#'ALL THOSE LANTERNS. ALL THAT BLOODSHED' YES THIS FUCKS

[ufonaut]

We could tell him he’s going to give a ring to someone who’ll kill the entire Green Lantern Corps!

Darkstars (1992) #24

I randomly picked up this issue of Darkstars in a vintage comic shop the other day without quite knowing what’s in store for me and having finally gotten a chance to read it, I literally can’t stop thinking about the very rare instance of getting to hear about Hal/Parallax from an outsider POV, especially when framed through the possibility of preventing the events of Zero Hour by preventing Hal from becoming a Green Lantern in the first place! Particularly fascinated by Donna saying she thinks there’s more to Hal’s breakdown than Coast City’s destruction because it makes me wonder whether she realised the obvious (no one reaching out to help Hal).

#green lantern #darkstars #abin sur #donna troy #hal jordan #parallax #dc #dc comics #u can reblog #MANY THOUGHTS. HEAD FULL. #'ALL THOSE LANTERNS. ALL THAT BLOODSHED' YES THIS FUCKS

[korijime]

—caraphernelia

(noun.) a condition in which someone abandons you but leaves their belongings behind, inducing painful memories

tartaglia / childe, genshin impact

angst, character death, love letters

wc ; one thousand six hundred and fifty five

dt ; @lcaita

riyuu says ; i..have no idea what happened here. i’m not even joking, i just said i wanted to write, and had a specific scene from a specific thing in mind, rhia said yes, and i wrote this entire thing on discord in twenty minutes. i have no idea what the fuck happened or how it happened but..yeah, i’m kinda proud of myself for this one.

pain, yk? pain and agony and anguish. it’s fun. the smallest bit indulgent, a little bit of hesitation because childe is from an era where people use Fancy Language and i was scared i’d get it wrong, but rhia is the angst and childe specialist so if she says it’s good that must mean it’s good 👍

thank you to @t-amajiki for proof-reading and @tokyoghoose for helping with the title, i love you guys

to my dearest comrade,

should i stop calling you that? i mean, if you’re reading this, it means i won’t be calling you ‘comrade’ any longer. good riddance for you, right? now you won’t have to deal with a nuisance like me.

i won’t say that i look down on myself, if anything, i strive to be stronger. i made that quite obvious, didn’t i? i’ve been told, quite a lot, that the way i carry myself exudes confidence and such. i neither believe nor do i dismiss those comments.

but, you know, just between you and me, i started looking down, for once. i wish i hadn’t dismissed it at first, because it became painfully obvious what it had become. but yes, comrade, around you, i had begun looking down on myself, started questioning whether someone like me deserved to be around you, and close to you.

don’t take it to heart, i mean it in a good way. it was..almost eye-opening, in a way. all my life the only thing that mattered to me was strength, power, and battles. all i could see was the red, my blood mixed with my enemies. a cruel reality that was forced upon me, one which i accepted since i had no other choice. looking back on it now, i’ve thought about it several times, about what might have been if my upbringing had been drastically different.

did i go off topic? my apologies. i wanted to say that, despite having my eyes set on one goal my entire life, i found my vision getting blurred. i lost sight of what was once a goal i fought tooth and nail to reach, yet instead my eyes were opened to sights around said goal, the people around me, the nature of this world, you.

all my life, red has been the colour of power, of strength and bloodshed and it has been proof that i’ve fought and i’ve fought hard, and i’ve won, but you taught me that red is the colour of the embroidery on the outfit you wore to the lantern rite. you taught me that red is the colour painted on the wooden chopsticks you taught me how to use. you taught me that red is the colour that is mixed with so many others on the sunset visible from qingyun peak. red is the colour of your eyes under the light of the lanterns and red is the colour i imagine you felt when i told you how you took my breath away. i meant that one! as someone coming from snezhnaya, breathlessness is not a good sign.

red. red is the colour of the warmth i felt when you first embraced me as i whimpered in your arms. red is the colour of the bandages you wrapped around me as you fed me soup with a soft smile on your face. red is the colour of the sheets on your bed when you first offered that we sleep together when you caught me after i had a nightmare.

for someone like me, ‘soft’ and ‘warm’ are not words often used to describe anything in my life, except for the fur coats we must wear when traversing the vast lands of snezhnaya. and yet, you gave a new meaning to those words. you became the personification of those words for me, and for that, i am truly grateful. you opened my eyes to a world i never thought i deserved to see, and i enjoyed every last moment of it.

i apologise, i’m sorry that you must find out all these things in such a way. if you’re reading this, then it could only mean that i’m no longer there to tell you these things in person. i’m sorry if this causes you distress, i thought myself unworthy of uttering such words to you when i still could.

i mean it, truly, someone like me, whose hands have only ever known battle, whose mind has only ever known bloodthirst, whose body has only ever known adrenaline and pain. i couldn’t possibly have burdened you with all of that. someone like me, my love, someone like me doesn’t deserve to put someone like you in danger. it’s a miracle that we can even call each other friends without you being at the risk of getting kidnapped. i wish not to put you in danger, for i would hate myself for eternity upon eternity if it was me who caused your departure from the world you loved, from the people you loved. i don’t deserve to be around you, i don’t deserve to be with you, every moment we spend together is another where you could be in danger. i would rather die than entitle you to such a fate. i’m sorry.

i overheard it, you know. the conversation you had with the traveller. i will not deny that it made my heart race for a reason i never expected it could race for. i will not deny that even mister zhongli could notice my cheerful attitude that didn’t leave for the rest of the evening. do you wish i had told you, back then, when i still could? when we still had time? would things have turned out different?

if they would have, then i will say that i have regrets. you must be wondering why i’ve written this in such a manner, yes? there is a colleague of mine, one that has the wonderful gift of clairvoyance. i did not believe in it at first, but there was no denying it was real when i saw firsthand how they had accurately predicted the way in which several of our endeavours would unfold.

they told me, in quite the serious voice, might i add, you do not have much time, tartaglia. you must know what your delusion does to you, you are well aware of the critical toll it has on your body, but now, you must also be informed that you do not have much time to reach your goal. it is possible, yes, but only if you put every second into it.

i will admit it creeped me out at first, but then again, they are a reliable colleague of mine, it wouldn’t do me well to not believe what they said.

are you questioning why i didn’t do it? why i didn’t rush towards the goal i’ve had ever since i was a child?

well, that’s simply because, i had something far better to use my time on. my goal, if accomplished, i felt would not bring the satisfaction i desire. it would not bring me the satisfaction i receive from being greeted by you.

you realise now, yes?

i was dying, comrade. i had been in too far over my head, i had been to reckless and irresponsible. i had been every single thing you used to call me as you gently wrapped bandages on my wounds.

i had been a fool, comrade. i had realised it too late.

i had realised it too late, that my recklessness has lead to my untimely departure from this world, right as i had acquired a reason to live my life differently from the way i had before.

i found out about my declining health two days after i realised i had been in love with you for months.

cruel, isn’t it? such is the way this world works. i will not deny that i broke, several times, as i thought of the fact that the time i had been spending with you would be our last memories together. would you feel a little better if i said that i was not ashamed to cry in the comfort of my own quarters? you had always been one to reprimand me whenever i stated that i do not cry because i dislike showing weakness.

and yet, even with this new knowledge, that had made my blood run cold, that made me feel cold and empty and it had me feel what others describe my people to be. it made me feel like a husk, i mean, how could it not? i, tartaglia, who strives for greatness and power and strength, dying not in a battle, not in a war, but due to my own recklessness, due to my own abuse of the power i was given.

it’s cruel, truly.

my family does not know, if you were wondering. i do not have the heart to tell teucer that his reckless big brother had gone and gotten himself ill, just to keep him and his siblings happy. i feel as though they would not be the least bit happy with that reasoning.

sister tonya, however, i feel as though she has noticed the way i stagger and stumble, the way i ask her to repeat what she previously said, several times over. she had always been the most observant out of all of us.

i do not wish to you cause you any more distress, my love. i’m sorry for all the hurt i have caused you, and i am sorry for being such a fool.

do you think, in another life, we could have another chance? do you think, if the circumstances were different, we would’ve been happy together? do you think i would’ve told you how i felt that night, as we sat watching the stars on mount aozang, do you think things could have been different? i would like to think so.

i’m sorry, my love, for doing this to you. but i want you to know that, more than anything in this world, more than anything in this life, i loved you. i loved you as misfortune loves orphans, as fires love war, i loved you the way storms love destruction. i loved you the way i loved red.

until we meet again, in another life, my dear.

forever yours,

ajax.

tagged ; @t-amajiki @tokyoghoose @lcaita @tartagliaxx

#childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #tartaglia genshin impact #childe genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact

[alienturnipp]

Heed the Morning Star

Mage Hawke & Anders & Justice (pre-relationship)

Read on AO3: [Link]

Summary:

She hesitated for a moment, then looked up and held his eyes. “I mean it though. This?” she gestured at the made-up clinic around them, “It’s impressive work. Brave. I’d be blind to not see the good things you do. To not admire it. And if it—he, Justice, helped you to do all this, then… I don’t know. I’m willing to know more, I suppose.” . Hawke reflected upon her relationship with Anders and Justice through the first years of their intertwining lives. Set before All That Remains, pre-relationship.

.

This short story was a result of my talks with @1ichen, who gave me wonderful & inspiring questions about my character along with their own thoughtful insights. Thank you again <3

Title is taken from Kalandra - Brave New World.

-------------------------------

“Your mind is your greatest strength, love, and your most vulnerable weakness,”  Malcolm Hawke had once said, as he taught his daughter about the Fade and its dangers, “You can converse with spirits and demons, even bind them, yes. But if they take hold of your mind, you will be forever changed. No creatures of the Fade are made to survive in our world, nor are we made to contain their drive. A possession would bring death to both you and the being you carry.”

