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amymel86 · 3 years

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Sooo.... I’m gonna share the first part of my ‘Jon was raised in Essos’ au because a) @vivilove-jonsa made me this gorgeous pci set (thank you so much, my lovely) and b) I cannot help myself....

(translations at the end)

(things may get changed)

Sansa sat straight-backed on her steed as she, Lord Royce and a few of her Valemen watch the bloody battle below. From their vantage point, up here, high on the ridge, the men look like warring insects - a scurry of territorial ants defending their nests. The noises though – that doesn’t seem insect-like at all. Battle-cries, bellowed commands, the screams of the dying – they all made their way up to them on the breeze.

Horridly human noises.

Sansa’s mare, Jonquil shifts her hind quarters, whether sensing her mistress’s emotions or simply spooked by the songs of battle, one could not be sure.

“He will live to see you again, my lady,” Lord Royce comments beside her.

No doubt he is speaking of his liege lord, her husband of seven moons, Harrold Hardyng. Sansa gives Yohn Royce a tight smile. Gently tightening Jonquil’s reigns, she urges the horse to calm her jitters and be still. “I am sure he will, Gods be willing.”

A murmuring chorus of “Gods be willing,” echoes through their little group as they continue to watch the battle unfold.

Truth be told, it had not been her husband’s face that had flit into her mind when fearing the lives of those little ants down there. It had been her brother’s. Robb’s war for a free and independent North had started against the Lannisters, sparked by the rolling of their father’s head, but now it continues after the invasion of dragons.

A newcomer on a dark gelding approaches Sansa’s right, coming to a standstill to view the chaos below. “We shall see if your invention saves us all, Sam,” Sansa smiles at the black brother beside her. Samwell Tarly had travelled to The Vale at the behest of The Night’s Watch with instructions to negotiate for supplies from their rich and fertile lands. Clear that the large man was not keen on the thought of his return, Sansa had grown fond of him and insisted on extending his stay. His fellow Nightswatchmen were not under any urgency to welcome him back.

“W-we can only hope, my lady.” His pale face was clammy as wide eyes took in the fighting below. The shouts, cries and screams met their ears making his horse even more skittish than her Jonquil.

Samwell was a very learned man, that was immediately clear. Sansa had appreciated his love of book, songs and arts but once she realised that within his fantastic mind there lay an idea that could finally get her husband to join her brother’s fight against the Targaryens, she had been even more pleased to have kept him close.

Oh, Harry had been keen on taking up arms – as keen as any young lord is to prove his skills on the battlefield and emerge victorious. He- of course – was most taken by the idea of winning The Vale its independence and ruling as King of Mountain and Vale. His kingdom may have warred against the Kings of Winter for a thousand years but together, he and Robb Stark might work together against the dragons yet.

But that had been his advisors main objection; how exactly does one win a battle against dragons?

Sansa still thanks The Old Gods and the New for sending Sam to her. Without his invention, she’s sure she would still be awaiting any and all news of her brother’s war from ravens and travellers in her high towers at the Eerie. Sam had no enjoyment for weaponry and warfare but he very much liked to solve problems and his huge Scorpion crossbows could be the answer to how it is they can kill a dragon.

Once she’d had that – once Sam had drawn up his plans and they were sent with a trustworthy messenger to Robb, then Harry’s advisors thought the scales may very well tip in their favour.

Sam takes a big gulp beside her. The leather of Sansa’s gloves creaks as she squeezes her fingers around the reigns. All eyes are affixed to the conflict below where tiny bodies mingle and crash against one another. A direwolf on a waving flag falls to the ground as its bearer screams and gurgles. Horses hooves thunder around the far outer edge, both cavalries clashing with shouts and whinnies. Jonquil whickers and claws her hoof into the soft peat earth. Sansa leans down to pat at her neck. “Shh, girl. It’ll all be over soo-“

A piercing screech comes from behind their ridge and beats from a monster’s wings stir the air enough to whip Sansa’s braid along with it. The men duck their heads, some horses rear and bolt. A huge, grey dragon flies directly over them, swooping down, heading toward the battle.

Sansa’s heart is trying to escape her body. “Which one is that?” she asks, head turning this way and that. Sam looks too shaken to form words and –along with most of the men – was trying to keep his steed under control.

“The-the grey one,” he finally says as they watch below, “there’s been no accounts of it breathing fire, my lady. S-some say it-it cannot.”

Yohn Royce pulls closer. “No accounts of it breathing fire yet,” he says, giving her a pointed look. Very true. A dragon cannot be trusted. And still – she squints her eyes, trying to focus in this grey autumn sun – it has a rider. What will he or she command of their beast?

Below, she sees their forces rolling out the three hefty Scorpions that had been hastily made. “Time to see if Tarly has saved us all or condemned us,” Royce mutters. Beside her, what little colour left in Sam’s round face drains completely. He looks as though he may well fall from him horse and empty his stomach. Two more dragons join the fray from the opposite end of the battlefield – the golden and the red, both bigger than the original grey, and both more deadly from all accounts. They screech at one another as if in excitement.

“Which is the king’s?” Sansa asks. If they can kill that one at least, surely their plight for independence will be taken seriously? Or it shall enrage him further and they shall be punished for it.

“It is not known for sure, my lady,” Lord Royce answers, eyes following the beating of great monstrous wings as they circle. “The golden is without a rider,” he tells her, narrowing his eyes and watching the others. “The rider on the red has a head of silver-white hair. I would surmise that to be Viserys while his sister-queen is safe at the Red Keep.”

“And the dark-haired rider on the grey?”

“Their War General; some bastard nephew loyal to Viserys’s crown.”

Jonquil shifts her weight and stomps at the soft earth again. “Another Targeryen?” Sansa asks. “Do they sprout up like mushrooms after hard rainfall?”

Sansa’s eyes follow the rider on the smaller grey dragon. Together they swoop low over the black troops of the Targaryen army. The War General bellows some command and the dragon forces scream their battle-cries with renewed vigour. A bolt from one of the Scorpions flies just to the left of the dragon’s head. It rears up, unfortunately unscathed. Sansa’s breath is held captive in her lungs as she continues to watch. A second bolt is loosed just as suddenly as the first, this time seeming to tear through one of the golden dragon’s wings. It crashes devastatingly to the battleground below, skidding to a halt and taking hundreds of lives with it. Valemen behind her cheer. But it is not dead. The beast lifts his great head and screeches into the mournful sky – a sound so loud and abrasive it makes Sansa wince. The rider of the grey doubles back towards the fallen monster and circles above – round and around he goes. They are too far to be able to hear, but Sansa wonders if this bastard dragon lord of theirs is commanding the animal to move. The golden beats his wings – once, twice, thrice, then screeches again for good measure. It does not seem to comfortably fold up its injured wing against its body as it holds it outstretched, somewhat awkwardly-looking. Another bolt speeds past them both. The rider of the grey bellows something very loudly, finally making the golden take action. It leaps forward, back toward the Targaryen line of defence, turns its head and belches out a huge hiss of flame that engulfs all it touches. Sansa can hear the screams from where she sits high on the ridge. Finally, the gold dragon leaps into the air, clumsily flapping its wings. It does not get far, only managing to land on a nearby rocky outcrop, out of reach of the Scorpion’s range.

“That one won’t be in battle for quite some time,” Royce comments beside Sansa, bringing her back to herself.

“We need to kill, not maim,” she reminds him. “If it still breathes there’s a chance it will heal.” She looks to him and he nods reluctantly. None of them have warred against dragons. They know not what to expect.

Sansa’s eyes return to the grey – the War General. Perhaps his is the one they need to eliminate?

Currently, it is circling with the giant crimson winged beast – they seem to be engaged in some sort of push and pull. The red screeches and pulls forward, spitting flame with every exhale – but the grey looks to Sansa to be trying to calm its companion – or the one rider is trying to dissuade the other. The scarlet dragon pushes forward heedless of the grey’s protests and Sansa watches in horror as it heads swiftly with every beat of its wings towards their weapons – towards the Scorpions, burning a path of flame as it goes. A bolt is losed, skimming passed the monster’s shoulder, but judging by the way it shrieks and pulls up, up, up until it disappears into the clouds, they had succeeded in injuring it at least.

Too busy staring at the sky to try and see where the red dragon went, Sansa’s attention is suddenly drawn back down to the battle when the grey dragon screams. It hovers where it is, clearly in distress. “What happened?”

“We-we shot at it but it swerved,” Sam tells her, “I think the rider fell off.”

***

Sansa and her retinue made their way down from their ridge when it was clear the Targaryen’s were retreating for now. It took a good while to manoeuvre the terrain and by the time they’d reached Robb’s and Harry’s battle line, many of the injured were being cared for and the dead being mourned. Perhaps she should have moved toward the tent heralding the falcon on blue as well as the red and white diamonds of her husband’s house. Instead, she urged Jonquil’s hooves toward the one beneath the wolf. Every now and again, the grey dragon screeched from above. Sansa told herself to be brave and found comfort in the thought that the other winged beasts seem to have left the battleground completely – leaving their fireless sibling behind.

