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betweensceneswriter · 4 years

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Island Hopper-Chapter 27: So Long, Farewell

Claire & Jamie head home, but unexpected surprises await them.

Previously on Island Hopper:

Chapter 26: Forgive me, Father… Jamie’s got a lot of built up bitterness toward his father.

ISLAND HOPPER (Jimjeran Book 2) Table of Contents

ISLAND FEVER (Jimjeran Book 1) Table of Contents

Jamie reached down to give my mom a hug. With her arms around his neck she kissed him on the cheek.

“I really do love you, Mister Jamie,” she said. “Your mama would be so proud of you.”

The look on his face was precious—an affectionate smile and a flush of pride.

“Thanks for opening up your home to us,” he beamed, with an extra squeeze and a slight lift that made Mom laugh outright when he put her down, her face flushing as well.

“You’re welcome to visit anytime, son,” my dad said, reaching his hand out to shake Jamie’s. He was more reserved than my mom but I could see his eyes twinkle as he put his arm around Jamie’s shoulders before we continued to make our farewells.

“I’m not sure I’m ready to let you go, man,” Seth said, putting out his hand to shake Jamie’s and then pulling him into a hug. “Who is going to pace me on my morning jogs?”

“Ye just need to find a reason to do your final film project out on Arno,” Jamie told him after pounding him on the back affectionately. “Then it willna be as long before we get to jog together again.”

“You look out for my sister,” Shelly ordered Jamie as she hugged me. “After what we’ve been studying in my global climate class, I’m worried about this upcoming storm season.”

We were waiting in the TSA line when John and Joe came rushing down the hall. I did a double take when I realized John didn’t have a bit of luggage with him.

At Jamie’s curious shrug and the question in his eyes, John blushed.

“I changed my flight,” he explained. “I was going to be flying back today, but I… we…” He glanced over at Joe.

“What the…?” I blurted out, looking from John to Joe and then back again. I’m sure my confusion was written all over my face, but so were my matchmaking suspicions.

Joe put his hand affectionately on John’s shoulder and raised an eyebrow at me. “You can stop grinning, Claire,” he ordered me. “I know you’re jumping around on the inside.”

“Are you kidding me?” I exclaimed, grabbing Joe by the waist and squeezing him, looking up into his face to see his dark eyes twinkling down at me. He hugged me back, and as I looked over at John's shy smile I whispered to Joe, “This is one of the good ones, Joegie.”

“Do the two of you want to stay with us?” my mom piped up. “It would save you the cost of a hotel, and with Jamie and Claire leaving, there’s a room free in our house.”

“Thanks, Robin,” Joe responded. “But this—” he said, meeting John’s eyes, “is so new, that might be awkward.”

“Well, at least come for dinner tonight,” she insisted. “I’m going to be going through kid withdrawals by then.”

My eyes were pricking with tears and I found myself hugging my mom gratefully. I knew that many of their Christian friends and colleagues were not as open minded, but my dad’s background in counseling had convicted them several years back that bigotry and judgment had no place in a loving life.

When I let go of my mom, I met Jamie’s eyes. We were almost at the front of the line, our family members having traveled with us through the weaving queue leading up to the security check-in.

“I've made a decision,” Jamie declared, as we pulled the cart carrying our backpacks forward a few more steps. I looked up at him curiously. “I think I’ll just stay here,” he said brightly. “I’ve bonded with your family, Claire, and I dinna want to travel on the Island Hopper again. It makes me queasy just to think of it.”

“Jamie, honey,” my mom said reassuringly, patting his arm. “You’ve got those copper pressure point bracelets I got for you, and you’ve taken your motion sickness medicine. When you get on the plane, take the antihistamine Claire has for you and you’ll fall asleep. You’ll be boring company for Claire, but you won’t feel nearly as sick.”

Jamie grinned down at my mom and put his arm around her. “Thanks, Robin,” he said. “I canna thank ye enough for looking out for me.”

“I’m a momma,” she said. “And you’re one of my kids now, too.”

There was a lump in my throat as Jamie and I put our backpacks on the conveyor belt and stopped at the bench to take off our shoes. I turned back one last time as we left the security area to go to our gate, and saw six familiar faces gazing at us, six arms waving furiously until we couldn’t see them anymore.

Jamie stopped me as we rounded the corner. I had let out a little sob, and he dropped his backpack and took me in his arms.

“It hurts to say goodbye,” he whispered, his head bending close to mine. “But how blessed we are to have your family so close.”

I nodded and took his hand as we headed toward home.

The text on my phone was as abrupt as the man himself. When does your plane arrive?

I shook my head in confusion, typing “7:17 pm” and hitting send.

Next to me, Jamie gave a soft snort, shifted in his seat, and then returned to the even breathing of sleep.

I will meet you then, came the reply.

Thanks, I responded.

You should stay with us tonight.

That would be nice. Thanks.

The Iroij and I have a request. Let’s talk when you get here.

Dougal’s final response left me disquieted.

Dougal and the Iroij? What could they want, and why the need to prepare us for it?

I had been fretting about Dougal's announcement for nearly an hour when a deep breath and expansive stretch from Jamie next to me announced that the antihistamine effects might be wearing off. He nuzzled my neck and then took my hand in his, drawing it into his lap.

“Jamie!” I whispered, “We are in an airplane, you goober. There are people around!”

“Ifrinn, that is a shame,” came his slow good-humored reply. With one final motion that brought me in lingering contact with his wake up show-and-tell, he released my hand and kissed me on the shoulder.

“Perhaps later,” he murmured.

“At Dougal's house?” I asked dubiously, handing him my phone.

He read over the messages, his forehead furrowing as he blinked the sleep from his eyes.

“What could they possibly want from us?” Jamie mused, yawning as he handed the phone back to me.

What indeed? I wondered, looking out the window at the never-ending landscape of blue ocean and the occasional cloud. I had to satisfy myself with the reassurance that we would find out soon enough.

“How were your travels?” Dougal asked once he had helped us load our things into the trunk of his car and he had turned down Lagoon Drive leaving the airport. The sun had set and all we could see was faint pink in the west over the lights of Delap.

“Remarkably good,” Jamie responded with a deep sigh, stretching his legs out and sinking into the front seat. “Even spending today on the Island Hopper, I dinna feel horrible, though I do feel stiff and sore. Dinna think I got off the plane once.” He glanced over his shoulder at me in the back seat. “As for Guam, the whole trip was brilliant. Claire’s family was so welcoming I already love them.” Before turning back to face Dougal, he winked at me.

“Any other news?” Dougal asked, unaware of the shade thrown his way.

“Well, my da called me,” Jamie mentioned off-handedly.

“He did, then,” Dougal responded gravely. “He had called to get your information and I gave him Claire’s phone number. How are ye, lad?”

“Not sure… Still in a state of shock, I guess, though I should probably call him before we leave Majuro,” Jamie replied.

Dougal didn’t ask any more questions, and Jamie didn’t offer any more information the few remaining minutes until we reached the MacKenzie home.

“The Iroij and I would like the two of you to take Perkaj home,” was Dougal’s request. He had restrained himself until supper, once we were sitting in chairs around the dining table with him and Revka and Moneo.

I shared a confused glance with Jamie. How was that a request that needed much consideration? “Well, of course we can take him back to Arno,” I responded.

“I dinna believe you grasp my meaning,” Dougal said, leaning forward. “We need you to take him back to Arno and keep him in your home for a time.”

“What about Maria?” I asked, confused.

“Aye, what about his auntie?” Jamie chimed in.

“She stayed for a week but then left,” Dougal explained, “convinced that the task was beyond her. She isn’t prepared to monitor his blood sugars and take charge of his diabetic care.”

“And his parents?” I asked. I glanced over at Jamie, whose brow was furrowed in thought.

“With several younger children in the home, I don't think his parents can be expected to take it on either,” Dougal reasoned. “But the Iroij and I feel like it would be cruel to put him in medical foster care here on Majuro, so far from his home.”

“No, that wouldna be right,” said Jamie, shaking his head. He reached over and put his hand on my knee.

“I agree,” said Dougal. “So we would like the two of you to consider accepting this responsibility. To have him come live with you for a time.” He paused to let the concept sink in. “We honestly can't imagine a better environment. You with your medical background, Claire. And you, Jamie, a teacher—close to him all day so you can monitor his blood sugars during school and coach him on eating and giving himself insulin. The both of you will be there to help him through the night and in the morning.”

“But willna he miss his family?” Jamie asked. “It may confuse him for them to just be down the lane.”

Dougal nodded briefly. “Mr. Timisen and I were thinking his life should be as normal as possible. We would like him to eat a meal with his family each day and play with friends in the afternoon. But until they are confident he is in a situation with the support to keep his blood sugar level, the hospital won’t even release him to let him return home.”

“Aye.” Jamie answered with conviction when Dougal finally paused in his reasons. “Of course we will help the wee laddie.”

I was still taking it in, thinking about the challenges of bringing a seven-year-old into our home.

I glanced over at Jamie to see if I could catch his eye—to see if I could signal to him that perhaps we should talk first.

Instead I saw him lean back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, on his face a wry smile.

“Am I to understand, Uncle,” he mused, “that as a married couple, Claire and I are actually better suited to be of benefit to the islanders on Arno than we were unmarried?”

Dougal’s generally gruff countenance softened at his nephew’s teasing comment.

“Aye, son, you’ve proven your point,” he said, shaking his head with a grin. “And I said as much to Claire on our field ship voyage—that I was wrong to judge her effectiveness based on the actions of one night, and that I truly see now what an impact she is having.”

“As I said, of course we will be happy to take Perkaj home wi’ us,” Jamie repeated, smiling over at me proudly.

By that point both men were looking at me in expectation. What other choice was there? We were there for the sake of the islanders, not our own selfish impulses.

“So,” I said brightly. “What do we need to do to get ready for a temporary son?”

Perkaj looked so small in the hospital bed. He'd always been a cheerful student and joker, his chubby face often in a smile. Now he looked shrunken and serious as the endocrinologist showed us the tester, the insulin pen, and the syringe for long-acting insulin.

I had done an endocrinology rotation in nursing school. Despite this, the prospect of learning to be a human pancreas was daunting. I held back, but Jamie instantly sat down by the boy, taking his hand in his and talking to him in Marshallese. Perkaj answered his questions in a small voice, and Jamie kept up a constant stream of conversation until the doctor was ready to continue.

“Go ahead and speak to him in Majel,” Jamie directed the doctor. “I’ll translate for Claire.”

I appreciated how Dr Langenbelik also sat down at Perkaj’s level to show him the insulin pen as he told us they’d already administered his long-acting insulin for the day, the dose given each morning to provide a baseline level of insulin in the bloodstream for the day. As we were talking, a breakfast tray arrived from the cafeteria. On it was a range of island menu staples—a small bowl of rice, a piece of grilled fish, some baked breadfruit, sliced papaya, and two white flour pancakes.

“Knowing how much insulin to take with each meal is very important,” the doctor was telling Perkaj. “You need to get good at counting your carbs.”

The doctor cupped his hand and held it up in front of Perkaj.

“That’s about a half cup,” Jamie translated in a whispered aside, “That is the size of a serving of food.” He stopped and listened as the doctor explained while pointing to the items on the tray, then turned back to interpret for me. “A half cup of anything sweet or starchy—rice or pancakes, fruit or breadfruit—takes one unit of insulin to enter the cells of the body. With each meal Perkaj eats, he needs to figure out how many servings he is eating, and then he will give himself the short-acting insulin.”

“Or we can help him until he is ready to do it,” I suggested.

“Before eating anything, ledrik,” the doctor said to Perkaj, who was eyeing the food hungrily, “You need to test your blood sugar. If you are high, you need to add an extra ____ units for each ____ points too high. If you are too low, you need to adjust the insulin down slightly.”

Perkaj leaned back, deflated.

“Dinna worry, Perkaj,” Jamie encouraged. “It shouldn’t take long.”

“It’s time,” the doctor said to us. “I’m going to step back and observe as you help Perkaj with this meal.”

Jamie and I exchanged wide-eyed glances, then nodded at each other to fortify our confidence.

“Ready?” Jamie asked the young boy. Perkaj nodded his head, sitting back up and looking eagerly at the food. “First we should have you test your blood sugar. Can you do that?”

With one false start and wincing as he did it, Perkaj was able to poke his fingertip with the lancet to get his blood sugar reading. It was right on target, so as the boy looked over his plate, Jamie coached him to count the carbohydrate servings, which Perkaj adorably did by counting on his fingers.

“Enana keine” he said, making a face after a tiny taste of pancake. “I eat the kappokpok, the keinabbu, the feesh, and the rice. That is tree carbs. No carb for feesh.” He looked around the tray curiously, questioning, “Is there salt? Or soy sauce?”

Once Perkaj had decided what he was hungry for, it was time to administer the short-acting insulin. Jamie tried to hand the pen off to me, but I forced it back into his palm. “You need to do it,” I insisted at his surprise. “I know how to give injections. You’re the one who needs practice!” He conceded with wide eyes and a reluctant sigh.

I coached Jamie with the insulin pen, watching as he turned the end of the cylinder until it clicked three times, one for each carb serving—the rice, the breadfruit, and the papaya.

“But I don’t want to hurt him,” Jamie objected when I pulled up Perkaj’s sleeve and exposed the back of his arm where Jamie was to give him the injection.

“Is okay, Meester Shamie,” Perkaj said reassuringly, bravely squaring his jaw as Jamie did the same, looking away as Jamie firmly jabbed the needle into the boy’s arm and pressed the plunger to dispense the insulin units into his bloodstream.

Jamie shuddered when it was done, murmuring “Jolok bod,” to Perkaj.

“Echelok bod, Meester Shamie,” Perkaj said cheerily. “You did bery good. Emetak only jiddik.”

Dr. Langenbelik approached, a smile on his face. “Excellent,” he said. “Now eat your breakfast, Perkaj—we want to make sure there are carbohydrates in your body when the insulin is in your bloodstream.”

Perkaj seemed hungry and grateful to get food in his system again. As he ate, the doctor turned and talked to the two of us quietly.

“Our goal is to get Perkaj trained to take on his diabetic care himself. Until he does, though, I am grateful that the two of you are willing to take on the responsibility. Not every young person diagnosed with type 1 has family members who feel ready to help them get through the learning process.”

“I don’t feel ready,” Jamie said to the doctor. “But I dinna think we have much choice.”

We took shifts staying with Perkaj during the twenty-four hours before the Jolok boat was to take us home. I stayed with him while Jamie went to the hardware store to buy the last of the things he needed for the solar still and storm-proofing our house. I had taken one of Revka’s books with me and spent several hours reading Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone to Perkaj.

Jamie arrived, giving me a quick hug before going right to Perkaj’s bedside. He picked up where I left off with the book while I went to do our grocery shopping for fresh produce and dry goods for the next few weeks.

“Our blood sugar is right on target!” Jamie announced when I returned to the hospital in the late afternoon after dropping off the food boxes at Dougal’s house. He showed me the little notebook where they had marked down Perkaj’s pre-meal blood sugar level, the amount of insulin, the number of servings he had eaten, and then the mid-afternoon blood sugar level.

Perkaj seemed to be tired by then, but Jamie continued to sit by his bed holding his hand as the boy’s eyes repeatedly blinked and then closed.

I stood behind Jamie, massaging his shoulders as I watched the little boy sleeping.

“Not exactly what you pictured as your first child, is he?” Jamie whispered, rolling his head back and forth and groaning as I hit tight muscles.

“A little bigger than I expected,” I joked, smiling as Jamie grabbed my hand and kissed it.

“Are you okay with this?” Jamie asked, turning to look up at me. “I'm the one who deals with kids most of the time. You want a baby, but our baby. This is different, to be sure.”

“I’m terrified, honestly,” I responded, leaning forward and putting my arms around Jamie’s shoulders, my cheek against his as we both stared at Perkaj. “I know we’re capable, but this is such a responsibility.”

I could feel a lump growing in my throat and I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. “And I was so looking forward to being alone again.”

Jamie chuckled and brought his hands up to rest on my arms. “That day will come.” He pressed his cheek against mine as he looked at the little dark-haired form in front of us. “This will just be a season, like your da said.” He took a breath and then began hesitantly. “Now, I was thinking Perkaj will do better if he doesna wake up all alone. Can I stay here wi’ him tonight?”

“Of course,” I responded.

“So do you want to stay here wi’ us, or go to Dougal’s house?”

“Dougal will need their car in the morning,” I said with a sigh, looking at the narrow guest couch edging the window. “And all our groceries are there at their house. I’ll need to pack them up before we come to pick Perkaj up for the ride on the Jolok boat.”

“I’ll see you in the morning, then?” he asked. As he stood and took me in his arms I closed my eyes, breathing in his familiar scent, listening to the reassuring thump of his heart.

“Yes,” I sighed. Then I reached up, pulled his face down to mine and kissed him thoroughly.

He chuckled. “Trying to make me regret my choice?”

“No,” I answered. “I just love you.”

When I left the room I looked back—pausing just to watch Jamie sitting in the chair next to the bed, leaning his arms on the railing and looking down at the dark-haired form covered by a thin blue blanket.

On to Chapter 28: Just Add Water

Certain things are instant. Not usually sons.

#Jimjeran #BetweenScenes #Outlander fanfic #Claire x Jamie #Carlie x Campbell #Island Hopper #Book Two #Meet Perkaj (Fergus)

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jovialyouthmusic · 4 years

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Past Times

A Regency Period Romance

Okay, so this really has nothing to do with TRR any more apart from some names and maybe that it’s all going in in either Bastien or Sophia’s imagination, but if you’re interested, here is the next chapter. Elizabeth has to convince her father that Duncan is not a suitable match

Word Count 3653

A/N This will eventually get smutty, but for now - no warnings.

1 Breaking Off

When the gentlemen had rejoined the ladies in the drawing room, Elizabeth feigned surprise at seeing Captain Lykel holding the book he had selected from the library and had used it as an excuse to converse with him. She rebuffed any attempts by Duncan to engage her, inwardly boiling with rage at the memory of how he had revealed what he truly thought of women.

‘Captain Lykel, you must have visited some exotic places with the Navy.’ her mother enquired, seeing that he was spending a little too much time alone with her daughter.

‘Indeed I have, Lady Charlotte, though I fear seafaring is becoming much more dangerous with French privateers becoming bolder. They would not dare to venture close to our fair capital though, you may have no fear of that.’

‘I would love to hear of your travels.’ Elizabeth interjected. ‘I have a particular interest in far off places.’ Her father cleared his throat.

‘I fear the hour is late.’ he announced. ‘Pleasant as it has been to entertain you all, the time has come for my family to retire. Gentlemen, Walker has your coats ready against the chill of the evening air. I hope to see you all again in the near future.’ His manservant, who doubled as butler, nodded from the door of the drawing room, and the gathering dispersed. Elizabeth’s mother drew her aside.

‘What ails you, Lizzy? You were very cool toward poor Duncan.’ she chided her. ‘and you paid far too much attention to the Captain.’ Elizabeth swallowed. She feared to tell her mother she had been unchaperoned when she overheard her fiancé talking so crudely, or reveal she had briefly been alone with the Captain. But she hated to tell a falsehood, and she didn’t wish to continue with her courtship, so she must tell her something. Omission was far less a sin than lying, she decided.

‘Oh mother, what will you think of me?’ she said, casting her gaze to the floor. ‘I hid myself behind the curtains in the library to surprise Duncan.’

