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clevercatchphrase · 3 years

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2020 Year Review~

2020. Pretty unique year, don’t you think? It’s the first year since 2002 to have only two different digits in it. After 2022, this won’t happen again until 2111. Yep. Absolutely nothing more interesting than that.

Anyway! It’s time I reflect on my 2020, look back on my yearly goals and rant about things that happened to me this year. I made a post like this last year, where I went over my 2019 goals and talked about what I accomplished and what I didn’t, and it’s only fitting I do the same again this year. Read more under the cut for a random stream of consciousness ramble!

So, first things first, let’s look at my 2019 goals;

Finish paying off that last student loan

Put more stuff on my redbubble

Illustrate my own fan fics

Sew at least one stuffed animal

Make an enamel pin

Read one new book a month

Write one page a day/Complete at least one new fan fic

Learn Python or C# for the game I want to make

Finish fully scripting Ghost Switch

Boost my patreon

Paying Off My Last Student Loan: Going down the list, I am proud to say that I FINALLY paid off all my student loans! (and not a moment too soon. The last payment I made was literally days before the first quarantine rolled out). It took me roughly 4 years on my part-time paycheck to pay off all my loans, and once I finished, I had no money to my name (literally; I had less than 1k as emergency money in case of car troubles or health issues). Heck, I’m STILL living at home as a save up for a place of my own. Finally paying off all my student loans DID activate my secret 2020 new year’s resolution, which was to adopt a cat! I did this too, literally a week later! She is the best thing that’s happened to me this entire year and I love her so much and she is the snuggliest cuddle bug I’ve ever met. I’m so happy she’s in my life now~

Put More Stuff On My Redbubble: ah ha ha ha… I thought I did this, but then I went and checked, and it turns out-! I did not. I made art I intended to go on my redbubble, but haven’t put there yet. They are all drawings of some OCs from a game I want to make, but because I haven’t progressed on making the game this year, I never got around to putting more stuff related to it on my redbubble. At the time of writing, there are 7 days left in December, so I guess I could go and put it up on my redbubble right now, but without context on where the characters are from, there wouldn’t be much point, now would there?

Illustrate My Own Fan Fics: Another goal that I was so stoked to actually do… and then just didn’t. Gee, I wonder why I couldn’t find the energy or motivation to do it this year? Truly a conundrum. (Hey, you know what? If Ghost Switch counts as a fan fiction in a visual form, then I am doing GREAT on this goal. 2.5 years in, 1 of ~4 arcs done, and still going steady~)

Sew At Least One Stuffed Animal: Okay, I have a valid excuse for not doing this one. I even knew which stuffed animal I wanted to make, and had the pattern drawn out and everything, but I had no money for materials because I had just paid off my student loans. And then, by the time I did have enough money again, quarantine was in full effect and I couldn’t go out to the fabric store. I’m still trying my best to stay out of public places even if the rules are laxer now, because I don’t want to catch the plague even if everyone in my goddamn city thinks and acts like the problem is over already. Even if they’re all wearing masks, even if they’re staying 6 feet apart, I still don’t want to risk it. I will stay inside until health experts give the all clear, and when that day comes, then I will buy some fleece and make a plush.

Make An Enamel Pin: I ACTUALLY DID THIS ONE. TWICE! Halfway through quarantine, I was feeling anxious and depressed about my job and how they were planning to have me work with the public despite climbing infection rates and positive covid cases. I didn’t quit then, but in a desperate move to try and become self-sufficient, I went to madebycooper and made two enamel pins based on some butterfly dragons I drew last year. They’re on my etsy store now! I even went out of my way to open a P.O. box just to start a small business! I haven’t sold a single pin yet, and I’m actually really nervous to sell my first because I don’t trust the efficiency of the postal system thanks to the actions of the GOP that really screwed them over this year! (If you would like to see my enamel pins, click here!)

Read One Book A Month: I did this! With dragon books I bought a couple years back! In fact, I read FOURTEEN dragon books, and still have more books for next year to read! The 14 books I read this year were:

The Hive Queen

The Poison Jungle

Wings Of Fire Legends: Dragonslayer

Dealing With Dragons

Searching For Dragons

Calling on Dragons

Talking to Dragons

The Bronze Dragon Codex

The Brass Dragon Codex

The Black Dragon Codex

The Red Dragon Codex

The Silver Dragon Codex

Dragon Strike, and

Hatching Magic

To be honest, I had read The Red Dragon Codex years ago when it first came out, but completely forgotten what it was about. I remembered liking it, and I knew the reading level was on the lower side, but the whole dragon codex series was pretty good! So far, the Silver dragon codex was my favorite, and black dragon codex was probably the worst! Hatching Magic was also really slow and bad and had plot points that went nowhere, but the book was written in the 80s, so I don’t know what I expected. The Dealing with Dragons series was very charming and great for the most part, save for one line in the last book that really rubbed me the wrong way, and all the Wings of Fire Books go above and beyond in this third arc. The second legends book could be a little tighter, though (sky and wren are the best duo and I want a book solely about them, but I honest to god do not care about leaf and ivy’s stories.)

Write one Page of any story every day/ complete at least one fic: I… did this? Okay, I kinda cheated near the end of the year. I was keeping up the one page a day thing for the first four months, but then the world went to shit and my schedule and habits got disrupted and I fell off my good track record. I completed 7 out of roughly 12 one-shots I had planned for this year (my goal WAS supposed to be one short a month, but… you know how it happens) I kept trying to catch up on this goal all year, but the days kept piling up…. Until November hit. I managed to write over 250 pages for Nanowrimo, and I consider this goal a win. 365 pages of fiction in total, which averages out to about one a day~. SHUT UP IT COUNTS.

Learn Python or C# for the game I want to make: Another goal I didn’t have the mental energy to commit to this year. Truly a mystery to where all our willpower went in 2020.

Fully Finish Scripting Ghost Switch: still haven’t done this one yet! The Snowdin arc is completely planned, but I just haven’t gotten around to getting the other areas. I’m not worried, though. I know all the major plot points I gotta hit, it’s just weaving them together in a way that flows nice is the final task. I’m not too worried though. I don’t expect to finish the Snowdin arc for another year and a half, at the bare minimum.

And my last goal of 2020, Boost My Patreon. I did this at the beginning of the year, but then very intentionally stopped about a third of the way through. It didn’t sit right with me to tell you guys to donate to me when suddenly EVERYONE was financially strained from layoffs or being furloughed. I told my patrons the same, and if you ever need to stop donating to me to take care of yourself first, then by all means, please do. I would feel much better knowing you’re using your money to see yourself fed and housed instead of given to me (where it is pretty much only used to buy gas for my car, honestly)

Welp! That was all my goals for 2020! I achieved 4 out of 10 goals plus 1 secret goal! Pretty much the same ratio as last year, but now this time I can blame all my failures on the pandemic! I don’t feel so bad about myself anymore~

ON TO 2021!

I have 11 goals for the new year, again some rolled over from this list, and some from even older years. They are, in no particular order;

Read 12 new books (roughly 1 book a month)

Finish the first draft of 2019’s Nanowrimo project and rewrite it

Script TDV

Finish Scripting Ghost Switch

Build A Comic Buffer

Sew 1 Stuffed Animal

Finish 1 Song Comic

Make another Enamel Pin

Finish 2 short original comics (this one counts as 2 goals)

Finish the 5 remaining one-shot fics

Now to go into depth on each one, more for my own sake, really. I want to know exactly what I have planned for each goal this year, and sometimes just looking at a short list doesn’t capture all the smaller details.

1)Read 12 new books. Same as last year! I The only difference is I might not be able to make it all dragon-related books. (I try my hardest not to buy from amazon anymore, but half-price-books doesn’t always have the obscure stuff I’m looking for)

2)Finish 2019’s nanowrimo project. If you read my 2019 year reflection, you’ll notice I said I wanted to do some original writing. And I did! The story I wrote for nanowrimo back then was a story I’ve been toying with since 2017, but it was only last year I finally got pen to paper. Now, you may find it odd that the keyword says “finish”. You may think, “but isn’t that what you’re supposed to do for nanowrimo?” and to that I say, WRONG! I wrote 50k words for nanowrimo, but the draft was only about halfway complete. I was kinda discouraged about what I had written last year, because I didn’t like how it was coming out, but I did manage to get it half done. Now it’s time for me to bite the bullet and just finish the thing so I can finally revise it and make it into something I DO like. (It’s still gonna be hella long, tho. That’s what I get for trying to write an epic fantasy, I guess.)

3)Script TDV. TDV is the abbreviation of the game I want to make. I… still need to do so much for this project OTL… In addition to getting the story solidified, I still need to draw art and game assets, and learn how to code for it, both of which are no small task. I keep having some sort of new year’s goal related to this on my list, and every year I just don’t hit this one. Will 2021 be different?

4)Finish Scripting Ghost Switch. (Or at the very least, get the waterfall arc completely written out). I have a plan to break this down into simpler steps, by focusing on just one arc for a month or two. Every major arc has 2 to 3 parts, broken up by flashbacks, and if I can just finish one section a month, then I should have the entire thing scripted by the end of the year. It’s not a difficult pace, but seeing if I stick with it will be the real challenge, as it is will all my goals it seems.

5)Build a Comic Buffer: I’m actually working on this one right now! Since I paid off my last loan and got a new job this year, my current Patreon goals are kind of out of date. They had all been centered around me paying off that last loan, and working towards full-time employment, but those are both completed now! So instead, I would love to get to a place where my patrons could read pages at least a week ahead, and to do that, I need to build a buffer. And since I’m working 5 full days a week now, I can’t afford to fall behind. But you can’t fall behind if you constantly stay ahead! I would like to have… a 10 to 12 page buffer. That’s roughly 3 months’ worth of pages to always have on hand in case I get swamped with work, or something. Right now I currently have a buffer of 3, which will cover me for half a January, which is better than not having anything at all, but still not the best. (ultimately, I would love to have a buffer so big, I could queue them up for the whole year. Wouldn’t that be something?)

6) Sew one stuffed animal: same as last year. ASSUMING the plague gets under control in 2021, I don’t expect to get to this goal until the summer at the earliest.

7)Finish 1 song comic: I have 7 song comics planned. One is a gift, one possibly for wandersong, one is a collab that’s currently in the works, but I’m waiting on a friend to do their part before I can continue mine, 2 are UT related, and 2 (well, technically 3, but one is the collab) are KH related. It’s one of the UT ones that will probably get finished, if I’m being honest. It’s completely story boarded, and now I just need to ink and color it. I would like to get it done for UT’s 6th birthday, since I made a song comic on the fly for the anniversary this year, and it was fun, and I’d like to do it again! So, look forward to that next september~

8) Make another enamel pin: I have a dolphin design I’d like to make because dolphins are cute, if not little murder machines. (need to save up some expendable income first, tho. THESE THINGS AIN’T CHEAP TO MAKE.)

9 and 10) start and finish 2 original short comics: I’ve got some comic ideas I want to do, but I need to get them written out first. I don’t think either would be too long. Each maybe a couple “episode’s” length, if envisioned on a website like webtoons or tapas. They’d both be heavy in allegory, but not overly drawn out (hopefully)

11)And lastly, Finish the 5 remaining one-shots I had planned for this year but never got around to. I’m going to try to write one every other month. Pure self-indulgent shipping fluff. If I finish these 5, then maybe I’ll ask other people for more prompts and ideas, which I’ve never done before. We’ll see how it goes~

Also, Like last year, I’d like to look at everything that’s happened to me this year, though to be honest, I’m not sure how much I remember/how accurate it’ll be. God, I don’t even remember what January was like. Who was I back then? Who were we all back then? I guess I’ll start my yearly retrospective in march because, heh, god we ALL know what started happening in march.

Firstly, I paid off my last student loan! Then a week later on March 18th, I drove half an hour out of my city to adopt a cat and I love her and it was the best day of this year for me. Spring break is just beginning this weekend, but the attendance at the zoo is shockingly low this year. Apparently, a lot of people watch the news, and they’re all taking precautions about social distancing. I wasn’t too disappointed. Fewer people at the zoo, the easier my job is for me. I was looking forward to getting some free overtime on spring break, since I’m broke after paying off that loan, and I’m a cat parent now and have a furry child to feed. Monday rolls around. My manager calls me and tells me that the zoo is going into lockdown until further notice. I worry for the birds I take care of, but understand it’s for everyone’s safety.

For two months I sleep in and watch way too much YouTube. I join a couple writing discords. I have nightmares about my birds escaping their enclosure and I dreamed one of the security guards I really like at the zoo gets covid and has to go to the ER. I woke up really upset.

I started and finished BBS for the first time. I also replayed and finished KH2 final mix for the first time. It had been about 5 years since I last played KH2 before my PS2 died, and it was like coming home~ I also finished tearaway, and played and beat Ryme for a second time (which I can’t remember if I did that last year, but it was a fun experience regardless)

Mid-June, and I’m allowed to start going back to work, be it on reduced hours. The zoo is still closed to the public, but I’m loving it! I get to work with full-time keepers and do full-time keeper things. It’s so much fun not having to deal with the public. August starts to creep up and there’s a rumor that the zoo will be opening to the public again, which I’m not stoked about. I don’t want to go back to standing in one exhibit all day, talking to guests who don’t listen to the rules or to me. 2 of my younger coworkers (who had both only been there a couple of months) get chosen for full-time positions, while I get passed up which really pisses me off. My other 2 coworkers quit when they think we might be reopening because they cannot risk catching the virus due to at-risk family. I am now the last keeper in the interactive bird exhibit.

I keep working, the zoo slowly opens, but with me as the only interpreter in our interactive bird exhibit, we can’t open because I can’t run the entire exhibit by myself. So my exhibit stays closed. September comes and goes, and then October starts. Now there is more serious talk of opening my exhibit before the end of the year because the zoo expects to bring in larger crowds for the Christmas lights event in November/December. I ask if I get hazard pay or health insurance since I’m doing full-time hours until they hire more staff. They say no.

I immediately start searching for a new job feeling incredibly indignant/hurt/slighted/insulted/used/abused/ALL the negative feelings at my job. I had been there for 4 years, but never got a chance to work full time, while the two newest hires who had only been there 2 months both got moved up. I can’t help but feel they were holding one mistake I made two years ago against me and never wanted to give me a chance. (that, or they knew I was reliable when it came to showing up for work in such a volatile position that sees a lot of new faces, and they didn’t want to bother going through the process of hiring someone new) I don’t want to risk my life working around guests who don’t wash their hands and don’t properly distance. I don’t want to gamble with my health when they won’t offer me health insurance because I’m part time.

Mid October, I get an interview for a full time job and get hired on the spot. I peace out at the zoo 2 weeks later, literally 3 days before they planned to open my exhibit to the public. It was a close call for me to escape before they opened to the public (and pettiness was only partially the reason I dipped out so close to opening). Sorry new hires who are now in charge of the bird feeding exhibit. I taught you the best I could in the short time I had. If the managers are struggling with what to do with one less person, I can’t say I feel bad. I can only hope they delayed opening/closed you down again for your own safety. You are not lightbulbs. I really hope the higher ups stop considering you as replaceable as one. Will I go back to the zoo to visit? Probably. But not for a year at least.

I started my new job the very next day after I quit the zoo, and have been there ever since, (which isn’t that long yet, tbh. Christmas day was my 2 month anniversary). It’s full time, but it’s also a small business, and everyone’s hours this year have been on the short side due to the plague. I understand, though. They don’t want us to work if they can’t afford to pay us. Everyone is nice enough, though some people smoke and it’s hard to avoid them with how frequently we have to go in and out, and I really don’t want to get lung cancer, sorry not sorry, please and thank you. Also, with such a small team, gossip is certainly harder to go undetected, so it’s a relief knowing people don’t talk behind one another’s backs.

I participated and beat my 4th nanowrimo in a row, I made TWO apple crisps on thanksgiving, and made baklava on Christmas and both of these recipes were my first time making them, and they both came out adequately! I voted the first day of early voting, and I did an art trade/collab with two of my friends for my birthday! (normally we would have done monthly “art days” where we get together and do art projects for fun because we’re adults and we can spend our time together however we want, but the plague said otherwise this year) We drew pokemon and it was fun! (hopefully I can show you all the results soon. At the time of writing, I’m still waiting for the last two colored parts to get back to me)

I reached 100 pages on my undertale comic, and finish the first arc out of…! (im not sure. It’s either going to be 4 or 5, I haven’t decided yet)

Over all, I managed to stay healthy as far as I know. I wasn’t as productive as I wanted to be this year, but then again, who was? (don’t answer that. I don’t need that kind of comparison in my life right now)

Will 2021be any better? Honestly? I don’t think so. Not right away, at least. Just because a new year is about to start does not mean the slate is completely wiped clean. The change of the calendar year doesn’t magically make all our current problems disappear. Covid will still be here and cases will still climb when January starts. Small business will still be strained when the month rolls over, police will still go on murdering innocent civilians and getting away scot free, amazon and disney will still be monopolizing all consumer goods and media, and I can’t help but feel like there’s an impending shit show about to go down on inauguration day. I do hope things will get better, though. It’ll be arduous and unpleasant, but I do hope things will improve, because sometimes hoping is all you can do.

Good night.

#long post #new year's resolutions #year review #year retrospective

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millennial-star-gazer · 5 years

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Fire And Gold: Chapter: 1: A Simple Spark (Nalu lovefest 2019)

Fire and Gold

Nalu Lovefest 2019 Prompts: Magic, Memories, Reckless, Worship & Cravings (All Implied)

Genres: Romance, Humor, New Adult Fanfiction

Pairing: Nalu/Endlu (Natsu x Lucy & E.n.d. Natsu x Lucy)

Rating: T-M for language, steamy and mature adult sexual content (all consensual) in these and future chapters. Reader Direction is advised.(You've been warned!)

Summary: Let the day be known when fire tested gold in the most intimate sense. The forging of a mating bond between the dragon-demon hybrid and celestial maiden while further strengthening the relationship they already have. Natsu finally confesses his romantic feelings for Lucy at and asks to claim her as his mate and queen; though not without it taking a bit for it to fully sink in for the poor, baffled woman. The first chapter is one of my entries for @nalulovefestofficial 2019 and part of my ongoing Nalu (The Demon-Dragon and His Celestial Princess) anthology series set not too long after the events of the original manga/anime.(Slight Au).

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Chapter 1 : A Simple Spark

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A/N: Hey peeps, I'm back! You miss me lol? Anyway, this time I'm coming at you with the first chapter of my one new Nalu fics, (Fire And Gold) which is also an entry for Nalu Love Fest 2019. ( @nalulovefestofficial). Fun Fact: This fic along with Tantric Flames and other upcoming Nalu WIPS are now part of my ongoing The Demon-Dragon and His Celestial Princess (TDDACP) anthology series (slight au) with Fire and Gold set before the rest- a prequel of sorts. Course, this entire series is a slight au on account of it being set not too long after the events of the original Fairytail manga/anime and other reasons as you may all know. Please see the summary, A/N at the end of this chapter or Tantric Flames for more info. Anyways, I don't have too much else to say here. A special shoutout to the fantastic @bmarvels, ( @bmarvels) @doginshoe ( @doginshoe) and @goddesofimortality ( @goddesofimortality) (tumblr) for taking the time to help me proofread, edit, and further develop this chapter—thanks guys! Oh and an extra kudos to, Brit ( @bmarvels) who provided great suggestions for the title of this fic, chapter title and literary quote (which include all of those that you see here. Thanks again girl! Anyways, I'll let you all get on with the story. Without further ado, here is Chapter 1 of Fire and Gold! Enjoy!

(Note: Scroll down past the cut/read more button for the links and actual chapter).

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Disclaimer: I don't own Fairytail which instead belongs to the one and only Hiro-sensei instead!

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Read More Fire And Gold On Here and Other Platforms

If reading this on the desktop, then copy and paste the links into another window on your browser.