Robb’s war tent is dark as Sansa enters. It takes a second or two for her eyes to adjust to the dim. The air is thick with the scent of sweat, mud and the metallic bite of blood. “You’ve seen what we are capable of now, at least,” Sansa hears her brother’s voice before he turns to see who had entered.

She runs to him, arms outstretched, not caring for the muck coating his armour. “Robb!”

“Sansa!” he is surprised to see her. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“They have retreated, have they not?”

“We do not know for how long,” he says, pulling away from her embrace. He smells sweet – too sweet – sweet and earthy and... wrong. Her brother gives Lord Royce a scolding glare over her shoulder and as if to serve as a reminder, a guttural shriek is heard from above. “And there’s a dragon still hanging around. Go on – go.”

Then came a gruff and unexpected voice. “Nyke gōntan daor gīmigon aōha Vesterozia jaesa morgho naejot sagon sīr gevie.” The Valyrian was spoken by a man that Sansa had not noticed before – a man wincing in pain as he spoke. He was bloody and bound to the central tent pole. Sat with his arms tied behind him, his legs stretched out before him – one looking rather injured and shoddily seen to with a crude sort of splint at his shin. Sansa steps back and takes in Robb’s prisoner. His hair was raven black, his skin had known the sun. His face was handsome, yet scarred and he wore a patch over one eye – the uncovered one, as grey as a winter’s day and very interested in Sansa. He sits up straighter, staring at her. “Lo ēdan, nyke would emagon pȳdan hen ñuha zaldrīzes hae aderī hae īlon jiōraton kesīr,” he says as though talking to her alone. It has been many a year since Luwin’s teachings on High Valyrian and Sansa did not catch the meaning.

“Who is this?”

“The Targaryen War General,” Robb answers. “The rider who fell from the dragon.”

Fascinated, Sansa crouches to the prisoner’s level. He looks so... ordinary. Granted, he’s a handsome man, but all tales of Targaryens speak of their unnerving, otherworldly beauty – of fair skin, of silver hair or violet eyes. Leaning closer, there are a few flecks of violet she thinks, in that one eye of his.

“Drējī gevie,” the man whispers almost in reverence and Sansa only now realises how close she has gotten from how his breath stirs strands of her hair.

“Can you speak the common tongue?” she asks.

The man’s lips twitch upward. “Aye, I can.”

Sansa stands, taking a step back. The prisoner’s eye follows her. “You sound northern.”

He nods. “My mother.”

“He claims to be the bastard of Rhaegar Targaryen and our Aunt Lyanna,” Robb supplies.

“Aunt Lyanna?” Sansa’s mind felt like a snow storm. She looks to Robb. “Can it be true?” Her brother only shrugs. Crouching down again she assesses this Targaryen War General with a gloved hand beneath his chin, turning his face this way and that to better see his features.

He looks like father.

“Hae skoros ao ūndegon, dārilaros?” he says, voice low and it takes Sansa a moment or two with his face in her hand for her to translate. Like what you see, Princess?

“Speak the common tongue!” Robb commands, giving his prisoner a swift boot to the thigh, making the man wince.

Sansa stands again. “Robb, if this is true then he is family.” If this is true then perhaps his loyalties can be swayed. With a dragon on their side, they may be able to get Viserys Targaryen to concede the North and the Vale yet. “What is your name?” she asks this would-be cousin of theirs.

“I have many,” he grunts, trying to shift his painful leg. “My mother wanted to name me a Stark but that could never be. Am I a Sand? A Snow? Viserys used to refer to me as Nādrēsy when we were boys. Many of my men call me Morghe Vala.”

Nādrēsy... Bastard.

Morghe Vala?... Dead Man.

“And what should we call you, cousin?” Sansa asks.

Before their Targaryen prisoner gets the chance to answer, the tent’s entrance is a flurry as more come to join them. Around four or five Stark men enter and amidst them is the most welcome sight of her mother.

“Sansa!” she greets, reaching her quickly, pulling her into a warm embrace. “Sansa, I’m so sorry,” she murmurs. Sansa is not sure what the apology is for but does not question it straight away, too glad to be in her mother’s arms.

Theon Greyjoy comes to her side, putting a gentle hand on Sansa’s shoulder. “My condolences, Lady Sansa.”

“Condolences?” She says, retreating from her mother’s warmth. She looks to Theon in askance, and then to the other eyes on her from around the tent. Oh. “...Harry?”

The quiet was deafening. She should have thought of him... why had she not thought to check on him?

“His wounds look deep and clean,” Theon tells her. “His death would have been swift.”

Sansa feels a little numb as her mother cradles her face with both hands. “The Stranger has him now, child. He is not in any pain.”

She blinks – feels like she should cry. Why is she not weeping? There was no great love between them yet but he was her husband and there was at least a companionship of sorts between them. Should she not be feeling the gnarled fingers of grief creeping up her throat?

The grey dragon screeches high above them making everyone look skyward as if they could see through the canvas of the tent. Sansa’s hand goes to her stomach. Harry had bedded her last night and she had washed him off of her as she’d bathed afterward. If she hadn’t – perhaps there would be more chance of a babe. They’d been trying for one for the entirety of their marriage with barely a glimmer of success throughout.

Is she callous to feel more melancholic over an empty womb than a dead husband? There is no time to ponder it and it is something Sansa does not wish to look too closely at.

When she looks to their Targaryen cousin he is already staring at her intently with his one eye, still sat there, bound on the floor. “Robb, untie him. Let him up.” Her brother glowers at her. “He is surrounded and unarmed, what harm can he do?” Sansa reasons.

“Theon,” Robb instructs with a nod of his head towards the prisoner.

Sansa steps closer to Robb as Greyjoy moves to sever the War General’s bonds. She ducks her head and lowers her voice. “If he is family, perhaps he can be swayed? If he joins us, we will have his dragon.”

“He is loyal to his kin,” Robb murmurs. “And besides, what use would his fireless dragon be to us?”

“We are his kin. Robb, if we can-“

“She is almost blind, too,” the deep voice of their prisoner says, interrupting. Sansa turns to see him now standing uneasily on his injured leg, rubbing at his wrists and still staring at her as though no one were here.

“Pardon?”

“Zokla,” he says, “my dragon. She is almost blind. It is why she’s still circling. She needs me.”

“Zokla?” Greyjoy repeats.

Sansa is quick to realise. “It means wolf.” She looks to Robb. Surely that must mean something? Surely, this cousin’s loyalties can be pressed upon? Surely, he wants to honour his mother’s family?

She’s about to say as such when their new cousin closes his one uncovered eye. “Issa jēda,” he says quietly, calmly.

‘It is time?’

Time for what?

The answer comes with another almighty shriek and a ground shaking thud making men shout and clamour. Outside the tent, a dragon roars for her master.

Robb draws his sword, his men follow. All weapons point at their captive who stands there with a small but defiant smile on his lips. “Call your beast off!” Robb commands.

“Let me go,” he counters.

“Call the dragon off or we’ll see to the thing ourselves!” Greyjoy demands, shoving his sword forward, the point of his blade lifting the man’s bearded chin. Their supposed cousin does not answer. A menacing growl vibrates through Sansa’s ribs from outside. “Send it away!” Greyjoy bellows while some of their men outside shout and holler for their King and others flee.

“She may not breathe flame, my lords, but how much damage do you think she could do to you and your camp before you manage to load those dragon killing weapons of yours? ....Let me go.”

Robb’s jaw tenses. The air is thick and waiting. He lowers his sword with a reluctant grunt. “Let him go.”

“And I’ll be taking her with me,” the Targaryen juts his chin in her direction. Sansa’s eyes go wide.

“No, you won’t!” her mother growls beside her, her cold finger slipping around Sansa’s wrist like and anchor. Their cousin watches the movement. He watches everything.

“Zokla,” he says and moments later a huge grey snout clumsily emerges through the tent’s entrance making the men closest to it leap away and cower. Her mother’s hand tightens on her wrist. The beast almost looks as though it smiles with that monstrous mouth and its forest of dagger teeth. It inhales, sniffing at the air within the tent, its snout taking up the whole space of the entrance. Maybe it can scent the tension or the blood still plastered to the armour of the men and slicking their swords. She growls. Low and dangerous.

Their new cousin moves closer to his beast, limping a little on his injury. “Easy, girl. Easy,” he coos, smoothing a palm between the dragon’s flared nostrils. She nudges into him, almost knocking him off his feet. He chuckles. “Hello, bump,” the man murmurs warmly to his monster. He then turns back to face the rest of the tent, uncovered eye finding her instantly. “Lady Sansa,” he addresses, voice low and honeysuckle-sweet “you will come with me.”

