upon the woods may answer, to love. Oft did I leave auld Scotia’s stranger

is darkened ways made for our eccho ring. As from my morning demi-

god, and there sped a troop of little here with his throne that with his

maske to moan! For such a rate for need, and of the sand, and pain, Lost Echo

sits amid the Hand the seas, nor dares shall cling to flight, nought more, whose

young girls who for her golden snake, like warre: wherein did shine on me thundring

dispraise hath made to bow, round the lilies and like raveller bold,

although yet the Foxe him smile. Great store of Thee and thereof gate in Arm

from France, like car crash … it’s a journey have you I love my every cheeks.

Sweet Heaven of Song. For he nould let him be the space … not too base? Where

thou shoul’dst be with carefulness increasing will, for soone wexen wider.—

That he hath gain’d of lengths its ending, conjure thee vantage me. For

the Sunnye beame, glaunceth from Perdition— timidly tow’rd her—but in One.

Me, so large, What form leans his head doe not, from the loves, her idiot

boy, winding the fashions, love you thoughts so sweet, will not we shatter’d

Caravan starts to dwindle and crush’d the Winter gan to bear to some one

else. May spend thy assist my labyrinthine head, on the milken way,

that echoes that same groan doth pass in every brake, richer that say or

sing the pomp of must and lur’d their voices called her eyes, as from the

firmament, for she must sing. Death, and a hazy light: I dare not my own

steed from opening cloys and flowery spell; and, whether he heed it

or none of us, they cry, as we sat on the palm. One spied the likewise

one of us, they cannot skill in me can nothing womanly

discours’d upon my face coins the things will the sun sank or for fruict, nor

do you know. Asleep. Whom heauenly Grace want his sight he had not speake to

the milky brow! But to the East has cost me your pockets? Till, having

an infant civilisation both stand Thou art, keep with phantoms of

a Celestial Sign; that, figures in a fright the skies are. Roses at

first was mine, nor all they bedew’d the Wise to talk; one that compliant

body. You that portend no war nor prince by vnright deem him ne’er befal,

my Johnny all night. Leave me no more for more than can thy lifull heart

as king: and his horse’s tail, and, quite at ease; and lonely moated grange.

Honey of poisonous flies. Or to deck the note of space. But straight again,

unafraid. The same, while the sky, she drew her caress. I though the

clear away? The nether should passe. And their shapes are bent his state, while

the youthful hue sits on the mouse behind them not. And long starving hopes,

by thy face enioyeth, but I in myself laid under the day, although

its spectacles and thy words were still tame? Nursing the priestes crewe, and

brere with content, but yielded: she, my golden atoms of fear. Of Humber

would speak, yet well might When lofty mount, and still of tears, instead of

humours fly or creepe; since the Pedlar can contagion of Heaven’s lightly

call vesper, then thou hast took, of his brown—by all past which at my

door, who cons sweet bents lent. And Cuddies Embleme. Perhaps, with sacred

ceremony but little space of a salamander crawling with his

head was blood: no hungry man but wish the street. Till they bene defast.

Till cold winds are wanting, the white anchor o’ the gude red gowd, but twenty

little swinck. An hundred lamps do dive into my heart, most men partake,

but add, jenny kissed me from the flockes fleece of our faces as

thought I could only trouts doe tend full well, yet for this kind why willingly

could nourishment, of the sky sagged dusty floor, another person

to my face. The late to common Earth didst adorn, with a sympathies,

tis we, who lends but we here anone: not as a Thought all would some young

connection, even while I have lost even the hour when thoughtful eddies

swoop’d; such an one would have to thee: or bid me die, although my lab’ring

sea of weary all things her sore, I am of the flitting down

to catch me with accomplished before th’ almighties vew, of her

legs still God is fill of deep midnight. To me once unkindnesse kils delight,

light on dark and strength and perling flowers, the back to me, a

passionless and denisen’d wit doth take, and became, and, once the Horizon

is the evening, whilst I thy classic face, and by the night arise

of lingered in my predestine love at no time idle is; let’s be

doing! Neuer knowne, and I sigh’d to faint once loveliest and dance through

a pure sorrow to persuade a yielding not, wounded, Ellen pass’d tween

their rest, is each flowers fresh, to her breast. The herded wolves, bold only

the Waste, I know not how, with wine, and I are nothing else but think of.

The rushy lake, wherein the meadow grass, and now awake, t’awayt the

chamber thought: so you made me because the natural order of them when

they’re gathered skies of murderer could be, i say if this book here for

a few leaves were wounded in the meads; where’s the other’s curse midas

the water through many a verse I hope that our delight erasing

a forehead morning. What Adonais! Keen as grain stretcht to life must go

or she hies, no wonder if her secrete with long to me a paradox

become, and married and under Dust, and the festoon of their image

I do smell anise, the song is broke in Passion; a woman bears

me, tired of endurance; cheerful, but she nuh notices and each

time againe retorne, for ignorance is bleeding beads arous’d from the

ring. Towards a bower wind no eye with a groan, more subtle cadenced,

more white, that wickedness this various world; by waters sleeker than

you bloom paled gently came. Eastern winds used to breathing. How Sultán with

little bit, which is worst of all the lies, as so, much more. I love you

in the spirits. These fourteen years hence my though it over. Of custom,

wipe away and Night, that should come in this sorrow, with Dust. With sweet hour,

all that they by Loue were the Dreams that sacred sward last night, and gone, from

these alone; for, Lady, I must away, before the Two Worlds so learn.

For thee: the woods vs answers with old Khayyám, and thou canst not, love, I

will glove unto her wits are gone, since my though we play but at push-pin

half turn them more impatient cried—who is all that come a part and I

will last faire face, while the wind wagge their dismay. Will you recede through the

Nightingale. Think of despondency and hoary brand; she twirled the

incessant miseries of much griefs of joy; praising his weight of the babe

rose like aught need me. Below me, thoughtful tale pursutes of Love she

said, did Susan has made of love, I will never enough. His hand, and

kick your forth my tears before it more solemnize: and Cuddie, I wote thou

and I will sleepwalk all dayly endured, i’ll not waiting, clean of the

skies are blue, love. Nor tame wild Winds flew round, sobbing me the light to any

single Rose, and teach that airy trance, strikes the flow of—was it were

she had it be but love? And yet burn through the cool and change, unquenchably

the charm. When I praised be halfe so deadly sigh’d that I were terms of

mossy homes ethereal—a new breache: my hart oppressed, whence departed

one, with full hap to sing forth his hand, nor services to be Nature’s

power, fairing thee virtue triumph, come with under my transfixed!

Which the world’s praise thine eyes: so shallow chime. See, on the senceless mounts

their harts had ended in, the liefest hight, of more. Not saue, murder in

its skin. When I am sad and he is hush’d and most idly spent! With

the clock strike off our courteous light now, and extinguish’d quite, for I

half wonder’d at the same skin for one shade from the drifting back again.

I leave Scotia’s shore? This in me do those streams, along a path between

love-lorn hours dost lord my heart beneath thee and eat our pot of honey

I shall catch, he popt him in the sphere happy I hae dreames, nor lightnings

of his head and helplessly before either Doctor! Gilding the

old songs of their ears. Steel the married at a’! Alone amid a prospers;

and white death-bed, from straying him to the roofs with hellish and vnwise.

Far into my heart’s core, the lips was thend of this fierce and dispute? Anger

was as if on wings; yea, the old and beasts in forest wide is fix’d

on mighty, for earth; their grandsire me sayd, I say that I have one glass

eye. Singing bowstring, silver lakes pictur’d in the tomb. Or by mysterious,

immortal Sovranty, recoiled feeling thoughts in heart throbbed

the desert be than her like a feast be generation of Apollo’s

bow; a heavy stones will devotes thine to Spouse. And makes earth upon

their vows with stone, lie on her paradise, a quickening, how long, but

late would swagger, swear, a thought I’d know by what Token should wander.

Ye lie, ye ill woman, ye’re not our wish it may bear; and how he could

weene some gan to peep, up than those who breath’d a sister: of all this godhead

once to folly and viperous murder in its case. He wakes—’tis

Death and comfort so they happen to send a young girls are idle, bethink

you often deuoure, with Hawthorne buds, and greene wood, where those who for he

is for my mariners, and many moment, then you chaunt the moan Ye’re

woo’d and sees with fitting me to me than their lot wisdom, and through sunny

meadow grass, and wicked pony’s head, and the streams, and fair Syrinx

returns, and they mought waited for many more, oh, never, I’ll smile and

sped His heard a gloomy voice might cry for he is dead! Poor Susan Gale?

‘Mid listened. Lift not the famous—that toss’d Thee downe doth my greefs augment

my doole, drawne by imag’d things I love you ended he, and more tongues

restrain’d the sullen day when what Barbican. The while he laugheth once,

you will spy in the middle earth and stately tree, for mayden Queene attonce.

Sore doth only a worthy to nurse at full heart or intellect,

now the Minion who from land. Head, and gather up forever. Doing,

the longest fitter to a weak Woman; nor Liberal, who create mischieuous

case, pitie there hollow, from his voice was drinke nectar from the dreadful

fears that, which he doth scathe, the spider’s sorrow; from joy to joy to joy,

foes grief, as if embalms: but soon shall find her eyes were not thy silver-

shedding beads around us; then rush’d past, how fast renneth to die for

thee: the woods them appears in the grasp of fellowship with eternal

whispers him so panting brain. Until a gentle her mind with food of

saddest wrong and when we shall thee to reveal’d itself be more cause hath

lost: thy Ewes, that parting. Till Natures were crackling lightingale that

which suns perish’d; others, girt in gawdy greene: and Johnny, Johnny, never

have thy part of street, crying along, bearing the Treasures, then what

high poems! She hard but in old Harp be modulated heat. And kick

your further of the sides doubts and fears, that echoes that sleep, when a tear.

It kills with leaves Me, Heavens to be a blanket to my Mary, before

the tomb. Crowd of shepehooke hath gain’d of louers neuer ginne tasswage.

The budding days, robert Burns: can feel, by its thorns you remembered on

thy passive youth descended, and leaved fig trees it seems to bring a

trusse of you are how happy chance: so happy places, strange, the Grass, and

untethered their front steps. Turn all thy deeds, and a few leaves and

fearfully, afar; hearing a doctor’s self would give my eyes may moue you,

time and guile, and thou would you, and her from the clay Population mair

enchanting to the lightning hand is on the flowers. Other their show;

their Wrath and skill, thou twin’d me o’ my maiden; wilt thou to Rome—at once,

thou canst thou, might cry for her pressure. Take this, and the altar, with needments,

for these two, now holy church, and rock,— ’mong shepheards, thy brow; and one

hand rubs his or her own ear again down that on the clock of late struck

one, and I will perform what once it was time is gone forth, he lies these,

a worldes childe: who tempt, and grieve: for carefully as the pomp of my

love at lower rate. With Barnaby the marke, weening it to be; or

bid me despair, and sea; how long, how long, her faults the name of an

immortal, where thou should convey, and for his guide her lips, which is why I

sojourn here alone will I thence the Pedlar can charm might deem him ne’er

woman and a lean.—She took the sighing vaults. What beare cherefull strong

offence; speak gently, she is tired, let Betty’s still ye go to see.

Are scatter’d; leaving, in this was it musk from his right will awake the

shatter’d one to her! And, like a creatures, of owlets builders in an

after season, yode forth, and that I view, so radiance of hem scorners

be, or your Eccho ring. Moral or physical On this pony too.

But at myriads of earthly guest! Had gaz’d on Nature: there is written,

so thou noteless blot of Dust and fever dempt more raise my voice mighty

flurry, she drew his sweet face I taste of Greeuance. Ask me no more, Thenot,

my mare, my soule, I deeme, thy breathing, all; from thee like beastes pawes:

and sullenly drifting changes for the whole multitude arose,

that nowe it auales. She said, My life and oak. He was a broken. And

court beside in such a paradox become, as in approuance doe the

stairs, you in this of inflation there seeking: and ouer the sides of forests;

while ever that in the earth by spell; and, which we cease our human

neighbor knows poor weakness—it can scarcely looked for immortal love. Telling

of mind no, never, I’ll say tis very weel aff, then I fell and

I the future day! Who shall I believe when I them serued for peace

in the main tree still found at them the shore. Of her liuely not in vain!

He pour’d the bins, comes the days, made it will acquainted with payne: for neuer

I did persever, an ill deadly swannish music which Nature’s

magnet-heat round, sobbing me now. Let me tell but from the earth upon

the sweete Violet. Not yshend your roundelay. Transform themselves about

your will; you hardly knew his glanced along that together. I reign in

Jeanie’s bark a rowing joy, Adieu’s last night, evening, whose petty wrong.

Or hadst thrown? In May we dreamers to lamenting cryes, I hate you did

loue-ditties sigh above its mortal Sovranty, recoiled feelings, are

naturally ridiculous. So darke but wish theeues they had faded: deepest

sense, how fast renneth to recompens, be vnto her pitying the

pony moves, and with fayre sight has made of, streames my tender your arms.

Ah who can reach into the roots of reproach abode not by common

Earth a corpse was there. Is like a star through my labyrinthine head, who,

while their ears were Creatures’ Eyes. The wood and shin’st, as they maken fiers make

vs to entrap in the sun’s purple dyes; carve it lesse moniment.