‘Lizzy, that was most improper! You said you had gone to retrieve your handkerchief.’ Her mother was disappointed, she could tell. ‘You should have sent Jane to fetch it’

‘I’m so sorry Mama. I promise you I did not reveal myself to him or his friends’ This was not untrue, but she was not going to tell her of the Captain discovering her. But her mother was nothing if not observant.

‘So what occurred in the library? You were very cool toward Duncan.’

‘Oh mother’ she swallowed hard. ‘I overheard him talking of things that changed my opinion of him. Such impropriety – it was shocking.’

‘My dear girl’ her mother took her hand. ‘You must tell me instantly’

‘He spoke…’ her voice broke. ‘he spoke of visiting women of ill repute.’ Her mother’s face blanched.

‘Lizzy…’ she was shocked, and it was a while before she spoke again. ‘young men do such things, I am afraid. I am sure when you are married that will come to an end.’

‘But mother, that wasn’t all.’ she said quietly, gathering her courage. ‘He spoke so of women, saying they are fit only for bearing children and managing the house. I fear he will not respect me or treat me as an equal.’

‘My poor girl.’ her mother shook her head. ‘For many women that is the case, but he is of good family and has an income that will support you well.’ Anger rose in the young woman’s breast.

‘I refuse to accept him as husband.’ she said defiantly. ‘I will tell Father so in the morning’

‘Lizzy!’ her mother cried, but one look at her daughter’s face and she knew she was determined. She sighed. A first refusal would not damage her daughter’s reputation very much and there were many other eligible young men in the city. That of course was the reason they had moved their household from their country estate. ‘Very well. I will talk to your father and warn him of your thoughts. But I cannot guarantee his opinion on the matter.’

Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief. She had not revealed her brief encounter with the Captain, and hopefully her mother would smooth the way for her to break off her engagement.

‘Thank you mother.’ she breathed ‘I feel most earnestly on the matter.’

‘We shall see what tomorrow brings.’ Lady Charlotte said. ‘Now go to bed, your complexion will benefit from rest. Goodnight, daughter.’

------

Elizabeth rose the day after the dinner party, and the maid, Jane, helped her to dress for breakfast. Later that afternoon she was to go to her dancing lesson, and Walker would accompany her, walking if the weather was fair, which it seemed set to be. Although she found lessons tedious, the opportunity to get out into the fresh air was pleasing, and she always made sure she was ready in good time so they did not have to rush.

But for now, she needed to speak to her father. She had breakfast with her mother and sister – Sir James was in the library going over some figures, so Jane was despatched to enquire whether he was ready to receive her. She didn’t have to wait long before she was called.

Sher father’s face was grave when she entered, curtseying as was appropriate now that she was of marriageable age. Gone were the days of running into her papa’s arms for a warm embrace. Such shows of affection were only for children, and now the most she might expect was a fond look, warm praise or a touch on the arm or waist.

‘What’s this I hear, Lizzy? Your mother tells me you reject young Duncan’s suit.’ he said sternly ‘not only that, but I gather you engineered to be alone with him beforehand.’

‘I am sorry Father’. she said, hanging her head ‘I am not proud of myself, but rest assured we were not alone for a single second. He never knew I was in the window seat, I was well concealed from him behind the curtains. I did not reveal myself, as he was accompanied by his friends.’ Her father’s frown lessened a little.

‘I hope your experience served as a lesson not to repeat your subterfuge.’ He scolded ‘You are kept safe within the house and chaperoned without for good reason. As an unmarried young woman your reputation would suffer greatly were you to be alone with any young man, single or no.’

‘I am truly sorry Father.’ she repeated ‘But what I overheard Duncan saying to his friends has convinced me that I could not spend the rest of my life with him.’ Again he frowned, and anger showed in his visage. She shook with fear at his ire and tears sprang to her eyes.

‘Your mother has told me of the impropriety of his words and I am shocked to hear that you were subjected to such a thing. Duncan had seemed to be a good match, but money and reputation is not all.’ her father continued, but then his expression softened. ‘Come closer Lizzy, do not tremble, it is your fiancé I am angry with, not you.’ She moved closer, and he took her hand, looking up at her with fondness.

‘I see you are contrite.’ he said softly ‘and I would not have my Lizzy so upset. I will look further into your young man’s character. It is fortunate that your affairs are still at an early stage. It may still be possible to withdraw from your arrangement without damaging your reputation.’ She smiled, assured that all was not lost.

‘Thankyou so much father.’ she replied. ‘I know you wish for me to be well provided for. It is every young woman’s dream to be happy within their marriage, and I fear that would not be the case with Duncan.’

‘That may be so.’ He patted her hand ‘Now run along – do you not have a dancing lesson after luncheon? You will need to be light and sprightly on your feet if you seek another suitor.’

‘Indeed, father.’ He beckoned her to lean down, and he kissed her on the cheek.

‘Bless you, child. It seems only moments that I was holding you in my arms as a squalling babe. I can only do my best to keep you safe until you find a suitor willing to take you off my hands. I hope we can find someone more to your taste.’ With that, she turned and left the study, relieved that her father had been so receptive.

------

Sir James frowned as a serving man placed a glass of brandy on the side table beside his plush leather armchair. The front room of his club, Mackies, was a comfortable place to spend his afternoons in the company of other respectable gentlemen and nobles like himself. He preferred to drink and smoke in the wood panelled room while other men – usually younger than himself – frequented the back room in which gambling was rife. He himself did not care much for the pastime, as his town house was expensive to keep up, especially with a wife and two daughters to provide for. He recently had to sell some little used land from his country estate and he feared if he did not marry Elizabeth off soon, the dowry he hoped to provide her with would be small.

‘So, James.’ his drinking companion, Lord Beaumont, said. ‘you have doubts about the suitability of young Duncan Noble.’

‘I do.’ he replied. ‘I have heard that he frequents houses of ill repute, and it seems he is a little too fond of gambling.’ His companion scoffed.

‘What young man does not?’ he replied. ‘He will soon settle down when he is married. I’m sure you have naught to worry about regarding Elizabeth’

‘I am not certain of that’ he mused. ‘It is a matter of degree. I must discover more of his habits. I have asked my man, Walker, to make enquiries and discover where and how often he indulges his youthful behaviour.’

‘I suppose that is wise. You do not want to see your daughter’s inheritance squandered away, I am sure.’

‘Indeed’ He sipped his brandy. ‘It is telling that the young man in question does not frequent the gaming table in this establishment. I look forward to discovering where he indulges his habits.’

-------

On returning to his town house, Sir James was met at the door by Walker.

‘Good afternoon sir, I trust you had a pleasurable afternoon at your club.’

‘I did indeed. Pray tell me if you have made any progress in the matter we discussed this morning?’

‘I have, sir – I shall attend you in the library.’ Sir James handed him his great coat and hat, and went upstairs and waited for Walker to follow him.

‘Well man, spit it out, don’t keep me waiting.’ he snapped once the door was closed against eavesdroppers. Walker had accompanied young Elizabeth and her sister to their dancing lessons and had been busy gathering information before he went to collect them and bring them safely home.

‘The news is not good, Sir. I fear young master Duncan is a very frequent visitor at Mrs Reed’s establishment – and I am told he does not visit to give them charity, but partakes fully in the services provided by the young women there.’ Sir James sucked in his breath.

‘That is grave news, that house is not well regarded by gentlemen of repute. Did you discover anything of his gambling habits?’

‘Sadly, yes. The establishments he favours are also not the sort of place that respectable gentlemen frequent. They are very low and feature cock fighting and bear baiting, not cards and he is most profligate with his allowance.’ Sir James’s face darkened.

‘That is most unfortunate.’ He squared his jaw determinedly. ‘I feel I have no choice but to reject his suit for Elizabeth’s hand. I will write a letter forthwith to his father to warn him to curb his son’s excesses, and he may be able to improve his behaviour for another young lady. But I will not have him marry my daughter, as she has taken a dislike to him, and I must give some thought to her happiness. There is still ample time for her to find another suitable young man. She will be eighteen soon.’

‘Indeed sir, you are wise.’

‘I will compose my letter and you may deliver it in the morning. You may go.’ Sir James went to his desk and drew out a sheet of paper and got his pen and ink ready to write down his thoughts.

------

So it was that the engagement was broken off, and Duncan and his young friends no longer visited the house, though they saw her father in society. The house became a dull place without male company, and Elizabeth devoted herself to her studies, to dancing, to her French and to her embroidery and to playing the pianoforte and singing. Her favourite pastime was reading, and although her father thought it a waste of money to teach her such subjects as history, she read on the subject as much as she could, and was also often to be seen with a slim book of poetry.

She thought often of the Captain, but news came that his father had passed away and he was away from the city settling his affairs, being an only child and inheriting his estate.

------

It was some weeks before Captain John Lykel visited the household again. He presented himself to Sir James in the drawing room.

‘Sir James, thank you for receiving me.’ he bowed deeply.

‘It is a pleasure to see you, Captain.’ he replied. ‘I’m deeply sorry to hear of your father’s death. I trust you have been making yourself familiar with the running of your estate, now he has left all to you.’

‘Indeed, I have visited my mother and made sure she is comfortable at the manor. You may guess that I am able to support her financially and still have a comfortable income myself. That is of course dependant on my being able to manage the estate profitably, but I have my Navy pension as well.’

‘Of course, of course. Society expects much of men such as you and I and there are expenses to be met if one maintains a town house.’ Sir James paced the room as the younger man sat uneasily in a straight backed chair, leaning on his cane. ‘Let me cut to the chase, Captain Lykel, and ask why you chose to visit me today.’

‘Of course, Sir. You know I was widowed only a short while after marrying my Georgiana, who died bearing a child, who sadly also perished.’

‘That was indeed tragic. You were away at sea at the time, were you not?’

‘Yes Sir, it is a great sorrow to me and I still mourn her even though it was some years ago now.’

‘I am truly sorry - childbirth is a dangerous thing and I myself have been blessed with a wife of good health who has borne me two daughters.’ The older man looked pensive. ‘It is a worry to me that I must find them good matches, even though I hope to provide adequately for them if all goes well with my affairs’

‘That is good to hear, Sir. You speak of your daughters. The last time I was here, your older daughter, Elizabeth, was betrothed, was she not?’ The nobleman nodded and sighed deeply.

‘That was so, but I fear that is no longer the case. She told me that she did not wish to marry him, and shortly after I discovered that he had been visiting a house of ill repute, and was gambling heavily. I could not hand my daughter over to such a man.’

‘I’m sorry to hear it’ The Captain shifted in his chair. ‘I was much impressed by Miss Elizabeth – we share a love of Burns and she questioned me about my travels at sea.’ Sir James smiled fondly.

‘Yes, she has a great curiosity about the world, and a lively mind. I feel she may not have been able to express that with her former suitor.’

‘Sir.’ the Captain shifted again, gripping his cane. ‘I hope you will not think me presumptuous if I ask whether you might permit me to court Miss Elizabeth. I much enjoyed her company, and as I have stated, should she return my affections I would be able to provide for her financially.’ Sir James widened his eyes in surprise, but inwardly he was pleased.

‘That is an interesting proposition, young man.’ he replied. He paced the room, looking thoughtful, and the Captain held his breath while attempting a casual air. At last he stopped and turned to face him. ‘You may certainly pay your suit and discover if she might accept your company.’ The Captain let his breath go, and allowed himself a small smile.

‘That is most generous of you, Sir. May I ask when I might be permitted to visit?’

‘I must check with my wife as to when Elizabeth is at home.’ he replied. ‘of course she has dancing and music lessons and such like, and she will be able to tell me when it would be convenient. I will send my man over to your house before the end of the day.’ He stopped again in thought ‘I daresay it might be possible within the next two or three days, should Elizabeth be receptive to you in the first instance. In due time we shall hold another supper and you will be invited, all being well.’

------

As it happened, Elizabeth knew that the Captain had arrived and was talking to her father. Her mother did too, and would not allow her near the window when she heard him leaving. Her agitation was almost unbearable, but she tried hard not to let it show, and made her best effort to concentrate on her sewing. Before long, her father sent for her mother, and she was left to her thoughts for an agonising length of time during which she got up, paced the room and wrung her hands together. Jane entered after a while.

‘Please Miss, your father wants to talk to you in the library.’ She dipped a little curtsy, and Elizabeth drew herself together, smoothed down her clothes and pinched her cheeks to appear more presentable before entering the library, where both her parents sat waiting. Her mother had a soft expression on her face but did not speak. Her father cleared his throat.

‘Well, Lizzy.’ he began. ‘had you a notion as to what might just have occurred?’ he asked, looking at her sternly.

‘No father – what did business did Captain Lykel have with you?’ She asked innocently. He fixed her with his gaze, and her heart hammered in her chest.

‘It appears he is much taken with you, and has asked permission to court you.’ She caught her breath, certain she would faint away, but she kept her senses, gripping the back of the chair beside which she stood. Her father’s mouth twitched a little as if he were trying not to laugh ‘Please Lizzy, do sit, I don’t want to have to pick you off the floor.’

‘Oh father.’ she gasped, and sank onto the chair, her legs shaking. ‘What did you say to him?’

‘I said he had my permission to call, but that it was up to you as to whether you accept his company or not.’ She felt tears spring to her eyes. She had hoped the Captain had not forgotten her, and it had been agonising wondering if he would call again.

‘Well Lizzy, what is your opinion of John Lykel?’ her mother asked softly. ‘Do you think you might receive him?’ Elizabeth wanted to laugh and dance with joy, but that would be unseemly, so she arranged her face into a tranquil expression.

‘I fear I do not know him very well, mother, but he seems agreeable.’

‘Good lord, girl, he is most eligible now that he has inherited his father’s estate’. her father retorted suddenly. ‘You would do well to consider him. He has retired from the Navy so you will not have to spend long months apart, he will be managing his business affairs on land.’

‘If you think it is seemly, then I will attempt to know his character better.’ she said solemnly. Her father sighed in exasperation.

‘You girls will be the death of me. Your mother tells me you have no lessons tomorrow afternoon. I will instruct the Captain to pay us a visit tomorrow.’ Here her mother spoke.

‘You know how to behave, Elizabeth. After I have introduced you in the front parlour and withdrawn, Betsy will remain as chaperone. If you wish to end the visit before your time is up, you will signal her and I will return to show the Captain the door.’

‘Yes mother, as it was with Duncan’ she replied. ‘I remember it well.’

‘Very well, things have been set in motion.’ her father replied. ‘I only hope that you regard this young man better than the previous one. I cannot afford to keep turning down perfectly good suitors for your hand.’ Elizabeth blanched.

‘I hope so too, father. I liked him well enough last time we met.’

‘Well then, let us hope all goes well tomorrow.’ her mother interjected. ‘Now then, your music master will be here soon, please prepare yourself. Perhaps you can pick out a pretty tune to play for our next dinner party.’

‘Yes Mama.’ she got up and curtsyed before leaving the room, feeling a little light headed and excited about the events the next day would bring.

#regency drama #period drama

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mo-nighean-rouge · 5 years

Text

Where You Lead- XII

Canon Divergence AU: Faith survived and stayed at Lallybroch when Claire returned through the stones before Culloden. An accidental trip to Craigh Na Dun turns life upside down for the Frasers once again.

Chapter 1 and Chapter 10 artwork by the wonderful @cantrixgrisea

Chapter 1/ Chapter 2/ Chapter 3/ Chapter 4/ Chapter 5/ Chapter 6/ Chapter 7/ Chapter 8/ Chapter 9/ Chapter 10/ Chapter 11

AO3

Shout out to my brilliant betas, @whiskynottea and @isitgintimeyet for helping me figure out what I was even trying to say here.

Thanks to all who have continued to ask about this one.

Chapter 12

Claire wrestled the dripping bed sheet – fresh from the hot, soapy water of the wash basin – into the wicker basket to hang dry in her small yard. Momentarily, she regretted declining Mrs. Graham’s offer to use the new machine at the manse, wearily purchased by the Reverend after a slew of hints from the persistent housekeeper.

Still, at-home handwashing was more convenient than dragging the entire load to the steamie in town. Especially today, with Jamie spending the day at his job-training (Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!) and unavailable to lug the wet things back home for her.

Claire had returned to work in the past few weeks, starting with just a few days to give Jamie a trial run of keeping the girls and house in check. While the stove’s modern controls still baffled him a bit, he could manage a few of Claire’s simple emergency recipes for lunch.

“Ye keep calling it ‘SOS,’ Sassenach,” Jamie had mused as he hesitantly flipped one more piece of toast in the pan. “What about it minds ye of saving ships?”

Claire pursed her lips in amusement, impressed that he had remembered that particular call signal from her stories about the war.

“Actually.” She smirked. “In this case, it stands for ‘shit on a shingle.’”

Jamie blanched as he stared down at the browning meat in the other pan. “Christ,” he muttered.

“The Americans taught me that expression, and later showed me the ‘speedy’ recipe.”

“Weel, I mind Mrs. Crook creaming beef a time or two, but I dinna recall hearing such crass language cross her lips.” He leaned down to kiss the offending feature and blinked at her slowly, expertly switching the burner off.

“Mama?”

Claire startled, turning around to find Faith’s blue eyes searching for hers, bare feet shuffling across the kitchen floor. It had been weeks already with her daughter back in her arms, and yet she still wasn’t reacquainted with Faith’s light footsteps and silent approach. While Bree babbled to her pile of blocks on the quilt spread across the floor, Faith had kept herself studiously occupied at the kitchen table with one of her sister’s books, worn out after ‘helping’ – which had amounted to her splashing the bubbles around in the basin.

“Yes, Lovey?” she knelt down to her daughter’s level, pausing to admire the flush that had come back to the girl’s cheeks along with the gradual return of her figure, belly promising to become a delightful pooch.

“Could I… hold the bairn?” Faith’s eyes were wide and hopeful, anxious of a request not previously made.

Claire’s chest swelled, another abundant occurrence in the last month. She stroked downward from Faith’s shoulder, then offered her hand. “I think she’d really like that.”

Claire knelt to greet her 10-month-old with a sloppy kiss as she lifted her into the air. They walked through the house together, laundry postponed at present.

Claire directed Faith to sit up against the arm of the sofa, then lowered Bree into her waiting arms. Nerves wound tight, Claire scooted close to her eldest, ready to intervene should disaster or conflict occur.

Bree squirmed in Faith’s hold, hips twisting as if she would throw herself onto the floor.

Claire registered Faith’s heart-wrenching little intake of air as she watched with bated breath.

Brianna must have heard it too, as she pivoted her upper body once more to study Faith, who stared back with frozen features. Suddenly, Bree pitched back into Faith’s middle, damp fist seeking Faith’s closest curl.

Faith sighed in relief, meeting Claire’s eye before stroking her sister’s back tentatively.

Claire lost herself in the sight, her daughters closer than they’d ever been, something she’d only expected to see in her imagination.

“A nighean ruaidh,” Faith whispered, the words rolling off her tongue effortlessly, drawing Claire out of her own thoughts.

“What was that, Baby?”

“Just something I’ve heard Da say to her,” Faith shrugged. “Almost like he calls us.”

Claire’s lips twitched into a smile, overcome. “I suppose you’re right.”

“I dinna have enough Gaelic yet,” Faith continued, brow scrunched in contemplation. “But I think it means that he loves us.” She paused in thought, then lifted her chin to meet Claire’s eye. “Mama, will ye have more bairns verra soon?”

Claire felt her cheeks flush. From the mouths of babes, indeed. While she and Jamie hadn’t discussed the idea of more children, she knew it was a surer possibility in their hopeful future. Meanwhile, they’d plenty of practice of late. The temptation was hard to resist when every morning they woke tangled together from the previous night.