1. Fire And Gold

A. Tumblr

Chapter: 1 Next:(Click Here:) (or here: https://millennial-star-gazer.tumblr.com/post/189326665518/fire-and-gold-chapter-2)

B. Fanfiction (Click Here:) (or here: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13410012/1/Fire-and-Gold)

C. A03 (Click Here:) (or here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20851052)

2. Master Rec Post Of All My Writing(Click Here) or here:

(https://millennial-star-gazer.tumblr.com/post/179665258923/master-fic-rec-post)

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Legend

Italics: Flashback/literary or song quotes (If Any For The the Most Former)

Bold: First Person Thoughts

Bolded Italics: empathized word

Bolded Italics: outside of main story): A/N

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"He felt now that he was not simply close to her,

but that he did not know where he ended and she began."

(Leo Tolstoy: Chapter XIV in Part V Of Anna Karina)

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"I love you ."

"Oh hey, Natsu. Sorry— couldn't quite hear you over all the commotion. Can you repeat that please?"

Lucy turned to face her coral-haired best friend whose onyx eyes met her gaze; with what only could be described as genuine earnest; Most often seen when a critical weighed heavy on his mind—- aka a stark contrast to her cordial interest. She wasn't fibbing in her request for Nastu to reiterate his previous statement either — what with the whole guild being abuzz from the usual activity and all. Anyone who cared to listen in would most likely hear the various conservations between other guild members: Warren bemoaning to Max about his "complete and utter lack of a non-existent sex life— the hell man? I'm a freakin' dreamboat!"

Said sandmage's less -than - complimentary - quip of "if you're calling yourself a 'dreamboat', then no wonder none of the ladies aren't exactly jumping at the chance for a hookup. Hell, pretty sure I'd much rather be forced to look at picture of Ichyia in-assless-chaps-riding -a- gay unicorn than knock boots with you regardless of whether I was female or into dudes. "

"Fuck you man!"

"What does a chump like you know about getting laid anyway? "

"Lot more than you think, ya' piece of—- yeowwww! The hell dipshit?! Did you just ram a broom-handle up my ass?!"

"Yeah? So what if I did? What exactly are you gonna do about it?"

Elfman's crow from the sidelines about how "settling your differences with fists is so freakin' manly!" Macao and Wakaba squabbling over who "the rightful owner" of a much-coveted, lottery ticket was— typical chatter, really.

Not that any of this matters at the moment when Natsu’s trying to talk to me.

Nastu on the other hand, didn't pay the background noise any heed; who instead letting his eyes stay trained on Lucy.

"I really do wanna hear what you have to say. What were you trying to tell me?"

"Okay," he let out a measured breath, as if steeling his nerves, "Just wanted to say that I love you."

"Aw Natsu—I love you too! " the celestial mage gushed, touched by the dragonslayer's sentiment even it was a little out of the blue. " it's kinda out of the blue that you're telling me this— but I appreciate it just the same. There's no one better I could have as one my best —".

"No Luce," Natsu cut his blonde partner off with a slight shake of his head—- extremely perplexing to say the least. "That isn't what I meant."

"Okay... what did you mean? Lucy questioned, the intensity of the fire wizard's gaze sending her pulse racing."

"Something else" came his sober reply . "Not to say that you're not one of my best friends or that I don't consider myself extremely lucky to have ya' in my life— but my feelings aren't exactly the platonic kind. Hasn't been for a while. Guess what I'm trying to say is I'm in love with you."

Natsu's last words really threw the key- holder for a loop.

"W-wait? What?" was all she could utter in response with an owlish blink.

What he's saying? I mean, yeah, I'm totally head-over-heels in love with the dude— but he can't possibly feel the same way, right?

"I don't understand..."

"Still not sinking in yet, huh? Fine— I don't have a problem with repeating what I said if that helps."

"You don't?"

"No. I…"Natsu began to reiterate, enunciating each and every word with deliberate precision. "Nastu Dragneel, am in love with you Lucy Heartifila— as in head over heels."

"No, no, no, you can't be!" Lucy was still in vehement self-denial; or should she says her, poor addled-brain was short circuiting from trying to process her teammate's words. Not to mention how mortifying the heated-infused blood she could feel rising in her cheeks was. "You're my best friend and I'm not exactly the only single woman here. Far prettier girls here if you ask me—pick of the lot. No, you can't be in love with me—- just no way."

"Oh for the love—"

The celestial mage swore she caught a glimpse of slanted brows above scorching emerald fire in Salamander's eyes before his mouth was smashing down on hers in a searing kiss ; Needless to say, said female was caught completely off guard. Still, smooth lips were moving against hers with such insistent urgency that the mage couldn't help but automatically respond in with just spirited vigor; even during a rowdy chorus of catcalls, whistles and cheers heard from onlookers that she vaguely registered.

Natsu's hand meanwhile was instinctively pressing on the small of Lucy's back; while the other arm snaked around her waist to pull her flusher against him. Just as hers circled together around the nape of his neck at the same time. The next thing the celestial mage knew he was further deepening the kiss by running his tongue along the seam of her bottom lip; that was then being sucked into his mouth. Not only was the tactic tantalizing enough to light sparks of in Lucy's blood, but it also drew an airy moan out of her; which was more than well received by Natsu who growled in approval against her lips sending a tingly shiver down her spine.

My God is he a stellar kisser! Was all the only thought that crossed the summoner 's mind could; before all else was scattered by the insatiable fire wizard's velvet tongue slipping past her lips. The sensation of his tongue massaging hers though before sweeping/dragging along the roof of her mouth; Oh and a heady suck on Lucy's own for good measure—- all of that was what the stars were behind the mage's shut eyes were bursting from. Not to mention the rush of liquid heat between her legs.

More, more, more, Lucy craved more—- drowning in the ecstasy of it all, courtesy of Natsu. The fire-breather's defined leg wedging between the gaps her thighs, her fingers through his hair with a snug grip. Supple, masculine, hands all over creamy skin before skating down to—

"A-hem..."

The distinct noise of awkward throat clearing along with dry coughs of "a freakin' room you two— get one" from one nauseated-sounding Gray burst the pair's intimate little bubble. The blonde-haired member of the two meanwhile, just barely managed to bite back a noise of protest when the other pulled back ever so slightly.

"Huh—- looks like we got a little carried away just now" Nastu panted with a chuckle, though there didn't seem any hint of sheepish repentance in his voice at all — quite the opposite actually. More like he was extremely pleased with the turnout of events, if the smug grin spreading across his lips was anything to go by.

"Yeah—I'll say," came Lucy's reply, voice coming out a little ragged. Mavis knows that the euphoric high of the kiss was still singing in her veins. Not to mention the Natsu's forehead touching against hers; along with onyx-green piercing thrift honey-brown that the zodiac wielder swore she could get lost in too— profoundly intimate beyond words.

It's like he can see straight into my soul.

"Definitely attracted an audience."

"An audience, she says?" Cana's voice broke in from somewhere on the sidelines; which was practically dripping with dry sarcasm. "Gee—I wonder why."

"Yeah, me thinks our dear friend Lu stated the obvious" came Levy's wry quip." She did."

"Those two did get pretty hot and heavy," Lexus put in as a thoughtful observation. "Gotta hand it to Natsu though— dude has major kissing game."

"That's for sure" Gajeel concurred, sounding impressed." He managed to get bunny girl all hot just now. And she's clearly no slouch when it comes to kissin' either."

"Really?" The ice wizard cut in, with what sounded like a derisive snort." Cuz I beg to differ. I mean Lucy, sure, she did a great job. But lava - breath?! Watching him suck face was beyond nauseating! Ugh... So much cringe—pretty sure I just puked in my mouth just now. Anyone got some bleach on hand to permanently burn the gag-worthy image from my retinas?"

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Fic Tag Squad: @fuck-yeah-nalu @fortheloveoffandomevents @nalubookclub @nalulovefestofficial @nalulovefestofficial @fuck-yeah-nalu @nalubookclub @fortheloveoffandomevents @nalulovefestofficial @fuck-yeah-nalu @nalubookclub @fortheloveoffandomevents

@petri808 @magnolia726 @ccrispy

@yukimcffblog @yukimcffblog @writer-appreciation

@caandleworks @caandlle @rougeminded @rougescribe @cobblepottantrum @lovelyluce @dark0angel13 @sovay-says @soprana-snap @phoenix-before-the-flame @phoneboxfairy

@narutoyaoifan @mautrino @goddesofimortality @nalufever @thecelestialchick @nalu-natic @i-write-fanfics-to-procrastinate @goddesofimortality @dark0angel13 @kaychawrites @kaycha1989

@pyroandtheprincess @mautrino @lucielhyung @smappybubbles @seehunnybees @lover-of-the-light117@rayhneatess @nothingbutwordsstuff @shootingstarssel @chamilsanya @acidrain1698 @chamilsanya @narutoyaoifan @superfreakerz @hazel-got-fanfiction

@nalu-natic @thecelestialchick @nalufever @moeruhoshi @h-eartfilias @lemonade-of-gods @fairywithajetblackheart @katana-no-neko @mercurius-orion @nunnatheinsanegerbil @bearpluscat @shootingstarssel @kayty-of-fiore @narutoyaoifan @kaycha1989 @chiire @pyroandtheprincess @lovelyluce @sovay-says @satyrykal @wildest-dreams-at-midnight @phoneboxfairy @phoenix-before-the-flame @yukimcffblog @mwub @bmarvels @doginshoe @shadyhydrathesnekqueen @impracticaldemon @mwub @sugarpolis @precenna @ravendaydream @bearandbirdfan @bearpluscat @ineffable-nalu @ineffable-nalu @mercurius-orion

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A/N: That's the first chapter of Fire & Gold folks! Hope you enjoyed and feel free to let me know what you think! Now for a little background info on this fic and rest of the TDDACP anthology series including tantric flames) for those who are wondering. As stated previously, TDDACP that's set shortly after the events of the original Fairytail and 100 years quest in a way (which explains how the series is slightly AU and canon divergent). Team Natsu managed to successfully complete the century quest in a matter of a few months which enabled resume their normal lives at the guild. Natsu is still a dragonslayer-demon hybrid with full access to his dragonslayer and etherious magic that he can tap into from either mode . Moreover, all elements of his heritage can play a major influence on his personality and strength as wizard (among other aspects). Anyways, said wizard is fully aware that he's head over heels for Lucy though finally worked up the courage to confess as seen in this chapter. I'd like to point to point out that Natsu technically being an etherious dragonslayer -demon hybrid is still pretty much established canon based on what we've seen in the anime/manga series (including in 100 years quest during that battle with Ignea).

Same goes for Nalu being mutually and passionately in love and other with all the types of passion attraction that comes from it- the physical and sexual types included (even if they have yet to fully confess). (Sidenote: Levy is still expecting but isn't that far along in her pregnancy yet). All in all , this pretty much sums up why this series is only slightly au and canon divergent. Hope this background information provides enough insight to you all!

In other news: major bummer about the Fairytail anime-aka one of my favourite animes/manga series ending for now, huh? I mean talk about there being a major void in our hearts now lol. That said, we still have 100 years quest, city heros, Eden's Zero along with that giant crossover manga(Fairytail, EZ, and Rave Master combined) which are all excellent series for us to continue to enjoy and look forward to! Plus, there's a great chance of that animated FT sequel/ 100 year quest anime adaption being in the works based on what we've been hearing.

Anyways, pretty much said all that I wanted to for now folks ! Don't forget to let me know what you think, like, reblog and share! Oh and be sure to stay tuned for the next chapter and more Nalu Wips. Feel free to check out the rest of my writing, my other lovefest entry (Chapter 8 of Tantric) and those from the other amazing participants as well! (Corresponding links are above, in the navigation bar and bio if reading this on tumblr. See other writing platforms for links as well! ) All right, that's all for now folks ! Until next time— take care!

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yffresbeard · 5 years

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A Treatise on the Dragonborn

Alternately titled; What the Fuck is a Dragonborn

Confusion over the Dragonborn title is not uncommon, and the in-game lore provided offers little resolution unless you read every scrap of paper you come across; even then, there are gaps.. This is an effort to put all of that in one place. Keep in mind this will also be leavened with my own conjecture - I will try to point out when I am making inferences or assumptions that may not be true in fact.

The term “dragonborn” seems to be used in two major instances: when discussing the emperors of Cyrodiil, and when discussing the player character of TES V: Skyrim, the prophesied Last Dragonborn. I propose these two types of dragonborn are different, if not in name, then at least in function and form.

The dragonborn emperors of Cyrodiil all claim descendancy from St. Alessia the Slave-Queen, who led a rebellion against the Ayleids in 1E 242. Humans in this time and in the area that’s not Cyrodiil were slaves to the Ayleids. Alessia and the rest of the human slaves were inspired by the Nords and their King Harald, who drove the mer out of Skyrim into Cyrodiil and Morrowind.

Conveniently, when the spark of rebellion was started, the Ayleids were fractured; various groups were constantly fighting, and a minority of Ayleid nobility were sympathetic to the slaves. These were not the only outside factors that contributed to the success of Alessia’s rebellion. however. They also had divine assistance.

The Nords worshipped a pantheon of gods that were more sympathetic to men than mer, so Alessia began to pray to them. Though accounts differ, it seems most likely that Akatosh appeared at Sancre Tor and gave Alessia a vision of her people freed. It was at this time that Akatosh severed Oblivion from Mundus, to deny the Ayleids further assistance from the Daedric Lords they often dealt with to control their human chattel.

Kyne also offered her assistance in the form of her son, Morihaus, the winged bull, also called Morihaus-Breath-of-Kyne. Kyne also gave her a vision of a future hero, Pelinal Whitestrake, who became the commander of her armies. I’m not going to talk about Pelinal, because he would need his own post twice this long and I really don’t want to write it. Long story short, Pelinal is one in a long line of avatars of Lorkhan/Shor, unique from others in his ties to Akatosh.

Akatosh gave her the Amulet of Kings, said to be made from his own heart’s blood. At her death, Akatosh bound her soul to the Amulet and swore to uphold the covenant he made with Alessia with her heirs - as long as her descendants sat upon the throne, Oblivion would be cut off from Mundus.

[It might be worth noting that Oblivion touts the fact that the assassination of Uriel Septim marks the only time the Ruby Throne has ever been empty but… that’s like a major point of ESO, considering no one is wearing the Amulet if Manni-fuckin-marco has it. Whatever. Trying to make sense out of the twisted mess of lore this series provides is like rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic but I’m doing it anyway. It might just be because no one remembers the Interregnum. #dragonbreak]

Alessia’s descendants who were “blessed with the dragonblood” - the Amulet of Kings - were eventually simply called the Dragonborn Emperors. Thus, there have been three dynasties of dragonborn emperors - Alessia and her descendants, Reman Cyrodiil and his descendants, and Tiber Septim and his descendants up to the Oblivion Crisis. Years separated these 3 empires, but all the emperors and empresses who ruled in them had to be descendants of Alessia, as only her heirs could wear the Amulet of Kings.

At the time of Alessia’s rebellion, the Nords of Skyrim were already telling stories of great dragonslayers who could absorb the power of the dragons they felled. These dragonslayers, known to the Nords as dragonborn, could use this power and Shout in the dragon language.

So, why do I propose a distinction between the dragonborn emperors and the dragonborn of Nord legend? In short, we have no evidence that Alessia’s heirs could Shout like known and acknowledged Dragonborn like Miraak or the Laat Dovahkiin. Additionally, the Dragonborn as we know them have the spirit of a dov, in a mortal body.

One possibility for the shared name is that as Alessia’s empire continued, the emperors who were “blessed by the dragonborn” became conflated with these Nordic heroes, which likely would’ve been a benefit to the dynasty. There is, however, another solution I can think of.

Akatosh may have directly given Alessia and her heirs the very same power as these Nord heroes, but the extent of this power was never known because there were no dragons to fell at the time. It’s quite possible that every emperor of Cyrodiil would’ve had the power to Shout if the dragons had still been around, from Alessia down to Martin Septim. If this is the case, however, I still think a distinction is of some use.

#elder scrolls #the elder scrolls #elder scrolls lore #lore #idk how well this is gonna read #i condensed and left a lot of shit out #but here #long post #mobile users i am SO SORRY

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blackdragon-selfships · 4 years

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Tagged by Cat and MM of @justafictionalthing!

Thanks guys! 💖

3 Ships:

In general? Well, I only ship what seems compatible to me in fiction...but the three I’ll share because we’re currently reading a book from the series.

The book series is “Wings of Fire” by Tui Sutherland, and Aary and I are currently reading the latest book that came out. Because it’s on the brain and it would be a bit awkward to talk “ships” about people from his world...Wings of Fire ships it is.

Some background information: Wings of Fire is a book series by one of the authors of Warriors (the cat books) under the penname Erin Hunt, and is told from the perspective of dragons in a land called Pyrriah. There are three archs so far, these three “ships” are from each arch.

DarkWatcher-In the second arch, there’s a character named Moonwatcher and she can read minds as well as see the future. I won’t get into it...but she is contacted by another dragon that can do the same, named Darkstalker. He’s...basically the Aaravos of his story. lol

Don’t compare me to that child, Starlight.

Well you are pretty similar at least in “character type”. Ancient ‘evil’ threats, feared by the future generations of your own people, and imprisoned because you’re too powerful and/or clever to be killed after supposed dangerous ambitions are revealed. I don’t know yet about you...but he was planning on taking over all of Pyrriah and basically enslaving all other dragons’ minds to keep the peace. It sounds great in theory, but taking away free will is wrong.

...yes I suppose you have a point there. That wasn’t my goal, though.

I know, and I’m glad... Anyway, Darkstalker could also read minds and see the future, but he was trapped in the mountain near the one Moonwatcher went to school in (again, long story...) They started talking throughout her book and I thought they had a genuine friendship going for them...which they did. Darkstalker did care for Moonwatcher on a friendly level at least, but...

From what I was told, he still manipulated her. Using his rare gift of magic to enchant an item that caused everyone around him to instantly feel they could trust and believe in him.

I won’t deny that is a clever ploy...and in his place I may have done the same to prevent the past repeating itself.

Yeah...

But I would not influence your own thoughts and feelings that way even if I could.

Thanks...I appreciate that. Anyway, before the end of that arch where he was defeated kind of anticlimactically but at least not by being killed...I had hope for DarkWatcher. I thought it would be cute if one of my favorite dynamics was used. With the morally grey maybe-bad guy becoming a better person through the good character he cares about. I knew it wouldn’t be canon, but it seemed a cute concept after I found a few other people that shared my thoughts. Especially when I learned how young he was when he was imprisoned. Mentally he was Moon’s age still.

I still think it was wasted potential...and I hope the same thing does not happen in The Dragon Prince.

ClayPeril-I don’t remember how you say it, but Clay and Peril also from the book series. They were cute and I’m glad the relationship went how it did. It wasn’t rushed and Clay was oblivious for the longest time...but it made sense and I enjoyed it. They’re in the first arch of the series of books.

SunWillow-Same book series, but from the third arch. This is actually a female/female relationship and it is really cute. They act like any other couple, nothing about gender being an issue. The real issue is that they’re from different tribes (same species, but separate branches) so kind of a Juliet and Juliet situation. lol Except they survive the entire book and beyond it looks like, and the relationship is not the focus of the book. They have a bigger plot they’re dealing with.

I never thought much about relationships in the books I consumed. I did have a few choice thoughts about some that were “canon” as Starlight calls it, but I was more interested in the plot of the story.

Same here, but I still can’t help being a romantic at heart. lol

Which is something I find adorable about you~

Oh shush. > > I also am in total support of all the couples here in this community. I love reading about your relationships too.

