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tenspontaneite · 5 years

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Peace Is A Journey (Chapter 5/?)

In which Rayla and the Princes both learn some unfortunate truths.

(Chapter length: 11k. Link to Ao3 version)

They spent the rest of the evening in relative ease, the tension around the issue of Rayla’s hand ebbing from the boys in the face of cooked food and a cheerful campfire. The fish itself was variably tasty – the river trout were delicious, and a few of the others, but a couple types tasted so unbearably fishy it was hard for Rayla to stomach them. Still, she did her best to eat as much as she could, urging the others to do the same – they could carry some of the leftovers with them, but they wouldn’t stay fresh for long.

She ushered everyone to bed when the sun had barely set. “We need to set out as early as possible tomorrow.” She informed them, in no uncertain terms. “We lost time today, and there’s probably people tracking us. We need to get as far from the lake as we can, as fast as we can.”

Thus, their little party settled down for their second night in the pilfered tent.

Callum was no less active in his sleep this night than the first, and judging by the ambient rustling, Ezran was just as bad. Rayla stubbornly faced away from them and did her best to ignore it. The presence of the two humans in the tent was, at least, less jarringly foreign and unsettling now, and she got a bit more sleep that night than the previous. She woke up at dawn and shook both princes awake at the same time, slipping on her boots and hurrying outside to get a start on packing up the camp while they were still blinking groggily at the tent roof.

After a breakfast of cold fish, Rayla led them off on their journey while they were still half-asleep and yawning every other second. Neither of them woke up enough to hold conversations for a good half hour of walking, which suited Rayla just fine. She was used to silent travel.

As they receded from the lakeside, they travelled into a forest that was composed mainly of birch, beech, and elm – a fairly young-looking forest with rotting stumps that indicated a cull within at least the past human generation. Evidently, it was close enough to human habitation to be used for logging every decade or so. It made Rayla a little wary of potentially running into woodcutters, but none of the stumps seemed even vaguely recent, and there weren’t any suspicious branches or wood chips laying around to indicate recent activity, so it was probably fine.

Still. They’d be crossing the road at some point today, which held a considerably higher risk of humans. She’d stay alert, and maybe ask Callum for a time estimate once he was awake enough to make a comprehensible reply.

Eventually, one of the boys did summon the presence of mind to talk.

“Do we have to get up this early every day?” Ezran asked plaintively, when he finally gathered his wits enough to attempt coherent speech.

“Better for us if we do.” Rayla answered, watching as Callum lifted his head to listen, still with that bleary half-asleep look in his eyes. “Starting our walk at this time of day means we can stop in mid-afternoon to make camp, and still get a good seven or eight hours of walking done.”

Both princes groaned in concert at that. “Eight hours.” Callum bemoaned, voice groggy but somehow still expressive enough to evoke dismay. “My poor legs.”

Her lips quirked at their woebegone expressions. She remembered the early days of her journey to Katolis. She’d had the advantage of a near decade of training and excellent physical fitness, but her legs had still objected vehemently to the amount of travel. “Yeah, your legs will probably hate you for a while.” She said, only a little sympathetically. There was a certain satisfaction in being able to speak from the position of experience. There was also satisfaction in the knowledge that her legs, by now very well-accustomed to travel, probably wouldn’t pain her at all until they got to the mountains.

“What do you even do when you walk for that long?” Ez wondered, raising a hand to rub at his eyes. Bait hopped along beside him, looking as grumpy as ever. “‘I spy’ would get really boring after that long. Or word-association. Or – any game.”

“Mostly you just walk. And daydream.” Rayla said honestly, thinking back on her long weeks of travel. Certainly the assassin squad had conversed among themselves while they travelled, but always quietly, to ward off the risk of becoming unwary and opening themselves to attack or ambush. All things considered, her last few days of travel had been much louder than she was used to.

“I guess I’m pretty good at daydreaming.” Ezran allowed, after a moment. “I bet it still gets boring after weeks though. You were travelling for months. Didn’t you get bored?”

Rayla had generally done her very best to avoid looking even vaguely bored or inattentive during the course of the journey, because Runaan had a near-supernatural sense for that sort of thing. The second he suspected her attention might be lapsing, he tended to materialise behind her to make her recite some aspect of her book-learning. Poison-making processes, sometimes, or the most common edible plants in the eastern Pentarchy, or how to make a decent wound-cleaning poultice in the absence of actual good medicine. The other assassins had found it very amusing up until he started doing the same to them.

It had been a very well-educated squad of assassins that finally arrived at Katolis, after two months of that.

“…Well, you find ways to pass the time.” Rayla said eventually, after a conspicuously-long pause.

“We’ll manage just fine, Ez.” Callum said, apparently unconcerned, from the lofty position of someone who could draw while walking.

She eyed him. He looked vaguely more alert now. She waited until he noticed her staring and then promptly engaged him in a discussion about their map and the likely distance to the road.

(In conclusion: Callum said he would be able to judge their distances and walking speed much better after they actually reached the road, but until then he really didn’t know.)

The day fell into a rhythm that Rayla was very familiar with; periods of wordless travel broken by nothing but the sound of their footfalls in the forest, and occasional interludes of idle conversation. The reality of the long journey ahead of them was starting to sink in for the boys, it seemed, because a lot of their talking seemed centred around the things they’d miss while they were gone, and how many lessons they’d have to catch up on once they were home again, and how worried certain family members must be, and how maybe they should send a letter, and how exactly they were supposed to send a letter from the middle of a forest with no trained crows.

Rayla stayed very carefully out of those conversations. Guilt prickled nearly as unpleasantly as the ache and the burn in her bound hand.

The princes seemed at least vaguely accustomed to physical activity, because the relatively-brisk walking pace on flat land didn’t leave them out-of-breath or panting. They started complaining of stiff legs alarmingly early, though.

“I already miss the boat.” Ezran declared, around three hours into their walk. Rayla snorted loudly at that, attracting looks from both boys.

“You have to admit, the boat saved us a lot of walking.” Callum said to her, one eyebrow raised as if to dare her to deny it.

She ignored it. “Maybe so. Doesn’t mean I miss the boat, though. I’m much happier to be walking.”

There were a few seconds of quiet, uninterrupted walking before Ezran spoke up. “Rayla, can I ask something?” She looked at him, finding curious eyes staring back at her. She slowed a little, to allow him to fall into pace with her.

“What is it?” She inquired, a little wary of his caution. Neither he nor his brother had asked about her hand again, but she was aware of their attention flickering to it from time-to-time; now didn’t appear to be one of those times, but…she was still anxious about it.

She’d need to tell them about the binding, and soon. She was uncomfortably aware of it.