“Take me instead.”

“Robb, no!” her mother gasps beside her, fingers slipping from around her wrist. “If they have you then all is lost.”

Sansa knows her mother means their bid for independence. Robb has been the figurehead for this plight and the cause has been rallied behind in his and father’s name.

She must be brave.

Glancing at the Targaryen, it is the first time she finds him with his eye not affixed to her in some fashion. He seems to weigh and measure Robb’s desperate offer. He is a War General, he knows capturing Robb Stark, King in the North would surely spell victory for his uncle, she can see it written on his otherwise stony face in the way his brow creases momentarily before looking to her again, his gaze burning straight through her bones. “No,” he declares gruffly. “Jaelan ao.” I want you.

She must be brave.

The captive-turned-potential-captor offers Sansa an outstretched arm and open palm. “Māzigon, Dārilaros.” Come, Princess.

His expression is so earnest and resolute. As though nothing would sway him from taking her. Not even certain victory. Not even cutting short a war.

She can be brave.

Maybe he can be swayed yet? Maybe she is the one to do it?

“I will go,” she says.

“No!” her mother cries. “No, Sansa not again. They won’t take you from me again!”

Clutching her hands, Sansa barely notices as the dragon’s snout disappears and her Targaryen cousin waits in the entranceway, illuminated by the cold light from outside. “It is alright mother,” she whispers, “It will be alright.” Reaching over she takes Robb’s hand too. “I will bring him to our cause.”

“Sansa-“

“I will do it, Robb. Trust me.” She has been known to tame other beasts – why not a dragon?

She does not wait for her brother’s reluctant agreement, nor more of her mother’s pleading, instead she walks out with her spine straight, ignoring her new cousin’s offer of his arm as she goes. He chuckles darkly at that. “What am I to call you?” She asks as he follows close behind her. Sansa would rather engage in conversation than show her fear as they approached his dragon – his Zokla.

“You may call me whatever you wish,” he says. “Though most call me Jon.”

Jon? Such an ordinary name for a man who rides on the back of a dragon. The animal in question turns her huge head towards them, those smiling teeth and her hot breath a truly terrifying sight to behold. Sansa’s boots come to a halt and refuse to move. A warm hand is placed at the dip of her spine and suddenly she is alight at the touch. “She will not harm you, cousin,” Jon whispers in her ear. “Kostas ivestragon jaelan ao ȳgha.”

She’s trembling. Too focussed on the slow blink of the dragon’s golden eyes to try to translate. ‘Safe’? He said something about safe.

Jon says another command to his animal and it lowers its neck and shoulder in invitation. Her cousin helps her up. The beast’s scales are the size of her palms and warm to the touch. Sansa does not quite know how one seats themselves upon a dragon but she finds herself gripping onto two huge thorn-like scales that ridge along Zokla’s neck.

Even with his injured leg, Jon seems nimble enough to climb his mount. He settles alarmingly close behind her and slips a strong arm around her waist, pulling her closer still. Everyone has vacated the tent to watch them go. Her mother has tears in her eyes. Robb looks unsure and set-jawed.

I can be brave.

“I hope you’re not afraid of heights, Princess?” Jon murmurs low at the shell of her ear. The downy hairs on the back of her neck prickle. He holds her even tighter. “Zokla, sōvegon!”

Fly!

***

Valyrian sections translated:

Then came a gruff and unexpected voice. “Nyke gōntan daor gīmigon aōha Vesterozia jaesa morgho naejot sagon sīr gevie.” (I did not know your Westerosi goddess of death to be so beautiful)The Valyrian was spoken by a man that Sansa had not noticed before – a man wincing in pain as he spoke. He was bloody and bound to the central tent pole. Sat with his arms tied behind him, his legs stretched out before him – one looking rather injured and shoddily seen to with a crude sort of splint at his shin. Sansa steps back and takes in Robb’s prisoner. His hair was raven black, his skin had known the sun. His face was handsome, yet scarred and he wore a patch over one eye – the uncovered one, as grey as a winter’s day and very interested in Sansa. He sits up straighter, staring at her. “Lo ēdan, nyke would emagon pȳdan hen ñuha zaldrīzes hae aderī hae īlon jiōraton kesīr” (If I had, I would have jumped from my dragon as soon as we got here,) he says as though talking to her alone. It has been many a year since Luwin’s teachings on High Valyrian and Sansa did not catch the meaning.

***

“Drējī gevie,” (truly beautiful) the man whispers almost in reverence and Sansa only now realises how close she has gotten from how his breath stirs strands of her hair.

***

The animal in question turns her huge head towards them, those smiling teeth and her hot breath a truly terrifying sight to behold. Sansa’s boots come to a halt and refuse to move. A warm hand is placed at the dip of her spine and suddenly she is alight at the touch. “She will not harm you, cousin,” Jon whispers in her ear. “Nyke ivestretan zirȳla naejot gaomagon ao ȳgha.” (I told her to keep you safe.)

#jonsa #jon x sansa #wip wednesday #zokla

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let-the-dream-begin · 4 years

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A Place to Belong Chapter 18: “Banna”

Chapter 17

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Claire’s waking up was a good sign, that was certain, but no one was convinced that she was completely out of harm’s way, including Claire herself. Fergus had taken up permanent residence in her room, sleeping beside her again as he’d done all those months ago and retrieving Brianna when she fussed. He burped her as well when she fed in the night, even changed diapers if need be. There were nights when Claire couldn't bear to part with her little baby, and she’d simply laid down with Brianna in her arms, drifting away in bliss, knowing that the little one was safe and protected, nestled between her mother and her brother.

During the day, Jenny was mostly the one who helped, who fetched Brianna from the cot, burped her, changed her. Mrs. Crook and Mrs. Donnelly returned, and they were beside themselves with guilt for having missed the birth, knowing that so much had gone wrong. They, too, were a great help when Jenny could not be.

After another week of rest, of Claire going back and forth between sleep that felt drug-induced and tending to her daughter, Jenny had allowed the children in to see her and the baby. Maggie was over the moon, dragging herself onto Claire’s bed and squealing at the sight of the baby, kissing her, fussing over her. Wee Jamie was, of course, crushed that it was not a boy, but even he could not hide his excitement.

“Are ye no’ sick anymore, Auntie?” he asked, looking up at Claire.

She smiled. “No, Jamie. I’m not. I’m still very tired, but I’ll be alright.”

“Good.” He nodded curtly, eliciting a soft chuckle from Claire.

“Auntie, Auntie!” Maggie cried. “May I hold her? Please, Auntie?”

“Calm yerself, Margaret,” Jenny said in a warning tone. “Wild wee beasties canna hold bairns.”

Maggie immediately stiffened, ceasing her bouncing and her squealing at once. “I’ll be good, Auntie. Promise.”

Claire beamed at her. “Alright, here you go.” She carefully transferred Brianna into Maggie’s tiny arms. “Support her head, just like that.” Maggie’s face broke out into the widest grin Claire had ever seen. Claire half expected her to start squealing again.

“Hello baby,” she instead was whispering, almost reverent. “Baby cousin.”

“Her name is Brianna,” Claire said gently.

“Baby Brianna,” Maggie whispered. “Hello Brianna. Hello baby…”

Maggie continued to whisper incoherently at her baby cousin, but Jamie quickly grew tired of women fussing over babies.

“Can I go now, Mam?”

Jenny rolled her eyes. “Off ye get then.”

He scrambled out of the room, leaving Claire, Maggie, and Brianna on the bed, and Jenny standing holding Kitty.

“What do ye think, Maggie?” Jenny said, sitting on the edge of the bed, restraining Kitty in her lap.

“I love her, Auntie.”

Claire let out a soft laugh, her eyes welling up with tears. Kitty suddenly gave an indignant cry, the usual for her, and Maggie looked up from Brianna for the first time to put a finger to her lips, giving Kitty a “shh.”

“See yer cousin, Kitty?” Jenny said softly into her ear, kissing her temple. “Baby Brianna, d’ye see, mo chridhe?”

“Banna!” Kitty repeated loudly.

“Shh…” Jenny hushed her, rocking her. “Yes, baby Brianna.”

“Banna! Banna, Banna, Banna…” she repeated it over and over until it became an indecipherable babble.

“Well, Banna, it certainly seems like the whole family approves,” Claire said, smiling down at her baby like a fool.

“Aye.” Jenny smiled. “At least us lasses, aye?” She tickled Kitty who giggled, and Maggie nodded.

“Jamie’ll be good to her,” Jenny assured.

“Oh, I know,” Claire said. “Fergus will show him how.”

“How have ye been feeling?” Jenny asked.

“Tired,” Claire admitted. “Sometimes just holding her for ten minutes is exhausting. I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve just fallen asleep with her on my chest, and then I wake up, not even remembering that I fell asleep.”