Last Song: “Believer” by Imagine Dragons Somehow it reminds me of Aaravos a bit...at least some of the lyrics. lol

Last Movie: Avatar, I think. The one that’s more or less just Pocahontas (or rather Dances with Wolves to be more accurate to the plot formula) with blue aliens. I still enjoy it, but only the middle where they are showing you the world of Pandora through Jake being taught how to be one of the Na’vi by Natiri. Plus Aary and I saw some gif sets on Tumblr so I thought I’d see what he thought of it.

Agreeing with Starlight, the middle section was fascinating. The beginning and end...

I got enough of those themes from my past. Hearing the preachy way they hammered in their environmentalist and “most humans are ignorant scum” message, as well as the ignorance of one race over the other...I left Xadia to get away from that.

Well it exists here too...

I know...but I don’t have to sit through a whole hour of the unrealistic side of it at least. No one realistically acts like those trigger-happy military grunts. In Xadia or here.

In other words, if we watch it again we’re just skipping to the part where Jake is permitted to learn to be one of the people and stuff. We really couldn’t stand how arrogant and disrespectful he was before then...but hey, character development happened through the middle part so that was nice.

Hm, more or less.

Currently Reading: Remember what I said above about those three ships being relevant to this question? We’re currently reading Dragonslayer. It’s from the same series mentioned ships are from, “Wings of Fire”. Dragonslayer is a side-story book which gives more world-building information that I think will become relevant to the rest of the series at some point. But where the rest of the series is from the perspective of dragons, this is the one book told from the perspective of humans, which are another sentient race on that planet.

We get a look into their side of the story. How they live and what they think of dragons, etc. It’s similar to Aary’s world with adults living lies and young people exposing those lies and trying to change years of conflict. Even though they can’t communicate with the other species on the same level. Except one character...

I’m rather fond of Wren. We have similar chaotic energy.

He actually low-key joked about adopting her.

I still would like to, but she doesn’t trust people anymore. Especially adults.

Very true. XD But yeah, that’s what we’re reading. When we’re done with that I kind of want to reread The Poison Jungle, the book that came out before this one.

I am intrigued as well...I never thought books about dragons would interest me after my history with them. Of course, like people, dragons are individual. So I suppose that’s why.

I’m glad you feel that way!

You may have had a hand in it~

Currently Consuming: Food-wise? Or media-wise? Food-wise I had a hot pocket and coffee for breakfast. Media-wise...still obsessed over The Dragon Prince and of course what they’ll do next with my Danger Star. XD

Let’s see how accurate they are when they continue~

Tagging 9 People:

@wegotasatanselfshipperere/@happyallykats (either account, but just in case your boi has opinions to share. lol) @prince-of-nature @cynder-the-aculite @no-d4y-but-tod4y @francis-norman-furter @sekiros-blossom @seanmacguireswife @fandomsoffeelings/@selfshipfeelings (either account) @atricksterproblem

Only if you want to though. lol

#me/g answers #my danger star ✨ speaks #tag game #pictures of my danger star ✨#blackdragon edit

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adhoption · 5 years

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GAME OF FINALES

There were many things to love about the finale:

Seriously, the aesthetic of that whole start, a broken city of ashes, the Targaryen banner slung over the ruins, that shot with the dragon wings, Dany’s zealous speech... nice.

She’s been getting away with being a power-mad, egotistical, vengeful white saviour for years, killing anyone who dares to even disrespect her, and it’s been presented as WOO STRONG FEMALE CHARACTER and fans encouraged to believe the hype about her destiny to save the world and right to rule as much as she does. It’s nice that they did the twist of ah, actually this kind of person is bad news, it’s only a matter of time before they cross the line and start killing innocents. It was coming.

But at the same time, it wasn’t really coming when it did? They didn’t lead up to it at all, and if anything she’d been more tamed since meeting Jon and friends than in the early days. They could have shown her arc going towards madness, not in the opposite direction. They could have shown her grieving, being consumed with a need for vengeance, rather than go from a speech about mercy to massacring children with no reason. They could have made them collateral damage as she tried to go for Cersei who was using them as human shields and Dany decided she didn’t care, or have the newly orphaned children try to defend their city and throw rocks or toy horses at Drogon and Dany burn them just seeing them as enemies. That would have been a way to cross the line, rather than winning the battle and then deciding to go for an impromptu barbecue.

What’s weird is that they spent the first half an hour of the episode explaining how it was actually inevitable and reminding us of the bad stuff she’d done before, like the characters were actively trying to justify the way the plot had turned in retrospect, like the opposite of foreshadowing, the opposite of build-up. These episodes were filmed at the same time, but it felt almost like this was a weekly show and the writers were responding to the criticism of last week’s. Outrage that Jon didn’t say goodbye to Ghost? Quick, reunite them and make him tickle him behind the ears (I was on my edge of my seat chanting Ghost Ghost Ghost the moment Jon went north again, I was so afraid they’d forget about him again). Laughter that a coffee cup was left on a table? Quick, tuck a plastic water bottle under a chair.

It’s also important that whenever the atrocity was mentioned it was explained that poor Dany lost her best friend and her dragon, whereas Cersei was just pure evil and hadn’t, say, lived her whole adult life under a prophesy that she would see her children dead and a young queen would come and destroy her, then watched all three of them die, seen her parents die, her whole world come crashing down, lurch from an abusive relationship to co-dependent incest and alcoholism and grief, and then simply decide to give no quarter to prisoners just like Dany burns them alive.

There’s a lot of things like Mad-Dany that which would have been nice and fitting if they weren’t rushed. Varys went from servant to traitor to bonfire in one poorly-lit, mumbled minute where you had to guess what was going on. Jamie went from ‘I’ve decided to stay with Brienne, the culmination of my years of character development’ to ‘actually no’ in a minute of her blubbing as out of character as him losing all moral fibre. This used to be a show of elaborate over-lapping plots, and characters who grew year-on-year. So yes, Dany-goes-bad, Jon-kills-her, Jon-has-to-go-back-to-Night’s-Watch, all nice and fitting ends to their stories. Nobody-sits-the-throne is a good resolution, symbolically melting it and starting afresh, electing somebody who wasn’t one of the main leaders. Gendry would have been nice, a fitting end to the story which began with the mystery around Robert’s bastards and Ned saving his life exactly like he did Jon, two children in danger as secret heirs to dynasties, and the irony of Dany having legitimised him only for him to usurp her as his father did hers.

But not Bran. This isn’t Bran’s story. Bran’s war was the Great War. He spent years of character development journeying beyond the wall to meet his destiny, learning from and becoming the Three-Eyed Raven, clashing with the Night King, gaining the ability to see through time and space and weirwoods, gaining the ability to warg into direwolves and ravens and Hodors. But he has zero of the aptitudes needed to be a king. He is barely even human any more. He has no strength or compassion, no steel or charm.

Here are some particular points that I loved:

I loved the way how, after years of patiently watching Bran crawl around in the dark to gain the ability to go back in time and influence past events, or the power to take over the mind of a dragon, he didn’t just... use none of those powers in the pivotal moments of the last couple of seasons apart from to do a few seconds of raven-scouting and volunteer himself as bait. It was important after all that build-up that there would be a pay-off, that the gun Chekov’s character had spent the whole play building would actually be used.

So it was satisfying the way that after the Night King won and conquered Winterfell, walked into the Godswood and reached out to claim Bran, Bran touched the heart tree and his eyes went white before they were brutally turned blue. Then, after we watched the army of the dead sweep south with a terrible inevitability, the last stand of the living as Cersei realised her mistake and all the forces of King’s Landing were similarly overwhelmed, scorpions aimed at the White Walkers on dead dragons, confused Night King coming face-to-face with the reanimated Ser Gregor, Qyburn staring in fascination as the dead tear him apart, wights of Jon and Dany and Arya and Sansa and the Hound coming to claim their living enemies, the living finally fall and the Night King sits the Iron Throne, it fades to black... and we are in the weirwood with Bran, making a crucial change in the past, perhaps in that vision of the creation of the Night King, perhaps in another pivotal moment in the series. Then the next episode opens and the dead are bearing down on Winterfell again, but this time, something small has changed, making all the difference. This time, they won’t win.

Or perhaps it was revealed that Bran had gone back and become the Night King, and that was why he was able to control the dead, using his warging and Three-Eyed Raven powers, and then Jon or Arya had to kill him. Or perhaps he was able to warg into one of the dragons and fight the way that Jon and Dany riding them couldn’t. I can’t remember exactly what happened, but I do remember how satisfying it was that the skills he’d learnt actually meant something. It would be disappointing if he only came back to sit making cryptic comments from the corner for two seasons, saying he was no longer Bran Stark and couldn’t be Lord of Winterfell because he was a bird now, only to then randomly be chosen as a king of a distant city on his first visit.

It would then be especially weird if, after being named the first ever Stark king and uniting the north with the other six kingdoms as rightful king of both, the north then decide that they can follow Ned and Sansa as Starks but not him because as someone who was previously Lord of Winterfell and just left the north for the first time in his life they aren’t going to follow him as a southron king, whereas they will follow Sansa who grew up in King’s Landing.

In the same way I love the way that, after patiently watching Arya crawl around in the dark to learn how to see without eyes, learn how to wear other people’s faces and become them, she didn’t use any of those skills in the last two seasons, only stabbing with a dagger which she already knew how to do. It’s exciting watching Chekov’s character bludgen an intruder with a rolling pin, but a bit strange when you know the gun is hanging on the wall.

After years of hearing her list recited, it was satisfying that she ended up crossing off the final name and killing the people she was supposed to kill, rather than just claiming the person that Jon and Dany and Bran and Beric were destined to kill and had built up their character arcs around, and making it look easy, thus derailing not only her own narrative arc but theirs as well.

Similar to Bran, it was also important that she had a fitting end that matched her character development to date, like how she spent the last episode building up motivation to avenge the innocents Dany had just burnt, and to protect Jon who she knew was rightfully the first in line but would never have the heart to move against Dany, so she bravely went to kill her herself, moving in darkness or wearing a face as a disguise, and was killed by Drogon, but not before taking him down at the same time, proving herself a dragonslayer and assassin worthy of legend, which finally gave Jon the heart he needed to do what he needed to do and kill Dany to avenge the little sister whose hair he used to ruffle and whose sentences he used to always finish, finishing her final act for her instead.

Or did she go back to the riverlands and take up the mantle of Beric and the Hound who had saved her life, becoming the leader of the Sisterhood without Banners, a protector of the smallfolk and innocents everywhere against the tyranny of lords and soldiers whose atrocities she had witnessed at Harrenhall and The Twins and across the riverlands (and now at King’s Landing), riding around on her white horse and delivering the justice that Beric and Thoros used to give with their hanging ropes, or she and the Hand had given to the likes of Polliver, or that she had given to the Freys. There was that poignant scene where a little girl came to her with the names of men who had done unspeakable things to her village, and Arya calmly added the names to a list. There was that scene where she found Nymeria again, leading her pack of a hundred wolves around the riverlands, and joined forces with her to ensure that evil had refuge in the towns or in the trees, and turned to her and finally said “Yes. This is me.”

It was important that she had a satisfying, fitting end that matched her path and her background and her newly earned skills, like Bran, rather than say, him becoming king, or her randomly deciding to become a sailor having previously shown precisely zero inclination or aptitude for a life on the seas. It would have been especially ridiculous for her to start her nautical career by heading out with a single ship across the open ocean, which the books tell us has been tried before by whole fleets of ships and they have been torn apart by storms, and just doing it immediately with no real planning, in a jarring contrast with a scene where everyone else is talking about how they have no ships and are about to start building the sort of fleet that might be able to support her.

I loved the way the writers remembered they’d left Ellaria Sand to be kept alive in a dungeon beneath the Red Keep and had her released as leader of Dorne to take part in the council, rather than just replacing her with some randomer and not even acknowledging if she was dead or not.

I loved the way Brienne got over her rollercoaster emotional journey from stoic professional to sobbing teenager after one night of lovemaking and took the time to ensure Jaime’s memory was honoured correctly, such as by writing his biography with all the things he’d told her, and especially remembering to correct the single most important thing he’d told her (that he’d only killed the Mad King to save the whole city which was about to be blown up), and not just... leaving it written in his biography that he’d infamously broken his vows and killed the king and was known as Kingslayer since without providing any of the vital context, which she was one of the only people in the world who knew. It’s also a nice end to her character journey, which is based around her oath to protect Sansa and Arya, that she just leaves them both to take on huge risks and responsibility on her own and gets a new job wheeling Bran’s chair around.

‘Bran the Broken’ was definitely the best name they could come up with to describe a disabled character who definitely couldn’t have gone without an epithet (because all the others had to have one, like Cersei the Sassy and Joffrey the Juvenile Delinquent and Tommen the Timid and Dany the Deluded) and who had no other qualities, such as literal super-powers, which could have lent themselves to better ones. Bran the Raven had a ring to it.

I loved the way that the most teased and important plot twist, R+L=J, which they spent ages having characters explain to each other in hushed, important scenes, turned out to be important to the plot in any way. It would have been a bit disappointing if, say, only a handful of characters ever found out about it, or if the whole story could have happened in exactly the same way without it ever having been mentioned (beyond one episode where Jon rides a dragon and crashes it after achieving nothing).

#game of thrones #got #spoilers under the cut

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osmw1 · 5 years

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Poison-Wielding Fugitive Chapter 74

what would you like to read next? suggest titles for me to translate!

“Then, Cohgray, since our mages are present, we should undo the magic that turned you into a human.”

Oh, was it the dragonslayers that did this to me? Anyway, I should have properly explained this to her.

“As I mentioned before, the dragon to whom you’ve prayed and I are separate beings.” “What do you mean?” “You’ve mistaken what the spell does. Instead of turning the monster into a human, the spell used a monster’s Mana as a catalyst to summon a human from another world. Then, the spell forces the target monster to possess that human.” ‘Aye…’ “What?” “The summoned human would be dropped into this completely different world. Because they have just been brought to this world, they would be low-leveled and extremely easy to kill. Then, you kill the human and the monster that possess him would die together.”

Celes took in this information very poorly.

“So, in other words, Veno Yveval and I are completely separate beings. I’m just a guy who was summoned from another world. I’m sure you guys have some sort of legend of summoning humans from parallel worlds, right?”

I think I recall Veno mentioning a fairytale like that. Hearing this explanation, her face turns even paler.

“Th-That would mean… the spell which we thought would weaken a monster…” “In Veno’s case, then it would mean you’d kill a tough monster by simply killing some stranger. A pretty good deal for you, I’d say.” “Damn… I shall report this exactly as you have said to the Kingdom of Saint Yggdra. To slay a monster like that is… completely unacceptable. If there is a way for me to atone for my sins…” “Innocent people from parallel worlds have been forced to sacrifice their lives, so I can’t justify it. But… I’m sure you dragonslayers can find atonement.”

The dead cannot simply come back. Celes and her squad might have innocent blood on their hands, but that’s just how this world is. It’s not fully their fault though. Whoever created a spell like Forced Possession Summoning should be to blame. They should forbid people from ever using it again.

“You… are right. I now realize that you have guided my path time and time again, Cohgray.” “Don’t worry too much about it. I’m glad to be able to open up to you as well.”

I reached my hand out. With just a tinge of fear, she took my hand and shook it.

“Thank you…”

It seemed like she could undo Forced Possession Summoning.

“Yukihisa…” “Muuu…”

Both Arleaf and Muu turned to me with heartbroken looks on their faces.

“Yukihisa… are you going to return to your world?” “I’m only here because of Veno’s Mana, so I’m not sure either.” ‘Aye. Your presence in this world may perhaps be maintained by my Mana.’

So, does that mean if the spell gets undone, I’ll return to Japan?

“But…”

Oof… Arleaf eyes swelled up with tears. This hurts, Arleaf… but I really can’t help it since our goal is to lift the spell after all.

“Are you… going to leave?” “I still don’t know yet, but, umm… err, Arleaf…”

I took her hands in mine.

“Veno will still be around even if I’m gone. So, please… please don’t be so sad.” ‘Do pardon me for being unable to consume the lass’ cooking.’

Oh, shut up! You’re such a blabbermouth.

‘Well, lass… in the even that he returns to his world, I shall try to summon him for thee.’

What? Veno plans to summon me on his own terms? It was unreasonable how they summoned me in the first place, but wouldn’t it be unreasonable the second time as well?

‘Dost thou wish for otherwise? Even though thou always complainest.’

Hmm… well, you guys are like family now and no way do I want to work in that company again. Not to mention that Veno has already defeated Virage once and for all, so I wouldn’t mind being here. I’ve enjoyed my days here, y’know?

“Lord Holy Dragon…” ‘Nothing to fearest then.” “Thank you.” “It seems like Miss Arleaf can hear the dragon’s voice too. Have you come to a decision?” “Yes, we have.” “Then come with me. Our mages are waiting.”

We headed to the courtyard of a church to find an incredible number of mages waiting to begin undoing Forced Possession Summoning. Then, they began casting all kinds of spells at me, attempting to lift the spell. It seems like the townsfolk are peering in from outside hoping to catch a glimpse of the Holy Dragon.

“Let us proceed!”

The head mage called out one last time before casting a spell at me. Just like before, the energy poured into me… and after a while, I floated back to solid ground. … don’t feel any different though.

“Umm… so, did it work?” “Very odd. I tried reversing it, but…”

The mages put in so much research into Forced Possession Summoning, but they now all hang their heads down. … what? You guys figured out how to cast it but not undo it?

“A-Apologies, Cohgray.” “No, it’s uhh… I guess it was easier said than done.”

Man, it would’ve been great if it worked.

‘Tsk… that means we have to continue as is for a little longer.’

Sounds like it…

“Though we may have failed… our appreciation does not change. We revere you and the dragon—Lord Yveval, I mean—as holy figures. Let us guarantee your safety from now on. We would be honored if you were to accept our feelings.” “Oh. Yes. It’s my pleasure?”

I guess we’re now saints in three religions. I’m glad they put aside their differences to be so courteous. We were even warmly welcomed to the palace too. Oh, and Veno’s wide-area spell easily took care of the curse that was placed upon Nisua.

But talk about a one-eighty from fugitive to saint. I barely have to ask and people immediately say yes to my requests. It kinda felt good. It was scary and nerve-racking to lay low and live as a fugitive. In any case, even though civilization is quite a bit behind, life here is stable. I was more than happy to not have to fight anymore.

‘Is that not something to celebrate?! hic! It truly has been too long since I have indulged like this.’

The town offered their finest liquor to Veno, so he’s back on the bottle. Since I’ve got Poison Absorption, I get a light buzz but no hangovers. Pretty handy. I thought somebody might try to assassinate me to wrest control over the world, but poisons don’t work at all on me. I’m sure any assassin would know that… but I’ve also got quite the entourage of bodyguards. Celes didn’t even return home to cure her sister and instead is protecting me. I lived a life of peace… for about two weeks.

“Are you sure, Cohgray?”

After being relieved of her post in the Dragonslayers Corps under the guise to return home, I asked Celes for help to break out of the palace that so cordially received us. In the cover of night, we executed our plan. “Yeah.” “Mu.” “We will be on the run again, Yukihisa.” “You’re right. But if I stay there any longer, I’ll become a waste of skin.”

Yeah, after living the high life for two weeks, I felt like an absolute degenerate. In the end, Arleaf—who originally followed me around as a helper—became my lover and finally, my wife. Wait… now that I think about it, that sounds really bad. Anyway. As we’re trying to break ourselves out, Muu’s in the corner shaking up and down with a dirty look… it feels like Muu is expecting Arleaf and me to get hot and heavy tonight, but that’s not what we’re doing! I felt like a completely useless person living like this, so I begged Celes for her help to extract me out of this place and set off on a journey together. It’s not like we could undo Forced Possession Summoning anyway.

