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anonymousewrites · 11 months

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Clan of Three (Book 1) Chapter Six

Father Figure! Mandalorian/Din Djarin x Teen! Reader

Chapter Six: The AT-ST

Summary: The Sorgan farming village faces the bandits, and Mando learns just how feral and how vulnerable (Y/N) is.

(Y/N) sat down as the villagers gathered around the barn. Cara and Mando had returned from scouting the woods for the raiders and were going to share what they had found.

“Bad news. You can’t live here anymore,” said Mando matter-of-factly.

“What? Why?” asked one of the village men, a murmur going through the crowd.

“Nice bedside manner,” muttered Cara.

“You think you can do better?” responded Mando.

“Can’t do much worse,” said Cara. She stepped forward. “I know this is not the news you wanted to hear, but there are no other options.”

“You took the job,” complained one man.

“Yeah. That was before we knew about the AT-ST,” said Cara.

(Y/N) clenched their fist. The raiders had imperial technology. The image of such a machine was burned into their mind after their farm was burned.

“What is that?” asked a villager.

“The armored walker with two enormous guns that you knew about and didn’t tell us,” said Cara pointedly. The villagers shifted uncomfortably at the callout.

“Help us,” pleaded one woman.

“Please,” repeated another.

“You’re supposed to help us,” said a man.

“But we hired you!” cried a townswoman.

“We have nowhere to go,” said Omera, drawing her daughter closer.

(Y/N)’s eyes flitted down. They couldn’t fix the situation, and it frustrated them.

“Sure you can. This is a big planet,” said Cara. “I mean, I’ve seen a lot smaller.”

“My grandparents seeded these ponds,” said one villager. “It took generations.”

“Yeah!” came a chorus of agreements.

“I understand, I do,” said Cara. “But there are only two of us.”

“No, there’s not. There’s at least twenty here,” said a man, gesturing to the village people.

“I mean fighters. Be realistic,” said Cara.

“We can learn!” swore one man.

“We can!” promised another.

“Give us a chance.”

“Please!”

(Y/N) looked at Mando as if asking “what’s going to happen to these people?”

“I’ve seen that entire thing take out entire companies of soldiers in a matter of minutes,” said Cara.

“We’re not leaving,” said Omera, perfectly composed.

“You cannot fight that thing,” said Cara, trying to make them understand.

Mando saw (Y/N)’s gaze and sighed. These kids were going to be the death of him. “Unless we show them how,” said Mando.

Cara looked back at him sharply, and (Y/N) perked up as the villagers clamored in agreement. Cara sighed. “Fine. Gather up.”

The townspeople crowded closer.

“You got two problems here,” said Mando. “You got the bandits, and you got the match. Cara and I will handle the AT-ST, but you gotta protect us when they come out of the woods. And I don’t have to tell you how dangerous they are. Cara Dune here was a veteran. She was a drop soldier for the Rebellion, and she’s gonna lay out a plan for you, so listen carefully.”

Cara nodded. “Now, there’s nothing on this planet that can damage the legs on that thing, so we’re gonna build a trap,” she said. “We’re gonna need to dig real deep, right here in the water troughs, so that when it steps in, it drops. The two of us will hit their camp. Provoke them. That’ll bring the fight out of the woods and down here to us.”

“I’m gonna need you to cut down the trees and build barricades along these edges,” said Mando, gesturing. “I need it high enough so that they can’t get over, and strong enough so that it can’t break through.” Mando looked back at the group. “Okay. Who knows how to shoot?”

Only Omera raised her hand. (Y/N) did, too, but Mando ignored them, and they scowled.

“Alright. Guess we need some instruction. Split into groups and rotate,” ordered Cara.

The villagers quickly got to work. (Y/N) jumped in to help, too. They were accustomed to the physical labor of farm work, and this wasn’t much different. They assisted with digging the trenches; they weren’t strong enough for the trees yet, but (Y/N) could handle digging in mud. They wanted to join the people practicing shooting, but they had a feeling Mando would have a problem with it since they would be training to fight the raiders and he didn’t want them too.

(Y/N) glanced at the boxes of blasters. More than enough. When no one was looking, they grabbed one and holstered it in their belt beside their dagger. Just in case.

The sun had fallen below the horizon. Two moons hung high in the air. Mando and Cara had gone to the raiders’ camp while the people of the village crowded at their barricades and trenches, gripping their blasters and makeshift spears tight. The children were hiding in the barn, Winta holding the Child tightly. (Y/N) was, of course, sneaking out through the window. They couldn’t protect their farm, but they would try to protect this one.

From the top of the barn, (Y/N) watched as Mando and Cara ran through the mist back towards them. They slid behind the barriers, waiting for the AT-ST. As soon as it stepped into the pond, it would go down. They just needed it to get close.

A mere second later, the AT-ST crashed through the tree line. Everyone tensed as it approached the pond, but it stopped right before. It settled into position. The guns were locked and loaded. It shone a bright light down on the waiting townspeople. It was scoping out its targets. It filed a single shot, destroying an entire hut, but the villagers held their positions. From between its feet, the raiders poured into the clearing.

“Open fire!” shouted Cara.

And the fight began.

Several raiders fell from blaster shots. Unfortunately, the AT-ST took another step (frustratingly close to the pond edge) and began raining fire upon the villagers. The townspeople responded in kind, but they had to keep dodging the powerful blasts. They needed the AT-ST to step forward.

(Y/N) took a deep breath. They had an idea, a terrible, reckless one, but an idea nonetheless.

I’ve got to help!

Their every instinct pushed them forward. The soft whisper of the wind urged them to run and help the people of Sorgan.

(Y/N) obeyed.

They nimbly jumped from the barn roof, pulling their blaster out. (Y/N) ran past the villagers shooting, out into the field.

“What the kriff are you doing, kid?!” shouted Mando, almost standing up in panic.

(Y/N) ignored him and slid into the pond before the one that had been dug up. They shot up at the AT-ST. However, the angle meant it couldn’t shoot back without stepping forward. Mando realized what they were doing and kept blasting the AT-ST. He knew that continuing the assault would encourage it to approach, and that’s what (Y/N) was doing. He would reprimand them later, but for now, he’d help. Their plan was smart. That didn’t stop Mando’s breath was catching as (Y/N) was spotlighted in the AT-ST’s searchlight.

No, no, no, kid! thought Mando.

(Y/N) took a deep breath and let themself settle. They shot. It hit one of the AT-ST’s windows, half-blinding it. It took a step nearer so its other viewing window could see. It slipped. One leg fell below the water, throwing it off balance. It crashed, and its control room was smashed in the fall.

Mando took the opportunity and ran forward as Cara and the villagers laid down fire, emboldened and running to take down the remaining raiders. He jumped onto the fallen AT-ST, quickly planted a grenade on it’s top, and slid into the pond beside (Y/N) as it exploded. It would not be getting back up.

Mando grabbed (Y/N) and pulled them towards him as the fighting ended. He wouldn’t let a raider attack them. Luckily for them all, the villagers finished the battle. Cheers went up as the remaining raiders ran, saving their own skins after their main gun was destroyed.

They had done it.

“What were you thinking?” questioned Mando.

“I had an idea. I had to try it,” said (Y/N), breathing heavily.

“You could have died,” said Mando harshly.

“I couldn’t let this farm and these people be destroyed,” said (Y/N), their anger disguising the desperate emotions they held in check.

Mando recognized the hidden feelings, however. It was what he had been like when he first came to the Mandalorians. Frightened, desperate to have a family and a sense of home again.

“You lived on a farm,” realized Mando.

(Y/N) averted their eyes. “My home’s gone. I can’t bring it back. But I—I wanted to protect this place. I needed to do something.”

Mando sighed and pulled himself out of the pond, reaching down and hauling them out after. “You don’t need to rush into danger recklessly to help.”

“How else was I supposed to? Sitting in that barn didn’t do anything. For those kids, it’s fine, they’re the future of this farm, but for me? I was just hiding,” muttered (Y/N).

Mando regarded them for a moment. “You want to fight. I understand. But you need to have direction. Running in like that will get you killed. You need to communicate, say you need cover. Understand?”

“Got it,” said (Y/N) softly.

Mando nodded and turned away to walk back to the village. He paused for a moment. “You did good.”

(Y/N) felt themself smile. They liked Mando, respected him, even. He had come back for them. He had protected them. Mando had morals unlike all the other people (Y/N) had encountered since they were taken from Ushti. They wanted to stick with him.

A few weeks of peace passed after that day. The Child ran around playing with the other children. (Y/N) happily helped out around the farm with jobs they were familiar with. Mando and Cara also helped, their strength and experience from various jobs helped quite a bit.

Now, Cara, Mando, and (Y/N) were just relaxing on the barn’s porch, watching the kids of the village play. Omera walked out and handed a glass of spotchka to Cara.

She smiled at (Y/N) and Mando. “Can I get you guys something on the house?”

“No, thank you,” said (Y/N).

“Uh, thank you, maybe later,” said Mando.

Omera looked out at the kids playing, smiling at the Child running about with Winta and the others. “He’s very happy here.” She glanced at (Y/N) softly. “I hope you are too.”

“It’s peaceful, here,” said (Y/N), gazing out fondly.

“You’ve been on a farm before,” said Omera. (Y/N) didn’t answer, glancing down. Omera smiled kindly. “I hope you enjoy yourself. Anything you need, let us know.” She smiled at Mando again before heading off to another part of the village.

“So, what happens if you take that thing off?” asked Cara, gesturing to Mando’s helmet. “They come after you and kill you?”

“No. You just can’t ever put it back on again,” said Mando.

“That’s it?” questioned Cara. “So you can slip off the helmet and settle down with that beautiful young widow and raise your kids sitting here, sipping spotchka?” Mando and (Y/N) turned to look at Cara questioningly, and she just shrugged and took a drink.

“You know, we raised some hell here a few weeks back,” said Mando, choosing to move on from Cara’s comment. “It’s too much action for a backwater town like this. Word travels fast. We might wanna cycle the charts and move on.”

“Would not wanna be the one who’s gotta tell him,” said Cara, watching the Child happily play.

“I’m leaving him here,” said Mando. He looked at (Y/N). “You can stay, too.” He addressed Cara. “Traveling with me, that’s no life for a kid.” He looked at (Y/N) again. “You two are safe. This is a better chance at a life.”

“I don’t think I can live this life,” said (Y/N) quietly, hugging their knees. In one hand, they twirled their dagger. “I can feel it. An itch for something else.” They sighed. “And I can just feel my place isn’t here.”

Cara raised a brow at the slight whimsy of the description, but Mando understood. He had found his Way with the Mandalorians. (Y/N) was looking for their own. However, he also hesitated to put them into further danger. So, although he understood, Mando would make the decision for them. They could find their path here, far away from the empire and the danger Mando’s life brought.

“I have to speak to Omera,” said Mando, leaving the porch.

(Y/N) scowled. “He’s going to leave me here.”

“Kid, I get you want to fight, but do you really think that’s smart?” asked Cara.

(Y/N) glanced at her. “It’s not that I just want to fight. It’s…I want to survive.”

Cara sighed, beginning to understand the teen. “You helped defeat those raiders. You survived that. You can really live here.”

“I don’t belong here,” said (Y/N). Their entire self seemed to ache for something else. They couldn’t describe the force that guided their mind, but they felt it all the same.

“Good luck convincing Mando,” said Cara, taking a drink of her spotchka. “He doesn’t want his kids in danger.” She stood, finished her drink, and stretched. “I’m going to go find some food to hunt.”

(Y/N) watched her go and disappear into the woods. They furrowed their brow and looked across the clearing at where Mando was speaking to Omera. He was going to leave them there, and (Y/N) didn’t like that. They wanted to stick with him, learn how to help people. He was a bounty hunter, yes, but he had helped them. (Y/N) wanted those skills. They wanted to have the ability to survive the challenges they encountered. They knew their life wouldn’t be simple, not with the strange abilities they had and the empire chasing them. (Y/N) wanted to be able to face everything head on. And a deep-seated belief, a certainty had grown in them that Mando was who they should stick with.

A blaster shot rang out across the clearing, pulling (Y/N) from their thoughts and causing them to tense, their grip on their dagger tightening.

Another certainty settled in their mind. They were still hunted. And as Cara emerged from the forest holding a tracking fob from a bounty hunter’s body, (Y/N)’s gaze met Mando’s from beneath the helmet. They both knew it; they had to go.

(Y/N) sat on the speeder, watching the children say goodbye to the Child. Mando stood, waiting to pick him up.

“Mando,” said (Y/N) quietly. He turned slightly to acknowledge he’d heard them. “Will you…teach me? To fight?”

Mando nodded sharply. He would try to guide (Y/N) as much as he could. He knew they were Ushti, he knew they had powers, but he also knew they were like him. Lost. So Mando would try. He would try to help them find a way to live even through the burden of power and growing up too quickly the world had placed on them. Mando would try to give them the ability to survive the obstacles they encountered.

“Thank you,” said (Y/N) softly.

Mando nodded. He would not stop trying to keep (Y/N) and the Child out of danger entirely, but he would train (Y/N) in what he knew. He couldn’t help with their strange abilities, but he would do what he could.

However, Mando would keep them safe first and foremost. They were kids. They were his responsibility. And Mando wanted his kids safe.

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ezribex · 9 months

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FFXIV Write Day 13

“Be sure to check the cellars and the floorboards for hidden caches,” my mother reminded me as Baasan and I shouldered our packs and hefted our weapons.

“Yes mother, I understand.” Baasan and I had been raiding abandoned farmsteads for weeks now, starting with the home we’d left when the Sin Eaters struck. It was strange, to go back to the place I’d lived my entire life, familiar and dangerous at the same time. I had mainly been afraid of running into my father, who had been bitten while covering our family’s escape. Would I recognize him, transformed? It ended up not being something I needed to worry about. As I learned eventually, Sin Eaters are very mobile. Plus, we were always careful, waiting for the Sin Eaters to decamp in order to feed before heading in.

My mother had slipped so easily into my father’s leadership position among the remaining villagers that I felt a little slighted. Wasn’t I supposed to be the man of the household now? At sixteen, I was almost a man grown, I should be able to provide for my family. I discussed this with the other youth in our sorry band of young children and elderly people, and together, Baasan and I convinced my mother to let us loot abandoned houses for food.

The stretch of Kholusia through which we marched was desolate, with most people having left their homes and villages to seek safety in Eulmore. My mother said that this was a trap and that Eulmore didn’t care for its people and that she would rather die than live in the Gatetown. Ok, fine, I guess. We were headed for the Crystarium, then, and what a long road it would be.

Baasan and I set out from the well-hidden encampment, packs empty to accommodate whatever we found. I carried a pitchfork retrieved from a barn and Baasan carried his father’s old hunting bow. He practiced with it at camp and was becoming a better shot, though we hadn’t needed to shoot any Sin Eaters. At least, not yet.

The eternal daylight beat down upon us as we walked along an overgrown path with tall grass closing in. “Hey Mads,” Baasan said casually, from his usual place behind me.

“Yeah?”

“Do you ever feel kind of bad, raiding people’s houses like this? Like, what’s the difference between looting and banditry, morally?”

I shook my head. “You’re too soft, Baasan. These people abandoned their homes for Eulmore’s Final Pleasures. They don’t need any of their old stuff, but we do. We’ve got women, children, and old people to feed. We’ve gotta step up and be men.”

Baasan didn’t reply so we continued our walk in silence. When we finally came to our destination, the buildings looked to all be burned down. Only a few walls and chimneys were still standing. There were no Sin Eaters in sight. We quietly got to work, searching for hidden cellars, as my mother had told us.

Stepping through the charred debris was hazardous, and therefore slow-going. We both knew that an infected scrape could be deadly as our group was running low on medicinal herbs. I was about to give up when Baasan shouted, “Hey Mads, over here!”

I walked over to the building he’d been investigating as fast as I could, and sure enough, he’d found a trap door leading to a cellar. The door itself was metal. We lit a torch and descended. My stomach growled, hoping to see jars and jars of preserved food. Maybe even some medicine. Something valuable had to be stored in a cellar with a metal door and stone steps.

To my disappointment, it seemed to just hold shelves of books and a desk with some quills and parchments. “Wow,” breathed Baasan, who was carrying the torch. He shined it around the room, which, while small, seemed pretty cozy.

“I wonder if the person who used this kept any snacks hidden in their library,” I said, opening the desk drawers. No snacks, only writing implements. In the top drawer, something shiny caught my eye. Jewelry? Not useful immediately but maybe we could trade it if we ran into a caravan. I reached out to grab the pendant, and it immediately felt warm in my hand. A blue crystal affixed to a chain, presumably to be worn around the neck. Would you like to protect your family? A voice sounded in my head. I couldn’t be sure that it wasn’t my own voice.

“What have you got there, Mads?” Baasan asked.

“Some jewelry, I think,” I answered, slipping the chain over my head and letting the crystal rest upon my chest. It was pleasantly warm. “Maybe we can sell it if we run into anyone on the road.”

“Good idea. Hey, can you hold the torch for a few? I want to check and see if any of these books will be useful, or if this person kept any maps of the area.” I nodded and took the torch, watching Baasan carefully look through the assorted books and papers. I would like nothing more than to protect those I travel with, I thought, to myself or–to no one in particular. I wasn’t expecting a response, but I got one.

Good.

#ffxivwrite2023 #ffxivwrite

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achaoticeternal · 3 years

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the corner i haunt | druig x eternal!reader

DRUIG (ETERNALS) X ETENRAL!READER folklore/evermore series masterlist

Summary: Druig was once the only person you could ever see yourself with, but as the season change... so do we. Word Count: 3k Warnings: Lots of angst, cheating, and oh boy this hurt to write. Characters mentioned include Bucky Barnes, Carol Danvers, Valkryie, and the other Eternals. A/N: based on the song 'Right Where You Left Me' by Taylor Swift and I lovely suggestion I found in the Druig tag. There is potential for a part two, but we shall see.

There were very few constants that could be had in the life of an Eternal. And ever since the group divided as a whole, the list had grown shorter. It was difficult to see your family split ways, but maybe it was what was right after spending millennia together. The tear in your heart after that last night in Tenochiltlan never properly healed as friends and lovers began to drift apart.

Yet you found solace for yourself by consistently seeking out others and spending a few lengths of time in their company. At first, you stayed with Makkari in the Domo as she began to collect some of the greatest treasures known to mankind. But you felt her grow seemingly bored of your presence, so then you traveled to stay with Gilgamesh and Thena in order to bring peace to her scattered mind and serve as support for the great warriors. And luckily, progress had been made in order to create a failsafe plan for when she began to drift away.

After departing them, you joined Phastos who continued to invent fantastic gifts to assist the humans to advance. It warmed your heart to know that even the darker side of man didn't cloud his judgment like others. You were visiting with Sersi and Ikaris when you heard of the bomb in Japan and how your old friend became a broken man. It only added to the weight in your heart.

When you finally caught up with Kingo, he had started his moving picture dynasty in Bollywood. He had even encouraged you to star in something yourself, but that kind of spotlight wasn't something you truly need. When Sprite stopped by to visit you both, you joined her to go back to see the matriarch of the team, Ajak.

"Diane, I hear that you've taken up a new name," Ajak quipped as she set the plates at the table for three.

"The rumor is true. Consider it a... secret identity of sorts?"

"Then," she stood proud and look at you, a smile gracing her face, "what shall I refer to you as?"

You returned her warm smile, feeling accepted, "(Y/N), please"

"Well, (Y/N), let us eat."

But still, across the decades and the centuries, there was the consistent calling to seek out the old flame that still burned bright in your soul - Druig. So in between your travels of the world, you made it a point the journey out to one of the safe havens where he was rumored to be hiding out. There were a few littered around the globe, yet your instincts led you to where he seemed to be waiting.

A chill clung to the air and dared to snip at any exposed skin. Though the land itself was beautiful, you couldn't comprehend why Druig would opt to stay in such extreme climates. Among the rolling hills, you spotted a collection of small cottages and huts with two slightly larger structures in the middle of the village. At last, you could feel his presence again after far too long.

One of your gifted abilities included an improved range of sight along with heightened senses. So when Druig took a step outside of one of the communal halls, it was the final proof you needed. A great wave of emotion surged through you and your feet carried you down the hill towards your old friend. It was a miracle that you didn't trip or simply go tumbling down. As you came closer to him, the excitement got the better of you.

"Druig! DRUIG!" You called out to the man, clad in dark robes.

With a swagger in his step, he turned eyebrows raised in confusion and then hidden bliss, "(Y/N)?"

Finally, when you were close enough, you eased yourself to a stop. Neither of you dared to move or even speak. Instead, you both stood with your feet planted on the ground, basking in each other's presence. A familiar warmth filled your chest, one that had left you cold since the last time your eyes soaked in his features.

In an instant, you were in his arms and it felt like home.

"Oh, (Y/N), my dear, my sweet... my love," he pressed soft kisses to your temples before resting his forehead against your own, "at last."

PRESENT DAY

The Avenger's compound was alive and well with new recruits and various briefings being released. It felt like the good old days before you lost some of the founding heroes, yet it was time to get the ball rolling as the world needed their beloved team back.

After the Blip and fighting Thanos, you swore to serve in the public eye. Though the deviants were killed long ago, Earth still needed defense and protection to preserve human life. It was an honor to be surrounded by humans and other beings who knew your true nature.

"Valkryie, Captain Marvel - it is an honor to bring you both in," you welcomed the women into the facility and led them into a training area.

"I believe the honor is ours, Lady Diana-"

"Please, call me (Y/N) or Diane. I would consider you both friends seeing that we have lived and fought together."

"And is that you would consider me?" A voice asked from behind you.

You turned to face the masculine voice and smiled when you realized who it was, "James!"

Two arms wrapped around you, pulling you into a warm hug. The man placed a kiss at the top of your head before releasing you. Remembering where you were, you returned your attention to the original company.

"Well, it is nice to formally meet you, Lutenient Barnes," Carol nodded, holding out her hand to him.