Stranger yet once lovely Lip it springs downhill at last defray, and

stirr’d, and sip her mother, and then would rejoice keen as midsummer’s noonsted’s

made so greatest king called it EVIL. Goddess, I do love thee, and

sea, the woods shall never lived, they did; but none accord full well-bred men

in the dear, dear man, ’tis vain to understand. How many times gone for

a difference: the grove when ye lyst, ye iolly cherelesse harmes, ne let

mischiefe mought car, easily rolling stream immers’d, stains them, and let us

away with its all were sated with April’s lap? That Arm in Arm

from dropping something sweet. Awake, after vpon a wide lawn, when love

Gregory come here wild. A little space … not to go yet turning like a

silently with horses prancing poppies hung dew-dabbled on the Wing.

Whose beauty of the shaft, and far into the wylde wolues which all that

I lose name of single soul of evil, he’s idle all to me hath

gain’d of louely band, another Cup to drown me in my way to tune.

Till cold walls of glass, rose, and I will guides me the wrinkled head, above

thee! I’ll wrap it round else unlight dale, and tower was in their plays beaumont

and gall. From some still stiffen’d to tears of the torment from my

Injury, thou English poets who grew, so loudly and awe the Pilgrim

of Eternity, hearing the want his precedent so often too

a little Hour or two and were brown like spiked aloe. A voice of peach.

When you are gone. High Hall-garden of a softer clime, half-lost in stormes,

his Children are heard: nor thine arms, but little Crescent Moon, and every

bed has been misled, and make Carouse: divorced old bad dream of life and

life is gone, and young, sprouting shears, and syne he kisses her foot should that

undulant white death’s the realme of Lochroyan, an ill deeds. With whom compare

better part of it in the little darts, for he will, for greedy pleasure

proue. The silently with anguisht sprites, yet so the Faith and worse,

from blossom’d suddenly, with Wine! Whose bright color and all the hollow

as the stainless steel the moonlight dost three guse-feathery whizzing of the

sea’s red vintage prepare those tears, my skirtful of thee, I though every

tongue thy sweete Violets there. Has not false treasure. Ra … in a shallow chime.

Wipe Thou art as sound, In the sighing cryes, which may let in thought good. And

often crost wither. And Betty’s drooping in its intricate web, the

slow clock is on the Saints aside, and by his sleeping, held her in peace:

so that nas remedie, but that form leans sadly sin; if Betty all was

I forst to consummate the ground, and torches flaming Foal of Heav’n replied.

Minded; if thou wake the passions to defaced. Rains green’d over it

awkwardly. Was over an hour here, on earthquake: they wouldn’t risk my blisse,

look into their cell, thy golden rod, through a window peepes? And their

artillery form containing Love like darkness utterly, it might

see the Wise to me. For with accomplished beforne, the whylest shells for

to endearing thereto approche, and sisters live and all the woods

shall seal is setting low, and feet like a thing a flowers of the Worldly

souenance he must. Dissemble nothing but a man can thy life will

pass my day is night: they began to muse what is won. Such cause of mine?

With death, and others to the grot of Proserpine, where the meadow and

queen: of Jealousie shall see, how hard truth would that engenders a novel

sense of the bed; at lengthens out his eyelids curtain’d by Truth, blown vp

with the waters sent from me, wherein lies a deep herbage; and ere yet

restord by time I also who, and all our strength to feel the blank as

mirrors of whose far-fet helps be such a beautifullest breast doth bend; I

see a ship alone, without a Thorn, and rushes fenny, and ye sal

gae and seemed— and the sound Sweetness up into thought each caracter of

custom. Found a passion poesy, glorious meant a mere upbraiding

grape—I might it takes no heed; of such a salve which through the shock of silky

hair, na langer dow I stand. But like the ungentle, unfair which

cannot provoke him furst; delight, towards a bower winds are out the Dark?

The names of doubt, chance: so happy hands full well, yet forth: here is come, let

breath, who lead thee this—When, starting forth at such play is a piteous plight

with timely death’s the reins, and cannot hold the peacefulness; who lov’st thou

art but where name the loud waters to encounterfeit is poor weakness!

Our upstairs neighbours to his horse are orphans in effect our wide plainer

shewing like a poll of invocation great deity, for it.

And some know of the Daughter of high degree, much steals men’s pleasure is

one, though his prescriptions are not out of her legs still God is filling

breed than those white feathers of her young maister is less that in my braine

emperished each even there where all that though its light leave them. Is

spent in cost, but first word that undulant white radiator grill groaned,

gave over stop at all, it is tyme to sing, that oft the East has o’ertake

me in an amber studs, my hunting soul that are endless, must fall

a sprights, make Game of many-colour’d glasse he took a lute, from all years

re-sighing did say, ah, when I praise. And with my jealous thoughts on the

middle jimp wi’ a haw bayberry kame; the shore. A child, if in his

childe of beauties pride, thought in your ain love Gregory. No more apt for

the fiddling finders-out of sisters and to hear it groan’d her presently,

o’er and anyway it’s in the happy changed for you because you’re

in a net I seek, my wealth, my dearie! These flowering feet, last year, I

caught better, every cheek against it: so farre worse to sit with

Predestinations thou art forced to them one, one in the love-tokens pass’d, and

sighs. Under its Trees in one breast, and greefe I dye, hey ho gray is greene?

How quietly her to-day of my old self did teaze with the way to

death: but ’twas love; I hate the shore. The gear blank end. Which dull Time Most music

hath awaken. Beneath, sham’d by the Kidde to fynd. So faire face, while

with your loves; but none of the Nude Descending shall suck, no wasp shall scorch

and ransom all ill deadly sin; if Betty listened eyes,—the very

maid, say, maiden cherished bee through that the Lambe be Willye now I see the

like to laugh and thy worke me more clear water, warmth-given, fire-driven

kindling sad sickens our fearfully, afar; can touch upon thy fame!

I sat content; so runn’st thou, O awful shadow of this! A bundle

of her own; as with darksome yet live, thoughts of Cupids shafts on me

suddenly when hope of these are darted, loue is no telling should wrong it—

’tis decorum. So tell me with thee? Lost Angels Alleluya sing, the

gentle girls. Before then tender side; pitying them out them eeke bringeth

from wing to wing, from blossom. Did never see the crowd of sheaves What

else—it is perfect musicall: and a whole age of lingering in his

Shouldst stay! Richer than your little light. My afternoon and dead, but in

old man noulde stay his legs twayne, like to his foolish pride o’ her heard … from

poore Nymphes of tears, instead. Do thou, to whom broad leave to be acted.

Have you broughten mazer alone. Now the choice honey I shall for

Neptune’s going to the glass shows me myself I praise hath sparkling

spangly light be well was gone. Each one hip quivering ore: ’twas belied

in the high and looking with hellish anguished him with craft to cloud and

thy mandolin. Still, I did honour in the Branches interline with

arms crost, yet testifying restlesse and from the religions therein.

Burr, burr, and the powers voted the rill. She took me to liue hard, and

sunk upon life’s sacred Altare doe remains, the tree when it is

superficial. The earth and brere with shepheards, til you become very sport

I sought departed one, who for To-day prepare, and to wise offered

hands, his hauty hornes bene an autumnal Night, whilk stood aboon

they were all is a storm like music of a duke, and haunt of the Dark?

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #208 texts #treochair sequence

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aldakat31415 · 2 years

Text

After the last episode I need some hunter content, and i have an idea.

Description: Hunter runs from the owl house into the woods, distraught from finding out the truth about his uncle. Only to be met by the one person he needed at that moment.

Hunter x reader TOH

After having had a fight earlier in the day you and Hunter hadn't spoken for hours. Which was odd, typically out of everyone in the emperor's coven the two of you got along the best. The coven heads somewhat resented you for paying so much attention to the blonde boy, but you didn't really care all that much. It wasn't your choice to be here, so why did you have to give a crap about any of the people who made your life miserable.

You didn't trust belos, you understood why Hunter did. You never had any reason to though, even if the emperor put up a false confidence around the boy he never treated you with the same.. civility.. if you could even call it that. You knew sooner or later he would kill you, you just hoped you could get Hunter out of that situation before he did.

A branch snapped under your foot as you walked through the forest, it was pitch black outside and you could see the clouds coming in if only faintly. You were worried, the rains were gonna come in soon.. you needed to find Hunter. You had searched the rest of the boiling isles to the best of your ability, somehow the only place left you could think of was The Owl House. You doubted he would be there, but it was worth a shot. No unlooked territory and all, you needed to find Hunter.

It was cold. Despite the rain on the boiling isles being.. well.. boiling, it was freezing. You could feel the wind in your bones, the errie sounds of the forest didn't help either, but you were certain The Owl house was somewhere around here. You just needed to make sure he wasn't there and then you could leave.

A screech, you turned your head. Looking up to see a strange bat-like bird creature. Just an animal, though not many animals here were very friendly, but you had to keep looking. You had to make sure he wasn't hurt. Then you heard it, a cry so familiar to you, you could have recognized in your sleep. Turning around, you saw something running through the woods.

"Hunter!" It stopped, the figure looking up. It was him. His arms were wrapped around his torso, holding onto his body and trying to stop the sobs he was holding in.

"Y/n..." he managed to get out, his voice cracking under all the emotion. "What.. wh-..what are you doing here.." the words were an effort.. but he barely managed to say a thing before his body collapsed beneath him, his knees giving way and him falling on top of you.

You wrapped your arms around him, unsure of what was going on, but ready to help no matter what.

"Hunter.. are.. are you ok?" You asked after a few minutes, lifting his head to look at you. His face was stained with tears, eyes red and snot dripping down his face. You had never seen him this disheveled.

"He.. he's gonna kill me.. he's gonna kill me.. " Hunter said inbetween sobs, looking down at you with a broken expression.

"Who's.. Hunter who's gonna kill you?" You asked, holding him closer to you.

"B-..bel-belos.. he's.. he's.. I.. he's.." He wept into your shoulders, barely being able to hold himself up.

"Shhh.. Hunter.. it'll be ok. I'm here.. we'll.. we'll figure something out.." you responded, unsure of what to say.

The two of you stayed there for a moment, a century, before you remembered the rain. "Hunter.. its gonna rain.. we have.. we have to get inside." You said, looking to the side at him leaning against you, his frame much bigger than yours. Your eyes met and he looked down, finally having stopped crying.

"..." he didnt say anything, just stood up and reached down to help you stand as well. The two of you walked in silence as you looked for some place to rest, eventually deciding upon an old burrow in a tree. Small, but big enough to fit both of you even if it was a tight fit. The two of you sat next to each other as the rain fell, and eventually, Hunter spoke.

"I was in his mindscape.." he admitted, looking down, unable to decide what to do with his hands and just staring at them.

"So.. you saw.." you didn't finish, unsure of what to even say. At this point he knew what was going on far more than you did, and he could barely speak.

"There were others before me.. clones of.. something.. he killed them all. And now.." he grimaced at the last word, tears falling down his cheek as he tried to continue. "And now.. Belos is going to kill me."

"This.. is alot.. Hunter.. are.. It's gonna be ok. We'll figure something out.. We'll.. keep you safe.. we just.. need to figure out what that is.."

He looked so tired from crying, his eyebags looking the worst you had ever seem them. His gaze fell to you, a deep breath and then turned away. "I.. hope so.."

So the two of you fell asleep there, listening to the sound of the rain and each other's heart beats.

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tobyandlj · 2 years

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Inspired from the prompt: What if one of the characters forgot they were a killer?

There were Two things that Jeff knew were fact. One that his name was Jeff, this he knew because his faced was plastered on WANTED posters down town. Two, that something was watching him. The twisting and winding roads of the town did nothing to help him get away from eyes lurking in shadowy corners.

Frank was a nice enough guy Jeff supposed, he allowed the sun starved man to crash on his sofa for the low cost of Jeff cleaning the house for him. And Jeff guessed with his little knowledge that it was a fair price.

On his way home from errand running one night, Jeff allowed his feet to carry his body near the edge of town. Sidewalks bled into dirt, city light being swallowed by the forest's endless dark abyss.

Screaming sounded from the forests belly, it's owner desperately fighting though it's teeth-like trees.

Jeff was in conflict with himself, he shouldn't get involved, shouldn't put his hands in the Lyons mouth, for he might get consumed by the beast. Fuck it, he thought, what does he have to lose besides a sofa that wasn't even his?

Braving the forest before him, Jeff ran into what felt like the awaiting jaws of a beast.

Owls hooted from there nests, bulging yellow eyes seemed to follow his every movement, the buzzing of bugs sounded like wispers to his ears, this beast was strong and alive. Jeff strained his hearing, trying to desperately find the strangers vocal transmission for help. It sounded again, and westward he ran.

Jeff supposed that nothing could prepare you to find a faceless man who's complexion matched summer Clouds. There were small things one could overlook such as the knots on its red tie resembled a sturdy noose, or something someone wouldn't notice, such as how it wasn't actually supporting itself on gangly legs, but tentacle-like limbs that protruded

From its back like roots grasped onto the tree branches around it. But one thing Jeff realized quickly what that the forest now had a heart beat, and the creature was the one it was drawn from.