He hesitated, and bent to pick up Bait, who had croaked up at him in a plaintive sort of way. “…Were you always scared of water?” he asked, and she stilled for a moment, skin prickling with an entirely different sort of discomfort. “Or did something happen?” he hefted Bait in his arms, settling the weight of the glow toad against his chest. Callum looked over at the question, plainly curious about her answer, even if he’d not been the one to ask the question.

It was on the tip of Rayla's tongue to deny every hint of fear, even given what they'd talked about the day before, even given they knew. Admitting to fear was just – not done. Shameful. But these were humans. It's not like they understood that. It was...probably fine. "…Nah. Nothing happened. I've just always been scared of water. Even when I was a wee thing."

“Huh.” He considered that, mulling over whatever implications that had for him, and after a moment concluded aloud “so that means you were already scared of water when you learned how to swim?”

“Well, yeah.” She admitted, thinking back on it with a shiver. “Mind, didn’t get around to it until I was a bit older. But yeah.”

“But you did it anyway.” Callum pointed out, the hint of a smile at the edge of his lips. She watched him warily, just a little tense, braced despite everything for accusations of cowardice. “That’s more bravery for you.”

She blinked, befuddled, her posture loosening. “…Oh. Er…”

“You were scared of water but you learned anyway.” Ezran agreed, in what felt like a solemn repetition of their post-lake-monster discussion. “That’s super brave.”

Back home, she’d be getting side-eyed, maybe muttered about. There was a low-level, unspoken acknowledgement that people were scared of things, that fear existed – but showing any sign of it? Allowing it to affect your actions? There were more effective ways to damage your reputation, but not many. And here they were calling her brave for it. “…If you say so?” She offered, uncertainly.

“Well, yeah. You could have just…refused to learn to swim, right?” Ez said, and then looked momentarily flummoxed. “Or would people have made you?”

She huffed. “No one would have made me learn.” She said, tempted to laugh a little at the mere concept. Runaan would have garrotted anyone who tried. Even if he was silently disapproving of her cowardice himself all the while.

“So, you were brave.” The littlest prince affirmed, with all the assured confidence of a child who knew how things were. “You learned, even though you were afraid.”

“Well, yeah.” She snorted, and narrowed her eyes a little balefully at the thought that provoked. "Not learning to swim is like askin' for water to kill you."

Callum laughed at that, sounding surprised. “Well, that’s one way to put it.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “And how would you put it?”

He considered it for a second, and said “’Going near water before you know how to swim is dangerous’, maybe. At least, that’s what dad used to tell Ezran when he was a tiny thing, back when we visited the Great Bay.”

Ezran’s face scrunched up, and thankfully Callum’s attention seemed more on that than the way Rayla couldn’t help but tense whenever the King was mentioned. “I don’t remember that.” He complained.

Callum reached over to ruffle his brother’s huge hair. “Well, you wouldn’t. You were like, shorter than dad’s knees. But you liked the water – kept trying to play in it, even though it was dangerous.”

He snickered. “Like Bait!” The glow-toad made a grumpy noise at that, eyes rolling to the side.

“Pff. Yeah, like Bait.”

“…How old were you when you learned to swim, Ezran?” Rayla asked after a moment, curious despite herself. She’d learned late, once she’d managed to find the courage for it. When did humans usually learn? Did they all usually learn, or was it just a high-class-human thing?

The boy’s face screwed up again. “Uh….”

“You were six.” Callum said, patiently, and smiled as he looked ahead, eyes half-lidded as he recalled the memory to mind. “You learned in a little pool-thing full of seawater. It had mosaics of whales around it. Don’t you remember?” Rayla huffed a soft laugh at that. Callum would remember the poolside artwork, wouldn’t he?

Ezran squinted. “….Was one of the whales purple?”

“…There was not a purple whale, no.”

“Then nope, I don’t remember a thing.” He declared, entirely unconcerned, and put Bait on top of his backpack so he could adjust his straps. “I do remember that time you freaked out about us drowning, though.”

Callum laughed sheepishly, as if embarrassed, while Rayla just – stopped short for a second, creating a noticeable pause in her stride, which didn’t go unnoticed. “Sorry, did you say drowning?” She asked, incredulous, absolutely certain that there couldn’t have been anything that dire in their pasts, if they mentioned it so casually, and went swimming so casually.

“I didn’t do even a little bit of drowning.” Ezran attested, eyes bright, as if relishing an oncoming opportunity to mildly embarrass his sibling. “But Callum-“

“Ez.“ Callum groaned, raising a hand to his face. “It’s not – look, it was perfectly reasonable!”

Rayla tilted her head, curious, and fell into step with Callum as they walked, sensing a story. “…What happened?”

“It was a few years ago, maybe?” Callum hedged, looking uncomfortable. “There’d been a storm a few days before we got to the Great Bay – and, well, some of the sailors…They were telling all these horror stories, about how it was lucky no one drowned, and about times when people had drowned, and – I think I was very sensibly concerned!”

“He made a huge scene at the harbour.” Ezran explained to Rayla, smiling almost fondly. “Wouldn’t let anyone get in any boats. He got really worried about me, the big doof.”

She squinted at him, uncertain. “…That makes sense?” She tried, glancing at Callum as if to gain some insight as to why Ezran seemed to find humour in the situation. “I’d have been worried too?” Granted, she was a little biased on the matter, as she took it as a given that water would attempt to kill anyone who ventured near it, but…

“Thank you, Rayla.” Callum said, with a pointed glance at his brother. The brother in question answered him with a sunny smile.

“Well, yeah. But like, he didn’t just leave it there.” Ezran beamed up at his brother, who looked away, conspicuously uncomfortable. “Callum’s a worrier. So he got Aunt Amaya to teach him some field-healing, just in case I got hurt.” Field-healing? Rayla eyed him, intrigued.

The elder prince folded his arms, defensive. “Look, it was a useful thing to learn! Plenty of people learn field-healing!”

“Yeah, but you learned it because you cared about me.” Ezran said, still beaming like a miniature sun.

Callum did not deny it, but did look a bit grumpier. “So?”

“So, stop being embarrassed about it.” Ezran told him. “I think it’s nice.”

Rayla looked back and forth between them as this proceeded, eyebrows raised. Apparently, accusing Callum of being a concerned and caring person was an easy way to embarrass him. She silently committed that information to memory, considering ‘field-healing’ with interest. He shifted a little, shoulders hunching slightly under her assessing eyes. “Field-healing?” She quoted, keen to chase up that mention of a potentially useful skill. “What does that mean for you?” With luck, it was what she thought, and there were more practical skills in these humans than she’d previously known.