‘Good heavens… thou spoke of being a “corporate slave” before, but are humans from thy world so unaccepting of extravagance? Not being able to fully relax is a real shame.” “My body has been naturally healing itself ever since I came to this world. If I relaxed any longer, I’d turn into a blob.” “You are a very earnest man, Cohgray. I have much to learn from you.”

After leaving palace grounds, we hopped onto a coach that Celes had prepared ahead of time.

“Cohgray, they will definitely go searching for a missing saint. It is still not too late to return.” “I know. I’ve left them a message just in case.”

Before we escaped, I left a note on the desk of my room. I explained how there are still many in this world who need our help and my reasons for doing so. Basically, everything that would sound good. Of course, I made sure not to incriminate Celes in the letter. I said I’d return in three days too. I think I’ll be alright.

“They will only hunt you down.” “Well… I’m used to being on the run.” “Then, where shall we go? Shall we go searching for my relatives for clues to undo Forced Possession Summoning?” ‘‘tis a good plan. And honestly, the lass’ ancestor wrote not nearly enough in his journal.’ “They’ll probably be waiting for us there…” “If they are expecting us to show up to Miss Arleaf’s relatives, then let us go to somewhere like my hometown where they surely shall not be expecting.”

Not to hide in plain sight or anything, but Celes technically took her leave before I escaped, so they shouldn’t connect the dots.

“Yeah, that sounds like a plan.” “Understood, then let us head to Niez.” “Okay! I will follow you to the ends of the world, Yukihisa.” “Mu!” ‘Good grief. Thou hast made more comrades, but in the end, still a fugitive.’

I guess so. We gotta start with undoing the spell though. I’m still a Poison-Wielder. And I’m still a fugitive.

‘Aye. However, I feel better than ever.’ “You’re right. Well, everybody, sorry to trouble ya… but let’s do this!” “Yeah! (Mu!)”

… seems like I’ll still be a poison-wielding fugitive for the next little while.

Thank you very much for being with me on this journey to the end of my first novel series! I sincerely hope everyone has enjoyed Poison-Wielding Fugitive as much as I have. As well, I hope everyone will continue supporting me by reading my other novels and upcoming ones as well. Once again, from the bottom of my heart, thank you very much.

what would you like to read next? suggest titles for me to translate!

contents: /ch001/ /ch002/ /ch003/ /ch004/ /ch005/ /ch006/ /ch007/ /ch008/ /ch009/ /ch010/ /ch011/ /ch012/ /ch013/ /ch014/ /ch015/ /ch016/ /ch017/ /ch018/ /ch019/ /ch020/ /ch021/ /ch022/ /ch023/ /ch024/ /ch025/ /ch026/ /ch027/ /ch028/ /ch029/ /ch030/ /ch031/ /ch032/ /ch033/ /ch034/ /ch035/ /ch036/ /ch037/ /ch038/ /ch039/ /ch040/ /ch041/ /ch042/ /ch043/ /ch044/ /ch045/ /ch046/ /ch047/ /ch048/ /ch049/ /ch050/ /ch051/ /ch052/ /ch053/ /ch054/ /ch055/ /ch056/ /ch057/ /ch058/ /ch059/ /ch060/ /ch061/ /ch062/ /ch063/ /ch064/ /ch065/ /ch066/ /ch067/ /ch068/ /ch069/ /ch070/ /ch071/ /ch072/ /ch073/ /ch074/ /end/

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wackygoofball · 6 years

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you once talked about the parallels between sigurd and jaime I have to point out hat sigurd is a dragonslayer who killed fafnir ( who was a dwarf who became a dragon after killing his own father fafnirAsked his father for gold. tyrion Asked his father for his inheritance (Casterly Rock). fafnir Murdered his father upon refusal. Tyrion Murdered his father in light of multiple grievances. tyrion will end up helping dany with her dragons and/or riding one so what if jaime kills tyrion

Hi megashadowdragon and thanks for the question.

I realized I didn’t meta in quite a while, but ohwell, real life calling and all.

First of all, I am impressed that you still rememberor found a way to dig up that comment I made… years ago. Anyway, I had to revisit my own post to check, butreally, the main intention of that post was to point out the many similarities thatcan be drawn between Jaime and Brienne and Sigurd and Brynhild, less so aboutmaking predictions about how those similarities may foretell the outcome of thestory. I hope that this came across and that I didn’t make it seem like I wasfirmly believing in Jaime and Brienne fulfilling the Sigurd/Brynhild saga frombeginning to end.

After all, GRRM uses tropes and themes rather thancopying word-for-word the narrative upshots of the story he takes from. Like,JB builds on the Beauty and the Beast trope in order to subvert it, but thatdoesn’t mean it’s going exactly congruent to the original tale in terms oftrajectory (I can’t seem to recall zombie!Cat to have been amongst the ensembleof Beauty and the Beast, LOL). So Itry to be cautious when it comes to making predictions based on mythologyparallels I can spot in a narrative. After all, GRRM mixed in a lot of mythology, Norse mythology *atlarge* being the first idea that comes to my mind, wherein Jaime fits multiplecharacters. Like, you can easily parallel Jaime with Norse gods like Tyr, amongothers. Or Christian mythology with the Jacob parallels. So… I am very carefulon that territory, which is why I dare not predict future outcomes based onother story’s equivalents. It’s far too tempting to just go down the rabbithole because every story parallel you choose will give you a potentiallydifferent outcome based on the trajectory of the story itself. I am much moresold on the BatB trope and trajectory because a) GRRM has affirmed that hebased JB on that trope, and b) tropes are not the same as following a storyfrom beginning to end along the exact same lines.

However, as you rightly point out, there are greatparallels to be drawn between Tyrion and Fafnir, both taking part in patricideand developing a certain greed (hence the dwarf turning into a serpent as they aresymbols for greed) for gold, which again plays well into the Lannister gold andred theme. And I am thankful that you brought it to my attention because – alsodue to my clear JB focus – did not even think about how Tyrion very well fitsinto the Volsunga Saga in that regard, and it may well be that GRRM drewinspiration from Fafnir when creating Tyrion’s character.

Yet, strictly following that analogy (for the sakeof the argument here), Regin is the brother of Fafnir who orders for hiskilling and enlists someone else to do it (Sigurd). Now of course, we caneither substitute Regin for someone to fill into that role and order Jaime todo it or we cut out the middleman for the sake of maintaining that parallel.

But anyway, perhaps we ought to see it not so strictin terms of how the characters are related and more in terms of what they doinstead. Again, the trajectory for Tyrion maps neatly on Fafnir, as you assert,even more so in the books wherein he has embarked on a much darker route thanin the show (I won’t dig too deeply into the matter as my knowledge remainslimited on book!Tyrion, not having read those chapters in their entirety justyet).

Though that in itself should be telling, I think, withregards to Tyrion’s outcome in the overall series. I think the general themewill be that most characters will move into a gray area in terms of morality(safe for the clear villains that we have… like, Euron won’t become a graycharacter, Cersei won’t either, I daresay). Characters like Jaime are movingtowards the lighter spots whereas supposed heroes have become/are becomingmorally corrupted or at the very least tested in their morality and balancingit with the need to maybe do acts of dishonor for the sake of the people atlarge. The show did away with the dark tidbits of book!Tyrion’s journey why? We will only know once the finalseason airs, of course, but as others have put forward before me (and far moreeloquently than I do here), it may well be that show!Tyrion will move into moremoral grayness towards the end, whereas book!Tyrion may well get a redemptivemoment of some kind to move him back towards gray.

I tend to think that the show wants to link Tyrion’shaving to make tough choices between his family (Jaime) and the woman of nametitles to the grayness of his character. This has already been party exploredin season 7 wherein Tyrion was kind of hoping for Jaime not to be offed byHighgarden and looking completely devastated when he had to see what the womanwith many titles could do with a flying nuke and a bunch of Dothraki in an openfield. It was surely not without purpose that a) she questioned his loyalties beforeand after that and that b) Tyrion looked so clearly devastated and was made tobear witness of the apparent horror that the woman he chose as the one he meansto support can cause to see the overall goal of her ascending to the IronThrone being achieved. They also could have chosen to have Tyrion stay atDragonstone to await the news, but the fact that he bore witness to both thehavoc a dragon can cause on a battlefield plus the barbecuing of the Tarlys wassurely not without purpose. Which was now a long way of saying that I wouldn’tfind it farfetched if his loyalties were to become ultimately tested in season8, and further, that he will ultimately have to choose between his brother andthe mother of nukes.

While characters are supposedly uniting for thegreater purpose of fighting against the White Walkers now, I am by no meansconvinced that this is smooth transition from war to the Star.garyenRestoration Period towards the end of the series, which is to say that it maywell be that we are headed for conflict among the factions and that maincharacters who offered their support last season may still find their loyaltiesquestioned in their wish to seek power and may or may not ditch the groupeffort at least for a certain amount of time. Now, I don’t want to dig intothat whole matter because that is something people have sent plenty about and Ihonestly can’t be bothered too much about either the fandom-favorite theoriesregarding the restoration period or the hype of the characters mostlyassociated with said theories. I don’t discount their overall importance to thenarrative, I am just saying that I personally have zero shits to give besidethe plot purpose they fulfill for the overall narrative, but I have no personalinvestment in the lady with many names beyond her arc contributing to theoverall series.

But I derailed now again, sorry, I suppose I justwanted to position myself so that I don’t then get questions about a character Iam not invested in and don’t want to be bothered to bash on because, really, Ijust don’t care. The point I was heading for but kind of got away from is thatI am not entirely sure whether Tyrion *will* remain Team Lady of Many Names bythe end of the series. The fact that Tyrion’s and Jaime’s conflict has not beenwholly resolved just yet (while they wereon friendlier terms again, Tyrion did only so much as dodge the big questionsstill standing between the two – namely the consequences of his killing Tywinthat had direct impact on people Tyrion did not intend to harm with that, e.g.Jaime, Tommen, etc., for his own purposes of getting revenge on his father andI think the narrative set it up in such a way that when they met again for thefirst time in the vaults of the Red Keep that it was meant to show that Tyrionwas giving Jaime the same old argument as always instead of owning up to it)has me sold on the idea that something else is still coming with regards to thequestion of where his loyalties will eventually lie.

Now, to come back to the Volsunga Saga and theparallels to GoT/ASoIaF: I would also suggest another thought experiment justto explore the many ways of looking at it: Trade in Fafnir for the woman ofmany names (undeniable, the dragon connection is strong with her… and while sheis certainly no dwarf… she is not exceptionally tall, LOL, but now I digressfor sure). She had Khal Drogo kill Viserys with gold (hence, arguably, substituting Hreidmar, the father of Reginand Fafnir, for it), hence also having the gold aspect on her side and the ideaof greed being potentially subsumed in her ongoing quest for power even aftershe achieved to establish herself as Boss in Essos. Now fast-forward to (forthe show here) season 7 and Spoils of Warand have Sigurd (Jaime) go up against Fafnir (the woman of many names) afterreceiving orders from Regin who wants to see Fafnir gone (Cersei). Yet again,gold also plays a large role, and while Jaime is not successful in killing her,he was definitely going for it right there.

So, you see, I think that you can spin this manydifferent ways (which is the wonderful thing about literary analysis that Ilove so very much) and arrive at similar results. It neatly fits with GRRM’smode of paralleling and mirror characters. So the woman of many names does wellfit Fafnir the same way you can find reasons to see Tyrion being paralleledwith the serpent/dragon.

Now, to go back to the suggestion that Jaime may killTyrion… within the narrative, I just fail to see how he would pose such a*threat* that would make it necessary for Jaime to kill him. Tyrion… is only asdangerous as is the power he is granted. If Tyrion were to go completely rogue,hotwire a dragon and ride it into battle against his brother et al., then thatwould require some… serious turnaround and it would still make the dragon the more immediate threat to get outof the way.

Now, he could use wildfire to trigger Jaime into goingagainst Tyrion and make an attempt on his life, but I have my doubts regardingthe matter. I think wildfire will be vital to the plot in defeating the WhiteWalkers, and that it won’t be only limited to being at Cersei’s disposal,because let’s be real, it kind of loses effect and is in itself a gun she issitting on, waiting to be fired. And while Jaime will certainly be triggered byit, I think it makes much more sense for him to either then help evacuate thecity or help set up the trap for the White Walkers to walk into, seeing thenecessity. Now, if we spin this into the woman of many names going rogue andwanting to torch the capitol to thus blow shit up in red and green, then Jaimewould still have more incentive to be mad at her than at Tyrion.

If we spin it in such a way that Tyrion commits utterbetrayal towards Jaime a second time and Jaime found himself in a position ofauthority in the post-war times, then this would come close to Jaime having tosentence Tyrion to death, which I don’t really see happening, to be honest. Atleast I can’t come up with scenarios that would map with what we have been setup for in terms of character development over the past few seasons. While Jaimesaid that he would kill him, he evidently did not whenever he had a chance forit (if he was serious, he could have offed Tyrion in that vault with even justone hand and a tourney sword). Because just as evidently, Jaime loves hisbrother still, which made Tyrion’s betrayal burn ever the harder for Jaime, butthe more organic conclusion to such a conflict is that they talk it out or that Tyrion makes good onhis promise of when Jaime freed him from the prison where he said that he owedJaime his life, which makes him indebted to Jaime.

So I can actually see self-sacrifice to a certainextent far more prominently being one possible upshot of Tyrion’s arc than himgoing rogue on a dragon to require Jaime to slay his own brother instead ofhaving Jaime go through the motions of committing an additional act ofkinslaying. Generally speaking, I just don’t see Jaime offing any more of hisfamily members (and yes, that includes Cersei, the whole valonqar thing beingJaime and then going into suicide for *reasons* is nothing I am getting behind,but yet again, I digress and, yet again, I think people have written enoughabout that by now, so I would much rather focus on literally anything else). Because it would be sovery repetitive for Jaime and the Lannister clan at large. Cersei killed Lanceland Kevan and the in-laws Margaery, Loras, Mace… and kind of gave rise toTommen’s fall by making him watch that shit show *ahem*… Tyrion killed Tywin. Jaime(at least for the show… for *reasons*) killed a cousin and in-law Olenna uponCersei’s order. Like, honest to the Seven above, I don’t see the Lannistersdoing any more internal family murder. I think another family can well take aturn now.

So… to somehow tie those loose threads of thought togetherthat I have been spewing out now, anon… I think the parallel of Fafnir andTyrion most definitely fits, and I think there is a lot to be said about thesymbolism and even potential trajectory of the overall story, especially if youlook at book!Tyrion and his dark journey which neatly maps on Fafnir’s fallingfor the gold/greed. However, such analysis only ever takes us so and so farbecause, as I hope to have highlighted, we can recreate similar parallels byexchanging the players and it still matches. Because that just correlates withGRRM’s way of writing, which heavily builds on involving themes andpre-existing tropes, mythology, and narratives. That doesn’t mean we can takeone narrative and go to the end to determine future outcomes for GRRM’scharacters, though. It may well be that it will turn out eventually to be truefor one case, but at this point of time, it is simply too hard to guess whichone he may pick or subvert or abandon.

Though more on a sidenote, I will say that I would notfind it entirely unlikely if Tyrion ended up riding a dragon, as you pointed toin your ask. In fact, I would find that muchbetter than Jesus I mean King in the North riding one because Tyrion has builtup a significant relationship with those scaly nukes and I would much rathersee the dragons being okay with being ridden by a guy they learned to trustthan one that has the right Targ smell to him. But then again, I think dragonsare dicks, so maybe that is why they are more sold on the King in the North orthey just really want their mom to bang her nephew… so, who knows?

Now, speaking more in terms of *just* the show/books,I don’t think Jaime will kill Tyrion because I just don’t see where they would getthe conflict if the show has already hinted at it that there is more things toconnect them than keep them apart. If the woman of many names is supposed to bethe reason why, then Jaime should direct his anger towards *her* rather thanTyrion, and I do think that Jaime canmake that kind of rational decision, even with all those feelings involved. Thenarrative would have to make some true 180° to go back to where we basicallywere in season 5 to have Jaime be again all “I will murder him first chance Isee him.” And all atrocities I can come up that may trigger Jaime would almostalways relate to the woman of many names instead of his brother.

So, in sum: Tyrion and Fafnir parallels are awesome and I am grateful that you brought it to my attention because I missed the connection before. Ithink Jaime and Tyrion will pull themselves back together. I hope that Tyriongets to ride a dragon to prove that you don’t have to smell of Targ in order toearn yourself a ride on a nuke. And I most certainly hope that Jaime’s andBrienne’s narrative will end on an entirely different note than that of Sigurdand Brynhild because I remain sold on the idea that they are, against whatseems to be commonly believed by many people, headed towards a happier endingthan most will have in mind. Naturally, I may be totally proven wrong on thematter, but for now I reserve for myself the luxury of being in the hiatus ofsweet, sweet oblivion, wherein I can imagine all kinds of scenarios where Jaimeand Brienne live happily ever after, to finally get started on the Braime Bunch™,and that if Tyrion is meant to live till the end of the series, will spend his daysin good companionship with his brother.

*flies away*

#anon #ask #game of thrones #jaime lannister #tyrion lannister #jaime x brienne #meta #got meta #essay #kind of #it's long enough to be one lol #thanks for the question

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jsblog68 · 6 years

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Ranking all Dark Souls 3 Bosses from easiest to hardest (personal opinion)

After a couple of days i finished Dark Souls 3 and "slaughtered" every Boss except for one. You will know soon which.

All Bosses are in their own way hard, but some are easier than others. Dark Souls 3 + Ashes of Ariandel & The Ringed City has in total 25 Bosses. 17 main (M) and 8 optional (O).

No. 25

Deacons of the Deep (M)

Don't wanna say anything about it. Be fast. Easy kill.

No. 24

High Lord Wolnir (M)

F this "Lord". His fog has the most shitty hitbox ever.

No. 23

Iudex Gundyr (M)

Wow. I love this Boss. It's a great first (Tutorial) Boss. Moveset not very complex so after a couple of times he's just an easy kill.

No. 22

Vordt of the Boreal Valley (M)

I would say Vordt is easier then Iudex Gundyr, but Vordt's second form is much more aggressive than Gundyr's. Love to fight him with fist xD.

No. 21

Ancient Wyvern (O)

To be honest. This fight is maybe the easiest of the whole game but... If you don't hit his head you're maybe dead and the enemies deal pretty much damage. So i place him here at this place.

No. 20

Crystal Sage (M)

Very easy if you know the spawn points. Yeah, the clones are sometimes very op xD.

No. 19

Curse-Rotted Greatwood (O)

Its funny cause he's an optional Boss, but without deafeating him you can't craft Boss weapons. Great idea FromSoftware, not. F his Hand, dafuq is this?

No. 18

Yhorm the Giant (M)

Damn is this Boss cool. After nightmares with The Last Giant from Dark Souls 2, Yhorm showed me how badass a Giant really can be. It's not very difficult if you can charge the Stormruler and dodge. Just be carefull, Yhorm has a high Range.

No. 17

Old Demon King (O)

I hate this Boss. Thats it. Sometimes its easy, other times its hard.

No. 16

Champion Gundyr (O)

Ouw damn. Iudex Gundyr is chilled. Champion Gundyr just wants your ass. I love the Gundyr fights. The kick from Champion Gundyr is just amazing.

No. 15

Dragonslayer-Armour (M)

This Boss is so fucking gorgeous. His moveset is incredible. A nice Boss to Git Gud.

No. 14

Aldrich, Devourer of Gods (M)

The fight is pretty lame. Yes, he's very strong and i still struggle with this Boss sometimes.

No. 13

Abyss Watchers (M)

This is one of the best fights in the entire series, in my opinion. The perfect Boss to learn and understand the mechanics. I really suck at this fight xD.

No. 12

Pontiff Sulyvahn (M)

Another boss that i hate. Pontiff Sonovabitch. This dude is really really fast.