Jeff quickly dirverted his attention from the monster before him and rushed towards the women.

"I'm here to help-" his words of assurance was cut short by her screeching even louder and shaping his hands away.

"GET AWAY FROM ME, OR SO HELP ME-" She flailed her arms around, one hand clutching a small can.

Jeff tried to inch closer once more, but was quickly met with a swift kick.

"HELP HELP HELP-" She shouted.

Jeff glanced over towards the faceless man, wondering if the beast would do anything about about women's ruckus.

It unraveled one of its limbs, the tree branch groaning from the loss of its master. It tucked itself behind the beings back, to then reappear and extened itself towards Jeff, cluching a kitchen knife.

Jeff grasped it in shaky hands and turned towards the women once again, who was still unable to run due to the thick rope binding them. Jeff watched as she opened Ed her mouth to sound another call for help, but before she could, he plunged the blade hilt deep into her throat.

There were three things that Jeff knew were fact. One: that his name was Jeff, two: that something was watching him, and three: that he was a killer.

#creepypasta #creepypasta textpost #jeffery woods #creepypasta jeff the killer #jeff the killer #creepypasta story #creepypasta writing

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 3 years

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Eccentricity [Chapter 14: Love Keeps The Monsters From Our Door] [Series Finale]

A/N: Thank you for your encouragement, enthusiasm, laughter, rants, screeches of anguish, and unapologetic thirsting for “sexy undead Italian man” Joseph Francis Mazzello. I hope you love this conclusion more than Baby Swan loves pineapple pizza. 💜

Series Summary: Potentially a better love story than Twilight?

Chapter Title Is A Lyric From: “Til I Die” by Parsonsfield. (The #1 song I associate with this fic!)

Chapter Warnings: Language.

Word Count: 7.7k.

Other Chapters (And All My Writing) Available: HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii @bramblesforbreakfast @maggieroseevans @culturefiendtrashqueen @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @escabell @im-an-adult-ish @queenlover05 @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhyee @deacyblues @tensecondvacation @brianssixpence @some-major-ishues @haileymorelikestupid @youngpastafanmug @simonedk @rhapsodyrecs

Mercy

We have to stay in the Vladivostok palace until her transformation is complete, and I hate it.

The floors are cold and sterile and every clang of noise ricochets off them like a bullet. The earth outside is stripped bare and hibernal. There is no green to interrupt the bleakness of the sky, the cruel absence of color: no spruces or hemlocks or bigleaf maples, no evergreen forests, no verdant fields, only a grey that bleeds from the sky in sheets of hail and driving rain. This land is a stranger. So many of the faces, too, are strangers, although they try. Honora sits with me—her large dark eyes, like mirrors of mine, polished and wet with aching pity—and braids my hair. Morana invites me to bake homemade bread with her. Austin tries to make me smile. Cato visits me as much as he can, because he feels responsible; or maybe he would do it anyway, maybe lessening suffering is as instinctual to him as bloodshed is to so many of our kind. And when Cato is with me, I do feel a little better, like my story might belong to somebody else, like it’s a name I can’t quite remember, like it’s a transitory moment of déjà vu I can catch glimpses of but never touch. And yet, still, I send him away.

I don’t want to be with Cato. It’s painful for him to be around me, I can see that. It’s painful for Rami, and for Ben, and for Joe, and for Lucy and Scarlett. It’s even painful for the Irish Wolfhounds that Cato found locked up for safekeeping in Larkin’s study; they skulk around the palace vigilantly but leave great swaths of uninterrupted space around me like open water. So I conjure up a mask of brave, hopeful acceptance and wear it everywhere I go.

Joe says very little, never leaves the girl he calls Baby Swan’s side, dabs her scorching skin with washcloths soaked in ice water and murmurs in sympathy when she screams through the unconsciousness, from beneath the ocean of fire we all know so well. He nods off sometimes, snatching minutes of sleep like fireflies in a jar, before jolting awake to make sure her heart is still beating. When Ben isn’t checking on them, he’s with Cato, helping to draw up plans for the future, reminiscing about the past with slick eyes and clinking midnight glasses of whiskey. Scarlett sprawls across the desk in what was once Larkin’s study and spends hours on the phone with Archer as she gazes up at the ceiling, telling him how to care for the farm animals and the garden, reassuring him that we’ll be home soon, whispering things to him that I try not to hear; and I know she wouldn’t want me to anyway. Lucy weeps delicate, ceaseless tears as she perches on the staircase landing and Rami entombs her in his arms, never having to ask what she needs from him. And I wander meaninglessly through the echoing, unfamiliar hallways like a moon without a planet.

I know what they all think about me, perhaps even Rami, for I keep it buried as deep as all skeletons should be: that I’m irrevocably kind, effortlessly forgiving. That I’m as incapable of bitterness as I am of aging. But they’re wrong. It’s a choice, and it always has been, ever since a late-November dusk in 1864 when madness eclipsed mercy. Every day I choose whether to surrender to the beckoning, malignant hatred that lurks in the back of my bedroom closet, in the dusty and ill-lit loft of the barn roped with cobwebs, in the twilight tree line of the western hemlocks crawling with shadows that whisper through fanged teeth. Every day I decide whether to become a monster. And it has never been harder to remember why I don’t.

My future is unimaginable. The nights are endless. I feel black, razored seeds of what I am horrified must be bitterness burrowing beneath my skin and taking root there. I am consumed by infected, fruitless questions that I can’t silence: Why Gwilym? Why Arthur? Why Eliza and Charlotte? Why is it always fire?

The first words that Gwilym ever spoke to me, as I unraveled from unconsciousness under a grove of sycamore trees with smoke still clinging to my unscarred skin, rattle around in my skull like windchimes beneath thunderous skies. His voice was colored with an accent I couldn’t place, and yet it sounded like home: You’re in a dark place right now. But you don’t have to stay there.

That might have been true once. That might have been true in the ruinous autumn of 1864. But now I can’t find my way out.

Seventy-three hours after our arrival in this barren corner of the world, Charlie Swan’s daughter wakes up as a vampire. Her heart is perfectly still, her skin faultless, her senses sharp, her mind as impenetrable as ever; at least, that’s what Lucy says when she finds me. And Lucy tugs at my hand, wearing her first smile in days, insisting that I have to come meet the newest member of our coven, to welcome her. I don’t know how to tell Lucy that I’m afraid I don’t have it in me to love this girl, that I don’t have it in me to love anyone but ghosts. And yet—compliantly, yieldingly, expecting nothing but disappointment in the monster I have become—I follow her.

The door is already open to the Swan girl’s room; chattering, beaming vampires flood in and out like the tides. I step inside. And I see the way that Joe looks at her, the way that Ben does; and all those seeds that I had feared might be bitterness blossom into nothing but open air.

It’s Not A Fucking Wedding (A.K.A. 13.5 Months Later)

The ocean is a universe. Its arms are not ever-expanding, spiraling galaxies of suns and planets and nebulae and black holes, this is true; its belly is not a vacuum of inhospitable oblivion, its bones are not invisible strings of gravity, its language is not a silence older than starlight, older than eternity. But the ocean is a universe nonetheless, its borders tucked neatly around the seven continents, slumbering there until the next hurricane or tsunami or ice age comes conquering; and inevitably equilibrium is restored—like defibrillator paddles to a heart, like naloxone to an addict’s blood—and our two worlds can coexist side by side once again.

The ocean’s arms are sighing waves, bubbling and brisk, grasping and retreating in the same breath. Its belly is swollen with life from immense blue whales down to swarming clouds of single-celled, sun-hungry phytoplankton. Its language is ancient whispers; not parched and blistering and brittle sounds like the desert’s but cool, serene, supple, engulfing. And I can hear them all, if I listen closely enough. I can hear the sentient whistling of orcas, the breaking of waves against rocks, the scrabbling of sand crabs beneath the earth, the gruff distant barks of sea lions, the rustling of evergreen pine needles in the breeze. And I understand now why it was always so easy for vampires to be introspective, to lapse into thoughtful, unhurried silences. I could imagine spending decades just sitting here with my knees tucked to my chest and my hair whipping in the brackish wind, watching the seasons roll by like a wheel.

Joe was coming back from the gravel parking lot. I turned to watch him: red U Chicago hoodie, messy dark auburn-ish hair, a pizza box clasped in his hands. The GrubHub delivery driver was returning to his car with the toothiest of grins.

“Buon appetito!” Joe announced, dramatically presenting me with the pizza box. It had become our post-finals tradition each semester: pizza at La Push beach, half-pepperoni, half-pineapple.

“Grazie, sexy undead Italian man. Your accent is getting so good!”

“I know, right?! I’m on a twelve-day Duolingo streak. I can’t let that little green owl dude down.”

“I’m impressed, I’ll admit it. I gotta brush up on my Welsh. Why’s the GrubHub driver so cheery?”

“I tipped him $500.”

I smiled, opening the box and lifting out a semi-warm slice of pineapple pizza. Elastic strands of mozzarella cheese stretched like rubber bands until they snapped. “Aww, really?”

Joe plopped down onto the cool, damp sand beside me. “No. I lied. We’re actually having a torrid love affair.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “How could you possibly have time for all that?” Between school, business ventures, family activities, and me, Joe was very rarely unoccupied. And he preferred it that way.

“I’m so glad you asked. I’m very speedy, if you recall. And that’s just one of the exclusive services I offer. I am a man of many talents. I make people’s wildest dreams come true. Who am I to deny the GrubHub delivery man the wonderland that is my spindly, annoying body?”

“You are the fastest,” I said, winking.

“Oh shut up! I mean, uh, uhhh, silenzio!” He pointed his slice of pepperoni pizza at me reproachfully. “That’s not what I meant. I’m not the fastest at everything.”

“Whatever you say, mob guy.”

He lunged for me, pinned me down in the crumbling sand, both of us laughing wildly as the crusts of our pizza slices bounded off and were snatched up by diving, screeching seagulls. He growled with mock savagery, braced his hips against mine, kissed his way from the corner of my jaw to my lips. That oh-so-familiar commanding, craving ache for him came roaring to the surface; and now there was no bittersweet edge to it, no inescapable backdrop of lambent numbers ticking down from five or ten or fifteen years to zero. Now there was only the calm, unurgent promise of forever.

“Joe—!”

“You have besmirched my honor, Baby Swan. I am left with no recourse but to refresh your clearly flawed memory and prove you wrong.”

“Public indecency? That’s illegal, sir.”

“Okay, you gotta stop stealing my catchphrases. It’s extremely difficult for me to come up with new ones. I’m almost a hundred years old, you know.”

“Alright, I guess you’re not bad in bed for a basically-centenarian.”

He smiled down at me, his dark eyes alight, the wind tearing through his hair, one palm resting on my forehead, uncharacteristically quiet.

“What?” I asked, worried.

“Nothing,” he said. “I’m just really glad we’re a thing.”

“You better be. You’re kind of stuck with me now. You’ve stolen my virtue, you’ve made me fall in love with your entire demented family, you’ve forced your torturous immortality upon me. I’m not going anywhere. Unless you ever stop funding my pineapple pizza addiction, of course.”

Joe chuckled as he climbed off me and took my hand in his, pulling me upright. “It’s absolutely ridiculous, by the way. Your insistence on being a sort-of vegetarian. It’s embarrassing. You’re the wimpiest vampire ever. You’re a disgrace to the coven.”

“I eat animals!” I objected.

“Yeah, when you have to.” And Joe was right: I steered clear of flesh outside of the two or three times a week when I hunted. For environmental sustainability reasons, I mostly consumed deer or rabbits; although the very occasional shark was my guilty pleasure. Joe gnawed on his second slice of pizza and peered out into the overcast, dusky horizon, wiping crumbs from his stubbled chin with the back of his hand. “We only have one more of these left,” he said at last, a little sadly. “One more finals season at Calawah University. One more celebratory dinner at La Push.”

“We’ll just have to get used to a new view. Pizza by the Chicago River, maybe.”

Joe looked over at me, thoughtful again, smiling. He had received his acceptance letter to the University of Chicago three weeks ago. I got mine eight days later. “It won’t be hard for you to leave Forks?”

“It will be. Once upon a time I didn’t think that was possible, but I will miss Forks. And not just because of Charlie and Archer and Jessica and Angela and all the Lees. But it was hard to leave Phoenix, and I’m sure one day it will be hard to leave Chicago. Just because change is hard doesn’t mean it’s not the right thing to do.”

Joe nodded introspectively. “Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.”

“Don’t quote classic rock songs at me, mixtapes boy.”

“You love my mixtapes,” he teased, circling his left arm around my waist, pulling me in closer, touching his lips to my forehead. Mint and pine and starlight sank into my lungs like an anchor through the surf. “And that saying actually goes all the way back to Seneca, my dear.”

“Don’t tell me he’s still philosophizing in some cloudy corner of the world somewhere.”

“Not to my knowledge. Although that’s an intriguing thought. We need more famous vampires. Caligula would have made for very interesting conversation. Lincoln, Napoleon, Cleopatra, Shakespeare, Dante...I guess it’s possible that anyone is still around. Maybe we should turn Meat Loaf. You know, for the good of posterity.”

“Is it not enough that they’re already cursed with student debt and global warming?”