“Er.” Callum hesitantly met her curious gaze, and shrugged a little, sheepish. “Well, sort of basics to do if someone gets hurt? How to wrap bandages and stuff, or what to do if someone chokes, or stops breathing.”

“Oh, we have that too.” Rayla recognised, pleased, with a vaguely victorious-feeling thrill at the confirmation of her guess. Maybe someone in this group other than her knew something useful, after all! “Except we call it ‘first aid’.”

He looked interested now, too. “Makes more sense as a name than ‘field-healing’, I guess. I mean, I know it’s mostly soldiers who learn it, but still.” He straightened, earlier embarrassment evaporating in the face of his fascination. “I wonder if elves and humans teach the same things?”

“Well, one way to find out.” Rayla said, and shot a half-grin at him. He tentatively smiled back at her.

Ezran looked between the two of them, and sighed. “This is going to turn into two hours of listening to you guys talk about field-healing, isn’t it.”

“…Honestly, I could probably use the refresher.” Callum admitted. “It’s been a couple of years.”

“I’ll just be glad if there turns out to be more than one of us who knows what to do with a bandage.” She said, and then, true to Ezran’s prediction, the next good hour was nothing but discussion of the differences and similarities between elf and human first aid. Runaan would have been proud of such productive use of travel time.

Rayla learned some interesting things: for example, humans had almost no antibiotics whatsoever, and therefore did a lot of dying of infection when they got seriously injured. They used distilled alcohol to disinfect – a small bottle of which she’d purloined from the Lodge – but if infection set in there was little they could do to stop it. They used some tinctures known to help fight infection, but had no refined medicines for it like elves did. They could mostly only soothe the symptoms.

It made her wish, sincerely, that she hadn’t had to leave all of her things behind. The assassins’ first aid kit had been very comprehensive. She resolved to keep an eye out for any potentially useful medicinal plants along the way.

For the most part, though, it seemed that you cared for injured humans much the same way as you cared for injured elves. They apparently had the same general heart rates, suffocated just as quickly if their airways were blocked, and the thing to do with someone who’d choked or drowned and wasn’t breathing was pretty much the same.

It was half-way through discussing resuscitation of non-breathing people that Rayla realised that, surely, there had to be a difference here.

“Wait.” She said, abruptly enough that everyone stopped walking, Callum falling silent in the middle of what had been a description of how humans did chest compressions. “How do humans restart someone’s heart if you don’t have mages?” They didn’t use dark magic, did they? …But how else would they do it?

Callum stared at her blankly. She wasn’t sure if that was just confusion at being interrupted or a sign that something was very different here. “…Restart someone’s heart.” He repeated, brow furrowing, and glanced bemusedly at Ezran, who shrugged helplessly. “Like…uh, what do you mean?”

“When you’ve got someone whose heart isn’t working right.” She elaborated, a tad impatiently, but also with a distinct sinking sensation in her gut. “How do you get it going again without a sky mage handy?”

There was a brief period of silence. Then: “You’re saying elves can restart hearts?” Callum exclaimed, eyes wide, and…that was a pretty clear sign that her hunch had been on-point. That was…unfortunate. “How?”

Rayla stared back, similarly wide-eyed. “….There’s a spell?” She explained, scrambling for the words. Everything had been so similar up to this point that it was abruptly difficult to try to think of explaining something so obvious to members of a species who had no way to restart hearts. So…did their version of resuscitation ever actually work on anyone whose heart had stopped? How ridiculously low must the survival rate be? “A sky magic spell. It uses lightning to start the heart again?”

Both boys looked utterly flummoxed by this knowledge. It was not a promising sign.

“…Lightning can restart hearts?” Callum offered, weakly, after several moments of mutual astonishment.

“Does this mean Callum can learn how to restart hearts?” Ezran added, after a moment, and the mage in question looked like he might fall over with shock and glee at the mere words.

“Er…maybe if he spent a month training under a master sky mage. Or master healer.” Rayla hedged, and watched Callum’s face fall, a little regretful at having to disappoint him. “I don’t know the spell’s words, let alone the rune, and even then – I’m pretty sure you need training to use it right.” Still, her mind automatically tried to think of what sort of thing you’d call a heart-starting spell. Had she not heard it mentioned in her classes? Surely it had a name. She was sure she remembered something like that. Something that reminded her of the word ‘impulsive’, maybe?

“…I suppose it would be pretty weird for you to know a super specific heart-starting lightning spell when you don’t know the normal lightning spell.” Callum said, ruefully, and after a moment kept walking. “I still can’t believe elves can restart hearts.”

“I still can’t believe that humans can’t.” Rayla retorted, and followed after, the three of them falling back into step as they walked onwards. “What do you do if you get someone who’s not breathing and has no heartbeat, then? Just leave them for dead?”

“Well, you can try to do life-breaths and compressions for a while, and see if their heart starts on its own, but…” he looked almost apologetic as he trailed off.

So, in essence, human resuscitation only really worked on people whose hearts were still beating, and they had no goal of ‘keep going until the nearest sky-healer arrives’ to work towards, because they had no sky mages. That was…incredibly unfortunate.

“I mean, I don’t know how it is for elves, but for us having no heartbeat means you’re dead.” Ezran informed her, looking up with a light frown. “Even I know that, and I’m only ten.”

Rayla considered that, and then pointed at both of them sternly. “Neither of you are allowed to go near water until we get to Xadia. Or heart-stopping poisons. Or lightning.”

“What if it’s my lightning?” Callum asked, reasonably, and she rolled her eyes.

“Well, if it’s your lightning spell, it’s just the people around you that need to worry.” She informed him, and then stopped. Her mind, still half-stuck on trying to remember the name of the heart-starter spell, clicked over on the world impulsive, and her mouth opened into a silent ‘o’. “Inpulsis,” She announced, after a second, sure that that was right, a flutter of triumph rising in her chest at having remembered it.

Callum and Ezran both blinked at her, perplexed. “Impulsive what-now?” Callum inquired.

“Inpulsis. That’s the Draconic word for ‘shock’. I’m pretty sure it’s part of the heart-starting spell – and that doesn’t help you, since we don’t have the rune, but-“

Excitement dawned on his face as he caught her meaning. “-but it might work for the lightning rune I know?” he finished, eyes lighting up. He was reaching for the primal stone before she could get a word in edgewise.

“Wait just a minute,” She chided him, grabbing him by both wrists to stop him from doing anything, well, impulsive. “If you’re going to test out that spell, you’re going to do it somewhere more open than this. In a clearing. With the two of us a safe distance away from you. Alright?” Her left hand felt tight and sore in its grip around his wrist; she let that one go first, and then the other, bringing her good hand over to rub uneasily at the bad one.