No. 11

Soul of Cinder (M)

Wooooooooooooooow. My favorite Endboss fight. For me easier than Abyss Watchers or Sulyvahn. But this Dude deals a lot of damage. And his attacks has ultra awesome Delays xD.

No. 10

Sister Friede (M)

Waifu Friede. This Boss has a fucking Bloodborne moveset and 3 (THREE) forms. Friede/Friede and Ariandel/Blackflame Friede. The Blackflame Friede is just insane. WTF FromSoftware, she's a fucking Lady Maria xD.

No. 9

Slave Knight Gael (M)

My favorite Boss fight in Dark Souls 3. This fight is very intense and after 30-35% of his life he gets his ultra badass op second form. In NG+ and up a very very very hard Boss.

No. 8

Oceiros, the Consumed King (O)

I hate this Boss too. Hahahaha. Just killed him to get to Champion Gundyr. Fuck this Bloodborne beast.

No. 7

Halflight, Spear of the Church (M)

F this dude and his fucking mage. The shittiest Bossfight ever in DS3.

No. 6

Dancer of the Boreal Valley (M)

This boss is so elegant and smooth. Pretty hard and damn cool.

No. 5

Demon in Pain & Demon from Below/Demon Prince (M)

Please FromSoftware, please. Stop making this bullshit Demon Bosses. Did you defeat that fuckers?

No. 4

Lorian and Lothric (M)

Damn this Delay attacks. Get rekt Lothric. Stupid moron.

No. 3

Champion's Gravetender and Gravetender Greatwolf (O)

The Champion's Gravetender is easy. The Greatwolf is just WTF????

No. 2

Darkeater Midir (O)

Midir is the coolest Dragon ever. And this Dragon shows you what happen when you're to greedy. I'm sure that he haves one of the biggest Healthbars in the series.

No. 1

Nameless King (O)

Yeap. I still can't defeat the Nameless king yet because of his stupid Dragon and his stupid Delay attacks. I love this Boss, only his Dragon is disgusting. I hit his fucking head but he says no, you don't bitch.

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trinuviel · 7 years

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Azor Ahai, The Prince that was Promised and the Red Sword of Heroes (part 4)

In my last post, I examined the legend of Lightbringer - the burning sword that Azor Ahai wielded against the dark. I also touched upon the how the legend relates to Daenerys and her dragons. This post will continue this subject but I’ll also raise the issue of the reliability of prophecies as well as cast some doubt upon the issue on whether Azor Ahai reborn really is the promised hero. (Part 1, Part 2, Part 3)

THREE SWORDS, THREE DRAGONS

If the hatching of the three dragons represents the three swords forged by Azor Ahai, then what would represent their tempering? This is where we enter into the realm of speculation based on the show rather than the books. I would argue that the dragons will be tempered in battle. It is a common saying that soldiers tempered in battle as an expression testing their mettle. Dany’s dragons will be tested in battle and two of them will fall – and it will Viserion and Rhaegal, their growth and strength inhibited by their incarceration in the pit of the pyramid in Meereen. Just as the the growth of the Targaryen was slowed after they were confined to the Dragonpit in King’s Landing.

In the show, Viserion was felled by the Night King’s icy spear and it sunk into the icy waters of a lake. This could definitely be considered as a tempering by water, like the first sword that AA forged. However, we don’t know if this is a plot that is exclusive to the show or whether Dany will lose a dragon to the ice zombies in the books as well. There is another possibility for a tempering by water in the books. Victarion Greyjoy is on his way to Meereen with horn Dragonbinder, a Valyrian artifact that supposedly has the ability to control dragons. The Greyjoys are associated with water (the sea) and Victarion suborning one of Dany’s dragons can certainly be considered a failed tempering by water.

The second sword that AA forged was tempered in the blood of a lion and still it failed. If a second dragon is killed in battle (as an analogy to the tempering of the second sword), then it is very likely that it will involve a Lannister since the sigil of House Lannister is a lion. The show has already teased this when Jaime Lannister charged Drogon in s07ep4.

I have written elsewhere that the imagery of this scene has several points of similarity with artistic depictions of St. George the Dragonslayer throughout the history of Western art since the Middle Ages. If Jaime is to kill a dragon, it will probably be Rhaegal since the dragon in the paintings of St. George the Dragon Slayer almost always is green (like Rhaegal).

That leaves Drogon, the largest and strongest of the dragons. Is Drogon really the Red Sword of Heroes? Is this monster really the weapon that will deliver the world from an icy apocalypse?

Make no mistake. The dragons are monsters! Even Daenerys realizes this in one of her rare moments of self-reflection:

Mother of dragons, Daenerys thought. Mother of monsters. What have I unleashed upon the world? A queen I am, but my throne is made of burned bones, and it rests on quicksand. Without dragons, how could she hope to hold Meereen, much less win back Westeros? I am the blood of the dragon, she thought. If they are monsters, so am I. (ADwD, Daenerys II)

WHAT HAVE I UNLEASED UPON THE WORLD? This is such an interesting sentence, especially in the context of Daenerys as Azor Ahai come again. The dragons are dangerous, they are destructive on a massive scale and they may do more harm than good.

IS PROPHECY DESTINY?

In my previous post, I made an argument for Daenerys Targaryen as the fulfillment of the prophecy of Azor Ahai reborn. I feel fairly confident in identifying Dany as AA come again. Azor Ahai reborn is the Champion of R’hllor and Daenerys is connected to fire in an intimate and elemental way. Does this mean that Dany is the one who will save Westeros? In a traditional piece of fantasy fiction, she most certainly would be. When it comes to GRRM, I am less certain because he engages critically with the tropes that dominate fantasy as a genre:

The battle between Good and Evil is a theme of much of fantasy. But I think the battle between Good and Evil is fought largely within the individual human heart, by the decisions that we make. It’s not like evil dresses up in black clothing and you know, they’re really ugly. These are some of the things that Tolkien did; he made them work fabulously, but in the hands of his imitators, they become total clichés.

It is certainly a genuine, legitimate topic as the core of fantasy, but I think the battle between Good and Evil is waged within the individual human hearts. We all have good in us and we all have evil in us, and we may do a wonderful good act on Tuesday and a horrible, selfish, bad act on Wednesday, and to me, that’s the great human drama of fiction. I believe in gray characters, as I’ve said before. We all have good and evil in us and there are very few pure paragons and there are very few orcs. A villain is a hero of the other side, as someone said once, and I think there’s a great deal of truth to that, and that’s the interesting thing. In the case of war, that kind of situation, so I think some of that is definitely what I’m aiming at. – GRRM (x)

On the surface, Daenerys Targaryen is a character that conforms to many of the genre’s expectations when it comes to a hero and saviour. She’s royalty fallen on hard times. She has undergone a lot of hardship but she is ultimately rewarded with magical creatures and she quite likely is the subject of a prophecy about the salvation of the world.

However, GRRM quietly subverts the trope of the prophesied saviour. Daenerys wants to be good, she wants to be a saviour. She has empathy for the suffering of the downtrodden people she comes across in Essos. She wants to save them and she leads a war of conquest against the Masters of Slaver’s Bay in the name of freedom. However, Daenerys is a saviour who fails again and again, not because she faces overwhelming odds but because she ignorant and lacks patience. Her solution for the Lhazareen women she “saves” from rape by the Dothraki is to make them marry their rapists. The slaves she liberates in Meereen are forced to sell themselves back into slavery because she has no alternative to the slave economy she destroyed.

In the world that GRRM has created, Daenerys Targaryen being the reincarnation of Azor Ahai doesn’t necessarily mean that she will save the world. She’s not going to be a hero and saviour simply because a prophecy says so. If she’s going to save the world, then it will be because she chooses to do so! “The battle between Good and Evil is fought largely within the individual human heart.”

In the show Dany has come to a cross roads. She has to choose between her desire to be a saviour and her desire for the Iron Throne. She can be a saviour or a conqueror. She cannot be both – and she hasn’t made this choice yet. Her dragons are weapons and they can be used for either good or evil – against the ice zombies or against living breathing people.

She can choose to be either a saviour or the Queen of Ashes.

My point is this: prophecy is not necessarily destiny! The hero has to choose to do the right thing – and that choice has to be difficult. It cannot be a foregone conclusion that the “hero” will make the right choice because it can be very difficult to abandon selfish desires.

There’s also another reason as to why we should be wary of the role Daenerys may play as Azor Ahai reborn. Prophecies are tricky. In fact, several warnings are issued regarding prophecies in the text itself:

“Prophecy is like a half-trained mule. It looks as though it might be useful, but the moment you trust in it, it kicks you in the head.” - Tyrion Lannister to Jorah Mormont (ADwD, Tyrion IX)

Gorghan of Old Ghis once wrote that a prophecy is like a treacherous woman. She takes your member in her mouth, and you moan with the pleasure of it and think how sweet, how fine, how good this is… and then her teeth snap shut and your moans turn to screams. That is the nature of prophecy, said Gorghan. Prophecy will bite your prick off every time.“ - Maester Marwyn to Samwell Tarly (AFoC, Samwell V)

These utterances are not just warnings to the characters within the story. They are also warnings to the reader. I find this notion of prophecy as a warning very interesting. The unreliability of prophecy goes beyond identifying who is the promised hero. It questions the very nature of prophecy itself – and I think that we should be very suspicious and wary of the prophecies that the priests of R’hllor espouses. This is a subject that I’ll examine in the next installment of this series.

#azor ahai #the prince that was promised #lightbringer #asoaif #meta #a song of ice and fire #game of thrones #prophecy

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lettersofsky · 6 years

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Another piece for the Streamer!Cloud AU created by @chaoscheebs and built upon by a lot of people, this one was based on some discord fun around Cloud being an avid animal fan and my own experience with the boss fight in question. Hope you enjoy!

“Introduce yourself,” Sephiroth ordered him, gathering his hair into a ponytail as he spoke.

“Rude,” Cloud huffed, rolling his eyes at the taller man before focusing on the rolling chat in front of him. “Too lazy to introduce me to your own audience, next you’ll be using me to entertain them.”

“You are here to entertain them,” Sephiroth responded calmly, brushing a few stray strands of silver hair away from his face. “I’m here to look pretty, you should know that.”

“You’re awful,” Cloud snorted, a fond, amused smile brightening his features as he spoke. He turned his attention to the webcam Sephiroth used and greeted the other’s audience cheerfully, “Hi guys, I’m Cloud, aka The Nibel Wolf, and Seph’s invited me to join you guys while he plays the Dark Souls.”

“Don’t forget to plug yourself,” Sephiroth reminded him, picking up the controller and continuing past the menu’s peaceful music. The screen changed to a character selection screen filled with profiles at different levels of game time, Cloud guessed that the 120-hour profile was a finished one but you really couldn’t tell with most RPGs.

“You can find my stream of which has Mr Eye-Candy here as a guest every second Wednesday for stupid or scary games and Saturday nights’ where we get together with two other friends to fail at fighting games. Come join me if you want.”

“You sound so enthused,” Sephiroth noted, loading up one of his characters in front of a bonfire in a stone room. “We’re heading into the Darkroot Garden today for the ring we need, then into the Abyss for the rest of the stream.”

“… That sounds ominous,” Cloud pointed out, turning his attention back to the chat as it scrolled up, noting the familiar names from his own streams. “We’re gonna be in for a great time, aren’t we?”

“It will be fun,” Sephiroth promised, sprinting past a giant, faceless monster with a catchpole in the middle of an empty stone room. The game opened to a beautiful area, under a night sky and full of lush, green forestry.

This game certainly was pretty, if nothing else.

He turned his attention back to the chat just in time to catch something that worried him just the slightest bit, “why is Chetchi telling me that I’m going to rage at you in a few minutes? What do they know?”

“That you’re definitely going to rage in a few minutes,” Sephiroth said, focused on not dying to the weird, tree-men that had emerged from the ground to ambush him. They couldn’t seem to do much to Sephiroth’s character though, as he had a large shield in his hand and was using a long spear to poke at them from behind it.

“I don’t like the way you say that,” Cloud said, narrowing his gaze at the man next to him before turning back to the chat and answering the questions Sephiroth’s chat shot at him as the other continued to make his way through the area.

“That’s a nice door,” Cloud commented a few minutes later when the character came to a stop in front of a pair of giant, ornate stone door. “There’s a boss behind there, isn’t there?”

��Yes,” Sephiroth answered, setting down his controller to take a drink from a glass of water. “One of the best in the series.”

“Is it hard?”

“No more than the Executioner and the Dragonslayer.”

“Well,” Cloud said, leaning back in his seat. “They sound like fun.”

“They’re the ones I showed you last week.”

“Oh, them!” He said, remembering the clips Sephiroth had sent to him. “The giant golden man with the lightning spear!”

“I have his spear now,” Sephiroth stated proudly, picking up his controller and stabbing said spear into the door in front of him. “It’s very effective.”

“Cool,” the chat was racing, eagerly awaiting his reaction to whatever the boss was. “You ready for this?”

Sephiroth rolled his shoulder and spun his character in place before opening the large doors, “I’m ready for you to get up and leave.”

Cloud ignored Sephiroth’s comment, focusing on the boss fight room that was revealed to them. It was a large open area with numerous swords buried in the ground around it, in the middle of the area was a large, stone slab behind a huge sword nearly as tall as it was. It was a very impressive area.

“This looks nice,” Cloud noted as Sephiroth strode into the room, moving steadily towards the giant sword. “So, where’s the boss?”

His question was answered by the cut scene that started playing a few paces from the large sword, he completely froze when the boss appeared on the screen and knocked back Sephiroth’s character before picking up the giant sword and starting the boss fight.

“That’s a dog.” He said blankly, starting at the beautiful grey coat of the canine on the screen. “You’re fighting a dog.”

“A wolf, but yes.” Sephiroth responded, expertly dodging the wolf’s sword swings. “Sif’s a very good boss fight.”

“I want to punch you so much right now.” Cloud stated, dragging his attention from the boss fight to the scrolling chat. “And you Chetchi, how could you betray me by not warning me about this?”

Sephiroth may have been laughing at him between stabbing the giant wolf on the screen, but Cloud was more focused on the response he got from Chetchi.

“No, that would not be cute! That’d be awful!”

Sephiroth was definitely laughing at him now, as was his chat now.

“Don’t send it to Gen! He won’t let me live it down!”

“You should turn away now,” Sephiroth warned him, rolling through Sif’s sweeping, glowing sword swing. “Before you decide to retract our friendship.”

“Wait, what?” Cloud said, turning back to the screen to see that Sif’s health bar was close to the final fourth of its bar. “What’s going to happen?”

“This,” Sephiroth said, stabbing the boss once again and forcing the health bar to one-hit of health. The boss’ reaction was instantaneous, starting to limp towards Sephiroth’s character and making weak attacks that made it obvious that Sif was using all they’re power just to get the sword off the ground and a few inches past it’s starting position before dragging it back to its starting place.

It was one of the most heart-wrenching series of animations Cloud had ever seen in a game and the chat seemed to believe so as well.

“I’m replacing you with one of your brothers,” he informed Sephiroth, voice quiet and deadly serious.

“You’re not going to replace me with one of my brothers, are you?”

“The pretty one. Tell him to show up on Wednesday an hour before the stream starts.”

#streamer Cloud #Sephiroth #cloud strife #FFVII #Animal lover Cloud #Sephiroth's in a bit of trouble #but at least he didn't show Cloud that alternate cutscene #Things would not have ended well #for anyone #except maybe the chat #They'd love every moment of it #I didn't know what to call this so untiltled it is!

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nehasy · 6 years

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Burning in the New Year

Fanfiction: Vision of Escaflowne

Van/Dilandau Post series. Part of the Dragon in the Ashes universe.

Escaflowne Flash Fic challenge. New Years party!

*It’s New Years even in Astoria and the nobles are celebrating the passing of the old despite the looming shadow of war.*

“This is stupid, you know that right?” Dilandau huffed in annoyance while eyeing a servant who was winding his way through the crowd, a tray filled with glasses of fine wine held aloft. “The sun is going to come back whether you stay up all night waiting for it or not.”

“Why is it that you seem to find fault in every tradition we have?” Van grumbled, watching the albino deftly snag one of the drinks and take a sip. He pondered trying to regulate how much the dragonslayer drank over the course of the night but quickly marked that off as a lost cause. All it would do was annoy Dilandau and encourage him to make some sort of scene. So far, he seemed to at least be content with quietly monologuing to Van and shooting glares of death at the delegation from Freid.

“Seriously?” At least Dilandau swallowed his wine before snickering and gestured with his free hand to include the revelry taking place around them. “This is no different than a bunch of barbarians huddled in their little hut around a fire, staring at it in some silly quasi religious fervour and praying to their gods to spit the sun back up before the world dies in darkness.”

Giving the zaibachi youth a rather skeptical snort, Van looked around the room as he was bade, taking in the opulence of the astorian great hall, filled with glittering nobles dressed in shining silks and jewels, tuning themselves into elegant living works of art. Piles of rich and savoury food overflowed on the long tables set up on one side of the hall. Decorative, brightly coloured and easy to pick up and wander around with, they expertly hid the fact that well over half of Gaea was currently risking death by starvation.

A lively band was playing in one corner, their music was festive and traditional, encouraging those gathered to dance together though mostly it was the younger nobles who indulged, having taken over the section of the hall closest to the band. Their delighted laughter carried over the music and Van knew that he’d find most of their regiment there, enjoying the festivities and taking advantage of the fact that they had the day off of training tomorrow, much to Dilandau’s loudly voiced chagrin.

Those who were older gathered around the great fire, basking in its warmth and sharing stories of years past. Most were of great battles of legends past. The shadows of the Destiny War still hung too heavily on the hearts and souls to be spoken of so soon, though he could see that many wondered when they too would be added to the fireside stories.

Worlds in peril, visitors from the Mystic Moon, magic and destiny battling against dark technologies and individuality. Draconians, dragons and a war which pulled all of the known world into it’s cruel grasp... Van doubted it would be long at all.

Still, despite the pretty trappings and ostentatious ceremony, stripped down to it’s bare bones, the dragonslayer was right. Here they were, locked in a room and gathering around a fire while they all secretly hoped to see the sun once more.

“Just try to enjoy yourself Dilandau, and it wouldn’t kill you to be nice.”

“It might.” The dragonslayer countered as he took another sip of his drink, finishing the glass and quickly switching it out with a second. Surprisingly, he passed the wine to Van before claiming another for himself. “Are you really willing to take that risk with my life?”

“More and more every day.” The king countered, eyeing the wine for a moment thoughtfully before taking a small sip. He’d never forgotten the last time he’d gotten drunk in the presence of the dragonslayer and had no intention of ending up in the cell of a ship again.

Rather than grow angry at the comment, Dilandau instead chuckled slightly and raised his glass in mock salute, looking thoroughly amused by the snark.

“Alright fine.” He said after several silents sips, giving Van a lofty sigh of one heavily burdened with an unpleasant task. “Explain this little... ceremony to me.” Another hand wave in the direction of the festivities, managing to utterly dismiss it while at the same time begrudgingly acknowledging its existance. Dilandau was a rather multi-talented individual.

“Well, this is the longest night of darkness and it’s said that the dead can walk into our world and snatch you into the darkness with them.” Van’s eyes narrowed as he saw how the dragonslayer seemed to perk up at that prospect, a heavy wave of jealousy rushed through him at the thought of having to share the young captain with his fallen men, even for one night of the year. “It’s not true, so don’t get your hopes up.” It was impossible to keep the slight edge from his voice and Dilandau favoured him with a slight smirk or superiority, enjoying the power he had over the dark king.

“I wouldn’t dream of it King Fanel, do continue.” Ignoring the barb, Van took another sip of his drink before speaking again.

“To keep the darkness at bay, hunters are sent out the night before, bedecked in bells to drive away any evil spirits who’ve already slipped across the veil. They go to the forests and find the thickest logs they can. Ones which will burn all night and emit the best light.”