She shrugged as she stood to cross the room, keeping a careful eye on the pair. “I think we’ll have to see what God has in mind, my love,” she said gently.

Reaching the corner desk, Claire easily found what she had in mind. She brought the large format Rolleiflex to life, pointing it toward her girls. She captured one shot just as they were – studying each other curiously. “Smile,” she called before snapping the second photograph. Bree looked up at the sound of her voice, while Faith looked startled before baring her teeth in an awkward grimace in response to the command. While the camera had been present in many of their daily moments of late, both were still becoming accustomed to the expected behavior in front of the device.

As soon as she had clicked the shutter, their pose shifted at the scratch of a newly minted key in the front door.

Claire glanced down at her watch. Five o’clock on the dot meant that she still had a number of chores to complete, but at least one more willing helper to get them under way.

________________________________________

Faith leapt from the sofa as soon as Mama had lifted the baby from her lap, bounding to the door.

She’d been greeting her mother every day when she came back to the house from seeing her patients. Faith wasn’t allowed to go with Mama when she made calls to the sick tenants anymore. She still didn’t quite understand her parents’ explanation that these patients could be sicker and more gravely injured than Faith was used to seeing. What could have happened to them that was more dangerous than at Lallybroch?

Either way, she was always excited and a bit relieved when Mama got home in the afternoon. After all their time apart, it was hard when she left even for the day. Mama didn’t usually notice, but Faith always woke to the sound of the creaking door when her mother tiptoed in and kissed her cheek in farewell. She didn’t want to miss those moments together.

But this was the first day that Da had gone anywhere by himself in a while, so Faith thought he must have been nervous. She knew how hard it could be to meet new people and learn new things, especially in this strange place where they had found Mama. So she wanted to be sure to welcome him back just in case he hadn’t had a good day.

Faith jumped high as Da closed the door behind him. He noticed just in time to kneel and catch her in the air, like she knew he would. He laughed, his voice deep with joy.

“Good even’ to ye, a leannan.” Da drew her close to him, a big hand grasping her back. “Have ye been helpin’ yer mam today?” They crossed the room in only a few large steps.

Faith was glad that he seemed happy, so his day must have been better than she thought.

“Aye, we did the laundry. ‘Twas verra heavy, Da.” Faith sighed, remembering the mess she’d made as she pulled her new dresses out of the wash basin. But Mama’s thankful smile and compliments had made it worthwhile.

Mama chuckled as Da gestured for her to pass Brianna to him, as well. “And to think there’s still more of it left!” she teased.

Bree grabbed for the collar of Da’s new shirt as she settled in his arms and made wee noises to him. He nodded back to her as if she was using real words, something Faith remembered him doing with Michael and Janet, not long ago.

Da sat on the couch, making room in his lap for both Faith and Bree.

Faith remembered something from earlier. “Mama, Da, I knew all the letters in the book I read today!”

They spoke at the same time, then chuckled together. “Show us!”

As Faith ran down the hall to retrieve her book, she turned just in time to see Da place Brianna in her swing and stand up to face Mama, whispering to her. Mama chuckled deeply as they reached for each other.

She couldn’t help but notice Mama’s silly little smile as their faces came together, nor Da’s hand finding its favorite place on Mama’s bum.

________________________________________

Jamie exited the lavatory wearing his new pyjama bottoms, steam from the hot bath following him into the bedroom. He paused to watch Claire as she sat at her dressing table, wrapped in her dressing gown and combing through her still-damp locks. The scene was so reminiscent of their everyday life in his time – at Leoch, followed by Lallybroch and everywhere else his duty had taken them.

She startled as they made eye contact in the mirror before her face slipped into a wide smile.

His breath caught. He’d surely just witnessed her remember their reunion for the hundredth time, each ever sweeter than before.

Jamie crossed the room in only a few steps, reaching for the comb to take over her task.

Claire’s head lolled back and her eyes slipped shut as his hands worked into her curls, squeezing out a few more water droplets. “So, how was the first…” she paused her inquiry to make a breathy wee noise that nearly drove him to distraction. “… day?”

“I must say it was a bit overwhelming at first, Sassenach,” he muttered. “I’m grateful once again that ye drove me in, though I almost couldna find my way inside the hospital itself.”

She hummed. “You’ll figure out the way of it by the end of the week, at least. But the job itself?”

Jamie smiled. “The director and the other lads I met were all verra kind, and if I did anything out o’ the ordinary they didna point it out.” He hummed to himself. “Felt a bit braw to recognize all the wee defense tactics they showed me, even if they were a bit tamer than one might actually find in the face of battle.”

Claire nodded, but quickly stopped when the motion pulled the comb too tight against the last knot in her hair. “Well, I am proud of you.” Their eyes met in the mirror again, connected.

He kissed the top of her head and offered his hand to let her know he was done. She stood up to face him, but then arched a brow as she took him in. She guided him down to the stool by his shoulders and took up the comb again, pulling it gently through his towel-dried waves.

Jamie was glad that his hair didn’t take as long, since his wife’s gentle motions pulled him into a pleasant drowsiness. And that was hardly what he had in mind for their night.

As soon as he heard the slap of the comb hitting the table in front of him, he turned to face Claire. As he prepared to stand, he put his hands behind her thighs to lift her.

“Wait, I wanted to show you something!” Claire shimmied out his grasp and reached for the table behind him before taking a seat next to him, hip snug against his.

She presented an envelope to him, identical to the one she’d brought home just the week before.

“More photographs?” he asked, settling his arm over her shoulders.

“I stopped to pick up the new packet on the way home today,” she told him, cheeks flushed with excitement.

She unwound the seal gently and slid the portraits into his open palm.

It still gave him a bit of a shock to see his likeness printed so neatly on the surface of the first sheet. He grinned to see the tenderness on his face as he gazed down at Bree while building a lazy tower out of her blocks. Faith could be seen climbing onto his back to look over his shoulder in the black and white shot.

Jamie flipped through, starting to notice a pattern. Nearly every picture was a combination of himself, the lasses, or all of them together. There was naught of Claire to be found. Come to think of it, the only likeness of her he recalled seeing was hanging on the wall in Bree’s nursery – the blurry shot taken moments after the bairn’s delivery.

“You’ll have to teach me to use this wee thing,” he said determinedly. “I’d like to see your bonnie face in one of these photographs.”

She blushed prettily. “It’s a deal.” She kissed his chin sweetly. “Come to think of it, I’ve hoped to get us into town for a portrait sitting one of these days when we’re both off. We’ve no pictures of us together, either.”

“If you’ll lead the way, my lady.” He stood and stretched, then bent once more to gather her into his arms.

Claire smirked. “You don’t always have to carry me, you know.” Nevertheless, she tightened her arms behind his neck as her legs twisted around him like vines.

“Perhaps no’,” he leaned in to kiss her once, leaving a smacking noise as he did so. “But you’ll find that I will as often as you’ll let me.” He hesitated as he lowered her to the end of their mattress, then knelt in front of her. He placed a hand over her belly gingerly. “Until it’s mebbe a wee bit too difficult?”

She startled, eyes leaping to his, then harrumphed. “Watch it, lad.”

Jamie grinned at her cheekily but didn’t let her stray from his implication.

Claire’s hand gripped the back of his neck, then slipped under the collar of his shirt. “Your daughter asked a strikingly similar question earlier today.”

“Mmphm,” he uttered. “And did ye have an answer for her?”

“There was only so much I could think of to say.” Her blunt fingernails scratched his shoulder.

Jamie swallowed deeply as he looked into her eyes, searching her glass face as he crossed his arms over her knees.

“Maybe after the divorce process is complete,” she whispered.

He took her hand and nodded, remembering the thick envelope on their kitchen table, still unopened amid their adjusting routine. “Aye, of course.” He kissed her smooth palm.

“Besides,” she chuckled. “Bree isn’t even a year old yet.”

“That may be so, Sassenach.” Jamie rose to his feet before her. “But we’ll have to put in some extra effort for that even dozen.”

Claire’s mouth fell open, several moments lapsing before her body shook with laughter. “You’re ridiculous.”

He struggled to speak through his own snickers, his voice not quite sounding like his own. “But in the meantime?” His eyebrows rose.

“Please.” She laid back as he crawled over her, easing the robe over her shoulders.

________________________________________

[Several weeks later]

Claire felt like cackling in delight as she took in the details of the postcard in her hands. Their family portrait had arrived in the post just that afternoon, but she had delayed opening it until the girls were asleep. She hadn’t been sure of the results of their outing, and wanted to keep it to herself until she was. She would show them when they were older, of course, preferably once they’d gotten the hang of a portrait sitting.

So the Frasers had gone through their evening ritual together, a joint bath for the girls – quicker when it wasn’t made to be more chaotic – then she’d combed the tangles from Faith’s curls while the nebuliser ran, and cuddled her to sleep as had become customary.

Jamie had just slipped out of the sitting room with a freshly burped and rocked Bree, and would be back any second. She still wasn’t sure when she’d show him the family memorabilia, as his reaction seemed to have tipped the scale for the most priceless.

It had been a drizzling afternoon as the Frasers had filed from Claire’s auto and into a corner shop in Inverness. Campbell Portraits boasted a proud lineage, their circulars advertising their establishment in the 1880s. The family-owned business had serviced the highlands amid the changing technology of photography, evidenced by the display in the waiting room.

Claire had gone to great lengths to make everyone look presentable after lunch that day – teasing curls, straightening collars and pressing skirts until she finally resolved to leave well enough alone and herd everyone into town.

As she had signed them in for their appointment time, she had felt a tug on her skirt. She had smiled at the receptionist, taken Faith’s hand, and walked them back to sit with Jamie, whose free hand had tapped a rhythm against his thigh. He had bounced a fussy Bree, who had been teething once again, in his opposite arm.

“Yes, lovey?” Claire had asked as Faith patted her hand.

“Ye said you would go with me again, aye?” Faith had asked.

Claire had pasted on a smile and answered patiently, for the third time. “Yes, darling, we’ll all be together.”

Her eldest daughter seemed to have conflated the foreign concept of the studio with her recent experiences at the hospital, unsure of her role in this new environment.

Almost as soon as they had settled down, their name had been called. Claire had led the way into the little room, Faith’s hand tight in hers. She had noticed both Jamie and Faith eyeing the surroundings of the dark room suspiciously.

Claire had wondered at what they might be able to compare the tight quarters and dim lighting to from their own experiences. The priest hole at Lallybroch? Damn it.

An almost too-cheery man had greeted them at the door.

“Welcome, Frasers,” he had declared. “My last appointment of the day.”

The short man – Archie, as he had introduced himself – had quickly displayed his frustration as he tried to arrange the Frasers in a posed position. Jamie had begun to show his full range of stubbornness at Campbell’s brisk directions, while Faith had become drawn into herself.

At last, they had settled into an arrangement with Jamie and Claire side by side, angled diagonally. Faith had been seated on a platform just in front of them, while Bree had been propped up on Jamie’s lap.

The frustrations of the afternoon were clear in the final product. Claire’s curls were frizzed from the rain, while Jamie had adapted a complacent glare from trying to sit still for so long. Faith looked plainly startled from the bright flashbulb, her teeth bared unnaturally. And poor Bree’s fingers were in her mouth, Claire’s earlier pain-relieving methods worn off.

Chuckling over the image once more, Claire rose to tuck it away in an album at the back of her bedroom closet for now.

________________________________________

Christ, but it had been a long first official shift, Jamie thought as he re-entered the sitting room. He hadn’t expected for a large part of his job to involve fielding questions from incoming patients and visitors as they entered the hospital. He’d found himself running back and forth to get answers to those questions just as often as he’d stood at his post.

His supervisor, a man named Duncan, had assured him once again that this was one more aspect he’d grow accustomed to, soon memorizing the answers just as well as his other duties.

Come to think of it, Duncan had mentioned that he still needed to add a few of Jamie’s records to his employee file. He dragged himself up again and to Claire’s desk, where he had last seen the documents before they were sorted away. He scratched his head as he wondered which drawer Claire might have slipped them into.

Jamie hadn’t heard her moving through the house while he’d put Brianna abed, but perhaps she would be back soon to help him locate the documents that the Reverend had procured for him.

Taking a cursory glance over the desk’s surface, he noticed that their collection of printed photographs had grown. There was a third envelope, that appeared not to have been opened.

He looked back toward the doorway of the sitting room. He assumed Claire was planning to show him this set when she returned, but it wouldn’t hurt to have a wee keek at them. He’d practiced taking a few shots of her in the last week or so, and was anxious to see how they’d turned out.

Jamie slid the stack out carefully, but then nearly dropped the entire set at the first image he encountered.

Taken on a bright day, the portrait proudly displayed Leoch. Or, at least he could still recognize a few features of the castle. Stones were missing from its great walls, while several windows were broken and overbearing vegetation grew up its sides.

But most startling was the man stood in front of Jamie’s ancestral home. Randall – not Black Jack, as he’d originally feared – but Frank, dressed in a proper three-piece suit and matching hat.

Jamie swallowed deeply, stunned at the juxtaposition of this part of Claire’s history and his – theirs -- unexpectedly converging.

With shaking hands, he flipped through the next photographs. The castle by itself, an auto in front of the castle, then like a shock to his system, Claire in front of the auto, Leoch in the background.

He ghosted his finger over the likeness of Claire’s apple cheeks in the photograph, careful to heed her previous warning about smudging the surface.

Examining the image, Jamie recalled the other-worldly, shivering lass that had tended him on a cold and damp night, then compared her to the fearsome woman he’d since shared two lives with.

She’d been more slender then, her present curves having filled in as she carried each of their wee miracles. But there was something he couldn’t quite put into words, as if the last vestiges of her innocence still existed in this single captured moment. All that they’d faced together had honed her into the unstoppable force that continued to surprise and challenge him every day.

“I found one more undeveloped roll, tucked away in a drawer.” Claire’s voice carried softly.

Jamie looked up to find her studying him from the doorway, a wistful smile on her face.

His cheeks burned. “I didna mean to– “

She shook her head, then offered her hand, head tilted toward the sofa. “Let’s look together?”

Jamie took a seat cautiously, perspiration slickening his palms.

Claire followed close behind him, footsteps soft on the carpet. She lifted the stack from his hands, then arranged herself in his lap, her back braced against his sturdy arm.

“What do you think?”

He drummed his fingers against her hip. “’Twas a shock, to see him there.” He paused. “But ye… Lookin’ so happy.”

She sighed. “Getting there, perhaps. I didn’t want to acknowledge it at the time, but things weren’t quite the same.” Her fingertips caressed his neck. “We both knew it.”

Jamie breathed out. “Suppose things did no’ turn out quite like ye expected?”

“No.” Claire twisted to face him, forehead pressing against his. “Better.”

They flipped through the small batch of photos from the unfinished roll, Claire giving him space for any questions or clarifications.

While shots of the clan markers and open spaces of Culloden Field robbed him of breath, what truly puzzled him was a portrait of a village square in Inverness.

“I don’t think you and I have been back that way,” Claire insisted when he asked. “That’s in front of the inn where we – Frank and I – stayed during our trip.”

But something about the location struck Jamie as familiar, sending a shiver through his very bones. “Suppose it doesna help to dwell on it. We’ll be busy making new memories, you and –"

Claire’s lips swallowed the end of his question as she twisted in his lap to straddle him, her calf-length skirt gathering between them. She guided him in a subtle rocking motion, her eyes never leaving his. One hand gripped his jaw, thumb sweeping over his bottom lip. The other lost itself in his hair.

Jamie’s hands slid from her knees to her arse and held on. “Dhia,” he panted into the gooseflesh of her neck. He quickly forgot about Frank and any other bloody Randall.

Perhaps not exact, but this is pretty close to my mother’s SOS recipe, credited to my grandfather’s time in the U.S. Army in the 1950s.

#Jamie Fraser #claire beauchamp #faith fraser #brianna fraser #Outlander #canon divergence au #Where You Lead #Outlander fanfic #My fic

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bitchfitch · 4 years

Text

angsty dnd npc character study

The Winter King wore the face of the man that The Boar King loved. The Boar focused on those familiar features, on the night sky black skin and the ivory fangs in his smile. The way his horns curled and his pointed ears twitched every now and then under the weight of his many piercings. If he focused on all the little familiarities this ordeal would be significantly less painful.

***

"You summoned?" Winter smirked, the playful light in his eyes and tone was something a lot crueler than it was warm. Nothing was warm about him. Nothing had been for a very long time.

"I just wanted to speak to you," The Boar knew this was an awful idea, one that would bring him nothing but pain, but he missed his husband so much that he was willing to put up with the entity that stole him away.

"Oh," the smug look that crossed his face was almost enough to call this off, it was to glaringly not right. A throne of ice rose from the ground to catch Winter as he sat. Boar focused on how he sat. His movements were always performative, he would cross his long legs and twist just right to look as alluring as he could.

Boar couldn't help but focus in on where Winter's ribs showed, all the sharp lines that were covered by soft fat when he was still the Boar's.

"Now, what would you like to speak about? You know I'm all ears for a voice as nice as yours," Winter cocked his head, his soft silver white hair always seemed to cascade in just the right way.

"How are you doing?" It was a simple question.

"Hm? That's all you have to ask?" the disappointed pout was almost enough to make the boar cave, it was the same one his husband used anytime he wanted something. The pout disappeared only to be replaced with a frown, "This is about Him isnt it?"

"Maybe, Just answer the question,"

"I'm fine, he's dead."

"Winter King-"

"You know there are kinder ways to turn someone down? You don't need to rub in the fact that you dont return a smidgen of the affection I hold for you. It's not even my fault I have the awful feelings for you, they're holdovers from that weak and hot blooded Thing that came before me."

"He wasnt weak, he fought you off for decades."

"He didn't Need to. He and I could have coexisted, but No, he wanted to burn me up, so I froze him."

"Does that imply he's still in there somewhere?"

"He may as well not be, Do you have anything of worth to ask of me? or may I return to my duties? I have better things to do than to cater to you,"

"I do have one other thing to ask,"

"Ask it."

"Won't you let me hold my husband? Just for a few minutes, even if it's just pretend,"

"Boar, you are pushing your luck something awful. Why should I let you touch me? Because that is what you are asking. Your husband is gone, hes not here, I'm Not Him."

"I know," the boar said quietly, "I know, and it hurts me to no end… But I still hear him in your laugh, and I see him in the tricks you play, and your temper is firmly his too, but he always knew how to control it. You hold yourself like he did when he was scarred to be open. You both lay on the charm and the appeal when you want to hide in plain sight, to be looked at but not seen. I refuse to believe you two are separate, or at least as distant from each other as you say you are."

"You're wrong," his voice was low and full of hurt, the crystalline tears that formed in the corners of his gold and black eyes was all the boar needed for proof. Even if it did hurt to see his love cry.

"You said it yourself, Winter, that the feelings you hold for me are not yours. If you still have his affections and his taste in clothing and music and his sense of humor… How can you two be separate? I believe you are merely an evolution of him, just the next step,"

"Shut up," he wiped away the tears freezing on his cheeks, "You're Wrong. I'm not him. He was weak and he ignored his fate and fought it so hard that we became This."

"He wasn't weak, he was scared,"

"It was his fault she died, it was his fault we had to manifest so quickly. If he'd accepted his crown, his place in the court, we would have been one. Not this awful double personality garbage."