.

The first time Anders glowed blue in front of her eyes and half a dozen Templars, the Fade pouring out of the cracks on his skin, Cirilla remembered her father’s words with a shiver of dread crawling up her spine. Void take her, this is what Father warned her and Beth against. Run. Run. Get the hell away from here. Move your legs.

But Karl was a silent, gazeless shell of a man behind them – a standing nightmare, and the pain in Anders’ roar and the hatred in his eyes matched her white-hot anger. Next to her Varric cursed, Bianca snapping into motion with a smooth click. Carver didn’t waste any time standing between her and the Templars, even if he looked so conflicted and scared he might burst.

“Haul ass, Sister!” Carver growled.

As the Templars rounded in on them, she switched off her fear. Her blade and magic took care of the rest. Fuck running. Look where running got them all.

She didn’t need to be possessed to hunger for bloodshed that night. She thought she should be terrified, ashamed of herself. She was not.

.

“You seem wary of me and Justice, Hawke.”

She acknowledged his remark with a dip of her head, but otherwise focused on washing the bundle of linens and bandages he had set out for them both to clean. There were just the two of them now, laboring silently under the forever-dim light of Darktown, barely sufficient with the lanterns Anders had put on around his clinic. Only the occasional rumbles of machinery resonated through the walls, doubtless coming from the industrial area above them and the dock nearby, and Cirilla almost got lost in the turbulent space of her own head.

His gaze would not leave her.

He continued. “I can see you are keeping an eye on me, even if I’m thankful for all your help around here. Don’t trust me to keep my control and not burst out into demons?”

“I want to,” she snapped a little too quickly, and thought at the last moment to direct her temper into her current task. The piece of linen twisted and stretched under her tight squeeze. “You joke about it like that. I’ve only been taught to fear possession. I don’t even know how it’s possible that you still managed to be… you.”

“You saw me at the Chantry, Hawke.”

“I lost it and killed those Templars too, and I didn’t even know Karl like you did. I’m hardly in any moral high ground to judge.” She pursed her lips. “Your spirit probably saved our collective ass, as it was.”

“… You’re welcome?”

She hesitated for a moment, then looked up and held his eyes. “I mean it though. This?” she gestured at the made-up clinic around them, “It’s impressive work. Brave. I’d be blind to not see the good things you do. To not admire it. And if it—he, Justice, helped you to do all this, then… I don’t know. I’m willing to know more, I suppose.”

He blinked. “You would ‘fuck the Circle, fuck the Chantry, fuck the Maker himself’, but you’re willing to believe Justice?”

“Yeah. Seems more real anyway.”

He regarded her then, long look but not hard nor scrutinizing, only contemplative, maybe a little fond, and she felt an odd familiarity with the lessons she had with her father all those years ago. She wondered what Malcolm would think of her now. His runaway daughter, who had only come back home to watch him die, then proceeded to let her younger sister fall to an ogre. Joined a gang – another gang. Killed Templars. Made friend – were they friends? - with a mage housing a spirit of Justice in his head, who insisted that he and his spirit were not an abomination. Came a long way, indeed.

Father was gone though. He didn’t get to reprimand her now.

“Few people are willing to take that step,” Anders finally said with a smile. “I’m starting to have more faith in your Expedition, Hawke, if you’re still planning to have my aid in the Deep Roads.” He smiled. “A Healer who likes you will keep you alive longer.”

.

They kept each other alive through the Deep Roads. She failed Carver, but her little brother could still walk out of that place thanks to him. Then they kept each other alive for a lot longer. Months. Years. Their group of friends was rowdy and danger-prone, annoying and confrontational more often than not, but she fitted right in just so. Their fortune seemed to change with the winds, but she and Anders did not fail each other once.

She still had questions, but it was more a curiosity than anything these days. Frankly, she was impressed that an embodiment of Justice would be able to hold out for so long in this rotting corpse of a city. Surrounded by the walls of the old Tevinter, amidst oppressions old and new, the long war they set out to fight seemed as inspiring and real as it seemed futile. She knew which version of the tale Varric had already decided to tell.

Sometimes she walked her dreams in the Fade, and she saw her mother sitting serenely with her book next to the fireplace, Brandy a slumbering, snoring pile of warm fur at her feet. In her dreams she would read Carver’s letters over and over, taking solace in knowing her little brother was now thriving as she knew he deserved to be, even if the life he’d come to live was not easy. The scenes played out just like her every waking day, but they somehow feel less fragile here, no threats of the outside world disturbing their peace. Safer in her imagination than anywhere else.

A familiar spirit sometimes visited her in those dreams, and it would remind her that this, her family, is her Purpose. You lost it once, it would recall, and you almost couldn’t carry on without it. If the Goal drives you now, then your life still has meaning. And when she woke, it was with those words that she gritted her teeth and carried on, washing her blade with blood and washing the blood away before she got home. No matter the price to her soul. She believed in it most days now.

Cirilla Hawke knew she sold her own morals already, her growing reputation a mocking testament of her marks on the world. Justice and Anders though, they glowed bright as two souls and one. She selfishly basked herself in the intense warmth of it, drawing closer and closer like a moth to a flame.

So no, she didn’t doubt Justice, hadn’t been since a long time. But hers and Anders’ friendship only grew along the years, and so did her curiosity. She wondered about the kinds of character Justice and Anders were before their merging, about the palpable and surreal determination that drove their actions now, what fueled the burning sun in their heart. She wondered if she could reach for that greatness too.

.

“Anders thought many things about you, Hawke,” Justice called to her just before they prepared to leave Feynriel’s fading dream. The boy’s mind was no longer trapped inside the Fade, and without its Dreamer the place slowly dematerialized and disintegrated, pulling her and Anders’ – Justice’s – consciousness alongside them.

But they were still in each other’s presence now, a rare moment of relief where she could see and talk to Justice without any immediate danger plaguing their minds. So she willed herself to stay a little longer.

“We are very close friends.” She shrugged, then put a hand on her hip and turned toward him, consciously keeping her chin high and her eyes hard. As if preparing to brace any kind of judgement he would throw at her. Mostly instinctual, but she was still annoyed at herself for that.

“He admires your spirit and strength, and greatly values your support. I will not disclose more than that, but I can see why he would look up to you. You have a strong sense of Purpose. Even if I dislike your methods, I can understand your drive. He— We believe that we can achieve great things with you by our side. I would like you to know that.”

She was suddenly aware of how the thick fur wrap graze her neck with each blow of the winds, and how the seams of her scarf crumbled away with the currents swirling around them. Justice’s eyes were bright like two burning stars, and she remembered how it was this… this magnificent being that had brought Karl Thekla back from his Tranquility, something they all thought impossible, however briefly that moment was. He stood tall and proud in front of her, undaunted. A beacon.

It had been a long time since she last felt self-conscious by a compliment. Cirilla swallowed, a wave of emotions threatening to escape her. She felt a little weak at the knees, and at the same time invincible. She could get drunk on it.

She stepped forward and put her hand on his shoulder. He squeezed his own hand on top of hers.

“Onward, Justice,” she said, reveling in the course of the Fade beneath and above her palm. It had a rhythm, a strange pulse, and it was as real as the waking world. “Anyone who want to cut us, I will cut them first. I’m by your side for as long as you need me.”

#dragon age #dragon age 2 #anders #hawke #cirilla hawke #handers #f!hawke #alien turnip's writing #it's been a while since i've last written anything #so it was a refreshing experience! #i love justice now and always <3 #as 1ichen also said... he's a sweetheart

[not-close-to-straight]

More Than Words (Twenty)

Uh yep, this is short and terrible. Good times. I cut a longer chapter in two parts because I didn’t want this part to overshadow all the literal greatness hours of effort and thought I put into the origin story for Cable in the next part!

MTW MASTERLIST HERE

****************

One hundred three days and counting...

“Are you going to let me help with chores this morning, Alpha?” Peter hugged his knees to his chest and watched Wade toss back the rest of his coffee. “Or do you still think I’m recovering from being sick? I miss Bea and Arthur and I honestly think I’m starting to miss the goat. That’s how long you’ve kept me trapped in the cabin, Wade. I’m starting to miss the goat.”

“Yes, you are still recovering from being sick, and I’m sure the animals miss you too.” The Alpha shrugged into his jacket and bent to lace his boots. “But I’ll tell you what, sweetheart. If you can get off that bed and walk without waddling, you can help with chores.”

“I--” Peter opened his mouth to argue, even put a finger in the air as if that would help him make a convincing point, but when Wade only raised his eyebrows and waited, the Omega sighed, “Alright. I can’t walk without waddling. Or you know. Leaking. But--”

Wade flashed his fangs in a too cocky grin and Peter finished, “But I still think it won’t hurt anything to help a little bit! I’m not coughing, I haven’t had a fever in a week and if last night didn’t prove that I’m feeling better than I don’t know how to convince you I’m okay! I’m sick of being inside!”

“All last night proved is that you can take a knot like a champ.” Wade said flatly and Peter squawked in embarrassment. “So I’m gonna go do chores, you’re going to stay right here and eat some breakfast and when both those things are done, I’m gonna get you stuck on my knot again, alright?”

“WADE!” The Omega dove under the covers to hide scarlet cheeks but after a few seconds came a muffled, “Okay, that sounds good.”

Wade gave Pete’s butt an affectionate swat as he passed by the bed, then stopped to tug the blankets down far enough to land a gentle gentle kiss on Peter’s cheek. “I love you, my mate.” He notched his nose into Peter’s throat and breathed in the addicting scent of mated. “You scent like home now, you know? Like the only place I ever wanna be anymore. Gorgeous.”

“What the fuck, that’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.” Peter laughed as he hugged his Alpha tight. “For the record, you’re the only place I ever want to be anymore, too.”