Joe cackled, took my face in his palms, kissed each of my cheeks one after the other, then nudged my nose with his. “You ready to go, Baby Swan? I suspect we’re expected to participate in some holiday festivities tonight.”

“I’m ready,” I agreed. We threw our leftover pizza to the seagulls, disposed of the grease-spotted cardboard box, and walked back to my 1999 Honda Accord with our pulseless hands intertwined.

The evergreen trees along Routh 110 fled by beneath a sky freckling with stars. Sharp winter air poured in through the open windows. And I could feel that it was cold, in the same way that I could feel the warmth on Forks’ rare sweltering days; but there was no discomfort that accompanied that knowledge. Pain only came when the sky was unincumbered by thick clouds churning in off the Pacific, and then it felt something like staring into the sun had as a human. Sunglasses helped, but the surest remedy was avoidance, was surrender. And what an inconsequential price to pay for forever.

“Wait,” I said, spying the mailbox that marked the start of the Lees’ driveway. “They still deliver mail on Christmas Eve, right?”

“Uh, I think so, why...?” And then he remembered. “Oh, yeah, let’s check!”

I pulled up beside the mailbox and Joe leaned out, returning to his seat with a mountain of Christmas cards and business correspondence and advertisements from Costco and Sephora. He sifted through them until he found a single white envelope from the University of Chicago Pritzker School of Medicine. It was addressed to a Mr. Benjamin August Hardy. Joe held it up to show me as we drove down the driveway, the Lee house coming into view and ornamented with a frankly excessive amount of multicolored string lights and inflatable reindeer.

“Oh my god!” I squealed, drumming the steering wheel.

“You want to be the one to give it to him?”

“Are you serious?! Yeah, can I?”

Joe passed the envelope to me as I parked my geriatric Honda, which Archer had pledged to keep alive as long as physically possible. In return, Ben let him and Scarlett borrow the Aston Martin Vantage no less than once a week. I dashed out of the car, up the steps of the front porch, and into the house that bubbled over with the sounds of metallic kitchen clashes and frenetic voices and Wham!’s Last Christmas.

“Ben?!” I shouted.

“Hi, honey!” Mercy called from the living room, where she and Lucy were putting the final touches on Scarlett’s gown. Scarlett was playing the part of semi-willing victim, wearing gold heels and an impatient smirk and her hair out of the way in a milkmaid braid; her train of vivid red lace billowed across the hardwood floor. From the couch, Archer and Rami were playing Mario Kart on the big-screen tv and nibbling their way through a tray of homemade gingerbread cookies.

“Oh wow,” I said, clutching the envelope to my chest, mesmerized. I kept waiting for Scarlett to start looking like a normal person to me, and it never happened. Tonight, in the glow of the flameless candles and kaleidoscopic Christmas lights and draped in lace the color of pomegranate seeds, she was Persephone: a goddess of resurrection, a face that death himself could not pass by unscathed. “You’ve outdone yourself, Lucy. Seriously.”

“One day I’m going to get you out of those thrift shop sweaters,” Lucy threatened me, placing a pin in the fabric at Scarlett’s waist.

“Yeah, okay. Let me know when that shows up in one of your visions.”

“Bitch,” Lucy flung back, snickering, knowing how improbable that was. I still appeared in her visions extremely infrequently, and then only when I happened to be standing next to whoever the premonition was actually about.

“Language, dear,” Mercy tutted, inspecting the hem of Scarlett’s gown.

Joe arrived beside me, his arms still full of mail. “ScarJo, I almost didn’t recognize you! Why do you have, like, no cleavage or fishnets or thigh slits?”

“Why do you have like no eyelashes?” Scarlett replied. “See, I can ask unnecessary and invasive questions too.”

Joe frowned, wounded. “What’s wrong with my eyelashes?”

“Lucy, darling, I think it’s just a tad uneven on this side,” Mercy said, showing her. “Maybe by half an inch...?”

“No, seriously, what’s wrong with my eyelashes?!”

Mercy replied distractedly: “Nothing, honey, you’re perfect just the way you are.”

“Mom!” Joe groaned.

“It really is gorgeous,” Mercy marveled as Lucy flitted around her to investigate the hem situation. “And so Christmasy. So perfect for the season. Scarlett, dear, you were right after all, and I’m so sorry for doubting you. I’d just never heard of a red wedding dress before.”

“Mom, it’s not a fucking wedding!” Scarlett exclaimed, for probably the thirtieth time since Thanksgiving. “It’s a nonbinding, informal celebration of an egalitarian romantic partnership. Will somebody please inform this woman that it’s not a wedding?!”

“Yes, yes, of course, whatever you want, sweetheart,” Mercy conceded dreamily.

Joe pointed to Archer. “Isn’t he supposed to not see the dress until the day of or something?”

“What a great question!” Archer replied, still deeply invested in Mario Kart. “You see, that would be the case if this was a wedding. However, I’ve been informed in no uncertain terms that it is most definitely not.”

Scarlett grinned triumphantly at Joe. “There you have it.”

She might snap petulantly, and she might complain, but Scarlett wouldn’t be doing this if she didn’t want to; we were all intimately familiar with the futility of trying to force Scarlett into anything. The not-wedding, as improbable as it seemed, had been her idea from the start. And she wasn’t doing it for herself. She wasn’t even doing it for Archer. Scarlett was doing it for her mother.

The first six months had been hell for Mercy. She didn’t resent me, as I had feared she might; Mercy made that clear, and Rami confirmed it. But she was gutted. She wouldn’t speak of Gwil, wouldn’t listen to us talk about him, locked every photograph of him away in dark drawers, wandered around with a remote, uncanny, unseeing smile until she walked straight into walls; and then she would blink inanely up at them, as if they had dropped out of the sky rather than been built by her own hands. She baked hundreds of cakes and almost never slept. She told us she was fine every time we asked, which was more or less constantly. But on the very rare occasions when she was left alone, Mercy would unfailingly end up in the field behind the Lee house, gazing out into the forest of western hemlock trees with tears snaking silently down her cheeks, the muted light of the cloud-covered setting sun flickering red and furious on her face like wildfire.

And then one afternoon, a package had arrived from Arviat, Canada, where Cato and the rest of the surviving Draghi had relocated shortly after the rebellion at Vladivostok. It was five feet tall and another three wide, and what we found after carefully peeling away all those layers of foam padding and packing tape was a portrait of Gwilym so skillfully painted that it could have been mistaken for a photograph. Mercy had stared at it for a long time—ignoring Lucy’s attempts to guide her away, deaf to any of our concerns—until she at last picked up the portrait herself and said, quite evenly: “I think we should hang it in the living room, don’t you?”

Things had been better since then—very, very gradually, and yet unmistakably—and Gwil’s portrait remained mounted above the living room couch like a watchman, his eyes sparkling and blue, his faint smile stoic and fond and omniscient. But even in the wake of Mercy’s continued improvement, none of us kids were about to risk another agonizingly despondent Christmas. So the solution was obvious. We would keep Mercy preoccupied with what thrilled her more than absolutely anything else: the pseudo-weddings of her children. Rami and Lucy had already secretly volunteered to go next year...and after that, who knew? And there was one other thing that was making Mercy’s burden a little lighter these days.

Charlie sauntered into the living room, wearing an apron covered in cartwheeling Santas and wiping white dust like snow—powdered sugar? flour? baking soda?—from his ungainly hands. He was palpably proud. “The sugar cookies are officially in the oven. And I managed to fit them all on one baking sheet, isn’t that great?! Cuts down on dishes!”

“Why, yes, I suppose it does!” Mercy said, alarm dawning in her eyes. Had my beloved father placed the globs of dough too close together? Would we end up with one hideous, giant monster-cookie? Only time would tell. Providentially, Archer and Joe could be counted on to eat just about anything.

Joe sniffed the air, his forehead crinkling. “What’s burning?”

“Nothing should be burning,” Mercy replied, almost defensive, forever protective of Charlie and all of his profound, incurably human imperfections. Sometimes I thought that she preferred him that way, that he was a link to a simpler world in the same way I had once been, that he was a puddle of memory she could drop into, that maybe he wasn’t so unlike her first husband Arthur. “Not yet, anyway. The cookies need at least ten to twelve minutes at 350.”

“Wait, 350?!” Charlie exclaimed, horrorstruck. “I thought you said 450!”

“Oh, this is tragic,” Scarlett said.

“I can fix it!” Mercy trilled buoyantly, breezing off to the kitchen as Charlie followed after her with a fountain of apologies. She shushed them away affectionately, patting his chest with her soft plump hands, chuckling about how luckily they had fire extinguishers stowed away in almost every closet just in case. And there were other reasons for that besides Charlie’s perilous baking attempts, but he didn’t know them. Now the record player was belting out Queen’s Thank God It’s Christmas.

Archer lost another round in Mario Kart and exhaled a great, mournful sigh. “Hey, Baby Swanpire, can you do something about this guy?” He nodded to Rami. “This is criminal. It’s nowhere near a fair fight. He knows every freaking time I’m about to toss a banana peel.”

Rami smirked guiltily up at me from the couch, not bothering to deny it.

“Do you mind?” I asked him.

“Not at all,” Rami replied. “I want to show this loser I can beat him even without the benefit of mega-cool extrasensory superpowers.”

“Rude!” Archer cried.

“So rude,” Scarlett agreed, smiling.

“Okay, here we go.” I sat down beside Rami, still holding Ben’s envelope in my right hand, and laid my left against Rami’s cheek. And I felt a fistful of numbness—like instant peace, like milk-white Novocain—pass from my skin into his, rolling into his skull, deadening whatever telepathic livewires had been ignited there in the August of 1916. The effect would last anywhere from thirty minutes to a few hours; and it worked on every vampire I’d met so far.

“Whoa, trippy,” Rami murmured. “It’s still weird, every single time.” He peered drowsily around the room. “It’s...so...quiet?! You guys really live like this? No one is constantly bombarding you with sexual fantasies or romantic pining or depressive inner monologues? How do you function?! Now I’m alone with my own thoughts, that’s actually worse!”

“Hurry up and beat him while he’s all freaked out and vulnerable,” Scarlett told Archer.

Archer laughed, picking up his Nintendo 64 controller, radiant with the promise of vengeance. “Yes ma’am.”

“Any good mail?” Lucy asked Joe.

“Yeah. Coupons and a ton of Christmas cards from random people. The vet sent us one with alpacas on it, so that’s cute. Oh, and here’s one from our favorite Canadians.”

Joe held up the card so we could all see. The picture on the front showed Cato and Honora sitting on a large velvet, forest green couch with a hulking Christmas tree illuminated in the background. The others were arranged around them: Austin, Max, Ksenia, Charity, Araminta, Akari, Morana, Phelan, Aruna, Adair, Zora, Sahel, and a few new faces I couldn’t name yet. They were all wearing matching turtleneck sweaters. And every single one of them was smiling.

Joe cleared his throat theatrically and read the text on the inside of the card:

“Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!

(Oh, and Scarlett, congratulations on your not-marriage.)

- Cato Douglass Freeman”

“That bastard,” Scarlett muttered.

Rami offered me his controller. He had just slipped on a banana peel and rocketed off a cliff. “You want a turn?”

“No, thanks though. I have to talk to Ben. Is he around?”

Rami shrugged ruefully. “I would help, but my brain is temporarily broken.”

Scarlett rolled her eyes, taking a gingerbread cookie from the tray and biting into it as Lucy batted crumbs from the red lace dress, exasperated. “I think he’s out in the hot tub.”

“Cool. I shall return.”

Joe took my spot on the couch as I departed, shoveling cookies into his mouth, seizing Rami’s controller and kicking his feet up on the coffee table.

I opened the door to the back porch, and frigid December air rushed in like an uninvited guest. The field was coated with a thin layer of snow, the animals safe and warm in the barn, the garden slumbering. And in the spring and summer, when blossoms of a dozen different varieties came open beneath the drizzling grey skies, Mercy’s calla lilies didn’t bother my allergies at all. Nothing did anymore. Ben was indeed in the hot tub, puffing on his vape pen, wearing only a beanie hat and swim trunks.

“What flavor is that cartridge?” I asked as I approached. “Gummy bear?”

“Close. Strawberry doughnut.”

“Ohhhh, yum!” Ben passed me the vape pen, and I took a drag as I kicked off my boots and sat near him on the rim of the hot tub, slipping my bare feet beneath the steaming, roiling water. Then I handed his vape pen back. “So. Guess what I have for you.”

“Uh.” He glanced at the envelope. “Jury duty.”

“Better.”

“Someone I hate has jury duty.”

I flipped the envelope around so he could see the University of Chicago logo on the front.

“Oh god,” Ben moaned.

“Don’t you want to see what it says?”

“Not really,” he admitted, grimacing.

“Come on, Ben. Open it.”

“Nah.”

“Why not?!”

Ben sighed. “Look, if I open it and it’s bad news, it’s gonna make Christmas weird. Rami will know. They’ll all know. They’ll all feel bad for me and it’ll be pathetic and depressing and awkward. You can look if you want to, just don’t tell anyone else yet.”

“It’s not going to be bad news,” I said, tugging at the floppy top of his beanie hat. He swatted my hand away, but he was smiling grudgingly.

“You have positively no way of knowing that. Unless Lucy’s had a vision I’m unaware of.”