"Call me Bucky," He shook her hand, "You know, it amazes me how the three of you can be so youthful and I look like this at 100."

After the day adjourned, you returned home to your apartment in the city. You were cooking yourself dinner while chatting with Bucky on the phone.

The atmosphere of the walk-up inner-city apartment was the coziest place you had called home in at least the past decade. Your neighbors rarely bothered you and it offered a great little view of the area. Light jazz flowed from the TV speakers as you danced around the kitchen, putting away some dishes before you could take a seat to enjoy your meal.

"Are you sure I can't join you?" He whined through the phone.

"Oh, please, and make Sam even more disgruntled with me? I don't think so. Besides, it's a forty-five-minute drive from your place. Dinner would be cold before you could even hit the city limits."

Despite the playful manner of the conversation, you heard him sigh, "Alright, but after I get back we both need to take a few days off."

"Fine, but-" Then the doorbell rang, interrupting your speech. Your eyes flickered over to the clock on the microwave - 8:23 PM; a perfectly reasonable time for your neighbors to knock or even to receive a late package.

The warm voice in your ear broke you out of the cycle of possibilities, "(Y/N), is everything alright?"

"Of course, someone's just at the door," But the feeling that crept into your stomach and caused goosebumps up your arm raised alarm.

"I don't mind holding on for a second, doll."

Finally, you made your way to the door, "It's probably just the woman across the hall wanting to barrow another egg. You know how she bakes so much and can never count her ingre-"

You pulled open the door to finally reveal the last face you thought you would see standing on your welcome mat. He wore all black, hands tucked into the leather jacket he was sporting. An outfit the could easily blend into modern times. When you finally allowed yourself to look at his face, nothing had really changed and yet your heart still thumped against your chest, "Hello, (Y/N)."

Time seemed to freeze as you soaked up this moment, the atmosphere, the sounds in the background... him, "Druig."

"(Y/N), doll, is everything okay?" Once again, the voice of your current lover reeled you back in as time began to flow normally.

"Bucky, I have to go. I'll call you back later," Not listening to his sounds of protest, you hit the ended call button and shoved your phone into the pocket of your cardigan. Another breath and moment of examining him and the chill that sat at the back of your neck, "Um... uh- come in. I was just about to sit for dinner."

The two of you sat on your couch, a lone cushion serving as the wall between you. It had been quite a few moments since either of you said anything and the tension only continued to choke at you both. It didn't really matter to try and catch up or ask how he found you. Honestly, you didn't care for the answer. All you really wanted or needed to know was why he suddenly popped back up.

"Could I have some water?" He asked, finally breaking the stillness.

Without a word, you staggered over to your kitchen. Pulling a glass from the cupboard, you filled the glass with the water from your fridge as your mind begged you to speak and say something. You didn't want small talk, or to catch up - no, you needed answers.

Walking back over to the living space, you handed off the glass to him. He nodded in appreciation and expected you to return to your previous position. But when he didn't feel the couch dip, he looked up to see you frozen. It stayed like that for a breath.

"Druig, why are you here?"

"Because I m-"

"Don't say that," Your eyes bore into his own in an attempt to solve the puzzle that you once knew the complete picture of.

"What? I can't tell you that I've mi-"

"That's right. You can't tell me that, because you lost the privilege to speak those words to me after what you did."

"Oh, (Y/N), please. That was decades ago," He finally stood to your level as a defense, "you can't st-"

"I can't what? Still, be mad? Still, be hurting? Still feel stuck and- and incomplete because the one person I thought would never abandon me did just that. No, Druig, I can and still feel that betrayal."

The room fell silent again. Druig knew the select his next words carefully if he didn't want to end up with a knife at his throat. He knew the abrupt end of your last meeting wasn't ideal, but some twisted part of him expected you to just get over it. Then again, he was just twisting his dream of you to fit his ideal reality.

His eyes flickered to the chain on your neck and the little gemstone that sat in the silver encasing. With a deep breath, he stood a little taller, "Do you remember when I returned that necklace to you after you lost it in Rome?"

"Yes," You reached up to the pendant, taking it in between your fingers, "because it was the night you left."

1908, Paris

"That was an absolutely stellar performance, I still can't believe the talent that these people possess!" Your face beam as Druig and you took a seat inside the quaint cafe, just a few blocks between your apartment and the opera.

"I'm glad that you enjoyed it," He smiled, taking your hand into his own, "It is refreshing to see humans create instead of destroy."

Only a moment later, a server was at your table, "Que voulez-vous boire?"

"Un verre de vin blanc s'il vous plait," You nodded to the waiter and nodded to Druig who asked for the same.

A pause fell between the pair of you, but it wasn't out of place. You often paused to admire Druig as he was one of the few people who could never bore or tire you. Usually, you could read Druig like a book, but recently you couldn't tell what ran through his mind. The move to Paris, the open gestures, going to the Opera and the Ballet - these were all wonderful gifts but why now?

Neither of you had been particularly materialistic or felt the urge to lead a 'normal' human life. So this series of events stuck out to you, but you had just dismissed it for Druig feeling inclined to be more outright with his feelings for you.

"Do you recall the years we all spent in Rome?"

Druig never brought up their family, so it was a shock when he mentioned them. Their time in Rome was interesting as they saw how men took over empires of the past, only to later have the same fate upon them.

"Of course, I do. It was so long ago and yet still only seems like yesterday we walked up marble stairs," You added, lightly squeezing his hand to provide some peace of mind.

"Well, before we came to this city, I returned to where the great empire once stood. Sort of a stroll down memory lane and I was visiting the markets," The hand that was not resting in your darted into his pockets in search of something, "It's funny how our presence impacts such places and inspires mythology. While I was exploring the booths, a man showed me a piece and said that it once belonged to a pair of great friends and lovers in other versions. A necklace said to be gifted from Orion to Diana, goddess of the hunt."

From his pocket, he drew out a necklace with a long silver chain and at its heart, a precious stone from Mt. Olympia.

"Druig, I- I can't believe you found it!" He stood from his seat and treaded behind you to clasp the chain around your neck. As he adjusted it to sit finely on your chest, a pressed a delicate kiss to the side of your neck.

Moments later and the waiter returned with two glasses of wine, setting them in front of the pair of you before scampering off again. This night was absolute perfection.

"(Y/N), my dear," You gave him a look to continue as you raised the glass to your lips, "I'm leaving."

The news was sudden but you still had some composure, "well, when will you be back?"

"I-I don't know when I'll be back because I... I'm sorry but I met someone while in Rome and I can't- (Y/N), I'm sorry but I laid with her. And every day since I've returned I look into your eyes knowing what I've done and it's breaking me. I'm no better than a man."

Your glass had crashed to the table, spilling its contents and chipping the edges. At that time your voice couldn't muster a sound, let alone a single word. Tears began to streak down your cheeks but no cry followed. There was only pain and a broken heart.

"I- Goodbye, my (Y/N)," He began to make his way to the door of the cafe, but then glanced back as if taking one last look, "Goodbye, my love."

There you sat and stayed for hours, the server coming over to check on your periodically. When the cafe closed, he kindly escorted you out and bid you a safe night. The days, the weeks, and the years following that moment were all the same; you would walk the city and then sit at the cafe until closing, praying that he would walk back through the door and be there.

After some time, you had grown to be a legend in the city. The tale of a widow who sat at the cafe, longing for her husband to return home. Except you never were a wife, and there never would be a complete ending. You didn't leave Paris until Ikaris came during the Second World War to pry you from the ghostly routine.

"He's gone, (Y/N). No one has heard from him or about him. Let me take you home to Ajak," And with that, you left your beloved city of Love and left a ghost of you there.

PRESENT DAY

The apartment had grown colder and you knew that the long-forgotten food on the counter went with it. A solemness had replaced the tension in the air as all you could do was bask in the pain and the yearning. It drove you mad how he still had an effect on you.

"You kept me waiting. And that time I spent there felt longer than my time on Earth. So I'm sorry if I am still hurting," Your lips quivered as you turned away from him, resting your head in your palms.

The silence was deafening. What did he expect to happen whenever he decided to pop back into your life? To be met with open arms and forgiveness for his actions?

"I know that leaving you was the worst thing I could have done. I not only did it once... but twice," Druig took a deep breath, an attempt to keep himself from breaking his cool demeanor, "but I don't want to be on this Earth without you. It is the one thing that brings peace to my ever-running mind, and I can't go on knowing that you hate me."

A pause fell again as you soaked in his words. What could you go? Where could you go from here? You had barely just begun living again and now you felt incomplete again.

You looked up to see that he stood in the opposite corner of the room, facing the window. Though you couldn't see his face, you simply sensed the tears and heartache that surrounded him. You picked yourself up and trodded behind him, placing a hand on his leather-clad shoulder.

"Druig," Your hand traveled down his arm, only stopping when your fingers intertwined with his, "I could never hate you."

#eternals #druig eternals #druig #druig x reader #druig imagine #druig fic #druig oneshot #druig x y/n #druig x you #marvel #marvel x reader #eternals x reader #marvels eternals #barry keoghan #ikaris #sersi #folklore/evermore series #mattie writes

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

Text

Hue and Cry II

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape; abuse of power, threats, chase.

This is dark!medieval!Bucky Barnes x reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: You find a place to hide for the time being.

Note: Got this done quickly and was surprised with myself. Gearing up to go back to work tomorrow. I’ll try to catch up on responses after work and check in with y’all.

Thanks to everyone and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

You didn’t stop running until the dawn. You didn’t head for the village as you knew that would be the first place the lord and his party would look. You kept to the forest despite the howls and the hoots of unseen creatures. You stopped to bury your cap and apron under an overturned trunk. If it was known that Barnes was searching out a servant, it would be better to be less obvious.

As the horizon turned to a soft amber, you found an overhang and nestled into the small nook. You turned your back to the bitter morning air and tried to sleep. If you kept going, you would only pass out in the open. Your slumber was shallow and fitful. You were stiff as you woke up just after noon and climbed out of the cranny.

You feasted on nuts and berries gathered along your clueless path, eating as the twigs and branches pulled at your skirts. You weren’t sure where you were or where you were going. You could be out of the county or you could be five minutes from the castle. For your luck, you could have just gone in circles.

The second night you found a cave and slept there instead of pressing on through the dark. You were itchy from a brush with poison ivy and your feet throbbed from the endless trek. You got a few hours under your eyelids before you emerged and carried on.

What were you doing? Where were you going? If you did manage to evade the wrathful lord, what then? Knock on the doors of another castle and barter an apron with your fingernails dirty and your face wind burned?

The third night saw your stomach squeezing painfully as you failed to catch a rabbit and drank from a river eagerly. You slept between two broken logs and woke to the sound of hooves. You didn’t move as you listened to the voices. None were familiar and the only prey they spoke of was some doe they sighted moments ago.

“Nolan spooked the creature just behind the hill, my lord, if we hook around the lea, we might catch it by the stream,” a man said.

“I’d rather the stag. He must be close,” a deeper timbre replied, “you and Nolan take your course and I’ll search these grounds for the mate. Whistle if you sight our game.”

“Yes, my lord,” the other responded and the horses cantered away.

You stayed as you were as you heard the remaining man dismount and tramp over the carpet of leaves. You rolled onto your stomach and wriggled away from the noise and kicked yourself out from between the logs. You kept on your knees as you crawled around the other side and headed for the nearest tree.

His footsteps softened and you kept on, hoping your dirty dress helped you blend into the wild. You pushed yourself behind a trunk and pressed your back to the bark. If you sprinted out, he might just think you another frightened creature. If he sought a stag, he would be uninterested.

You nodded and readied for your flight. You took a breath and yelped as suddenly a figure appeared before you.

“I thought I heard a rustle,” the man said as he looked down at you. He was a lord, you could tell by the pin at the nape of his cape, “you look to be lost, my lady.”

“My lord,” you stood and bowed your head, “I only wandered too far. I can find my way back.”

“Way back where?” his hands went to his hips, “you look as if you have been wandering for a time.”

“I only tumbled and mussed myself,” you lied, “my lord, my apologies, I did not realise this forest was noble land.”

“It is easy to break the threshold of the common lands and the noble sprawl. It would be quicker on horseback to reunite you with your home, would it not?”

“I am grateful for such generosity but I would be remiss to accept, I might go on my way and--”

“Where do you hail from, lady?” he squinted.

“The village over yonder,” you pointed away from him, “it was a game and I did go too far.”

“And the village you speak of? What is it’s name?” he asked.

“Ildersin,” you uttered, one of the three nearest villages to the castle you knew.

“Ildersin? That is far and beyond my holdings,” he tilted your head, “one cannot wander there in less than a day so I warn you now to be honest or I would have your tongue out with hot pincers.”

You gulped and looked away from him. He stepped closer and caught your wrist.

“I could chase you down easy on my horse’s back, trample you into the mud, so answer me now or I will take you to the stocks,” he snarled.

“My father,” you said, “my father, he does beat me and I waited until he was abed to leave but I lost the bundle I did prepare for the escape. You see, my spare clothing and my food… I only did want to be upon my own and toil for one who does not lash me.”

He breathed through his nostrils as his thumb brushed the stitching along your cuff. He dropped your arm and his jaw ticked. His blond lashes flicked and he considered you and the dirt as one.

“You seek work?” he asked, “and asylum from your violent father?”

“Yes, my lord, er,” you blinked innocently, “I know not where I’ve found myself but I would serve you loyal if you would keep me from the stocks.”

“You can hold a broom? Empty a pot?” he asked.

“I can,” you assured, “my lord.”

“You have good manners for a farm maid,” he mused, “I might find a place for you in my kitchens.”

“My lord? You might direct me to the nearest village so I might find labour there, instead, I would not presume to further tax--”

“My castle is big enough, another hand would be more help than a burden,” he stepped back and waved you around the tree, “I will accompany you back to my keep and return to fetch my men… you look to have been out here long enough.”

“Truly, my lord, I--” you saw his impatience in the vein along his forehead and bowed your head, “I am most grateful.”

“Let us be off or my men might be lost without me,” he said.

He lifted you onto his horse and climbed up behind you. You’d never been astride with a man against you, it was awkward and crowded. He snapped the reins and the horse fell into step. He steered it away from your hiding place.

“Might I ask where I am, my lord?” you ventured.

“This is Astrens,” his voice rumbled through you, “And I am its lord, Duke Steven Rogers.”

Your heart sank as you recognised his name and your mistake. He wasn’t easily known with his beard, newly grown since his last visit to the Lord Barnes’ hold. He was of the few who were granted company with the miserly lord of the castle but there was a chance yet he did not know you. You were after all, only a servant.

🏰

Lord Rogers handed you over to his steward. You were reassured as you were given a cap, apron, and a new dress. You washed out of a basin and reported for your new duties.

It might just be far enough away that you wouldn’t have to worry about Barnes. He never went far from his estate and Astrens was out of the way of the capital. Even if it didn’t work, it gave you time to plot a real departure.

You were sent to the laundries to sweat over boiling cauldrons as you stirred the linens with a large stick. The steams seeped through your clothing and left you out of breath as you wrung out the sheets. You hung them outside along the line and helped beat out the old woven rugs.

After nights in the forest, your first day felt far from a return to normalcy. You were in a new place, you had new duties, and you didn’t know anyone in the castle. You’d worked in Lord Barnes’ manor since his father was still alive and you were only a kid. It was only a few years before Barnes took over but you remember it being much easy to ingratiate yourself to the staff.

You were shuffled onto a feather mattress in the servants’ quarters with three others. The snoring, snorting, and coughing kept you awake and you missed the chirp of crickets and scratching of critters. You woke more tired than any night spent among the trees and went back to the laundries.

Your days took on this pattern, sleep, eat, work, and do it all over again. You were forgotten among the other servants and it really seemed like you might just be able to hide among them forever.

Nearly a week into your time as Astrens and the castle blustered to a storm. All the drapes were to be taken down, beat, and washed, and all beds were to be stripped and redressed. Servants littered the corridors scrubbing, sweeping, and running from chamber to chamber. When you asked what the occasion was, the response was vague. Lord Rogers is hosting a guest.

You weren’t used to the rush. Visitors were rare at the other castle and rarely were they accommodated so wholly. If they had a place to rest their head and fill their stomach, Barnes felt they could not gripe. Even his greetings were not required on such an occasion.

You helped with the scourging and scouring of the linens and the drapes. You worked so hard you didn’t even have the energy to gulp down the lumpy stew allotted to the servants. You fell into the heap of your bedmates into dreams laced with your own snores. You dreamt of the forest and the sound of hooves.

Another early morning and the gears began to grind once more. Darcy sent you away from the laundries to help refresh the rushes in the entrance hall with several others. You scattered herbs over the grand carpet that displayed scenes of hunting through the seasons.

You wondered if perhaps Rogers was to be betrothed at last, the news of his first wife’s passing had sent many into gossip even before she was buried. Or maybe the king would make progress to the ancient grounds of the historic castle. You let your mind wander as your body was led by habit.

You heard the rolling of the carriage and the clip clop of horses. You followed several other servants as the tall doors were opened and you peered out into the yard at the party. You backed away as Lord Rogers emerged from the archway that led to the spiraling stairs and crossed the carpet. You could hardly hide your curiosity as you reluctantly followed the other servants. It would be unseemly to remain as Rogers welcomed his guests.

“James!” Rogers’ voice boomed and you stopped just outside the chamber as you looked down the stairs that led to the servants quarters, “it has been too long.”

“It has,” Lord Barnes’ responded and your eyes went wide as Deandra hissed for you to go. You couldn’t move as you listened and she abandoned you with a flutter of her fingers, “you know my father only ever called me James.”

“Ah, Buck, I’m kidding,” Rogers chuckled, “it is a pleasure to have you drag yourself from your hermitage.”

“You would make me regret it already,” the other lord chirped, “but the king did request my presence at the tournament and he did not allow for refusal. I’d prefer to travel with a friend, my only friend.”

“Oh, the sentiment, Lord Barnes,” Rogers preened dryly.

“I don’t know if I should be able to wait to tussle until the tourney,” Barnes jibed, “oh, this old place, has it been so long?”

You shoved yourself away from the door and clamoured down the stairs. You nearly tumbled down the last few and caught yourself on the wall. You sidled past Agnes and towards the laundries. Harriet called after you as you passed and rushed out the doors past the muddy puddles of dirty water and hanging sheets.

The grass was slick beneath your shoes as you raced for the stables. You only needed to hide there for a time and sneak out before they closed the gates. You didn’t make it past the first stall before you heard the steel whine. You turned as Lester greeted you with the tip of his sword.

“The master has been searching for you,” the toothy guard smirked, “oh and what a reward I shall have for bringing him a prize of his own.”

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #hue and cry #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #dark fic #dark!fic #fic #series #miniseries #medieval au #au #medieval!au #mcu #marvel #winter soldier #captain america

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draconic-ichor · 3 years

Text

Heisenberg x Juniper (oc) Smut dabble…

This is an au smut dapple involving my re8 oc and Heisenberg. This does not go with my current fic

Warnings: smut, strong language, sexual themes, blood, fingerings, oral sex, penetrative sex,

Basically this came to mind as a what if Juniper would of stayed with House Dimitrescu and over the years Heisenberg’s curiosity of her got the better of him

Summary: During a festival Heisenberg finally gets the Dimitrescu’s guard dog alone…

Feedback appreciated. 18+

Walking through the town center, Heisenberg grimaced. The night was alight with music and laughter, the village holding a festival for something or another.

He trudged through the crowd to the tables that were serving alcohol, taking a shot of whisky for himself. The sounds of mirth all around him.

He hated the village, hated how it smelled and the people’s unwavering devotions. He didn’t come all the way down here to enjoy the festivities. No, he came for a very specific purpose….To find her.

Refilling just cup he began to slowly walk, eyes keen. The villagers danced around the maiden statue, singing.

As he rounded the edge of the town’s center his eyes caught what he’d come for: across the mass of people was a woman. She stood out, her raven curls shining in the lantern light. She looked so beautiful and happy, enjoying the music along the sidelines.

Her name was Juniper, and she was an outsider. Or she had been years ago when an accident brought her into the village.

She was mutated by the cadou, but unlike him she had not earned the title of Lord. She’d been assigned to house Dimitrescu, and in the few short years she’d stayed with them they did little more then exploit her. Her mutations allowed her the unique ability to shift into a varcolac like creature. Lady Dimitrescu treated her like a glorified guard-dog, but because of her higher affinity for the cadou she could drain her for wine.

It pissed him off to no end how Juniper stayed at their heels mostly, ever quiet and innocent as one in her situation could be.

The only place he could seem to catch her away from the bitch or her bugs was during nights like these. She had a wide eyed enjoyment of the village’s festivities.

In his musings he didn’t realize she had spotted him. Coming back to reality his gaze connected with her own. Her almost unnaturally bright eyes made his heart skip a beat. He watched her break away from the crowd, turning down an alley.

Heisenberg knocked back his current shot, giving chase. He stayed just enough away to not raise suspicion. As he left the alley he just caught sight of her navy cloak disappearing into a barn.

Looking around, finding this part of the town empty of prying eyes he followed.

He stepped through the partially open wooden doors. It was quiet and the air held the fragrance of dry straw.

His eyes fell on his quarry. Standing in the back, dim light alighting her eyes like emeralds, stood Juniper. She had her arms crossed, tapping her boot. It was a nervous habit of hers that he’d noticed long ago.

Chuckling he moved closer, “Now don’t look so happy to see me, doll.”

She snorted, “What do you want?”

He swallowed, forcing his voice to sound confident, “I just want to talk, we never talk.”

“Almost as if there is a reason.”

“Why avoid me?”

“Why are you so eager to meet?” Junipers eyes narrowed, “Every ceremony or festival you’re sniffing about.”

He got closer, the smell of musk and smoke hit her nose. She twitched a bit, swallowing, “Dog.”

His face split roguishly, “You’re one to talk, bitch.”

He saw her face redden as she looked away.