“I’ll be back soon.” Wade lingered a moment longer, nuzzling over his Omega’s bonding spot and losing himself just a little bit in the sweetness of being together. “You uh… you aren’t really too sore, are you my mate? I wasn’t too rough with you?”

“I’m sore enough that there’s no way I could possibly get out of bed without my knees giving out and splatting me on the floor.” Peter confirmed, giggling into a kiss. “But not so sore I don’t want you to hurry back and um--”

“--Get you stuck on me again?”

“I’m never going to say that, so give it up.”

“Never say never, I got you to say horny, didn’t I?”

“Get out.” Peter’s scent lifted clear and happy, his perfect mouth stretched in a smile. “Get out and go do chores. Go on.”

“Just say it one time, Pete.” The Alpha cajoled. “Just one time for me as a bonding present. Tell me you want to be stuck on my knot. Just say the words and--”

“Oh my god, go!”

Wade was laughing and dodging pillows as he ran for the door, growing teasingly at his mate while the Omega screeched about how awkward he was making everything and how he was too damn sore to be moving this much and how Wade should be more mature since he was at least a hundred years old--

-- but when the Alpha opened the door, all laughter stopped, all smiles dropped away and from the bed, Peter stilled mid throw and let the pillow fall from his fingers to land on the floor.

“Wade.” Cable’s voice was familiar and terrible and Peter didn’t think he’d hated anything more in his life at that exact moment. “Omega. How are you?” 

“Don't.” Wade’s throat jerked as he swallowed, his knuckles white where he grasped at the door, his body a barrier between Cable and Peter, between the mutant and them, between the reality they’d been ignoring and the bliss of the last few days. “Don’t take him from me. Don’t do this. This isn’t-- please don’t--”

“You know as well as I do, we don’t have a choice in the matter.” the other Alpha said gravely. “Step aside, please.”

“Nope.” The door cracked beneath Wade’s fingers, the Alpha’s strength surging as he tried to keep himself under control. “Cable--”

“I really am sorry about this.” Cable was every bit as big as Wade, and even if he hadn’t been huge the techno organic pieces of his biology made it possible to push Wade aside as if he didn’t weigh a thing. “But let’s not make this more difficult than it has to be.”

Wade backpedaled into the cabin and towards the bed, one hand outstretched towards the intruder, the other reaching for Peter to protect him.

“Step aside, Wade.”

“The fuck I will.” the Alpha’s eyes snapped dark red, curved fangs glinting when his lips drew back in a snarl. “Don’t you come near my mate.”

“Omega.” Cable tried to look around Wade, but was cut off by a growl bordering on savage.

“You are not to look at my Omega when he’s in bed, look away now. Now!”

Not a battle worth fighting, Cable told himself and obediently averted his eyes from Peter’s near nakedness until Wade had settled down a little bit.

“Omega.” Cable tried again. “You are going to have to come with me.”

“No.” Peter shook his head and fit his hand into Wade’s palm, squeezing tight. “I’m not leaving my Alpha. I don’t care what you say.”

“Peter.” The gears in Cable’s arm ground together as he clenched his first. “You’ve been in this timeline too long and your life is in literal danger. I know you don’t want to leave this Alpha, but one way or another, you’re going with me back to your own time, do you understand?”

“One way or another?” the Omega repeated. “Are you-- are you serious? No! No, you can’t leave me here for months and then show back up and think I’ll just leave with you!” 

“Wade?” he yanked at his Alpha’s hand, pressed at Wade’s fingers until his mate finally looked down at him. “Say something. Tell Cable this is crazy, that there’s no way we’re going to be apart from each other, he can’t just walk in and take me!”

“Wade.” Cable kept his gaze firmly off Peter and squarely on the Alpha. “I know Bruce has talked to you, I know he’s warned you. You know what it could mean if Peter stays much longer.”

“What does he mean Bruce has talked to you?” Peter cut in. “What does that-- Wade, what is he talking about? Is this cos I’ve been sick? I’m getting better!” 

The Omega was edging towards hysterical, the abrupt switch from teasing his Alpha to facing down Cable enough to make him choke, the sudden threat of leaving enough to make him want to vomit. “Alpha! Talk to me!”

...but something devastated bled into Wade’s eyes, something that looked an awful lot like resignation and maybe even like this was exactly what the Alpha had been expecting all along and Peter’s heart plummeted towards the floor.

“...My--my mate?”

“I’ve got chores to do.” Wade pulled his hand from Peter’s grasp, ignored the Omega’s wounded noise so he could order, “Cable, you stay outside until my Omega gets dressed, you are not allowed to see him without clothes, not even a fuckin’ hint of skin alright? Get outside.”

“Wade.” Peter whispered in disbelief and Cable reached to touch the Alpha’s shoulder with a grave, “Wade.” but he pushed past them both and stomped out the door, across the yard to the barn.

“I’ll step out while you get dressed.” Cable slid his hood ,over his face and turned from the bed. “Let me know when you’re ready and we can talk about what’s going to happen. I’m sure you’ve got questions and I’ll do my best to answer them but we can’t waste much time, alright? Hurry.”

Peter snarled at the mutant, furious and hurt and confused and Cable paused at the door, thinking through his words before saying, “I never meant to leave you here this long, do you understand? This is my fault, you never should have been here long enough to get tangled up with an Alpha and certainly never long enough to be put in harms way. I’m sorry.”

“Get out.” the Omega whispered, breath stuttering over a sob. “Just-- just get out. I don’t even know what’s happening right now or why my Alpha walked just walked away from me-- please leave me alone. Leave me alone.”

Guilt settled heavy in Cable’s core, and the Alpha was fully honest when he muttered, “For what it’s worth, I really am sorry.”

“Get out!!” A lantern shattered on the floor, then a book, spine snapping and pages tearing as it bounced into the wall. “GET OUT!”

Cable swallowed back everything else he’d planned to say and nodded, closed the door behind him so the Omega could come to terms with it all in privacy.

Peter wasn’t the problem anyway.

Convincing Wade to give up his mate would be a conversation that would most certainly end in bloodshed, and Cable didn’t relish the thought of having his throat ripped out by a heartbroken Alpha.

“I’m sorry.” he said to the empty air outside, listening to the noise from the cabin as Peter raged out against everything unfair. “Jesus Christ, how did this get so out of control?”

************

SAY SOMETHING ABOUT THE CHAPTER

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@ships-galore @ceealaina @izziebladez @cwar1864 @hausoffro @lookuplaughing @tonystarkisanangel @multishippinglife @girlnic @iam93percentstardust @water-colouredmemories @paranormalmoonlight5 @igotloki @moosette05 @wayward-student-philosopher @kaz-brekkers-gloves @atomicfandombomb @ricecakeandhoney @ardatlily @fawnandgays @bluedreamdino @bibbarnes @blackstar1602 @hi-inevitable-im-deadpool @scientifically-lesbian-jesus @the-pagely-gun-slinger @oshuncheyenne @the-dragonwolf-den @pumpkin-spidey @sozvuchiy @cappunico @tired-dragons01 @chiby-chan @ahumoki0 @kanizsacollage @tulipsnbigcats @hiddenaurora @notchronicle24 @marvels-gurl @iridescent-idiot @badndbourgeoisie @eversomniator @local1dreamer @loveisblindwade  @ssssssssssssssssssssslytherin

#ncts fics #spideypool #peter parker #wade wilson #abo dynamics #soulmate au #time travel au #nathan summers

[flamehairedwritings]

The Fire In Your Eyes: Chapter Six

Characters: Arthur Morgan x Original Female Character

Rating: The whole series will be E, 18+ ONLY for violence, gore, character deaths, animal deaths, parent deaths, swearing, grief, sexual themes and sex.

Summary: Saved by Arthur Morgan when her town is attacked, a young woman’s past comes back to haunt her when she has no choice but to join the Van der Linde Gang.

The Fire In Your Eyes Masterlist

Please don’t copy, steal or re-post my work; credit does not count.

The Bonds of Time

“Did you think I’d forget you? Just ‘cause I ain’t visited in a while?” Colm shook his head with a soft laugh. “How could I ever forget my only niece? You was a firecracker back then, too, runnin’ around, wantin’ to hold your daddy’s guns and shoot at the rats before the cat got ‘em.”

He laughed again and all she could do was cry silently, her breaths shaky. He talked so fondly.

"Shit, yeah, you was more entertainin’ than your brother—”

“Don’t you dare talk about him, you son of a bitch—”

“But he’s a ball of fire himself now.”

She froze. He smiled, his leg bouncing up and down slightly, as if in excitement, as if he had been waiting for this.

“He’s dead,” she whispered after a few moments, unblinking.

“Is he?” Colm watched her closely, his voice softer. “Or did he just decide to stay with us?”

She shook her head, at first slowly then firmly, her jaw tightening as anger started to build. “He went after you to kill you, he would have rather died than be part of your gang.”

“Yeah, that’s what he said himself,” Colm sighed, “But... when I told him it was Dutch and not me who killed your daddy, then, well... he changed his mind.”

Her hands curled into fists and she would have given anything to be free.

“He wouldn’t have believed you—”

“You don’t seem so shocked at that particular bit of news.” Colm tilted his head, a faux frown settling on his features. “You ain’t callin’ me a liar, either. It was my understandin’ from Thomas that you all thought I was the one to do it, so I guess you found out the truth, too. How recently? Go on, how recently?” he prompted as she remained silent.

"Before we came to meet with you,” she whispered, and he laughed with joy.

“Today? Ah, shit, girl.” He grinned at her in disbelief. “Out of the mouth of God himself, I presume?”

When she didn’t say anything he laughed again, shaking his head.