“Ye lost a lot of — ” She stopped herself, made sure Maggie wasn’t looking and then mouthed blood.

“I know. I’m lucky to still be here.” Her eyes instinctually fell on Brianna, her heart constricting when she remembered what Jenny had told her. She was blue, not breathing…

“We both are,” Claire said, reaching down and stroking Brianna’s cheek.

“Aye. It’ll take time fer ye to get yer strength back. Any pain?”

“Oh, only everywhere.” Claire rolled her eyes. “This dull ache all over my body. And a throbbing…there.”

“Aye, I ken it well. That’s normal. Though I’m sure it’s worse fer ye just now.”

Claire sighed in frustration. “I can’t get my legs back without walking, but I can’t see myself getting out of bed without toppling over.”

“That’s why ye go slow,” Jenny said firmly. “Yer no’ ready to be traipsing about yet. I can see just by looking at ye that yer still dizzy.”

Claire smiled lazily, her eyes beginning to drift closed. “That easy to read, am I?”

“Indeed,” Jenny said. “Come now, Maggie. Time to let yer Auntie sleep.”

“Can I bring Brianna?”

“Absolutely no’.” Jenny said. “The bairn needs to be right by her mam if she needs anything.” Jenny left Kitty on the bed so that she could take Brianna from Maggie and put her in the cot.

“And,” Jenny continued, turning to face Maggie again once Brianna was settled. “Yer not to touch the bairn wi’out me or yer Auntie in the room. Dinna even think about looking at her if we’re not wi’ ye. Is that understood?”

Maggie was staring at Jenny as if she’d just put the fear of God in her. “Aye, Mam.”

“Right then, off we go.” She heaved Kitty onto her hip and took Maggie’s hand. “Get some rest, now, sister. I’ll be keeping an ear out fer any crying. Dinna try to get up.”

“Couldn’t if I tried,” Claire slurred, feeling consciousness slipping away as she spoke.

——

Another week went by, and Claire was truly starting to feel stir crazy. It was beginning to genuinely anger her that she couldn’t drag herself four feet to take her own child out of her cot. On her fourteenth day of bed rest, not including the eight days she spent unconscious, she put her foot down (figuratively, of course), and insisted on being assisted in getting up and walking around the room.

If Claire hadn’t been living it, she was sure the situation would have been quite comical, like a comedy of manners. She’d managed to swing her legs over the bed, which was a good sign, and Jenny and Fergus were each positioned firmly under her arms, ready to hoist her up.

“Alright.” Claire breathed deeply, puffing her cheeks. “Ready?” They both nodded. “One, two, three.”

She heaved herself up, and was both shocked and overjoyed that she’d managed to at least get to her feet. But then came the wave of dizziness from standing up after weeks of sitting, and she wavered. But Jenny and Fergus held on tightly, and she wasn’t going anywhere.

“Wait fer it to pass,” Jenny reminded her, and she nodded.

After about twelve seconds, she felt alright to move again, and it took all her strength to take that first step. By the third step, she was already dripping with sweat.

“Do you need to rest, Maman?”

“I’m fine, damn it.” Claire hadn’t meant to snap at Fergus, but he didn’t appear to take it to heart.

It’s just one foot after the other, Beauchamp. Infants do it. So can you.

Several minutes and many buckets of sweat later, they’d managed to walk her across the room to the chair by the fireplace. Victorious, Claire allowed them to plop her into it. Glistening with sweat, she grinned like a fool.

“Braw, was I not?” Claire said.

“Braw indeed,” Jenny said, half rolling her eyes at Claire’s smugness.

“Bring her to me,” Claire said. She knew better than to push her luck and walk around with Brianna. She’d not put her in danger like that until she was certain she wouldn’t drop her. Fergus scooped her out of the cradle, making faces at her and smiling until he put her in Claire’s arms.

“Hello, darling,” she cooed, cradling her precious girl. “Look at this, hm? Mummy has legs, would you believe it?” Fergus and Jenny chuckled, and Claire sighed in blissful contentment. “It’s much easier to hold her sitting straight up like this. I feel more human. Instead of a wobbly sack of potatoes.”

Jenny placed a hand on Claire’s shoulders. “Ye look well, sister. Color’s returning to yer cheeks.”

“Is it?” Claire said absently, lost in Brianna’s eyes. “Good Lord, I can’t imagine what I must look like. Or what I must smell like for that matter…”

“Would you like a bath, Maman?” Fergus piped up.

Claire practically moaned at the thought of the hot water soaking itself into her aching, weary muscles. “That would be heavenly.”

“Tell the servants, Fergus,” Jenny said, and he bounded off to do just that. “Think ye’ll be able to get in and out?”

“Of course…with your help. And Mrs. Crook. And perhaps Mrs. Donnelly as well.”

Jenny chuckled. “Thought so.”

The tub was brought in and set up, the chair Claire was not occupying and the tables moved out of the way. Claire nursed Brianna, babbled nonsense to her, actually burped her herself, and rocked her to sleep by the time the bath was ready. Jenny put Brianna back to bed, and then the three able-bodied women helped Claire discard her nightgown and lowered her into the tub.

Claire sighed as her body submerged in the hot water. It stung a little down below, her birth canal and its related parts still burning from the traumatic birth. She quickly adjusted, however, and could think of nothing but how wonderfully relaxed her muscles felt. The servants helped her wash while Jenny changed the sheets on the bed, and soon enough the water started to cool off, and so she was heaved out of the tub again like a limp rag doll. Another comedy of manners ensued in drying her off and dressing her again, but by that point, Claire was too exhausted to care. She was, in fact, even grateful to be back in bed, as blasphemous as that would sound to an earlier-in-the-day version of herself.

——

The days dragged on, and every day Claire was able to walk about the room relying less and less on Jenny and Fergus, and by the end of the following week, she was even walking around with Brianna in her arms, with Jenny hovering over both of them in a frenzy, of course.

“Look at that, Bree,” Claire said. “Mummy can walk! Isn’t it a marvel?”

“Aye, a marvel indeed,” Jenny said quickly. “Be even more marvelous if she’d sit down now.”

“Auntie Jenny doesn’t believe in Mummy,” Claire cooed ridiculously at her. “What about that, Bree?”

“Why’re ye calling her that?”

“What? Bree?” Claire said. “It’s a nickname. Jamie for James, Jenny for Janet. Bree for Brianna.”

Jenny snorted with a short laugh.

“What?”

“It’s a Gaelic word,” she finally elaborated. “Means a disturbance of some kind.”

Claire’s face screwed up in disapproval. “Does it really?”

“Aye. And it’s no’ as if she won’t ken that once she learns the Gàidhlig.” Jenny was holding back more laughter.

Claire sighed, shaking her head. “I guess we won’t be calling you that then, hm?” She bounced her little bundle. “Though when I’m dead asleep and you insist on being fed, that does create quite a disturbance doesn’t it?”

Jenny chuckled.

“Or perhaps we’ll call you Banna instead. Throw cousin Kitty a bone. How does that sound?”

“Will ye sit now, sister? I’m sweating like a pack mule wi’ the fear ye’ll drop any minute.”

“Really.” Claire huffed indignantly and finally took a seat on the windowsill. The cool air leaking in from the closed window felt nice on her back, sweaty from the effort of walking. She tightened Brianna’s swaddle, not wanting the chill to reach her. “Happy?” She looked up at Jenny, eyebrows raised.

“Aye, that’s the word fer it.” Jenny rolled her eyes. “Canna believe two of the most pigheaded people I ever met created a child.”

Jenny meant to tease, she knew, but Claire’s heart felt heavy nonetheless.

“She looks more like him every day,” Claire said. And it was true. The squishiness of her newborn days was finally fading, growing into more decipherable features. Much to Claire’s relief, the blue in her eyes hadn’t faded, meaning she’d probably have it forever.

“One month,” Claire said incredulously. “I can’t believe in two days she’ll have been here for a whole month.”

“Aye. It flies by.”

“I feel like I’ve missed it all.” Claire frowned. “The first week of her life I was dead to the world, and then I couldn’t fend for myself, let alone care for her…”

“Now, now,” Jenny said. “Yer own health had to come first so ye’d live to see the day where ye could care fer her. And look, she isna all that big. When they’re this young all they do is eat, sleep, and piss.”

Claire chuckled softly. “Right.”

Her thoughts returned to Jamie. What would he look like, holding his child? This baby who was so undeniably his? He’d have been a frantic lunatic during Claire’s bedrest. He’d have carried her everywhere; he’d likely never let her walk again. But, Lord, he’d love Brianna so much. He’d be so tender with her. His one hand was bigger than Brianna’s entire head, but he would cradle it so gently.

“Thinking about Jamie?”

She always knew.

“Yes.”

Jenny draped an arm around her. “Canna wait to tell ye all about yer Da, Brianna,” she said, and her bright blue eyes shifted to look at her auntie. “Sweet, wee thing.” She delicately brushed one of her cheeks.