Callum, for his part, looked mildly startled at having been stopped in his tracks like that, but registered the sense in her words after a few moments. “…Yeah, that may be a good idea.” He agreed, somewhat chagrined, and turned the primal stone in his hands a few times before he reached to put it away. “Maybe we can stop somewhere for lunch soon and try it?”

“In an hour or so, maybe.” Rayla decided, rolling her bad hand carefully. It felt strange – and stranger by the hour. Oddly numb, yet still painful. It prickled with electric tingles of pain and a nearly cold-feeling sensation every time she moved it…but if she didn’t move it, it started aching awfully.

Callum’s eyes didn’t miss the motion. They tracked her hand for a few seconds, narrowing slightly, and then returned ahead. He offered a smile. “Well, let’s get moving then. And then later we can find out if Inpulsis is the right word for the lightning spell.”

Inpulsis was not the right word for the lightning spell.

“It felt – weird.” Callum tried to explain after the fact, apparently having difficulty putting the experience into words. He tried to flatten down his hair for the fifth time, with no more success than before. His fingers crackled with static. “Like the rune was fighting the word. It felt like – I forced the magic through a shape it didn’t fit into? It was close enough to do something, but – the rune didn’t fit the word. The magic – well.”

“The magic didn’t like it.” Rayla summarised, dryly, trying to pat the static from her own hair. Ezran wasn’t even trying to sort out his, abandoning it as a lost cause.

“It really didn’t.” he admitted, eyes all disappointed and mournful at the primal stone in his lap.

The spell, when forced through the mismatching word, had crackled outwards in a shapeless mess, causing an outwards surge of weak, unfocused electricity that gave all of them a mildly unpleasant shock. Ezran had checked on the egg and reported it delighted with the situation, but the rest of them had certainly not enjoyed it.

“Cheer up, maybe there’s another rune that’ll work with that word.” She said, a little guilty at having provided the wrong word in the first place. Really, what had she been thinking? The lightning spell probably wanted a more strongly lightning-y word than ‘shock’. Like whatever ‘lightning’ was.

…Wait.

Rayla stared straight ahead for several seconds and then buried her face in her hands, uttering a despairing groan. ‘She might have called me a fool’, he’d said. Lightning. It was so obvious. If anyone was a fool, it was obviously her; how could she have not remembered it?

“…Rayla?” Callum questioned, sounding vaguely alarmed.

“Did you get zapped too hard?” Ezran added a second later, similarly anxious.

“Fulminis.” Rayla said, and then sighed gustily, thoroughly abashed at not having remembered that to begin with. “That’s the draconic word for lightning. You said what’s-her-name – Claudia? – called you a fool. I bet she was actually saying fulminis.”

There was a brief, somewhat stunned silence.

“…That would make sense, but also I’m not in the mood to get shocked again if it’s wrong.” Callum admitted after a moment, eyeing the primal stone warily.

Ez passed the egg, currently situated in his lap, over to his brother. “Hold the egg? I think it pulls in lightning. Maybe it’ll help if it goes wrong again.”

Callum paused, put down the stone, and carefully accepted the egg. He pulled it into his lap with a strange expression, and Rayla wondered if he, too, was realising that this was the first time Ezran had passed the egg to anyone since they left Katolis. He observed its gentle glow for a few moments, and then took a careful breath. He reached for the primal stone, settling the egg more solidly in his lap with the other hand, and then raised it with his finger poised to Draw. “Time for you guys to stand back again.” He said, and both of them scrambled for the treeline.

Rayla watched from the shadow of a conifer as he drew the crackling line of the rune in the air, heart racing a little from the apprehension of it. Would it be right this time? Were they all about to get shocked again? She really hoped she wasn’t wrong again.

“Fulminis,” he said, in a clear voice that rang the length of the clearing, and in a sudden sharp motion, pointed the hand that had drawn the rune at the ground in front of him.

Lightning cracked, with a sharp flash and hiss, and disappeared into the ground within a second. It was somewhat anticlimactic, actually. At least for a moment.

A heartbeat passed, then another, and then “it worked!” Callum cheered, delighted, throwing his hands up. He nearly dislodged the egg, and lowered his arms hastily around it to stop it from falling. Cautiously, Rayla approached, Ezran beside her, as Callum stood with a brilliant smile. She wondered if he was about to shout about magic again, like he had the first time he’d realised he was a mage.

Instead, he passed the egg over to Ez and in the next second threw his arms around her shoulders. She startled, hands jerking up in surprise, and wavered uncertainly for a few seconds before she warily returned the embrace. “Well, I’m glad it worked this time?” She offered, startled at the sudden hugging. Apparently, the new spell had made him a very happy mage indeed.

He pulled back a second later, still beaming, though he looked vaguely more self-conscious about it now. He brought up a hand to make another try at flattening his hair, sheepish. “Yeah, me too. Thanks, Rayla. Now I’ve got two working spells.”

Ezran inspected the two of them for a few seconds, head tilted, as if considering something. He shook it off and raised the egg. “I think the egg’s sad you didn’t hit it.” He commented. “It really likes sky magic.”

Callum shot him a strange look. “Well, I mean, I could always intentionally shoot lightning at it, now I know the spell?” He suggested, brow furrowing. “I don’t know if that would be safe, though. Fulminis seems like a strong spell.”

The two of them looked at Rayla then, as if she were any more of a dragon egg expert than them. She raised her hands to forestall the notion, the left one sending complaints of pain up her arm as she moved it. “Don’t look at me, I don’t know how dragon eggs work.”

“Better safe than sorry.” Callum decided, after a second. “No shooting lightning at the egg of the Dragon Prince.”

“Sounds sensible.” Rayla agreed, and after a moment, held out a hand in the direction of his sketchbook, slung securely-closed over his shoulder. “Have you got any spare paper? Maybe I’ll try to see if I remember any more Draconic while we walk.”

By the time the forest started thinning out, becoming little more than groves of saplings around groves of coppiced stumps, Rayla hadn’t had much success in remembering anything definitively sky-related, but she’d managed some things. Mainly she was just writing down every word she could remember, idle phrases and idioms and names of calendar months included. It was probably mostly useless, but she reckoned Callum would probably get a kick out of it anyway.

She closed the paper and handed it back to him, interrupting what had been a quiet background conversation between the brothers on the topic of the relative scariness of various waterfowl. “I’ll try to remember more later, but for now, shh. I think we’re close to the road.”

“…How can you tell?” Ez asked, obeying her by at least keeping it to a whisper.

She waved around them. “Younger trees. Lots of woodcutting.” She explained briefly, and watched them stare around them as if noticing the state of the forest for the first time, eyes wide and dawning with recognition. For a second, she was briefly disorientated to watch them looking about like that, their knowledge and experience so immensely distinct from her own that something as obvious as the artificially-thinned forest was a surprise to them.