“Today, I don’t believe it...” He leaned his elbows on his knees. “I reckon you might owe me an apology of some sort, then.”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, shit, you look just like your ma when you look at me like that—"

“Don’t you dare talk about her, you bastard, because of you she is dead.”

That made him pause just slightly. “Is that right?”

“Yes, we were living in Strawberry and your men attacked it a week ago. Do you even remember?” She spat each word out.

He nodded a few times. Then, a corner of his mouth twisted up. “Yeah, I remember. We were gettin’ young Colin and Andrew out of jail before they could spill their guts to the law. We ended up spillin’ 'em nice and good ourselves.”

“You killed them?” She stared at him, horrified. “So all that bloodshed, all those lives taken—”

“Is sometimes a necessity, to keep family safe.”

“You don’t care about family, Colm.” 

He chuckled, shaking his head. “It seems you don’t know me at all, my darlin’ Addy. We’ve lost out on a lot of time together.”

All she could do was stare at him, fresh tears sliding down her cheeks. She’d forgotten his nickname for her.

His smile widened a little more, before he sighed contentedly and stood with a quiet groan. “Well, I must be goin’ now, my darlin’.” Straightening up, he slid the ring onto the fourth finger of his right hand before returning his gaze to her. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, they’ll let you go, the law. You ain’t done nothin’ wrong.” He reached out and stroked her hair. This time she jerked her head away, her lips curling. He laughed. “Just like your ma... I’d take you with me, but I don’t fancy sleepin’ with one eye open. I’ll come and find you soon, though, once you’ve calmed down and seen sense.” He then gave her another fond smile. “Family should be together. Thomas’ll be so happy to see you.”

“He isn’t alive,” she half-hissed, half-pleaded.

He just smiled, then turned and walked away.

  "He’s dead!” she yelled after him, pulling against the rope, ignoring it as it cut into her skin. “He’s dead!”

He didn’t know how he’d found the energy to do it, but he’d freed himself. Freed himself from being hung upside down like a God damn animal ready to be butchered. He’d swung, managed to grab the metal file on the nearby table and picked the lock that held him bound. He’d used the same file to cauterise his wound with the help of the candle and, God, he didn’t know how he kept quiet as pain spread through his shoulder once more. He sat for a moment, trying to catch his breath─

The doors above opened.

“... he’s dead!”

Annie.

Shit...

“Shut your hole!”

Shit...

“I don’t wanna go to Mexico. I wanna go home... home!” Another voice, nearer.

Keeping hold of the file, he pushed himself up from the chair and staggered to the wall near the stairs, pressing himself against it.

“Hold on, I’ll be back in a minute.”

The man, carrying a lantern, moved down the stairs, paused, then darted forward, raising his lantern higher.

“What the hell?!”

Arthur lunged. 

Wrapping one arm around his neck and pressing his hand over his mouth, he started to choke the man, then twisted his neck, breaking it. Shoving the dead man side, he sucked in air, the task tiring him more than it should have.

You can rest when you’re dead, you idiot...

Searching the man’s body, he found a gun and throwing-knives. Knowing he couldn’t take them all on at once, he took the knives, opting, and praying, for a quiet escape.

Moving towards the stairs, he crouched as he ascended them slowly, straining to hear who was outside the doors.

“What’s he still doing down there?”

He paused at a new voice.

“It’s one thing torturing a man, it’s another putting him through stories of the homeland.”

A man passed by the open doors, mercifully, without looking down, a cigarette between his lips.

“He better hurry it up... I don’t wanna be here when the law comes for that side of beef.”

As the man’s voice grew quieter, Arthur started moving again, and peered out over the doors.

There was no one close by, but he could see lights shining from lanterns in a couple of places not too far off. Pressing his lips together, he stepped out from the stairs and, keeping low, turned to the left, spotting the man he’d seen speaking. Quietly, he approached and lunged once more.

It took mere seconds for him to break the man’s neck. This time he took the man’s gun, gripping it tightly. Glancing about, he headed towards the next source of light that was moving away from him. Fuelled by adrenaline now, he ran to the tree near it, paused for only a moment, then raced at the man, tackling him to the floor.

The man could only hiss out a brief, “What the hell?” before Arthur drove his fist into his face then choked him, watching the man as he died. Throwing him down, he huffed out a breath then stood, searching the area.

Where the hell is Annie?

He strained to hear once more.

“What are you lookin’ at, sweetheart?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh, are you implyin’ somethin’ there, bitch?”

Pressing his lips together, Arthur moved quietly towards the voices, coming to an old shack and pressing his back against it.

“I didn’t think you would be intelligent enough to pick up on it.”

“I think you’re lookin’ for a fight, aren’t ye? Well, I don’t fight women—”

“How noble of you.”

“You ain’t any better ‘an me, sweetheart, at least that’s what I heard—”

“Shut your mouth, you bastard, or I will kill you.”

All he had to do was wait until the man was completely distracted, Annie was doing a fine job of that—

“Oh, yeah, and how are you goin’ to do that?”

At the sound of a second voice, Arthur grit his teeth and peered through a gap in the slats of the shack. All he could make out was the top of a fire, Annie’s skirt and a man’s hand. Lowering himself, he slowly moved behind one of the crates.

“Huh? Tell us. How are you goin’ to do that when you’re tied up like that? You ain’t gonna do nothin’, are you.”

The man laughed, and Arthur quickly rounded the crate, ducking behind a stack of them and—

His guns. Exhaling a short breath, he quickly collected his revolvers and gun belt from on top of the box beside him and secured them around him as the men continued to taunt Annie.

“You just like talkin’ a good talk, don’t ye? Just ‘cause ye know we can’t do nothin’. Talk all you want, sweetheart, ye’ll be ours soo—”

Ada gasped as the man suddenly choked on his words, a knife buried in his head. He fell to the floor, his eyes wide, narrowly missing the fire.

“What the fuck?!” The moustached man grabbed his gun and made to stand, but before he could even straighten up, a knife sank into his neck. He made a gargled sound and collapsed, his shotgun tumbling out of his hands.

“Oh my God...” she breathed, staring at his body.

“Hey, you all righ’?”

She inhaled sharply as someone suddenly crouched beside her and her gaze darted up—

Arthur.

She stared at him, trying to process that he was actually there and the state he was in.

“Oh my God, Arthur—”

“Are you all right?” he asked again, more firmly, but she could see he was just barely focusing on her.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine, my, my hands...” Her voice shook, in fact her whole body was shaking, and she didn’t know whether it was from shock finally settling in or the cold breeze that now blew over them.

“All righ’, hang on...”

As he used a knife to cut through her bonds, she took the few moments to study him.

Jesus Christ...

His face was bloody and bruised more than hers, he was only in his red long johns, there was a large patch of dried blood on his shoulder—

“Arthur, your shoulder, Colm said it was bad—”

“Don’t worry ‘bout me.”

Her arms fell as he cut through the last of the rope and she hissed at the stiffness, her eyes closing tightly.

“Shit, I’m sorry.”

She felt his arm around her back and his hand on the pole behind her.

“Annie... Annie?”

She opened her eyes and looked at him.

“You have to stand up with me, all right? We have to get out of here.”

She nodded a few times, wetting her lips.

“All right...”

Tightening his arm around her, he gripped tightly at the pole and pushed himself up, clenching his teeth as his body protested. Wincing herself, she held onto his good shoulder as they rose, her legs weak. Trying to plant her feet firmly as blood rushed back into them, she leaned against him, her eyes closed.

“Annie, we gotta—”

“I know, I know, just let me...” She could hear how weak he was, could feel it as he swayed slightly against her. Swallowing, she opened her eyes and looked up at him, his face close to hers. “All right, let’s go.”

Nodding, he let go of the pole. Keeping his arm around her, either to keep her up or support himself, probably both, he started to move.

“Over there...” he murmured, pointing at at a small group of horses under a tree. 

She guided them over as he searched the darkness for any signs of movement. Arthur didn’t believe Colm would have just left those four men to defend the camp, others must be around somewhere.

Ophelia and Faithful lifted their heads and each made a sound as they approached, turning and walking towards them. 

“Hey, girl...” Arthur murmured to Ophelia as Annie led him to her, and she ducked under his arm, reaching up to lift his hand and place it on the back of the saddle.

“Up you get, Arthur.”

His other hand settled on the pommel and he closed his eyes, pausing for a moment. Then, he hauled himself up, grunting through gritted teeth. It was painful to watch him, but just as she went to aid him, though, he swung his leg over and sat up, his head tipping back slightly. Exhaling breaths he must have been holding, he wet his lips and held his hand out to her.

“Come on.”

"I’ll be fine, I’ll get on Faithful.”

Before he could protest, she mounted Faithful and clicked her tongue gently, prompting him into a walk. Ophelia, perhaps sensing her owner wasn’t in a good state, starting walking, too.

Arthur, clinging to adrenaline and knowing he had to not only get himself but Annie away alive, too, made himself grip the reins tightly and straighten a little, urging Ophelia into a canter. Annie followed his lead as they turned down onto a wide dirt path. A lake was to their right, waves gently lapping at the shore.

They kept their gazes fixed ahead, searching the distance for anything.

“I reckon there’ll be more of ‘em in the area, so we just gotta get far away, then we’ll make a plan.”

His quiet words were slightly slurred and her eyes darted to him. He was leaning a little to one side.

Christ...

“Arthur—”

“Shit, look, there...”

Her head whipped up as they slowed their horses. There, in the distance, were flickering lights that were growing closer.

“This way, down onto the bank,” she whispered, turning Faithful and guiding him down onto it, glancing over her shoulder to make sure Arthur was following.

He stayed behind her and they kept to a walk to make as little sound as possible. Above them, the lights grew brighter and they began to hear the voices.

“Why does Colm want us there? What’s he gonna do if he’s tied up?”