“A brilliant tactic considering how hard pressed we are for resources right now, do go on, this is fascinating. I’m currently picturing Schezar tromping through snow jingling like a madman and dragging a tree behind him.” It had to be the wine because Van found himself snickering at that mental image.

Currently, the knight in question was standing at his post by the door, watching the two of them warily, silently warning them to stay in his sight or else face his wrath. It was impressive that he was able to do this while simultaneously quietly flirting with a rather buxom noble woman and her sister AND keep the door guarded. Multitasking seemed to be a Schezar thing.

“The light keeps the dead away and represents the ever burning sun.” Van continued, doing his best to ignore the knight’s glares. “Over the course of the night, people will toss a token onto the fire that they’ve made. It represents the burdens of the previous year that still weigh on them. The hope is that they will be burned away in the new year.”

“Ok, I’m starting to like this fire festival thing. Let’s find something to throw on the fire! Ambassador Falafell would burn wonderfully...”

“Things, not people you psychopath.” Van shot back, wishing that Dilandau didn’t keep suggesting such things with that wonderful purr to his voice. It made it nearly impossible to deny him, even more so when he stepped closer to the king and murmured softly in his ear, warm breath brushing across sensitive skin.

“Are you sure? You know how I get around fires....”

“That had better be bad sexual innuendo because I’m not letting you burn the city down... again.”

“You’re no fun Fanelia.”

“Fine, sleep in the stables with Kamata.”

“And give Schezar what he wants? Never.”

“Then shut up and let me finish my explanation. Besides, I’ve seen more than one effigy of you being discreetly tossed into the flames tonight.” If anything, Dilandau looked almost pleased by this revelation, once again proving that the albino simply wasn’t right in the head even at the best of times. “Anyway, You’re not supposed to sleep tonight, that’s why all the nobles are gathered here, to keep each other awake.”

“Hmph, good luck with that, have you heard their conversations?”

“Only the smallest of children are allowed to sleep, but there are always small Watchfires nearby to keep them bathed in the light and an adult watching over them. Everyone else stays up until the sun rises. When people get tired, there’s stimulant laced drinks on hand for them and No, you’re not allowed near them.” Van quickly added. “They’ll mix badly with all the other stuff in your system and with our luck, you’d have a psychotic episode or something... not that anyone would likely be able to tell given your usual loving personality.”

“... and this was the year King Van Fanel found himself thrown on the fire...”

“In your dreams.”

“I assure you, my dreams are much more explicit than that.” There was that damn purr again, and this time Van found himself blushing hotly. Quickly, he glanced around to make sure no one had noticed, but for once, it seemed that they were not the centre of attention. That honour was being given to Irma who’s veil shrouded form was dancing rather racily with Cassian, the two showing off their inhuman grace and dexterity as they drove the other dancers back, claiming the floor as their personal territory.

Though Van felt a surge of protectiveness for his draconic sibling, he couldn’t help but feel a smile tug at his lips. It was good to see that she was enjoying herself and getting a chance at seeing what a normal life was like. Even more heartening was seeing the rest of their regiment treat her like one of them despite her less than human appearance... of course, there was a reason many of the elite secretly referred to them as the Mongrels.

“That cat better not try anything with her.” Van couldn’t help but grumble. He’d never really warmed to that particular beastkin, likely due to Cassian’s somewhat antagonistic nature towards Merle.

“If he does and she doesn’t like it, she’ll eat him. Don’t worry about it Fanel. Irma can take care of herself.” Dilandau didn’t appear to be at all concerned as he snagged himself a third glass of wine from a passing tray and glanced around idly for their other sibling.

Ignis was easy enough to spot, even in this gaudily dressed crowd, his brilliant flame coloured hair made him into a perfect centrepiece for this particular festival and a small crowd of nobles had gathered around the shy youth, utterly convinced in their drunkenness that he was the fire of the new year made flesh. Several were even giving him various tokens from the previous year and no doubt explaining their mistakes, seeking absolution.

“If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll remember this moment and use it for some glorious blackmail opportunities later.” Dilandau snickered in amusement, making no attempt at rescuing the youth from the attention. “Don’t you dare intervene Van.” He quickly added, noticing the king tensing slightly, preparing to rescue the boy. “No one’s hurting him. Besides, he needs to learn how to handle himself socially.”

“You and I have vastly different ideas of how to handles oneself socially Dilandau.”

“I know, that’s why I gave them both daggers before the party. Now, tell me more about this silly ritual thing. So all we do is stay up all night drinking and dancing? You talked me into cancelling morning training for that?”

“You gave them weapons for a party!?”

“Focus Van. You were explaining about barbarians being scared of the dark.”

“I hate you so much sometimes.” Van sighed in defeat, doing his best to ignore the triumphant grin shot in his direction. “Well... er... From here things get a little different. In Fanelia, at midnight, all the bells in the city ring, signalling the beginning of the end of the long night. The parties tend to get a little crazy as everyone tries to pack everything into those last few hours... you see, your vices don’t carry over into the new year, at least they’re not supposed to. The idea is that you get everything out of your system and start fresh with the rising of the sun.”

“I can see why there would be some need to rest after that... really though it doesn’t sound at all practical. How many people get alcohol poisoning or bizarre sexual diseases after these parties?”

“It’s a cleansing of the body and spirit Dilandau, not an orgy.”

“Sounds like one.” Dilandau couldn’t help but grin at Van’s look of profound irritation and embarrassment. Few things were sweeter than putting the dark king off balance and the dragonslayer revelled in doing so constantly.

“Anything after that? Or is it just vomiting and hangovers to begin the new year?”

“We... make a wish on the first rays of the sun. It’s said that what your doing when the sun’s rays first touch you is a sign of what you’ll be doing for the rest of the year.” That seemed to catch the dragonslayer’s attention and he grinned widely.

“I like this idea! Let’s kill someone at sunrise! How about Chid? He’s young, it’s not like anyone has had time to get seriously emotionally attached to him.” Van would have loved to have been able to say that he was surprised by this, but he really wasn’t. In fact, it was almost expected. He’d have been more shocked by it’s absence.

“You’re not killing Prince Chid.”

“Fine fine. You kill him for me.”

“NO! I’m not murdering anyone for you you psychopath!”

“...there’s no love in your heart Fanel.” Dilandau replied with sombre tones, sounding like Van had just denied the softness of a baby bird or sweetness of a puppy. After all this time, the albino still had the ability to make it seem as if Van was the bad guy in their exchanges and it was maddening!

“So what do they do here in Astoria?” Dilandau continued as if he hadn’t just proposed regicide while in the astorian court. “I can’t really picture Ice Princess Ereis getting drunk and playing “The Lucky Bandit” with everyone... and I really don’t want to picture King Aston doing that either.” Both youths took a moment to shudder and Van quickly finished off his drink, only to find a new one waiting for him, courtesy of Dilandau.

“Here, they note the midnight hour, but things stay sombre if you’re a royal. Often they retell the story of Jeture and then there’s the Lightening. Each person will be given a candle and they light it from the hearth fire that’s been burning all night. While the candle burns, they need to find someone and whisper a deep truth to them, something that will unburden their soul, leaving them cleansed for the new year. Most of the time, they speak to priests of Jeture, but really, they can do it with anyone.

“If they do this before the candle burns out, then they enter the new year with their soul purged. If they don’t, then the guilt will grow over the passing year, bringing misfortune in its wake.”

Dilandau actually appeared to be thoughtful for a moment and he glanced over at one of the tables off on the side of the room, filled with over a hundred thin white tapered candles waiting to be lit.

“They really believe that?” For once he didn’t sound mocking, making Van wonder what guilt the dragonslayer might want to purge from his soul. As far as Van was concerned, Dilandau attempting to confess all of his crimes could take a week of nonstop confession, but he knew from experience that guilt and Dilandau were totally foreign entities. The albino didn’t regret any of his past actions no matter how vile. He was too much a creature of the moment to be bothered by what had already been done.

Well, Van resolved, he could confess for both of them. He already knew that Dilandau wouldn’t accept any apologies for anything that had happened during the war... and getting punched in the face for trying to do so didn’t appeal to him in the slightest. Still, he did feel the weight pressing down on him and knew that before the candles went out, he’d say something to the other teen. He didn’t know what, but with luck and perhaps a few gods taking pity on him, he wouldn’t get punched in the face... again.

“So once the candles go out, what happens?” It seemed that Dilandau was displaying his usual tenacity, refusing to move onto another topic until he’d utterly exhausted this one and driven it to ground. Unable to resist a faint smile, Van found that he actually sort of admired that trait, especially when it wasn’t being used against himself.

“Well, for several nations, Astoria included, a Seer from Freid reads the rising sun and makes a pronouncement of the fate of the upcoming year. Many of the priesthood have been studying signs and portents for the past few months preparing for this moment.

“Is that why the diminutive bedwetter is here?” Dilandau spared a scathing look towards Prince Chid and his entourage who were currently chatting with Princess Millerna and Heir Dryden. The boy, barely seven years old was doing his best to appear as adult as possible though it was growing increasingly obvious that the late hour was giving him difficulty.

Van really wanted to go over there and speak to the young prince. The two of them had always gotten along and out of everyone, Chid was the best able to relate to him, having also lost both his parents while still a child and been forced to carry the weight of a kingdom on his young shoulders. Unfortunately, Chid and Dilandau in any proximity to each other didn’t ever end well. The two had hated each other on sight and there seemed to be no indication of that changing anytime soon.

“Have some respect Dilandau.” Van ground out, growing tired of how many times a day he had to say that. “He’s royalty.”

“He’s a coward.” It was an old argument and the king was in no mood to open it up again, especially in such a public place.

“You don’t need to speak to him, just stop looking like you’re planning to toss him into the fire.”

“I make no promises.”

“Anyway, yes, that’s why he’s here. As well as the fact that he’s still a member of the Astorian royal family. That tall woman with him? The one with the tattoos on her forehead and hands? She’s their seer and will be making the prophecy.”

“The one who’s been eyeing the two of us since she walked into the room? Wonderful.” Van didn’t trust the delighted tone of voice for a moment.

“Leave the seer alone. You’ve killed enough of their holy men.”

“This one’s a woman, there’s a difference you know Van.” Nope, he wouldn’t strangle the dragonslayer in the middle of the party. It didn’t matter how many of the assembled nobles would likely applaud the action, it was still wrong... and a bad way to begin the new year.

“So... she makes some big prophetic statement like a discount Emperor Dornkirk and everything is over? By the way, if she says anything about white dragons I’m stabbing her in the face, just so you know.”

“You are not and she won’t.” At least he really hoped that she didn’t. Destiny was already kicking him in the teeth regularly enough that he didn’t need it to be proclaimed across the land.

“So why freidian seers?” Dilandau continued to press, watching the woman openly and flashing her a rather toothy and not overly friendly smile when she finally did look their way. Elbowing the albino sharply in the ribs, Van fixed another chastising glare at him, silently warning him to stop with the power games.

“Freid follows the teachings of Atlantis. Their seers have vast insight and are remarkably accurate.”

“You do realize how stupid that sounds seeing as how there’s two actual Atlantians in the room. Why listen to some silly painted woman when they could get their wisdom direct from us?”

“Because you and wisdom do not belong in the same sentence together. No one wants to hear about how we should just set everything on fire and laugh as it all burns.”

“Not everything.” Dilandau grumbled petulantly over the rim of his wineglass

“Just the parts with people in them?” Van snarkily quoted the dragonslayer, earning himself a slight smile of amusement. Clearly Dilandau was pleased that he’d remembered the old barb towards Faneila. “Look Dilandau, clearly you’re just in the mood to bother me, so why don’t you go and rescue Ignis from his imminent social meltdown and I’ll go ask the seer not to mention anything about white dragons or how you’re obviously still too unbalanced to be let near anything sharper than a table spoon.” Honestly, he had no idea how he put up with the madman. Sometimes Dilandau was the most brilliant and thoughtful person he’d ever met... then other times he was so obviously a certifiable psychopath that Van questioned his own sanity for spending time with him.

Hardly bothered by the insulting dismissal, Dilandau snickered at the king and neatly plucked the glass out of his hands, stealing it for himself despite the fact that there were plenty available should he want another.

“Fine, go play with the toddler. Fate knows he needs someone to look up to after I slaughtered all of his friends.” He sneered cruelly and slipped away before Van could say “screw propriety” and break his face.

Shaking his head and wondering at what twisted whims of fate had seen fit to bring the two of them together as allies, Van headed over to Prince Chid and the astorian royals, already feeling that strange hollowness he got whenever the volatile dragonslayer wasn’t at his side. He was cursed that had to be it.

The bells had rung hours ago and the gathered nobles amused themselves, wandering around the great hall, sharing whispered secrets with each other before their candles burned out. Van watched several of them enviously, noting how the nature of these secrets seemed to be more lascivious than guilt ridden. This seemed more like ritualized flirtation rather than the sombre ceremony he’d been told about.

He’d lost track of Dilandau an hour ago and was desperately hoping that he hadn’t “slipped off” with one of the more adventurous young nobles who ‘d been secretly eyeing the lovely albino. Or worse, Regis, who made nothing subtle about the looks he still gave the young captain. It twisted something in Van’s guts to think of what the pale youth could be getting up to now. He’d heard the stories of what other people their age did on this night, taking advantage of the darkness and the hovering adults all crammed in together, leaving many abandoned rooms available. Had Dilandau heard those stories? Was he welcoming in the new year with someone else?

“Keep thinking along those lines and you might be the one murdering someone.” A purring voice whispered in his ear, nearly making the king jump.

Spinning around, he saw Dilandau standing there, cocky smile on his face and a brightly burning candle in his hand.

“Someone let you have fire?” Was the first thing that came out of Van’s mouth and he instantly wished that he could take it back. Thankfully, Dilandau didn’t seem to take it personally and instead gave the small burning flame a rather speculative look.

“I know right? You should have seen the priests face when I took the candle. If he was constipated before hand, he certainly isn’t now.”

“Classy. Real classy.”

“Yeah, so come here.” A slender hand reached out and grabbed onto Van’s arm, pulling him into a small shadowed alcove behind one of the many tall pillars which decorated the hall. They were out of sight of the rest of the court and what with all the many tapestries adorning the walls, even the noise seemed muted somewhat.

Dilandau’s face glowed in the candlelight, the small flame making his crimson eyes shine unnaturally, but Van wasn’t worried. If the dragonslayer was up to something nefarious, he’d have made it quite clear immediately.

“Are you actually going to try to absolve your guilt over something?” Van couldn’t quite keep from sounding utterly skeptical as he looked into those beautifully glowing eyes.

“Guilt? Hells no. I can’t feel guilt and you know that.” Dilandau sneered faintly. The expression didn’t last long though. It faded quickly, only to be replaced by a somewhat uncomfortable frown.

“I... I wanted to say thank you.”

Sheer surprise kept Van silent as he stared at his former nemesis, trying to figure out just what exactly the dragonslayer was up to.

“I know I’m... difficult to get along with at the best of times.” Dilandau continued, his voice soft and subdued, sounding remarkably young now that it wasn’t filled with its usual fires of challenge and arrogance. “Alright, I’m a pain in the ass and I know it.” He amended with a somewhat rueful smile aimed in Van’s direction. “I know you regret our truce sometimes and that sometimes you wish that I’d just go away... but you don’t send me away and you haven’t rejected me.” The smile faded as well and for a moment Van saw the terrible vulnerability of the fierce captain. He wasn’t the vicious and merciless warlord controlled for so long by madmen. Instead, he was a lost and lonely teenager who’d had everyone he dared to care about stripped from him over and over again until the very thought of trust had become a lost dream.

“You’ve done more for me than any other living being Van, and I know that I don’t always act like I appreciate it, but I do.” Dilandau licked his lips nervously, the tip of his tongue looking bright pink against his pale flesh. “You helped give me a new family and you’re fighting to help me keep them safe. I will never be able to thank you enough for that... but more importantly, you showed me that I’m not really alone. There’s someone out there just like me... someone who understands me and is willing to accept me for who and what I am... even if I’m being a pain in the ass.

“I don’t have anything to toss into the fire because I accept everything that’s happened this year. The good, the bad, all of it brought me to this point and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Instead, all I have is this fire in my hands and a promise on my lips that this time you’ll find the heat to be much more pleasant.” As he spoke, he gently blew out the candle, letting the faint wisps of smoke rise up, coiling languidly around each other.

Setting the waxy stick down, he then reached into his jacket and pulled out the shining feather on the gold chain he always wore around his neck. As always, the feather glowed gently in the darkness of the alcove, it’s silvery light radiating a soothing warmth across their skin.

Without a word, Van pulled his own feather free and smiled as the two seemed to brighten, as if competing against each other as to which was the most brilliant.

“Only you could compare the burning of a city to a beautiful proposition.” It was impossible to stay infuriated with the pale youth, especially when those fantastic eyes of his still held the glowing light of the extinguished candle.

“Only you could see it as such.” Dilandau countered with a gentle smile before leaning forward and gently claiming Van’s lips with his. The familiar electrical sizzle made his mouth tingle pleasantly and the king found himself leaning into the kiss, his lips parting slightly in invitation.

Always ready to take advantage of any opportunity, Dilandau deepened the kiss, causing Van to moan softly i pleasure as their tongues met and stroked across each other, causing his entire body to shiver in pleasure even as the feathers in their hands shone even brighter.

“Lets go to your room.” Dilandau whispered against Van’s lips, his eyes still burning with flickering flames. “There’s better ways to welcome a new year than listening to some bald bitch tell us that there’s going to be a war. We make our own destiny.”

Despite all common sense, Van nodded his head, still dazed from the kiss. He knew they should stay, that people would notice their absence. He was a king for Gaea’s sake, he had to keep propriety in mind! But... it was impossible to argue with those eyes, that smile... the way the air sparked in between them.

“I... I don’t have a candle.” The king murmured softly, unable to keep from speaking as he stared into those eyes, feeling that perhaps the flames in their depths were enough for the ritual. “But I wanted to confess something to you.”

“You don’t need to you know.” Dilandau smiled gently, pale slender fingers sliding through tousled black locks of hair as he spoke, thrilling at every point of contact between them.

“I do... I want things equal between us.” He replied resolutely. “I don’t want you to change, no matter how mad you drive me or how shocked I am over the things you say or do. You’re brilliant and fierce and so alive that it makes my heart ache.” His dark eyes locked on those ruby red orbs and he smiled faintly. “No matter how much I gnash my teeth or yell at you... or threaten to step on you with Escaflowne, you’re still perfect to me. You’re family.”

“Does that mean I’m in line for the throne? Because if anything happened to you... say... a terrible fire accident, or guymelef squishing, Fanelia would need a leader...”

“Shut up Alabtou.” Despite their teasing words, Dilandau looked deeply moved by the statement and Van couldn’t help but grin even as he reached up and pulled the pale youth down into another kiss.

“And stay the hell away from my throne.” Van added, savouring the taste of Dilandau on his tongue. The heat, the promise and the passion which accompanied their every touch.

“Then let’s greet the dawn together, away from all this. The others will tell us if anything important is said. Besides, if we really are fated to spend the next year doing whatever we get up to during the sunrise, I’d rather ensure that it’s utterly mind shattering.” Unable to come up with any proper argument, Van nodded his head eagerly. Sharing wide grins of anticipation, the two youths slipped away into the shadows without a backwards glance.

********

Want to start at the beginning? http://archiveofourown.org/works/8090491/chapters/18538888

#Vision of Escaflowne #tenkuu no escaflowne #escaflowne fanfiction #Dilandau Albatou #Van Fanel #Astoria #New Years eve #celebration #humour #Yaoi #snippet in time

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rhetoricandlogic · 7 years

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The Dragonslayer of Merebarton

— by K.J. PARKER —

AUDIO VERSION

I was mending my chamber pot when they came to tell me about the dragon.