“I didn’t want to come here to piss you off.” He admitted, “I just wanted to see you…away from all that other bullshit.”

She saw the glow of his eyes, the way they softened when they looked over her. She couldn’t deny the feeling he stirred up on her core.

“You’ve been drinking Lord Heisenberg.” Juniper smirked, keeping one step away from him, always moving as he did.

“And?” He almost chuckled, “Don’t have to be drunk to know how I feel.”

“And how do you feel?”

He shifted a bit before answering, “Iv seen how you look at me, all hungry and wanting.”

She brushed away his comment, feeling her face flush.

“You’re not like them.” He pressed, taking a step closer.

“The Dimitrescus?” Juniper raised an eyebrow.

“The mega bitch and her little bug witches.” He nodded, “You’re not like them and you know that. They treat you like a guard dog, feeding you their bloody scraps.”

His words stung, Juniper broke her gaze from him.

“But you’re different because the bitches couldn’t curb your want for cock, hm?” He took another step, aware she had stopped her kiting of him.

Her bright green eyes flicked up to meet his. At some point his shades had been tossed away, leaving her to look into his pale eyes: they were beautiful, shifting tones of golds and greens.

While she was distracted he closed the rest of the distance between them, all but pinning her to the barn wall.

“So I’m a dog?” He looked over her face, lingering over her plush lips. She didn’t retreat, feeling warmth flood her stomach.

He leaned in, whispering low and huskily, “Well I can tell when a bitch is in heat.”

Her breath caught in her throat, she couldn’t deny the way he made her heart race.

“So how about we stop all these little games, hm?” He lifted her chin with a gloved hand. She met his eyes for a moment.

She gave him a little nod, eyes dark with lust.

He crashed his lips on her own, relishing the softness of her skin. She met his storm. He took this as an invitation to bite at her lip until she relented and gave him access to her mouth. He groaned as he explored her with is tongue, feeling her tug at his knotted hair. He tasted like whiskey and smoke, unlike anything she’d ever had.

He pressed into her, trapping her between the wall and his knee, pushing it to open her legs. She mewled at the contact, fabric rubbing over her sensible mound.

Heisenberg pulled back, huffing out hotly, “I’m going to fucking ruin you.”

Trying to make her voice as even as possible she smirked, “Promises, promises Lord Heisenberg.”

Her bravado sent more blood pulsing to his cock, his face splitting.

“Don’t call me that.” He dipped in, kissing and biting her neck. Her hands snaked under his coat, fingers tracing over his scared back.

“What should I call you then?” She pursed, grinding into his thigh as he found her sweet spot.

“Anything other than that.” He shook his head, sucking a dark blotch into her skin.

Thinking for a moment, she chose what felt the most natural, “Karl.”

He paused, hearing his first name spoke so honestly and sweetly was like honey to his ears. He didn’t even know the last time he’d heard it spoken. He pulled away enough to catch her lips again with his own.

She pulled away from him, lips rosy and swollen. Her hands drifted down his chest and stomach, pausing once they reached his belt. She met his gaze once more.

“Tell me you want me.” He demanded with a growl.

She nuzzled into his neck as she undid the clasp under her fingers, “I want you Karl…”

He rumbled out, pulling away to tear his coat from his shoulders. Juniper followed suit, stripping down. Their movement were desperate as they connected back together, free of fabric prisons.

He fell to his knees before her, inching up to slot his head between her legs. Not wasting time he dove in, lathing his tongue into her hot flesh. Juniper’s legs wobbled as a hand found his hair, holding him to her.

He lapped at her tender bud, feeling her tremble around his mouth.

“I-is this…why they call you a d-dog?” Juniper whimpered out.

He looked up at her though half lidded eyes, pulling away enough to rumble, “I can show you all the reasons, sweetheart.”

He added a finger to his onslaught, pushing it greedily into her core. He groaned, feeling her walls instantly clench down on him.

Pumping into her while he kept up his tongue on her clit reduced her to a mess in his hands.

Feeling her walls start to flutter, he pulled away. She whimpered, core aching from the loss of contact.

Heisenberg licked his fingers clean, loving the way her juices danced across his tongue. He wanted to devour her over and over again. But his cock was very hard and needing at present.

He found an old blanket, laying it over a bale of straw. Juniper eyed him curiously.

He sat down, patting his thigh and giving her a toothy smile.

“Come here.” Heisenberg spoke, it sounding more like a command then an option. She complied breathlessly, straddling her legs around him. She leaned forward, all hot and needy, pressing her breasts into his chest.

His heart quickened, unused to this depth of passion.

Her ass bumped into his cock, causing him to hiss and grab her hips. She lifted enough for him to line herself up, the head just starting to push against her opening.

Their eyes met and time stood still for a moment. She gave him a tiny nod.

Heisenberg began to push into her, hearing her mewl in pain.

“Relax buttercup.” He hissed, “Fuck, you’re tight.”

Inch by delicious inch she took him, until his cock was entirely buried in her liquid heat.

She felt the burn of her walls stretching to fit his girth, felt every vein of his cock as it pulsed inside of her.

Juniper grabbed onto his shoulders to steady herself, her legs shaking. Heisenberg had to take a breath himself, almost spilling over the moment he felt their hips meet.

He gave a shallow experimental thrust. She arched into him, giving him the ok to move.

Their awkwardness evaporated like dew in the morning sun, melting into the act whole heartedly.

Seeing her bounce on him: eyes dark and blown out, mouth agape with pleasure, made him sigh, “Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”

In the dim amber light he could still detect the light blush that ghosted her cheeks.

Feeling her release close he surged forward. Juniper cried out, feeling his teeth puncture the skin of she shoulder. Pain intermingled with pleasure.

Licking the wound to sooth it he felt her walls tighten around him, fucking up into her as stars burst before her eyes and she writhed.

“Fuck, that’s it! Come on my cock.” He hissed into her ear. Juniper cried out his name, pleasure fogging her senses.

She could feel his breath against her ear as he spoke, “You’re mine.” He licked the shell of her ear, drawing out a whimper from her, “You might work for those blood bitches, but you’re mine!”

She clung to him, feeling overstimulated as his cock abused every inch of her sensitive cunt. Bucking up into her, her release caused the barn to fill with a loud squelching.

He couldn’t hold on much longer, he knew it.

Her previous reservations were gone, she cried out shamelessly with every thrust. The music outside drowned them out from prying ears.

Feeling his coil tighten he started to lift her off of him, pausing when he heard her mewl.

“Please don’t pull out.” She begged, “Fill me up!”

Her words struck him for a moment, hitching his breath.

He surged her hips back down onto him, filling her to the hilt. With two more savage thrusts he was done for.

Giving a throaty groan he painted her walls with hot ropes of his release. She sobbed out thanks as her core milked him for every drop be had.

He fell back against the barn wall, breathing raggedly. Heisenberg felt Juniper cuddle into his chest, trying to calm her own heartbeat.

He put an arm lazily around the small of her back, their sweat sticking them together.

He doesn’t know how long they lay there, tangled up together, but when she sat up to move away it was much too soon for him.

She stood, shivering a bit from the loss of his heat. Heisenberg’s hands itched to pull her back against him.

Retrieving her clothes, Juniper murmured, “I should get back before I’m missed.”

Shrugging he spoke, “You don’t have to stay there, buttercup. I have a big lonely factory just across the way…”

Juniper smiled, “You and I both have jobs to get back to.”

Fuck, why was she right. Heisenberg started to reclothe as she found her cloak.

“Hei-..I mean, Karl?” Came her sweet voice.

He looked up questionably, seeing her standing in the doorway. Her dark curls were a mess, face still flushed.

“Show me some of your other tricks sometime?” Her eyes were bright and mischievous, “Maybe after the next family meeting?”

Taken back for a moment his lips slowly twitched into a smile, “Anytime kitten, you know where I live.”

Juniper gave him a wink before vanishing into the darkness.

#resident evil village #karl heisenberg #heisenberg x oc #re8 oc #heisenberg smut #smut dabbles

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evienyx · 3 years

Text

DSMP Citizens POV 7: The Lonesome Vessel

DSMPsona created by anon

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DSMP Citizen POV Masterlist

DSMPsona Submission Rules

- - -

Before the L'Manburg Revolution, Iris had never really bothered with combat. She'd taken her physical education classes at school as a kid, had done a few extra sword-training classes as a teenager when her mother put her into them, but other than that, there wasn't really anything.

When the Revolution happened, though, Iris, who had already joined up with the rebellion when it was just starting out, took up arms at General Wilbur Soot's call and went out to the battle field, her heart pounding and blade sharp.

As she stepped onto the battlefield, entering into her first bout of combat with one of Dream's soldiers, something within her changed. Voices chanted in her head, screaming their desire to be appeased, one that could only be fulfilled by the spilling of blood.

Death, Death, Death!

Blood, Blood, Blood!

Blood for the Blood God!

Iris roared and slashed wildly at whoever she saw. Power thrummed in her veins, blood splashing across her armor and voices screaming in her ears as it did.

A soldier in L'Manburg colors ran past her. The voices screamed even louder, and Iris thrust her sword forward.

A moment later, she was lying in the medical tent that had been set up at the edge of the battlefield. Curtains shielded her from the rest of the tent. Her mind was deafeningly silent.

Iris realized that her limbs were restrained, her armor and weapons gone. Her throat was dry and her head pounded.

After a few minutes, the curtain pulled back, and a man in a medical coat peeked inside.

"You're awake?"

Iris locked gazes with him and nodded.

The doctor glanced outside before giving her a nod of his own and closing the curtain. She was alone again.

About ten more minutes passed before the curtain opened again and General Soot stepped inside.

"Sir," Iris said, trying to sit up before remembering the restraints.

"Iris," Soot replied, sounding even more exhausted than he looked. "How are you feeling?"

She swallowed. Her throat hurt, and when she spoke, it was hoarse, as if she had screamed at a concert all night. "Tired." She scrunched her nose. "My arms hurt."

Soot's lips formed into a thinner line and he nodded. "Yes, well, you were swinging that sword quite a bit."

Iris furrowed her brow. "What're you talking about?"

The general sighed. "I was afraid of that." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before meeting her gaze. "What do you remember about the battle?"

"Uh, nothing, really. I... fought a few people, I think, and then I guess I must've been knocked unconscious."

Soot's eyes were hard, but sad. "You were not. You lasted through the whole battle."

"What happened, then?"

Soot was silent.

Iris narrowed her eyes and pressed on. "What happened?"

"You were like a machine, Iris," Soot explained. "No one... No one could quite describe it. You cut down every person in your path, whether they were enemy or ally." Iris's heart sank and her blood ran cold. "Can you remember anything else? I need to know."

"Uh..." Iris wracked her brain for answers, but her head was still pounding, aching from the screams of the voices in her mind. "I mean... There were... voices. Voices, in my head? They... They wanted me to kill people."

Soot, as if his attention hadn't already been completely on her, leaned in, his eyes widening just a bit. "Voices?" She nodded. He grabbed her by the forearms, turning her toward him a bit more, despite the restraints digging into her flesh as he did so. "What did they say? Do you remember what they said?"

"Uh..." Iris nodded shakily, her heart pounding in her chest. "Yeah. They... They talked about the, er, the Blood God? Like what people always call Technoblade, you know, the famous warrior?"

Soot's eyes seemed to glaze over for a moment before he leaned back and nodded. "Yes, I know." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Iris... I'm not going to sugarcoat this for you. I think that we have every reason to believe that you are a vessel of the Blood God."

A chill ran down her spine. "What... What does that-"

"People often believe that Technoblade is a vessel of the Blood God, as well. He is not. He is the chosen of the Blood God. Those voices you heard while you were fighting? He hears those all the time, screaming for blood, and apparently being rather annoying as well."

Despite the bombshell being dropped on her, Iris managed to focus on his words and ask, "How do you know all this stuff about Technoblade?"

"Lived with him for years," Soot said, waving his hand around. "Not important. What is important is this: Controlling the desires of the Blood God that are within you is going to be difficult. Many go mad trying to fight against them. As you are simply a vessel, those voices will only come out when you are actively in combat, but they will never go away. If you plan to continue to fight, you must learn to live with them. We cannot have a repeat of the last battle, where you kill many of our own troops, as well."

Iris swallowed and nodded. "I'll do better next time, sir."

Soot cracked a smile, the bags more apparent than ever. "I'm sure of it."

During the next battle, Iris held her weapon in her hand, slashed at the first enemy soldier that she encountered, and then found herself restrained in the medical tent once more, President Soot standing over her with eyes even more sunken than the day before.

Iris felt tears spring to her eyes and shoved her head back into the pillow beneath her.

"You'll always have a home here," General President Soot told her after the Revolution ended, L'Manburg gained independence, and Iris had decided to pack up and leave. "Regardless of what happened on the battlefield, you still fought for this country. No one blames you for what happened." He paused and released a sigh. "The Blood God is as ruthless with its Vessels as it is with us mortals."

Iris huffed. "You don't need to tell me twice." Her thoughts fell to the voices, screaming in her mind.

Death, Death, Death!

Blood, Blood, Blood!

Blood for the Blood God!

She shuddered and glanced up at President Soot. "I need to leave. As long as I am here, people are in danger. The voices showed up the moment I picked up a weapon. If something were to happen, there would be nothing I could do, nothing anyone could do." She ran a hand through her hair and shook her head. "It's better this way."

President Soot was silent for a moment before nodding solemnly. "That's what I thought you'd say. Still, should you ever wish to return, the gates of L'Manburg will open wide to those who fought for them to stay standing."

Iris cracked a smile and nodded. President Soot returned the gesture before stepping out of the tent that she had been staying in. Iris tied the sack that held all the things she couldn't fit in her inventory and set off. She made a quick pit stop at the Pet Sanctuary, an underground bunker that had held the pets of all L'Manburg soldiers during the war, keeping them safe and protected from both battle and Sapnap, who was both their enemy and infamous for killing pets.

Iris grabbed her cat, Tabi, and pulled an empty beehive from her inventory to allow her bee, Honeycomb, to travel in safety and comfort. Finally, she set off, her fingers tightly wound in a lead attached to Tabi's collar, Honeycomb's hive tucked into her inventory. Iris gave a final wave to the soldiers standing guard at the L'Manburg walls and began to walk.

After fifteen minutes, she was at the top of a hill, looking down over the independent land of L'Manburg. Already, there were more people than had been during the Revolution, people from the Greater SMP and other servers having begun to move in.

After another half-hour, L'Manburg was barely visible in the distance.

Fifteen more minutes after that, and it was gone completely.

Reaching the edge of the charted land on her map, Iris pulled a boat from her inventory, setting it up while Tabi investigated a small patch of wildflowers growing nearby. Iris picked up her cat and plopped the animal between her legs as she sat down in the boat. Making sure she had everything, Iris used a stick to push off from the shore and set off into the ocean.

She followed the coast, mostly. Eventually, she reached a grassy plain that seemed to stretch on for as far as her eye could see. As the sun began to set, she finally pulled up onto a small beach just outside of a coastal village. She stored her boat, held Tabi's lead in her hand, and set off into the village.

The town was small enough that they didn't have an inn, but a farmer and his wife were nice enough to allow her to bunk in the barn for the night to avoid the monsters, and Iris fell asleep to the sound of an Iron Golem guard pummeling a zombie into dust.

Another day of boating passed before Iris settled on a small clearing a little ways into a spruce forest island to call her new home. Tabi's lead tied around a tree, she quickly set to work making a small tent to stay in while she worked on a more permanent home. A few weeks passed, but she was rather satisfied with her work as she took down the tent and spent her first official night in her new cottage. Tabi curled up on her chest, Honeycomb resting in her hive in the small garden she had made, Iris fell asleep to the sounds of rustling leaves, flickering torches, and distant waves crashing against a rocky shore.

Iris would spend a lot of her time exploring, after that, hopping across nearby islands. She constructed an Iron Golem to guard her clearing after a hoard of mobs appeared during the first night and she had been forced to hide under the floorboards and be as silent as possible until day arrived and they burned in the light of the sun. She refused to pick up a weapon again. The voices still stung in her mind (Blood for the Blood God!), and she didn't know what would happen if they took over again. She didn't want to know what would happen if the only thing for them to hurt were Tabi and Honeycomb.

The islands nearby varied in terms of what they had on them. Some were barren, others sported lush forests. One had a ravine so long and deep it almost cut the island itself in half. At one point, she arrived at a point that she had thought was an island, but was actually large enough to be considered mainland, stretching so far that she had to spend the night at a village after she realized that she didn't have enough time to get home before dark.

Iris mapped out the nearby islands, as well as the mainland, and explored them enough that she eventually didn't even need a map to explore them anymore. She knew them like the back of her hand.

That was why, when a small hut popped up in the stretch of plains on the coast of the mainland, she was confused. It was night, then, and she was making her way to the nearby village to stay in the inn. This was too interesting to pass up investigating, though, and Iris snuck over and leaned against one of the hut walls, straining to hear what was happening inside.

"-and I have no idea why he did it, because wasn't the whole point that there's-"

"Someone's listening."

"...What?"

"Someone's listening."

"What are you talking about?"

"Through the wall. Right here. Someone's listening." There was a beat of silence, and then a rush of cold air that made the hairs on the back of Iris's neck stand up, and then she was face-to-face with eyes void of anything but inky darkness, set into the grayed-out version of a familiar face. Bright blue teartracks seemed stained on the colorless skin.

"Hello," an echoed voice that almost exactly matched President Soot's said. "Who are you?"

Iris yelped and fell back, barely catching herself against the hut before she hit the ground.

"Ghostbur? Who is it?"

TommyInnit (VP Tommy, she remembered people had started to call him) asked, stepping around the corner of the hut to join the two of them.

"VP Tommy?" She blurted out. "What are you doing here?"

VP Tommy furrowed his brow. "What are you talking about? I was exiled. What are you doing here?"

"I...I live around here! And, what do you mean you were exiled? And why does President Soot look like that? And why did you call him Ghostbur?"

"That's who I am!" The spectral form of the leader of L'Manburg said cheerily. He reached out a translucent hand. "Ghostbur, nice to meet you!"

"We've met," Iris said, still reaching out to shake his hand anyway. His skin was freezing cold, and she though that if she pressed a bit more, her hand would simply slide right through his own.

"He has memory loss," VP Tommy said. "Only remembers the happy things from when he was alive. None of the bad stuff."

"What happened to him? When did he die?"

"A while ago," VP Tommy said, looking rather confused at her lack of knowledge but still managing to glare at her throughout. "How is it you know who both of us are but not what happened to..." His throat bobbed and he glanced away, falling silent.

"I fought in the L'Manburg Revolution," Iris explained. "At least, I did for a bit until President Soot-" She gestured at the grinning ghost- "and I realized that I was a Vessel for the Blood God. I can't control myself whenever I pick up a weapon, and so I moved out here to keep from hurting anyone."

VP Tommy leaned back a bit, his eyes widening. "You're a Vessel of the Blood God?" He asked, his voice sounding a bit hoarse. She nodded. His eyes flicked over her. "You're... You don't have any weapons on you, do you?"

Iris ignored the fact that she had already said that she didn't in favor of shaking her head and raising her hands a bit. "Nope. Nothing. I haven't touched a weapon since the Revolution."

"How do you defend from mobs then?" He asked, his brow scrunching as he crossed his arms.

"I'm normally home before night. If not, I make sure I'm close enough to a village to stay there. At home, everything's lit up, and I even have an Iron Golem to make sure that any stray monsters can be taken down without me having to do anything." She offered the gentlest smile she could. "You don't need to worry about me."

VP Tommy was quiet for a moment before releasing a forced laugh. "Ha, I wasn't worried! I'm never worried! I'm Big Man TommyInnit, I don't get worried about anything!"

Iris raised an eyebrow but she nodded. "Of course. I never would've thought otherwise."

VP Tommy wrinkled his nose and looked to the ground. A moment later, she heard him muffling a yawn.

"Well," Iris said loudly, stretching her arms toward the sky, "I think it's about time that I head off to the village and get settled in for the night. I'm exhausted." She saluted lazily. "Good night, VP Tommy."

"Uh, yeah. 'Night." He didn't return the gesture, but he glanced at Ghostbur, who was fiddling with what looked like a handful of blue and clearly not paying attention to the conversation whatsoever. "C'mon, Ghostbur."

The spirit of the president looked up abruptly, turning from VP Tommy to Iris. "Oh, are you leaving already?" She nodded. He gave her a smile. "Good night, then! I hope next time I get to find out your name!"

Before she could say anything, he had slid through the hut's wall and was gone. VP Tommy stood there for a moment more before disappearing inside as well. Iris hitched up the straps of her bag on her shoulders, checked her inventory, and set off for the village at the edge of the plains. She didn't want to be out in the dark for too long.

The next morning, Iris left the village inn an hour before noon, her bag and inventory stuffed full of ore that she had purchased from the blacksmith.

As she walked through the plains, she stumbled across a figure riding by on a horse. The two of them stopped and stared at one another.

"Uh, hello," Iris said, raising a hand in greeting. "Haven't seen you around here before."

"I'm not from around here," the figure, a piglin hybrid, from the look of it, said gruffly. "Was just visiting an... old friend."

Iris nodded. "Cool. Well, if you're ever in the area again, the village back by the forest edge has incredible potato bread."

The hybrid's eyes lit up a bit. "Really?" She nodded. "I'll have to check it out, then." He observed her for a moment before raising an eyebrow. "Who are you?"

She cracked a smile. "Just a lonesome wanderer, trying to live a peaceful life."

He nodded. "I can respect that. As long as you're not with any sort of government."

She shook her head. "I used to be a part of L'Manburg, but I left right after the Revolution. I... didn't want to be a part of that anymore. Now, it's just me and my pets."

The hybrid hummed, his gaze flicking over her and seeming to notice that she had no weapons. "All right, then." He gave her a nod. "Stay safe, fellow wanderer."

She grinned and returned the gesture. "And you as well." He patted the horse on its flank, and a moment later, they were gone.