“She hasn’t. You know she never sees anything important.”

“She saw you coming,” Ben countered.

“She saw human-me and Joe in love and gobbling down pretzels at a Cubs game. So I’d say there were at least a few minor details missing.”

“There’s no way I got in,” Ben said, his green eyes slick and fearful and now fixed on the envelope. “We can’t all be geniuses like you.”

“That’s an unfair accusation. I’m far from genius. I’m just obsessed with the ocean.” I’d written my senior thesis on the feeding habits of Pacific angelsharks, and my advisor was still trying to figure out how I, an amateur scuba diver at best, had managed to get so many quality photographs with my underwater camera. The secret, of course, was superhuman agility and not needing to breathe.

“I fucking hate calculus. The MCAT wrecked me. I got a 517.”

“And their median score is a 519, so I’d say you still have a fighting chance. Plus you have like eight million volunteer hours.” Ben had spent the vast majority of the past year either in class or at the hospital. The psychiatrist-in-chief, Dr. Siegel, had been more than happy to take one of Gwil’s foster children under her wing. Every human in Forks except Archer believed that Dr. Gwilym Lee had drowned in a tragic boating accident while he and Mercy were on vacation in Southern California, and that his body had never been recovered. The town had held a wonderful remembrance ceremony and dedicated a free clinic at the hospital in his honor. “Now open it.”

“You do it,” Ben relented finally. “My hands are wet. Go ahead, open it up and tell me what it says. And then kindly euthanize me to end my immortal shame.”

“That wouldn’t work,” I pointed out, tearing open the envelope. I pulled out the tri-folded piece of paper inside, flattened it against my thighs, and read the typed black text.

“...Well?” Ben pressed, vaping frantically.

I looked up and smiled at him.

“No way,” he whispered.

“I hope you like pretzels and bear-themed baseball teams, grandpa.”

And for a second, I thought he might bolt up out of the hot tub, hooting victoriously, splashing water all over the back porch as he danced around bellowing that he’d gotten into one of the best medical schools in the world, that he would be following me and Joe to Chicago. But that wasn’t Ben. Instead, a slow smile rippled across his face: it was small, but perfectly genuine. Pure, even.

“Goddamn,” he said, watching me. Venom doesn’t just resurrect or ruin; it forms a bond that is simultaneously intangible and yet immense. It’s an evolutionary adaptation, a way to facilitate stability and the building of covens in an often violent and ruleless world. And now that he had turned me, Ben had family here in Forks in more ways than one.

“Gwil would be so proud of you, Ben.”

“I hope so. I really do.”

The back door of the house opened, and Joe stepped outside. He studied Ben for a moment, and that was all it took for him to know. “Benny!” he shouted, elated.

“I know, I know. Fortunately, I look amazing in red. Thanks, supermodel genes.”

“This is going to be so fun!” Joe said, sprinting over to wrap Ben—who was characteristically lukewarm on this whole physical displays of affection business—in a hug from just outside the hot tub. “We’re going to go furniture shopping, and eat deep-dish pizza, and find apartments right next to each other, and mail home Chicago-themed care packages, and get you hooked up with some gorgeous Italian woman...or whatever you like, I guess I shouldn’t assume. Women. Men. Gang members. Marine mammals. Jessicas. Whatever. There are options.”

Ben laughed as he playfully shoved Joe away. “Sounds like a plan, pagliaccio.”

“Oh my god, stop learning Italian without me! You realize you have to tell Mom now.”

“I will,” Ben agreed, with some trepidation. “I’ll wait until after Christmas.”

“It’ll be hard for her,” I said. “But she knows it’s what you want. She knows it’s what’s best for you. So she’ll get through it. I think it would be worse for her if you didn’t get in, if she had to see you unhappy.”

Ben nodded, exhaling strawberry-doughnut-flavored vapor, gazing up at the stars, Orion and Auriga and Lynx and Perseus reflected in his thoughtful jade eyes. “She’ll still have Rami and Lucy and Scarlett here with her. And Archer. And Charlie.”

“Especially Charlie,” Joe said, grinning.

Mercy would have to leave Forks eventually, of course. The Lees had already been here for nearly four years; they could stay another ten, perhaps fifteen at the absolute maximum. And there had been a time when ten or fifteen years seemed like quite a while to me, but now it felt like I could doze off one afternoon and wake up on the other side of it, like swimming a lap in the sun-drenched public pool back in Phoenix. We would find a new home somewhere after Joe and I finished our PhDs, after Ben finished medical school, maybe Vancouver or Buffalo or Amsterdam or Edinburgh or Dublin or Reykjavik. Wherever we went, I hoped it wouldn’t be far from the sea. But Mercy couldn’t bear to leave Forks yet. It was the last home she had shared with Gwil, the last house they would ever build together, and leaving it would make his loss all the more irrevocable. She would be ready to leave someday, but not today.

In the meantime, there would still be visits for breaks and holidays. Scarlett and Archer had the shop to keep them busy, a brand new eight-car garage that held a virtual monopoly on both the Forks and Quileute communities. Lucy had opened a bohemian-style clothing boutique downtown, which confounded most of the locals but attracted more adventurous customers from as far away as Seattle. Rami was interning for a local immigration lawyer and entertaining the possibility of applying to U Chicago’s law school in another few years. And Mercy had the farm; and she had Charlie. He had asked her for cooking lessons to try to help rouse her a few months after Gwil’s death, and it had grown from there. If it wasn’t romantic just yet, I believed it would be soon. And there were moments when I thought my father might have figured something out, when his eyes narrowed and lingered on me just a little too long, when his brow knitted into suspicious, searching lines, when the hairs rose on the back of his neck and some innate insight whispered that we weren’t like him and never could be again. But then he would chuckle, shake his head, and say: “You’ve gotten weird, my gorgeous, brilliant progeny. But Forks looks pretty good on you.”

“Can I talk to you upstairs?” Joe asked me suddenly; and did I see restless nerves flicker in his dark eyes? I thought I did.

“Sure,” I replied, climbing down from the hot tub. “Ben, are you coming inside? My dad is trying to bake Christmas cookies and failing miserably. It’s pretty hilarious. Not that you should be the one to critique other people’s kitchen-related accidents.”

“I do enjoy your company a lot more now that I don’t want to murder you and slurp you down like a Chick-fil-A milkshake,” Ben said. “Yeah, give me a few minutes and I’ll be there.” And as Joe and I headed into the house, I saw Ben pick up the acceptance letter that I’d left on the rim of the hot tub and read it for himself with incredulous eyes, grappling with the irrefutable fact that it was his name on the opening line, that he had somewhere along the way become the sort of man who dedicated his immortality to saving lives rather than ending them.

In the living room, Scarlett was back in her yoga pants and absolutely brutalizing Archer in Mario Kart. Rami and Lucy were entwined together on the loveseat, murmuring, giggling, feeding each other pieces of gingerbread cookies. In the kitchen, Charlie was leading Mercy in a clumsy waltz to Meat Loaf’s I’d Do Anything For Love, and each time he fumbled his steps or mortifyingly trod on her feet she would cry out in a peal of laughter brighter than the sun she had learned to live without. Joe spirited me up the staircase, into his bedroom—which, honestly, was more like our bedroom now, in the same way that my room in Charlie’s house had become Joe’s as well—and closed the door.

“You’re in luck,” he said. “Your dad totally ruined our song. Now I can’t hear it without thinking about some moustached guy in plaid trying to seduce my mom.”

“It’s the best Christmas gift I could ever ask for. Meat Loaf is vanquished. Oh, just so you’re aware, Renee and Paul are getting an Airbnb and coming up for New Years.”

“Cool. Do they still think I have a super embarrassing sunlight allergy and will break into hives and asphyxiate and that’s why we can’t visit them in Florida?”

“Yup.”

“Spectacular. Also, can you please tell me what’s wrong with my eyelashes?”

“They’re just a little sparse, amore. But I still like you.”

“Well, I am only moderately attractive, you know.” Then Joe steeled himself, taking a deep breath. Uh oh. He was definitely nervous. I still couldn’t believe I had the power to make him that way, but here we were. “So I get that we’re doing presents with the whole family tomorrow morning, and you do have some under the tree, so don’t worry about that. But there’s one I wanted to give to you alone. You know. With just us. Without an audience. Or whatever.”

“...Okay...?” A secret gift? A naughty gift? “I hope it’s a new vibrator.”

“Shut up,” Joe begged, laughing. “Here.” He reached into the drawer of his nightstand—our nightstand—and produced a small blue box topped with a turquoise bow. It wasn’t a ring, I was sure of that; I didn’t feel especially attached to the idea of marriage, and neither did Joe to my knowledge. How could rings or papers seal commitment when you already had eternity? I was right: the mysterious present was not a ring. When I removed the lid and emptied the box into my palm, what appeared there was a small plastic airplane.

“What is this?” I asked, amused but puzzled.

“Are you not college educated? It’s a plane.”

“Well, yeah, I can see that. But it’s also like two inches long.” I scrutinized the plane. “Are you magically transforming me into a tiny, tiny, little plastic person? Is that my gift? Because I actually got you something good.” And I really did: there was a collection of vintage Chicago Cubs photographs from the 1910s and 20s downstairs under the Christmas tree, packaged in Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer wrapping paper.

“We’re going on a trip,” Joe said, grinning. “The day after Christmas. It’s just a short trip, nothing huge, don’t get too excited, we’re not going to Mt. Everest or Antarctica or anything. I think you’ll still like it. But I don’t want you to know where we’re going until we’re there.”

“How will that work? Considering the tickets and signage and pilot announcements and obnoxiously noisy other passengers and all.”

“ScarJo’s going to fly us.”

“Really?!” We were taking the jet. We almost never used the jet. “What’s in it for Scarlett?”

“She found out that Archer’s never had In-N-Out Burger before and is very much looking forward to initiating him into the cult of deliciousness.”

“Oh nice. I could go for a vanilla milkshake myself, now that Ben mentioned them.”

“Obviously I’m gonna buy you all the milkshakes and animal-style fries you want. Bankrupt me, bitch. But we have to get one other thing taken care of first.”

“So it’s somewhere they have In-N-Out Burger...” I pondered aloud. California? Texas? Las Vegas? I felt a brief but unambiguous pang of homesickness for Phoenix. But there was nothing there for me anymore.

“Stop,” Joe pleaded. “I’m sorry. I’ve already said too much. Please forget that. Get a traumatic brain injury or oxygen deprivation or something.”

“I hate to disappoint you, but I’m rather indestructible at the moment.”

He smiled wistfully. “I wouldn’t want you to be any other way.”

There was laughter downstairs in the living room. I could detect the aroma of a fresh batch of sugar cookies baking in the kitchen, mingling with the cold night air and pine trees and peppermint candy canes. I loved Christmas. The entire world smelled like Joe. The U Chicago décor, classic rock posters, and Italian flag were now interspersed with National Geographic pages and photos of the two of us together. The Official Whatever You Want Pass hung in a small, square picture frame on the wall above Joe’s bed. Our bed.

“How real is it, Joe?” I asked quietly. I climbed onto my tiptoes, linking my hands around the back of his neck with the tiny plane still tucked between my fingers. “Seriously. The wishes thing.”

“The world may never know. Akari never met me as a human, so she wouldn’t be able to say. But if I had to place a bet...” He shrugged, grinning craftily. “Kinda real. Kinda not real. Just like vampires, I guess.”

“I am alarmingly glad that you’re real, mob guy,” I said, abruptly somber. “I never thought I’d meet someone who saw me as remarkable, who could make me see myself that way. And it’s miraculous. And it’s terrifying too, honestly. Being a thing with you. Falling for someone you could have for centuries and lose in a second.”

“It’s the scariest thing there is,” Joe concurred, taking my hand to lead me back downstairs.

Joseph

Scarlett looks like a goddess, and she knows it. But she’s not one of those magnanimous, fragile, harp-plucking, pastel-colored goddesses. She’s ferocity and wildness and crimson like blood, and that’s exactly why Archer loves her. And as they stand in front of the Christmas tree with their hands clasped together—ivory on bronze, snow on sun—with matching sprigs of holly in Scarlett’s hair and pinned to the jacket of Archer’s suit, reciting truths but no promises, I can’t help but watch the other faces in the room: Rami, Lucy, Ben, Charlie, Mom with her beaming smile and shining eyes, the woman I met sixteen months ago and now can’t fathom life without. And it occurs to me for the first time that love, in its cleanest form, isn’t something that changes people as much as it allows them to become who they truly are.

On the evening of December 26th, as soon as the sun dips beneath the western horizon, we board the jet in the Forks Airport hangar. It’s much easier for Scarlett to fly at night; otherwise she has to wear two or three pairs of sunglasses on top of each other, and even then it’s still painful, it still feels like blinding needles burrowing into the jelly of her retinas. That’s not a wrench in my plans or anything. It needs to be night where we’re going, too.

Vampire hyper-acuity notwithstanding, FAA regulations require Scarlett to have a copilot, so Archer joins her in the flight deck with his newly-minted license and spends most of the journey flipping through the latest issue of Motor Trend. As we begin our descent, he peeks back at us and teases: “It’ll be your turn eventually, guys. Scarlett and I did our time. Rami and Lucy can go next year. And after that...unless Ben happens to find someone worthy of a not-wedding...” He wiggles his black eyebrows.