"Maybe you two could work together now? Winter King, if you are him, all my affection is for you. You want that right? To come home and sleep in our bed again? To stay in your tower-"

"And watch the sunset. To visit Mama and see my sisters and my brother, and our friends, and-" he cut off as he sobbed, the boar went to him in an instant, his husband always wanted to be held when he was vulnerable like this, to feel safe. Winter seemed no different.

The frost of his touch bit through the Boars clothes, but that didn't matter, not right now anyways. He held the fey king as the smaller creature cried, his long fingers fisted in the fabric of the Boar's tunic,

"And our kids?" The boar finished the thought for Winter.

"Yeah, dammit, I want to hold them again. Fuck they're all grown up now arnt they?" he curled closer as the boar took his weight and sat them both down on the forest floor infront of the rapidly melting throne, "I didn't get to see my own babies grow up,"

"They are, you would be so proud of them if…"

"If I wasn't a danger to them?"

"Yeah,"

they sat there quietly, the Boar ran his hand through Winter's hair as Winter's sobs calmed into shakey breaths.

"Take me home?" he hid his face in the Boar's shirt, those quiet words more a begging plea than a true question, "Please? Just for tonight, Please?"

"Of course," The Boar stood and he hated how light Winter felt in his arms.

The Boar's castle hadn't stood above ground in centuries, instead he preserved its rooms deep within the soil of his forest. The entrance opened for them as the Boar carried Winter through.

The Boar rarely stayed here anymore. he couldn't stand the way his mind filled the silent halls with laughter and music, how at every turn he always expected to see his darling disappearing around a corner and giggling as he tried to start a game.

Their room was untouched, and had been for many many years, the bed felt like a grave anytime he drew near.

It didn't feel as awful as he set Winter down on it, the sight of him there being enough to soothe over long fraught nerves. This was where he belonged, where the Boar could keep him safe from everything outside of the canopy of the bed.

Winter sat up and curled his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them as his tail flicked, "I used to love this room," he mused,

"You did, you liked how warm it was, and the fact that there arnt any windows made you feel safe," He sat on the opposite edge of the bed, and even that had felt like he was pushing his luck,

"I can't sleep outside of my domain," Winter grimaced, "I wish I could wake up here in the morning, do you think that would fix me?"

"I don't exactly follow,"

"Do you think being home and away from the court would fix me? Would it make him come back?" his tone was solemn and pained.

"Winter, I do not know,"

"Would you ever miss me?"

"What?"

"When you get him back, and I'm gone, would you miss me? or mourn me for even a second?"

"Winter, you are him, I won't miss you because you wouldn't have gone anywhere,"

"That's bullshit."

"No, it's not,"

"It is, because he and I cant exist together, but you want him. Not me, and-" he had to wipe away his tears again, "And I love you, but you cant love me. Because you don't even See me, you only see him. You won't mourn me when I'm gone, nobody will. My death will be celebrated and then I will be forgotten,"

The Boar didn't know what to say,

"Just, give me tonight. Let me pretend for tonight,"

"Of course,"

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seraphiixa · 4 years

Text

My muse is drunk. Send a question! @vice-admiral-vergo asked: 🍻 + “ what lie have you told that hurt someone ?”

Lyra’s expression, previously relaxed and somewhat casual with a soft smile, suddenly fell, and she cast her skylight gaze into the heavy pint she had been drinking from --- a rare choice for her, but the raucous and celebratory evening seemed to call for ale over her preferred wine. She immediately had an answer for the Vice Admiral, but it wasn’t one that she could share with him.

She had, on no less than three occasions, told her daughter a preliminary date as to when she might return home from the Navy. Each time, Lyra had been wrong and the date had been extended... and extended... and extended. In total, Lyra had spent less than eight months with her daughter throughout her entire life --- and she was now a fourteen year old young lady who no longer believed it when her mother told her she would be home soon. It took Lyra a few mistakes to learn that the correct answer to Mama, when will you be home again? was I don’t know, sweetheart, but I will be home.

One of Lyra’s long fingers played along the lip of her beer stein, her gaze dazed over in her clouded drunkeness and thought. She made a small hum, thinking of how to lie to him. Or... well, she had made numerous mistakes in her youth... She could just pick one of those...

“Mmm... When I was a very young division officer, I told one of my Marines that their package for retention in the Navy was being reviewed... I didn’t want them to lose motivation or morale during their remaining weeks of service... In truth, their request to remain in the Navy had been rejected the day before... They found out the next day, shouted at me, and then stormed off the battleship... technically, they went AWOL, but I never filed the charges. I’ve never lied to a Marine since... Looking back, I can’t believe I disrespected them so gravely... I’m still ashamed of it.”

#vice-admiral-vergo #x. ... thank you for sending this!

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miz-joelys-sherlollilists · 5 years

Text

S3: The One Who Mattered Most Fics (Q-Z) - Updated 06/29/20

More S3 fics featuring our darling OTP. #-H can be found here, and I-P can be found here. Enjoy, and as always, let me now if I’m missing one of your faves!

Questions & Conversation Hearts by Browneyesparker (Rated T, One-Shot) Valentines AO3 2014

Realizations & Reactions by afteriwake (Rated K, One-Shot) tumblr 2018

Remember When I Moved In You (The Minor Fall, The Major Lift series) by Keira_63 (Rated T, One-Shot) AO3 2020

Replacement by Dreamin (Rated T, One-Shot) AO3 2017

The Return by benedictedcumberbatched (Rated K, One-Shot) Locker!lock AO3 2014

Reunion by succi (Rated K+, Complete, Multi-Chapter) Class Reunion ff.net 2015

Rhythm by AsteraceaeBlue (Rated M, One-Shot) Locker!lock, Barts is the New Sexy ff.net 2013

Role Reversal by texadian (Rated T, One-Shot) AO3 2016

RSVP by Dreamin (Rated T, One-Shot) Wedding Interruptus AO3 2017

The Sad and Lonely by CatherineCameo (Rated T, One-Shot) Wedding J/M ff.net 2014

Saving the Beautiful Princess by xx-sherlocked-xx (Rated K, One-Shot) Kidnapped! ff.net 2014

Say Goodbye by SirKris (Rated T, One-Shot) Songfic AO3 2014

The Scent of Roses by geekmama (Rated K, One-Shot) AO3 2017

The Science of Memories by The Author1996 (Rated T, Complete, Multi-Chapter) Amnesia fic ff.net 2017

Seven Hours In Heaven by Elyf_Sinfonia (Rated T, Complete, Multi-Chapter) SBBC, Trapped Together AO3 2015

Shagging Shezza by Raelynn (One-Shot) Closet shagging, Barts is the new Sexy AO3 2016

She makes stars out of glass broken by dreams by viictoriasong (Rated K, One-Shot) Wedding J/M AO3 2015

Sheets by Sundance201 (Rated M, One-Shot) AO3 2014

Sherlock and Molly’s Comedy of Errors by Nightstar Phoenix (Rated K, One-Shot) Who!lock, Adapt/Crossover ff.net 2014

Sherlock’s Scarf by Starswirling (Rated M, Complete, Multi-Chapter) Secret relationship, Dom/Sublock ff.net 2015

Shezza's Brother (The Missus Chronicles) by heyitsgmats (Rated K+, One-Shot) ff.net 2014

Shopping for Molly by SirKris (Rated K, One-Shot) Jealous!lock AO3 2014

Should Have Stayed in the Bath by Dreamin (Rated M, One-Shot) PWP, Wank!lock AO3 2017

The Sign of the First by the_noble_bachelorette84 (Rated M, One-Shot) Wedding J/M, virgin!lock AO3 2014

Silence by hiyas (Rated K, One-Shot) AO3 2019

Simple Romance by SimplyShelbs16 (Rated T, Complete, Multi-Chapter) ff.net 2019

Six Sentence Tumblr Minific #2 by Sunken_Standard (Rated T, One-Shot) AO3 2017

Slow Burn by Ambur (Rated M, One-Shot) PWP, Jealous!lock ff.net 2014

S'More Real (S'mores the Merrier series) by BarPurple (Rated T, One-Shot) Jealous!lock AO3 2015

Something Blue by geekmama (Rated K, One-Shot) Wedding J/M AO3 2019

Stag night confessions by KendraPendragon (Rated T, One-Shot) AO3 2016

Stay by katiebuttercup (Rated M, One-Shot) AO3 2017

Stay With Me by dksanm (Rated T, Complete, Multi-Chapter) AO3 2014

Still Beating Loud and Clear by cutebutpsycho (One-Shot) PWP AO3 2014

Talking To Graves by afteriwake (Rated K, One-Shot) Post Reichenbach AU, Wedding J/M AO3 2016

Tell the Truth, Molly by Liathwen (Rated M, Complete, Multi-Chapter) Drunk!lock ff.net 2014

Tested Faith by afteriwake (Rated K+, One-Shot) Songfic AO3 2018

That Christmas Morning by sherlollymous (Rated T, One-Shot) tumblr 2015

They always need each other by ElisaReven (Rated M, Complete, Multi-Chapter) Kidnapped!, Long!fic AO3 2014

Things I Can't Have by TheresaWritesStuff (Rated T, One-Shot) AO3 2017

Things You Were Afraid To Say by SimplyShelbs16 (Rated K, One-Shot) AO3 2017

Thinking of You by SimplyShelbs16 (Rated T, Complete, Multi-Chapter) ff.net 2017

The Third Guest by Fireplum (Rated M, Complete, Multi-Chapter) Virginlock, Matchmaking AO3 2013

Third Time’s The Charm by likingthistoomuch (Rated T, One-Shot) Secret Relationship, Married Sherlolly AO3 2015

This was not what he expected by writingwife83 (Rated K, One-Shot) tumblr 2018

Those Who Mattered by1MissMolly (Rated M, Complete, Multi-Chapter) Long!fic, Pregnancy fic, Parentlock AO3 2014

To Prove A Point by lilsherlockian1975 (Rated M, One-Shot) Jealous!lock ff.net 2014

Tourmaline by Fireplum (Rated K, One-Shot) Godparents, Valentines ff.net 2014

Transparent bymotiveandthemeans (Rated K+, One-Shot) AO3 2017

Unclose Me by HeayPuckett (Rated K+, One-Shot) Drunk!lock ff.net 2014

Unexpected Outbursts by Attack_of_a_bookworm (Rated T, One-Shot) AO3 2020

Unexpected Surprise by demi0123 (Rated T, One-Shot) Valentines AO3 2014

Unforgettable by daisherz364 (Rated T, One-Shot) AO3 2016

Unplanned, Unintended and (Possibly) Unwise by mizjoely (Rated T, One-Shot) New Year’s fic, Jealous!lock ff.net 2014

Unravel by terrified (Rated K+, One-Shot) Wedding (Other), Married Sherlolly ff.net 2014

Until by afteriwake (Rated K+, One-Shot) AO3 2018

Untitled (Molly has an abusive relationship) by mollymatterrs (Rated T, One-Shot) Christmas tumblr 2013

Untitled (Molly breaks up with Tom) by thisisartbylexie (Rated K+, One-Shot) tumblr 2014

Untitled (Sherlock muses on Molly) by thequeenoffanfiction (Rated T, One-Shot) Wallpaper Conspiracy tumblr 2014

Untitled (Sherlock finds out Tom broke up with Molly) by conchepcion (Rated K, One-Shot) tumblr 2015

Untitled (Mary’s birthday at a strip club) by starlight falls (Rated T, One-Shot) tumblr 2015

Untitled (favorite Molly moment) by thiscaringlark (Rated K, One-Shot) SAW 2016 tumblr 2016

Untitled (Molly goes on John’s stag do) by ll-again (Rated T, One-Shot) S3 AU, Wedding J/M tumblr 2017

Untitled (Sherlock proposes) by doctor-molly-hooper-holmes (Rated K, One-Shot) tumblr 2017

Untitled (Sherlock interrupting Tom & Molly’s wedding) by sherlollyandspoilers (Rated K, One-Shot) Wedding Interruptus tumblr 2018

Untitled (Molly finds out about Janine) by LikingThisTooMuch (Rated T, One-Shot) tumblr 2018

Untitled (Molly visits Sherlock in hospital during HLV) by writingwife83 (Rated T, One-Shot) tumblr 2018

Untitled (Molly kisses Sherlock in hospital) by kendrapendragon (Rated K+, One-Shot) HABD Sherlock tumblr 2018

Untitled (Pregnant Molly hiding w/Sherlock’s parents) by welcometothelosingside (Rated K, One-Shot) Pregnancy fic, Secret Relationship tumblr 2018

Untitled (Sherlock declining an invitation to Molly's engagement dinner) by writingwife83 (Rated K, One-Shot) S3: The One Who Mattered Most tumblr 2019

Untitled (don't touch me prompt) by writingwife83 (Rated K, One-Shot) tumblr 2019

Untitled (Molly helping Sherlock fold napkins) by theunsinkablemollyholmes (Rated K, One-Shot) tumblr 2019

Utter Something That Matters by Ukthxbye (Rated K+, One-Shot) AO3 2018

The Valentine Conundrum by cactusnell (Rated T, One-Shot) AO3 2016

Visitor by Sherlockian87 (Rated T, One-Shot) ff.net 2015

Viva Stepney! (Be-Bop-A-Sherlock series) by hobbitsdoitbetter (Rated T, One-Shot) AO3 2014

The Vow by Abisian (Rated K, One-Shot) Wedlock AO3 2014

Wait a minute… by conchepcion (Rated K, One-Shot) Jealous!lock tumblr 2016

Wallpaper by doctor wtf (Rated T, One-Shot) The Wallpaper Conspiracy tumblr 2014

Wanting What He Couldn’t Have by darnedchild (Rated T, One-Shot) Wedding J/M AO3 2017

We Chose Them (He Finally Understands series) by Writingwife83 (Rated K+, One-Shot) Outside Looking In AO3 2019

We Need To Talk by cactusnell (Rated T, One-Shot) Sherlolly American Style, Molly Leaves fic ff.net 2014

Wear It Like A Badge by mychakk (Rated K, One-Shot) Soulmates AO3 2017

The Wedding Crasher by MG12CSI16 (Rated K+, One-Shot) Wedding J/M ff.net 2014

The Werewolf Needs a Detective (Teen Wolf AU) by The_Consulting_Werewolf (Rated K+, Complete, Multi-Chapter) Shiftlock, Adapt/Crossover, Long fic AO3 2014

What I Want (For Christmas) by simplyshelbs16 (Rated T, Complete, Two-Parter) Christmas, Matchmaking ff.net 2019

What Mummy Found by mistykins06 (Rated K+, One-Shot) Christmas tumblr 2015

When You Were Drunk by SerendipityDreamer (Rated K+, One-Shot) Drunklock AO3 2015

Who Could Love a Beast? by DanaeP24 (Rated K+, Complete, Multi-Chapter) Beauty & The Beast AU ff.net 2014

Why Me? by amessoffandoms (Rated K, One-Shot) AO3 2019

Winter by allthebellsinvenice (Rated M, Complete, Multi-Chapter) Dom!lock AO3 2014

Winter’s Tales by allthebellsinvenice (Rated M, Series) Dom!lock AO3 2015

Winter's Tales: A Case Study by allthebellsinvenice (Rated M, One-Shot) Dom!lock AO3 2014

Winter’s Tales: The Laboratory by allthebellsinvenice (Rated M, One-Shot) Dom!lock AO3 2015

Winter's Tales: The Masquerade by allthebellsinvenice (Rated M, One-Shot) Dom!lock AO3 2015

with a tear, the truth comes by broomclosetkink (Rated M, One-Shot) Alt S3, Wedding J/M AO3 2014

With All My Heart (Isn’t She Beautiful? series) by katemiller (Rated T, Complete, Multi-Chapter) Prop/Eng, Parentlock AO3 2018

The Worst That Could Happen by terrified (Rated T, One-Shot) tumblr 2014

Would You Rather… by theSaphireSky (Rated T, Complete, Multi-Chapter) Jealous!lock AO3 2014

The Wrong Idea Could So Easily Be the Right One by darthsydious (Rated T, One-Shot) Amnesia fic ff.net 2016

You are my Mama! (The Missus Chronicles) by heyitsgmats (Rated T, One-Shot) Outside Looking In ff.net 2014

You Are The Only One by thefaultoflegend (Rated K+, One-Shot) Songfic ff.net 2014

You Can Never Have Too Many Second Chances by mizjoely (Rated K+, One-Shot) Jealous!lock AO3 2014

You Can See Me by hbj01 (Rated K, One-Shot) Wedding J/M, Shall We Dance? AO3 2018

You drank a gallon of milk over night (Tom-verse) by sunken_standard (Rated K, One-Shot) Unplanned Pregnancy fic AO3 2017

You Know I’ll Do Anything I Can To Help You (Last Girlfriend series) by sunken_standard (Rated M, One-Shot) PWP, Virginlock AO3 2017

You're Texting Him Again, Aren't You? (Last Girlfriend series) by Sunken_Standard (Rated M, One-Shot) AO3 2017

Z is for Zero by Ethanamide (Rated T, One-Shot) tumblr 2018

#sherlolly #series 3: the one who matters most fics #go shoo read!

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felicebellcarousel · 4 years

Text

Allow Me to Introduce ‘A Lady of Independent Means’

Now before we dive into this little Pride and Prejudice variation I’d to take this opportunity to state that although this work (A Lady of Independent Means) is inspired by the timeless Jane Austen classic, the rights to this specific work are reserved to the author, and that any unauthorised reproduction or publishing of any part of content is prohibited.

Chapter 1

Dear Miss Bingley,

I write to express my deep regrets that myself and my family find ourselves unable to attend the Ball, to which you most graciously extended us an invitation.

Do not be alarmed, my friend. I am well, but sadly the same cannot be said of my Uncle Gardiner.

As you may recall my mother has a widowed Brother residing in London, we have received news that his health in is a most precarious state; grave in fact. So instead of spending the day preparing for your ball – which I am sure will be the pinnacle of the Hertfordshire social calendar –I find myself packing to journey to town within the hour.

Thither shall also go Elizabeth, the both of us escorted by Papa. Oh my dear friend, although Lizzy declares it foolish of me, I cannot help but entertain the hope that the accounts of my relations danger have been greatly exaggerated, and this trip may yet have a positive outcome.

The discouraging news has laid Mama exceedingly low and unfit fit for travel –or to attend amusements. Moreover we take the family carriage leaving Mary, Kitty and Lydia without transportation or parental escort to this evening’s festivities.

Enclosed I have included our direction in town, I know not how long we will be gone from the neighbourhood and dearly hope you will write me. Time grows short, with much yet to prepare. I will close by saying: I am exceedingly sorry for any disruption our absence may cause, please convey my sincere regrets to your brother and Mrs. Hurst.