“He ain’t worried about Morgan, it’s Dutch and his gang he’s concerned about. He don’t want ‘em ambushin’ us before the law gets here...”

The voices passed and Ada released a breath. There was no way they could relax just yet, though. Turning, she looked at Arthur. He sat slumped, barely holding the reins, leaning to his right.

Shit...

“We’ve got to go faster, all right, Arthur?” she murmured, her heart racing. “Just for a little while so we can put some distance between us and them, okay?”

He nodded but didn’t respond, and she thought perhaps he hadn’t heard her properly, when he cleared his throat and urged Ophelia into a gallop. Swiftly doing the same with Faithful, they raced along the shore, Ada keeping an eye on the bank above and the other side of the lake for any lights or O’Driscolls. She could hear Arthur breathing harshly beside her, and prayed to God Almighty that he just held on for a little longer as they passed under a train track that sat high above.

Glancing down, Ada noticed deep lines and hoof marks in the sand, evidence it was used as a crossing area.

That coupled with the tracks... She knew where they were.

“Arthur, look...” she called quietly, slowing Faithful to a stop, Ophelia automatically doing the same. “We’ll cross here. We’ll go at a walk so we don’t make too much noise.”

He just nodded again, his head dropping down slightly.

Please, God...

Taking the lead, she guided Faithful into the river, Ophelia following behind. She could have taken them further up the bank, crossed in shallower waters but she knew time was precious. Cool water rose up her legs, soaking her boots and the lower half of her skirt, and she couldn’t help but shiver lightly. Arthur made a sound behind her as the water soaked his legs and she looked back at him, her eyes momentarily darting to the bank behind them to check they were safe.

“Just a little farther, Arthur. We’ll just put the river between us, all right, then we can take it a little easier, okay?”

He didn’t respond.

All she could hear was the water sloshing quietly as the horses swan across. There were no birds, no voices, nothing.

They were so close to the other side.

Just get there, just get there, just get there...

She could have cried when the water started to lower as they made it to shallower waters and the small island close to the bank, and moments after Faithful stepped onto the shore, his gait quickening into a canter.

“Good boy, come on,” she murmured, urging him up the incline to the path above, checking Ophelia was indeed following.

Finally, finally, they made it onto the flat path. Blowing out a breath, Ada gently halted Faithful and turned to Arthur.

“If we just—”

She broke off with a sharp inhale as he collapsed to one side. Swiftly sliding off of Faithful, she lunged forward and caught him around the waist before he fell, her shoulder pressing against his chest. She could hear his ragged breaths against her ear.

“Shit...” she breathed, trying to adjust her stance as she supported the full weight of him. “You’re all right, you’re okay...”

Breathing hard, she squeezed her eyes shut before pushing him up, trying to get him upright. Keeping her hands on his sides, she steadied him as best as she could.

“You’re okay, you’re okay...” she repeated under her breath, almost to herself.

Lights caught her attention.

Staring beyond him, she saw lights moving slowly across the other side of the lake, farther down.

“Oh, shit...”

Whether it was O’Driscolls or travellers she didn’t want to wait to find out.

Gripping the pommel of Ophelia’s saddle, essentially just her straining forearm keeping Arthur up, she placed her boot in the stirrup and pulled herself up. Sitting on his bedroll, she slipped her other boot into the other stirrup and gathered the reins. She guided Arthur to lean back against her, tilting her chin up and resting it on his good shoulder.

“There we go, we’re all right...” she murmured, her whole body tense to bear the weight of him.

Nudging Ophelia’s sides with the heels of her boots, she prompted her into a canter, calling quietly to Faithful to get him to follow.

Just get back to camp, just get back...

“All right, girl, come on, take us home...”

Arthur’s head leaned against hers as they rode and she listened to his shallow breathing, her chest tightening.

Please, God, let him make it.

He swam in and out of consciousness.

He was cold and hot all at once, and everything was so painful he was almost numb. A gentle voice sounded close by, so close it felt like it was in his head. He couldn’t hear what it was saying but it sounded soothing.

Hours or minutes passed, he didn’t know.

The next time he came to, though, the voice sounded a little clearer, if strained.

“We’re here, Arthur... Please wake up...”

He gave a slight groan, and he thought he heard the person, the woman, breathe a ‘Oh, thank God...’

Ada watched him for a moment as he groaned, before she returned her attention to the path. She brought them back to camp from the north side; no one had been guarding it.

Please still be here...

As they rose up the small incline, relief flooded through her as the camp came into view, the tents, horses and wagons still there.

Pulling the already slowing Ophelia to a stop, she cleared her sore throat as she dropped the reins.

“Somebody help!” she called hoarsely, unsure as to whether anyone would even hear her.

Swallowing hard, she winced as she slid her boots out of the stirrups and slowly moved a leg back, her hands gripping Arthur’s waist tightly as she dismounted. Her knees almost buckled when her feet touched the floor. When Arthur tipped to the side and leaned against her, they did.

Her body finally gave out as she collapsed, Arthur falling with her. They landed on the ground, he with a grunt, she with a gasped inhale.

She could hear how weak his breathing was and it terrified her.

“Someone help!” she called again, her voice no louder than her first attempt.

Then, mercifully, someone appeared above her.

“Arthur! Annie!” Mary-Beth gasped, her eyes wide as she pressed her hands against her cheeks.

Karen was suddenly there, too, kneeling beside Arthur. “Oh my God, are you two—”

Then, Dutch was there.

“Arthur—”

“I told you it was a set up, Dutch...” Arthur groaned.

Ada gazed up at the sky, trying to regulate her breathing.

“My boy, my dear boy, what?” Dutch continued.

“They got... me and Annie but we got away...”

“He needs help,” she finally whispered, her gaze meeting Dutch’s.

He nodded slightly, staring at Arthur’s wound. “Yeah, that you did, my boy.” Straightening, he looked around, calling out, “Miss Grimshaw? I need help!”

"... he was gonna set the law on us...” Arthur carried on as Dutch, Mary-Beth and Karen helped him to sit up, his voice straining with the effort.

"... They had us over the river from Flatneck Station...” Ada murmured over him, blinking slowly.

Charles was suddenly there, gently brushing the hair from her face as his eyes swept over her and the state she was in. He carefully slid his arms underneath her and lifted her as if she weighed no more than a feather.

As he carried her away, she heard Pearson apologising profusely.

“... I’m sorry, Arthur, I’m, I’m so sorry, Annie—”

“It is a bit late for apologies,” Dutch snapped before calling out once more, “Swanson!”

Pearson swallowed hard before gripping Arthur’s arm as he, Dutch and Mary-Beth lifted him to his feet. “Mr Morgan, you’re safe now, you and Miss Sawyer are both safe—”

“Where is she, where’s Annie?” Arthur slurred, trying to look around as Dutch and Pearson drew his arms around their shoulders so they could support him.

"Charles has got her, don’t you worry, you’re both safe now,” Dutch soothed him gently as they half carried him towards his area, his feet stumbling slightly.

“Let’s get him to bed,” he heard Miss Grimshaw order, his gaze fixed on the ground. 

Was he insane or was the ground flowing like water?

With a slight grunt from both men, Pearson and Dutch lowered him onto his bed, Dutch repeating, “You’re safe now.”

Arthur huffed out a harsh laugh that startled them all. “That’s pretty, Dutch...” He dropped his head back against the pillow, his eyes already closing. “... That’s real pretty...”

Dutch watched him, his mouth in a thin line.

“Miss Grimshaw,” he murmured after a moment, “Will you sit with him awhile?”

"Of course,” Susan answered quietly. Pulling a chair from the table beside his bed closer, she patted Arthur’s arm gently. “You’ll be okay, Mr Morgan, you’re home.”

Dutch stared for a few moments, then turned on his heel and strode across the camp.

“You’re all right, Annie, you’re going to be fine now...”

She gazed at Charles as he carried her. She couldn’t quite believe it yet, couldn’t quite believe they’d actually made it.

“Am I really here?” she murmured, so quietly.

“Yes, you’re here now. You’re safe.”

He had such lovely hair. The soft ends of it brushed against her cheek.

“Arthur’s in a bad way.”

“Miss Grimshaw’s looking after him. She’ll take good care of him.”

She heard herself exhale a faint laugh, the corners of her mouth lifting slightly as her eyes suddenly filled with tears.

Good. Good old Susan. She would allow nothing to pass that she didn’t want, even death itself. Arthur would be safe.

Charles looked at her as he came to a stop and started to lower her down.

“Are you all right—”

“Put her in my tent.” John was suddenly at his side, a grim expression on his features. “She’ll need the privacy.”

“Thank you, John.”

She looked at John as Charles straightened again, adjusting his hold on her gently, and hoped he understood her silent gratitude, her eyes still shining with unshed tears.

John nodded, his hand lightly touching her shoulder, before he was gone, walking in the direction of Arthur’s tent. He passed Dutch, who was heading towards them.

She looked away, returning her gaze to Charles.

“I can’t feel my legs.”

“The bottom of your skirt is damp. Did you cross water?” He was speaking as quietly as she was, and it was so nice, like there was no one else in the world.

“Yes, it was the quickest way to get him back.”

“And you, too. We’ll have to get you warm, though.” Charles ducked a little as he entered John’s tent, and gently set her down on the bed.

A long breath left her as she sank against it, her eyes closing. She felt Charles kneel beside her, his fingers lightly touching her jaw, checking for swelling or fractures.

“How do you fee—”

“My dear girl...”

Ada’s eyes opened as Dutch stepped into the tent, concern etched across his features.

“Are you all right? What happened?”