Moon and Sun help them when they got to Xadia, was all she could think. Hopefully by then she’d have squashed some useful knowledge into their skulls.

Rayla pressed a finger to her lips again, to reinforce the command for quiet, and led their suddenly much-stealthier party through the young trees. Predictably, before long they reached the road. It was broad and loosely paved, covered in rows of carefully-placed wide stones that had been beaten flat and smooth by the impact of many, many feet and hooves. Mosses and weeds grew out from between them, disturbed in places by recent traffic.

There weren’t any humans in sight, or within the range of her hearing. Silently, she gestured them across the road and into the treeline on the opposite side, and kept them moving. About ten minutes of brisk walking later, she said “well, that was anti-climactic.”

Taking that as permission to speak again, Callum shrugged. “Would have been pretty unlucky if people were passing through at the exact time we crossed.”

“Yeah, exactly.” Rayla agreed, a little grimly.

Ez tilted his head at her. “Did you think we’d run into people anyway?”

She patted him on the shoulder and paused for a moment to answer. “Let me share an elven proverb with you: when you’re travelling in a human kingdom with humans after you, don’t rely on luck to keep you alive.” It was almost even an actual proverb. If you counted phrases frequently-uttered around a campfire of assassins to be proverb. Of course, if she were being accurate to the source material, she’d have finished it with ‘because luck is a fickle ballsack and should not be trusted with anything important’.

The little prince considered that. “Good advice, I guess.” He assessed, and kept walking.

“How long do you think we were walking, to get to that road?” Callum asked her a second later, reading for his sketchbook-map with that increasingly familiar thinking-about-things look on his face.

Rayla took a second to gauge her constant awareness of the position and movements of the moon, accounted for the half-hour or so they’d spent having a break, and said “’bout five-and-a-half hours.”

“Nice.” Callum pronounced, and spent the next hour filling in an absurd amount of detail on his map, and periodically tripping over tree roots in the process.

The walk to the road and its accompanying time-stamp allowed Callum to make a pretty decent estimate of not only the scale of his map, but also their walking speed. With that in mind, he started drawing in as many towns, minor rivers, mountains, and roads as he could think of, thinking on every map of Katolis he’d ever been shown. It was actually pretty absorbing work, so he didn’t notice Rayla scoping out their surroundings for a good place to camp until she caught him by the shoulder to stop him walking on without her.

“We’ll stop here for the day.” She announced, setting down her bag and the tent pack with a decisive thunk. Callum was reminded, abruptly, of how much more weight she was carrying than the rest of them. He felt briefly guilty, but reassured himself with the knowledge that he was at least learning useful camp-things, like fish-cleaning and tent-pitching.

“Thank goodness.” Ezran sighed, parking himself and his bag and also Bait on a patch of grass. He, apparently, had been paying attention, and was not surprised by the sudden end to the day of walking. “My legs feel weird.”

“Weird how?” Callum inquired, whose legs felt sore and stiffer than usual, but mainly around his joints. He’d sort of expected the actual muscle-parts of his legs to hurt, but they were alright for now.

“Like my knees and hips are going stiff.”

“That’ll be worse in the morning, and also you’ll probably feel it in your calves and thighs too.” Rayla informed them, sitting herself down next to the bags. “It’ll be much worse once we start taking on the mountains.”

“Joy.” Callum deadpanned, and after a moment, sat down with the rest of them, shrugging off his bag and putting down the sketchbook-map. Rayla watched him interestedly for a second, then nodded towards his book.

“Can I look at that?”

He passed it over. “Sure.” She opened it carefully at the map and ran analytic eyes over it, humming approvingly and nodding at parts. He assumed she was considering routes, so left her to it, shuffling over next to Ez. He stretched out his legs, shaking them a little to try to exorcise some of the growing stiffness of them. “So, what do you think of our first full day of walking?” He asked, settling comfortably next to his brother.

His brother considered it. “Less boring than I thought.” He said, optimistically. “There’s lots of stuff to look at. I used to walk around the woods a lot back home, but these are all new.”

“The views get pretty great up in the mountains.” Rayla commented absently, still looking over the map. “Even if it is cold as-“ She broke off her sentence abruptly, not even seeming to realise she was doing it. He wondered for a second if she’d been distracted by something in the book, but, nope. He shrugged a little, and returned his attention to the map, and the mountain range they were approaching.

“Whereabouts did you cross over the Belt?” He asked, after a moment, and shuffled over to her instead. She looked up, blinked, and then smirked, indicating a point on the map near a point of interest he’d marked out.

“Round here, ish.” She said, in a suspiciously nonchalant voice. He eyed her a little sceptically, and looked back at the page.

“Wouldn’t have thought you’d risk crossing the mountains that close to a fort.” He commented, eyes lingering on where he’d drawn a sort of square for the best – and most heavily guarded – crossing through the mountains.

Her smirk widened again, and he found it very suspect indeed. “It was the best option for us.” She said, delicately. “Wasn’t exactly risk-free, but then – it’s not like there are any easy or risk-free routes, through this mountain range of yours.”

Even though she was acting downright shifty, he could still agree with the sentiment. One thing that decidedly obstructed travel in Katolis was their longest mountain range, creatively dubbed the Belt of Katolis. A mountain range that, shortly, they would have to contend with.

It ran in a sort of loose curve of peaks from the northern land-mass of the kingdom to the south-east, coming around to enclose a portion of the southern kingdom in a hook of mountains, and stretching along the Great Bay. The tallest mountain in Katolis, mount Kalik, was near the southern-most edge of that hook, and Castle Katolis itself lay within the lowland cradle of the Belt. There was pretty much no way to travel to Xadia by land without having to get past the Belt…and there was only one somewhat-easy way through.

“The Pass of Viatori is pretty easy, but that doesn’t really help us much.” He said, watching her reaction with narrow eyes, as he poked at the square representing the fort that, allegedly, her team of assassins had passed quite close to.

She blinked at him innocently. Too innocently. “Isn’t there a fort there?” She asked, as if they’d not just mentioned the fort less than a minute ago.

“Yes. Yes there is.” He fixed her with a suspicious stare, which she blatantly ignored.

“I vote we don’t try to cross the Belt at a guarded fortress full of human soldiers.” She said, cheerfully.

“…Yeah, let’s not do that.” He stared at her for a few long seconds, in which she did not offer any explanation for all the smirking and suspicious reactions, or remove the unusually self-satisfied expression from her face. Finally, he raised his hands up, and said “Okay! What is it? What’s – what is it about Fort Viatori that you’re smirking at?”