Continuing across the plains, Iris came back across the hut that VP Tommy was living in. She thought the ore in her bag and wondered if the teenager, who was apparently exiled (though she didn't know why) would want it.

Iris knocked on the door. There was a beat of silence. Then, the door swung open, and she was met with the face of VP Tommy, eyes red and face blotchy. He sniffed, rubbed at his nose, and scowled at her. "What do you want, bitch?"

Ignoring his aggression, Iris offered a smile and said, "I come bearing gifts."

Though he complained, VP Tommy did agree to take the ores from her, shoving them into his furnace along with some coal that he had apparently gotten that morning. Then, with his eyes narrowed and mouth twisted into a frown, he offered her a porkchop.

Iris started to visit him more and more, after that. She brought Tabi to the village's healer when the cat got sick one day, and that evening showed her pet to VP Tommy on the way home.

"This is Tabi," she said, holding out the cat to the teenager. VP Tommy stared at the cat with raised eyebrows. "Go on, take her. She loves being pet behind the ears."

VP Tommy took the cat in his arms, holding it with a surprising amount of caution. He reached forward and scratched slowly behind Tabi's ear. The cat purred and leaned into the touch. VP Tommy's eyes flew up to meet Iris's as his jaw dropped, and she couldn't help but let out a laugh at his reaction.

Over the time that she visited him, Iris watched as VP Tommy (My name is Tommy, shithead, he insisted after she called him by his old title to his face) deteriorated. His laughs were more forced. His face was more sunken, his hair grew limp, and his the light in his eyes dimmed, the bright blue seeming to fade into a cool gray. Still, he would grin every time she showed up, and would bounce on the balls of his feet as he told her about what he had done since her last visit.

"Ranboo came to visit me," he said one day. "He showed up after Schlatt and Wilbur died and L'Manburg was rebuilt. He's cool, even though he's kind of a pussy."

"Does anyone else come to visit?" She asked, poking at the fire that he had made when the sun began to set.

"Well, Dream is here all the time," he said, but she already knew that. About a week after she started visiting regularly, he had all-but-demanded that she only visit at night, because Dream was there in the daylight and didn't really like when he had other visitors there. "Mexican Dream came here one time, too, but..." Tommy sniffed. "He, uh, he died."

"Oh," Iris said. "I'm sorry."

On certain days, she would let Tommy ramble to her about his problems. He would complain about the 16th of November, about the election from months ago, about his exile from weeks prior. Other days, he would tour her around the things he was building.

"This is Logstedshire," he said, spreading his arms wide. "Ghostbur helped me build it, before he..." His smile faltered. "Before he... left."

She said nothing more, simply pointed at a random building and asked about it. Tommy took the change of topic gratefully and began to ramble on about the mining expedition he had gone on to get the materials.

One day, when Iris was on the way to the village past Logshedshire to trade before she visited Tommy that evening, she looked up from storing away her boat to see the Nether portal just outside of Tommy's home glimmering with particles, the distinct look of a portal that someone had just used.

Iris was confused for a moment, because she was sure that Tommy didn't use his portal anymore, not after the failed beach party (which he had requested she didn't attend, since he didn't think that Dream would like knowing that Tommy was talking with someone he didn't know. Iris still felt bad, though, after hearing about the disaster that befell the party that her teenager friend had been so very excited about).

Then, she looked up and her eyes fell on a tower of mismatched materials, stretching toward the sky. Her stomach dropped, and, ignoring her previous plans, she scrambled up the beach and sprinted toward Logstedshire.

The area was completely destroyed, decimated by what had to be TNT. The tower she had seen started near the pit, reaching to brush against low-hanging clouds in the expanse of sky above. Tommy was nowhere to be seen.

Nearby, Iris abruptly noticed, President Tubbo stood looking up at the tower, shaking his head desperately with tears streaking down his face. "Surely not, surely not," he said lowly, his voice hoarse.

Iris's heart skipped a beat. For the first time since the Revolution, her mind was flooded with voices, screaming, roaring in her ears. She didn't care what they were saying, though, instead covering her mouth with her hands, taking in a painful breath, and beginning to sob.

President Tubbo turned to look at her, just now noticing her presence. He reached a hand out and opened his mouth to speak, but she didn't give him a chance to, instead choosing to turn on her heel and run back to the coastline, tears streaming from her eyes and all plans of heading to the village forgotten. She hopped in her boat and set off in the direction of her home island, her salty tears falling from her cheeks and joining the ocean waters below.

Iris stumbled into her cottage, Tabi moving toward her and rubbing against her leg as she collapsed into a chair, shoving her face into her hands. Her cat's fur stopped brushing against her skin, and a few moments later, a buzzing sound met her ears. She opened her eyes to see Tabi hopping from the windowsill as Honeycomb flew inside, the window wide open behind the two pets. The bee settled on her shoulder, snuggling against Iris's neck and buzzing gently, while Tabi leaped to her lap and curled up there.

Iris pet her cat with a shaking hand and tried to ignore the screaming voices growing louder and louder in her mind.

That evening, she grabbed a pack that she knew had two twin blades stored away inside of it and set off for a nearby island, one covered in a forest so dense that inside of it, you couldn't see the sky. Mobs were there even in the day time, and at night, it was more stuffed with monsters than a dungeon was.

On the edge of the island, Iris watched as a zombie lumbered toward her.

Blood! Blood!

Blood for the Blood God!

Kill it! Kill it!

Finally! Blood!

Everyone shut up, she's gonna do it!

She better!

Blood! Blood! Blood for the Blood God!

Ignoring the 'banter' going on between the voices in her head, the Vessel of the Blood God dropped the pack on the ground, pulled the twin blades from within, and let the voices take over, jumping forward and slashing at the monster in front of her. The voices cheered as blood splashed across her skin, and as her gaze fell on a skeleton near the tree line, she leaped toward it and felt her control over her body fall away.

She woke to the daylight, her cheek pressed against the warm sand of the beach. She heard the waves lapping at the shore. The twin blades she had used rested nearby. Her mind was silent, though the elation of the voices as she sliced through monsters was still very apparent. Iris sat up, grabbed the bag she had abandoned the night before, and scooped the blades inside, careful not to touch it. She then slipped into the boat and set off, leaving the island behind as she headed home.

Halfway there, she felt an alert on her communicator. Glancing down at it, she choked on a breath as her eyes landed on 'TommyInnit' in her messages lighting up. Taking in a deep breath, she clicked on the name and was greeted by a new chat message from her friend.

TommyInnit: Hey, bitch. I realized that Dream is an even Bigger Bitch Boy than I thought. He blew up Logstedshire and I ran away after he left. I'm with Technoblade, now.

TommyInnit: you were real poggers. I'll pay you back for that ore eventually.

Iris sniffed and wiped at her eyes, which were beginning to sting. She swallowed, her throat aching, and grabbed the oars resting on the sides of the boat, starting to paddle back home.

(Later that day, she would return to Logstedshire and root through the rubble for three days straight, searching for any remaining things of Tommy's that she could find.

She found a few photos buried under rocks, at one point. After the first one she touched crumbled to dust immediately, she took pictures of any she found before trying to pick them up. She found a few books that Tommy must have bought from the village. Nothing else really seemed like it would be valuable. Then, though, on her last day of searching, she broke apart a collapsed wall and saw a piece of fabric lying underneath.

She reached forward and carefully picked up the beanie lying on the ground, so covered in dust that it looked gray rather than maroon.

"This was his beanie," Tommy had said. "He had two of these. Phil has the one that he was wearing when he died. He gave this one to me right before we went to fight Manburg."

Iris's fingers tightened around the beanie, and she tucked it safely into a spare spot in her inventory before immediately heading off to the village to use their public Ender chest to put the beanie inside of.

The next time she saw TommyInnit, she would give it back to him. Afterall, he deserved to have the beanie. It was his brother's, wasn't it?

The sun was beginning to set, then.

Iris swallowed down a lump in her throat as phantom voices whispered in her mind and moved faster over the plains, focusing on making her way to the inn before nightfall and trying to ignore the murmurs in her ear asking for blood.)

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undertheoaktree-novel · 2 years

Text

-Chapter 12-

"We're staying the night here. It's cold outside, so bundle up."

Maxi fastened the straps of her cloak and pulled the hood over her head before stepping out of the carriage. Riftan put an arm around her shoulders and strode toward his men. The knight who had been talking with the village guard turned around at Riftan's footsteps.

"There are no suitable lodgings here, Commander."

Riftan lifted the lamp in his hand and quickly scanned the area.

"But there is an empty barn." The knight glanced at Maxi, his voice trailing off. "Perhaps we could stay there for the night..."

Riftan frowned and turned to speak to the guard. "Is there no suitable lodging for the lady?"

"Only cottages to house the farmers during the harvest season, sir. We could have two emptied at your command, but I'm afraid they're no place for your lady."

"Still, better than a barn. You will be rewarded handsomely if you can arrange one."

Maxi clung to Riftan's arm in surprise.

"I-I'm all r-right..." She did not feel right forcing out serfs who had been slaving away all day under the sun. Nor did she wish to spend the night alone in a dark, spooky cottage.

She squinted into the darkness and tugged at Riftan's sleeve. "I d-don' t want to b-be alone..."

In the uncomfortable quiet that ensued, Maxi realized how her words had been received. She let go of Riftan's sleeve as if it were on fire, blood rushing up her neck. Riftan gave no answer, perhaps struck dumb by her shamelessness. She clutched at her dress, not daring to look him in the eye. The knights exchanged awkward looks but, much to her relief, they soon changed the subject.

"Is it decided, then? I'm starving. Let's get some rest!"

"You there! Where can we find some water? We should look after the horses first."

"There's a brook by the mill. This way." Only after the men had dispersed did Riftan take Maxi's hand into his.

"We should go as well."

"Y-Yes..."

She almost had to run to keep up with Riftan's long strides. If it were not for Riftan's quick reaction, she would have tripped over the bumpy ground countless times. They followed the ditch and came to a stop before a large wooden structure that emerged in the dark.

A few knights entered first and hung their lamps up. Maxi followed Riftan inside and studied her surroundings.

She was only brought out of her thoughts when Riftan left the fireside and approached her. She raised her head to see a bowl full of hot potatoes, burnt brown here and there from roasting in the fire.

"Careful. They're still hot."

Riftan ignored his own warning. He grabbed a steaming potato with a large, calloused hand and took a bite. Maxi followed suit, gingerly wrapping a scalding hot potato in her sleeve before peeling off the burnt skin to reveal soft yellow flesh.

As she took a small bite, she was overcome by a wave of hunger that anxiety had been keeping at bay. The roof of her mouth burned, but she continued to chew and swallow bite after bite of steaming hot potato. Even the chewy, half-cooked pieces tasted like a rare treat. She found that she had devoured a fist-sized potato in no time.

Riftan, who had been watching her eat, had a peeled potato ready for her. Maxi frantically waved her hands.

"I've had m-my share. You sh-should have it, R-Riftan..."

"Just take it."

He pressed the potato into her hands, then snatched another one from the bowl. Without even peeling it properly, he bit off a large mouthful. After staring at her own potato, which had been peeled smooth, she brought it to her mouth and began to eat with gusto, blowing every now and then.

With her stomach full, she felt sleepy. Her fear of bedbugs forgotten, she laid her head on the bedroll. The flame of the brazier in the center of the barn cast a dim light on the walls and ceiling. One by one, the knights finished eating and arranged their bedding.

It was she who had refused the privacy of the cottage, but she was still embarrassed by the idea of sleeping among so many men. She pulled her blanket up to her chin. Seeing her stir, Riftan set aside the sword he had been polishing and lay down next to her. He wrapped an arm around her tightly, but Maxi pushed it away.

"R-Riftan... Th-There are other p-people here..."

"No one gives a damn, so stay still. You're cold, aren't you?"

#under the oak tree

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maggiec70 · 3 years

Text

Prince Bagration Makes a Cameo Appearance

Another excerpt from the longest-running histfic draft. This is for Tairin. I hope I did her prince justice, small though it may be.

Jean’s staff found a two-story house large enough for them all in a northern Viennese suburb. General Compans ordered the portly, red-faced owner and his large family to leave, slipping him a fistful of gold coins before he could protest. Mariana couldn’t tell how many coins constituted a fistful, but they produced an incredulous expression on the man’s face and then a deep bow that revealed his blindingly bald, pink pate. There must be a secret source of gold coins that only Compans and Thomières knew about, perhaps hidden away in a sturdy oak box labeled Bribes. She had seen these coins appear whenever Jean wanted to sleep somewhere other than a barn or outside on the ground for several days. She also knew only a very few marshals and generals bothered to compensate the people whose lives they disrupted or even thought to do so.

“Don’t wreck the place,” Compans ordered them after the Viennese family had bustled out the door, their personal belongings tied up in large, unwieldy bundles.

“Why would we?” she asked Joseph as two adjutants added more wood to a fire in the large stone hearth. She wondered how much food she might find in the kitchen cupboards and the spacious pantry leading from the kitchen. Indeed, the life expectancy of the well-fed hens she’d seen in the dooryard was measured in minutes.

“It was a pro forma reminder,” Joseph replied. “We’ve never been a horde of Vandals or Huns, and the marshal knows it.” He grinned at her and stretched so much that he almost slid out of his chair. “I can’t say the same about Prince Murat’s cavalry or anyone in Marshal Augereau’s VII Corps. Now there’s a collection of seasoned plunderers—as bad as one of the plagues of Egypt, but not, I think, as dedicated to looting as Marshal Masséna.”

Later that evening, with a cold November wind safely outside and warmth and food inside, she sipped her second cup of rich coffee laced with cream from the black and white cow standing up to her knees in hay in the barn. “After ages in Purgatory, I’ve been given my reward.”

“Savor your taste of Paradise, Gabriel, while you can. We’re leaving in a couple of days,” Jacques said, unhooking his cloak and shaking sleet from it.

“Why? The Austrians surrendered at Ulm almost four weeks ago, and we’re north of Vienna with no Austrians anywhere that I can see. There isn’t anyone to fight.”

Jacques poured coffee from a porcelain pot and backed up to the fire. “Don’t you read the dispatches, Gabriel?”

“Not often—they’re boring.”

“Well, you should. We hadn’t seen the Austrian army because it left Vienna right before we arrived. Now they’ve gone further north, with General Kutuzov’s Russians.”

“Who’s Kutuzov?” she asked, trying not to yawn in his face. She really should pay more attention to the dispatches and reports. If Jean ever asked her about the campaign's minutia, she had better know enough to answer. She’d seen what happened when an officer couldn’t tell Jean what he wanted to know and didn’t want to subject herself to the humiliation of a profanity-laced public rebuke.

“Some clever Russian general, older than God. He’s heading for Moravia, though, not Mother Russia.”

Mariana remembered Jacques’s words three days later. Ejected from the warm stone house before dawn, she bundled up in her heavy cloak and gloves and rode out of Vienna with the rest of V Corps. Now, close to midnight, she didn’t think Moravia was anywhere close or warmer than Russia. It was full dark when they rode into a tiny hamlet so small they would have missed it if the scouts and leading edges of Oudinot’s grenadiers hadn’t literally stumbled over it. Snow topped with a thin layer of rime covered the cottage roofs, garden walls, the rough pathway serving as a street, and stubble in the surrounding fields. The inhabitants had shuttered every window, but thin cracks of pale yellow light escaped from some of them.

“They’re more afraid of the Russians than they are of us,” Jean said in response to her question. Each word came out on a small puff of white, as her own had done. Soon it might be too cold to talk. “If you looked in those barns, you’d find nothing but old straw. There’s nothing of value in the cottages, either. If the villagers had enough warning, they would have hidden everything, and if not, the Russians have it all now.”

Mariana had never seen a hamlet this small before or so eerily deserted. The barrenness she saw in the faint snow light and that Jean had described made her shiver. This time the cold struck deep in her bones.

“We’ll be sleeping outside, gentlemen, on the other side of Hollabrünn and eating whatever we have with us. It will be a short night anyway—the enemy’s less than six miles ahead.” Jean spurred his horse forward over the little village track, and the rest followed, riding close enough to brush each other’s stirrups. Mariana wrapped the reins around one wrist and massaged her hands and fingers inside her gloves, afraid to take them off. The idea of trying to sleep on the frozen, iron-hard ground was dreadful. If the Russians were so close, and if Jean meant to attack them in the morning, she might as well sit up all night. If she didn’t freeze before dawn, then a brisk encounter with the enemy, even hand to hand, would warm her up nicely. “Aunt Lucrezia, you would be appalled,” she whispered through stiff lips cracked and bleeding from the cold.

Despite her plan to sit up all night, Mariana had just fallen asleep, curled into a tight ball, knees drawn up nearly beneath her chin, when Joseph shook her into befuddled wakefulness. “Get up, Gabriel,” he said, peeling her cloak away. We’re leaving now.”

She staggered to her feet, grabbed her cloak back from Joseph, and buttoned it up tight. “No breakfast?”

“No time for any. There’s a small Russian rear-guard ahead. We have to eliminate it before it reaches Kutuzov.”

Mariana didn’t mind not eating as much as she minded not having something hot to drink. However, the worst prospect was having to do the necessary at the edge of the forest to her left. She still thought it was manifestly unfair that lately, she nearly froze whenever she pissed, while her comrades did not. An inequality, however, that she was powerless to alter one whit.

Having concluded her business in the forest, she hurried to untie Odysseus from the picket line, tighten his girth, and climb into the saddle. She trotted off to join the aides, who waited in a nearly silent group, close together, their horses impatiently stamping the hard ground. Without a word, they swung around and fell in behind Jean and General Compans. She wanted to know how far away the Russian rear-guard was and how many Russians comprised a rear-guard, but she couldn’t make her lips move.

General Thomières saved her the trouble. “Excellency, how many troops does Bagration have ahead of us?”

While she wondered who Bagration was, Jean slowed his horse to respond to his senior aide. “Fewer than I have, even though I’m short two divisions and even shorter of supplies. Neither the weather nor the ground is good for much but a short skirmish.”

The air was so silent and frigid that Mariana heard the intonation beneath his words that often meant more than the words themselves. He sounded confident rather than cocky or foolhardy. A short skirmish, he’d said, and that was fine with her.

The encounter between Bagration’s rear-guard and V Corps’ grenadiers, reinforced at the last possible moment by a squadron of Murat’s heavy cavalry, was not a skirmish. Mariana thought it was more like a brawl in some wayside tavern, loud, fast, and disorganized. It ended before she’d had a chance to do anything and because Bagration told Prince Murat that he had just learned about a truce. The prince believed him, dismounted, told Jean to order his troops to cease fire, and went inside a slightly shell-shocked villa that had been some Moravian aristocrat’s summer home.

“A truce? What the fuck is he talking about? I had the damn Russians on their arses, and he rides in and orders me to stop!” Jean was livid, his expression as hard as granite. Mariana worried what he might do when he jumped from his horse, leaving the reins to trail in the snow, and stomped after Murat. Acting on instinct, aides, chief of staff, and a few senior adjutants closed around him like a protective wall and entered the villa together.

Intended for soft summer breezes, the villa struggled to combat the mid-November cold. Fires burned in hearths at either end of the reception chamber’s black and white tiled floor. Clear glass bottles filled with colorless liquid stood among scores of crystal glasses on heavily carved tables in the center of the room. Someone had shoved chairs and settees against the walls. Officers in uniforms Mariana had never seen before crowded around the tables, opening bottles, pouring liquid into glasses, and handing them around. She watched Prince Murat take a sip, then drain it and hold it out for someone to fill. She watched Jean barrel forward, his expression still thunderous, until a tall officer with the face of a young eagle and enough medals on his chest to blind half a dozen men stepped forward and intercepted him. Together they moved away from Murat and his entourage and stood by one of the double windows, heads bent close together, talking. Another officer approached them, two glasses on a silver tray, and quickly left when they took the glasses and continued their conversation. When Major Guéhéneuc tried to insinuate himself into the conversation, Jean turned on him like an enraged wasp. The major scuttled away, staring at the floor, his face scarlet. Mariana rocked back on her boot heels, a smirk spreading across her face.

As voices rose around her, followed by the rank odor of damp wool and unwashed males, Mariana felt the beginnings of a headache. To take her mind off it, she asked Thomières, “What are they talking about? And who is that Russian?”

He laughed, a soft sound but not derisive. She was glad since she rarely spoke to him at length. “I haven’t the slightest idea what they’re talking about, but that’s Prince Pyotr Ivanovich Bagration the marshal’s talking to.” He laughed again, this time even softer as if he worried someone might overhear. “Talking now, fighting later. Fine looking general, though, don’t you think?”

“Indeed he is,” Mariana said. With his chiseled features and thick, dark hair, the tall, slender Russian looked a little like Jean. Big rooster and bantam rooster, she thought, and almost hooted with laughter. When she could trust herself to speak, she asked, “What’s in the bottles?”

“Vodka. Have you never tasted it?”

“I’ve never even heard of it.”

“Then allow me, lieutenant,” Thomières said and escorted her to the nearest table. Rummaging among the glasses, he found two relatively clean ones and filled them from one of the bottles. “Salut,” he said, threw back his head, and drank it down.

She sniffed at the clear liquid. It had no odor. Since Thomières was still standing, how dangerous could it be? She drank hers in a single gulp, and the alcohol burned all the way to her stomach, where it exploded. Tears flooded her eyes, she sneezed and then coughed. One cough led to several until Thomières pounded her on the back and filled her glass.

“Quick—drink this.”

She did and stopped coughing. This time the vodka felt smooth as silk, and she grinned at the senior aide. “You should have warned me.”

“And miss your reaction?” He filled her glass for the third time, but before she could drink it, four Russian officers joined them at the table, clutching their glasses filled to the brim and sloshing onto their dingy white gloves. Their faces were clean-shaven except for amazingly full side-whiskers, their cheeks brick red in the candlelight. Raising their glasses, they shouted in unison, “Za vashe zdorovye!” When they had downed every last drop, they tossed their glasses toward the fireplace. The sound of shattering crystal brought to a halt every conversation in the spacious room, and then other Russians began throwing their empty glasses to the floor.