Mending a pot is one of those jobs you think is easy, because tinkers do it, and tinkers are no good or they’d be doing something else. Actually, it’s not easy at all. You have to drill a series of very small holes in the broken pieces, then thread short lengths of wire through the holes, then twist the ends of the wires together really tight, so as to draw the bits together firmly enough to make the pot watertight. In order to do the job you need a very hard, sharp, thin drill bit, a good eye, loads of patience, and at least three pairs of rock-steady hands. The tinker had quoted me a turner and a quarter; get lost, I told him, I’ll do it myself. It was beginning to dawn on me that some sorts of work are properly reserved for specialists.

Ah, the irony.

Stupid of me to break it in the first place. I’m not usually that clumsy. Stumbling about in the dark, was how I explained it. You should’ve lit a lamp, then, shouldn’t you, she said. I pointed out that you don’t need a lamp in the long summer evenings. She smirked at me. I don’t think she quite understands how finely balanced our financial position is. We’re not hard up, nothing like that. There’s absolutely no question of having to sell off any of the land, or take out mortgages. It’s just that, if we carry on wasting money unnecessarily on lamp-oil and tinkers and like frivolities, there’ll come a time when the current slight reduction in our income will start to be a mild nuisance. Only temporary, of course. The hard times will pass, and soon we’ll all be just fine.

Like I said, the irony.

“Ebba’s here to see you,” she said.

She could see I was busy. “He’ll have to come back,” I snapped. I had three little bits of wire gripped between my lips, which considerably reduced my snapping power.

“He said it’s urgent.”

“Fine.” I put down the pot—call it that, no way it was a pot anymore. It was disjointed memories of the shape of a pot, loosely tied together with metal string, like the scale armor the other side wore in Outremer. “Send him up.”

“He’s not coming up here in those boots,” she said, and at once I realized that no, he wasn’t, not when she was using that tone of voice. “And why don’t you just give up on that? You’re wasting your time.”

Women have no patience. “The tinker—”

“That bit doesn’t go there.”

I dropped the articulated mess on the floor and walked past her, down the stairs, into the great hall. Great, in this context, is strictly a comparative term.

Ebba and I understand each other. For a start, he’s practically the same age as me—I’m a week younger; so what? We both grew up silently ashamed of our fathers (his father Ossun was the laziest man on the estate; mine—well) and we’re both quietly disappointed with our children. He took over his farm shortly before I came home from Outremer, so we both sort of started off being responsible for our own destinies around the same time. I have no illusions about him, and I can’t begin to imagine he has any about me. He’s medium height, bald and thin, stronger than he looks and smarter than he sounds. He used to set up the targets and pick up the arrows for me when I was a boy; never used to say anything, just stood there looking bored.

He had that look on his face. He told me I wasn’t going to believe what he was about to tell me.

The thing about Ebba is, he has absolutely no imagination. Not even when roaring drunk—whimpering drunk in his case; very rare occurrence, in case you’ve got the impression he’s what she calls basically-no-good. About twice a year, specific anniversaries. I have no idea what they’re the anniversaries of, and of course I don’t ask. Twice a year, then, he sits in the hayloft with a big stone jar and only comes out when it’s empty. Not, is the point I’m trying to make, prone to seeing things not strictly speaking there.

“There’s a dragon,” he said.

Now Ossun, his father, saw all manner of weird and wonderful things. “Don’t be bloody stupid,” I said. He just looked at me. Ebba never argues or contradicts; doesn’t need to.

“All right,” I said, and the words just sort of squeezed out, like a fat man in a narrow doorway. “Where?”

“Down Merebarton.”

A brief digression concerning dragons.

There’s no such thing. However, there’s the White Drake (its larger cousin, the Blue Drake, is now almost certainly extinct). According to Hrabanus’ Imperfect Bestiary, the White Drake is a native of the large and entirely unexpected belt of marshes you stumble into after you’ve crossed the desert, going from Crac Boamond to the sea. Hrabanus thinks it’s a very large bat, but conscientiously cites Priscian, who holds that it’s a featherless bird, and Saloninus, who maintains that it’s a winged lizard. The White Drake can get to be five feet long—that’s nose to tip-of-tail; three feet of that is tail, but it can still give you a nasty nip. They launch themselves out of trees, which can be horribly alarming (I speak from personal experience). White Drakes live almost exclusively on carrion and rotting fruit, rarely attack unless provoked, and absolutely definitely don’t breathe fire.

White Drakes aren’t found outside Outremer. Except, some idiot of a nobleman brought back five breeding pairs about a century ago, to decorate the grounds of his castle. Why people do these things, I don’t know. My father tried to keep peacocks once. As soon as we opened the cage they were off like arrows from the bowstring; next heard of six miles away, and could we please come and do something about them, because they were pecking the thatch out in handfuls. My father rode over that way, happening to take his bow with him. No more was ever said about peacocks.

Dragons, by contrast, are nine to ten feet long excluding the tail; they attack on sight, and breathe fire. At any rate, this one did.

Three houses and four barns in Merebarton, two houses and a hayrick in Stile. Nobody hurt yet, but only a matter of time. A dozen sheep carcasses, stripped to the bone. One shepherd reported being followed by the horrible thing: he saw it, it saw him, he turned and ran; it just sort of drifted along after him, hardly a wingbeat, as if mildly curious. When he couldn’t run any further, he tried crawling down a badger hole. Got stuck, head down the hole, legs sticking up in the air. He reckoned he felt the thump as the thing pitched down next to him, heard the snuffling—like a bull, he reckoned; felt its warm breath on his ankles. Time sort of stopped for a while, and then it went away again. The man said it was the first time he’d pissed himself and felt the piss running down his chest and dripping off his chin. Well, there you go.

The Brother at Merebarton appears to have taken charge, the way they do. He herded everyone into the grain store—stone walls, yes, but a thatched roof; you’d imagine even a Brother would’ve watched them making charcoal some time—and sent a terrified young kid off on a pony to, guess what. You’ve got it. Fetch the knight.

At this point, the story recognizes (isn’t that what they say in Grand Council?) Dodinas le Cure Hardy, age fifty-six, knight, of the honors of Westmoor, Merebarton, East Rew, Middle Side, and Big Room; veteran of Outremer (four years, so help me), in his day a modest success on the circuit—three second places in ranking tournaments, two thirds, usually in the top twenty out of an average field of forty or so. Through with all that a long time ago, though. I always knew I was never going to be one of those gaunt, terrifying old men who carry on knocking ’em down and getting knocked down into their sixties. I had an uncle like that, Petipas of Lyen. I saw him in a tournament when he was sixty-seven, and some young giant bashed him off his horse. Uncle landed badly, and I watched him drag himself up off the ground, so desperately tired. I was only, what, twelve; even I could see, every last scrap of flesh and bone was yelling, don’t want to do this anymore. But he stood up, shamed the young idiot into giving him a go on foot, and proceeded to use his head as an anvil for ten minutes before graciously accepting his surrender. There was so much anger in that performance—not at the kid, for showing him up, Uncle wasn’t like that. He was furious with himself for getting old, and he took it out on the only target available. I thought the whole thing was disturbing and sad. I won’t ever be like that, I told myself.

(The question was, is: why? I can understand fighting. I fought—really fought—in Outremer. I did it because I was afraid the other man was going to kill me. So happens my defense has always been weak, so I compensate with extreme aggression. Never could keep it going for very long, but on the battlefield that’s not usually an issue. So I attacked anything that moved with white-hot ferocity fueled entirely and exclusively by ice-cold fear. Tournaments, though, jousting, behourd, the grand melee—what was the point? I have absolutely no idea, except that I did feel very happy indeed on those rare occasions when I got a little tin trophy to take home. Was that enough to account for the pain of being laid up six weeks with two busted ribs? Of course it wasn’t. We do it because it’s what we do; one of my father’s more profound statements. Conversely, I remember my aunt: silly woman, too soft for her own good. She kept these stupid big white chickens, and when they got past laying she couldn’t bear to have their necks pulled. Instead, they were taken out into the woods and set free, meaning in real terms fed to the hawks and foxes. One time, my turn, I lugged down a cage with four hens and two cocks squashed in there, too petrified to move. Now, what draws in the fox is the clucking; so I turned them out in different places, wide apart, so they had nobody to talk to. Released the last hen, walking back down the track; already the two cock birds had found each other, no idea how, and were ripping each other into tissue scraps with their spurs. They do it because it’s what they do. Someone once said, the man who’s tired of killing is tired of life. Not sure I know what that means.)

A picture is emerging, I hope, of Dodinas le Cure Hardy; while he was active in chivalry he tried to do what was expected of him, but his heart was never in it. Glad, in a way, to be past it and no longer obliged to take part. Instead, prefers to devote himself to the estate, trying to keep the ancestral mess from collapsing in on itself. A man aware of his obligations, and at least some of his many shortcomings.

Go and fetch the knight, says the fool of a Brother. Tell him—

On reflection, if I hadn’t seen those wretched White Drakes in Outremer, there’s a reasonable chance I’d have refused to believe in a dragon trashing Merebarton, and then, who knows, it might’ve flown away and bothered someone else. Well, you don’t know, that’s the whole point. It’s that very ignorance that makes life possible. But when Ebba told me what the boy told him he’d seen, immediately I thought; White Drake. Clearly it wasn’t one, but it was close enough to something I’d seen to allow belief to seep into my mind, and then I was done for. No hope.

Even so, I think I said, “Are you sure?” about six or seven times, until eventually it dawned on me I was making a fool of myself. At which point, a horrible sort of mist of despair settled over me, as I realized that this extraordinary, impossible, grossly and viciously unfair thing had landed on me, and that I was going to have to deal with it.

But you do your best. You struggle, just as a man crushed under a giant stone still draws in the last one or two desperate whistling breaths; pointless, but you can’t just give up. So I looked him steadily in the eye, and I said, “So, what do they expect me to do about it?”

He didn’t say a word. Looked at me.

“The hell with that,” I remember shouting. “I’m fifty-six years old, I don’t even hunt boar anymore. I’ve got a stiff knee. I wouldn’t last two minutes.”

He looked at me. When you’ve known someone all your life, arguing with them is more or less arguing with yourself. Never had much joy with lying to myself. Or anyone else, come to that. Of course, my mother used to say: the only thing I want you not to be the best in the world at is lying. She said a lot of that sort of thing; much better written down on paper rather than said out loud in casual conversation, but of course she couldn’t read or write. She also tended to say: do your duty. I don’t think she ever liked me very much. Loved, of course, but not liked.

He was looking at me. I felt like that poor devil under the stone (at the siege of Crac des Bests; man I knew slightly). Comes a point when you just can’t breathe anymore.

We do have a library: forty-seven books. The Imperfect Bestiary is an abridged edition, local copy, drawings are pretty laughable, they make everything look like either a pig or a cow, because that’s all the poor fool who drew it had ever seen. So there I was, looking at a picture of a big white cow with wings, thinking: how in God’s name am I supposed to kill something like that?

White Drakes don’t breathe fire, but there’s this stupid little lizard in Permia somewhere that does. About eighteen inches long, otherwise completely unremarkable; not to put too fine a point on it, it farts through its mouth and somehow contrives to set fire to it. You see little flashes and puffs of smoke among the reed beds. So it’s possible. Wonderful.

(Why would anything want to do that? Hrabanus, who has an answer for every damn thing, points out that the reed beds would clog up the delta, divert the flowing water and turn the whole of South Permia into a fetid swamp if it wasn’t for the frequent, regular fires, which clear off the reed and lay down a thick bed of fertile ash, just perfect for everything else to grow sweet and fat and provide a living for the hundreds of species of animals and birds who live there. The fires are started by the lizards, who appear to serve no other function. Hrabanus points to this as proof of the Divine Clockmaker theory. I think they do it because it’s what they do, though I’m guessing the lizards who actually do the fire-starting are resentful younger sons. Tell you about my brother in a minute.)

She found me in the library. Clearly she’d been talking to Ebba. “Well?” she said.

I told her what I’d decided to do. She can pull this face of concentrated scorn and fury. It’s so intensely eloquent, there’s really no need for her to add words. But she does. Oh, she does.

“I’ve got no choice,” I protested. “I’m the knight.”

“You’re fifty-six and you get out of breath climbing the stairs. And you’re proposing to fight dragons.”

It’s a black lie about the stairs. Just that one time; and that was the clock-tower. Seventy-seven steps to the top. “I don’t want to do it,” I pointed out. “Last bloody thing I want—”

“Last bloody thing you’ll ever do, if you’re stupid enough to do it.” She never swears, except when quoting me back at myself. “Just think for a minute, will you? If you get yourself killed, what’ll happen to this place?”

“I have no intention of getting myself—”

“Florian’s too young to run the estate,” she went on, as though I hadn’t spoken. “That clown of a bailiff of yours can’t be trusted to remember to breathe without someone standing over him. On top of which, there’s heriot and wardship, that’s hundreds and hundreds of thalers we simply haven’t got, which means having to sell land, and once you start doing that you might as well load up a handcart and take to the roads, because—”

“Absolutely no intention of getting killed,” I said.

“And for crying out loud don’t shout,” she shouted. “It’s bad enough you’re worrying me to death without yelling at me as well. I don’t know why you do this to me. Do you hate me, or something?”

We were four and a quarter seconds away from tears, and I really can’t be doing with that. “All right,” I said. “So tell me. What do I do?”

“I don’t know, do I? I don’t get myself into these ridiculous messes.” I wish I could do that; I should be able to. After all, it’s the knight’s move, isn’t it? A step at right angles, then jump clean over the other man’s head. “What about that useless brother of yours? Send him.”

The dreadful thing is, the same thought had crossed my mind. It’d be—well, not acceptable, but within the rules, meaning there’s precedents. Of course, I’d have to be practically bedridden with some foul but honorable disease. Titurel is ten years younger than me and still competing regularly on the circuit, though at the time he was three miles away, at the lodge, with some female he’d found somewhere. And if I really was ill—

I was grateful to her. If she hadn’t suggested it, I might just have considered it. As it was; “Don’t be ridiculous,” I said. “Just think, if I was to chicken out and Titurel actually managed to kill this bloody thing. We’ve got to live here. He’d be insufferable.”

She breathed through her nose; like, dare I say it, one of the D things. “All right,” she said. “Though how precisely it’s better for you to get killed and your appalling brother moves in and takes over running the estate—”

“I am not going to get killed,” I said.

“But there, you never listen to me, so I might as well save my breath.” She paused and scowled at me. “Well?”

Hard, sometimes, to remember that when I married her, she was the Fair Maid of Lannandale. “Well what?”

“What are you going to do?”

“Oh,” he said, sort of half-turning and wiping his forehead on his forearm. “It’s you.”

Another close contemporary of mine. He’s maybe six months older than me, took over the forge just before my father died. He’s never liked me. Still, we understand each other. He’s not nearly as good a tradesman as he thinks he is, but he’s good enough.

“Come to pay me for those harrows?” he said.

“Not entirely,” I replied. “I need something made.”

“Of course you do.” He turned his back on me, dragged something orange-hot out from under the coals, and bashed it, very hard, very quickly, for about twenty seconds. Then he shoved it back under the coals and hauled on the bellows handle a dozen times. Then he had leisure to talk to me. “I’ll need a deposit.”

“Don’t be silly,” I said. There was a small heap of tools piled up on the spare anvil. I moved them carefully aside and spread out my scraps of parchment. “Now, you’ll need to pay attention.”

The parchment I’d drawn my pathetic attempts at sketches on was the fly-leaf out of Monomachus of Teana’s Principles of Mercantile Law. I’d had just enough left over to use for a very brief note, which I’d folded four times, sealed, and sent the stable boy off to deliver. It came back, folded the other way; and under my message, written in big crude handwriting, smudged for lack of sand—

What the hell do you want it for?

I wasn’t in the mood. I stamped back into the house (I’d been out in the barn, rummaging about in the pile of old junk), got out the pen and ink and wrote sideways up the margin (only just enough room, writing very small)—

No time. Please. Now.

I underlined please twice. The stable boy had wandered off somewhere, so I sent the kitchenmaid. She whined about having to go out in her indoors shoes. I ask you.

Moddo the blacksmith is one of those men who gets caught up in the job in hand. He whinges and complains, then the problems of doing the job snag his imagination, and then your main difficulty is getting it away from him when it’s finished, because he’s just come up with some cunning little modification which’ll make it ever so slightly, irrelevantly better.

He does good work. I was so impressed I paid cash.

“Your design was useless, so I changed it,” he’d said. A bit of an overstatement. What he’d done was to substitute two thin springs for one fat one, and add on a sort of ratchet thing taken off a millers’ winch, to make it easier to wind it up. It was still sticky with the oil he’d quenched it in. The sight of it made my flesh crawl.

Basically, it was just a very, very large gin trap, with an offset pressure plate. “It’s pretty simple,” I said. “Think about it. Think about birds. In order to get off the ground, they’ve got very light bones, right?”

Ebba shrugged: if you say so.

“Well,” I told him, “they have. And you break a bird’s leg, it can’t get off the ground. I’m assuming it’s the same with this bastard. We put out a carcass, with this underneath. It stands on the carcass, braces it with one foot so it can tear it up with the other. Bang, got him. This thing ought to snap the bugger’s leg like a carrot, and then it won’t be going anywhere in a hurry, you can be sure of that.”

He frowned. I could tell the sight of the trap scared him, like it did me. The mainspring was three eighths of an inch thick. Just as well Moddo thought to add a cocking mechanism. “You’ll still have to kill it, though,” he said.

I grinned at him. “Why?” I asked. “No, the hell with that. Just keep everybody and their livestock well away for a week until it starves to death.”

He was thinking about it. I waited. “If it can breathe fire,” he said slowly, “maybe it can melt the trap off.”

“And burn through its own leg in the process. Also,” I added—I’d considered this very point—“even without the trap it’s still crippled, it won’t be able to hunt and feed. Just like a bird that’s got away from the cat.”

He pulled a small frown that means, well, maybe. “We’ll need a carcass.”

“There’s that sick goat,” I said.

Nod. His sick goat. Well, I can’t help it if all my animals are healthy.

He went off with the small cart to fetch the goat. A few minutes later, a big wagon crunched down to the yard gate and stopped just in time. Too wide to pass through; it’d have got stuck.

Praise be, Marhouse had sent me the scorpion. Rather less joy and happiness, he’d come along with it, but never mind.

The scorpion is genuine Mezentine, two hundred years old at least. Family tradition says Marhouse’s great-great-and-so-forth-grandfather brought it back from the Grand Tour, as a souvenir. More likely, his grandfather took it in part exchange or to settle a bad debt; but to acknowledge that would be to admit that two generations back they were still in trade.

“What the hell,” Marhouse said, hopping down off the wagon box, “do you want it for?”

He’s all right, I suppose. We were in Outremer together—met there for the first time, which is crazy, since our houses are only four miles apart. But he was fostered as a boy, away up country somewhere. I’ve always assumed that’s what made him turn out like he did.

I gave him a sort of hopeless grin. Our kitchenmaid was still sitting up on the box, hoping for someone to help her down. “Thanks,” I said. “I’m hoping we won’t need it, but—”

A scorpion is a siege engine; a pretty small one, compared to the huge stone-throwing catapults and mangonels and trebuchets they pounded us with at Crac des Bests. It’s essentially a big steel crossbow, with a frame, a heavy stand, and a super-efficient winch. One man with a long steel bar can wind it up, and it shoots a steel arrow long as your arm and thick as your thumb three hundred yards. We had them at Metouches. Fortunately, the other lot didn’t.

I told Marhouse about the dragon. He assumed I was trying to be funny. Then he caught sight of the trap, lying on the ground in front of the cider house, and he went very quiet.

“You’re serious,” he said.

I nodded. “Apparently it’s burned some houses out at Merebarton.”