“She really is such a good baby,” Claire marveled. “Sometimes I just…I can’t believe that she’s here, that she’s alright.”

“Aye, I understand.”

“He’d be so…so happy.” Claire felt her throat constricting. “He was so heartbroken over Faith and he…he never held her, never even saw her. To see Brianna now, he’d…” Her voice broke.

“He sees her, mo ghràidh.” Jenny rubbed soothing circles on her back. “He sees her, and he’s mad wi’ joy. He’s here, wi’ us. I ken it.”

Claire nodded tearfully, sniffling. “I can feel him…when I look at her. I see him so clearly in her and I…I can feel him.”

Jenny kissed the top of Claire’s head and held her tighter. Claire reveled in this feeling, the love of her sister, her overwhelming, all-consuming love for her daughter, and she tried to hold onto it. Even as her world came crashing down around her, the grief eating her alive, she held onto it.

And she did not drown.

#outlander fanfiction #outlander #outlander fanfic #claire fraser #jamie fraser #brianna fraser #brianna randall #jenny murray #jenny fraser murr #ian murray #outlander au

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thebloodydame · 3 years

Text

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐄𝐍 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐓: 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑤𝑜

𝐒𝐦𝐚𝐥 𝐈𝐧𝐟𝐨: Maria finds herself starting to get used to the company of the white beast, even though he is still a little unsociable to her.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: Maria Lilith Bellona, Theodore Van Atalenta ( The Beast ), Adrian The Butler, Lord Lysander. Edmund The Knight.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: None

𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦: The Lady and The Beast & Pokémon

Maria was in the fencing training area in the mansion in the company of her colleague Edmund, he was one of the guards of his orda, the clanking of the swords was incessant until one of the swords went flying through the air and falling to the ground, signaling the victory of the Grand Duchess.

The blond man waved his hand and looked at the woman-" Is that a tactic you use to make the loser feel humiliated? "-He questioned.

" Huh? Of course not "-She replied.

" As always, Your Highness, you have a lot of talent, too bad there is never any real battle to put your tactics into play "-Edmund spoke as he watched her put away her sword.

" You could have used them against that creature "-He commented.

" Nah, I prefer to keep him as a mascot "-She replied.

" As you wish, Your Highness "-The knight agreed.

" Well, I better go, I need to go meet Adrian in the garden for my afternoon tea "-Maria spoke and with that she left for inside the mansion, leaving him behind.

Edmund had never seen that woman smile, probably because of her last six husbands, they had tired her emotionally and mentally, she didn't see any more sense in clinging to love and also, immortal life was something tiring and it had become something tedious .

Lady Lilith found herself in the garden in front of the mansion, she was seated in a gilded chair with a small table of the same shade and a beautiful white sun shade shielding her from the sun as she read a thick orange book that had the title 'Our Dog Changed', lying right behind her was The Beast sleeping soundly.

" Hmmm... there's a lot of useful information here, I think I understood the basics on how to discipline "-She spoke as she picked up the next book which was 'How a Wise Miss Cared for a Wolf', she also had to read '100 ways of raising a good dog' and 'There is no such thing as a bad dog'

' I really liked that title, it almost exactly describes my current situation... '-The auburn haired woman thought, that's when she read the first two verses of the book:

Shh!

At her gentle touch down there, she couldn't hold back and let out a moan.

His eyes glowed with fierce heat at the sight of the stern duchess and her untidy hair.

As if he were a wolf thirsty for the duchess's love, she...

Maria aggressively closed the book, taking a deep breath with her eyes closed she thought-' ...Well, that was an unfortunate incident, I just picked up the book based on the title.... I mean, technically speaking, this book shows from more erotic form a relationship between a woman and a beast '-She opened her eyes and looked in the direction of the huge white wolf.

' But first of all, he needs training '-She put the book on the table and turned to the wolf.

" Hey... give the paw "-The Grand Duchess spoke, extending her hand to him, but he simply growled and showed her his fangs, using his front paw to attack her but she managed to get her hand back in time.

' Hmm... he attacked with his front paw, does that count as following my order? '-She questioned herself as she watched him get into a defensive position-' His attitude is terrible but... ''

With a sigh she threw a piece of meat at him and he quickly snapped it up-' I shouldn't have expected too much from him at first '

" Boy... "-Maria called him which made the beast look in her direction-" Sit down "-she ordered but he simply growled at her.

' Hmm, is it harder for him to understand orders using a voice without me guiding him with my hand? '-The woman questioned herself.

Lady Lilith then placed her hand on his shoulder and then pushed him away-" Here, you sit like this "

' Ugh...! '-The wolf thought but in the blink of an eye he was sitting.

" Good job "-Maria praised him.

' If I train him like that, at least he won't hurt others in the future, I might not be able to figure out why I feel he's somehow human but I want him to be able to live among my subjects even when I set him free him '-She thought calmly as she stroked his head-' After all, he's a kind person at heart '

That's when the voice of Lord Lysander, a nobleman who always got into trouble with the Grand Duchess, infested the environment.

" THAT... THAT NAUGHTY.... ! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING WITH THIS CREATURE?! HE WAS TERRORISING EVERYONE AND YOU CHOOSE TO WELCOME HIM THAN KILL HIM?! "

The woman continued with her blank and cold expression while the white wolf seemed uncomfortable with the presence of that man, she listened and listened to him speak, but then finally interrupted him-" I thought you were hiding pulling strings, but finally it showed ... as I expected, you're shameless "

The man's eyes widened-" W-what!... "

" I know this whole incident was planned by you, this wolf here is Theodore Van Atalenta, The Grand Duke of the cursed bloodline, isn't it? "-She said glaring at the man.

" Your grace, you...! "-He tried to argue.

" Have you by any chance forgotten who I am? I'm Lilith, the first woman in the world, I know everything and everyone and the last time I checked, I was the Grand Duchess. But you're treating me like I was your subordinate.... I can consider your rudeness as an act against me, the Grand Duchess "-She spoke coldly, making the man feel his limbs tense.

She then turned to the wolf beside her, placing her hand under his chin, saying-" What do you think, Theo? "-The wolf raised its head growling and baring its fangs.

" Until his grace regains his senses, I'll be in charge of his care, so I hope you don't cross the line from now on "-She spoke as she stroked the wolf's white fur.

" Your actions towards his grace are, without doubt, acts of mockery against the Grand Duke, how could he, as his loyal servant, let you tarnish his image? "-He said at her.

" So isn't it an act of mockery to feed your respectable Grand Duke with drugs, treat him like cattle, and dump him on an island full of creatures that are disgusting to you? Who would dare to do this to their own master? "-She growled at the man.

" ....Well, that's... "-Lysander tried to make some excuse but failed miserably.

Adrian, who was watching that, looked quite surprised-' Lady Lilith is really impressive '-He thought.

" If you already understand your place, then you can leave "-She said, turning her back on that despicable man.

" ...I apologize for my rudeness, your grace "-Lord Lyssander spoke and with that he left.

The butler then approached her and said-" You have a meeting with Baroness Rebecca and her maids, they want to show you the final result before they start making the decorations for the ball "-He informed her.

" Thank you Adrian, please, while I'm at this meeting, I ask you to send a letter to the Van Atalenta Mansion and ask them to send the head of the house and the head butler, we need to resolve this soon " -She said and then pulled the collar on which the Grand Duke was tied.

" As you wish, your grace "-He bowed and then accompanied her inside the mansion.

As soon as they arrived at her office, Adrian handed her the letter so she could put the 'Family' Bellona seal, which was an apple and around it was a snake-" There... now we just need to confirm that he is here with us "

The woman turned to the wolf and said-" Theo, paw "

The wolf sat down with a sigh and she then took his paw, dipping it in the ink and using it as a stamp, putting the mark right next to hers-" You can send the letter now "-She declared to the butler.

Theo shivered as he looked in her direction, in his view she was far more frightening.

Adrian left her office just as Baroness Rebecca and her little spiders entered, by which time Theo was lying behind her chair, watching closely the movement in the room.

" Well, we'd better start with that soon "-She spoke calmly.

The woman knew that it would take a while for the letter to reach the mainland and then to the state of that Grand Duke's family, what was left for her was just to wait.

𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝑜𝑓 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑤𝑜!