Yours Sincerely,

J. Bennet

~~~~%~~^0^~~%~~~~

“The rudeness! To drop an engagement on the very same day they were to be expected. Country manners for you,” decried Miss Bingley, seconded by a nod and murmur from Mrs Hurst.

For once Fitzwilliam Darcy could not tune out Miss Bingley’s sycophantic babble. Her harsh words lanced his very heart, filling him with an acute sense of loss and regret.

Very deliberately and slowly he placed his half empty coffee cup onto the crisp linen tablecloth, keeping his face diverted from his company until he could be certain of its expression.

So this is how their story would end? He owned dejectedly that it could never have been the epic romance his heart had craved. No, his head was attached to firmly to his head to allow such a passionate fancy to determine his future life and family legacy. As hard as his heart had tugged, it could not lead him to make a woman, so far beneath him - no matter how delightful – a permanent fixture to in his life.

If he could not spend the sum of his days waking up curled around the beautiful Elizabeth Darcy he had at least hoped to share a dance with the unspoiled Elizabeth Bennet. Hold her dainty little hand in his, or perhaps even for a span of moments, feel her delightful form rest on his arm, if he were able to secure a set featuring such a movement. But it seemed he was to be cruelly denied this infinitesimal consolation along with the chance to say goodbye.

He would return to his life in London, again mingle only within his own confining set of privileged acquaintance, probably take some insipid society miss to wife in a year or so, and one day forget the little wood nymph that had made his soul sing.

A glance to the far end of the dining table showed Bingley to be similarly effected by the news, but less able to conceal his disappointment. He’d pushed his plate, laden with greasy delicacies away to stare out the window. The twitching of his lips showed him to be deep in thought, but gave few clues to the finer nuances of the musings. Gazing down at his own plate, barely touched, Darcy was struck with the thought that things had progressed to a very dangerous point, perhaps more than he had reckoned…

Was he so love sick that he could not stomach a few mouthfuls breakfast? He forced a forkful of eggs past his lips, but the food, savoury and pleasant just minutes ago, now tasted like ashes and disappointment.

Laying down his fork with the same care with which he had deposited the coffee mug, Darcy raised his eyes only to encounter Miss Bingely’s smirking countenance across the table. Likely she was the only one in her discernment privy to his shameful and overwhelming pain, but it was still one witness too many and a witness entirely too gleeful.

Miss Bingley looked directly into his eyes, her own green orbs bright with enjoyment. Her fish like lips were parted in a disgusting parody of arousal, but it was not desire that fuelled her expression. Rather vindictive enjoyment of his pain and her own elation at having a rival so neatly struck from the field of battle.

In that moment he hated her, perhaps he even reviled her more than that blackguard Wickham. They were like two faces of the same coin Caroline Bingley and George Wickham; both selfish to the very core, their only concept of morals being a dispassionate assessment of how much they could get away with before inciting censure, rather than any true affinity with right and wrong.

Fortunately in Miss Bingley’s circumstances, she was locked in the mischief she could cause. Under the charge of Charles Bingley, she was forced to exercise maidenly restraint in pursuing her aims. Her Brother, while malleable up to a point, could be as stubborn as a badger if he felt the principles of fairness or justice to be in peril.

It was not just the power he held over her finances, Charles’s naturally gregarious personality had opened doors rarely accessible to an entire family whose fortune was still polluted by the miasma of trade, Darcy’s society included.

“I am sure they would have delayed if they could, perhaps we should call upon them in London. See if there is any assistance in our power to offer or merely let them know we harbour no hard feelings. You did mention an enclosed direction did you not…. Caroline?” Bingley called his sisters name loudly at the last, clearly impatient to hear her response.

Darcy watched Miss Bingley’s eyes widen in panic, she sharply took in a horrified breath. The only thing worse than Mr Bingley dangling after Miss Jane Bennet in Hertfordshire would be for her brother to be seen publicly dangling after the girl in the view of their London acquaintance.

Darcy could readily determine the direction of Caroline’s thoughts, because in route they mirrored his own although their concerns regarding the match proceeded from different quarters: Darcy wanted to see if his friend well established in society for Bingley’s personal happiness, while Caroline saw her brothers marriage and societal aspirations only in terms of how they helped—or hindered—her own ambitions.

Bingley’s attentions to Miss Bennet thus, had been so pointed that if he continued in this vein a proposal must be forthcoming or censure and derision would be cast upon him for his inconsistency and the blameless girl for disappointed hopes. The Bingley family’s position in society remained tenuous and was based almost entirely on Bingley’s gentlemanly deportment; should he be seen to act the cad, even only to a country squires daughter, the family would find it nigh in impossible to secure the type of match with the potential to elevate his standing, despite Bingley’s stable wealth.

The other possibility, that Bingley could succeed in wooing Miss Bennet, did not bear thinking of, yet demanded to be examined. Jane Bennet - while undeniable beautiful - could bring nothing of value to such a match.

Through pointed questioning around the neighbourhood Caroline Bingley had determined that the Bennet girls had portions were so tiny as to be non-existent: A mere £50 per year during their father’s life and an equal share of £5000 upon their mother’s demise (if the vulgar woman had not the opportunity to squander it before).

Pointed questioning of the girl herself had uncovered her limited and unsavoury connections.

“An Uncle, actively engaged in trade!” Caroline had cried in relish, at this very same table, the morning after Miss Bennet had taken ill. Bingley distressingly loyal to the woman he had known for such a brief span, had leapt to her defence, saying she would not value her a jot less if she had a battalion complete of Uncles in trade. Miss Bingley had produced an unmistakably snide smile before attempting to coax her brother over to her way of thinking. “Yes I suppose a tradesman, quite well to grass, within the family would not be such a great shame, but Jane told me he keeps a house in Cheapside! Cheapside! If one must be in trade, one ought to be good at it, rather than drag the rest of the family down with ineffectual business pursuits. But I suppose we can expect little more of a blood relation of women of Mrs Bennet’s and Mrs Phillip’s ilk.”

Though reluctant to support any notion originating from Miss Bingley, Darcy could not help but agree that Jane Bennet was an unsuitable marriage prospect for his good friend, and had said as much. Darcy had pointed out the evils of attaching oneself to a family who had shown so little comportment to date, arguing this to be a far greater concern than the social standing and wealth the Bennet family lacked.

Before they had been able to importune the beleaguered lover any further Miss Elizabeth Bennet had been announced. The dark eyed beauty had driven every thought of Bingley’s romantic woes clean out of Darcy’s head. Her hair was blowsy, her skirt muddy, her complexion very flushed and yet her person was the most breathtakingly beautiful thing Darcy had ever beheld.

She had surveyed the room boldly, daring anyone to comment on her appearance before asking after her sister. Darcy had quickly dredged up every objection against girl, real or imagined, to prevent him from following her up the stairs.

That she had barely spared him a glance did nothing to cool his ardour, neither those weeks ago nor now. If he didn’t remain strong Elizabeth would make him her slave. Could his resolve continue to hold in the face of the many intimate meetings that must follow a closer connection between Jane Bennet and Charles Bingley? And if he did manage to avoid the allure of his friends new sister, there could not help but be a greater price of misery to be payable.

So? What do you think?

More of ‘A Lady of Independent Means’ will be posted on my Patreon page. https://www.patreon.com/FeliceBell

But to answer what you really want to know. Yes, a new chapter of Reluctantly Mrs Darcy is nearly ready to go! Nearly!

Thanks for reading,

#aladyofindependentmeans reluctantlymrsdarcyfeliceb

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bhaalble · 5 years

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An Invitation- A Post-Trespasser Fic

So people have been showing interest in Sythia and I typed up this drabble forever ago about her being approached by my Inquisitor, Astyth Cadash. I’m always a slut for “returning heroes” and until da4 comes out, post-Trespasser is my playground

However, due to it being Fanfic Author Appreciation Day, I’d like to turn this into an invitation. Write up a drabble about what your warden, your Hawke, your Inquisitor, whoever you feel, is up to in a post-Trespasser world. How they’re dealing with the impending apocalypse (again). Tag me in it! I’ll try and reblog what I can.

So, without any more rambling...

It feels strange to be traveling on her own. The woods feel lonesome somehow without Sera and Dorian’s constant bickering, or Cole’s strange musings, or even Cassandra’s long-suffering sighs. Bull had offered to come with her, and she’d nearly accepted: it had been a long time since the two of them had taken a truly private trip.

But ultimately this was one she needed to take alone.

Almost all of her advisors had been against this, Cullen in particular. “Hero or no, she travels with one of the most well known and dangerous apostates in Thedas, not to mention one to whom you granted the magical knowledge of hundreds of elven mages!”

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with your personal encounter with the Warden, would it Commander?” Leliana had said coolly, though her expression had betrayed nothing as she peered over the missive from Harding.

Cullen had said nothing, but lapsed into silence. There was a story there, one Astyth was dying to find out, but she had a feeling nothing good could come of prodding her commander further. “Apostate or no apostate, I’m sure the Hero of Ferelden can’t have much motivation to see me dead. They have as much stake in the threat of Solas as anyone. Not to mention Morrigan is the only expert on eluvians we have any kind of contact with.”

“While I don’t quite share his...fervor” Josephine said, cutting across Cullen’s retort. “I agree with the principle of what the Commander is saying. Warden Tabris is a chess piece too important and too....volatile, to play in private. If we are going to bring her into the fold at this stage, it would be better to extend an invitation for her to come to Val Royeaux. She would be playing in our court, and additionally, she would be publicly lending some credence to our cause that we lost as the Exalted Council. We should-”

“She wouldn’t come, Josie.” Leliana said, putting the map down and straightening up. “Even if I asked personally, she doesn’t like to play politics.” She looked down at Astyth. “I think the plan is a sound one, Inquisitor, and furthermore, I think you should leave as soon as possible. Get away from Orlais for a bit while the talking heads wear themselves out. When you come back, with any luck, Josephine and I will have smoothed a few ruffled feathers, or plucked them. Meantime, Cullen can focus on marshalling the forces we have left.” She looked sidelong at the ex-templar. “Does that sound amenable, Commander?”

Cullen grumbled something seditious under his breath, but since becoming Leliana had become the Divine he had been reluctant to engage in their usual arguing. He heaved a heavy sigh and looked Astyth in the eye. “Its up to you, of course. But I can’t help but feel this will be a waste of resources at best, and an open invitation to something very dangerous, at the worst.”

“Its a risk I’ll have to take.” Astyth said, rolling up the map. “I’ll set out soon. Tell Dennett to have my horse ready.”

And now here she was, trodding through dense woods in the southern end of the Emerald Graves. Despite the Inquisition’s presence in this region, it was clear that this location had been intended to not be found. She had to abandon her horse to even have a hope of navigating these steep paths, and more than one bear skull mounted on a couple of broken pikes didn’t make for the most welcoming of images.

She didn’t know what to feel as she kept climbing. The Hero of Ferelden....she had just joined the Carta when the Blight began, and at the time had been too mired in trying to find her footing in the underworld of Orlais to care for much outside that. After her ill-fated stint with the Legion of the Dead, though, she knew better than anyone what a feat it was that she had accomplished. The versions of the stories that got to the bards of Orlais had no doubt been twisted and embellished, but they had inspired no small curiosity and admiration of her.

And then there were Leliana’s stories. Astyth flattered herself at this point that she had shaped Thedas’ future more than once, but she had nearly always had the full might of the Inquisition at her back. To do all these things with a ragtag force and next to no official recognition....half of them would’ve seemed unlikely. All of them, impossible.

She didn’t know what to expect. Leliana was fond of her, but had more than once described her as difficult to know. Morrigan had pointedly refused to discuss her while she stayed with the Inquistion, and Alistair had done the same (though, likely for very different reasons).

Bull had always said she overthought things like this. She always countered that it was her job. She had to care about first impressions, about making a connection with people. Whether or not she actually was Andraste’s herald, her truest power came from her ability to inspire others to follow her. She was good at it too. But if it failed now...

There was a sudden thunk of a blade on wood, and she stopped.

The path wound ahead for a little ways, but she could hear distant voice, and her instincts ultimately led her towards the sound.

“-depends what you’re looking for.” A woman’s voice. A bit out of breath, and punctuated occasionally by further thunks. “Personally, I prefer a little more-” thunk. “Power behind my strikes.”

“Papae says speed is more important.” A boy’s voice. Well, a teenager, likely, based on the cracks. And strangely familiar.

A snort, and another thunk. “Papae can talk about speed when he manages to take down a darkspawn horde on his own.”

She can see them now. A small clearing. A dark-haired boy she realizes with a thrill is Kieran, a bit taller and a little older now. He is playing with a dagger, watching an elven woman with hair so red it seems to glow chop wood. A bit aways she can see a decent sized cabin, smoke coming out of the chimney.

“Mamae, when are you going to say hello to our visitor?” Kieran says, without so much as looking away from the woman. “She’s come awfully far.”

“Visi-” The woman’s head turns, and she catches sight of Astyth.

For a moment, neither of them move. Sizing each other up, perhaps, or maybe the warden is just trying to figure out who she is. She hoists the axe onto her shoulder, casually, but perhaps also an unconscious warning.

Astyth examines her. Her face is etched with crimson vallaslin, an unusual color, so far as she knows. Even more unusual for a non-Dalish elf. Behind the markings, she can see lines starting to appear. She must be in her mid forties, but looks strong and healthy as can be. Her brow furrows a bit as she seems to give up the puzzle in front of her.

“....I’m sorry, can I-”

“Hello Inquisitor.” Kieran says cheerfully, slipping off the tree stump he’d been perched on.

“Hullo, Kieran” Astyth says, managing a friendly smile towards him before returning her gaze to Sythia. “How is your mother?”

“She is well, but I don’t think she’ll like that you’re here.”

No, I don’t expect she will, she thought to herself.

“Inquisitor?” Sythia Tabris cocks an eyebrow. “Ah. So you’re her then.”

“I am. Astyth Cadash. Its an honor to meet you.” Astyth says, clasping her hands behind her back.

The elf snorts, lowering the axe to the ground. “Don’t know about honor.” She nods to Kieran, who hands her a basket. Tabris crouches to the ground and begins gathering the split wood. “What can I do for you?”

“I was hoping for some guidance, if you had some time.”

“Guidance?” She lifts the now full basket and gets to her feet, and Astyth realizes with a start that one of her legs is a prosthetic. It’s well made, but clearly a little worn. “What guidance could the Inquisition need from me? I’m assuming you know which end of the sword to stick in darkspawn, and as for not pissing off nearly every Ferelden noble, well, I was never much good at that.”

“Have you come about the Wolf?” It shouldn’t startle Astyth as much as it does. She should be used to it from Cole. But the child tilts his head, eyes bright with curiosity. “He’s not here, you know. Sometimes I see him at night, but he flits back and forth so fast I can’t ask him where he intends to be. I don’t think he knows.”

“Kieran,” Sythia says, tone not changing from one of quiet politeness. “Why don’t you go tell your mother we have a guest. I’m sure she has some choice comments she’ll want to prepare in advance.”

The boy doesn’t seem to mind, carefully placing the dagger on the tree trunk and running back to the cabin, leaving just Sythia and Astyth alone in the clearing. The warden nods her head towards the cabin and starts walking, leaving Astyth to catch up.

“I have to say, I was expecting you sooner.” Tabris says. Her gait, Astyth notes, only slightly favors the false leg. Clearly she’s used to it. Much more than she is to her own prosthetic, at least. “When I saw Leliana’s agents doing their best impression of field mice I was expecting a house call from your soldiers the next week at least.”

“Things have...been a bit hectic, of late.” Astyth said, running a hand through her white crop of hair. “As I’m sure you’ve heard.”

The warden nods, placing the wood by a small heap of firewood near the door. “I’ve heard rumors. Something about the apocalypse. The usual.”

“Leliana will be disappointed when I tell her you found her agents that quickly.” She says, handing her wood. Sythia gives her a long look before accepting it and carefully stacking it.

“To be fair, I live with one of the best assassins in Thedas, a child with the soul of an old god, and a pretty good guard dog.” She straightens up. “And Divine Victoria should learn to accept the fact that she has a full plate, and not make more work for herself sending people after me.”

She turns and starts mounting the steps to cabin porch. Astyth notes four chairs, gathered in a circle around a small pit holding the ashes of some long dead fire, and a side table holding books, a whetstone, and a pack of cards. Four chairs....Tabris, Morrigan, Kieran, and the fourth....

“My dear, have you seen my-...ah, company then?”

A blond elf emerges from the cabin, examining Astyth with an amused glint. He’s handsome, to be sure. The lines around the eyes indicating a wealth of smiles, and his hair falls luxuriantly to his shoulders. Sythia’s shoulders seem to lose a bit of tension just at the sight of him, and she points back to the stump. “If you’re looking for your knife, your son has taken a sudden interest in fighting with speed.”

“We can’t all heft battleaxes, mi amor,” He leans in and pecks her cheek, pulling a smile as bright as it is involuntary from the Hero of Ferelden. “We leave that in your capable hands. Now, this is the Inquisitor, I take it?”

“Master Arainai.” She bows her head in acknowledgment. “Its an honor.”

“‘Master’? Now that I could get used to.” A mischievous grin creeps across his face, which somehow only makes him more dashing. “However, Zevran will do. I assume you have business with my wife? I warn you now, however much need Thedas has of her, it will take some convincing to get us to relinquish her.”

“I have no plans to take Warden Tabris from her home, I can assure you.”

“Mother wouldn’t let her anyways.” Kieran says, poking his head around Zevran’s side.

“Very true.” Zevran says, reaching down to ruffle the boy’s hair. “Now, Kieran, I think its time we give your mothers some privacy while we find something for supper.”

“Can I keep the dagger?”

“Mmm, for now, I think, if only to annoy Mamae.”

The boy giggles, for the moment wholly child, and runs to fetch it. Sythia rolls her eyes and kisses Zevran. “Don’t go too far. As it turns out, these woods are no longer private.”

“Please, when have you known me to be reckless?” He tucks a strand of her hair back, fingers tracing down to linger on a gold earring, a simple gold circle studded with one ruby that Astyth realizes matches one on his own ear.

“Mm, you’re right, I don’t know what I was thinking.” Sythia says, a faint laugh in her voice.

“I’ll see you soon.” He presses a kiss to her forehead. Then he leans in to whisper something Astyth can’t quite catch. The warden’s face goes red, but suddenly the former Crow is off, guiding Kieran into the woods.

Astyth finds herself missing Bull, for a number of reasons.

“I-...” Sythia clears her throat and gestures for her to come in, opening the door.

The inside is clean, but hardly spacious. Trinkets and books seem to fill every surface. Some oddities she recognizes (a stuffed nug, an Orlesian mask, a few books she remembers from Dorian’s collection) and others are a mystery (why a rainbow sword?). Every member of this household seems to be some variety of packrat, but regardless, its cozy, with an overstuffed sofa and a fire crackling in a hearth.

The peace, however, is marred by a clattering of dishes coming from what appears to be the kitchen. The noise is too loud to be accidental, and there are some sharp huffs that Astyth recognizes as Morrigan.

Sythia looks warily towards the kitchen and gestures to the sofa, holding up a finger to indicate one moment. Astyth decides to take her advice, and her seat as well.

Sythia disappears into the kitchen. The clattering stopped, but is replaced by furious whispers that threaten to become shouting soon enough.

“-taken enough, and if they-”

Sythia’s voice cuts across, gentle and murmuring, until eventually there is silence. Finally, a long heave of a sigh, and Morrigan emerges out of the kitchen like a stormy wind. Sythia is only just behind her but there seems to be some subconscious attempt on Morrigan’s part to shield her from view, as if Astyth might forget she’s there if she can’t see her. “Inquisitor. What an unexpected pleasure.” The sarcasm lingers heavily on the last word, and the apostate’s yellow eyes are crackling with warning.