“Why not?” Thomières said and threw his glass toward the hearth.

“Indeed!” Mariana replied and threw hers, too.

Whatever Jean and Bagration may have been discussing, or whatever Prince Murat may have believed about the alleged truce, or whatever the French and Russian officers thought about the prospect of imminent hostilities between them, everything disappeared beneath the sharp-edged sound of crystal shattering and the roars of toasts in French and Russian. Mariana linked arms with Thomières to keep from reeling and tried to get her tongue around the consonant-laden Russian words. Somehow, they sounded more satisfactory than light, polite French phrases and better suited to the vodka, of which she had become quite fond in no time at all.

Jean summoned aides and staff officers with a sharp whistle that penetrated the merriment and stalked out of the villa and into the icy, starlit night. The sudden cold jolted Mariana from her torpor, and the sharp air stung her eyes and nose. Her comrades showed similar symptoms of waking from a muddled sleep, and she wondered what might have happened had they stayed and emptied all those bottles.

#prince bagration #vodkatime #Jean Lannes

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radioactivepeasant · 3 years

Text

Fic Prompts: Free Day Thursday

Been playing a lot of Monster Hunter Stories lately, so I'm dipping back into my bnha Monster Hunter au where All Might inadvertently ends up fostering Izuku after he gets separated from his mother during a storm. (Inko has all the big adventures in that au: meeting Rei Todoroki, accidentally starting a Palico rebellion, smuggling Rei and her four children out of the city of Endeavor, etc. Meanwhile All Might just tries his best to find her based solely off a kindergartner's description lol)

Toshinori stepped into the public stables and scanned the stalls. Most of them were occupied by Aptonoths and Velocidromes, cooped up for the night on the carnivore and herbivore sides of the barn. A grouchy Yian Kut-Ku glared at him as he passed, then tucked its head back beneath its wing as if deciding that the tall human wasn't worth bothering about.

In the stalls used by Riders without their own stables, diurnal monsties slept. Night patrols were usually taken with the Nargacuga native to the hilly region between Septimus Reach and Hakum Village, or the occasional Rathalos. Most Riders in the village preferred smaller and more manageable mounts, especially given the sheer amount of food a full grown Rathalos needed in one day alone, so there were really only two other Raths in the public stables. One ancient Rathalos named Red who spent his days sleeping, and a newly hatched Rathian that had bonded with one of the Rider trainees. Both of them were out, suggesting that they were training or flying with their Riders at the moment.

Toshinori stopped in front of a wide stall, filled with mossy stones and odd crystal growths. He smirked and checked the tag on the stall door. As he'd thought, this was Midnight's stall. If Midnight was here, that meant her Rider, Nemuri, wasn't on any missions at the moment.

One of the mossy boulders rose, and a pair of confused yellow eyes blinked at Toshinori slowly. Then, with a rumbling crash, the ground heaved and the disparate boulders revealed themselves to all be part of the same animal. The Ruby Basarios shook hay from it's back and yawned.

"Hey there, Midnight." Toshinori patted the wyvern's jaw. "You feel up for some exercise? Because I'm going to ask your Rider if she wants to help me on a mission."

Midnight blinked owlishly at him. Well, she never did pay much attention to anyone who wasn't Nemuri.

Nemuri Kayama was a younger Rider than Toshinori, but she already had a reputation for her "one monstie only" style. She loved her Ruby Basarios, and had used her old, shed carapaces to make an armor that could emit a kind of sleep gas when struck or burned. Nemuri used that feature liberally.

Toshinori found her in the canteen, looking bored out of her mind. He waited until she noticed him, then sat down next to her.

"Hey, Yagi." Midnight sipped from a clay bottle and raised her brows. "I thought you were on baby patrol or something."

Toshinori made a sheepish face and shrugged. "Ah. Yeah, no, the kid is having a sleepover with the Kirishima family tonight so I can work."

"You think you'll ever find his mom?"

That was a difficult question. Toshinori folded his hands and looked down. "I think so, yes, but...I'm just not sure how long it will take in the end."

Nemuri nodded, then set down the bottle. She leaned an elbow on the table and eyed Toshinori shrewdly. "So what sort of job has you leaving after sundown?"

Toshinori nodded in the direction of the valley. "Next hollow over, word is there's a Seregios attacking travelers on the borders of the Whistill Forest. The chief of Hakum asked that the Seregios be captured alive if possible."

He glanced back and met the younger Rider's eyes. "I thought you and Midnight might be interested in helping subdue the monster for study and relocation."

Nemuri's eyes glittered. "I want three Impaler scales as payment."

A bit of a hard bargain, but Toshinori would take it. He reached out to shake Nemuri's hand. "Deal. Let me check on little Midoriya, and saddle Regent, and I'll meet you on the slopes in an hour."

He hoped the Seregios would be alone. Two of them sounded like a lot to handle, even for a Rathalos and a Basarios.

#fic prompts #writing prompts #bnha #my hero academia #bnha au #free day thursday #monster hunter series #monster hunter stories #monster hunter au #ruby Basarios #rathalos #kayama nemuri #toshinori yagi #Nemuri's monster uses her hero name #Toshinori doesn't have a dragon named All Might until after his big injury tho #dadmight

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pointandshooter · 4 years

Photo

Photo: David Castenson

"WIZZARD CLIP" (Wizard Clip)

by W. S. Laidley

West Virginia Historical Magazine Quarterly January 1904

From the "Eastern Pan-Handle" we take the following ancient ghost story.

“The earliest record of the story was written by Rev. Demetius A. Galletzen, whose memoirs were prepared in 1797, and about the same time, Mrs. Annella McSherry, wrote letters containing about the same facts, and since then there have been other papers written, all giving about the same facts, and the further fact that for fifty years the original name of the place was lost and it was only known as "Wizzard's Clipp," shows that the people there had no doubt of the facts related. The story gathered from the various publications is as follows:

Adam Livingston, becoming dissatisfied with his residence in Lancaster county, Penn., determined to remove to the State of Virginia, and carried his purpose into effect by the purchase of a house and lot in Smithfield, Va., and seventy acres contiguous thereto. This was about the year 1790. He had the reputation of being an honest and industrious farmer, of fair intelligence, and brought with him his wife and a family of three sons and four daughters, of whom Eve and Catherine are the only daughters and John and Henry the only sons who are referred to in any of these memoirs. Livingston continued to reside there without attracting any particular notice, until 1794, when a stranger, of middle age and of respectable appearance, made a visit to the place and was received as a boarder in his house. In a few days after the arrival of this traveler he was taken sick and as his illness became more threatening he called Livingston to his bedside, informed him that he was a Catholic, and inquired of him if there was not a priest somewhere in his neighborhood whose services he could procure, should his malady prove fatal, which he had reason to then fear it would. Livingston, who was an intensely bigoted member of the Lutheran church, very gruffly replied to him "that he knew of no priest in that neighborhood, and if there was one, he should never pass the threshold of his door.' The dying man repeated his entreaties for the spiritual aid of a Catholic priest, but Livingston was inexorable and refused to countenance his request. The stranger died, his name being unknown to his host, and there being nothing among his papers to throw any light upon his history.

On the night of his death Livingston employed a man by the name of Jacob Foster to sit up with the corpse. But so soon as the candles were lighted in the chamber of the dead, after giving a weak and flickering light, they went out and the room was left in darkness. They were relighted several times, supposing it to result from some remedial defect in the cradle, but with the same result. Livingston then brought two candles into the room which he had been using in his own family room, which were about one-third burnt down and which he knew to be good. But so soon as they were placed in the room with the corpse they became immediately extinguished. This so alarmed Foster that he abandoned his vigils and left the house. Fifty years ago the grave of the stranger could be distinctly pointed out.

On the night succeeding the burial the peace of Livingston was much disturbed by the apparent sound of horses galloping round his house. He frequently rose during the night - which was a beautiful moon-light night - to satisfy his mind. While he could distinctly hear the tramp of steeds, he could see nothing to assure him that it was anything more than a figment of his own imagination. In about a week afterward his barn was burnt and his cattle all died, the crockeryware in his house, without any visible agency, was thrown upon the floor and broken; his money disappeared; the heads of his turkeys and chickens dropped off; and chunks of burning wood would leap from the fireplace several feet out into the floor, endangering the building unless promptly replaced. Soon the annoyances, which were then destroying his peace, assumed a new form. The sound of a. large pair of shears could be distinctly heard in his house, clipping in the form of half moons and other curious figures, his blankets, sheets and counterpanes, boots and shoes, clothing, etc. This was all in one night, but the operation of clipping continued for upwards of three months, a small portion of it only being done at a time, but the inexorable shears never being silent twenty-four hours at a time. By this time the news of these strange proceedings was spread through the country for thirty miles around, and attracted in an especial manner the curiosity of the citizens of Smithfield. An old Presbyterian lady of Martinsburg, hearing of the clipping that was going on at Livingston's to satisfy her curiosity, she went to Livingston's house. Before entering the door she took from her head her new silk cap, wrapped it up in her silk handkerchief and put it in her pocket to save it from being clipped. After awhile she stepped out again to go home, and having drawn the handkerchief out of her pocket and opened it, found the cap cut in narrow ribbons.

Many other phenomena are stated and testified to by many witnesses. The long continuance of this mysterious clipping had now aroused the country for many miles around. Three daring and adventurous young men from Winchester came to Smithfield declaring their utter unbelief in the reports and offered to sleep in the house all night and to face the devil himself, if he were the author of these doings. But as soon as they became comfortably seated in the house, a large stone was seen to proceed from the fireplace and to whirl around the floor with great velocity, when they took to their heels and made their escape.

The condition of poor Livingston had become deplorable, he had lost much rest, and his imagination was so worked upon by his nocturnal visitor that his health began visibly to fail. He applied to three professed conjurers, but their incantations were all in vain. Shortly after this Livingston had a dream. He thought he was climbing a high mountain and had great difficulty in the ascent. He had to labor hard, catching at roots and bushes, and moving forward slowly by their aid. Reaching the summit, he saw an imposing personage, "dressed in robes," as he described it. After contemplating for some time the person in view, he heard a voice saying: "This is the man who can relieve you." His wife heard him groaning in his sleep and she waked him, thereupon he communicated to her his dream and said he did not know of any minister who wore robes, but he would make inquiry in the morning. The result of the inquiries led him to visit an Episcopal minister, who then resided in Winchester, but he derived little satisfaction from this visit, and returned home much disappointed. He was then advised to see the MeSherry family, who were Roman Catholics, and who resided in a very fine estate called "Releivement," about on mile each of Leetown, at which place the priest was often in the habit of stopping while discharging his spiritual functions in that neighborhood. Late in the evening of the same day Mrs. MeSherry saw a man coming to her home, she met him at the gate when he told her he wanted "to see the priest." She informed him that the priest was not at her house, but there would be church in Shepherdstown the following Sunday, when he would have an opportunity of seeing him. Mr. and Mrs. McSherry, in company with Mr. Minghini, went to church on the appointed day, and there they saw the man who had inquired for the priest, and who proved to be Livingston. As the priest appeared at the altar, dressed in commicles, Livingston seemed to be perfectly overcome. He wept bitterly, and exclaimed loud enough to be heard by the small congregation: "This is the very man I saw in my dream; he is the one that the voice told me would relieve me from my troubles." When the service was over, he promptly called on the priest and told him his sad story; but the priest, the Rev. Dennis Cahill, laughed at him and told him it must be some of his neighbors who were plaguing him, and that he must go home and keep a strict watch for them. Richard McSherry and Joseph Minghini, who were present at the interview, were much moved by the old man's tears and tried to comfort him. After much urgent persuasion. Father Cahill accompanied by Mr. McSherry and Mr. Minghini, agreed to visit Livingston's house and to inquire into the strange transactions which he had related. They found his story corroborated not only by the family, but by most of the people with whom they conversed in Smithfield. Father Cahill resorted to the remedy of sprinkling the house with holy writer, which did not, however, expel the troublesome visitor from the house, but it was followed by a deposit of the money, which had previously been taken away, on the doorsill. The strange clipping still continuing after that time it was determined by Father Cahill to have mass celebrated in the house, which was done, and Livingston was relieved from all annoyances of his ghostly visitor. From that time until he left Virginia he had frequent communications with the Spiritual world, and many facts are related where those communications were realized in a striking manner; but as these throw no light upon the simple historical fact which it is the purpose of this article to elucidate no further reference need be made to them.”

Note: This region of Virginia is now West Virginia, and the village is now named Middleway.

online book: https://archive.org/details/mysteryofwizardc00fino/page/n13/mode/2up

#the wizard clip #ghost story #poltergeist #halloween #middleway

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leonstamatis · 3 years

Text

(another one for @blaseballwipamnesty - i started a 12x100 for beck whitney/silvaire roadhouse ages ago and just never finished it because of. well. you know. here’s five scenes, written in second person from beck’s POV - that style choice is influenced heavily by @fourteenthidol‘s dreamyjaylen fics, so go check those out!)

it is uncomfortable, knowing things have grown beyond you. neither new nor unfamiliar, but nonetheless shifting thing just behind your lips, bitter on your tongue and gritty on your teeth.

the garden you knew didn’t know itself quite so well. the garden you knew did not cling so tightly, did not lace around your fingers. even the sun is different now; you’ve left your broad-brimmed hat at home, not for the first time.

one place stays the same. a lotus sitting pleasantly by a pond, pink petals spread out like an umbrella. you find your way there, book in hand.

she is standing in your spot.

but no, not quite. you want to laugh at your own indignation. as if any part of this place is still yours, as if you have any more a right to enjoy it than she does.

she turns to spot you and tips her hat. the gesture is so practiced, so at ease, that you find yourself curtseying out of old, forgotten habit, hands reaching for petticoats that aren’t there.

when you look up, she has one eyebrow raised, the corner of her mouth quirked upward. you purse your lips to halt your smile.

her steady hands shine the metal of her pistol with ease, though you both know she’s had no reason to use it. there’s a difference, you think, between habits done out of necessity and those done for comfort.

her loose linen shirt reminds you of clothes you stole from your father, the way you twisted your hair into braids and tucked them under a cap. for you, it was a costume, ill-fitting but better for roughhousing; for her, it is a second skin she wears easily.

her fingers are quick, practiced. when you look up, dark eyes meet yours easily.

you tumble through the steps of a dance no one else knows, and your feet thumping the wood of the shed reminds you of things you’ve learned not to think about. nights spent twirling around in a barn, in a tavern, long enough ago that the years don’t merit counting.

with your father and your mother and a village that felt like family, you would dance until the wicks burned too low to continue on.

now, the lights don’t rely on wicks. you can walk her through every step well into the early morning, and she can follow dutifully after.

there is a familiarity to the debt. the revival, the cost; these are familiar to you, explained as you woke from what felt like a dream and found yourself in a life where your teeth want things your mind rebelled against.

the same teeth dig into your lip now as you press a hand against the pulsing, dark-bright bruise on your elbow. smoke seeps between your fingers and through it you can see her watching. your family, her team, stands stunned.

the calendar will remind you later that you’re safe, that things will mend. her lips will do the same.

#blaseball #blaseball wip amnesty #honestly i still might finish this sometime like now that i've read it over i've had some additional thoughts but #eh who knows i'm not at all sure #anyway #beck whitney #silvaire roadhouse #feel free to ask me for beck thoughts at any time this is the closest i've come to actually writing it out but i am not sure it makes sense #also i'm working on a different beck thing that might come out later who knows #aaaaaaaa blaseball etc #mine

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biggest-stupidhead · 3 years

Text

Freedom Seekers

Summary: In a world of dragons, the scouting regiment seeks to free humanity from the fear of the beasts. Dragon seekers fight for the survival of the dragons, working directly against the government and the scouts. Both fighting for their own definitions of freedom, but are they really all that different?

Word Count: 5.5K

The young girl ran through the woods eagerly as she chased down a large ram. Each step she took was quiet. So quiet that the animal didn’t even bat an eye. The sheep stopped in his tracks and leaned down to chew on some grass. She took her stance behind an old oak and lifted her wooden bow. Reaching behind her back, she carefully pulled out an arrow and noched it between the string and her forefinger. She pulled the string of her bow back until her thumb brushed her cheek. She closed her left eye and honed in on the shoulder of the animal, she counted to three before taking a slow inhale. As she silently exhaled she felt her body still, at just the right moment she released the taut string, which bounced back and tickled her face. The arrow whistled through the air and landed with a dull thunk in the ram’s chest. The animal froze and leapt a few bounds through the grassy grove of trees before disappearing into the thick trees. With a growl the girl pulled another arrow from her quiver and stood to give chase. But before she could leave her hiding place a heavy hand caught her shoulder. She whirled around in shock, her mouth hanging open ready to protest. But the air left her lungs at the sight of familiar amber eyes gazing into her own jade green ones.

“Frankie, I’m so glad that I found you, your father is livid.” The boy pulled his hand back and also took a healthy step back. Frankie bristled, still in the mindset of the hunt, which had so rudely been interrupted.

“You think I dunno that.” She snapped, throwing her arms to rest simply by her sides. The whole point of going on this hunt had been to escape her parents’ nagging. For the past week it had been: “Have ya packed yet?” or “Make sure to sharpen that dagger.” it was getting old, after having been away for a full year already she had grown accustomed to being on her own, having the liberty to make her own decisions. It had been bliss, but alas she had to return back to the village for supplies and to give a report, just as all the other dragon seekers must do.

“We don’t have long now, the sun will come up and it will be time for us to depart once more.” The boy told her these things, although she already knew this information.

“You really should try and get some rest.” He said, as she shifted, a twig snapping under his weight. The sound made Frankie cringe, Harvey never had been good company on a hunt, he was much too large to roam through the forest undetected.

“Fine, let’s head back then.” Frankie relented, knowing that he wouldn’t leave her side now that he was with her. His shoulders slumped with relief as she began to silently pad through the dense forest. The chill of winter had retreated, making way for fresh growth of spring, the forest was lush and teeming with new life. It was Frankie’s favorite time of year, the mountain that the clan called home was most vibrant in late spring and early summer, the melting snow from the peaks would cause the creeks to overflow and become insanely chilly. Frankie stepped onto the well worn path at last, much to Harvey’s relief, the village wasn’t far from here.

Nestled on the mountain was the small remote village that the teens called home. The small establishment had dwindled in size, only a single main road connected the buildings. The community was mainly hunters and gatherers, the mountainside was not rich in soil, making farming nearly impossible.Not many chose this lifestyle anymore when there was a large city not more than a week’s travel away. Norwich was barely even qualified to be called a village at this point. The old fashioned view that the village clung to prevented the citizens to linger for long, dragon riding was not legal, and being so close to the metropolis that was known as Eldia was not ideal. The Eldian Empire had doubled in size since the Marlyan Empire had been defeated and once more consumed by the Eldians. Norwich was known for producing infamous dragon riders, who worked to protect and preserve the dragon species, fewer than three hundred dragons remained thanks to the Scout Regiment. Frankie dug her nails into her palms as she stalked down the beaten path, Harvey close on her heels. She had been searching for her dragon for over a year now, going into her second year once the sun rose. The last crop of dragon seekers had not returned, meaning that they died in search of their dragons or were arrested for fraternizing with the creatures.

“I know that we aren’t meant to speak of it but-”

“No, I won’t tell you.” Frankie cut Harvey off, her words minced and sharp. He flinched and chuckled awkwardly, she was really pissed at him. She knew that Harvey was wanting to ask her about her travels for the past year, however it was highly discouraged to speak about the journey that was taken when searching for a dragon. It was meant to be a sacred link between the pair.

“You’re right.” he chuckled a bit dejectedly as the pair emerged from the trees, the soft baying of sheep and goats was filling the crisp morning air along with the melody of song birds. A shepherd was tending to the sheep and goats as the couple walked into the small town, passing by the cabins and lone barn. The sun was rising slowly, today was the Summer solstice, a sacred day to their people. It marked the second departure of dragon seekers, this year it would be Frankie, Maeve, Harvey, Killian, and Mary. All of them had already taken a year to dip their toes in the water in a sense. However due to their close proximity to the Eldian Empire they needed to travel a great distance to reach dragons. But it was customary to return after a year as frustrating as it was, in the old days it would take seekers less than six moons to find their partner, so it wasn’t as big of a deal to return in a single year. Frankie came to a halt in front of the humble cabin that her family called home, a few chickens were scratching in the dirt and cooing in the early morning light. Harvey kicked his toe in the dirt, sending a small dust cloud up into the air.

“Well…” Harvey chuckled a bit awkwardly as Frankie rolled her eyes as she climbed the steps up to her cabin. She paused on the top step and leaned down, her hand reaching for Harvey’s broad shoulder, with a heavy sigh she brought her lips to his cheek and gave him a peck. He smiled triumphantly and turned to leave, Frankie crossed her arms and shook her head as she watched him saunter off.

Frankie pushed into the house, the wood burning stove popped in the corner and her mother stocked the logs, her back turned to Frankie.

“Took ya long enough.” She muttered, turning around and wiping her hands free of the soot.

“I was huntin’” Frankie said, her words clipped as she moved to retreat into her room before her father arrived.

“Aren’t you always, it’s time you gave up on this dragon business, settle down and marry Harvey.” Her mother began her age old rant, and Frankie rolled her eyes.

“Mother my time isn’t up yet, I could still-”

“Enough of this talk, the girl is right Ellenor.” Frankie’s father lumbered into the room, ducking his head to squeeze under the door frame.

“But James-”

“She’s all we got left, the last chance of glory.” He interrupted, as he dropped his ancient hunting knife onto the table. Frankie stood tensely, she hated when her parents spoke like this, both pressuring her to follow opposite paths.

“We’ve already lost two to the cause, is that not enough?!” Ellenor’s voice was strangled and thick with emotion as she planted her hands onto the tabletop and leaned into James’ space.