“Burned.” Never seen him look like that before.

“So they reckon. I don’t think it’s just a drake.”

“That’s—” He didn’t get around to finishing the sentence. No need.

“Which is why,” I said, trying to sound cheerful, “I’m so very glad your granddad had the foresight to buy a scorpion. No wonder he made a fortune in business. He obviously knew good stuff when he saw it.”

Took him a moment to figure that one out, by which time the moment had passed. “There’s no arrows,” he said.

“What?”

“No arrows,” he repeated, “just the machine. Well,” he went on, “it’s not like we use the bloody thing, it’s just for show.”

I opened and closed my mouth a couple of times. “Surely there must’ve been—”

“Originally, yes, I suppose so. I expect they got used for something around the place.” He gave me a thin smile. “We don’t tend to store up old junk for two hundred years on the off chance in my family,” he said.

I was trying to remember what scorpion bolts look like. There’s a sort of three-bladed flange down the butt end, to stabilize them in flight. “No matter,” I said. “Bit of old rod’ll have to do. I’ll get Moddo to run me some up.” I was looking at the machine. The lead screws and the keyways the slider ran in were caked up with stiff, solid bogeys of dried grease. “Does it work?”

“I assume so. Or it did, last time it was used. We keep it covered with greased hides in the root store.”

I flicked a flake of rust off the frame. It looked sound enough, but what if the works had seized solid? “Guess I’d better get it down off the cart and we’ll see,” I said. “Well, thanks again. I’ll let you know how it turns out.”

Meaning: please go away now. But Marhouse just scowled at me. “I’m staying here,” he said. “You honestly think I’d trust you lot with a family heirloom?”

“No, really,” I said, “you don’t need to trouble. I know how to work these things, remember. Besides, they’re pretty well indestructible.”

Wasting my breath. Marhouse is like a dog I used to have, couldn’t bear to be left out of anything; if you went out for a shit in the middle of the night, she had to come too. Marhouse was the only one of us in Outremer who ever volunteered for anything. And never got picked, for that exact reason.

So, through no choice or fault of my own, there were nine of us: me, Ebba, Marhouse, the six men from the farm. Of the six, Liutprand is seventeen and Rognvald is twenty-nine, though he barely counts, with his bad arm. The rest of us somewhere between fifty-two and sixty. Old men. We must be mad, I thought.

We rode out there in the flat-bed cart, bumping and bouncing over the ruts in Watery Lane. Everybody was thinking the same thing, and nobody said a word: what if the bugger swoops down and crisps the lot of us while we’re sat here in the cart? In addition, I was also thinking: Marhouse is his own fault, after all, he’s a knight too, and he insisted on butting in. The rest of them, though—my responsibility. Send for the knight, they’d said, not the knight and half the damn village. But a knight in real terms isn’t a single man, he’s the nucleus of a unit, the heart of a society; the lance in war, the village in peace, he stands for them, in front of them when there’s danger, behind them when times are hard, not so much an individual, more of a collective noun. That’s understood, surely; so that, in all those old tales of gallantry and errantry, when the poet sings of the knight wandering in a dark wood and encountering the evil to be fought, the wrong to be put right, “knight” in that context is just shorthand for a knight and his squire and his armor-bearer and his three men-at-arms and the boy who leads the spare horses. The others aren’t mentioned by name, they’re subsumed in him, he gets the glory or the blame but everyone knows, if they stop to think about it, that the rest of them were there too; or who lugged around the spare lances, to replace the ones that got broken? And who got the poor bugger in and out of his full plate harness every morning and evening? There are some straps and buckles you just can’t reach on your own, unless you happen to have three hands on the ends of unnaturally long arms. Without the people around me, I’d be completely worthless. It’s understood. Well, isn’t it?

We set the trap up on the top of a small rise, in the big meadow next to the old clay pit. Marhouse’s suggestion, as a matter of fact; he reckoned that it was where the flightlines the thing had been following all crossed. Flightlines? Well yes, he said, and proceeded to plot all the recorded attacks on a series of straight lines, scratched in the dried splatter on the side of the cart with a stick. It looked pretty convincing to me. Actually, I hadn’t really given it any thought, just assumed that if we dumped a bleeding carcass down on the ground, the dragon would smell it and come whooshing down. Stupid, when you come to think of it. And I call myself a huntsman.

Moddo had fitted the trap with four good, thick chains, attached to eighteen-inch steel pegs, which we hammered into the ground. Again, Marhouse did the thinking. They needed to be offset (his word) so that if it pulled this way or that, there’d be three chains offering maximum resistance—well, it made sense when he said it. He’s got that sort of brain, invents clever machines and devices for around the farm. Most of them don’t work, but some of them do.

The trap, of course, was Plan A. Plan B was the scorpion, set up seventy-five yards away under the busted chestnut tree, with all that gorse and briars for cover. The idea was, we had a direct line of sight, but if we missed and he came at us, he wouldn’t dare swoop in too close, for fear of smashing his wings on the low branches. That bit was me.

We propped the poor dead goat up on sticks so it wasn’t actually pressing on the floorplate of the trap, then scampered back to where we’d set up the scorpion. Luitprand got volunteered to drive the cart back to Castle Farm; he whined about being out in the open, but I chose him because he’s the youngest and I wanted him well out of harm’s way if the dragon actually did put in an appearance. Seventy-five yards was about as far as I trusted the scorpion to shoot straight without having to make allowance for elevation—we didn’t have time to zero it, obviously—but it felt stupidly close. How long would it take the horrible thing to fly seventy-five yards? I had no idea, obviously. We spanned the scorpion—reassuringly hard to do—loaded Moddo’s idea of a bolt into the slider groove, nestled down as far as we could get into the briars and nettles, and waited.

No show. When it got too dark to see, Marhouse said, “What kind of poison do you think it’d take to kill something like that?”

I’d been thinking about that. “Something we haven’t got,” I said.

“You reckon?”

“Oh come on,” I said. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t keep a wide selection of poisons in the house. For some reason.”

“There’s archer’s root,” Ebba said.

“He’s right,” Marhouse said. “That stuff’ll kill just about anything.”

“Of course it will,” I replied. “But nobody around here—”

“Mercel,” Ebba said. “He’s got some.”

News to me. “What?”

“Mercel. Lidda’s boy. He uses it to kill wild pigs.”

Does he now?, I thought. It had occurred to me that wild boar were getting a bit hard to find. I knew all about smearing a touch of archer’s root on a bit of jagged wire nailed to a fencepost—boar love to scratch, and it’s true, they do a lot of damage to standing corn. That’s why I pay compensation. Archer’s root is illegal, of course, but so are a lot of useful everyday commodities.

“I’d better ask him,” Ebba said. “He won’t want to get in any trouble.”

Decided unanimously, apparently. Well, we weren’t doing any good crouching in the bushes. It did cross my mind that if the dragon hadn’t noticed a dead goat with a trap under it, there was no guarantee it’d notice the same dead goat stuffed full of archer’s root, but I dismissed the idea as unconstructive.

We left the trap and the scorpion set up, just in case, and rode in the cart back to Castle Farm. To begin with, as we came over the top of the Hog’s Back down Castle Lane, I assumed the pretty red glow on the skyline was the last blush of the setting sun. As we got closer, I hoped that was what it was. By the time we passed the quince orchard, however, the hypothesis was no longer tenable.

We found Luitprand in the goose pond. Stupid fool, he’d jumped in the water to keep from getting burned up. Of course, the mud’s three feet deep on the bottom. I could have told him that.

In passing: I think Luitprand was my son. At any rate, I knew his mother rather too well, seventeen years ago. Couldn’t ever say anything, naturally. But he reminded me a lot of myself. For a start, he was half-smart stupid, just like me. Hurling myself in the pond to avoid the flames was just the sort of thing I might have done at his age; and, goes without saying, he wasn’t there when we dug the bloody pond, twenty-one years ago, so how could he have known we’d chosen the soft spot, no use for anything else?

No other casualties, thank God, but the hay barn, the straw rick, the woodpile, all gone. The thatch, miraculously, burned itself out without taking the rafters with it. But losing that much hay meant we’d be killing a lot of perfectly good stock come winter, since I can’t afford to buy in. One damn thing after another.

Opito, Larcan’s wife, was hysterical, even though her home hadn’t gone up in flames after all. Larcan said it was a great big lizard, about twenty feet long. He got one very brief glimpse of it out of the corner of his eye, just before he dragged his wife and son under the cart. He looked at me like it was all my fault. Just what I needed after a long day crouched in a briar patch.

Luitprand played the flute; not very well. I gave him the one I brought back from Outremer. I never did find it among his stuff, so I can only assume he sold it at some point.

Anyway, that was that, as far as I was concerned. Whatever it was, wherever it had come from, it would have to be dealt with, as soon as possible. On the ride back from the farm, Marhouse had been banging on about flightlines again, where we were going to move the bait to; two days here, while the wind’s in the south, then if that’s no good, then another two days over there, and if that still doesn’t work, we’ll know for sure it must be following the line of the river, so either here, there, or just possibly everywhere, would be bound to do the trick, logically speaking. I smiled and nodded. I’m sure he was perfectly correct. He’s a good huntsman, Marhouse. Come the end of the season, he always knows exactly where all the game we’ve failed to find must be holed up. Next year, he then says—

Trouble was, there wasn’t time for a next year.

By midnight (couldn’t sleep, oddly enough) I was fairly sure how it had to be done.

Before you start grinning to yourself at my presumption, I had no logical explanation for my conclusions. Flightlines, patterns of behavior, life cycles, cover crops, mating seasons, wind directions; put them together and you’ll inevitably flush out the truth, which will then elude you, zig-zag running through the roots of the long variables. I knew.

I knew, because I used to hunt with my father. He was, of course, always in charge of everything, knew everything, excelled at everything. We never caught much. And I knew, when he’d drawn up the lines of beaters, given them their timings (say three Glorious Sun Ascendants and two Minor Catechisms, then come out making as much noise as you can), positioned the stillhunters and the hounds and the horsemen, finally blown the horn; I knew exactly where the wretched animal would come bursting out, so as to elude us all with the maximum of safety and the minimum of effort. Pure intuition, never failed. Naturally, I never said anything. Not my place to.

So: I knew what was going to happen, and that there was nothing much I could do about it, and my chances of success and survival were—well, not to worry about that. When I was in Outremer, I got shot in the face with an arrow. Should’ve killed me instantly; but by some miracle it hung up in my cheekbone, and an enemy doctor we’d captured the day before yanked it out with a pair of tongs. You should be dead, they said to me, like I’d deliberately cheated. No moral fiber. Ever since then—true, I shuddered to think how the estate would get on with my brother in charge, but it survived my father and grandfather, so it was clearly indestructible. Besides, everyone dies sooner or later. It’s not like I’m important.

Marhouse insisted on coming with us. I told him, you stay here, we’ll need a wise, experienced hand to take charge if it decides to burn out the castle. For a moment I thought he’d fallen for it, but no such luck.

So there were three of us: me, Ebba, Marhouse. The idea was, we’d follow the Ridgeway on horseback, looking down on either side. As soon as we saw smoke, Ebba would ride back to the castle and get the gear, meet us at the next likely attack scene. I know; bloody stupid idea. But I knew it wouldn’t happen like that, because I knew how it’d happen.

Marhouse had on his black-and-white—that’s breastplate, pauldrons, rerebraces, and tassets. I told him, you’ll boil to death in that lot. He scowled at me. He’d also fetched along a full-weight lance, issue. You won’t need that, I told him. I’d got a boar-spear, and Ebba was carrying the steel crossbow my father spent a whole year’s apple money on, the year before he died. “But they’re just to make us feel better,” I said. That got me another scowl. The wrong attitude.

Noon; nothing to be seen anywhere. I was just daring to think, perhaps the bloody thing’s moved on, or maybe it’d caught some disease or got itself hung up in a tree. Then I saw a crow.

I think Ebba saw it first, but he didn’t point and say, “Look, there’s a crow.” Marhouse was explaining some fine point of decoying, how you go about establishing which tree is the principal turning point on an elliptical recursive flight pattern. I thought: that’s not a crow, it’s just hanging there. Must be a hawk.

Ebba was looking over his shoulder. No, not a hawk, the profile’s wrong. Marhouse stopped talking, looked at me, said, “What are you two staring at?” I was thinking, Oh.

I’m right about things so rarely that I usually relish the experience. Not this time.

Oh, you may be thinking, is a funny way of putting it. But that was the full extent of it: no elation, no regret, not even resignation; to my great surprise, no real fear. Just: oh, as in, well, here we are, then. Call it a total inability to feel anything. Twice in Outremer, once when my father died, and now. I’d far rather have wet myself, but you can’t decide these things for yourself. Oh, I thought, and that was all.

Marhouse was swearing, which isn’t like him. He only swears when he’s terrified, or when something’s got stuck or broken. Bad language, he reckons, lubricates the brain, stops it seizing up with fear or anger. Ebba had gone white as milk. His horse was playing up, and he was having to work hard to keep it from bolting. Amazing how they know.

On top of the Ridgeway, of course, there’s no cover. We could gallop forward, or turn around and gallop back; either case, at the rate the bloody thing was moving, it’d be on us long before we could get our heads down. I heard someone give the order to dismount. Wasn’t Marhouse, because he stayed mounted. Wouldn’t have been Ebba, so I guess it must’ve been me.

First time, it swooped down low over our heads—about as high up as the spire of Blue Temple—and just kept on going. We were frozen solid. We watched. It was on the glide, like a pigeon approaching a laid patch in a barley field, deciding whether to pitch or go on. Very slight tailwind, so if it wanted to come in on us, it’d have to bank, turn up into the wind a little bit to start to stall, then wheel and come in with its wings back. I honestly thought: it’s gone too far, it’s not going to come in. Then it lifted, and I knew.

Sounds odd, but I hadn’t really been looking at it the first time, when it buzzed us. I saw a black bird shape, long neck like a heron, long tail like a pheasant, but no sense of scale. As it came in the second time, I couldn’t help but stare; a real dragon, for crying out loud, something to tell your grandchildren about. Well, maybe.

I’d say the body was about horse-sized, head not in proportion; smaller, like a red deer stag. Wings absurdly large—featherless, like a bat, skin stretched on disturbingly extended fingers. Tail, maybe half as long again as the body; neck like a swan, if that makes any sense. Sort of a gray color, but it looked green at a distance. Big hind legs, small front legs looking vaguely ridiculous, as if it had stolen them off a squirrel. A much rounder snout than I’d expected, almost chubby. It didn’t look all that dangerous, to be honest.

Marhouse is one of those people who translate fear into action; the scareder he is, the braver. Works against people. No warning—it’d have been nice if he’d said something first; he kicked his horse hard enough to stove in a rib, lance in rest, seat and posture straight out of the coaching manual. Rode straight at it.

What happened then—

Marhouse was five yards away from it, going full tilt. The dragon probably couldn’t have slowed down if it had wanted to. Instead—it actually made this sort of “pop” noise as it opened its mouth and burped up a fat round ball of fire, then lifted just a little, to sail about five feet over Marhouse’s head. He, meanwhile, rode straight into the fireball, and through it.

And stopped, and fell all to pieces; the reason being, there was nothing left. Horse, man, all gone, not even ash, and the dozen or so pieces of armor dropping glowing to the ground, cherry-red, like they’d just come off the forge. I’ve seen worse things, in Outremer, but nothing stranger.

I was gawping, forgotten all about the dragon. It was Ebba who shoved me down as it came back. I have no idea why it didn’t just melt us both as it passed, unless maybe it was all out of puff and needed to recharge. Anyway, it soared away, repeated the little lift. I had a feeling it was enjoying itself. Well, indeed. It must be wonderful to be able to fly.

Ebba was shouting at me, waving something, the crossbow, he wanted me to take it from him. “Shoot it,” he was yelling. Made no sense to me; but then again, why not? I took the bow, planted my feet a shoulders’ width apart, left elbow tucked in tight to the chest to brace the bow, just the fingers on the trigger. A good archery stance didn’t seem to have anything to do with the matter in hand—like playing bowls in the middle of an earthquake—but I’m a good archer, so I couldn’t help doing it properly. I found the dragon in the middle of the peep-sight, drew the tip of the arrow up to find it, and pressed the trigger.

For the record, I hit the damn thing. The bolt went in four inches, just above the heart. Good shot. With a bow five times as strong, quite possibly a clean kill.

I think it must’ve hurt, though, because instead of flaming and lifting, it squirmed—hunched its back then stretched out full-length like a dog waking up—and kept coming, straight at me. I think I actually did try and jump out of the way; just rather too late. I think what hit me must’ve been the side of its head.

I had three ribs stoved in once in Outremer, so I knew what was going on. I recognized the sound, and the particular sort of pain, and the not quite being able to breathe. Mostly I remember thinking: it won’t hurt, because any moment now I’ll be dead. Bizarrely reassuring, as if I was cheating, getting away with it. Cheating twice; once by staying alive, once by dying. This man is morally bankrupt.

I was on my back, not able or minded to move. I couldn’t see the dragon. I could hear Ebba shouting; shut up, you old fool, I thought, I’m really not interested. But he was shouting, “Hold on, mate, hold on, I’m coming,” which made absolutely no sense at all—

Then he shut up, and I lay there waiting. I waited, and waited. I’m not a patient man. I waited so long, those crunched ribs started to hurt, or at least I became aware of the pain. For crying out loud, I thought. And waited.

And thought: now just a minute.

It hurt so much, hauling myself onto my side so I could see. I was in tears.

Later, I figured out what had happened. When Ebba saw me go down, he grabbed the boar-spear and ran towards me. I don’t imagine he considered the dragon, except as an inconvenience. Hold on, I’m coming; all his thoughts in his words. He got about half way when the dragon pitched—it must’ve swooped off and come in again. As it put its feet down to land, he must’ve stuck the butt of the spear in the ground and presented the point, like you do with a boar, to let it stick itself, its momentum being far more effective than your own puny strength. As it pitched, it lashed with its tail, sent Ebba flying. Whether or not it realized it was dead, the spear a foot deep in its windpipe before the shaft gave way under the pressure and snapped, I neither know nor care. By the marks on the ground, it rolled three or four times before the lights went out. My best estimate is, it weighed just short of a ton. Ebba—under it as it rolled—was crushed like a grape, so that his guts burst and his eyes popped, and nearly all his bones were broken.

He wouldn’t have thought: I’ll kill the dragon. He’d have thought, ground the spear, like boar-hunting, and then the tail hit him, and then the weight squashed him. So it wouldn’t have been much; not a heroic thought, not the stuff of song and story. Just: this is a bit like boar-hunting, so ground the spear. And then, perhaps: oh.

I think that’s all there is; anywhere, anytime, in the whole world.

I tried preserving the head in honey. We got an old pottery bath and filled it and put the head in; but eight weeks later it had turned green and it stank like hell, and she said, for pity’s sake get rid of it. So we boiled it out and scraped it, and mounted the skull on the wall. Not much bigger than a big deer; in a hundred years’ time, they won’t believe the old story about it being a dragon. No such thing as dragons, they’ll say.

Meanwhile, for now, I’m the Dragonslayer; which is a joke. The duke himself threatened to ride over and take a look at the remains, but affairs of state supervened, thank God. Entertaining the duke and his court would’ve ruined us, and we’d lost so much already.

Twice I’ve cheated. Marhouse was straight as a die, and his end, I’m sorry, was just ludicrous. I keep telling myself, Ebba made a choice, you must respect that. I can’t. Instead of a friend, I have a horrible memory, and yet another debt I can’t pay. People assume you want to be saved, no matter what the cost; sometimes, though, it’s just too expensive to stay alive. Not sure I’ll ever forgive him for that.

And that’s that. I really don’t want to talk about it anymore.

#K.J. Parker #The Dragonslayer of Merebarton #short story

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