Charles continued to carefully check her face as she spoke, her eyes half-open. “They took us on the ledge. Knocked us both out, I think, they certainly did me. When I came to, we were on the move, on their horses. We were crossing water, it was such clear water, I could see fish, and I started calling out, hoping someone would hear us. They hit me, and I just yelled louder, then they hit me again and again and again, and I fainted again...” She broke off to hiss quietly as Charles touched a particularly tender part of her cheek, relaxing at his murmured apology. “... The next thing I knew I was tied to a post. Then Colm...” She broke off again, his words suddenly flooding back.

The tears that had filled her eyes suddenly spilled, slipping down her cheeks. Charles paused his studying, one of his fingers gently brushing the tears away.

“What, my dear?” Dutch prompted gently, his eyes fixed on her. “What did he do to you, Annie?”

Her mouth moved slightly but nothing came out.

“Annie?” Charles murmured, his hand settling on her shoulder.

She turned her head a little to one side, then shook it. “Nothing. He did nothing to me.” She felt Charles relax. “He just... He’s just an awful man.”

“That he is,” Dutch agreed, anger seeping into his tone. “That son of a bitch... Miss Sawyer, I promise you, this great wrong will be righted, I will see to that.”

She just nodded, taking in a slightly shuddering breath.

“What happened after tha—”

“Where is she? Annie?!”

Sean all but burst into the tent, his eyes wide as he caught sight of her.

“Oh, darlin’, are you all right?” His frantic tone instantly softened as he knelt beside Charles, his hand finding hers.

She smiled weakly, her features crumbling slightly as she tried not to sob.

Don’t...

“I’m fine, Sean, really. It looks worse than it is.”

“That’s probably true,” Charles added, sitting back on his heels. “I can’t feel any breaks or fractures. Is there anywhere else—”

She shook her head quickly when she felt Sean tighten his grip. “No, no, it’s just my face, nowhere else.”

“Well, that is a relief.” Dutch sighed heavily before inclining his head. “I shall leave you to rest, then. Are you all right to tend to her, Charles?”

“Yes, if that’s all right with you, Annie.”

She hummed quietly. “Yes, that’s fine.”

“Can I stay, too, Annie?”

“Of course you can, Sean,” she murmured, her eyes closing.

“Very good. Rest well, Miss Sawyer.”

She hummed again, hearing Dutch exit.

“Sean, will you get me some clean cloths and water?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Her hand dropped from his, and she heard him leave quickly.

Fingers gently brushed her forehead.

 “Sleep, now, Annie,” Charles murmured.

She finally gave in to the exhaustion.

Warm sunlight danced across her face.

Karen hadn’t closed the tent flap properly last night.

Ada didn’t mind, though. It was wonderful.

She’d spent a full day sleeping after their return and the next resting. She’d relayed again all that had happened to Dutch and Hosea on that second day, Hosea sparing her from having to reveal all the details by gently cutting off Dutch’s barrage of questions. After that, the girls had joined her and talked with her, Mary-Beth braiding her hair while Karen and Tilly took turns showing off what they’d stolen recently. Sadie even joined them and laughed along, and when the other women left she quietly told Ada that Arthur was still sleeping but Miss Grimshaw had done the best she could and the wound looked a little better.

On the third day her body felt stronger but Sean had persuaded her to stay abed, telling her she should take all the time she needed to recover. Secretly, she was relieved. Something in her just couldn’t face leaving the safety this tent had provided from reality. He stayed with her all day and she welcomed his distractions, listening to his stories of wild adventures that might not have been all true and making her laugh until her stomach hurt.

On the fourth day, Abigail brought Jack to see her.

“He’s been complainin’ about wantin’ to see you,” Abigail said apologetically but, again, Ada welcomed the distraction, and listened to him talking about his drawings or the books he was reading or the fish he’d seen in the lake for hours. She had to hide her dismay when Abigail came to retrieve him, as the times she was left alone...

The nights were hard. Left alone with only her thoughts and memories, she couldn’t help but turn over Colm’s words in her mind, obsessing over the way he’d said it, his expressions, the language he’d used. Was he telling the truth? The idea of her brother being alive was as unbearable as it was him being dead. She didn’t want the tiny spark of hope it had built within her. If it wasn’t that she thought about incessantly, then it was the knowledge that her father’s murderer was sleeping only a few feet away. Could he even remember the two small children that had been there when he’d killed Michael O’Driscoll? 

The only brief reprieve she had was thinking about, despite what Colm had said, Arthur had saved her. He had come for her and saved her. And she had saved him.

If she did sleep, it was fitfully, waking always with a start at the slightest sound. She thought of getting up and walking around the camp but she didn’t want to talk to anyone, too vulnerable in that moment to mask her pain.

It was the fifth day, now, and she knew she could no longer hide away in John’s tent under the pretence she was recovering. She didn’t want to have to explain that while she might have physically recovered, emotionally she was still in complete turmoil. Mary-Beth helped her to dress, gifting her a slightly worn plain black skirt with pockets that went beautifully with the emerald blouse Sean had stolen for her. She then braided her hair again up into a bun, looking very satisfied and proud once she stepped back.

“There. Oh, you look beautiful, Annie! Here, have a look...”

She handed her the small mirror from the barrel on the other side of the tent that John probably used to shave with, and for the first time in five days Ada saw her reflection.

The cut on her eyebrow had scabbed over, making it look worse than it probably was. Bruises along her jaw and cheekbones were smaller than she thought, though they were still faintly purple and blue, only a few starting to turn a little yellow. Dark circles hung under her eyes, evidence that she was perhaps not coping as well as she wanted everyone to think.

What a fright you look, her mother would have said.

Mary-Beth had done a lovely job of her hair, though, so Ada smiled as she lowered the mirror, handing it back to her.

“Thank you, Mary-Beth, you’ve turned me into something wonderful.”

“Oh, gosh, no,” the other woman dismissed gently as she took the mirror, returning it to its position, “You’re very pretty, Annie, I just made your hair a little neater.”

Ada’s smile widened a little more as she pushed herself up to stand. “You’re the beauty here, Mary-Beth, neat hair or not.”

Mary-Beth beamed as she shrugged her shoulders. “I always like to look nice, so, thank you, Annie.”

Ada lifted a grey, probably once white, shawl from the end of the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders, about to follow Mary-Beth out when the other woman paused before turning back to face her.

“I think it was so brave... how you brought Arthur back like that.” She played with the ends of her chestnut-brown hair slightly as she looked at her. “You could have left him out there and saved yourself, so many other people would’ve.”

Ada looked at her, her forehead dipping slightly. “No, I couldn’t.”

Something Ada couldn’t quite place passed over Mary-Beth’s features, but before she could dwell on it the woman was smiling again. “Let’s go and get somethin’ to eat before Uncle has it all.”

Stepping out with her, Ada smiled gently as she pulled the shawl a little tighter around herself. “Actually, Mary-Beth, I think I’m going to go and see how Arthur is.”

The woman paused and the same expression appeared again, vanishing as quickly as it came. “All right, then. Would you like me to save you a bowl?”

“No, thank you. I’m not very hungry.”

Mary-Beth nodded and smiled widely before walking away. Ada watched her, her pace quickening as Uncle staggered towards the pot of stew.

Inhaling a long breath of crisp air, Ada tipped her head back and gazed up at the sky. A clear and brilliant blue.

Just go.

Wetting her lips, Ada turned and began to walk. From the corner of her left eye she saw that Dutch’s tent was, thankfully, empty. 

Someone had draped more cloths and blankets over Arthur’s area, probably to give him some more privacy, so she had to pull one of them back slightly to peer in. He lay on the bed, his eyes closed, lips parted. She watched him for a few moments, her gaze dropping to his chest to check if he was breathing. It rose and fell steadily; he was asleep.

The chair beside his bed was vacant so she quietly slipped past the blankets and took a seat, her eyes remaining on him. He didn’t move, his breathing remaining regular.

Sadie had updated her on his progress over the past few days and she said he’d seemed to be starting to get a little better. They had to make him eat, but that was nothing new, apparently, from a man who was so busy taking care of ‘business’ he often forgot or didn’t have the time. Someone had changed him into dark brown trousers and a cream undershirt, which had the faintest stain of blood just around where his wound was. She stopped herself from pulling back the open of his shirt to inspect it; Miss Grimshaw had probably patched him and the others up a thousand times before and was therefore most likely an expert. The stubble that usually framed his face had grown a little longer but his skin and hair was clean. He looked... gentle, for once.

What the hell am I doing here.

Blowing out a quiet breath, Ada lifted her gaze from him and stared ahead at the side of the wagon. Then, she narrowed her eyes slightly.

Were they... photographs?

She’d never noticed them before. Then again, she hadn’t exactly been around his area before to notice them. Sitting forward in the chair, she leaned over him a little, getting a better look.

One photograph had three men in it, one standing, two sitting down, in some kind of parlour. It only took her a few moments to realise it was Hosea, Dutch and Arthur, albeit them probably about ten years or more so ago.

A corner of her mouth lifted.

Arthur looked so young.

He probably turned a pretty head or two... I bet he still does. 

She had to stop herself from snorting loudly at the sudden thought. 

What a silly thing to think about. 

Her eyes darted to the next photograph.

It was of an older man, probably around Dutch’s age now, maybe younger, but she didn’t recognise him. He was holding some kind of board, however, and upon leaning a little closer she saw that it read, ‘Lyle Morgan. Larceny. 12-7-1847′.

It really does stay in the family.

There were a few other trinkets and items, too, like a horse shoe and an article that told of a robbery, one that probably meant something to Arthur.

Sitting back, her legs crossing, Ada grazed her teeth over her lower lip. She couldn’t stop herself from continuing to inspect. At the base of the bed was a chest with a rug thrown over it and his revolvers and gun belt rested on top, along with his hat. Beside her on the table was a flower in a bottle (a gift from Mary-Beth?), a cigar, a map and a picture of an older woman. She studied the picture, a corner of her mouth lifting. It had to be his mother.