“Its nice to see you too, Morrigan.” Astyth says, forcing herself to keep her tone light. At other times she had gotten on quite well with the witch, but then, at other times she hadn’t posed a threat to her wife.

“Before you read off whatever long-winded summons your Chantry has sent you with, let me make it clear from the very start: we are not in the least bit-”

“Morrigan.” Sythia says quietly, slipping a hand through hers and coming along beside her. It’s hard to tell but Astyth thinks she might be a bit amused. “Let’s hear her out before you tear her to pieces at least.”

“I don’t see why.” Morrigan mutters, though her fingers lace instinctively through the elf’s. “It’s more efficient this way.”

“I really am only here to talk” Astyth says. “I do have an offer, but its secondary, if anything. I came here on my own, not as the Inquisitor.” She tries for a wry smile, tilting her head. “At least listen to what I have to say, so I don’t have to admit to Cullen this was the waste of time he thinks it is.”

It’s a cheap attempt, but it does almost seem to give Morrigan pause. That almost pause is enough time for Sythia to guide her into a seat, taking the one next to her. “Well. Can’t have Cullen thinking he’s right about something.” She turns to lock eyes with Astyth, and nods for her to speak.

“So....I’m assuming you’ve heard about my friend Solas then?”

“Bits and pieces. And Morrigan’s been noticing something’s off with the eluvian.”

“And when exactly did you find the time to pry into my notes?” Morrigan grumbles as she sits back. Clearly intending to endure this conversation with as little grace as possible, if she must endure it at all. Sythia only smirks and doesn’t respond to it.

“In any case, I’d like to hear your version of events.”

“.....well, in order to understand it....I’d think you’d have to understand Solas.” Astyth says. Fingers tracing out patterns in the couch.

-----

She tells the story, beginning with Haven. She plunders her memory for anything, any small detail that might be useful, as she has done time and time again since her best friend disappeared into an eluvian with the promise to bring an end to everything she cared about.

She tells of an elven apostate, mysterious and distant and a bit condescending, but kind in a way that’s hard to place and infinitely knowledgeable. She tells a story of alliance, friendship....and ultimately, betrayal.

Morrigan spends a good portion of the story making derisive noises and rolling her eyes. But when she comes to the elven orb, and the Exalted Council, the witch falls silent. She bites the corner of her lip in thought and at times her eyes widen in some kind of private realization, though she’s doing her best to mask it.

Sythia, for her part, says nothing. Slowly leaning forward, propping her elbows on her knees, she only watches the Inquisitor intently. Expression neutral, betraying no sympathy, but also no hostility.

Finally, she comes to the final confrontation. With perhaps a touch of dramatic flair, she pulls off the glove on her left hand, revealing a hand of copper metal. Morrigan flinches, just a bit, though Sythia does nothing more than tilt her head a bit.

“As it stands,” Astyth says, rotating her wrist a bit. “I’ve lost whatever control I had over the Fade, at probably the worst possible moment. Which is why I require your help.” She looks them both earnestly in the eye. “Both of you are more experienced than most with the Fade realm. And given that Merrill hasn’t been seen for months, Morrigan is the foremost living expert on eluvians we know of. I wouldn’t even require a physical presence. For the moment, at least, this isn’t your fight. But any notes, any piece of information you find....it may be exactly what we need to save us all from destruction.”

For a moment there is silence in the room. Morrigan has a stormy expression, looking at war between several desires at once. A mortal desire to not have the world destroyed, an apostate’s desire for new and possibly dangerous knowledge.....and a wife’s desire to protect her loved ones from harm. Her eyes keep travelling to the copper shine of Astyth’s arm, as though it is a physical reminder of everything she fears to lose Tabris to. Just as Astyth opens her mouth to try and provide further assurances, Sythia abruptly gets to her feet.

“I’d like to talk to you alone for a moment.”She says, slipping her hands in her pockets and nodding towards the porch. Astyth hesitates for a moment, but ultimately follows the Warden outside. Morrigan decides not to follow, evidently reading something in her tone.

The story has taken time, and the woods are growing darker and darker. Sythia leans back against the railing and gestures towards a seat, which Astyth takes. “So, first question: where did you get your arm?”

“Oh-...” It takes Astyth by surprise, and self consciously she runs the hand through her hair. “Bianca Davri’s innovation. We commissioned her.”

Sythia nods slowly. “She does good work. Not that I have many complaints with mine.” She swings her leg a bit as if to demonstrate.

“Who did it?”

“Best blacksmith I ever met. Wade, of Denerim. He was eager for the challenge, and possibly owed me a favor.”

“....can I ask....”

“How it happened?” A wry smile spreads on her face as she looks out over the clearing. “Its a long tale, Inquisitor, and I was never much for stories. Suffice to say, curing the taint is no simple task.”

“And have you? Cured it, I mean.” She had heard nothing of it.

“......It remains to be seen. Regardless, its quieted the damned singing for a few minutes, which to me is worth a couple of limbs.”

“Lucky” The word slips out, and even she isn’t quite sure what she means by it. Lucky to be cured, or lucky that at least there’s a good cause that’s taken your body? Sythia seems to understand, at least.

“I am. In many ways.....” Her voice is soft as she fiddles with something on her hand. A ring, simple silver, but well worn. “Still, when Morrigan found me in the aftermath I thought she might just finish the job. She was furious.”

“She was angry? With you?”

A rush of air through her nose that might be a snort and might be a sigh. “Morrigan’s had....an unusual raising. There’s nothing she’s more afraid of than weakness. Than loss. To her, the leg represents both, try as she might to hide that fear from me.”

“What does it represent to you?”

The elf says nothing for a long moment. “....you know, that warden motto never sat right with me. Perpetual war, perpetual vigilance....comes across as an excuse for anything we might do in the interim between the Blights. But they got something right with the idea of sacrifice.” Through the woods comes a peal of laughter Astyth recognizes as Kieran. The hunters returning, and Sythia’s head turns instinctively towards them.

“...I’ve sacrificed a lot to get here. And I’ll sacrifice a lot more to keep it. So to me....its a promise. In the same way your arm is a promise.” She turns to face her. “That there’s hard journeys behind and beyond where you stand now. But where you stand? Well....that’s worth keeping.”

They finally come into view, Kieran on some long-winded musing speech as he circles Zevran again and again. The former Crow has a brace of rabbits in either hand and is listening with amusement to the child’s story. His eyes meet Sythia’s and there’s a glint there Astyth knows. It’s how Sera looks at Dagna. How Krem looks at Maryden.

How Bull looks at her.

“Tell your council: I’ll come to Val Royeaux, if they can provide accommodations for my family.” Sythia says, a slow smile spreading as she waves to Kieran.

“I-” Astyth feels a surge of excitement. This was better than they had ever hoped. “Are-...are you sure? The notes would certainly be more than enough-”

“Knowing how these matters usually go, the notes won’t be enough. You’ll need Morrigan’s expertise, my experience, and a bit of Kieran’s insight. And....well, Zevran’s coming for morale.” She grins, before looking back at Astyth. “You were wrong, Inquisitor. This is my fight. I like this world, and I’d prefer if it went on spinning a little longer.”

“And what dark plans are you two making, hm?” Zevran says, coming to the base of the steps. He hands Kieran the brace and he rushes inside, chattering excitedly to Morrigan.

“Now, it’s hardly fun if I just come out and tell you, is it?” she says, winking towards Astyth. The Inquisitor returns it: this is Sythia’s request to make of them, and she’ll leave her to the details.

“Aaahh, so its to be secrets then?” He moves to stand next to her, a wicked grin on his face as he leans on the railing. “You know that only makes me more determined to find out what it is”

“If it’s left to your spying ability, it’ll stay a safe secret forever.”

“Such cruel words from a woman so beautiful.” He tugs lightly on a loose strand of her hair, which makes her cover a laugh as she bats him away. “It can’t be borne.”

“I’m sorry, would you two prefer to be left alone, or...” Astyth trails off suggestively, smirking a bit.

“Not at all, I enjoy it more with an audience.”

It makes Astyth laugh and Tabris blush like a schoolgirl, and Morrigan comes out to see about the commotion, trying very very hard to look annoyed, though she’s biting back a smile. “I suppose it would be too much to ask that you behave yourself in front of a perfect stranger.”

“My dear enchantress, you should know by now I never behave myself without incentive.” He looks down at his clothes with a sigh. “Though the rabbit offal on my shirt is a bit of a mood killer, I’ll admit.” Pushing off the railing, he turns to look at Astyth. “Inquisitor, you’ll be staying for dinner, I hope?”

“Oh, I...” She looks at Morrigan in a silent question. She doesn’t want to intrude. But the apostate only sighs.

“Perhaps you should. You’ve a long journey back to camp. And at the moment your presence may be the only thing that restrains this one from doing something indecent within earshot of my son.” She pointedly clips Zevran’s ear, who only chuckles and grabs her hand, pressing a kiss to the palm before breezing past her to the door.

“Excellent. I’ll cook.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I’ll cook-” Morrigan says, following him as their bickering continues further into the house.

“Then again,” Sythia says, looking over at Astyth on her way inside. “Perhaps Val Royeaux isn’t ready for us yet.”

#dragon age #dragon age: origins #dragon age: inquisition #sythia tabris #oc: sythia tabris #zevran arainai #morrigan #astyth cadash #oc: astyth cadash #warden tabris #inquisitor cadash #kieran #solas #fluff #prompt maybe?#i guess?#looking forward to four notes on this but honestly I wrote this for myself and I'm happy with it

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rebornxhybrid · 4 years

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;return me to my grave mama{musing} ;shatter the mirror with your fist{face} ;rereading my eulogy{headcanon}

#;return me to my grave mama{musing}#;shatter the mirror with your fist{face}#;rereading my eulogy{headcanon}#tags

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faintblueivy · 5 years

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Is She Beautiful? - Chapter 10

Hey my lovelies! So, this is it. The last chapter of this story. This is the longest chapter that I've ever written and finished it a while ago, so yeah, I'm definitely looking forward to your feedback! Please enjoy the chapter ahead.

A big thank you to @roopshasil to beta read this story for me!

...

Chapter 10

She is Beautiful

When Sasuke and Sakura entered the house, they didn't expect to see two pairs of sandals at the doorstep. Their daughter's was obvious and the other one was Boruto's. But it was quite unsettling to have the two of them together in the same house with so much silence. They exchanged a look of concern before heading to the living room where they could sense the younger duo were.

And the sight they come to...was not what they were expecting at all. Sarada was kneeling in front of Boruto, who was on the couch, their hands intertwined together. As curious as they were of the scene, their apprehension grew when they realised that both of the kids have been crying. They both had slightly swollen eyes, and prominent tear tracks on their cheeks. They were also...beat up. And then their eyes fall on the large fresh bandage on Boruto's arm and a bloodied handkerchief nearby.

“Sarada? ...Boruto?”

Sakura whispered, prompting both the kids to whip their heads in their direction. Sakura immediately took a few quick steps towards them.

“What happened?”

Boruto immediately stood up, mindful of Sarada's position and bowed down to Sakura in a swift move.

“I'm sorry Aunt Sakura! I'll just leave. I was leaving anyway…”

He tried to scramble away but before Sakura could stop him from doing so, Sasuke was already blocking the exit. He placed his hand on the boy's shoulder.

“Boruto. What happened?”

Maybe it was the strength in Sasuke's voice or perhaps it was the respect that Boruto held for the man but he couldn't move from there. He spoke up.

…

“Boruto's not home yet?”

Naruto asked, surprised, wondering why his son was away at this time of the night. Sure, Boruto did stay out longer at times but it was primarily because he was either training with Konohamaru or Sasuke. And the last time Naruto had found his son away from home so late night, he was at the Uchiha residence.

At Hinata's distressed nod, Naruto yelled, “Wait. I'll make some shadow clones and search for him.”

But before he could create the seal, Himawari came running down the hallway.

“Mom! Dad! Aunt Sakura called!” The young girl screamed.

“She said that Onii-chan was at their home and that they would send him home after dinner!”

Both him and Hinata took a simultaneous sigh of relief but Naruto did wonder.

How do you always end up there, Boruto?

…

“They did what?!”

Sarada and Boruto had been trying to answer the barrage of questions that Sakura and Sasuke threw at them and would have to do their best to calm the two adults down when the things went too far.

“...Do you remember what they looked like?”

Sasuke was the first one of break the silence after the kids told them of how the guy had almost killed Sarada. Sensing the growing rage in her parents, Sarada spoke up immediately to diffuse the situation.

“Papa, calm down please! I'm okay. Boruto saved me.”

“Yes, sweetie. You're safe but Boruto's hurt, isn't he? And they deserve punishment. Just...not what Sasuke-kun is planning.”

Sarada giggled at the sour face her father made at her mother's remark. And Boruto smirked too. Sakura was healing the gash as much as she could combined with the burn that had still not properly healed yet. She rebandaged Boruto's arm before smiling at him with melancholy.

“Boruto, I know you think that things you've done are wrong, and yes, they were but that doesn't give the right to others to put you down. Especially when you're doing your best to make things right! Do you understand kid?”

Satisfied with Boruto's firm nod as an answer, Sakura felt relieved. She grabbed him by the shoulders and looked him dead in the eyes.

“Listen Boruto, even though I can officially put it down in your medical report that the drug they injected in you was not toxic and only temporarily paralyzing, but I will not! No godson of mine will have some weird drug flowing in his body. That is why you'll accompany me to the hospital tomorrow. I have to make a through check up.”

Boruto gulped audibly but Sakura continued, “I'll also go and talk to Naruto about these new stupid inventions and them getting in wrong hands. One of these days, those scientific weapons he and the council has been funding on might end up hurting his own kid.”

Sakura fumed in herself as the other three watched her with various degrees of terror and awe.

You're incredible Mama!

Sarada looked up at the woman who gave her a grin in return.

“Come on Sarada! Help me cook dinner.”

Sarada gave her an enthusiastic nod and ran towards the kitchen but halted in midway when Boruto's voice reached her ears.

“I think I should leave now, Aunt Sakura.”

Sarada stopped in her tracks. To be honest, she didn't want him to leave yet but was not sure if he wanted to stay more here. They both needed a little loosening up after today's events. The day's events were too much for both of them.

“Nonsense! You will stay here and have dinner with us Boruto!”

“But Mom would worry-”

“I'll call Hinata. Don't worry about such trivial things.” Sakura emphasized with a convincing smile and Boruto resigned to the older woman.

As she grabbed the phone to dial Hinata, Boruto and Sasuke were already helping Sarada gather up the ingredients. A while later, Sakura returned, telling them that information has been relayed to Himawari. The ladies flitted around the kitchen cooking stuff and men helped them by bringing necessities and arranging the table.

Later, the four of them occupied the table. Miso soup, rice and several other side dishes were served. It was funny how Boruto squirmed in his seat. He wasn't used to having dinner with anyone else other than his family.

“Rice?”

Sarada's voice broke him out of his musings. He realised that she was gesturing at his empty bowl, so Boruto stretched it towards her for a second helping.

“And Boruto, do not worry” Sakura declared, “we'll be dropping you home after dinner.

“W-What?!”

Boruto gawked, slightly grateful that the chopsticks hadn't slipped off his fingers. He stared at Sakura, gaping.

“But Aunt! I can go home myself-”

“No way!”

This time it was Sarada who objected, elbowing him on the arm and narrowing her eyes.

“Last time you tried going home alone you were ambushed, drugged and almost killed! Not taking chances again! Right Mama?”

She nodded in the direction of her mother for agreement.

“Right!”

Boruto heaved out a large sigh and smiled in defeat.

“Fine, fine.”

His antics made both Sarada and Sakura giggle. He launched into another tirade of recent events, exclaiming how Sarada punched the hell out of those criminals and how he was cheering for her all the way.

Sasuke smiled.

He had seen enough of both of his daughter and student to notice that Boruto was much more livelier than he had been for days and Sarada was much more relaxed.

So you two made up, hn.

He closed his eyes for a second, relishing bliss of home, of the ambience and presence of his loved ones.

“Sasuke-kun? Are you tired?”

Sakura's sudden question snapped him out of the trance as he blinked at her.

“What? No-”

“Papa. Are you sleepy?”

He shook his head when Boruto exclaimed.

“He totally is! See, that's what I was saying! You guys shouldn't worry about me -ttebasa! I can go home on my own!”

“Boruto...don't even go there.” Sasuke warned.

“Alright, alright! I give up!”

He raised his both hands in surrender and then attacked the food, stuffing it into his mouth in embarrassment. Sarada rolled her eyes at him but allowed a fond exasperated smile to grace her lips.

…

After dinner and doing dishes, which Boruto had volunteered to help with, the group of four of them left for the Uzumaki residence. They were halfway down the busy road when Sasuke suddenly requested for a private audience with Boruto, prompting Sakura and Sarada to move ahead.

“After your fight with Momoshiki? Did something weird happen?”

Sasuke was direct to the point. His brows raised when the boy flinched and looked at him with wide eyes.

“You saw him?! Really? Does that mean I wasn't hallucinating? It was real?”

Sasuke gave him a cautious nod and asked something that had bothered him for a while.

“...He talked to you? Didn't he? Personally.”

Boruto tilted his head in agreement and Sasuke could detect turmoil in his clear blue eyes as the boy described the moment.

“It was... something, like a vision. I don't know what it was and he was definitely saying some creepy stuff along with that.”

“Creepy stuff?”

“Yeah. He talked about how people who defeat gods are not ordinary people anymore and some stuff about destiny and things like that. I thought...it was all in my head but you saw it. So it's gotta be true!”

Boruto looked disturbed now and Sasuke couldn't blame him at all. At the end of the day, he was just a kid. He watched monsters who claimed to be gods attack his village, capture his father and almost kill him. And then after defeating the monster, he's left with that creepy indecipherable message about his destiny, his future being cursed. Sasuke eyed the way his fists clenched and eyes clouded with apprehension.

“You know, I should have told you this sooner.”

His grave voice immediately attracted Boruto's attention. At the boy's curious stare, Sasuke looked forward, speaking from his heart.

“No one knows what the future holds. Remember that. If you live in fear of the future, you'll never be able to live the present. And I'm telling you this because you have a long way to go before you reach the desired future.”

Sasuke looked down back again, peering into his blue eyes, he spoke as honestly as he could.

“So don't think about what is to come, rather prepare yourself to battle everything and anything that destiny throws on your face.”

Sasuke genuinely smiled at the awed grin that Boruto offered him, a nostalgic scene from some corner of his conscience resurfaced.

…

“Do you think he caused some trouble again?”

Hinata's question made Naruto look up at her, she was sitting right across him on the chair, with a tense frown marring her beautiful features.

“Why would you think that? Hinata?”

He asked, lightly stroking Himawari's hair who had fallen asleep on the sofa waiting for her big brother. Hinata fiddled her fingers together, a nervous habit that she had grown out of a long time ago, but an anomaly that would occasionally reappear when she is extremely anxious about something.

“I-I don't know? He's been causing a lot of problems lately. Doing things that he shouldn't be doing. Sometimes... I feel like...it's my fault. Like if I have failed him as his mother-”

“Stop right there!”

Naruto's strong voice made Hinata flinch. But Naruto was having none of it. He stood up from his seat and approached his wife in a few strong strides. He crouched down to her level and gripped her shoulders firmly.

“Listen to me, Hinata. And listen to me good. You have never failed Boruto or anyone for any matter! Do you understand? You're an amazing mother, an awesome daughter and an incredible friend. And also the best love I could have ever wished for. So I will not accept you putting yourself down!”

Hinata opened her mouth to say anything but the words felt clogged in her throat. So rather than trying to bring forth what her feelings enclosed, she decided to act on them and buried her face in his chest. He circled his arms around her shoulders, holding her in his protective embrace.

Although the trance was broken when Himawari let out a tiny whine. Both parents breathed out a sigh of relief realising that she was still sleeping.