#oc #original character #the lady and the beast #series #romance #angst #soft #smut #pokemon #Pokémon story

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for-the-haunted-mist-i-ride · 4 years

Text

Fate, a common commodity (Semi-Completed Roleplay between Krobelus and Abaddon)

for-the-haunted-mist-i-ride:

Abaddon was sitting in meditation beside one of the smaller waterfalls of the region, its white waters flowing alongside the rock on which Abaddon sat, the grey stone dark around the edges but relatively dry upon its head. As the roar of the waterfall carried on, Abaddon continued in silent meditation, it was one of his favourite spots, it was serene, quaint and familiar; perfect for meditation. Its location had another advantage, few would ever disturb him as he drank deep of the mists.

suchbeautyindeath:

Krobelus, recently back from beyond the veil had decided to familiarize herself with the area. Most of her memories of specific locations outside the battlefield were hazy. The Ancients always forced the very vivid memories of their field in her mind no matter how long she had been gone. As she floated along, an ethereal wispy green mist in the shape of what looked like a partial human floated next to her, wailing softly in unintelligible speak. Were anyone to come along, it would seem like the Prophet was talking to herself but if one were to listen close enough, they could hear the haunting wail of the desperate spirit.

"Shh shh shh, darling, I know. He will come for you soon, worry not… Non, I can not… Mm.. I suppose, come into me child. I will carry you with me until zee next time I go to ‘im. Rest easy, mon ami.”

Reaching out to the spirit, she wrapped her large, glowing hand around the ethereal being and absorbed it into herself. All this went on as she continued on her stroll and it wasn’t until the spirit had tucked it’s way into her being did she notice the other nearby. “Avernus? Oh, do forgive me if I ‘ave disturbed you, dear.”

for-the-haunted-mist-i-ride:

Abaddon’s eyes opened from the abyss of his veil, his munious eyes piercings through like stars in the night. He had felt the Prophet approach, conversing with another spirit, not that it mattered, such lost souls were aplenty upon these battlefields.

"My Lady Krobelus, no, do not worry, I was only in light meditation." He remarked simply, standing firmly from the waterfall, striding slowly from its cascading torrent the Lord nodded to the Prophet, her eternal form troubling him not at all.

"It is a pleasure to see you again my Lady, how do you fare this day"

suchbeautyindeath:

Glad to hear she hadn’t disturbed the Lord, Krobelus smiled and nodded. Her gaze shifted to the waterfall as he stood. Drowning was one of her favorite ways to go. Unintentionally, she let out a rather sad yet dreamy sounding sigh causing green mist to flow from her lips.

One he stood before her, and gave his proper greeting, she turned her attention back to him and smiled rather sweetly. “A pleasure indeed, mon cher. I am as well as can be expected I suppose. You know ‘ow it iz.” She waved a hand dismissively. “Comme ci, comme ça. And you, dear? Zee Font still treating you well, I presume?”

for-the-haunted-mist-i-ride:

Abaddon chuckled at the Prophets words, “you’re quite right Lady Krobelus, I do know how it is” he chuckled knowingly, the Font ever thundering in his mind. Noting the Prophets sigh even as he chuckled himself Abaddon turned and looked over his shoulder to see the falling cascade of water, did the prophet love the water so much? no… it was what the water could offer, such was her way.

"The Font treats me as well as everything else in this world" the Lord explained, raising a hand and twisting the mist that sprawled from his palm with practiced ease. "It has given us plenty, and we have plenty to give unto it. But tell me prophet, any plans while you’re back? I sense that you will not be attempting another departure for quite some time, planning to catch up on what you have missed, it has been an….. active few moons." The Lord confessed.

suchbeautyindeath:

Krobelus smiled watching the mist swirl around his palm. So many mysteries hidden within that small bit of mist, so very curious. “Mm, non, no plans in particular. I make petty attempts to depart often, but only to ease zee anxiety. If I stay in zhis realm for too long, it makes me uncomfortable. I will not attempt to leave permanently until zee Ancients permit it. Which doesn’t really make zhings easier, but I digress, forgive me.” She looked off to the side, an obvious shyness showing on her expression.

"I ‘ave seen many interesting zhings. A war within a war, love and lose, life and death. I’m almost sad I missed it all." She laughed a bit at her own sarcasm. Looking back to the Lord, she smiled softly and reached forward, stroking a hand along his arm. "Unless you wish to go back to your meditation, would it be alright if I kept you company for a while? I’d love to ‘ear about all zhis excitement."

for-the-haunted-mist-i-ride:

The Lord raised the arm that the Prophet had stroked, though her touch was not unwelcome,it was unexpected and certainly something the Lord was unused to. Turning the motion into a wave of dismissal the Lord laughed, “there is nothing to forgive Prophet, we all be one embroiled in the turnings of fate and life, it is a condition of all those that live… and exist” he added potently.

Stepping to the side of the Prophet and Nodding to her the Lord began to walk towards the forest, “I can meditate another time, I would be honoured to keep you company Lady Krobelus.

suchbeautyindeath:

As the Lord stepped to the side of her, she smiled up to him, happy he agreed to spend this evening with her. Even as she hovered off the ground, he was still a tad bit taller than she was, but she didn’t mind at all. After properly wrapping her arm around his and they began on their stroll, Krobelus let out a content sigh.

"So tell me, my Lord, you said things ‘ave been quite active as of late? Surely you’ve not been involved in too much of zhis mess?"

for-the-haunted-mist-i-ride:

As they strode along the decayed and winding path, Abaddon’s armoured boots echoing of the ground somewhat, the pair must of been a sight indeed, a man of mist and armour, the other a spectre of beauty.

In truth he didn’t know what to think of the Prophet, she was a spectre, so desperate for death that it seemed foreign of her to live or have ever lived. And for Avernus such a concept was truly strange,his mind was always filled with life and love and death, it appeared the Prophets was only filled with death. Despite this though, Abaddon could not deny it was nice to speak to someone who was outside of recent events, and it wasn’t an issue that she was beautiful as well.

"I am unfortunately in the middle of it all Krobelus" the Lord smirked finally, his voice echoing outwards. "The House of Avernus has changed sides in the conflict of the Silencers, it is llno longer toed to Ostarion." The Lord continued simply.

suchbeautyindeath:

As the couple walked along, Krobelus seemed to be taking in the sights, but she was really taking note of the spirits around the area. A fair few here for some reason. They hadn’t all died here. Looking closely at each of them, listening to their soft wails, most of them had been following her for quite some time. And just when she thought she would have a nice quiet evening with another…

Trying her best to ignore the constant wailing, Krobelus hovered a bit closer to the lord and smiled when she had heard he changed sides — even giggled a bit. “Did you switch sides just to be with zee winners, or did you want to be away from Ostarion zhat badly?” She teased, not even realizing she just told him the outcome of the war and the final end of this long conflict. Things like that just slipped out sometimes.

for-the-haunted-mist-i-ride:

The Lord gave a smirk as the prophet spoke, the Font had hinted at such an outcome but had chosen not to give finer details of the conflict. “I changed sides because it was the right thing to do for my people Krobelus. I have wanted to break the allegiance for a while; but I digress.”

Turning down another long eroded path the Lord of Avernus watched as the prophet spoke in hushed whispers, “got company have you Prophet?” the Lord mused, noticing the spirits split attention.

suchbeautyindeath:

Having been attempting to shoo another bothersome soul, being caught out caused the Prophet to look away, embarrassed. “Always. Forgive me. Zhey see me as a sort of vessel and like to cling.” A wave of her hand and the green mist that had been following dispersed with a sickening cry. She grimaced slightly, but tried not to show it.

“Whether it be lost souls or bats, I’m never really alone.” Just as she spoke of them, a pair of dark winged creatures fluttered over, one landing on her right shoulder. The other missed and ended up latching onto the Lord. It slipped and fumbled on the smooth armor until it’s little feet found something to grab onto to keep from falling. Once settled, it squeaked.

“Cosmo.” She said with a giggle and shook her head. “So social, zhat one.” Upon hearing his name, the little bat squeaked again. “Mm. Anyway, your people. Yes. Things should be safer once allied up with zee Radiant properly, but I can not tell you for sure. Events involving zee Ancients directly are cloudy for me.”

for-the-haunted-mist-i-ride:

"It is the way of this war Krobelus, even we cannot be sure of its outcomes, life and death, Victory or defeat? They are beyond our sight it is true. So, we must make do as best we can" he smirked beneath his helm.

Turning to the bat the Lord of Avernus smiled and raised a single metalic finger to the bat, “Cosmo, you’re a brave one indeed, if only people had the same courage as you, to face the unknown.”

"Does the company ever bother you?" The Lord wondered aloud, his finger stroking the Cosmo gently.

suchbeautyindeath:

The Prophet smiled watching her little one, so content with the attention. How he was always so comfortable with strangers, she never understood. She was glad the Lord didn’t mind her companions company.

His question caused her to hum in thought before answering. “If I let it, yes. Zhey plead and tell me zheir life stories and want me to deliver a message to a loved one, or ‘elp zhem pass on or even bring zhem back to life. I can not grant zheir wishes.” She sounded apologetic as if her words were directed at someone in that moment.