“There ain’t much of a choice, she’ll die either way. Might as well die with honor.” James grunted as he picked his knife back up to clean the blade.

“You know I don’t agree with that.” Ellenor slammed her fist onto the table and James sighed before looking up. Ellenor’s lip trembled as she tried to hold back her tears, James reached up and cupped her cheek in one of his large callous hands.

“Nor do I, but it is the truth. Francine is the last of our line, our last chance to bring honor to our name once more.” James spoke slowly, Ellenor grabbed his hand and held it closer to her face as a few tears escaped her eyes. James looked to his daughter, who stood still as a statue in the center of the room. Frankie stood taller under his gaze, lifting her chin proudly and meeting his eyes with reserve.

“Aye.” She agreed, adjusting her quiver and hanging her bow next to her father’s on the wall.

“See, she understands. She knows what must be done. Besides, she’s already survived a year, at the very least she can live another.” James said with a nod of approval at his daughter’s resilience.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. My emotions overcome me at times like these.” Ellenor pulled away and returned to her chores. Frankie took her cue to leave and freshen up for the long day ahead.

The fresh air greeted the young girl's nose as she walked outside of her home for the first time today. She saw two teens bickering down the path, of course they were waiting for her. A smile spread across her warm cheeks as she ran down to meet her peers. Two small dandelions placed in her chest pocket.

“Why must we always wait for loony?” The tall girl asked, her back turned to the other girl as she met the two with a smile. The tall girl knew what she had called her, but she brushed it off with a shrug. Glancing to Harvey who kept his eyes down.

“Am I that much of a trouble Mary?” The young girl asked walking between the two.

“No trouble at all.” Harvey said, nudging the girl a bit.

“Are we going to stand here all day?” Mary asked, looking ahead at the road that led to the market.

“Calm yourself Mary, it’s not going anywhere.” Harvey said squatting slightly in front of the girl, waiting for her to take his invitation. Which she did flash, hopping on his back and placing her arms loosely around his neck.

“Can’t you walk Maeve? I mean you’re not a child.” Mary scoffed, walking away from the duo who just began to laugh. Despite Mary’s callous attitude she had missed her friends over the past year.

They walked leisurely towards the village. As they got closer, Maeve could practically taste the baked bread. The bustle of the village carried a familiar tune. Harvey leaned down and let the girl slide off of his back. Mary had already left the two, going off to find the younger group of girls that worshiped her words and held her ideals. Maeve's eyes searched the market for the boy she wished to see.

“He’s by the flowers.” Harvey said, pointing over to a tall boy who stood by a small cart. His strawberry blonde hair stood out to the girl. She smiled over to Harvey. He gave her a reassuring nod and Maeve ran off.

“Killian.” Maeve shouted, moving closer to him. The young boy turned his head and held a kind smile on his face. He met the girl with a smile, picking her up off her feet and twirling her around. They both held each other tight, his eyes looked worn but she knew he was still the same boy from before.

“I like your hair.” Maeve said after Killian had put her down. It had grown slightly, it looked as though he had chopped it with a small knife.

“How I have missed you.” Killian said, placing some of her ashe blonde hair behind her ear. She looked up to him, his eyes still held that golden tint. She could feel her cheeks turn red as she looked into them.

“I have something for you.” The young girl said, taking the small flowers out of her pocket and showing Killian. His smile widened as she placed one in his breast pocket.

“Thank you.” He said softly, reaching down to take her smaller hands into his own larger ones.

“Give me a break.” Harvey moaned, before turning to continue through the market. Killian chuckled and released one of Meave’s hands, sure to keep one held firmly in his grasp as if she could disappear at any given moment. The trio meandered through the main street, the people were bustling about in preparation for the evening’s send off festivities, streamers and banners were being stung between the townhouses. Stalls were being erected, goods set out for sale, children darted around the dusty road, waving small flags that had a simple dragon stitched onto them, the symbol of their people.

“Remember that year that Frankie stole an entire shoulder of beef?” Killian scoffed as they watched the children squeal with delight. Meave scoffed and nodded, recalling the memory fondly.

“Where is the thief anyway?” Mary asked joining the small group once more. They all looked to Harvey expecting an answer.

“We’re not exactly attached at the hip like Maeve and Killian.” Harvey said, gritting his teeth. The two young teens let go of each other’s hands, their faces growing visibly red with embarrassment.

“She must be around here somewhere.” Nave said, stepping on her tiptoes and grabbing onto Killians arm as she searched the crowd. They all began to search for the redhead around the lively village. Harvey’s eyes caught her first. He noticed that she was talking up a blacksmith. Who seemed to be uninterested in what she had to say. Harvey smirked at the sight of her getting worked up.

“Over there.” The young boy said, pointing over to the girl. The teens cut through the crowd, which split at the sight of them, the famed seekers that had managed to return. Once they reached the girl they could make out her words.

“-The hilts much too long, how will I ever get a proper hold of the bloody thing?” Frankie asked exasperatedly as she waved her hands about. The large man rolled his eyes and continued hammering the blade he was working on, drowning out Frankie’s words, much to her displeasure.

“Hey! Are you even listening to me?” Frankie snapped, rounding the anvil to meet his downcast eyes. He pulled the glowing blade off the anvil and dunked it into a bucket of water with a loud hiss.

“Fraid not little miss.” he said with a shake of his head. Frankie growled and abandoned the argument, as she whirled around Harvey caught her, a dopey grin on his face.

“Long time no see little red.” Harvey said smoothly as he held her shoulders, Frankie grunted and brushed past him.

“What brings a recluse like you into town?” Mary scoffed, giving Frankie a skeptical once over, from her ratty emerald green dress, work boots, messy hair pinned back into a loose bun.

“Where have you been, pretty lady?” Maeve asked, pulling the young girl into a hug.

“By the looks of it she’s been livin in the woods.” Killian said, looking the girl over with a grin.

“Nothing new bout that.” Mary huffed, but she couldn’t keep the hint of fondness from her tone. After all, these were the people that she had grown up with, trained with. After all they were her family.

“Can we just go now? I don’t want to spend the whole night by this blacksmith.” Maeve said, grabbing onto Frankies hand and dragging her through the market. The rest of the group followed them, all laughing along the way.

The group made it to the large field that stood right in front of their village. Memories came flooding back, of a simpler time. When finding dragons was something miles away, and their parents would only sing them lullabies and not speak of the things that grow beyond their forest. When people were just people, and not someone who you could wed someday. When they could just be children. Frankie sat with her friends as she thought. Looking into each of their eyes, as Mary tried to hide a smile. As Maeve sat in Killians lap and looked into his eyes with hope. And when Harvey sat next to her and talked about adventure. Her stomach turned at the thought of one of them not coming home. She knew once they got out into the world she couldn’t protect them, and what she feared most was that when it came down to it she would have to make a choice that she was not prepared to make. The summer day flew by in a warm haze of wildflowers and cool creeks. The teens all waded out of the large creek, feet sloshing in the crystyline water. Meave was the last one left in the rushing creek, she was doubled over, her skirt was beginning to drag in the water as she studied the creek bottom.

“Mary...Come look at this.” Meave said slowly, her eyes never leaving the creek bottom. Mary scoffed and rolled her eyes, but still approached the bank, the closest she dared to get to the water. She had been the only one to remain dry the whole afternoon.

“What?” The tall girl asked. Placing some of her snowy hair behind her ear and looking into the creek.

“Right there.” Maeve said pointing at the muck on the bottom of the creek floor. Mary squinted her eyes, trying to see if the girl was pointing at some sort of stone. But right before she could say she didn’t see anything the small blonde splashed her perfectly nice dress with dirty water. Maeve fell over with laughter, her flower filled skirt now getting drenched in the water. Mary swatted at her dress and tried to keep her balance. The rest of the group had engulfed in laughter.

“You disgust me.” The tall girl said, walking away from the creek and leaving the blonde sitting alone in the water. Though Maeve didn’t mind, she just looked at the sky and watched the sun set as she moved her hands through the creek. Letting her fingers move gently along with the small waves that the two girls had made.

“If you were wise you’d go get cleaned up for this evening.” Mary said as she wrung the water out of her skirts. Killian clicked his tongue and stood from his seat on the bank.

“Almost forgot.” He agreed as he made his way back into the creek to pull Maeve out of the water. Mary stalked off in the direction of the village, not waiting for her friends. Harvey draped an arm around Frankie’s waist and pulled her flush against him, her hand splayed across his chest as they watched Killian pull Maeve out.

“How could you forget about the biggest party of the year?” Frankie scoffed as the pair emerged from the creek, their clothes soaking wet.

“I didn’t! Not really. I guess I just...didn’t want this day to end.” Killian rubbed the back of his neck as he rejoined the teens on the bank. Frankie’s eyes softened, she knew how he felt, and she assumed that the others felt similar as well. The past year had been a major eye opener for them, violence within the kingdoms, unforgiving wilderness, they had seen it all. Frankie was forced back into the present when the sharp sting of cold water struck her cheek, she turned to see Meave shaking her head like a dog to free the water from her ash blonde locks.

“Mary was right, we’d better gather our things, the sun will set soon.” Harvey broke the silence, holding a hand up to his eyes as he surveyed the sky. Frankie hummed in agreement and untangled herself from the boy and set off after Mary. Meave followed close behind, holding her sopping wet skirts up to allow her to jog. The two boys walked back at a leisurely pace, having already packed the necessities for their journey. The girls reached the village first, splitting up to gather their supplies and get dressed for the journey. By the time all five of the teens were ready, the village was aglow with torches and a single bonfire in the town center. Men and women danced around the fire, casting ominous shadows over the town square.

Frankie narrowly dodged a small child as she entered the fray, a large swine was being mounted over the flame. People cheered as Frankie and the other girls arrived, wearing their armor, which was made of shed dragon skin of various colors. On the opposite end of the clearing was the boys, along with Thomas, a boy who was a year older than them. He had found his dragon. A young fire breathing type dragon, the creature had been turned loose to survey the perimeter of the village, a luxury that they hadn’t had for years. The girls crossed the opening and stood before the boys, shoulders back and chins lifted. Harvey extended his hand as the music resumed in jaunty tune. Frankie accepted his outstretched hand and the pair began to dance, Killian and Meave followed their lead, leaving Mary to glare at the older boy, who smirked down at her, his hand held out expectantly.

“Well Mary?” His voice was annoyingly smooth and the quirk in his lip made her chest fill with rage.

“If you expect me to dance with ya. You’ve got another thing coming.” Mary said, crossing her arms and turning to her friends who smiled in one another’s arms as they danced around the orange flames.

“You know ya have to.” Thomas whispered close to her. Turning her attention towards her parents who were looking directly at them.

“I despise you.” Mary growled, taking the boys hand harshly and walking over to the group of couples.

“Ya will be my wife.” Thomas said, pulling her close to him. His breath smelled of fish and his palms were sweaty as he took her hands into his. He reminded her of a bear, eager and greedy. They danced silently together, each of her steps worked perfectly with his. She was never one to miss a beat, each time they got closer to her parents they would give her a reassuring nod. Which made the girl lean into the boy more. Knowing that it would make her parents happy.

The rest of the towns people joined in, bodies twirling and dancing to the rhythm of the tune, the beat of music picking up pace. Frankie smiled brightly at Harvey who spun her, his eyes full of love. Frankie felt her heartbeat speed up, the surroundings becoming overwhelming quickly. The scents of roasting meat, the sound of the jaunty music and cheering towns people filled the summer night air. It wasn’t often that the village threw large festivals like this, mainly when the seekers departed and if they returned. The music paused and Frankie slipped away, leaning against a house, her chest heaving. She just wanted to leave already, back into the woods, she never wanted to return. The childhood home that she had loved so much now felt like a prison.

She only needed to last a few more hours, until the first rays of the sun peeked over the mountain that was directly across from them. Then the seekers would leave, resume their quest for dragons for another year. Or however long it took to find the beasts, men got longer than the women did. Women only got two years while men got their whole life if they so choose. Frankie balled her hands into fists as she looked longingly at the treetops, she wanted nothing more than to be sleeping up in them. She snuck a glance back at the festivities, people were swarming Harvey, who was pleased to feed their excitement by singing along to the music. Killian and Meave were still dancing, their arms linked as they spun. Mary was not too far off, clearly she was trying to escape her suitor, Thomas. Frankie was relieved to see that she wasn’t the only one feeling overwhelmed. Before she could reason with herself she jogged across the clearing and grabbed Mary’s hand.

“Need a distraction?” She asked, jerking her head towards the trees. Mary’s lip curled in disgust but she nodded reluctantly. Frankie led them into the darkness, weaving through the trunks of the trees and until they reached a cliff. The cliff overlooked the valley below, which was wide and teeming with life. A river cut between the mountains as well as another large field of flowers and a grove of trees.

“Don’t care for Thomas much do you.” Frankie asked conversationally as the pair sad in the grass, their legs dangling over the edge. Mary shook her head and scoffed in disgust.

“Or any man for that matter.” She quipped, her blue eyes scanning the redhead’s features. Her sharp jaw, the slope of her nose and the freckles that were painted there.

“I hear you...Although Harvey has always felt like the right choice….”

“The outside world made you question that, didn’t it.” Mary said, clearly understanding where Frankie was coming from.

“Aye. There’s so much that we have yet to see.” She agreed, her head tilted to look up at the blanket of stars above.

“And you? Did you find some clarity beyond the village?” Frankie asked, her green eyes turning to meet Mary’s blue ones. She inhaled slowly, thinking over her response carefully.

“Yes, but I’m afraid not enough.” Mary said after a moment and Frankie let out a bark of laughter.

“It’ll never be enough Mary.” Frankie chuckled, her shoulders shaking as she looked out at the neighboring mountain. The sky was turning pink by the time the girls returned, most of the people were too drunk to notice their absence. Frankie’s father was singing loudly alongside some other men as they waved mugs of meade in the air above their head. The seekers gathered their supplies in preparation for their departure. The village elders emerged from their homes and stood by the entrance of the village, the people migrated to watch them give the departing blessings. The seekers stood in attention as the elders lit sage and waved it in front of them, bathing them in the scent. They chanted in the ancient language of their people and the townspeople echoed the prayer.

“And now the parents and loved ones may say their goodbyes.” The elder said once he had finished burning the sage and the sun was nearly over the mountain. Frankie’s mother embraced her tightly, tears stained the leather armor that she wore, her hands grasping the bow on her back.

“Come back to me.” She whispered as she kissed her daughter’s cheek. Her father gave her a brief hug before patting her on the back and leaning down to peck her on the cheek.

“Make me proud.” He said, the scent of ale lingering on his breath. Frankie nodded and stepped away from them with a soft smile.

Meanwhile, Meave hugged both her parents stiffly, her mother pulled back first, her eyes stern.

“You’re our last hope Meave.” she said grimly.

“You mustn’t fail.” her father said, his eyes seemed to say that she already had. She had never been able to please her parents. She nodded stiffly at them and stepped back to join Frankie. Harvey and Killian both received warm heartfelt goodbyes from their parents, being the eldest sons they were golden children among their families. Mary on the other hand didn’t even say goodbye to her mother and father. They had said all they had needed to say the night prior: “Come back with a dragon, or don’t come back at all.” and she took it personally. She wouldn’t fail them, or the village. She would be victorious if it were the last thing she did. Once the boys finished they all turned and left, the village was rowdy once more with screaming and cheering as they marched down the narrow path out of the village.

“So what’s the plan, when should we split?” Killian asked as he tugged on his pack.

“I’m going north this time.” Mary said as they picked their way down the mountain as they had exactly a year prior.

“As am I.” Killian said eagerly, Mary rolled her eyes, but secretly she was glad to have a companion to travel with for a bit longer.

“I was going to head North east this time.” Frankie said thoughtfully as she tilted her head back to catch the morning breeze.

“I’m heading south once more.” Harvey said with a heavy sigh, he had been hell bent on finding a fire type dragon, while Mary was set on an arctic, Killian and Meave had no preference. But Frankie wanted an earth type dragon, one that dwelled in the forest and was one with it’s environment. She had heard legends from small villages in the north east of such a beast, one that lived in a cave deep in the woods.

“Still set on that fire type?” Meave asked as she adjusted her own pack on her back.

“Aye, I just know that I’m close to finding it.” Harvey said excitedly, his eyes shining.

“I’ll come with you, southbound I mean… I still haven’t a clue which type is for me.” Meave said, her face a bit grim at the thought of her dragon.

“Maybe I’ll go with you Frankie… Now that I think about it I heard a rumor that there was a beast in the mountains out east.” Killian said thoughtfully. Frankie nodded, she had heard the rumor too, but had no interest in an air type like Killian did, besides, rock climbing was not her forte.

“Ah so the three of us can travel north and branch off at Balivack.” Frankie said, reaching into her pack for her map, the rough sketch of the continent and the major cities were laid out before her. Killian leaned over her shoulder and clicked his tongue.

“It’ll be difficult to maneuver around those large cities, we’ll need to keep a very low profile.” Killian said, a frown on his lips. Frankie nodded in agreement, her eyes trained on the large forest that laid beyond the cities. It was one of the last untouched areas of forest on the continent. She vaguely recalled overhearing some low ranked soldiers saying that the queen was aiming to tame the land, if that were true then dragons days were truly numbered.

The forest had proved to be a haven for dragons and other mythical creatures. Thomas had found his dragon in that wood two years prior, he’d been the only survivor among his fellow seekers.

“Aye, it can be done.” Frankie said thoughtfully, she passed the map to Killian who held it up in the early morning light.

“If we make good time we could even visit the seaside, never know if there will be a basking water type.” Killian hummed, tapping a finger on the coast line before passing the map on to Mary.

“It’ll be straight north for me, I was so close to finding an ice type last fall.” Her voice took on a determined tone as she passed the map on to Meave who scoffed and passed it directly to Harvey.

“The southern dessert and the wasteland will be my first stops.” He said proudly as he rolled the map back up and passed it back to Frankie who shoved it back into her bag.

“Well we should reach the base of the mountain in an hour is we keep up this pace.” Frankie sighed as she turned to look at the trees as they walked past.

“With any luck.” Mary huffed with a roll of her icy eyes.

Sure enough in an hour's time the teens had made it to the base of the massive mountain. Frankie shifted uncomfortably, anxious to be on her way. Killian was sending longing glances at Meave, who was double checking her supplies. Killian finally stepped over and enveloped her in his arms. Harvey nodded at Frankie, his eyes soft. Frankie knew that he wanted to hug her but she had no intent on allowing him to. Killian pulled away from Meave who looked up at him with wide eyes as he turned to rejoin Frankie.

“Wait.” Maeve said walking over to Killian. She took off the small woven bracelet that was on her wrist. Killian held out his wrist, she gently wrapped and tied the bracelet around his outstretched arm and looked up at him. He embraced her again in a tight hug.

“You’re not weak. You can do this.” Killian whispered into the girl's ear. She gave him a soft peck on his cheek but didn’t say anything. Deep down she knew something they didn’t. The young girl walked back over to Harvey who still was studying the map.

“Be safe guys.” Maeve said, looking between each of her companions.

“Ready?” Harvey asked, putting the map in his satchel. The young girl nodded. The teens shared one last glance, a somber fog falling over them as they examined one another one last time. Mary was the first to break the tense silence, not with words but with her footsteps, her feet crunched on the ground as she retreated into the forest. Frankie nodded at Harvey, who mouthed, ‘Be careful’ before she turned and followed after Mary. Killian was close behind her, his neck craning to watch Meave and Harvey as they departed. Meave waved with a teary smile and Killian smiled sadly before turning to face forward. Harvey patted the girls shoulder before turning and trudging into the dense forest ahead.

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jaskiersvalley · 3 years

Text

Please, Just Once More

@fontegagrilledcheese and @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde you wanted a cry, didn't you? Maybe this will help. It has some Lambert/Eskel and Lambert/Letho with off screen major character death, grieving and dash of an unhealthy relationship. Mature content ahead!

CW off screen major character death.

Please, Just Once More

A Witcher's lot in life wasn't exactly much. For decades, almost a century Lambert raged against it. He hated it, vehemently cursed it and wished he could have been anything but a Witcher. But, then again, if he hadn't been, he would never have met Eskel. Or, if he had, he would have probably been just as shitty to him as other humans were. As much as Lambert wished he was different, he knew himself well enough to know he'd have spat and sneered like the rest of the world. Having Eskel was the one small solace of his existence.

They had a rhythm worked out over the years, meetup points to see each other. It wasn't always glorious, muscle aching sex. Some nights they just needed a cuddle, a warm body who could be trusted to sleep next to. Those nights were Lambert's guilty pleasure. And the times Eskel growled and manhandled him. There weren't many people out there who could make Lambert feel small. In fact, other than Eskel, nobody had managed to do that. It was a wonder in his eyes, an indulgence that neither of them ever acknowledged but still actively sought out.

Another little while passed while Lambert was alone on the Path. Some nights the only thing that kept him going was the knowledge that soon he and Eskel would meet up again. This time, it was in a little backwater village where one of the old crones allowed them use of her barn for a few nights. It was only after Eskel had cleared a rather cheeky hirikka out who kept stealing from her vegetable garden that they were allowed access to the barn. She's had no other way to repay Eskel. So now, once a year, they spent a few nights there.

Finally, it was time for Lambert to make the trek to the barn. Usually Eskel was there half a day before him and got things ready. So Lambert was surprised and a little disappointed to find the barn locked and dark still. At least it allowed him the chance to make things ready for Eskel's arrival for a change. Getting the key from the old crone, Lambert got started trying to make things as homely as possible.

The next day Eskel still wasn't there. Lambert did his best not to get antsy or angry, Eskel wouldn't forget him, wouldn't break his promise or their traditions. By the following day, Lambert was restless. Disappointment was hidden under a fiery wall of rage. He was going to give Eskel a piece of his mind when he finally turned. The bastard had probably gotten lost in another fisstech filled orgy and forgot about their arrangement.