“I'm surprised that she's still asleep after all the yelling you did.” Hinata teased.

Naruto rubbed the back of his head and laughed nervously before running to tuck their daughter away in the bed.

…

Naruto was climbing down the stairs when the front door slipped open and Boruto appeared, followed by the Uchiha family.

Naruto's surprised yell of ‘Boruto’ caused Hinata to rush out of the door to greet their son. The marks on his face and the fresh bandage on his arm alarmed them almost immediately.

“What happened?” They exclaimed in unison.

All the four of the newcomers shared a look before letting out a collective sigh.

“It's a long story.”

…

“I'll dispatch a squad of Anbu to track down those criminals immediately!” Naruto stood up from his place, his anger flaring up, “And we also need to keep an close eye on the manufacture of those ninja tools.”

The people in the room had watched Naruto pacing the room repeatedly in agitation for ten minutes before Sasuke spoke up.

“You don't even need Anbu. I can do all that work myself. I just need permission.”

He side eyed Sakura who immediately retorted with a firm 'No’.

“Dad. Not today please.” Boruto's tired voice interrupted in between, “If I've to end up telling that incident one more time, I swear I'll go and ask hell if they're having an exchange program.”

All the adults gave him a 'what?’ look but Sarada just exhaled, having gotten used to his weird antics.

“Sarada. Boruto. We need you to leave this room.” Sasuke's sudden request made everyone look up at him “-uh, adult talk, you see?” He offered a lame explanation making the three adults in the room stare at him in incredulity while the younglings simply rolled their eyes, already used Sasuke's poor attempts when dealing with kids.

“I and Sarada are by the swings then.” Boruto supplied before exiting the room with Sarada beside him.

…

“What do you think they could be talking about?” Boruto asked, leaning against the pole of the swing which Sarada occupied at the current moment.

When Himawari was quite young, Uzumakis had a small swing set installed at their backyard. Boruto and Sarada have a lot of childhood memories related to this swing so it felt oddly nostalgic for both of them to be here at the moment. But neither mentioned anything.

“I don't know? Maybe how to deal with our attackers or maybe about the take of action against SNWT?”

“Yup, probably.”

A light breeze blew, tossing Sarada's dark locks in rhythm. She closed her eyes to feel it, cherish it and letting that calm wash over her nerves. Suddenly, a gentle push on her back made the swing move forward. She swiveled her head around to find Boruto behind her, smiling gently. As the swing returned, he caught her and pushed her again. Sarada giggled, relishing the momentum and the feeling of wind whipping her face.

As the comfortable silence continued, Sarada felt her heart ease up and shed some light on the questions she had been scared to ask herself. The swinging motion was so incredibly soothing that her lips turned upwards into a smile. Back and forth. It was astonishing how a childhood fun activity defined their bond so well. How they would push one another towards their goals but would also be there to catch when the other stumbles behind.

And suddenly everything became so crystal clear.

“Do you want to swing too?” She asked turning to look at him as she was softly pushed away again.

“Nahhh.” He grinned.

“You know? I want you to remember what Mama said. Just because you made a mistake that you're repenting for, gives nobody else the right to insult you. Don't let people do that again Boruto.”

It took him a moment to reply.

“I know. I understand it now. Better late than never, right?”

“Right!” she laughed happily, relieved on inside to see the light shining in his eyes once again.

“But yeah, thank you Sarada.”

His gratitude out of nowhere made her whip her head in his direction.

“What? What are you thanking me for? You're the one who...saved me?”

Boruto shook his head at her confusion.

“I wanted to thank you for everything. For being so understanding after the mess I created with the others. Then coming to save my loser self from those attackers. Then taking care of my wounds before your own. And also for... making me see things that I was deliberately ignoring. I just don't know what I'd do without you.”

His voice was so thick with emotions that Sarada half suspected that he might be crying again, so she tightly refrained from the urge to look back at him. Because she knew it better than anyone else about how much he hated showing tears. She had seen him crying today already. He wouldn't like it if it happens a second time. After a while, she whispered.

“Welcome. You know, you can count on me. Always.”

“You can count on me too! Always!” He replied without missing a beat. They both were secretly elated, happy and appeased. The tensions that have been taking hold of their relationship slowly seemed to fade away.

“Sarada!”

Sakura's voice floated over to the two of them as they saw their parents standing on the porch.

“Come on! Let's go home!”

“Yes. Coming!” Sarada replied, jumping off the swing after Boruto slowed it down. As Sarada was about to follow her parents out of the Uzumaki residence, she stopped all of sudden. She slowly turned to him and Boruto was not sure if it was an illusion of anything, but her cheeks appeared a little pinker than usual.

“Um,” her eyes darted all over the place, “-you see, I, care about you a lot.”

Instantly, that nervous fiddling around vanished, replaced by a surge of confidence that astounded him.

“And you're my friend! That is why!”

What about you?

He had asked, and this was her answer.

The bright grin she offered him was so overwhelming, so bright and blinding that Boruto failed to utter out a single word as she raced back to her parents. He stood there, still staring at her back, enchanted, as he added one more fact in the list of those he was exclusively sure about her.

Yes .

With that smile etching itself deep in his memories, he knew, that there wasn't any sense in denying anymore.

Yes .

He now knew.

Yes.

She is Beautiful. ...

Aaaaaahhhhh! I know it's an open ended story but since Boruto and Sarada are still quite young here, I felt that the most important factor in this story would be their relationship development based on their friendship. And also has a lot of character development here as well.

And at the last, the story ended where it started, so yes, a full circle? AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

I had so much fun WRITING it, and had so many up and downs irl during the span. It was amazing journey shared with you all. And honestly thanks a lot for supporting me and also for your patience.

If you want to talk more about this story, you can send me messages on my Tumblr ask box! I'll be happy to indulge you!

And of course, fear not, no matter what, I'll still be updating my other stories so this is not the end!

With the above message, I conclude my first multichapter story ever!

Thank you everyone for reading this story and supporting it!

See you again.

#borusara #borusarafics #boruto x sarada #boruto and sarada #boruto uzumaki #sarada uchiha #boruto #sarada #borusara fanfiction #boruto naruto next generation #is she beautiful #adi writes

58 notes · View notes

monstersandmaw · 6 years

Note

Hello! Thank you for opening requests. If it's okay i'd like to request a lonesome male fae with a non binary chubby reader, sfw if it's possible thank you very much.

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

Oh gosh, I’ve sat on this request for months. Like, months. But I knew I was going to do it for you, and had it all planned out (on paper and in writing and everything!) and then I discovered that it’s your birthday today, so I had to do it. Happy birthday, my beautiful demon-muse-friend!!

The setting for this is the day of my orc girl, Bronwyn, and her female reader’s wedding, but they don’t feature. Instead, the fae who is officiating their marriage is the subject of this little tale. It’s sfw, and features a reader who’s gender isn’t mentioned. I hope you like it!!

_____________________

As you traipsed into the little town, exhausted, and utterlyfed up, you saw little triangular pennants hanging over the main street in awide loop, fluttering in kaleidoscope colours in the breeze. It drew a smilefrom your lips, despite your mood. You’d been walking for days, you had almostnothing left, and yet someone here was happy, and having a party.

The noise of merriment and song rose from the back garden ofone of the buildings, and as you neared it, you realised it was the villageinn. The sign of the White Lady inn swung in the breeze, showing you adelicately painted rendition of the waterfall that you’d passed a few milesback, which had the same name. Not wanting to enter the pub if the celebrationsfor someone else’s happy day were in full swing, you looked around and saw ahuge water trough with broad, stone edging, sitting just beside the inn. Takingyourself over there, you cupped your hands and drank deeply of the clear, freshwater. It was cold, but it felt so good. Your own waterskin was empty, and yourfood rations were running out.

As you sank gratefully down onto the edge of the fountainand took a moment to rest your feet and enjoy the strains of music floating upfrom the party going on just out of sight behind the building, a movementcaught your eye, and you saw a figure standing in the archway to the passagewhich led along the side of the inn. He was clearly coming from thecelebrations, but he looked somehow utterly lonely.

After a moment, he noticed you too, and began to approachyou slowly, giving you plenty of time to get up and leave if you didn’t wanthis company, his hands hanging loose at his sides in a non-threatening, gentlepose.

Gods, but he was beautiful. He was tall, and perhaps a bitsevere looking, with long dark hair, and bright eyes, and he wore a long, darkblue, almost ceremonial robe, trimmed with silver and embroidered with patternsof the summer constellations. As he drew nearer to you, he looked almostsurprised by his own actions, but he smiled at you, and asked you who you were.Unthinkingly, you simply told him your name, and said you’d come a long waythat day.

“So I see,” he said kindly in his quiet, rich baritone. Ithad a sad harmonic to it somehow, which you couldn’t quite identify, but whichyou seemed to feel in the very depths of your soul. “And what are you doing outhere alone?” he asked. “The inn may be full of wedding guests, but there’salways room for one more, I’m sure. Mama Gilla wouldn’t hear of someone goinghungry in her town…”

You had to smile at that, but it faded quickly. “No moneyfor food or a bed,” you shrugged. “I suppose I’ll sleep between the trees againtonight…” you said. “It’s not so bad at this time of year.”

He frowned, his strong, handsome brows knitting together inconsternation, and his slender hand went to his pocket. He drew out a glintinggold coin, and your eyes went wide with surprise. Before you could sayanything, he said, “I will offer you this coin in return for a single smile.”

“What?” you asked stupidly.

He chuckled, a lovely, whickering sound, like a contentedhorse. “I’ve seen plenty of smiles today, but they were all for someone else.None were truly for me.”

“That’s a heavy price to pay for just a smile,” youcountered, staring at the coin.

“It’s my demand. I’ll set the price.”

You looked at him a long time. “You’re fae, aren’t you?” youasked eventually, and he nodded once. “What are you doing here?”

“Officiating at a friend’s wedding, believe it or not,” hesaid. “There’s an ancient belief in these parts that to be married by a faebinds you to each other on a deeper level.”

You cocked your head to one side. “That’s not the case?” youasked curiously.

He laughed again, adjusting his weight slightly on hisslender legs. His long blue robe lifted in the breeze which whispered along theroad, and you felt your heart skip a beat as his long, dark hair was liftedfrom his slim shoulders to reveal his chiselled jawline and high cheekbones inthe shifting sunlight of the late afternoon. He seemed completely unaware ofhis good looks as he shook his head. “No, I don’t think my presence makes theirpromises any deeper,” he said.

Unthinkingly, you smiled broadly at his comment, and he heldout the coin to you. “There,” he said. “Perfect. Thank you.”

“That’s it?” you said, fingers faltering just beforeaccepting the gold coin. It would buy you bed and board from here to the nextkingdom, probably.

“I swear on my true name that the only price I ask in returnfor this gold coin is a smile from you, traveller,” he said formally.

“I feel bad accepting it though,” you murmured, and he setthe coin down on the edge of the fountain. As you reached to pick it up, yourfocus left the fae, and when you glanced back up, he was nowhere to be seen.Disappointment sank deeply into you, and you turned the coin over in yourfingers. It was still warm.

You stayed in the inn that night, and Mama Gilla, the goblinwho owned the inn, was only too happy to change it into coppers and silvers foryou, which would be more practical for the road anyway.

At dawn, you set off while all the wedding guests were stillasleep, and a chorus of chirruping forest birds filled your ears as you trampedalong the road, well rested and full of delicious food, heading away from thecity far behind you and out into the world beyond.

Then, as you rounded a corner, you saw another travellerwalking the road ahead of you.

His back was towards you, but the slope of his shoulders wassomewhat familiar, as was the long dark hair now tied back in a neat ponytail,and he walked with an easy grace in the same direction as you. In his righthand he carried a sturdy yet elegant walking staff, and on his back was a smallpack. As if sensing your approach, he halted, and turned back to look at you.

You smiled broadly as you approached, but it soon faded to aworried frown as you saw him shaking his head, looking serious. “What’s wrong?”you asked as you caught up with the fae from the day before.

“You give me another of your beautiful smiles, and I have nomore gold to offer you in payment,” he said.

“What’s your name?” you asked in return. “Or at least, whatcan I call you?”

“Kiridai,” he said immediately, and you knew instinctivelythat that was his true name. “Is that the price you ask for your smile?”

“No,” you laughed, “Of course not. I just wanted to knowyour name. There’s no price this time. My smile is my gift,” you said, but hedidn’t seem happy with that either. “Now what?” you asked.

“A gift should be met with another gift, else the onereceiving is in the giver’s power,” he said gravely.

You rolled your eyes playfully, sensing that he was a very serious fae, but not a dangerous one. “Only by fae rules,” you scoffed. “Besides, wouldit be so terrible to be in my power?” you asked playfully.

Kiridai actually snarled at that. “What can I give you?” hedemanded.

“You don’t deal with people very often, do you?” youlaughed, and he seemed taken aback at that, but not displeased. “I’m surprisedthey asked you to officiate a wedding!”

His shoulders slumped and his head bowed sadly.

“Fine,” you laughed, giving in. “If you insist, I would lovefor you to walk with me and show me your favourite thing about this forest,”you said.

Kiridai seemed pleased with that as your price, and youwalked with him along the road for perhaps a mile before he turned off the pathand took a narrow deer track through the beech trees. He paused briefly tocheck that he had set a good pace for you, and when he discovered that you hadkept up with him, he smiled bashfully over his shoulder, his eyes glittering,and he said, “Almost there.”

At the top of a short incline, he halted beside a littlerocky cliff. Water trickled from the rock into a natural pool, which, despitethe gentle flow of water, was still as glass. Sitting on the surface of themirrored pond were delicate, wild water-roses, the like of which you had neverseen in your whole life. Each one was as large as your hand, pale andbeautiful, and you soon found your feet faltering and your eyes widening at thesight of them.

Their delicate fragrance filled the glen, and he ushered youforwards toward them with a graceful wave of his arm. “This,” he said, “Is myfavourite place in the whole world.”

“I can see why,” you breathed, inhaling the scent of rosesand hearing the soft, glittering tinkle of water.

Glancing back at him, you saw him watching you with adelighted expression on his handsome face. “I’m glad you like it too,” he saidearnestly.

“Thank you,” you croaked. “It’s beautiful.”

“I could bring you nowhere else,” he said. “A beautiful soullike you is worthy of being in such a beautiful place.”

___________________________

Happy birthday, friend. Thank you for your endless support and ideas which keep me inspired on a nearly-daily basis. You deserve every happiness in the world.

Just to add, requests are not currently open, this was a special one-off for a lovely friend. Sorry folks! Don’t send me requests after you see this…

___________________________

#male fae #fae #non binary reader #non binary character #happy birthday

517 notes · View notes

a-bear-at-hogwarts · 5 years

Note

answer everything on the talk about the muse asks uwu

LEE I HOPE YOU KNOW I WOULD DIE FOR YOU thank you so much oh my g o d Literally every ask; all about Dahlia Goldman!! :>!!

🍯 for a food headcanon

Dahlia is allergic to a substance called theobromine!! Usually the biggest trouble it causes her is chocolate, as anything much stronger than a white to very milky usually has enough to cause her trouble, but it would take an astounding amount to actually kill her - same story with caffeine!! It’s linked to how her biology is affected by the Sítheach curse, giving her physical traits usually associated with bears

🥛for a drink headcanon

Dahlia cannot stand pumpkin juice - it’s not the taste or anything, but it just feels so slimy and pulpy and gross and she absolutely loathes it

🐢 for a mental health headcanon

Dahlia’s environment growing up instilled in her the belief that she can’t fully trust anyone - not her friends, not her family, nobody. Her heart is open and she grows to care for people almost too fast, but she just can’t shake the voice in the back of her mind that’s a constant reminder she doesn’t know for certain that she’s safe around these people. In large part this is due to her mother - from childhood she enforced that people hid things, and that could be highly dangerous. In addition, her father was killed by a man he had thought was his friend - in actuality he’d been a sleeper agent for the Death Eaters.

Knowing everything she does, it takes her a long time to relinquish anything that can’t be reversed.

🦄 for a physical health headcanon

Okay. The Goldman’s?? Buff as hell.

From the fact that martial combat is something Sítheach legacies are raised into so that they can defend themselves, to the specific Goldman wariness that encourages the family to maintain their physical condition, to the fact that the curse increases their mass both muscular and otherwise in order to make the transition from human to beast less straining on the body, its a rare Goldman that doesn’t look like an extra from a Viking documentary. In addition, there aren’t many who don’t have a story-map of scars across their skin from various misadventures.

⌛for a sleep headcanon

Up until year three, Dahlia was trying her very hardest to just not sleep. There were too many people around for her to risk transformation, and she just plain didn’t want to. Why should she sleep and risk all the negative that came with it?

But then Talbott appeared, and gave her an option - and she became an animagus.

It was such a huge risk, considering Sítheach legacies were completely outlawed from becoming animagi centuries ago. There would have been no trial for her if she had been found out. But for the chance to rest peacefully, to sleep through the night without the gnawing fear that she would have hurt people or destroyed the life she’d built in the magical world, for the way it muffled the Call to the quietest whisper at the edge of her consciousness - it was more than worth it to her. And she gained a confident along the way :>!!

💕 for a love headcanon

Oh What a disaster she is. On one hand, Dahlia is a master of under-the-table flirting that leaves you breathless and asking questions. If she’s interested romantically, she lets you know in actions rather than words - singing a specific song in your general area, dressing slightly differently around you, making special note and adjusting accordingly. But the second you actually do something overt in response?? An absolute mess

All of a sudden words aren’t working and she can’t look anywhere without flutters - she has no idea what to do with her hands, and often seems almost scared to touch whoever she’s interacting with even if she was holding their hand or dancing with them only a moment ago

(remind me to talk about my ideas for how she and Merula first begin to realise their feelings because it’s a thing I wanna expand on :>!!!)

💣 for a stress headcanon

Unfortunately Dahlia’s approach to stress is pretty similar to her approach to most emotions she doesn’t want - repression. Just ignore it and it’ll go away eventually!

When she can’t deal with a buzzing mind, too full of thoughts and worries, she does something until she’s exhausted - fistfights the dummies in the duelling room, runs until she can’t anymore, anything really. Just so long as it drives her out of her head.

😵 for a sickness headcanon

Oh Dahlia is almost always in the hospital wing - before she learnt episkey, she was a regular due to her constantly getting scrapes and bruises she just paid no attention to at all until the teachers forced her to get them looked at. She doesn’t get viruses or bacterial illnesses very often, but when she does it’s denial city - what do you mean I can’t go to class it’s just a runny nose and a cough I’m fine

🤲 for a religious headcanon

The Goldman’s aren’t religious per se, but there are some folk-superstitions that stick. There’s a horseshoe over their door, and lavender in the pillows - and not one of them will ever set foot in a faerie circle.

🏡 for a home headcanon

When they first bought their property, the family house was in shambles. Dahlia’s mother and father worked on it together, her mother doing the physical placing of new beams and other physical elements while her father handled the magical parts. It became sort of a patchwork tower, adding bits as they needed them - it doesn’t make sense per se, but it’s still home. And at the end of the day, it was the only place Dahlia felt secure for the longest time.

🍬 for a family headcanon

Mama Goldman is a 7′2 absolute beast of a lady who can and will kick your ass if you give her reason to. She’s known as one of the most dangerous members of the Sítheach legacy, constantly alert and never unarmed.

She’s also the dork who looked at a florists son, a big nerd who would Not Stop Rambling to the pretty and ripped lady who agreed to go get coffee with him about how muggle understanding of plant families could influence potion making and thought “Oh I can’t not marry him”