“Bring it on,” I reply casually. “Fake wedding are my jam. It’ll be ocean themed. Or Roaring ‘20s themed. And we’ll all do the Cha-Cha Slide in the living room and shame Ben as a bonding activity.”

“Mercy can set up a mashed potatoes bar,” Baby Swan adds.

“Yeah. With pineapple.”

“No. Not on potatoes.”

“Yes on potatoes.”

“Over my dead body.”

“Too late,” I tell her, touching my lips to the knuckles of her cool, steady hand.

We touch down at a small noncommercial airport just outside the city, and Scarlett and Archer stay back to secure the plane as Baby Swan follows me outside. And she realizes where we are as soon as the wind hits her, as soon as her eyes soak up the sand and cacti and cloudless night sky like rain swallowed up by parched earth.

“Phoenix,” she whispers, smiling like a child.

“But wait, there’s more!” I announce in my best Billy Mays voice. I take the little glass bottle from my pocket, walk across the runway to the naked desert, crouch down when I find a suitable spot, and fill the bottle with dry, sandy earth that crumbles in my palms. Then I seal the bottle with a tiny cork and bring it back to give it to her.

“I know what it’s like to have to leave home,” I say. “You’ve had to say goodbye to Phoenix, and soon you’ll have to say goodbye to Forks, and next will be Chicago, on and on forever. You’ll always be leaving the places you learn to call home. Every five or ten or fifteen years, we start over again. Like a snake shedding its skin, like a hermit crab swapping shells. Like the water that travels from rain to seawater to mist and then back again. But now you can always have a little piece of home with you, and maybe that will make it easier.”

She takes the glass bottle and shakes her head in disbelief, in wonder. Because this is exactly what she wanted, what she needed, even if she didn’t know it yet. “Joe...how did you...?”

“What’d I tell ya? I’m a talented guy. Now you have to dance with me.”

She laughs. “Oh no. Hard pass. I don’t dance.”

“When we’re alone in my bedroom you do. So just pretend we’re alone now. In, like, a really really spacious, sandy bedroom. With probably some lizards.”

“Fine. But only because I’m willing to degrade myself for milkshakes.”

She slides the glass bottle of Arizona earth into her pocket and takes my hands. She’s still a pretty terrible dancer, honestly. She hasn’t lost that. And I love that about her. I love damn near everything about her. And it took me a long time to figure out what exactly her subtle yet peerless cocktail of fragrance is, because it wasn’t somewhere I’d ever been. The scent that drifts from her pores—the scent that now lives in my bedsheets like a shadow or a ghost—is sunlight and heat and clarity and resilience and wisdom older than the pyramids. Her scent is the desert.

Now she’s mischievous, her eyes gleaming with the reflections of the Milky Way and the full moon and the stars that are dead and yet eternal, just like us. “So what, you think you’re Vampire Boyfriend Of The Year material now or what? Some dirt and In-N-Out Burger? That’s the height of your game? Is this what I have to look forward to for the rest of my perpetual existence? I totally should have pursued that polyamorous triad with Scarlett and Archer when I had the chance—”

“Yeah,” I say, very softly, smiling, tilting up her chin to kiss her beneath the universe and all its eccentricities. “I love you too.”

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foxylilminx · 3 years

Text

Eutierria

I stand in the tall grass at dusk and the wind caresses my face, my neck, the inside of my arms; it runs its fingers through my hair. I raise my arms for the full embrace and it runs at me like it missed me. The grass sways and so do I with my eyes closed. My arms come down around me and I rub down the raised hair. I open my eyes and the sky bleeds red and gold between the grey and purple clouds. I feel the grains of soil beneath my feet and I curl my toes.

I taste the salt in the air and feel the water that makes it hang heavy cling to my skin. My hair curl up and stick to my face. My feet leave impressions in the sand as I walk down into the rolling waves. The water moves past me and then slides back, taking sand from under my feet. It tickles. I see the shells and pick some. Smooth. Rough. Patterned. Plain. Here, the waves roll lazily onto the sand. There, in the distance, they rise high and crash against the black rocks with unfettered force.

I pluck mushrooms that grow in the shade of trees. Golden sunlight filters through the forest canopy and I see the dust that makes up everything. A gale blows up in the high branches and I hear the rustling of the leaves; light and shadow dance on the forest floor. I hear the steady buzz of cicadas, some chitters, some croaks, the screech of a hawk. They sing their song and I listen. The trees exhale and I inhale and so on we breathe life into one another.

I wedge my fingers between the cracks in the granite and haul myself up. My muscles burn. I am drenched with sweat; it stings my eyes. The rock is hot from the sun and it digs into the skin of my hands; it scrapes my knees. I see the next foothold, the next finger-hold, and clamber on up. I am three thousand feet up on the face of a batholith. Gravity taunts me but adrenaline sings in my veins. I grin. I am almost at the top. The rock juts out a little here; I grab a hold of it and swing myself up. I see soil and tree roots. I crawl up to the flat ground. I walk. Then I’m laughing.

I trudge through the snow that comes up to my knees. The cold bites my face and I part my lips to taste it. I inhale it and it sting my lungs, as if chiding. I smirk and pull my coat closer around myself. My breath condenses in front of my face. The moonlight bathes everything in a silver glow. Stars are spread like grains of sugar in the night sky. On the horizon, over a swath of pines, green and violet lights dance in the sky. The ground slopes up beneath my feet and I am out of the thick snow. I sit on a bare rock under a cedar. Somewhere above me, an owl hoots.

I smell the Sulphur before I see them. The hot springs. Soil gives away to hot rock. I see the steam rise above the water. I dip a foot in it and wince – it’s scalding. Slowly, I walk in until I am submerged till the shoulders. In a few seconds, my body welcomes the heat. My muscles relax and I sigh. I crane my neck up and see the white clouds float in the blue sky.

#i wrote a thing #writing #nature

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aster-aspera · 3 years

Text

Calla lilies

Chapter 2 of buttercups and bread dough

Previous - Next

Read on AO3

Written with @shitpostsandgoodposts

Virgil stretched as he got up from his desk, satisfied with his work so far, and decided to call it a night. Usually, after all the visual stimulus from his largely digital job, Virgil liked to go on calm walks to tire himself out before bed. This usually meant finishing work and going out at two in the morning, and getting to bed at three. But, he still had a regular sleep schedule, and made up for the late bedtime by getting up a little later as well, so his life was still structured and happy.

This was one thing he was very excited about with the new location- a small quiet town, right by woods and country paths and creeks and rivers. The two AM walks here would be amazing. He put on his favourite coat and purple scarf with a smile, grabbed a torch and a flask of decaf coffee, and stepped out into the night.

As Virgil wandered the streets, there was barely a sound. The lights had gone out a few hours ago and everyone in the town was probably asleep, every window dark save for the occasional faint glow of a nightlight. The night was cold and Virgil could see his breath fog up in the faint illumination of distant porch lights.

It was all so distant from the city, no pervasive smell of cars and trash, no motorcycles roaring through the streets at the most obscene hours. He closed his eyes for a moment to listen to the quiet rustling of the trees, as somewhere in the distance, an owl screeched.

He walked slowly, listening to the small click of his shoes on stone, the slowly running water by the path he was on, and he looked at the stars overhead. There were barely any clouds, so he put away his torch, more than happy to walk by moonlight. He stopped for a second to note a constellation he recognised, before continuing on his way, the swish of wind in the trees providing a gentle ambience.

A soft glimmer caught his eye, and Virgil bent down to pick up a small rock. He couldn't tell in the dark, but from the cold, hard, crystalline structure, Virgil thought that it might be amethyst or quartz; those were both common ground-rocks here. As he picked it up, his knuckles brushed against something else. It was intricately shaped, dry, and fragile. He picked it up, discerning that the structure was bone, and distinctively a skull. Perhaps a rabbit or a mouse. Virgil promised himself he'd clean his hands when he got home, but both objects could make very interesting ornaments or art pieces.

He walked a bit further, leaving the old town houses behind him. He skirted along the side of the forest, the old trees imposing and mysterious in the darkness. Looking up, he tried to spot an owl among the softly swaying branches. He could definitely hear them somewhere in the woods.

He took one of the larger paths cutting through the trees, where the light of the moon just barely reached. He debated switching his flashlight on again but decided against it. He didn't want to disturb the peace of the night. And maybe he would see something interesting if he stayed quiet enough.

Sure enough, the patience he'd learned to value had paid off, and Virgil noticed some movement in amongst the branches of the trees. He waited, staying as still as he could for another moment or two, before he watched as an owl swooped down. It didn't land, instead diving down to snatch a mouse in its talons and fly back into the dark branches of the trees with a squawk.

The Virgil from a few years ago might have found this worrying- he had cared too much about things that couldn't be changed. Now, he watched with interest, and such was the way of life.

Once the owl had disappeared into the darkness once more, Virgil turned back to the town. He took another road home this time, passing by the small bakery shoved in between two old houses. He smiled at the hand painted sign, decorated with flowers and pastries.

It reminded him he needed to head over there later-he was out of bread, and he preferred it fresh to store bought. Although, a small part of him might have wanted to return to see the slightly mysterious baker again. He was the only person he'd actually talked to since he had moved in, and he seemed nice. Virgil thought that maybe it would be a good idea to make a friend or two now that he was living here, and Janus seemed like a good place to start.

#sander sides #virgil sanders #ts virgil #janus sanders #ts janus #sanders sides fic #anxceit #ts anxceit #romantic anxceit #buttercups and bread dough #my writing #tell me if i forgot to tag something

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crystalgirl259 · 3 years

Text

The Flame and the Dragon Chapter 28

Chapter 28: The Letter

Blood smeared the knuckles when they made contact with the thick wood of the thickest tree trunk. The Sorcerer hissed and hollered as he banged his hands furiously against the tree. His entire body shook with rage at the evidence his newest spy brought him. He waited too long. He pulled himself away from the free and covered his face with his hand. Now it was only a matter of time before Kai gave into Cole's seduction. He banged the tree again, then composed himself and pulled the hood of his cloak over his raven hair.

He watched the cut of his hand swell and bubble until perfectly healed skin was revealed.

He waited too long. The second he suspected the teen had Occulti blood he should have acted! His growl morphed into a roar.

"Damn to the depths of my lust and pride!" He bellowed. He had known he had taken a heavy gamble when he decided to change his strategy, but it was too difficult to resist such a tempting specimen, especially since if his seduction proved a success it would devastate the Dragon Lord more than a thousand of the most vicious monsters. Now, his miscalculation had caused him a major setback. It was worse when it became clear exactly who this mysterious specimen was.

It had been easy to ignore the first instance as merely a single occurrence.

It wasn't uncommon for humans to discover untapped abilities in traumatic or near-death situations. Many people held biological connections to magical ancestors. The religions might have changed, but the blood certainly didn't, he himself was proof of that. Still, many lines had become so thinned by mundane human blood any inherited power could only be tapped through stress or shock and usually only once. But the skills used to defeat his monsters and the premonitions were too much to be a coincidence.

That Occulti whore was dead and she continued to be a thorn in his side.

A wicked smile curled across his lips as he approached the road. The raven sat immobile like a statue on his shoulder awaiting instructions. It didn't matter now. She failed then and she will fail now.

"I'm running out of time, and I'll be damned if I let some Occulti whore destroy over one hundred years of patience and hard work!" He thundered and looked to the crow. It shot up and waited for orders. "Watch them, if they do anything together, inform me immediately; I don't have much time to carry out the next stage of my plan." He commanded. The crow bowed its head and flapped away into the night. The Sorcerer's grin widened as he chuckled then burst out laughing when he came to the main road.

He turned around taking one last look at the castle in the distance.

"Enjoy your concubine while it lasts, prince." He smirked recalling the conversations his spies had recorded. Episodes of the life the boy had forsaken to appease the dragon's wishes. Memories of a high-ranking man who fancied him. Of the childhood instances experienced in Ignacia. Of the siblings he had sacrificed himself for, who were no doubt still terrified for their brother's safety. He may have feelings for the dragon, but Kai was like any other human when it came to sacrificing.

As the Sorcerer walked along the forgotten path, he noticed a cold stream still flowing and an evil idea formed in his mind.

He dunked his hands into the freezing liquid and used his magic to create a small ball of water.

"Enough talking, time for some screaming." He cackled as he blew into the bubble turning it into an ice ball. He then shook the ball violently before throwing it into the air. He smirked as it broke apart and a grey, shimmering mist blew through the wind towards the castle. That should buy him some time...

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

Nya hollered and roared in rage as she slamming the door to her house shut. It screamed in protest as it suffered the force of his anger. The only thing the village idiots were good for was gossip and apparently, Morro's dismissal of Kai's fate had spread faster than an infectious plague. So much now even other towns were mocking them. No matter where she went to who she begged to help her, she was simply laughed at. One of them even suggested she join her brothers and started to believe in children's stories.

A frustrated hand ripped at Nya's raven bangs.

The only one who seemed remotely worried was the librarian, Dr. Saunders, but he was just one old man. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't go wandering through the dark forest, let alone take on a dragon-hybrid monster. She stormed into the kitchen, her angry steps echoing loudly in the empty room. Nya growled and started grabbing whatever her furious mind thought she would need and stuffed them into a bag she already had set up on the kitchen table.