On the fourth day the old crone threw Lambert out.

Anger fuelled by fear had Lambert blazing through the next couple of months with a vengeful violence. He seethed at the thought of Eskel skipping out on their meeting. As if Lambert hadn't made it obvious enough just how much they meant to him. It was rare to get a good fuck on the Path and Eskel had been providing that service. If Lambert kept telling himself that, his heart wouldn't break in two and he wouldn't throw all his training out the window in favour of tracking down Eskel to make sure he was okay. Eskel was one of the best Witchers out there, of course he had to be okay.

Another meeting spot, this time a clearing in a forest. Lambert made the fire, set out his bedroll and caught two rabbits. In the morning, the rabbit Lambert had left on the side, carefully bundled up was still there. Eskel hadn't arrived in the middle of the night and, feeling peckish, eaten it. Just out of spite, Lambert had the rabbit for breakfast, even if he was nearly sick afterwards. He had been foolish to think Eskel would come. As if he could have arrived in the middle of the night without waking Lambert anyway.

After a week in the clearing, Lambert was well and truly sick of catching his own meals. If Eskel couldn't be bothered to make an appearance then Lambert would teach him a lesson and not turn up at their next one.

He did go, despite his vow of petty revenge. Eskel didn't turn up there either.

Two more meeting points where Lambert spent as long as he could, waiting for Eskel to arrive. Twice more he was let down. Come winter, he all but charged up to Kaer Morhen, more than ready to chew Eskel out for being a dickhead. He could have at least sent word that he wouldn't be there, that Lambert shouldn't waste coin and time on a foolish matter of the heart.

The only problem was, Eskel never made it to Kaer Morhen before the pass closed. For the rest of winter, Lambert paced like a caged wolf, almost out of his mind with anger. The coward was just avoiding him, unable to look him in the eyes after standing him up. Well, Lambert would make the bastard pay. As soon as the snow eased and the path down the mountain was clear, Lambert was going to hunt Eskel down and give him a proper Witcher bollocking; with signs and all. In all his scheming, Lambert never saw the pitying glances the others sent his way. Or rather, he chose to ignore them because Eskel was alive, if only so Lambert could kill him as soon as they met again.

Spring was just around the corner, there were still patches of snow and ice but Lambert needed to go. He was going back to the first place where Eskel had left him alone and would track from there. It was one of the things Lambert excelled at, sniffing someone out and finding them; it wasn't all that different to tracking down a monster or a creature.

Working backwards, Lambert didn't have to go far. Two town down the road he heard of a contract that had been difficult to fill in one of the nearby hamlets. So much so, it took more than one Witcher to complete it. It had to be Eskel who finished off the contract, Lambert was certain. There was nobody else who could take on a difficult contract and come out victorious. If Eskel couldn't handle it, then the whole Continent was fucked.

The ground was just starting to come up green again after winter as Lambert stepped into the hamlet. He was given wary glances and people scurried out of his way. It suited him just fine, there would be no obstacle between him and the person in charge of the settlement. Knocking to keep an air of politeness, Lambert didn't wait to be permitted to enter, he barged in.

"I want to hear about the Witcher who completed the contract last year."

The woman gave him a shrewd stare, obviously weighing up her options. In the end, she shrugged, "Not much to say about him. Short chap for a Witcher. Didn't much fancy his chances after the big one failed."

Lambert's world stilled. Surely he heard wrong. He tried to smile and shook his head.

"I'm sorry. Did you say short? And that the big one couldn't complete the contract?" By human standards, all Witchers were large. It didn't mean anything that this woman referred to the one that failed as big.

He was given another once over.

"The little one warned us not to melt down or sell the swords or medallion. That someone would be by for them." Her eyes landed on Lambert's medallion. "I'm guessing that's you."

That was not at all why Lambert had come. He wasn't there to ferry some random Witcher's shit back to their home. Fuck, if it was a Viper or a Cat then he'd have weeks of travel. Before he could protest, the woman stood and walked to a chest. Opening it, she pulled out a carefully wrapped bundle that clinked as she set it on the table. Lambert had no time to refuse, frozen in time while the world rushed by him as the cloth was flipped open. Two swords, one silver and one steel stared at him. Running up the almost familiar blades, his eyes settled on the pommel that he knew all too well. Wrapped around the handles, holding them close was a medallion, a snarling wolf angrily glaring up at Lambert for his failure to come find Eskel sooner.

"What happened?" His voice was hoarse, a hand reaching out to run a finger over the sharp edges of the medallion.

"Big brute, scarred to Nilfgaard and back, took the contract but never came back. After three days, his horse was getting restless so a few men ventured out. Found him propped against a tree, still warm but without breath in his body." The woman didn't seem all that bothered by it and Lambert wanted to rage. She should have been devastated that the world lost a good man. "Probably wasn't quick enough. The other Witcher came along not too much later, said we should burn the body, accepted the horse and the dead one's packs as payment. Left the swords and medallion though, said he had no use for those."

Logically, Lambert knew that Eskel was dead before he even got to the barn. But he couldn't help but feel like he should have gone looking. Shouldn't have assumed Eskel was fine, should have believed the little voice in his head that whispered that Eskel wouldn't ever deliberately forget him. Rage surged through Lambert, he wanted to slaughter the whole hamlet for now helping Eskel, for not going to find him sooner. Humans always claimed they were better than Witchers, but they hadn't gone searching for Eskel either. They were just as bad as Lambert, true scums of the earth.

Wordlessly, Lambert wrapped the swords up again but he took the medallion, tucked it into one of his pockets. The last bits of Eskel. Whatever bastard had the rest of his things, had Scorpion had better never cross paths with Lambert because the only way they'd part way was with one of them dead.

Turning to leave, Lambert marched out of the hamlet, kept walking, no destination in mind. He just wanted to reach the edge of the Continent and fall off the rim. Eskel was gone. There was no good left in the world. Nobody to cuddle close against, no broad chest to press into and feel small. Bereft, Lambert sat in the middle of a forest, heedless of what went on around him. Grief stole everything from him, almost as though Eskel had taken with him all Lambert had trusted him with. His heart was cold, there was nothing left in the world that Lambert cherished.

With no purpose, Lambert wandered the Continent. He took contracts without argument, without thought. In a way, he wished that the creature that had bested Eskel was still around, just so he could kill it. Instead, every other monster met their end on Lambert's swords and signs. No kill brought him any closure though. The rage gave way to numbness which eased into indifference.

"Hello little wolf," a low voice growled at the edge of somewhere South. Somewhere Eskel had never been, so no memories could taint it for Lambert. "You're far from your usual hunting grounds."

The Witcher was large. Far larger than any other Lambert had seen and he'd seen a lot. Snarling, he bared his teeth, protecting his pack, keeping Eskel's swords safe. He should have taken them and the medallion back to Kaer Morhen but that would mean letting go of the last of Eskel. Lambert wasn't ready to do that.

Laughing, the other Witcher shook his head. "Don't worry pup, I have no use for your knickknacks. The name's Letho."

"Lambert."

A Viper who seemed all too entertained by Lambert's very existence. He was probably all too confident in his size being to his advantage but obviously he'd never met Lambert who thrived on defying the odds. Within moments Lambert had a dagger at Letho's throat and was met with a delighted chuckle.

"So feisty. Okay, let's play!"

It wasn't much of a fight, more of a tussle but Lambert landed in a few good blows before Letho's bulk overpowered him, broad chest against slender back, all that weight. Lambert couldn't help but go pliant, remembering Eskel's weight against his back. It wasn't the same, too broad, too heavy, too much muscle but it was the closest Lambert could get.

"Oh, it's like that, is it?" Letho purred.

Not that night, but three nights later Lambert found himself naked with Letho in his bed. If he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend it was Eskel again, the heaviness of a large body making the bed, dip. But the smell was wrong, the fingers too thick, callouses in all the wrong places. Scrunching his eyes shut, Lambert tried to will his memories into reality.

"You're going to feel so good split open on my cock."

It was the wrong voice and Lambert growled, "Shut up. Just fuck me already."

"Eager. I like it."

The cock that sank into Lambert was big, too big. Eskel had been large but not to such a degree. Wrapping his arms around too broad shoulders, Lambert's fingers brushed against oily skin rather than hair. Nothing tickled at his face either, no hair that escaped from being tucked behind Eskel's ear. Huffing in frustration, Lambert shoved at Letho.

"Hands and knees," he declared. It would be easier, he wouldn't have to smell Letho's scent, feel his muscles or miss the tender, crooked kisses he and Eskel used to share.

In the new position, Lambert could almost feel Eskel behind him. But the hands on his hips were too large, the cock not curved just right for when Lambert angled his hips just so. Still, he could pretend, even if it was for just one last time, that this was Eskel and this was their goodbye.

Once they both spilled, Lambert panted, head on his arms while Letho cleaned him up with his tongue. Not something Eskel would have ever done, his stubble too chafing usually for Lambert, no matter how great the idea of it all was. Instead, that weirdly smooth Viper buried his face between Lambert's cheeks, a hand sneaking between his legs. Lambert came again, whimpering at the oversensitivity of it all. There were bites and kisses left on the insides of his thighs, across his hips, chest and neck.

They fell asleep, Lambert small and tucked under Letho's chin. Even his dreams betrayed Lambert though, as much as he wanted, he didn't dream of being back in Eskel's arms.

Come morning, the bed was empty and Lambert sighed in relief. He stared down at his body, littered as it was with bites and bruises. Even those were wrong. Eskel used to leave crooked marks, the notch in his lip making the shape of his kisses so unique. Pressing on them, Lambert wanted to cry at how wrong they looked on his skin.

"Not to your liking?" Letho asked as he stepped back into the room.

Lambert shrugged, not bothering to cover up. It wasn't like Letho hadn't seen it all the previous night. It wasn't Eskel, never was and never would be again.

"They're not the ones you wanted, are they?"

The question had Lambert stilling, blinking up at Letho. Finally, he managed a small head shake. "You're not him."

Eyes glancing towards Lambert's pack, the two swords still covered, Letho nodded.

"I know."

#lambskel #lambert/eskel #lambtho #lambert/letho #lambert #letho of gulet #eskel #cw: major character death #cw: grief #cw: loss #tldr: eskel dies and lambert seems solace in letho

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clevercxs · 3 years

Text

Believer - Sigefrid Thurgilson [Ch 2]

[MORE CHAPTERS]

Pairing: Sigefrid Thurgilson x female oc

Word Count: 6.8k

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With dawn came an uneasy feeling of dread within the Saxon warrior. Her face, distorted with worry, belied her ethereal youthfulness. She seemed to have aged an entire decade in the day it took them to reach the fortress of Beamfleot.

Beads of cold sweat glistened upon her furrowed brows. Lady Blædswith found herself anxiously gnawing at the insides of her cheeks like some famished barn rodent - though it wasn’t out of hunger. She’d bitten her chapped lips until they were stained red like fresh blood upon newly fallen snow. Her fair skin was drained of all color except for the rosy hue beneath her windblown cheeks.

Dark rings had formed beneath her pale eyes causing her to look all the more ghostly. Once filled with such vigor and spirit, her irises were now dull; lifeless even, and heavy with exhaustion. Her body, bruised and broken from the trauma she’d endured, swayed achingly with the rhythm of Sigefrid’s steed beneath her. It was by the strength of Sigefrid’s arm alone that she managed to sit upright for the duration of their travels.

She was a lamb being led to the slaughter, or frankly something far worse for a woman to endure than death itself - the wrath of men.

Unlike a lamb, or cow for that matter, Lady Blædswith didn’t have the luxury of being blissfully unaware of what lied ahead.

For the first time in a long while she was completely and utterly defenseless. Above all else, she believed it to be the scariest, most unusual feeling she’d ever known.

And she hated every second of it.

A light mist began to fall from the sky awash with ominous shades of grey. The air was humid and smelled of a storm brewing in the near distance. Thick clouds of fog encompassed each horse and rider though they began to dissipate over time. An unmistakable roll of thunder rumbled through the damp earth causing the horses to feel uneasy once more.

Lady Blædswith firmly grasped handfuls of mane between her fingers and took as deep of a breath as her ribs would allow.

For the love of God, or gods, please don’t throw me off.

Barren trees shivered in the wind, their naked limbs often snapping beneath the weight of fleeing crows and squirrels alike. Eerie branches, gnarled and twisted, extended towards the band of Danes and their princess like the very hands of Skaði herself - the Pagan goddess of winter.

The shivering princess found herself retreating into the fur pelt draped over her shoulders for warmth. Sigefrid decided she’d suffered enough from the cold, though found himself growing fond of the way his grey fur looked beneath her dark, unruly curls.

Although Lady Blædswith was born and raised in Wessex, Sigefrid could see there was something different within her; something worth saving. He could sense a feral presence bound by chains that could never be tamed - not even by him.

Odin had dealt her a great hand, and she spat it back at him by defying all odds.

____________________ ➴ ____________________

The infamous fortress of Beamfleot was a rather grim sight to behold.

The surrounding field was brown with decay. Remnants of battles past lie scattered in the weeds; broken swords, cracked shields, dented helmets, and the occasional skull or two left inside said helmets.

Its cold, uninviting walls of aged wooden planks loomed high above the approaching Danes and stretched towards the gods. Stone watch towers encompassed by cages of sharpened wooden pikes protected archers keeping watch over the land; Sigefrid and Erik’s land.

Sigefrid led his fellow Danes along a narrow path and towards the main gates. “Lady Blædswith of Wessex. Welcome, to Beamfleot. Your new home... should you want it.” His dark eyes gleamed with mischief, the corners of his lips perking into a rather menacing smile.

Lady Blædswith shook her head with confusion. “I-I do not understand. I thought you intended to sell me for ransom? T-to my father?”

Sigefrid chuckled haughtily, “Oh, for a while I did.” He tightened his arm around her waist and pressed the entirety of her back against his firm chest causing her breath to hitch. “But then I grew to like your company.” She could feel every muscle in his core flex and constrict against her frame as he held her in place. Every part of her yearned to resist his warm touch yet she couldn’t bring herself to do so… and she couldn’t understand why.

“How could I join you?” Lady Blædswith scoffed and craned her neck to face the Dane whose arm encompassed her being. “I have experienced quite enough to know better.” She pressed the palm of her hand against her dried arrow wound as if recalling the incident all over again. “You must think me a fool!“ She twisted back around and purposely bumped her back into his chest.

“I do not-“ Sigefrid growled lowly.

“Then how can you possibly expect me to trust you so soon?”

Sigefrid’s nostrils flared and his lips pursed out of bitterness; his narrowed eyes seemed to burn with a newfound frustration despite the truth behind her words. “Very well.” He huffed. “Warriors join us by the day. With word of your... capture… there will be more; all waiting for war.”

“Against who?” She urged. “Mercia? Wessex? My father?” Both kingdoms, as far as she knew, had large armies of noble and courageous men… but the average Saxon warrior was no match for a Dane like Sigefrid Thurgilson. “Tell me.”

Sigefrid smiled wickedly from ear to ear and simply responded, “You have my thanks, Lady.”

As they grew nearer, a set of heavy gates were drawn open revealing the inside of Beamfleot. Lady Blædswith could hear Danes of all walks of life applauding their Lord’s fruitful return. Once through the gates and inside, Hæsten rode up beside them and nudged her boot with his own. She kicked him back, harder, causing him to curse beneath his breath.

With the sound of the gates closing behind her and locking in place, all hopes she had of escaping fell into a pit of despair; of defeat.

The two Danes proceeded to ride through the village, passing by mothers joyfully embracing their children and drunken men clinking horns of ale together.

“Lord.”

“Yes?” Sigefrid drew slowly out of exasperation. “Speak.”

“How does she feel? Warm?” Hæsten’s serpent tongue grazed over the bottom of his busted lip. His eyes dilated at the mere thought of his hands ravishing Lady Blædswith’s womanhood. He believed it to be what she deserved for not only being a Saxon, but publicly humiliating him and nearly taking his life in front of everyone.

“Rich, as she should.” Sigefrid leaned forward and firmly pressed his lips to the back of her hair, exchanging a sly grin with Hæsten before leaning back. “She is priceless.”

Lady Blædswith felt completely numb; frozen in time as the world around her faded to a blur. Danes began clawing at her legs once more and tugged at her clothes. No one knew of her identity thus far but some had their suspicions. It was clear she was of grave importance to their Lord, therefore she had a great value.

She remained stoic; her attention fixated on the large building up ahead with pits of seductive flames dancing in front of frostbitten Danes.

Hot tears streamed down her flushed cheeks yet she kept quiet; there was nothing she could say that would matter to anyone - assuming she could even get them to listen in the first place.

Lady Blædswith could feel each tear dripping from her chin and falling onto the dense fur around her neck, one she wished could shield her face from the dirty looks she received as Sigefrid paraded her around.

“I bring you King Alfred’s eldest daughter! I swear to the gods… that this prize will not be sold cheaply. There will be wealth and glory for every man here!” An uproar of cheering and laughter rang out from children of all ages, the elderly, returning warriors and even slaves who’d taken a break from their chores to gape in awe.

They hoped they would have an easier week ahead of them now that a new woman had been introduced, so they celebrated her capture without drawing too much attention to themselves.

Sigefrid marveled triumphantly at the celebration that had begun in his honor. He could hear his name being praised and chanted loud enough to be heard for miles, a sound he would never tire of.

After the crowd simmered down he was the first to dismount. His boots, upon doing so, struck the earth like the mighty hammer of Thor. He reached up and grabbed Lady Blædswith by her waist as best as he could without harming her with his hand-blade nor disrupting her broken ribs. It was a rather tedious task.

The Lord of Beamfleot decided it was worth the risk of impaling King Alfred’s daughter if it meant no other man would lie a hand on her.

By the hour he found himself increasingly selfish and greedy; hungry with lust and a burning desire of having a princess all to himself in the interim of negotiating a price for her release.

She carefully dismounted and found herself clinging to Sigefrid’s armor for support. The warmth of her hands seeped through his leather attire causing his breathing to hitch for a moment. His hand remained a constant upon her waist until she found her balance. They held each other’s gaze a moment too long before she cleared her throat. “I’m fine. You can let go, now.”

With a sigh, Sigefrid rolled his eyes and stepped back just in time for a friendlier face to arrive by his side. Whoever he was, he seemed to have missed the big announcement.

“Sigefrid? Who is this woman?”

“Erik!” Sigefrid clapped a hand to his brothers shoulder and brought him closer to see her. “This is King Alfred’s daughter.”

Erik’s lips formed an ‘o’ before he stepped even closer out of sheer curiosity.

When Lady Blædswith looked up she met a pair of gentle blue eyes underlined with kohl. He had a small, rounder face than Sigefrid decorated in thick scars and smudges of dirt. It seemed Erik had been kept rather busy in his brother’s absence. Below his button nose was a short, dirty-blonde beard bound by a single ring of silver. Similar to Sigefrid, his head was shaved at the sides and his hair was knotted into a short braid down his neck.

“How did you come across her?” Erik asked over his shoulder though quickly turned back when she answered for his brother.

“My men and I were ambushed on our way to Mercia. They were all slaughtered in cold blood and I was taken as a hostage.”

Erik’s brows furrowed as he gently caressed the side of her bruised cheek with the tops of his knuckles, retracting his hand after she winced in pain.

“She is unwell, brother. Who did this to her?”

Lady Blædswith looked around to see if anyone would try to stop her from confessing. When she looked to Sigefrid he averted his gaze and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Hæsten.” She croaked, “But Sigefrid stopped him before it was too late.” The mere mention of his name through her lips caused Sigefrid’s chest to constrict.

“Lady,” Erik took a step closer with his hands raised to show her he meant well, “I would like to see what Hæsten did to you.”

She scoffed. “You want me to undress, here, in front of everyone? In the cold?”

Erik nodded with a sigh, acknowledging the extent of his request.

“Are you mad?” She then turned to face Sigefrid. “Sigefrid you can’t let him-“

“I can, and I will. Take off your fur, Lady. Now. We want to see such a woman in all her beauty!” The eldest Thurgilson pressed firmly, asserting himself to the Saxon woman who so boldly spoke out against him.

Exhaling slowly, she allowed the fur to drape down her arms and pool at her wrists before falling to the ground. The back of her neck was scorching hot as hundreds of eyes watched her every move.

“I’d like that back.” The princess wore a long sleeved shirt beneath a leather vest tied in the back like a corset. Her chainmail armor had been torn to pieces and left in the clearing where she was ambushed.

“Now, your vest.” Sigefrid motioned with his blade.

Lady Blædswith slowly reached behind her to untie the laces of her vest but stopped halfway, wincing as pain coursed through her body. “Damn!” She hissed, “I can not.” Her hand tightly clutched her right shoulder as she cried out in pain. “I can not lift my arms high enough to do so.”

Erik’s brows furrowed with confusion. “Why is that?”

“Well,” She gulped dryly, “it would appear that I’ve been struck by a bloody arrow! So I will not be taking it off.”

“Then I will. Allow me to be of... assistance.” Hæsten cooed as he slithered past the Thurgilson brothers.

“No!” Sigefrid and Lady Blædswith shouted in unison, leaving Erik unable to determine who’d taken greater offense to Hæsten’s offer. It struck Erik that perhaps Lady Blædswith meant more to his brother than he’d let on.

“Leave us, Hæsten. Now.” Sigefrid dismissed.

Hæsten swore to himself once more and passed by Lady Blædswith, though stopped dead in his tracks after she grabbed his wrist. “You should have killed me when you had the chance.” She whispered by his ear. “One day I shall make you beg for mercy as I did. Only your Lord won’t be there to save you like he did with me.”

“Sigefrid needed you alive. He knew he couldn’t hump a corpse.” Hæsten sneered, only to be knocked off balance by her forehead slamming into his nose - causing it to break and ooze blood down his lips. Before he could raise his fist Erik grabbed him by the forearm and redirected the hostile Dane elsewhere. Hæsten brushed shoulders with the younger Thurgilson before searching for a slave to take his aggressions out on.