Arthur mumbled quietly and her head quickly turned to him. His brow furrowed slightly and he mumbled something again, though she couldn’t make it out. She was about to murmur his name when his eyes opened.

Swallowing, he took in a long breath and exhaled it, then his eyes darted over to her.

She smiled automatically, wanting to put him at ease.

“Good morning.”

He watched her for a moment, as if his brain was catching up with where he was.

“Good mornin’.”

His voice was rough and low, somehow prompting her to make her’s quiet.

“What were you dreaming about?”

He looked away from her, then, his eyebrows raising slightly as he adjusted his head on the pillow.

 “Deer.”

Her smile seemed to want to linger. “That hungry? I’m afraid it’s fish for breakfast.”

He grunted his disinterest.

“Yeah, I’m not jumping at it either.”

“You’ve gotta eat somethin’.”

“So do you.”

“Yeah, but you look like shit.”

A sudden laugh escaped her before she could stop it, her smile widening as she raised her eyebrows.

“Oh, really? I do?”

He glanced at her before closing his eyes, a faint smile pulling at his lips, and she suddenly found herself very interested in it.

“Yeah, you look like you’ve been to hell.”

“Oh, I do apologise. You look radiant, however, Mr Morgan.”

“Yeah? I feel it.”

Her smile faltered as she watched him shift slightly, a pained wince flashing across his face. She played with one, frayed end of the shawl.

“You shouldn’t have come for me, Arthur.”

 His eyes snapped open and he looked at her in disbelief. 

“Are you kiddin’ me? You might be dead if it weren’t for me.”

“I would have been fine. The law doesn’t know I’m with you all, I could have told them the O’Driscolls kidnapped me and they would have let me go.”

“Yeah, and then what?”

Her mouth opened, then closed slightly.

“What, you would have come back?”

She didn’t answer.

“Nah, I don’t think you would’ve. Maybe I should’ve left you there,” he grumbled, directing his gaze ahead, dismissively.

Why did that notion offend him so?

Her skin prickled slightly.

“Do you remember the journey back here at all?”

His brow furrowed as he glanced at her, slightly suspicious of the sudden turn in conversation. “No.”

“Exactly,” she retorted, “You’d be dead in a ditch or a river right now if it wasn’t for me so show a little gratitude.”

He stared at her incredulously. “Why don’t you show me some gratitude, woman, I got you out of there, and you wouldn’t have been able to be a damn hero if it weren’t for me.”

“Well, you didn’t have to save me.”

“I didn’t have to save you?”

“No, you didn’t.”

He opened his mouth, then swiftly quashed whatever it was he was going to bite back as she arched an eyebrow, his teeth gritting.

“You’re a stubborn, irritatin’ woman,” he muttered.

“Yeah, well, you’re an ungrateful bastard,” she shot back, crossing her arms as she sat back.

They fell silent as he closed his eyes, probably praying for strength not to murder her, and she stared at him, silently daring him to snap back because there was something so simple and easy about arguing, despite how difficult she knew but absolutely would not admit she was being.

But... the corner of her mouth twitched just slightly.

He just looked so... put out. Like a cat that hadn’t been fed the moment it was hungry.

The question of the day was still nudging at her, too.

“Why did you save me, then?” she continued. “Seeing as I seem to be such an inconvenience, and don’t give me the ‘save people as need saving’ preaching or I will choke you and I don’t think anyone would stop me.”

His jaw moved minutely. “Save people as need savin’.”

She gave a humourless laugh. “So because Dutch says so?”

He turned his head to stare at her. “Because it’s right and there was no way in hell it was righ’ to leave you with those bastards.”

Her lips twitched again. “So you’re a criminal with a heart?”

He made an almost disgusted sound, looking ahead before he closed his eyes again. “Will you shut up? I’m tryin’ to rest here.”

The twitching broke out into a smile. Tilting her head, she lowered her voice into soft awe.

“Thank you, Arthur, for saving my life, you’re a real hero—”

“Ah, shut up, woman, before I tell Grimshaw you’re ready to get back to work.”

She laughed as he grumbled, folding her hands in her lap. Her gaze dropped as she was suddenly reminded of the absence of her ring. She licked her lips, shifting in the seat.

“I do mean it, Arthur,” she said after a moment, her voice quieter, “Thank you.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he answered, though he didn’t grumble.

Silence fell again, and it felt rather comfortable. She gazed at the photographs again, her eyes drifting from the one of his father to him, comparing. She found herself wanting to know what his childhood had been like. Had his father raised him in a gang? Or had he been kept away from it all as a child? What had led him to—

“He told me you...” Arthur’s voice startled her out of her musings, his words hesitant as her eyes found his. “... you weren’t in a good shape.”

She knew what he was dancing around.

“None of them touched me. In that way, anyway,” she answered, giving a faint smile. “I was just hit to be quiet, then tied to that pole. Nothing else.”

He nodded, casting his gaze over her bruises. “That’s a relief, then.”

“Yes, it is.”

She watched him for a few moments. His gaze returned to hers.

“Annie, can I ask you somethin’?”

She raised her eyebrows a little, rather surprised.

“Sure.”

"When we were talkin’, before we went to see Colm, somethin’ Dutch said... affected you.”

Her heart dropped. Keeping her features neutral, she lifted her gaze, as if recalling the conversation.

“Did it?”

“Yeah. When he was sayin’ about how he killed Colm’s brother.”

“Oh...” She pressed her lips together and shook her head slightly. “I just... it all seems so petty, doesn’t it? How this long feud started.”

He frowned. “Petty?”

She nodded, holding his gaze. “Yes. I’m sure there’s more to the story but... to play with people’s lives like that—”

“What ain’t you tellin’ me.”

Her mouth stayed open as she broke off, her eyes searching his before she frowned.

“Nothing, why—”

“You said someone was dead, too, when we were bein’ held by the O’Driscolls. I heard you yellin’ it, who were you talkin’ about?”

Her frown deepened. “It— I thought you were dead. Colm was spinning lies, trying to get me upset and he led me to believe you were dead.”

He didn’t answer, wanting to see what she said next. She remained silent, too, just staring at him.

She probably thought she was hiding it but he could see the pleading in her eyes for him to not press the matter, to be a gentleman and let it go. But he was no gentleman. He knew a poker face when he saw it, and a liar when he heard one.

“Annie... It don’t have to go any further than you and me, whatever it is.”

She continued to stare, panic starting to claw it’s way up.

“It’s nothing,” she implored, trying to keep her voice low because, God, who knew who else was around, but she knew she had already lost.

“Annie—”

“Not today.” She had to give him something. Shaking her head a little, she murmured, “Please, Arthur... not today.”

He studied her and she didn’t dare look away. Then, he sighed and nodded begrudgingly.

“All right... Not today.” He pressed his lips together before continuing, ”If you’re in trouble, though—”

“You dead yet, Morgan?”

John Marston, her unknowing saviour, brushed past the blankets with a bowl of stew, the widest grin she’d seen from him yet on his lips. It didn’t falter as he caught sight of her, inclining his head.

“Good mornin’, Miss Sawyer, how are you today?”

“Very well, thank you, John,” she beamed, grateful to him for the second time that week. “How are you?”

“Just fine, just fine.” His gaze slid over to Arthur. “I’ve been told to feed our patient, here.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake...” Arthur grumbled, closing his eyes as she stood, clasping her hands together.

“Oh, isn’t that wonderful! How kind you are, Mr Marston.”

“I do what I can, Miss.”

“Can I thank you again for allowing me the use of your tent?”

“Oh...” Arthur opened his eyes, fixing his gaze on the younger man. “So that’s why you’ve been lurkin’ around here, snorin’ on the ground beside me.”

“Well, you wouldn’t let me get in with you.”

“I’ll leave you boys to it.” Annie grinned as she departed and Arthur watched her, his mouth in a thin line.

How could she do that? Change from one person to another just as quickly as blinking? And what in the hell was she hiding? He’d had a feeling from the start she was and now he was so close to finding out—

“Come on, Morgan, I’m gonna feed you like a little baby bird.” John was still grinning as he sat down, holding the bowl towards him.

Arthur groaned. “Get outta here, Marston, leave me to die in peace.”

“No way in hell. Now sit up, old man, come on.”

“I should’ve left you on those mountains with those wolves.”

“But you didn’t.”

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[neuxue]

Wheel of Time liveblogging: The Gathering Storm ch 4

Gawyn needs navigation lessons.

Chapter 4: Nightfall

Wow, Gawyn gets to appear in a Real Chapter, rather than a prologue? Moving up in the world.

Gawyn watched the sun burn the clouds to death in the west, the final light fading. That haze of perpetual gloom kept the sun itself shrouded. Just as it hid the stars from his sight at night.

Well aren’t we cheerful today. Tonight. Whatever. But of course, it’s entirely appropriate for Gawyn, because his whole issue for several books now is that there is nothing to guide his way; he can’t see the stars, can’t make out a path, can’t figure out what he’s supposed to do or where he’s supposed to be or what he’s supposed to fight for. It’s all tangled and he’s rather lost.

Jisao wants to fight because there’s apparently a party bonfire battle happening in the village below. Here? Just outside Tar Valon? Is Egwene’s army engaging now?

Three-starred insignia…okay I can’t think who that is. Maybe I should know but I’m drawing a blank, if it’s been mentioned before.

(He can’t actually make out those stars in the darkness either. I See What You Did There).

A very odd invading army indeed. However, Gawyn knew what the people would think. This army was led by Aes Sedai, and who could say what was odd or normal when Aes Sedai were involved?

So it is Egwene’s army? Unless Elaida’s is actually doing something, which seems unlikely.  And apparently it’s all just a very civil patrol, so why is everything on fire?