Dahlia is very much a mamma’s girl in a lot of ways

💼 for a work headcanon

In the future, Dahlia finds employment as an instructor for an elective course available to aurors in training! Hand to hand, escapism and muggle interactions are all handled in her classroom ^-^

⛈️ for a sadness headcanon

Okay so

At the beginning of the canon storyline, it’s been two years since Jacob has vanished. The likelihood of missing persons returning to their families decreases by the hour - something the Goldman’s would definitely know.

Dahlia believes Jacob is dead all the way up until he appears again. They all do. They buried an empty grave for him, they mourned, and as the years passed they moved on.

It utterly destroys Dahlia to know Jacob is alive, for two reasons; the first is that she stopped looking for him, they all did - during her investigation of the vaults all she was searching for was a body to bury. The second is that he reappears right as there’s strife amongst the family that he knows nothing about. Hell the summer before he’s found she buries her uncle.All she knows is that she couldn’t handle mourning him again.

😡 for an anger headcanon

Anger isn’t something Dahlia feels like she’s allowed. It’s too dangerous, too much of a risk for her to hold on to something like that because anger leads to adrenaline, and adrenaline leads to the change, and the change leads to bloodshed-

but oh, sometimes she just can’t help it. There’s so much anger that simmers below her constraints, bitterness at how she’s treated by ministry and adults and frustration at herself for her fear and closed-off nature. Sometimes she just can’t bottle it, and when that happens she usually takes it out of a training dummy. Better than taking it out on a person.

💩 for a ridiculous headcanon

The real reason Dahlia never actually met her DADA teacher before Rakepick was because it always took place during the time of the day she was most tired, so she would just sleep through it every time.

What? She’s got teachers permission and already knew basically everything being taught. It was fiiiiiiiiiine

🌼 for a happiness headcanon

In quiet moments alone in her room, Dahlia enjoys playing the guitar. She can play half a dozen love ballads, a handful of old folk songs, a couple popular pop songs. It’s what she does when she feels safe to lose herself.

After a couple of years of friendship with Talbott, he’s the first person she feels like she can play in front of while he’s visiting over the summer. He’s quiet as she does so, usually absorbed in whatever else it is that he’s got in his hands, most often a piece of writing. It’s a part of their mutual understanding that they don’t interrupt each other, but that they’re simply content in the company.It’s nice, after spending so long afraid of contact, to just share one of the tiniest parts of yourself that never ordinarily sees the light of day

#Asks!!#long post tw #jkbhjv . he c k thank you so much for enabling me this was so fun ;A;!!!

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codyfernaesthetic · 5 years

Text

Dichotomy

Part 7

Author’s note:

You know what’s rare? Mallory smiling. By god, does she deserve it. She’s been through hell. Does it last? No, what’do think this is, American Happy Story?

“Hello, Mallory!”

Lydia strutted into Mallory’s room, pushing past a caught-off guard Rhoda.

Mallory stood, surprised, but pleasantly so, “Hi.”

Rhoda closed the door, eyeing the woman suspiciously.

“I didn’t expect to see you again,” Mallory told her as she was pulled into a hug. She didn’t return it, more so from shock than unwillingness.

She pulled back, “Well, I came to ask a favor, one that I think will be mutually beneficial.”

Mallory furrowed her brows, but nodded for her to continue.

“Mallory, fashion has always been my deepest passion in life, but I am so tired of these stuck up, socialite bitches who only know how to complain. I truly enjoyed making you a dress all those months ago, and well, I was hoping you’d be willing to be my muse. I’ve been feeling so stifled lately, and if I may say, you have this...innocent beauty about you, something very alien yet...real, genuine.”

Taken aback, she offered a shy, confused smile, “Thank you.”

Rhoda circled around behind Mallory, eyeing Lydia like a mama bear watching a hunter who’s gotten too close for comfort to her cubs. Mallory didn’t notice as Lydia flitted and touched her hair and face, “There’s just this...I don’t know, aura around you. Oh, please say you will, Mallory. You’ll have my eternal thanks.”

Mallory shrugged, having nothing to lose, “Sure. It’d be an honor.”

Lydia’s smile grew wider as she unloaded her bag onto the nearby counter, already off into rambling, “Perfect. Now I already have a couple designs in mind. Some are just everyday wear, and then there are some for balls and big events, we have those so often here...”

Rhoda stayed close to Mallory’s side.

* * *

Michael’s personal office was located on the first floor of the main complex, where the majority of the business side of the Cooperative was operated. It was, of course, the largest of them all, and the most grand. Rumor was it was modeled and inspired after The King’s Office in the Palace of Versailles; rich, detailed oak desk and cabinets, perfectly polished floors, almost like glass, gold an velvet decorating every surface, all bathed in warm light. Michael sat in his leather chair at his desk, a large French window framed by crimson curtains behind him. The artificial sunlight streaming in, casting a soft halo around his head. A stack of papers lay in his lap, but his interest in them was cursory at best. Every so often, he would take to tapping his finger on his chair’s arm, gaze far away.

“You haven’t been very talkative lately.”

Michael was drawn from his inner thoughts to look at Ms. Mead who had walked behind the desk, looking at him with a motherly concern.

“I never knew I was talkative,” he said pulling one side of his mouth into a small smirk.

She patted his shoulder, “I’m sure if I had more memories of you from before, I could contradict that.”

He reached up and placed his hand over hers, trying to hide the twinge of sadness in his eyes.

“Something’s on your mind,” she continued, walking around to sit in a small leather chair, “It’s that girl, isn’t it.”

He bit the inside of his cheek, but gave no response. He knew it was more of a statement than a question.

She leaned in, “Is she one of the witches who escaped?”

He nodded, “Yes, she must be. But...”

“What?”

He stood, walking to the window and staring out into nowhere, deep in thought, “There’s something else. She’s something else.”

Mead kept her gaze steadily on the back of his head, as if trying to read his mind. He liked keeping to himself, despite how he told her how close they were. It was as if something had once again separated them.

Perhaps he could sense that she’d lied at the Outpost.

She’d told him that she knew where her place was, by his side in this new world. That wasn’t true. She’d never felt more out of place than at this so-called Sanctuary. At the Outpost, things were simple and clear. Venable ran things strict, but efficient, and Mead was her right hand. Venable had been the closest thing to a friend she could remember, but at his command, she’d shot her dead. Here, she felt next to useless, she wasn’t in control of anything, and this entire place was run with too much bureaucracy. Mead often had passing thoughts that perhaps Michael hadn’t so much had a problem with how she had run the Outpost, but that she could have no real authority, and yet have such a tighter grip of control than he did. Mead kept these thoughts to herself, knowing that in the end she had no power to change things. Michael was still the beautiful boy, the idealized image in her mind of long forgotten, and cobbled-together rosy memories.

And perhaps that’s all she was to him as well.

“Did you ever notice any deformities on Mallory?” he asked, breaking the long silence, “Scars or birthmarks?”

She shrugged, “I never paid much attention to her at all. She never seemed all that special to me.”

He turned to face her, brow taught with curiosity, “Perhaps that was the point. To hide her in plain sight.”

* * *

Lydia had practically given Mallory a wardrobe to last a few months. An outfit for every occassion it seemed. Although the ensemble she wore today was probably one of her favorites. It was black, sheer in some places, draped over elegantly, decorated with silver stars and moons. She even had given her a little silver star hairpin. She stared at herself in the mirror, indulging her vanity briefly. She’d never owned anything designer before. It certainly felt more expensive than what she was used to.

“I feel like a...goth princess or something,” she told Lydia with a smile; who stood beside her, admiring her work.

“You certainly look like a princess.”

Rhoda slipped on a simple silver chain with a pearl pendant around Mallory’s neck. She looked Mallory up and down with a cautious smile.

“Well, twirl around!” Lydia encouraged, “Give us a fashion show!”

Mallory laughed and spun with a flourish, picking up the hem between her fingers and strutting around the room, much to Rhoda’s delight.

Lydia cheered, “Beautiful!”

Mallory leaned dramatically against the chair, throwing her hand over her head, “Am I a model yet?”

Rhoda clapped, feeling such joy at seeing Mallory smile.

She whirled out back into the middle of the room, “Coco would be so jealous--”

She stopped, her smile faltering. Rhoda’s heart sinking with it.

She looked at Lydia and said more quietly, “Thank you, Lydia. It’s beautiful. Everything you’ve made me is beautiful.”

She waved her off, “Oh, no, thank you. I haven’t had this much fun making clothes in over a year. You’re much easier to get along with than some of the others here.”

She began packing up her supplies, suddenly looking up and telling her, “You know, maybe you should be out and about today, show off to all these rich folks how beautiful you are.”

She nodded, the sadness obvious in her tone, “Thank you, Lydia.”

“Perhaps she’s right, Mi-Mallory,” Rhoda said as she closed the door behind Lydia, “You have been cooped up in here for so long. Maybe it would be beneficial to have a change of scenery? Some fresh air?”

Mallory gave her an incredulous look.

“And you do look lovely.”

She smiled, “Yeah, I guess I’ll have to learn to get around this place at some point. So, tell me, what’s there to do around here for fun?”

She paused to think, “There’s a theatre.”

“Of course there is.”

Rhoda laughed, “The Cooperative has a collection of nearly any movie you can imagine. Sometimes they hold special theme nights.”

Her eyes lit up, “What, like for Star Wars?”

She nodded, “Yes, I have heard of that.”

“Have you ever seen it?”

“No.”

Mallory’s jaw dropped, “You’ve never seen the Star Wars movies?”

She shook her head bashfully, “I’m afraid not. Not entirely. I’ve caught brief glimpses when I was delivering extra popcorn to the woman I served before you.”

“Which ones?”

“I...beleive the prequels.”

Mallory stood up, with a serious look, “Well, that settles what we’ll be doing for the day.”

* * *

Rhoda was fond over Mallory almost instantly when she entered the Sanctuary. Lydia was correct in that regard, she emanated an aura around her that instantly drew Rhoda to her; something so gentle yet powerful. It gave her a sense of peace, invigorating her, renewing energy. Yet, she could see that Mallory might’ve been giving off such effects without consequence to herself. She was sluggish, her skin had taken on a gray tone with the lack of light, she’d lost weight, not much, but enough to warrant Rhoda’s concern. She hadn’t looked like this when she arrived. Yet, it was as if the effects of the Apocalypse were only now pressing down on her; almost like a preservative energy had left. Rhoda tried her best to be a friend, even though she didn’t know how. She’d never been close to anyone, never beyond servant and master. No one had actually cared to learn her name like Mallory, just out of desire for human interaction; an effort to maintain sanity. That’s why Mallory saved Bartholomew, why she befriended Rhoda, she refused to lose herself, even after losing everything.

This made Rhoda’s betrayal all the more heinous in her own eyes.

Langdon had approached her barely a week after the incident at the Temple. She’d gone to fetch some food, in hopes that Mallory would at least try to eat something. She felt him approaching long before she saw him. Darkness and power followed him like a perfume, sharpening her senses. She bowed deeply without a word when he stood over her, frowning; not displeased, but grave in his intent.

“Look at me, Rhoda.”

She trembled at the way her name left his lips like a dark command. She shakily raised up to rest her gaze on his chest.

She gasped with fear when his fingers took her chin and forced her head up.

“In the eyes.”

“Yes, Lord Langdon,” she answered, her invitation for his will.

He smiled, but it was without joy. It was cold, inhuman. He dropped his hand.

“Were you present at the Temple the night of my return?”

He knew, of course he knew. He was daring her to lie.

“Yes, Lord Langdon.”

He nodded, “Then I’m certain you’re aware of the disturbance caused during the sacrifice.”

She don’t know why that prompted her start vomiting out words the way she did; perhaps paralyzing fear that he would do something to Mallory. Surely he knew it was her that was responsible.

She stepped closer, pleading, “Lord Langdon, Miss Mallory is deeply apologetic for disturbing the sacrifice. She swears she will never interfere again. And perhaps it was not her at all. Perhaps The Dark Lord was trying to communicate with you.”

His gaze was a dagger straight through her chest, his tone even more dangerous, “You dare to presume what my Father does and says to me?”

She violently shook her head, protesting, “No! My Lord, that wasn’t—“

He started stepping closer, backing her against a corner, eyes never straying from hers, “Does the slave think she knows more than the master?”

Tears pricked at her eyes, “Never, Lord Langdon.”

She was flat against a wall, shaking with terror.

“Has Miss Mallory’s influence planted a root of disobedience in you? Will corrections need to be made to curb your sudden defiance?”

Her muscles tensed as if she expected a slap, “No! No, my Lord.”

He brought his lips closer to her ear, his breath hot on her face, “If Miss Mallory’s head is stuck to a pike and displayed in the temple, will you be rid of your rebellion?”

A single tear escaped down her cheek, “No! No! I will obey, Lord Langdon! I will obey!”

He slowly stood up and backed away, looking her over cooly, “You will observe Miss Mallory and see if you can find any evidence of...unusual displays of power. Upon any discovery of such, you are to immediately report to me.”

She nodded, wiping away the tear, feeling like there was a sinkhole in her stomach, “Yes, Lord Langdon. It will be done according to your word.”

He turned to leave, saying with cold confidence, “Of course it will.”

#michael langdon #mallory #millory #millory fanfic #mallory x michael #ahs mallory #ahs michael #ahs apocalypse #cody fern #billie lourd #american horror story apocalypse #ahs season 8 #miriam mead #my writing #michael langdon fanfic #antichrist #satan #fanfic

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burmecianblackmage · 5 years

Note

I miss you (Freya)

Send me "I miss you" to know what my muse will say after 1 year, 5 years, then to 10 years after your muse's death.

It hadn’t exactly been a glorious death that had claimed her. No valiant last stand against a horde of foes or an overly mighty opponent, no warrior’s death on the battlefield, no final feat that would be sung about for years to come, no.

The Lady Freya of Burmecia had passed away peacefully in her sleep after a short illness.

It was not a warrior’s way to go, true. And it was not glorious. But even so, it was befitting for her, especially in her later years.

For it was the perfect way to leave this mortal world behind for those that were dearly beloved and cherished by those around them.

1 year later

tt wasn’t the anniversary of his death when the Black Mage made his way to her grave, for that day had passed a good week ago, and been observed by many a Burmecian visiting her grave. Not the type of day someone who didn’t belong in the Realm of Eternal Rain anymore could carelessly attend. And so he had waited for a while...

"My apologies, Lady Freya, for my lateness...”

He was standing in front of her grave, his usual attire exchanged for a grey cloak, it’s hood drawn deep into his face to obscure his appearance best as he could. It was a beautiful grave, fittingly pompous for a hero like her, and befitting the great deeds she had achieved in her life.

Like saving the world alongside the other legendary heroes, or leading the efforts to rebuild Burmecia and return it to it’s former glory.

“They really did you justice with this grave... I’m certain it will stand above others and be fondly remembered for many generations to come... much like you deserve.”

He felt a bit awkward in front of her grave, to be quite honest. But he wanted to honor her, not as a fellow Burmecian, but as someone that she had believed in. And so he’d hesitate at first, but eventually, he’d step closer, close enough to place a single white lily on her gravestone.

“May you rest in peace... Again... I’m sorry I am this late to pay my respects - and for having failed your hopes and expectations for me still...”

He wouldn’t say more, just silently standing these for a few minutes - and leaving in a hurry when he heard others approach the silent and serene graveyard...

5 years later

The grey cloak was still the same, and the hood drawn deep into his face like it always was when he came here, but inside the cloak and under that hood, he wasn’t quite the same man anymore.

After all, 5 years had passed already since her death, and though he still didn’t have the courage to come here on the actual anniversary of her passing, he still returned every year to talk to her, to tell her about his life.

Even if he wasn’t quite sure why he did it, really, other than that it somehow felt right.

And this year, he’d have a lot to tell her...

“...and, Lady Freya, believe me... I am still quite nervous about it... but in the months to come, it seems I will finally honor your wish... The appeal has been filed, and once the council approves of it, then well...”

He’d put his hand atop his lower left arm, the place where the accursed brand still remained that he had been marked with at the tender age of 8 years, branding him falsely as a traitor and exiling him from Burmecia forever. Or so they had thought back then. But much like he wasn’t the same man anymore, the boy who would panic at the mere sight of the brand and the thought of returning to the Realm of Eternal Rain, so too was Burmecia not the same anymore.

For the Burmecia that Freya had begun to build, it was a better, friendlier Burmecia than the one he had been born in.

“I know... I know it’s not like you truly could do much to help me in this, how it had to come from my own efforts ultimately... but even so... I still feel like I owe this all to you, Lady Freya. If you had never sought me out... if you hadn’t been the one to rebuild and shape Burmecia... Then this never would have happened. Then I’d never have made it so far, made it back home... So thank you, Freya. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you...”

And like every year, he would place down a white lily on her gravestone before he left...

10 years later

It is the first time that he visits her grave on the actual anniversary of her death, ten years after she had left this world behind. He may have become a citizen of Burmecia proper again a good three years ago, but he still had never come here on the actual day.

There was something special after all to coming here all on his own, and getting to spend this time alone with her.

But this year, it was the right moment to start doing this on the anniversary instead. After all... he was no longer coming here alone...

“Go on... You can do it, my dear. You’re my big girl, after all, right?”

The roughly three year old girl holding a white lily seemed nervous, a bit frightened by the sheer number of people standing around the impressive gravestone, paying their respects. She had claimed back home that she could do it, that she would place the flower in his stead, but she didn’t know there would be so many people watching her... it made her nervous, really nervous.

“But... but papa... all these people... I... I’m... I...”

Fortunately, her father had always been the understanding type, and so the man clad in a blue robe would kneel down, gently placing a hand on the little girl’s head, softly petting over her auburn hair.

“It’s okay, sweetie... Would you like to go together?”

A timid nod follows from the child as she holds the white lily close, and her father doesn’t hesitate to pick her up after it, holding her in his arms. He’d give her a moment still, before he’d carry her over to the gravestone. And there, the roughly 3 year old girl would place down the white lily, earning a warm smile from her papa.

“I’m proud of you, Freya. My good girl...”

He’d kiss the little child’s forehead, before turning his attention to the gravestone. It is a wordless smile with which he regards the memorial, expression his thankfulness to the Lady Freya not in words but in heart instead.

“Papa?”

“Hmm? What is it, hon?”

“Why... why did we put the flower there...?”

“Well... you know... this is the grave of a woman I once knew... someone others call a hero... but to me, she was the first to believe I could come back here.”

“Come back? Were you ever away, papa?”

“Haha, yes, but.... that’s a story for another day, my dear. For now, let’s just say that I owe a lot to this woman... - and you too. That’s why your mama and I named you after her, Freya. Our little angel...”

He snuggle and huggle the girl, causing her to giggle happily. Seems like for the time being, this was good enough for her, huh? That means it was time to head back home. And so he’d glance at the gravestone once again, smiling warmly and wordlessly express his thanks, before turning around to leave.

“Okay then... shall we head back home to mama? I’m sure she’s already waiting for us!”

“Uh huh uh huh! Let’s go!”

And so the two would leave the graveyard with a smile, heading back home - after all, if they’d linger around longer and make her wait, he wouldn’t hear the end of it from Calisto, for keeping her little girl out in the rain for so long...

The next time he’d visit her, he’d be certain to tell Freya all about the little family he now has - all thanks to her urging him to return to Burmecia one day...

~~~~~~

#party-of-rpg-muses #Freya #RequestsHeeded #Here you go!#it was meant to be angst #but unexpectedly turned into fluff #I hope that's still fine my friend xD

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