Lady Blædswith caught sight of Sigefrid with his bottom lip between his teeth, concealing a coy smirk of amusement as his chest shook with laughter. He ran a hand over his devilish beard before strolling towards her.

“You enjoyed that, didn’t you?”

The Dane shrugged. “Mmm….Maybe I did? Though Hæsten was right. I needed you alive.”

“So you could hump me, is that it?” She yanked him down to her eye level by the collar of his leather armor and narrowed her eyes. “You couldn’t handle me.” The princess hissed through gritted teeth and released him with a shove.

Sigefrid chuckled to himself after regaining his stance. “Oh? Is that right?” He’d caught onto the game she dared to play without realizing she’d awoken the beast within him. It was risky of her to challenge such a man of Sigefrid’s reputation, but she couldn’t help it. It was simply in her nature. After all, what had she to lose?

“It is. Besides, I would slit my own throat before bedding a Dane, especially you.”

Sigefrid laughed heartily, evoking Erik and the surrounding Danes to harmonize with him as they mocked the injured woman.

“I mean it. Lord or not, I don’t give a damn.”

“That is enough, Lady. Turn around.” She sighed and did as she was told, now facing Erik who passed her a subtle grin. Sigefrid began working the laces out of their knots until her vest fell open in his hands. Once it was discarded he tore the sleeve from her shirt to reveal the main source of her discomfort.

Sigefrid and Erik visibly cringed at the sight - and smell - of her wound seeing fresh air for the first time. She handled the pain better than Sigefrid expected she would, and by a long shot, her strong will to live had exceeded his expectations.

Lady Blædswith had the face of a beautiful Saxon woman... but the heart of a Dane.

“Sigefrid, if you value Hæsten’s life you will keep him away from me. I will not hesitate to defend myself against him. He still wishes me dead.”

Sigefrid narrowed his intimidating gaze into her eyes. He knew she was right; Hæsten, almost as much as himself, couldn’t keep away from the Saxon princess.

“I do not take orders from you, princess!” The dark haired Thurgilson growled. “You should be glad to still have your tongue.”

The sound of gravel crunching beneath the steady rhythm of boots caused them both to look up as Erik approached.

Heavier droplets of rain began to fall upon their heads as forbidding clouds lurked overhead causing some to retreat indoors for warmth.

“Enough, Sigefrid. We need to get her inside before she freezes to death.”

“Very well, Erik. She is coming with me.” Sigefrid roughly grasped onto the princess’s forearm.

“Wait!” Lady Blædswith shouted, tugging her arm free of Sigefrid’s calloused grip before pulling her torn shirt up and beneath her bra line for all to see. Dark, unpleasant blotches of purple and green had appeared overnight as the pain worsened. It looked - and felt - as if she had been kicked by a horse when both brothers knew the truth.

“You have broken ribs... Hæsten did this as well?” Erik frowned solemnly, receiving a nod from the princess as she covered herself up once more. Sigefrid took a rather possessive hold of her hand in his and squeezed it tightly to ensure she wouldn’t slip away.

“It will not happen again, Lady. You have my word.” The sincerity of Erik’s words was as refreshing as a cold drink on a hot summer day. However, she had to remind herself that he was no saint.

Erik Thurgilson was the lesser of two evils. Lady Blædswith couldn’t help but feel safer around him despite the fact that he was Sigefrid’s younger brother.

The princess mouthed a quiet thank you and passed the blonde Dane a frail smile before Sigefrid pulled her towards the Mead Hall.

“Sigefrid, you will not hurt her.” Erik demanded of his hot-headed brother whose mind was already made up. Lady Blædswith stumbled behind him in an attempt to keep up with his long stride to avoid being dragged through the mud.

“I will do as I please.” Sigefrid laughed with a smirk. Erik couldn’t help but shake his head in disapproval, now trailing behind to ensure no further harm came to King Alfred’s daughter.

“Try, and see what happens!” With a loud huff Lady Blædswith dug the heels of her boots into the dirt causing him to stop and face her. “Your hand won’t be the only thing missing from your body when I am through with you.” As their faces drew closer a single white cloud was formed from their sharp breaths intertwining. Suddenly she felt the pad of his thumb flicking over her bottom lip and resting upon her chin as he held her gaze.

“You have a sharp tongue, Lady.” Sigefrid snarled, his nose scrunching with vexation. She could feel the warmth of his breath upon her lips. “That will get you in trouble.”

“How fitting.” The princess muttered and swatted his hand away before he snatched it back it in his own. “That seems to be all I am good for lately.”

____________________ ➴ ____________________

A frigid breeze nipped away at her face and had crept beneath the tattered remains of her clothes, spreading across her skin as if she were trapped in the frozen realm of Nifelheim.

Her hands, tucked away in the cavities of her armpits, were painfully numb to the touch. Her pale lips had turned a bluish hue and her teeth chattered with the unsteady rhythm of her breathing. The nearest fire pit was just out of reach no matter how far she stretched her arm; it was close enough to tempt her like the Forbidden Fruit to Eve, yet remained unattainable despite her efforts.

Lady Blædswith fell heavy with exhaustion after frantically searching for a way out; a weak plank of wood, a loose nail… nothing. She had repeatedly thrown herself at the locked gate, crying out in frustration each time whilst doing more harm to herself than the filthy cage that confined her. Its rusty bars remained stationary yet they closed in on her all the same, and she couldn’t help but feel a sense of claustrophobia curdling within her.

A shroud of darkness had enveloped her broken wings, for Lady Blædswith was a flightless bird.

Occasionally she found peace by slipping into an unconscious state, only to be startled awake by ungodly booms of thunder or Danes clinking horns of ale along the metal bars. Even a brood of clucking chickens strutted past her, showing off their boundless freedom before Danish children chased them outside. Curious hounds sniffed around the princess from time to time, trying to determine whether or not she was to become their next meal, or perhaps just something to urinate on.

And by the smell of it, they chose the latter.

An overwhelming series of events had occurred in the mere day or so she’d been in the Thurgilson brothers’ possession. Evidently, the Saxon princess began to lose track of time.

How long had she been trapped here? For a few hours? Days? And how long had Sigefrid allowed his men to tease and taunt her whilst she lay curled in a ball, weeping as a small child would? Praying to her God who seemed to have turned a blind eye once and for all?

From beyond the shadowy gloom of the dimly lit hall came a tall silhouette carrying something. Lady Blædswith found herself scrambling to the furthest corner from the gate out of fear of her approacher’s intentions. When they stepped closer to the cage their face became visible beneath the chandelier hanging overhead, revealing it to be Erik Thurgilson with a fur pelt in his arms.

She had ill-heartedly anticipated it to be Hæsten returning for a helping of spiteful revenge.

“Are you ready to talk, Lady? I brought you something warm.” Erik gestured the fur towards her, receiving a frantic nod as she rose to her bare feet. Sigefrid had ushered everyone out of the hall and into the cold, barring the doors behind them. He then found himself drawn to her cage like a moth to candlelight, watching wearily as Erik retrieved a key from his pocket and opened the gate. He carefully set the fur down for Lady Blædswith before locking her in once more.

Collapsing to her knees with a gasping sigh of relief, the trembling princess wrapped the thick pelt over her body and curled into a ball, now teetering back and forth on her tailbone. Sigefrid and Erik pulled up a carved bench and made themselves comfortable for what they anticipated to take some time: interrogating the rogue daughter of King Alfred of Wessex.

“I shall t-tell you everything you wish to know,” She shivered, “b-but only if you release me from this wretched cage where I am to remain under your protection. I am not a damned chicken… This cage is rather small for a princess.” Lady Blædswith quirked a dark brow. She smirked ever so slightly and allowed her gaze to fall deep into Sigefrid’s lap, “I expected it to be… bigger.” She so crudely joked, catching both brothers by surprise at her sudden vulgarity.

Humor, of all things, seemed to keep her sane even through the worst of days.

Sigefrid’s eyes glimmered as he chuckled into the palm of his hand as he stroked the length of his sleek, raven beard.

“I like her.” Sigefrid cooed, turning to face his better half though his eyes remained glued to his Saxon prisoner.

“Perhaps too much.” Erik grinned teasingly, “Shall I leave, brother?”

Sigefrid shook his head and sighed. “No, stay.” He then directed his full attention to the princess. “I accept your terms, Lady. It is done.” He muttered, “You will be freed... And, you may be surprised how well such a cage would… suit your needs.” Sigefrid smirked devilishly at the witty Saxon, displaying teeth as sharp and frightening as knives. Her heart seemed to beat faster in a dizzying manner that her breathing could not keep up with.

How was he menacing yet alluring at the same time? How could she loathe such a man yet want nothing more than to be in his presence? To hear the low growl of his voice sent shivers down her spine in the most pleasant of ways. She craved the danger; the unpredictability of his Pagan nature. It was all so new and enticing to the Saxon woman whose recurring thoughts have been far from Holy. He was her enemy; her kidnapper. Sigefrid Thurgilson was a deviously charming Dane with an edge of mystery to his every whim. She believed if he had intended to do her harm, he would have done so already.

Her only dilemma was that she couldn’t bring herself to forgive him for Lunden… not now, anyways.

Sigefrid Thurgilson held the power to decide her fate; whether or not she lived or died — and how. He had chosen wisely thus far, and appeared to see Lady Blædswith in all her grandeur.

Erik Thurgilson spoke uncomfortably,, “I must be going-”

“No! Stay.” Lady Blædswith chirped. “I am ready to talk… But only to you, Erik. You have shown me a great kindness.” She directed at the blonde Thurgilson. “As for your brother… not so much. He is the reason I almost died at Hæsten’s hand.” She spat at him through the cage. “I will never forget that, Heathen.”

A loud stomp echoed throughout the hall as the floorboard beneath Sigefrid’s boot nearly cracked. “I am the reason you are still alive. Do not forget that.” Sigefrid leaned forward, pressing his elbow into his knees. He slowly unsheathed his hand-blade and sneered mockingly, “Christian.”

“Perhaps what my brother is trying to say is… we would greatly appreciate your... cooperation.” Erik grinned sheepishly as a low growl rumbled within his brother’s throat. “Where were you headed, Lady, with the king’s men? You said you were headed for Mercia when Sigefrid… found… you. Is this true?”

Lady Blædswith nodded with a troubled sigh. “Yes, it is true. I was headed North to visit my sister, Lady Æthelflæd. I traveled with my men; they were loyal to me, and to me only. And in return I led them to their deaths.” A light shudder rippled through her body as she fought the urge to dispel the meat they fed her earlier.

“To see the Queen of Mercia — yes. But why?” Sigefrid’s brows furrowed tightly together in uncertainty.

Lady Blædswith inhaled sharply. “I thought... we could be of use to each other. I sought her protection, and Mercia needs warriors with my skillset.” She feared she had already revealed too much, but there was no turning back now.

“You do not have King Alfred’s protection?” Erik frowned and rose to his feet, taking firm hold of a metal rod in each hand. He was unsure of what to make of her words.

Lady Blædswith chuckled and shook her head, wet strands of hair falling over her eyes, “No, no. Of course I do not. He is the one I sought protection from! For years I have drowned in my father’s politics but I have had enough!” She shouted angrily, causing both brothers to flinch ever so slightly. “I met suitor after suitor... they never stopped asking for my hand in marriage. Strange men; always foreign and often old enough to be my father…. or grandfather.” She could feel herself fighting back a sob brewing within her throat.

The Thurgilson brothers exchanged sour looks of disgust.

“I can not imagine what you have been through, Lady.” Erik soothed and leaned closer to her cage. “No father should force his daughter to wed, not even a King.”

Lady Blædswith smiled softly at Erik, though noticed the way Sigefrid had began glaring down at her. She felt almost obligated to explain herself, “I-I never loved any of my suitors — I couldn’t. I was always able to scare them away, and Alfred resented me for it. I humiliated him, time and time again, in front of numerous princes and lords… until one day he found a man most unafraid of my strong will…”

“What do you mean?” Sigefrid snapped resentfully. Erik could see a blazing pain of jealousy ignite within his brother. “Who is this man you speak of?”

“I am engaged to a Frenchman whose name I can hardly pronounce nor remember. He has…” She motioned to the top of her head, “...thinning, grey hair like a corpse! I have heard the servants’ whispers, and they say he is a cruel man. He hates women, especially women like me.” Lady Blædswith rose to her knees and crawled a few feet closer to the brothers, no longer apprehensive of their presence. “He remains in Wessex with my father but I doubt they will send scouts to find me. I may not be worth the trouble... But if they did, they will not succeed.”

“Your fiancé fears a woman so strong; so unafraid to will her own destiny.” Erik smiled and took a seat. “He sounds a cowardly prick. You deserve far better, Lady. A man who is your equal-”

“Silence your flattery, brother.” Sigefrid snapped with a harsh jab of his elbow into Erik’s arm. “Continue.”

She nodded and did as commanded,

“I told King Alfred of the rumors I heard but he did not believe me…. and God forbid I seek proof for myself - I knew better than that. The moment my own mother, Lady Aelswith, decided to support the marriage I knew there was no longer a life for me in Wessex. I no longer had allies; no loyal family left but in Mercia. One night, on a whim, I simply gathered my things and left with the few men I could gather…” She sighed heavily and allowed her shoulders to droop. “We later passed through Lunden and, well, you both know what happened next.”

The Mead Hall fell silent, only to be disturbed by the frantic pounding of fists upon the main doors and a voice asking for Lord Erik. “If you will excuse me,” He rose to his feet and slipped the key into his pocket instead of trusting it with Sigefrid; this did not go unnoticed by his brother nor the princess.

Although Lady Blædswith asked to be freed, and Sigefrid agreed to uphold her request, Erik knew she was safer behind bars where no Dane could harm her - not even Sigefrid or Hæsten.

Erik made his way through the doors and was virtually out of sight. Alone, in the wet darkness of the Mead hall sat a Saxon beauty and her beast.

“Why did you kill the man who shot me?” Lady Blædswith wasted no time in bluntly asking her most burning question. “You did not know who I was. I was but a Saxon woman, y-you’re enemy.” Crawling towards the gate, she rested the palms of her hands against a wooden plank.

“He acted on Hæsten’s orders, not mine nor Erik’s. It did not matter... whether or not I knew you were Alfred’s daughter.” Sigefrid looked up from his lap and appeared unusually calm; sympathetic, almost. “I have never seen a woman fight as you do, Lady Blædswith of Wessex. Not even a Danish shieldmaiden could compare. Sparing you... went against everything I stand for… everything!” He slammed his hand down on the bench beside him. “But you were worth saving.”

He then paused, glancing over his shoulder to ensure they were truly alone. “And I would do it again... without hesitation.” Sigefrid sighed in defeat, not wanting to accept the fact of the matter but it was true.

She was taken aback by his confession, unsure of what to say or do. Ever so carefully she reached above her head and took hold of metal bars, helping herself to her feet. The cage was barely tall enough for her to stand upright but she managed. “You still believe me to be worth saving even though I am in ruins?” She asked in disbelief and Sigefrid nodded.

She couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you for sparing my life, Lord. All day I have feared Beamfleot; you, Hæsten, Erik… and everyone else. But now I fear returning home, how foolish is that? Despite the unbearable conditions I have been kept in, here…. I would gladly choose it over the life my father has planned for me.”

With a grunt Sigefrid suddenly rose to his feet, turning away whilst repeatedly running a calloused hand over his face.

“You do not wish to sell me for ransom… do you?”

“I am… conflicted, Lady.” He turned around on the heels of his boots to face her, “As you are. I promised my men wealth and glory, but they do not see you are priceless.” Frustrated by the decision at hand, Sigefrid neared a long table set with platters of food and cups of ale, and with one big sweep of his arm sent dishes crashing to the floor with a loud yell. “Damnit!”

Now seething with sudden rage, Sigefrid abandoned the princess and strode towards the doors to find his brother, only to be stopped by her shouting, “Stop!”

As if compelled by the gods Sigefrid found himself immobilized a mere foot from the door. The princess sniffled beneath the pelt now draped over her head and wiped away tears from her cheeks. “Sigefrid you will not receive what you desire from King Alfred.” She confessed, knowingly signing her own death sentence.

She heard his loud boot steps approaching as he breathlessly snapped, “What? What do you mean, woman?”

“I mean you have the wrong daughter!” She sobbed, watching as the Dane before her grew increasingly hostile and agitated by her words. “I was never his favorite child, never! He cared for me once but my constant defiance has shamed him beyond repair. Why would a king pay a fortune for a disobedient princess whom he no longer loves? He does not value me as a skilled warrior like you do, I am simply a pawn. If and when he negotiates a price… you will not be satisfied with it.”

“Are you saying I should have killed you in the woods?”

“No! And I am grateful you did not. I thank… I thank the gods that you see some greater value in me than my own father, b-because at least I-I know I matter to someone.” The princess choked on her own tears and displayed her aching heart on her chest. “For better or for worse, I matter to you.”

“You speak often of my gods.” Sigefrid folded his arms over his chest and began walking in a circle around her cage. “Have you lost faith in your God?”

She squeezed her ocean eyes shut and nodded, fishing down the collar of her shirt for the wooden cross hung around her neck. She took it in her hand and yanked the necklace from her person. “He has ignored my prayers for longer than I can remember. He turned my own family against me… my own kingdom. I prayed to Him before I fought Hæsten… and I lost miserably.” She gently laid the broken necklace on the floor before spitting on it. “I could never bring myself to denounce Him, but I feel I may soon. Meeting you has been the ultimate test of my faith, Lord.”

Heaven lost an angel the day Princess Blædswith met Sigefrid Thurgilson.

When she opened her eyes she saw that Sigefrid had reclaimed his place on the bench, nursing his hand-blade, slowly working the buckles to relieve his discomfort.

“Who did that to you?”

Sigefrid glared up at her for daring to ask when he assumed she knew. “Your Lord, Uhtred.” Sigefrid groaned, struggling to free his stump from the gnarly contraption.

“I am… sorry he did that to you. I hope it brings you peace knowing I no longer serve Uhtred Ragnarsson.”

“Oh?” He disregarded the buckles on his hand and allowed it to rest upon his knee. “Who do you serve, Lady?”

She scoffed with a smile and leaned her back against the bars, “I serve myself, as hard as it may be to believe. All men who have tried before have failed. For a short while I was sworn to Uhtred of Bebbanburg. I fought by his side and loved every moment of it.”

“Why did you stop?”

“Well, it was not up to me. King Alfred welcomed the idea of his daughters learning to protect themselves. Growing up, Æthelflæd and I trained with the captain of my family’s guards, a man named Steapa. Unlike my sister who was married off to a pig’s ass named Æthelred-”

“-A pig’s ass!” Sigefrid shouted with amusement. “How fitting.”

“He is but a shit stain upon my boot as I have come to know. I fear no man, but he… he is no man.”

“Will you tell me about him?”

“I shall, another time.” She grinned and continued her story, “I pursued my skills in fighting, and once I was good enough Uhtred gladly took me under his wing despite my father’s wishes. Uhtred taught me that not all Danes are cruel and merciless. I am hoping that to be true of yourself and Erik. He seems a kind man.”

Sigefrid nodded in response to her compliment. “He is a good man. I would be lost without his head.”

“I have no doubt.” She teased with a mournful grin. “I wish I could say the same for my father - that he is a good man. It was not easy for Uhtred to let me go but he was ordered by King Alfred to do so. He took away everything I had; my freedom, my happiness. I lost not only my own blood, but Uhtred and his men. I was suddenly… alone.” She glanced at Sigefrid through eyes blurred with tears. “My sister is all I have left. God forbid she turns on me, too. I am not sure what I would do.”

“What are you prepared to do?” Sigefrid cocked his head to the side and attempted to decipher her words. “Are you prepared to kill your own sister? A queen?”

“Is that what you would like me to do?” She scoffed. “Would you kill Erik? Your brother? Surely not.” Lady Blædswith challenged, not able to help herself from feeling defensive over Lady Æthelflæd’s life. The entire hall fell silent except for the sound of rain falling in sheets upon the roof. Sigefrid shifted uneasily in his seat and allowed for his head to hang below his shoulders.

“I… would be lost without Erik.” He repeated quietly, craning his neck to nod at her before returning his undivided attention to the screwy buckles on his hand-blade.

Fascinated by Sigefrid’s troubling efforts the princess blurted, “May I see it? Your hand?”

Sigefrid’s face hardened with shame and distrust. “No.” He hissed and turned away from her like a stubborn child refusing his vegetable dinner. “You may not.”

She took a calming breath and knelt before the gate. “I can take it off and help soothe your pain-”

“Why would you want to help me, woman?” He continued to fumble with the buckles though frustration clouded his focus.

“Well… I’m sure Uhtred had his reasons but no man deserves that. Not a Dane, not even my father.” She rolled her eyes. “Well, maybe my father.”

Sigefrid paused with a grin, and looked up though his gaze refused to find the Saxon woman kneeling before him. “Not even a Dane holding you hostage?”

She gulped dryly and shook her head. “No, not even him.” Her eyes met his longing gaze and the world seemed to stop spinning; the heavy downpour even ceased to fall. “I will not hurt you, Sigefrid. I could not bring myself to.”

Sigefrid contemplated whether or not to expose to her his blessèd curse of an arm; his most loathsome insecurity that had only damned the eyes of his dearest brother. Would she see him as less of a man? Weak; vulnerable, even? The Lord of Chaos decided he was willing to let his guard down as she had done. Perhaps the gentle touch of a woman was all he needed. Though it may not ease his pain entirely, it would surely lift his spirits and remind him why he initially spared her life. He took great pleasure in her company, though not without dreading what was to come of her and his decisions left unmade. With a definitive nod he agreed,

“Very well.”

_______________________________________________

Author’s Note: This was more of a filler/informational chapter regarding *some* of Lady Blædswith’s background. I promise chapters 3+ will be more action packed. I hope this chapter was worth the wait! ;)

(FYI, reading all of Sigefrid’s lines in his voice makes it 10x better)

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