“Gawyn?” Jisao asked. “I count parely a dozen of them. […] We could take them without so much as running up a lather.” “And the villagers?” Gawyn asked. “There are children down there.” “That hasn’t stopped us other times.” “Those times were different,” Gawyn said, shakign his head.

Uh…yikes? That kind of conversation in fantasy that isn’t marketing itself as grimdark is usually an indication that all is not well. And that characters are getting a little too close to certain lines. Gawyn’s been frustrated and unsure for a while now, and it might be time to do something about it.

“No,” Gawyn said softly. “We have to know when to fall back, Jisao.”

That time was probably…eight books ago, sadly. But there is definitely a double meaning here. Though it would have been nice to have it punctuated with some wisdom he learned from Gareth Bryne or something, the way his and Elayne’s thoughts occasionally are.

“So we came all this way for nothing.”

Well, um. I mean. Yes. They made a choice, and Gawyn made a choice, and they couldn’t know at the time; it was a decision made in chaos when half the information was missing and they did the best they could. And then everything else followed from there, little by little. A series of choices that seemed inevitable, of steps that seemed only necessary, but then they just kept leading further and further into this knot that has tangled around them, and now Gawyn can’t see his way out or through or forward.

That said, Egwene is in the Tower now, so it would be appropriately full-circle if Gawyn were to get something of a second chance in a second Tower coup, choosing a different side and helping to heal it rather than break it. It wouldn’t necessarily need to be a fight against Elaida and her army, because that seems like something Egwene and the others are trying to avoid – the point is to unite the Tower, after all – but it would be fitting for him to play some role. Kind of like how Galad joined the fucking Whitecloaks but then killed their shitstain of a leader and has now apparently replaced him and will likely help redeem them.

Below, waiting in the dark with lanterns hooded, were some of the very men the soldiers in the village were searching for. Gareth Bryne must have been very displeased to learn there was a harrying force hiding somewhere nearby.

Damn it Gawyn. There wouldn’t be any fighting if you weren’t poking at Gareth Bryne like a mosquito. But then, how would he know that? All he knows is that an army showed up out of approximately nowhere, and now the harbours are blocked, and to him of course it would look like preparation for a siege and an actual attack. He has no way of knowing what Egwene is up to in the Tower, or that she doesn’t want bloodshed if she can avoid it, or any of the rest of it. So he’s doing what he thinks he has to, responding to the information he has as best he can. Which is what he’s been doing this entire time, and it’s the…tragedy of his character, really. He wants to be good, and he tries so hard to be good and to do the right thing and maybe in another story he would be heroic. But here, for all his good intentions, his information is incomplete in exactly the wrong places and he makes exactly the wrong assumptions and those lead to exactly the wrong choices, but for most of the right reasons. And as frustrating as it is, I actually rather enjoy it. It’s an interesting thing to do with a character.

So far, Gawyn had managed to keep his Younglings out of sight while pulling off the occasional raid or ambush on Bryne’s forces. There was only so much you could do with three hundred men, however.

Tell that to Mat Cauthon.

Am I destined to end up fighting against each and every man who has been a mentor to me?

Maybe that should tell you something, Gawyn. Such as that you’re on the wrong side. A third – or fourth, or seventeenth, or whatever – side in a war that should really only have two.

(For a second there, I was tempted to try actually counting out all the ‘sides’ that are currently fighting each other amongst all those who should be fighting for the Light. And then I came to my senses).

Gawyn had thought he was over Hammar and Coulin’s deaths; Bryne himself had taught Gawyn that the battlefield sometimes made allies into sudden foes.

As Furyk Karede put it, ‘On the heights, today’s ally could be tomorrow’s sacrifice’. Though in this case, I think Gawyn’s grasping at a justification for something that he increasingly feels was…maybe not the right thing to do. And that’s no easy realisation, especially because in his case it comes with blood on his hands.

Which is a large part of why he – and other characters, and plenty of people – carries on along a path that seems to grow less and less justifiable, and more and more like the wrong choice. Because admitting that means admitting a whole long line of mistakes and all the guilt that comes with them. Easier to just keep going. Until, of course, it isn’t.

Has ‘Great Captains’ always been capitalised, or is that just ebooks being weird?

He suspected his sense of guilt had to do with facing Bryne, his first and most influential instructor in the arts of war.

Yeah, I would have really liked a Bryne quote here. Ah well. Still, this does seem like it might actually be enough of a slap in the face to Gawyn to actually jolt him out of this holding pattern he’s been in. He’s been uncertain for a while, but in the end has always fallen back in line, back into obeying, back into what he thinks is his only option.

How had the White Tower’s enemies recruited the greatest military mind in all of Andor?

Well, see, Siuan has these pretty eyes, right? And uh…there was a barn fire?

And what was the Captain-General of the Queen’s Guard doing fighting with a group of Aes Sedai rebels in the first place? He should have been in Caemlyn, protecting Elayne.

Yes, well I could say the same thing about you, Gawyn. And yet here we are.

There is so much he doesn’t know, and has had no real way of knowing, and what a mess it has made.

And what of your duty, Gawyn Trakand? He thought to himself.

Yeah, that can’t be a comfortable line of thought.

Perhaps his guilt about Hammar, his nightmares of war and death at Dumai’s Wells, were due to the slow realisation that he might have given his allegiance to the wrong side.

That’s…far more blunt than I would have expected from Jordan, but Gawyn’s been heading that direction for a while. Just…slowly, and never quite reaching the point of thinking it or doing anything about it. At Dumai’s Wells he suspected Elaida wanted him to have an ‘accident’, and ever since then there’s been a bitterness and a sense of frustrated uncertainty to everything he’s done. He thinks frequently about Elayne and Egwene and how he ended up where he is and what he’s doing, and he always comes to the resigned conclusion that he is bound to the Tower, and there’s nothing he can do. But there’s definitely a long-running sense of dissatisfaction, and it would be kind of nice if Gareth Bryne, his childhood mentor, were part of the tipping point for him.

She had chosen a side. Hammar had chosen a side. Gareth Bryne had, apparently, chosen a side. But Gawyn continued to want to be on both sides. The division was ripping him apart.

Oh Gawyn, you…what was it Egwene called you? You sweet idiot. Again, this is rather direct, but it does pretty much sum up his character arc for the past several books. He wasn’t ready for any of this, wasn’t ready for his whole world and his certainties – go to the Tower, look up to Galad, protect Elayne, defend Andor – to be throw into confusion. The Tower broke and his sister vanished and the girl he loves turned up with the rebels and Galad joined the Whitecloaks and the Dragon Reborn was held in a box at Dumai’s Wells and then let Gawyn walk away unscathed and Siuan lied to him and Elaida wanted him dead and Min pleaded with him and nothing makes sense.  

Some men gained experience through years spent living. Other men gained experience through months spent watching their friends die.

A few gain experience from remembering the past life in which they killed all their friends.

That’s a good line, though.

Glancing upward, Gawyn missed the stars. They hid their faces from him behind those clouds. […] “Where did we go wrong, Rajar?” Gawyn asked as they rode.

He wasn’t ready for any of this, wasn’t ready for his whole world and his certainties – go to the Tower, look up to Galad, protect Elayne, defend Andor – to be throw into confusion. The Tower broke and his sister vanished and the girl he loves turned up with the rebels and Galad joined the Whitecloaks and the Dragon Reborn was held in a box at Dumai’s Wells and then let Gawyn walk away unscathed and Siuan lied to him and Elaida wanted him dead and Min pleaded with him and nothing makes sense.

“The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills,” the shorter man said. “Well it wove us into a hole,” Gawyn muttered.

I nearly choked on my tea. How very eloquent of you, Gawyn.

None of the other Younglings seemed to be plagued with these questions. To them, the world was much simpler.

As it once was for Gawyn. He was raised in a palace, taught from a young age to give his life to defend his sister if necessary, but raised with a sense of certainty and duty and a moral code that works perfectly so long as all it faces are honourable textbook battles and standard diplomacy. And then everything went wrong.

And he feels a duty to the Younglings – damn it I still hate that word – because he’s their leader and he is responsible for them, but there was some of this frustration last time we saw him as well. They don’t seem to share his uncertainty, and it makes it harder for him to bring himself to do anything but continue to follow Elaida’s orders, because what if he makes it worse for them?

It would help if Bryne just captured him. Then he could sit Gawyn down for A Talk, and explain to him what is going on and why he’s on the wrong side. Not to mention his army would probably take Gawyn’s Younglings in as additional soldiers and help protect them. As it is, caught between Elaida and Gareth Bryne is not really where you want to be.

It was time to head back to Dorlan. Perhaps the Aes Sedai there would have a suggestion on how to proceed.

Yes, that sounds like an excellent idea, Gawyn. That’s sure to fix all your problems. Make a damn decision. It’s not going to be easy but it’s not going to get any easier the longer you wait.

Light, I wish I could see the stars, he thought.

Calm down, Javert. (I have had ‘Stars’ from Les Mis stuck in my head for at least half of this chapter and it’s weirdly appropriate).

Wow that was a short chapter.

It was also a very…functional chapter. Here’s Gawyn. Here’s Gawyn doubting himself. It works, and it seems like it’s about where Gawyn should be in his arc, but it felt more like an outline than a finished chapter, I guess. I don’t mind so much that the dialogue patterns are a bit different, for instance, but the way characterisation was done here felt just a bit too abrupt, a bit too easy. It seemed like something was missing – a true unifying theme to the chapter, or a sequence of action (even mild action) through which the important points could be made as a secondary but clear layer, or something like that.

I did like the star motif though. It was a good choice for a character like Gawyn who is struggling to find his way, and desperately looking for and yet never receiving guidance or answers.

Next (TGS ch 5) Previous (TGS ch 3)

#two chapters in two days! #I deserve a medal #Wheel of Time #neuxue liveblogs WoT #The Gathering Storm