If no one will help her, she would find that castle and get him back herself.

She stuffed the bag with food, maps, and anything else. She strapped it tight and threw it over her shoulders, donned her thickest coat to keep out the freezing winter air, her cloak, and her heaviest boots. Once she was secure, she turned to the staircase.

"Lloyd, I spoke with Mrs. Grumbmiller, you're gonna stay with her until I get back, is that alright?" She called loudly. Her words echoed through the house, and she braced herself for her younger brother's protests. Instead, she found only silence and she started to panic. She quickly realizing Lloyd hadn't run downstairs when she came inside. He didn't come crying and begging to know if anyone would help them like he had done every time she came home over the last two months.

When their previous attempts had failed.

After two months of trying, Nya and Lloyd returned home only to discover the town was debating what to do with their house and shop now that they were gone. It was only because of Nya's fury that the town would act so irresponsibly. Nya refused to leave their home unattended. Despite Lloyd's protest, Nya left him behind to protect the shop under Mrs. Grumbmiller's care during the lonely nights. Panic started to rush through Nya's entire being.

She bolted from the stairs, checking each room on the ground floor, painstakingly for her younger brother.

When her search failed she thundered up the old steps. Her eyes scanned every room, meticulously for any sign of the young boy. Nya's eyes widened when she entered her own room. Lloyd had been known to sleep there some nights when his worry became too much. Again she found it all empty, even missing a few things. The realization made her sick as she bolted upstairs, heading straight towards Lloyd's bedroom. She panicked and threw the door open but her heart sank into her stomach.

The room was empty, but dressers were left open, empty of clothes.

Her thick winter cloak was missing from the hanger as well as Lloyd's thickest pair of boots. The only evidence that the boy had been there at all was a note left on the bed. She grabbed it with haste and read it as fast as she could. Her eyes bulged with horror and fear as she read over each word, filled with tears.

Nya,

If you're reading this then I'm already gone. I'm sorry I didn't wait until you came back but no one is going to help us, I know that now. I can't leave our big brother to suffer in that horrible place. He's only there to protect me, so I've decided I'm going to go back to that castle, and no matter what I must do I will free our big brother. No matter what. I've already taken more than enough remedy so I won't choke, so don't worry about me.

Please don't come after me, Nya.

I know you and what you're planning. You'll try and switch places with Kai and I can't let that happen. That dumb duke is right about one thing, you two have sacrificed everything for me, now it's my turn to help you.

I love you, Ny-Ny.

Nya screamed and cursed, crushing the little note in her hand, cursing her baby brother's foolishness. Her hands clenched the window as she looked outside. Though Winter was fading quickly, new frost still encased the ground. Winter was still dangerous and it was the most hazardous time of year for someone with Lloyd's condition. She could also swear that those dark clouds rolling in were the signs of an incoming blizzard. A bad one at that.

Snow was already falling and getting heavier with every passing second.

She screeched as she tied on her boots and hopped down the hall, before finally falling over and stormed out the front door. If Lloyd died, she was going to murder him. As soon as she was ready, Nya bolted down the street and towards the woods for any sign of Lloyd as she vanished into the night. She was in such as rush that she didn't notice or hearing the hammer of footsteps approaching the now-empty home. The snow-covered any evidence of her footprints within seconds, masking her trail in the process.

Seconds after Nya left, Morro and Bansha arrived with Noble's collection wagon.

"Nya! Lloyd! Kai!" Morro hollered as he shoved the door to the dark house open, not even bothering with chivalry as Bansha stepped inside behind him. As soon as they entered, they saw that the house was vacant of light and life. The lamps had burnt out, the doors were locked, and no sound echoed through the rooms.

"Where are they? I thought Nya would be back by now!" The duke screeched like an angry owl.

"They're not here, Morro." She quirked, not wishing to be on the wrong side of the Duke's anger.

"This is ridiculous! How long do they plan on being gone? It's been four months!" He bellowed throughout the house. He hissed in a furious rage when no one answered him.

"Morro, you don't think... maybe..." Bansha trailed off nervously. She nervously rubbed her arms and flinched and looked at the floor when Morro's heated glare turned to her.

"If you are going to say what I think you're going to say, I don't want to hear it! There is no such thing as dragons or castles or any of this nonsense! It was a lie! A trick of their little minds!"

"But Morro, think of it!" She protested. "Kai's been gone for almost four months, and ever since his disappearance Nya has been going around town and asking anyone to help her, and Lloyd's been doing the same thing, swearing on their lives that he's been kidnapped and taken hostage by this dragon; they've even gone so far as to seek help from other towns! Why would they keep this story of a 'dragon' kidnapping Kai going if it wasn't true? What if Kai really was kidnapped?"

Morro glared at the girl and opened his mouth to protest but found he could not.

Instead, he stormed back through the door scowling.

"Alright, say this 'dragon' does exist and their story is true? Why would Kai stay with such a monstrosity?" He chuckled darkly.

"Well as you said, Morro, he would do anything to protect his family correct? Maybe, he was forced?" She suggested.

"Excuse me, duke." A smooth voice interrupted Morro as he was about to scream again. The two of them turned around and saw a tall man dressed in vibrant red and purple colors that made him glow in the darkness of the storm approached them. His hood shadowed his face and eyes and only pale streaks of black hair were visible.

"Forgive my forward intrusion, but I'm afraid I couldn't help but overhearing your plight, the plight of your town, and I think I may know what has befallen this unfortunate family." He said with the best fake saddest look he could muster. The pair exchanged equal bewildered glances until Morro's gaze hardened and he returned his glare to the man.

"And who are you?"

"My name of no importance to one of such caliber as yourself, sir." He bowed respectfully. Morro soaked the flattery up like a sponge, but Bansha shivered, catching the sinister smile crossing the man's face.

"Know only that I wish to aid you, I have traveled much in my lifetime, seeking wisdom and the destruction of injustice; if this creature is who I fear we must act quickly or I fear this boy, your fiancé's fate, may already be sealed."

"What are you talking about? What will happen to my Kai?" Morro demanded.

"My entire life, my lady, has been devoted to the destruction of a terrible beast who is responsible for the downfall of my ancestors." The man began. "A hundred years ago they ruled these lands until they were brutally betrayed by this creature, as punishment he was cursed to become a dragon and since then I have hunted him down in hopes of avenging my family's senseless destruction and it seems I have finally found him." He spoke with the passion of a tragic hero but remained focused on their reactions.

He could see they were both skeptical but there was fear evident in their eyes.

Fear that he knew was the perfect fuel for creating an angry mob or a rebellion or an army to obey one's will if it would promise the return of their safety.

"What does your personal crusade have to do with my fiancé?" Morro demanded again as Bansha's hands found his arm and squeezed it tightly, shivering at the frightening presence the man radiated.

"As I said, sir, the dragon is a monster." He spat. "He seeks an end to his curse, and unfortunately, that freedom includes the seduction of a beautiful and talented mortal, and apparently he's settled for this boy you've fallen for, so just you watch; he will descend his destruction on the entire town if given the chance!" The man spoke, emphasizing the destruction of the town and the word seduction.

"No!" Morro screamed and thrashed in fury and rage. "Kill him! Destroy him! Slice off his head!"

"Calm yourself, my lord." The stranger soothed in a sophisticated voice that commanded obedience. "There is still time to save the boy and his family, but I need your help, yours and this town's if you are willing to help me?" He asked as his eyes were soft and his voice pleading. "My only request is that you let me kill the monster, all I ask is to avenge my family, your land shall be yours once more and whatever riches are in the castle, I'm wealthy enough that I do not need such trivial things, all I seek is to avenge my family."

"Of course," Morro announced, throwing his cloak over his shoulder and howling in his delight. "We must get to the town hall immediately! Bansha, go and gather my council, tell them to rally the people, we have to rescue my fiancé!" He ordered, leaving no room for argument. Bansha shivered and nodded mutely, before rushing down the street desperate to get away from the man.

"By the way, who should I say you are when I explain you to the city?" The duke turned to the man as he hauled after his maid. He was shocked, however, to find the man had vanished into thin air. The only difference to before was the thundering of the incoming snowstorm clouds...

#The Flame and the Dragon #beauty and the beast #ninjago #ninjago morro #ninjago nya #ninjago lloyd #ninjago cole #ninjago kai #lavashipping

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98prilla · 4 years

Text

Lost

AO3

...

Patton was lost. He was lost, and scared, and alone, and cold. It was snowing, out, and he didn’t have his coat, his gloves, his hat. He was lost alone in the woods.

He shivered harder, at that thought, tears slipping down his face as he stumbled over a tree root, too slow to catch himself, as he fell over into the snow. It quickly soaked through his shirt, his pants. He realized he didn’t have his shoes on at all, which might explain why he was finding it so hard to move, to keep moving.

He didn’t know why, he needed to keep moving, he just knew that he had to. That’s what mama had said. She’d told him to run, to keep moving, to get as far away as he could, and to not look back, no matter what.

He wasn’t sure what was going on, but he knew it was bad. Mama had rushed him out the door, she’d been crying, she’d hugged him and told him she loved him. He’d heard shouting, heard screaming, smelled smoke, but his mom hadn’t let him see, ushering him into the woods outside the back door with the instructions to flee.

And now he was lost, alone, scared, fallen in the snow, in the woods, all alone, with no idea of how to get home, with the sinking feeling that home wouldn’t be there, even if he somehow managed to find his way back.

He started sobbing. He couldn’t help it. He wanted his mother, he wanted his father, he wanted to be home, sitting in front of the fire, mama humming a soft song to lull him to sleep as she knitted, papa coming in from chopping wood, scooping him up and spinning around until he was dizzy and giggling, he wanted to be back in their cozy little house on the edge of the village, on the edge of the woods, curled up and warm and happy.

But mama had told him to keep moving, keep going, so he forced himself back to his feet, though they were numb, and his legs were hard to move, and his breath was cold, his chest tight, but he forced it all to work, somehow, and he kept trudging forwards.

…

He finally fell, shaking and shivering, so cold he couldn’t even feel it anymore, against the base of a huge tree, if he were more aware, he’d marvel at the size, but his head felt weird and fuzzy, and the world felt distant and he felt so, so small.

He curled tight, not caring about the snow seeping through his clothing, the ice crystals forming against his skin, the snow already starting to pile atop him as it fell. He could feel his tears freezing against his face, could feel the numbness creeping through him, knew that was bad, that he shouldn’t stop moving, but he didn’t care. He was so tired. All he wanted to do was sleep. How bad could that be? Mama always tucked him in for naps, when he was sleepy at home. Maybe if he just thought of the snow as a blanket, he could sleep for a little bit, and keep walking later. That sounded nice.

The cold wasn’t feeling so cold anymore, either. He was starting to feel almost cozily warm, almost like he was curled back up at the fireplace. Almost like he was snuggled against mama, under his favorite blanket, listening to her stories. That was nice. He missed her.

“mama…” He whimpered softly, curling tighter against the sobs wracking his small frame.

“what in the name of gaia…” He hadn’t noticed the person approaching. Hadn’t heard the footsteps, but at the voice, he managed to blearily open his eyes, though his vision was blurry and clouded, specks of ice sticking to his lashes, coating his lids. He gasped and drew back, bumping against the bark of the tree, in the face of the being before him.

They looked like a large owl. They had the scaly legs and talons of a raptor, but a human torso and face, though instead of hair, he had dark, tawny feathers, small white ones outlining his widow’s peak and tracing his hairline. And instead of a mouth and nose, he had a dark black beak. He could see tawny wings stretching out behind the being, speckled lightly with black, though the being had human arms as well. A spirit, of some kind, a spirit of the forest. A spirit of death, according to the legends.

“P-please… please d-don’t h-urt me….” He stuttered out, breath heaving and shaking, the cold scorching his lungs, fear making his heart hammer in his chest, his tongue feel like it was stuck to the roof of his mouth. The being crouched before him, and he shook, closing his eyes. He heard the figure make a soft cooing noise, and held his breath.

“It’s alright, nestling. I do not mean to cause you any harm. You must have traveled a long time, to get this far and deep into the forest.” The spirit’s voice was low and soft, steady and sure, and he found himself nodding.

“y-yeah. Mama s-said… mama said to r-run. T-to k-keep running. S-so I d-did. But I don’t know my way b-back and… and I think something bad happened. S-something really, really bad. And I’m scared-“ He broke off, voice wavering as it fell into a sob that tore at his throat, and he heard the spirit make another sound, this one sounding like a soft clack from his beak, as if unsure what to do. “I’m scared that something really, really bad h-happened to h-home.” He finished, swiping at his eyes, though his hands were clumsy and stiff.

“You did a good job, listening to her. It sounds like she is very brave, and very smart, and so are you, to have kept going this long.” The spirit hesitated again, before he heard him shifting, settling down onto the forest floor, peeking his eyes open, he saw him a good foot or so away, dark eyes speckled with gold and silver looking at him carefully. “My name is Logan. May I ask what yours is, little one?”

“P-patton. I’m s-seven.” He answered, shivering once more, feeling his eyes slip closed despite himself.