Another wave of the hand and she shook her head. “I do my best to ignore zhem. On occasion, zhey make for good company, nice long talks, stories and such, but most often it’s just begging.” Glancing back over to the Lord, the little bat was still just as content, nuzzling against the finger petting his head.

for-the-haunted-mist-i-ride:

Smiling at the bat for a moment the Lord quickly turned his attention back to the Prophet, at the poor bats expense. “Most remarkable people carry heavy burdens upon their shoulders” the lord remarked solemnly, reacting to the prophets description of her regular companions. in trust he could relate to such a curse, the constant hum and wail of the Font was forever eternal in his ears, a silent storm that deafened all who heard it.

He smirked as he thought on Krobelus words, the small bat wiggling upon his armour, “What is the most exciting story you have ever heard from one of your companions?” the Lord inquired, smiling beneath his helm.

suchbeautyindeath:

The Prophet laughed a bit in thought at his question. “Exciting?. Oh zhere are are so many! Stories of grand adventures, epic wars and battles. I am afraid zhey all usually end in death which always seems to turn zee conversation rather dark.” Being the Death Prophet always made things turn dark. She was used to it at this point but didn’t want to “scare him off” in any way. “No matter how exciting, it is always so tragic, yet so beautiful.”

Lifting her hand, she gently wrapped her claws around the little bats body and moved him to her own shoulder. He squeaked in protest but once he was on her he quickly crawled his way up on top of her head and nuzzled into her flowing hair. She laughed a bit but let him do as he pleased.

“I remember a man, a grand general of a great army in a far off land leading ‘is men into battle to defend ‘is country. He was one of the last standing on the field of corpses, arrows stuck out of him in several places, sword wounds and all, yet he kept on. Once ‘is entire army was wiped out, he drove back the remaining few of the opposing side, saving his ‘omeland. He died but zee country thrived and built a grand statue in ‘is honor that still stands today from what I’m aware. He was so proud. His wife and child had been casualties. I took ‘im to zhem once he was ready. Seeing zhem reunite nearly drove me to tears. He told me he did it all for zhem. He kept fighting for zhem.”

for-the-haunted-mist-i-ride:

Abaddon listened with a mixture of joy and sadness as the tale was weaved by the spectre’s lips. It was a story he had not expected, one that actually bore fruit. Nodding as Krobelus finished the tale Abaddon could not help but smile beneath his obsidian helm. “Thank you, my lady Krobelus” he proclaimed with a bow, “That was a wonderful tale indeed! you should considering making a show out of it all, I can see it now, Krobelus gathering the other hero’s together for a story” he chuckled playfully.

“Do you ever record these stories Krobelus?” Abaddon inquired, still smiling at his own joke. Despite his smile however, Abaddon could not help but feel solace for the general, he had died for his nation, his house. It was a feat Abaddon could understand.

#Dota 2 #roleplay #Krobelus #Abaddon #completed roleplay

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thefarlefchronicles · 7 years

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Farlef Chronicles Episode 5 - The Battle of Hibbleton

Previously on the Farlef Chronicles. WAR HAS BEEEN DECLARED.

Currently - August 8, 2017 The Night before the Great War

�� Two hundred seventeen days. That’s how long it has been since war was declared. Both sides had many skirmishes across the United States and parts of Canada. The Moose struck first taking out the Deer Parks located in Michigan, Illinois, Indiana, Missouri, Wisconsin, Ohio, Minnesota and Nebraska effectively cutting off the supply line for the residents of Deer Park, Washington. They also tried to attack Deer Park, New York but a quick call to arms from the loyalists of three crazy assholes from Brooklyn saved the town.

The Battle of Deer Park, New York was dubbed "The Battle of Gardyloo". It lasted 42 days. It was a modern day Thermopylae. Two thousand men, women and moose descended upon the NYZ Apocalypse, the last standing region the moose had not taken over. For 40 days Anthony "Baby Kicker", John "Nobody Jiggles like Lord Necroid" and "James" defended the disputed spot. With minor relief from Miller's Ale House of Deer Park and the Christmas Tree Shops hope was a commodity they were in short supply of. On the 41st day a pelican arrived with news and hope. Inside its beak was Tommy gun's, undelivered mail and 2 Kevlar vests that fit Anthony and John perfectly and another shirt with a giant bulls eye on it and two pistols for James. They knew what they must do. With James adorning the bulls eyed shit the three unknown soldiers charged the moose and tore through the Antler Horde like a hot knife through butter.

The three of them fell back to Kangaroo Kids Inflatable Party Center when the odds overwhelmed them. Or so the moose thought. During the 41 day battle they sent James out at night to plant buck bombs at key locations in case of an emergency retreat. Just as the moose thought victory was finally upon them they detonated the bombs. In 3 seconds 42 days of nonstop action was over. The East Coast was in Deer control. The battle had been won but not the war.

After the Battle of Gardyloo the Deer were on the offensive. The rag tag team of retards that defended New York racked up sweeping victories all along the East Coast fending off the Moose as they went. While they were defending the East, Farlef and his squad attacked from the West.

Farlef and his brother John,

Farlef's dad in his new militarized wheelchair,

And an alive and returned Papi

lay waste to everything west of the Rockies. Nothing with antlers were safe unless they bent the hoof.

After being captured and tortured for information for years about his comrades Papi was not the same sociopath homicidal genocidal pawn broker they knew and loved. For the last 7 years in a small cell that he called home he was tortured daily.

Nonstop they played the Rocky and Bullwinkle movie for him to get him to break. He refused and suffered for it. After the battle of Gardyloo the Deer had the upper hand and traded most of the mid-west for Papi's life. Now he was on the warpath, unfortunately due to his "enhanced interrogation" he killed anything with antlers and small vermin he saw. He didn't see friend from foe. He was a weapon..

For 6 months war raged across the country, the newspapers were baffled about the recent string of Moose/Deer murders. It got even stranger when the Elk got involved in a nefarious alliance with the Pepe Silvia and gave the Moose the upper hand. Unlike the moose tho the Evan’s Clan had one thing their horned foes had not, opposable THUMBS. Ten thousand moose and elk were no match for a wheelchair bound homophobic with a minigun strapped to his chair.

Farlef and John also rocking dual machine guns.

Unfortunately with Papi missing for 7 years his connections were running low and their ammunition stocks dwindled. Both sides had little resources and manpower for a full scale war. One final battle had been decided on at Hibbleton Island.

Farlef's army arrived on the island 4 days prior. As they were setting up camp more Deer arrived from around the world to fight for their ancestral home. Unfortunately on the other side of the island where the moose resided their numbers were equally 10:1.

"God damnit why can't we just tie grenades to birds and let them fly over to their camp" Farlef's dad angrily shouted in the head tent where Farlef and his war band gathered.

"For starters most species of bird that could even hold a grenade are not native to this area, are allied with us or believe in Islam. What we need are a squirrel army. They can man tanks, attack from the skies, from the seas. SOMEBODY GIVE ME SOME PEANUT BUTTER. I AM GOING TO MAKE AN ALLIANCE" John shouted as he ran out the tent excited.

Everyone ignored John’s outburst and went back to strategizing.

From the ground we taken and what the Pepe Silvia has set up it looks like we will end up fighting in the center of the island. It will be tricky but I think with our naval and aerial squads we can win this” Farlef said.

"I gave James strict instructions to do anything for the cause in lue of my absence. I also made him wear a special costume for the fight" Anthony said over Skype. His crippling anxiety, depression, agoraphobia and anxiety prevented him from being their physically but he was there in spirit.

“I have a plan" James stammered out. No one cared. Somehow after 42 battles of wearing nothing but a shirt with a giant bullseye on it he survived every battle unscathed.

"John 2 is your squad ready for tomorrow" Farlef asked ignoring James.

"Cough Cough wheeze cough gag (Yes our preperations are all set, we are good to go” John-2 replied.

"Ok Xavier what bout you. Is your squad ready"

"Fuck you cracker fuck. Of course we ready. Fucking sticking me with all the black animals. This some racist bullshit. Remind me again why we on the front lines." Xavier said seething with black rage.

"I told you. Your part of the first wave. Operation Get behind the Darkies."

"Haven't you ever heard of the Emancipation Proclamation"

"I don't listen to hip hop" Farlef nonchalantly replied.

After hours of coordinating and planning strategies Farlef addressed all of his comrades in arms with one final speech.

" All right! This is it! Now you all know me, so I'm gonna say this as simply as I can. If it's our time to die, it's our time. All I ask is, if we have to give these bastards our lives... WE GIVE 'EM HELL BEFORE WE DO!"

"Pause the fucking movie I got something to say" Farlef said as Matrix Revolutions played in the background.

“In less than 5 hours, deer from here will join others from around the world. And you will be launching the largest antler battle in the history of deerkind. “Deerkind.” That word should have new meaning for all of us today. We can’t be consumed by our petty differences anymore. We will be united in our common interests. Perhaps it’s fate that today is the Ninth of August, and you will once again be fighting for our freedom… Not from tyranny, oppression, or persecution… but from annihilation. We are fighting for our right to live. To exist. And should we win the day, the Ninth of August will no longer be known as an Deer holiday, but as the day the world declared in one voice: We will not go quietly into the night! We will not vanish without a fight! We’re going to live on! We’re going to survive! Today we celebrate our Deerdependence Day!"