She eyed him for a few seconds, plainly amused, then finally conceded. “…We didn’t cross near the Pass.” She admitted, looking somewhat smug about it. “We went through it.”

He stared. Ezran, who’d been listening in, looked impressed. “How, exactly, did six elves get through one of the most heavily-defended places in the Pentarchy?” Callum asked, at last, honestly baffled.

She leaned over and patted him on the shoulder. “The answer to that, my human friend, would be ‘Moonshadow elf powers’.” She informed him, with some cheer. “We used our first full moon in Katolis to cross it. No one saw a thing.”

For a second, Callum stilled, remembering the shadowy half-visible forms of the assassins at King Harrow’s door. Remembered watching them flow like living darkness around the guards trying to save his father’s life. He shivered, then pushed the recollection away as violently as he could. Pushed the thoughts of home and family away just as insistently.“…That’s pretty cool.” He managed, not entirely naturally. Rayla’s good humour dimmed a little as she looked at him, a hint of concern passing over her face. He hoped she wouldn’t ask.

If she’d been planning on it, Ezran neatly derailed it with his curiosity. “So you get special powers at full moons?” he inquired, eyes wide with interest, and Rayla leaned back from Callum to blink at him.

“…Yeah.” She said, after a moment. “I forgot you didn’t see it. I was in my Moonshadow form when I came to find you, but I think Bait’s light counts as sunlight. Turned me right back.” She shrugged, eyes wandering to Callum again.

Fascinated despite himself, he perked up a bit. “Huh. That’s interesting.” He commented, looking across at the glow toad held in his brother’s arms, then back at Rayla. He hesitated. “I…actually saw some of the other assassins, when I went up to the tower.” He admitted, voice a little low, and she looked at him sharply. A second later, her features softened with understanding. “I didn’t get a great look at them, though. They were all sort of…shadowy. Kind of almost invisible.” He shrugged. “I’m guessing that’s how you got past the Fort Viatori guards?”

After a few moments, she nodded. “They weren’t expecting us, so it was pretty easy. Just had to pass through when no one was looking, one by one.”

Ezran observed them, eyes a little solemn as he picked up on the mood. Then, determinedly, he looked at the map, and pushed to conversation elsewhere. “So which way are we gonna go?”

A second passed where Callum and Rayla looked at each other and silently, somewhat gratefully, agreed to let the uncomfortable topic drop. Rayla shrugged, leaned over to indicate their current route of travel, tapping the map with a slender finger. “We’ve just got to get past a couple of towns and then we’ll be near the foot of…whatever this mountain is called.”

He glanced at it. His handwriting, admittedly, had been very squashed in that region. There were a lot of mountains to name. “Dorel.”

“Yeah, that one. Callum, are all these mountain-squiggles to scale?”

He checked. “You mean, did I draw bigger lines for the bigger mountains?” She nodded at him, and he tilted a hand each way, uncertainly. “Sort of. I drew the really big ones bigger, but the rest…I can’t remember how big those are meant to be.”

She huffed, sounding more thoughtful than annoyed. “Well, whatever. We should try to cross over…Dorel, and past…” She squinted at the map. “I...as…solek?”

“Iasolek.” He confirmed.

“Past that. And then onto this….I’m not even going to try to read that. Then maybe if we’re lucky we can follow this river valley here instead of having to go over this…other mountain, too.” Ezran snickered a little, apparently amused by the illegibility of his mountain-names. Callum rolled his eyes and declined to try to fill in their knowledge.

“We’ll definitely be able to follow that river. It’s one of the two biggest in Katolis, completely cuts off the Belt from the northern mountains. Has a huge valley with its own, like, farms and villages and stuff.” He informed them. It was called the Rhodane, but he doubted either of them cared about that.

“Well, yay.” Rayla said, unenthusiastically. “Then we can follow that river to – actually, Callum, what do you think the chances are of us finding some sort of boat here?” She moved her finger over to where the Rhodane cut eastward towards the sea, coming out near the narrowest part of the Great Bay.

He inspected it. There were a lot of big towns along the edge of the Great Bay, some of which he and Ez were very familiar with from their yearly visits. The joining of the Rhodane to the Bay in particular was home to one of the largest cities of the kingdom. “I mean, there’s a lot of towns there. If we couldn’t find something, I’d be surprised. Worst-case, we might have to stow away on something.”

“That’s not what I’d call worst-case.” She said, in tones of dark humour. He was briefly curious about what she did consider ‘worst-case’, but she moved on too quickly for him to ask. “But okay. So, we travel to here and try to get a boat across the bay. Save ourselves a week or three of walking.”

“Maybe if we’re lucky we can find a boat to go along that river, too.” Ezran suggested, drawing a disgruntled look from Rayla.

“….Maybe.” She agreed sourly, and sighed, leaning back to stand up. “Well, that’s our route for the next couple of weeks planned, at least. I’m going to go fill up our waterskins. Can you two get started on the tent?”

“We can get the poles done, easy.” Ez declared after a moment, leaning over to roll her tent pack towards him.

“Good. Callum, if anything attacks you while I’m gone, hit it with lightning.” She instructed, and he felt himself break into a silly grin at the reminder of his second functional spell.

“Got it.” He agreed happily, and she rooted for their now-empty waterskins and disappeared into the trees within the minute. He watched her go for a second, then shuffled over to help Ez pull everything from the tent pack.

By the time Rayla returned, they’d got all but one of the poles assembled and set into the outer-tent, and were half-way through pushing the last one through. She dropped a waterskin between them with an idle warning of “the stream was pretty leafy, so there might be some pine needles in there.” She settled beside them, inspecting their work on the poles and apparently deeming it perfectly satisfactory as they both took a drink.

It seemed, really, that they were starting to get the hang of this camp thing. That they were starting to fall into a routine, their various roles becoming more practiced and starting to slot properly together. It left Callum feeling even more cheerful than the day’s success with magic had, and when he braced his end of a tent pole against the ground, waiting for Rayla to push the tent into shape-

Everything had been going so well. He wasn’t expecting it to suddenly go wrong.

He didn’t see what happened, but out of nowhere, Rayla let out a strangled scream, dropping the tent and clutching her hand to her chest, face twisting with pain. He was scrambling haphazardly over the still-flat tent towards her before he could fully process what had happened, Ez shooting to his feet from where he’d been sitting a couple of metres away. “What is it? What happened?” he demanded as he reached her, heart suddenly in his throat and pulse thrumming with alarm.

“Are you okay?” Ezran echoed, anxiously, arriving just a second later, staring up at her with worry. She was exhaling in a slow, measured breath, and didn’t look at either of them for a few seconds. When she did, her eyes flickered uncertainly between them, the look on her face settling into something considerably more worried than pained.