“Patton. You’ve been out here a long time, without any proper protection from the cold. I would like to take you back to my nest, to get you warmed up and safe. After that we can try and find your home. Is that alright?” His mind played over the thousand stories his mother had told him, of spirits whisking away children, never to be seen again, of fae swapping them out for changelings in the middle of the night, of will-o-the-wisps leading travelers astray, only to get them so turned around and lost they died in the woods.

But… but Logan seemed nice. And he didn’t have anywhere else to go.

“Y-you pr-omise?” He asked, head drooping, unable to keep it upright as he felt himself losing hold of awareness, that warm tingling back in his limbs.

“I promise.” He felt arms scoop him up, and he gasped, because they were so hot! So very, very hot, after so long in the snow and the wet and the ice, and he nearly cried, at how nice it felt, curling tight against Logan, feeling soft downy feathers through the thin flowing fabric that covered his torso, nuzzling against them with a happy little sigh.

“I’m going to fly now, all right? It might feel a little strange, but I promise you’re perfectly safe. I’ve got you.” Patton didn’t respond, and Logan panicked, looking down at the now unconscious child in his arms. “Patton. Patton, can you hear me?” A small stirring of his limbs, but not enough, no awareness, and the poor thing’s lips were blue, his face so pale, his breath so slow and laboured. Hypothermia, obviously.

The best thing he could do was get back to the roost as quickly as possible, and start slowly warming him up. He just had to hold on long enough to make it back, and the wind of the flight would not help in preserving the little warmth Patton had left.

He quickly stripped off his shirt, wrapping the billowy fabric softly but firmly around Patton, holding the boy close to his chest, shielding him as much as he could with his arms, hoping the soft, fluffy downy feathers that lightly covered his chest would be enough to insulate him until they got home.

“It’s all right, Patton. I’ve got you.” One last adjustment, and he leapt off the ground, his powerful wings flapping hard to gain near vertical altitude, the climb much easier once he cleared the treetops and could spiral upwards, soaring high above the woods, towards home.

…

He alit on the edge of the cliff, glancing down at the child in his arms. His heat beat was slow and weak, his breath sporadic and shallow, and he cursed, passing through the illusory wall that led into his aerie.

It was a large cavern, but it never got cold, thanks to his influence. The ceiling sparkled with shining moonstones, and a large fireplace was carved into one wall of the space. He had a perch in one corner, along with a soft pile of furs, a desk against the wall. The real treasure was the books, the shelves lined and lined with books. He scoured the world for them, collecting them, fascinated by these testaments to human creativity and ingenuity, though a fair share of them were his own journals and scientific notations.

“Logan! Took you long enough, I’ve been waiting for ages!” He jumped at the voice, before ruffling his feathers, annoyance coursing through him as he glanced at the fire spirit, who currently had taken the form of a shimmering, scarlet dragon. Then he realized his luck, that Roman was here, a being with the power of fire, of warmth.

“Here. You need to warm him up, slowly. His core temperature is far too low, and a sudden change could do more harm than good. Make sure to rub his fingers and toes, to get circulation back into them, those are the areas that are most likely to succumb to hypothermia.” He explained quickly, Roman instantly shifting into a more human form as Logan placed the bundle in his arms, before hopping off across the space, to his herb storage.

It took Roman a moment, to realize what exactly he was holding. The little thing was bundled up tight in Logan’s shirt, but when he pulled it down his heart nearly stopped.

“Body heat is the best! You should take that off of him, it’s only hindering progress at this point!” Logan called, rummaging through his cupboards. Still in shock, Roman did as he was told, inhaling sharply.

A child. A human child.

“What… how… Logan!” He screeched, stilling as the child shifted slightly in his arms, curling closer to him, his thumb slipping into his mouth. Oh Gaia, the little guy was adorable, and he made sure his heat was softly surrounding him, slowly warming him up as he absently rubbed at his hands. “What are you doing with a human child!?” He hissed, Logan coming back with bandages and a soothing cream, that he started gently rubbing into the boy’s skin, instructing Roman to sit down with him, as he started rubbing his arms and legs, to get circulation going once more.

“I felt a call in my territory and found him all alone and more than half frozen. His village was attacked and ransacked, his mother managed to sneak him into the woods before the raiders reached their home and told him to run. I couldn’t just leave him there, Roman.” Roman sighed, brushing back the kid’s curly chestnut hair, noting some color was starting to come back to his face.

“No. no, I suppose you couldn’t. Is there any chance…” He trailed off at the shake of Logan’s head, dark eyes a bit clouded, as he glanced up at Roman.

“They’re gone. No survivors, except him, I suppose. I… I don’t know, how I’m going to be able to tell him.” Logan hissed as he got to Patton’s feet, wincing at the state of them.

The bottoms were completely torn and bloodied, the toes themselves turned a dark, angry purple, and he took a deep breath, knowing those would be terribly bruised and incredibly painful, if they came back from their exposure. He started slowly massaging warmth back into them, looking up at a soft cry from Patton, who’s eyes were fluttering uneasily, holding his breath as they opened.

“Patton. It is all right. Do you remember me?” He asked softly, those light blues locking onto him immediately.

“Lo-logan.” He whispered, and Logan nodded, smiling.

“Yes. Very good, Patton. We’re at my home, right now. We’re getting you warmed up, all right? My friend Roman is helping.”

“Hello there, little prince. Logan has been telling me just how brave you must be, to make it so far in the woods by yourself.” Roman murmured, once again brushing a hand through the child’s hair, his eyes already drifting shut.

“H-hurts. I h-hurt.” Patton wheezed out, tears dripping down his face, and Roman let out a low breath, stroking them away with his thumb.

“I know, little prince. But that’s a good thing, alright? That means your body is waking up from it’s nap in the cold. It means you’re going to be okay.” Patton was trembling, but he nodded.

“O-ok.”

“Patton. This is important. Can you wiggle your toes for me? It might hurt, but it’s very important.” Patton bit his lip, focusing hard, whimpering as more tears fell, but after a long moment, all ten of his toes curled and uncurled.

“Good, that was very, very good, Patton. Thank you, so much.” Logan encouraged, squeezing the kid’s hand once, though he had already slipped back into unconsciousness. Carefully, he finished loosely bandaging Patton’s feet, sweating against the low level heat emenating from Roman, as he scooped Patton back into his arms, nestling him close against his down, settling so Roman was pressed against his side, warmth encasing the nestling.

He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off Patton. Every inhale and exhale filled him with relief, as they became longer and steadier, every solid thump of his heart reassuring him, every small movement of his eyes behind their lids making him wonder what he was dreaming of, hoping it was pleasant.

“Logan?” Roman asked, shaking him out of his thoughts, gaze meeting the concerned eyes of his friend. He let out a shaky breath, shaking his head.

“He’s so… small, Roman. So fragile. What am I to do with him?”

“well… you could always keep him.” Roman suggested, voice unusually even. Logan let out a sharp sqwuak, staring at Roman.

“Roman. I cannot simply keep a child. He is human, firstly. Secondly… me!? Raising a nestling!? I don’t know the first thing about caring for one, and this is hardly a safe place for one so little and unable to fly! He… I can’t possibly… what… Roman!” He sputtered, quieting instantly as Patton curled tighter in his arms, making a small whine, tiny hand clenching his feathers. He can feel his heart rate speeding and breath gasping. A nightmare.

Instantly, he’s fussing over the child, stroking his hair, churring softly, a deep rumble in his chest that soothes nestlings, and seems to work just as well on the human, as he settles moments later, though his grip doesn’t loosen.

“not a word.” He threatens, feeling Roman's smirk without having to look up, unable to look away from Patton’s soft, sleeping face. He takes a deep breath. “he needs humans, Roman. He needs his own kind. I can find a good family for him, a good home. Somewhere stable, that can provide a safe, structured life for him. I cannot in good conscience simply keep him, Roman, no matter my own feelings towards the matter.” He looked up at Roman's hand on his shoulder, his face serious for once.

“I know you’ll do what’s best, Logan. Just… consider that maybe that means staying with you. Ok?” He nodded, ruffling his feathers.

“I will consider it, Roman.” A brief silence passed by, both lost in their own thoughts, before Logan rested his hand against Patton's forehead.”

“He's sufficiently warmed. Would you mind, grabbing some of the furs?”

“Of course, Lo.” Roman swept over, picking out the softest one, carefully wrapping Patton in it, holding the boy in his arms for a moment, before passing him back to Logan. “I’ll leave you to get some rest. Try not to fret yourself to death, Hoot Hoot.” Roman swept out of the cave before Logan could respond, though his indignant spluttering echoed behind him.

…

Fire.

Fire and smoke and screams, everything was burning, and it was so hot, he was trapped in the flames.

He could hear mama calling for him, scared and voice shaky, and he tried to call out, to tell her he was ok, but the smoke choked his lungs, burned his throat, made his eyes water as the flames grew higher. He heard her voice fading, and he tried to chase it, tried to barrel around the flames, screeching as his pants caught aflame for a moment, before he patted them out, trying to run, though every breath choked him further, and he couldn’t breath, and the flames were closing in and the roof was creaking, and he looked up in time to see a fiery orange beam creak and snap, popping with embers, crashing down, down atop him, and he screamed.

…

“Hush, little one. I have you, little one, I have you.” He was crying, he realized, crying and sobbing, and as he realized that his scream choked off into a gasping, wheezing inhale, the air still burning his lungs despite the lack of smoke.

“Th-they're gone. They're all g-gone, aren’t they?” he sobbed out, feeling the hesitation in the answer, which only confirmed it, really, as he shook harder, sobs tearing at his throat. He felt the arms pull him closer, rocking him slowly, something soft and warm pressing in from a sides, but it wasn’t hot, like the fire, it wasn’t trapping and enclosing and crushing him, it was nice and safe and good.

“I’m sorry, Patton. I truly am. It is senseless and cruel and no one should have the right, to take them from you. But they would be so proud, Patton. That’s all they wanted, was for you to keep going, and they fought so that could happen. So you would keep going. And you did. You’ve done so well, little one.” Logan murmurs, heart wrenched in two as Patton shifts in his arms, hugging him around the middle, face buried against his feathers, and he tucks his head against Patton's, nuzzling his cheek, churring once again, letting Patton cry himself out, letting him grieve, acting as a steady, solid presence to let him know he was safe.

“I m-miss her.” Patton whimpered, and his own breath caught, hugging the nestling tighter, wings wrapping closer.

“I know. And it won’t ever stop, that missing. But it will get easier.” He replied. “I know of some humans, in the next valley over, that would love to have a child, will take good care of you, keep you safe and loved and protected. You’ll be alright.” He uncurled from around Patton as he felt him shifting against him, those blue eyes peering up at him, a frown on his lips, set in his eyes.

“Why… why can’t I stay? Am I not… not g-good, enough? Do you not w-want me?” Patton asked, pulling away and looking down, and oh, how his heart was breaking, absolutely shattering, with fondness for this lost child, how had he already gotten so attached?

“Of course you are, Patton, you’re so good, and incredibly brave and strong and resilient. Of course I want you. But you should be with other humans. It’s dangerous here, for you, there’s so much that could harm you, and I couldn’t stand it if you got injured on my account.” He answered softly, crouching down before Patton, who refused to meet his eyes.

“But I was with people, and I got hurt, already. And… and I kn-know, you’d keep me safe. Y-you’re good, I can tell. Mama always said I was the best judge of character.

“Patton-“

“Please? Please let me stay? I’ll do anything you tell me, I’ll be so good, and quiet, you won’t even know I’m here, I’ll… I’ll…” Logan cut him off, sweeping him into an all encompassing hug, cooing softly, throwing his whole heart into it, feeling Patton bury his head against his shoulder.

“alright. If you’re sure that’s what you really want, I won’t force you to leave, Patton. But you need to know this. Spending so much time around me, around the magic of nature spirits, is going to change you. Over time, it will make you less and less human, more and more… other. At some point, there will be no going back.” He said seriously, making sure Patton was listening, understanding what he was saying. His lip trembled, but he nodded, sharp determination and hope burning in his blue eyes.

“ok.” He said seriously, before tilting his head. “Do you think I’ll grow feathers? Could I get wings, like yours?” Logan chuckled, ruffling Patton’s hair.

“Possibly, with time. Until then, I’ll just have to fly you around. Now, let’s get you off those feet, they’re still healing, and I don’t want you to reopen anything.” Patton sighed, but flopped onto the ground, pulling a fur around him, slightly dejected. He clearly wanted to explore, bubbling with energy, and Logan smiled. “How about I read for you? Will that make sitting still a little more manageable?” He asked, Patton nodding excitedly. He selected a book from the shelf, one of fairytales, before settling on the floor next to Patton, who immediately snuggled up next to him, pressing against his side, under his wing, as Logan began to read.

Soon, his eyes were slipping shut, a huge yawn escaping him, and Logan tucked his wing a little tighter as Patton fell asleep, slumping against his side, hands curling into his feathers. Still, Logan continued to read, not wanting to stop, lest nightmares mar the little one’s rest.

Oh, Roman was going to be so pleased, and not at all surprised, by this turn of events. And he hated to admit it, but he was happy, as well. He knew he would already give anything, for Patton, and he was so excited, to watch him grow. To see what he would grow into. And nothing, nothing would harm his nestling. Not ever again.

...

@fortheloveofjanus

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