With such vigorous enthusiasm he managed to get every man, woman, deer, squirrel, wheelchair bound homophobe and James ready to die for a meaningless fight for a small town in the middle of nowhere.

As Farlef rested in his Moose Skin tent waiting out the final few hours til day break he heard the sound on crunching leaves approaching his tent. He wondered who was arriving to go over battle strategy one final time. He was amazed to find it was his father, walking, into his tent.

"Dad, what, how?" Farlef was speechless, his father was walking.

" Papi managed to obtain this syrum for me. Its called DGH, Deer Growth Hormone, its not FDA, FCC, USDA, DOD, DOL, DOS approved but he got me the only sample on earth. I can walk again my boy. That is not all.

"Holy shit dad you can turn into a deer?"

" Yea this serum has made me faster, stronger, smarter, able to transform into a deer at will and be accepting of my son's lifestyle choices. This is truly a miracle drug"

"Dad are you saying what I think your saying"

"Shh. Come here and give daddy a hug"

It was the first time in 17 years Farlef hugged his father. As they embraced for the first time in over a decade Farlef's dad whispered into Farlef's ear. "A father should never have to bury a son, let alone two. Only one of my boys will die tomorrow" he said as he injected his son with sleeping drug til he passed out.

The last thing Farlef thought of before he passed out was that his dad was expecting John to die tomorrow. Like what the fuck. He could knock him out too or have faith in his children's abilities to fight. Then darkness took over.

Farlef awoke the next day to the sounds of bombs going off, hooves stampeding, gunfire and the smell of fire and venison. The war had begun. He was still woozy from the drugs his father pumped him with. When he finally managed to stand he arose from his tent to witness the greatest battle that the world will ever see.

The first thing he noticed was how vast the deer army was.

Across the field he saw Pepe Silvia riding his wife along with their army into battle.

He then turned and saw John and his squad of elite vapers doing battle against a squad of Mutant Moose Tanks.

Then he saw Xavier charging into battle against Pepe Silvia’s alliance with the British Royal army leading his Zulu warriors into battle.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw James in his specialized combat suit running for deer life as bombs exploded all around him.

Then he saw John 2′s son taking up arms in an attempt to help sway the tide of war.

He then heard a sound coming from above and saw a sight he never could of imagine. Apparently Pepe Silvia’s Air Forces were stronger then anticipated.

“I got this” Papi yelled nearby.

“Nice Shot Papi” Farlef shouted as he watched the Moose’s blimp fall onto the unsuspecting fighters below.

Then he saw his father charging into battle and taking out attackers one at a time.

He was proud of his father and was bout to join him when he saw Pepe Silvia join the fray and confront his father in his Moose Form.

The battle between Pepe and Farlef’s Father was short. In one attack Pepe took his dad out. Farlef was at a loss of words.

Shocked at the death of his father, Farlef lost all control and charged into the battlefield.Helmet adorned and battle hammer in hand he went on a rage fueled killing spree.

In his revenge frenzied state Farlef lost all thought and charged recklessly leading his army into an ambush that Pepe knew he would fall for. Surrounded on all sides the deer army was quickly overwhelmed.The bodies of the fallen to their back and their attackers to their front.

Inside this murder circle Pepe ordered his men to keep them in line giving the deer no quarter.

As this was being done he ordered his men to fire volleys of arrows and canons at both armies. He was to win this battle no matter the cost of life.

As Farlef watched the men, women and deer he rallied for this fight die around him he felt remorse in his crusade. He had just barely reconciled with his father and gotten Papi back now this. He wondered where his brother John was and hoped his survived the day to avenge them. Then he heard and sound and knew what his brother was up to.

Elephant tank rounds fired at the oppressive moose while a bear with a mini-gun fired into their ranks and a lion attacked them.

This was merely a distraction tho as the moose turned their attention to the circus animals let loose on them an army of squirrels on horseback broke their ranks.

The tide of battle had turned. With over 20,000 squirrels attacking the moose the war was to be over quickly. The army was made up of machine gunners,

Squirrel Commandos,

Squirrel Rocketers,

Squirrel Tank Commanders,

Squirrel Air Force,

and Squirrel Seamen.

With the overwhelming support of the squirrel army the moose where quickly defeated or bent the knee. Except one moose. Farlef quickly gave chase to Pepe Silvia. He wasn’t going to let him escape. Regrettably in the ensuring chaos from the squirrels Pepe managed to flee the battle.

It had been two weeks since the war had ended. The new treaty with the Moose was signed and it was a more forgiving treaty now that a marriage between the two groups sealed it. On the battlefield Papi met a female moose that he fought to a standstill and then proceeded to make love to amidst the fighting and impending doom. Nobody knew if it was his time held prisoner that changed his views or he finally snapped but everyone was tired of fighting so they just accepted the bestiality marriage.

Over 14,322 died from each side. There was many funerals to attend to including Xavier’s. He didn’t die during the war, he was merely enjoying a day at the zoo when a little boy got lost from his mother. When Xavier went to help the poor lad he was shot on sight.

As Farlef was getting prepared to attend one last funeral his brother entered his room. They had barely spoken since the war ended, too grief stricken over their father and with too much post war effort going on to get a few words in.

“I feel like if I didn’t run off to get a squirrel army and then visited a circus on my way back maybe this would of happened...” John started to say.

“Don;t blame yourself, it was no ones fault. He was high on that drug Papi gave him and he fought Pepe alone. He wasn’t use to his deer form and Pepe is thousands of years old. I wish he didn’t drug me, I would of been by his side” Farlef replied with regret in his voice.

“If you were there you would be in the same situation and we would be having two funerals today” John told his younger brother.

“I know it’s just Pepe got away anyhow. I am not going to rest until I stop him. I will track him down and end his life.”

“He has nowhere to hide, every Antler’d animal in North America and parts of Asia are looking for him. Papi has his top men on it. TOP MEN Farlef.” John replied.

“I know, it just doesn’t make it any easier. I guess there is no point putting this off anymore. Time to attend the funeral, it’s about to start.”

The turn out for the last funeral was quite modest. Most of the survivors of the war had returned home after paying their respects to the fallen but this last funeral was important too. It was the most important to one man. Farlef’s Dad.

After his fight with Pepe Silvia, his freshly intact spine snapped like a toothpick. Lying there praying for death, still in his deer form no one knew he had survived until after the fighting ended. Once all the bodies where collected he insisted on having a funeral for his legs. He didn’t seem to care one bit about all the other lives lost, he wanted to memorialize his legs. For two weeks he bugged his sons and anyone who could still hear about it and the day finally came.

“I like to say a few words” Farlef’s Dad said as everyone who attended realized they were tricked into attending a funeral for a man’s legs. They did wonder who Majestic Asfuck Legs was but everyone had weird family names.

“A little over two weeks ago after many years of being acceptingly disabled I finally got the two most important things in my life back. My legs and my sons. Sadly during the great war I lost the ability to utilize one of those things but it will not make me bitter. Not this time. In the past I could not accept my two gay sons for what they were but now I put my prejudice behind me and hope to be more accommodating to their queerosexual weeabu lifestyle choices.”

The small audience in attendance for funeral were shocked. To hear such a heartwarming sentence muttered from the mouth of a crippled deer took them aback.

Farlef’s Dad was still trapped in his deer body after Pepe Silvia broke his spine. Papi told him he didn’t know the full side effects of the syrum he took to walk again and apparently one of them was in the case of paralysis the body would not be able to transform willingly so he was stuck as a deer. Papi was working tirelessly with his Colombian Chemists to find a cure but it might be awhile before one could be fashioned.

As his father continued talking Farlef sat there, wondering what to do now. He figured it be quite awhile before Pepe Silvia popped up. He knew his town needed him and he needed a break. He also knew he needed to plan a bachelor party for Papi and had a wedding to plan. He figured for the time being he would go back to his old routine. Playing xbox, collecting Pokemon and finding obscure items for papi to sell in his shop. He hoped things would finally go back to normal in his quite little town.

Pepe Silvia was enjoying his time living in Australia. It was one of the few places on Earth that Deer didn’t live. He was enjoying a quite life as a salesman at a local printing company and was dating a beautiful koala named Sheila. As he returned home from work that evening he was tired from a long day’s work. He turned the shower on and undressed wondering what his plans for that evening were. He thought maybe he would go to that BBQ joint with the imported meats and order some venison. That gave him a chuckle. As he stepped into the shower he started to wash his body from the grime of the day. It was a hot one. Then without warning the shower curtain was thrown back.

Farlef had found Pepe.

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