“…It’s fine.” She said, softly, after a few seconds. She was still holding her hand to her chest, its dark fingers cradled beneath the pale skin of the other. “I just – slipped. Hit my hand.” She looked away.

He’d noticed the darkening colour of her hand, of course he had. He’d noticed the way she carefully avoided using it for anything too intensive, too, avoiding supporting much weight on it or moving it too quickly. He hadn’t asked, because it was pretty obvious from the previous evening that she didn’t want them to. But…

“…Look, I know you don’t want to talk about it, but – your hand,” He gestured at it, a little lost for words. It very clearly was not alright, and now, was very clearly hurting her.

She said nothing, averting her face from their eyes. Her shoulders had hunched upwards, and it ought to have looked defensive. With her expression, though, and the way her body closed in as if to shield her hand, she just looked…scared. It was a bit frightening to see.

“Rayla.” He said again, helplessly, and held his hands out. “Just…let me see?” She hesitated, face turning ever-so-slightly their way, and he added “Please?”

She sighed, very quietly, and slowly uncurled the hand from her chest, extending it warily towards him. Ezran watched wide-eyed from his side, fingers clutching at his own sleeves as if he could draw support from their fabric. He leaned against Callum’s side in a way that told him better than anything how worried his brother was.

He hesitated, and moved his hands out to reach hers, his fingers settling on the bruised-looking skin as gently as he could. He watched her carefully, but if it hurt she didn’t show any sign of it, so he turned her hand over, looking in dismay at the state of it. Surreptitious glances hadn’t been quite sufficient to reveal how badly-off it seemed. It looked swollen, engorged and angry with dark blood, and up along the wrist…

She watched him, silent, as he trailed his fingers up to feel at the silvery ribbon-thing. It was punishingly tight, squeezing the wrist so tightly that the dark swelling even extended a little way up the arm. She hissed a little when he poked around it, and he drew back from it instantly, his hands settling around her cool skin. Was it supposed to be that cold?

He looked up at her face, and she still wasn’t saying anything. “Rayla.” His voice felt almost like he was pleading, at this point. He wished she would just – say something. Even if it was ‘mind your own business’. He exhaled, heavily, and in the face of her ongoing silence, spoke again. “At least – tell us if there’s anything we can do to help? This looks-“ He stopped, and swallowed back the word. It looked bad, is what it looked.

She exhaled, softly enough that he could barely hear it, and finally spoke. “…Thanks. But there’s not a lot to do about this.” She hesitated, and then drew her hand back from his, fingers of her right hand settling over the ribbon on her wrist. Her shoulders slumped, as if in defeat, and eventually she said “This is an assassin’s binding. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to tell you, but – I have to.” Her eyes closed tightly shut for a moment. He’d never seen her look so afraid. Not even in front of the river. “I have to.” She repeated, quieter.

Ez shifted, anxious and uncertain against Callum’s side. “…What does it do?” He asked, voice uncommonly small.

Her jaw clenched for a moment. “It’s-“ She started, then stopped, helpless. “The night-“ She tried again, apparently unable to find the words. She shook her head violently and, almost angrily, forced the words out. “We all bound ourselves. All six of us. It’s – it’s a Moonshadow elf ritual. We bind ourselves to take a life – and if we don’t-“ She hesitated again, fingers cradling the viciously-tight band at her wrist.

Understanding dawned on him, horribly, a second behind a bigger realisation. “It’s getting tighter.” He said, the other part of the knowledge just-there, his mind just a second away from making the connection-

She met his eyes, and said “this binds me to the death of Prince Ezran. It’ll never come off while he’s alive. It’ll just get tighter and tighter until I lose my hand.”

Ezran’s fingers clenched in Callum’s jacket, tightly. He stared at Rayla, wide-eyed, apparently tongue-tied. Callum wasn’t doing any better, unable to manage any words himself for a good few moments.

He didn’t for a second consider distrusting her, he realised. He wasn’t sure when, but…at some point in the last few days, he’d got to know her enough that the idea she might kill Ezran to undo this binding – he couldn’t even fathom it. He didn’t trust as quickly or easily as Ez did, but…he knew she wouldn’t. “Oh, Rayla.” He spoke quietly, understanding, and hating the understanding.

She shifted, nervously, as if concerned about the direction of his thoughts. “I’m going to pay that price,” She said, quickly, insistently. “I won’t – I’m not going to hurt Ez.”

Ez sniffed, and finally left Callum’s side, stumbling forwards to hug his would-be assassin around the middle. “I know you’re not going to hurt me, Rayla.” His words were muffled, but utterly crestfallen. “You’d never. It’s just –“ he broke off, sniffling, and Rayla’s arms slowly lowered to settle around his shoulders. The look on her face was a bit heartbreaking. Relieved, but horribly conflicted.

“It really sucks.” Callum finished, for his brother, unable to look away from her face. She seemed to find the eye contact uncomfortable, and dropped her gaze to Ezran’s hair, but – no wonder she’d had a hard time saying this.

“Yeah.” Agreed Ez, miserably, still pressing himself tightly into the embrace. “That.”

“…I guess so.” Rayla offered, quietly, after a moment. She stiffened suddenly, looking alarmed. “Ez?” Callum followed her eyes and saw that Ezran’s shoulders were shaking – he was crying. Not hard, maybe, but… “Ez – it’s-“

“It’s not alright.” He cut her off, pulling back to stare at her fiercely, his eyes brightly, coldly blue. They were all the more vibrant for the tears at their edges. “It’s not fair. You shouldn’t have to lose your hand because – because-“ His face screwed up and he pulled an arm back to wipe at his eyes.

Rayla looked incredibly bewildered by the sudden manifestation of crying-Ezran. Callum might have found her expression funny if not for the circumstances. “Ez – okay, it’s not fine, but there’s worse things than losing a hand. I’ll be alright.” She rested her good hand on his shoulder, hesitant, plainly uncertain of what to do.

He refused to be soothed, upset transmuting fast to an almost indignant affront with the situation at hand. “Isn’t there anything we can do?” he demanded, stepping back to ball his hands tightly at his sides, still seeking comfort even though he’d stepped away. “Can’t we cut it off? Or – or find some kind of spell to get it off?”

Her head lowered, eyes averting to the side. “…Believe me, I’ve tried.” She said, regretfully, and slowly flexed the dark fingers. “If there’s anything that can break this stupid binding – it’ll be in Xadia. There’s no way my hand will last that long.” She exhaled, heavily, and Ezran’s bubble of protective fury burst like a balloon. “It’s okay.” She tried to assure him, not sounding especially certain of the words herself.

Callum stepped forward then, jaw tight, and settled a hand on Ezran’s shoulder. “It’s not okay, Rayla.” He insisted, firmly, his brother’s agitation rousing his own. “Come on – there’s got to be something. Some weird counter-ritual, or weird spell, or weird amulet that can break magic – I don’t know, a weird something. Just think. Maybe there’s something you haven’t thought of!“

Her eyes snapped up to his, now looking vaguely annoyed. “No. There’s nothing. Like I said, if there’s anything that could help, it’s in Xadia.” Her words were shorter, now. Clipped. She folded her arms around herself and turned away, as if to close the subject. “It’s not nice, but – I’m going to lose this hand. I’ve accepted that, okay? You need to accept it, too.”

He tugged Ezran back to his side, straightening unhappily. “Maybe you’ve accepted it too fast, Rayla. Look – maybe you can’t think of anything now to take that binding off, but what if we at least…saw a healer, or something?”

She cast a look at him that was almost scathing, bristling like a frightened cat defending her space. “What do you think a healer could do about a magic wrist binding?” her voice was cutting.

“…Maybe there’s magic healers.” He suggested, half-heartedly.

“In the Pentarchy? If there are, they’re dark mages.” She glared at him, looking offended at the very thought. “I’d rather lose both my hands than get treatment from that.”

Her voice was so poisonous on those words he didn’t even think of trying to suggest otherwise. He threw up his hands, frustrated. “Then just a regular healer! Who knows, maybe they’ve got some medicines to – slow it down, maybe?”

Rayla cast a sharp, abrasive glance his way, then looked stubbornly to the side, folding her arms. “Leave it. There’s nothing anyone can do. That’s it.” There was a warning edge to her voice, unpleasantly reminiscent of yesterday, just before she’d snapped at Ezran.

“But if we can get you more time-“ He started, initially stubborn, but cutting off quickly when she suddenly whirled around, fast as a striking snake.

“There’s no point, Callum!” She hissed, thrusting her hand out as if in demonstration. He winced at the sight of it, the entire thing dark as a bruise. “Look! The binding’s tightening and nothing’s going to take it off! I should just-“ Her other hand twitched in the direction of one of her swords. “I should just – cut it off now, so I can start healing from it sooner.” Her fingers brushed the folded form of the blade.

Ezran’s eyes went wide with alarm, and Callum was sure his weren’t much better. He shot his hand out to grab hers away from the blade. “-Don’t!” He said hastily, grip tightening a little on her fingers. She narrowed her eyes at him but didn’t move. “It’s – look, Rayla, I get what you’re saying, but – what if we do find something? Some sort of – magic thing, I don’t know, or something that can cut your….assassin ribbony-thing. If you cut your hand off now – if we find something? It’ll be too late.”

She stared at him, jaw clenched, and said nothing. Tentatively, Ezran shuffled over, and looked up at her, eyes pleading. “Callum’s right, Rayla. If we see a healer, maybe there’s something we can do to…help you, or slow it down, or…make it hurt less, even. And then we’ll have more time to find something to help you.”

Still she said nothing. “Do you want to lose your hand?” Callum demanded suddenly, unable to withstand her silence. “Don’t you want to try to find a way to keep it?”

Finally she spoke, ostensibly at Callum, but seeming to have a hard time meeting his eyes. “Of course I don’t want – of course I – I mean, no, I don’t want to lose my hand, but-“ She waved the hand in question at Ezran. “Look, I bound myself. And since I’m not going to kill Ezran, my hand’s the price. That’s how it is. And that’s fine! I’ll happily lose this damned thing if it means I don’t have to kill him.” She forced a conflicted, drawn-in smile for Ez. “You’re a good person, Ez. Worth losing my hand for, easy.”

Callum’s expression and grip both tightened, unhappy. Ez exhaled, deeply, and reached out to carefully take her ailing hand, like a mirror of Callum. “I…I appreciate that, Rayla. You’re a good person too. But you shouldn’t have to lose your hand for me. You should never have been meant to kill me at all. It was because of the Dragon Prince, right? Because everyone thought he was dead – there had to be revenge? But he’s not dead. And you shouldn’t have to lose your hand just because people didn’t know what really happened.” His expression went firm with resolve, eyes staring at her with unshakeable will. “This binding isn’t right, Rayla. It isn’t justice. If we just let it take your hand off without doing anything to try to stop it – that isn’t right either, don’t you see? You’ve got to let us try.”

Sometimes, when things were serious, and he stopped goofing around…Callum could see the future king in his brother. Could see their dad in Ezran. This was undeniably one of those times. He inhaled, breath shaky, and felt so proud of Ez that it hurt. He looked up and met Rayla’s eyes as he spoke, his fingers still clutched around her own. “Maybe we can’t save your hand. And…like you said, there’s worse things than losing a hand, if that’s what happens. But Ez is right – you shouldn’t have to lose it. Please, Rayla. Let us at least try.”

She stared at them, plainly conflicted, eyes flicking between him and Ez, and then down at her hands, held in their own. She produced a tiny, nearly inaudible sigh, noticeable mainly by the slight dip of her shoulders as she exhaled. “….Fine.” She said, quiet, tired. “We can try. I don’t think it’ll do any good, but-“

She was cut off, abruptly, as Ez barrelled forwards to throw his arms around her again, sending her stumbling backwards a few steps, hand falling from Callum’s. “I’m so glad.” Ezran mumbled into her armour, and after a second of hesitation, Callum stepped forwards to join in, one arm around her and one around Ezran. She was tense, but, well, that made sense.

“…You dumb humans.” She sighed after a moment, voice exasperated and fond, and tentatively returned the embrace. She allowed it to hold for a few seconds before stepping back, expression settling into something firm. “We’ll maybe go into some towns and – talk to healers, or whatever it is you think will help. But we’re not going out of our way to do it, okay? No wasting days just because you want to detour to – Human River Town, or Human Mountain Town, or wherever. And no putting our whole mission at risk!” She folded her arms and stared at them expectantly. “I’m an elf. You’ll be more likely to find an angry mob than a healer that’ll treat me.”

“We’ll figure something out.” Ezran said contentedly, beaming brilliantly at her, entirely satisfied with her agreement to let them try. She looked away after a second, and he understood why – Ez could be hard to withstand, when he was that…bright.

“…Don’t get your hopes up.” Rayla harrumphed, not meeting their eyes, sounding rather like she was trying not to get her hopes up. Callum eyed her, worried and sympathetic and not sure how to help, settling eventually on distracting her. He put a hand on her shoulder to get her to look at him, and then nodded in the direction of the flat and shapeless form of the tent.

“If it’s hard for your hand, maybe try to show me whatever it is you do to get the tent up, and you can do what I normally do.” He suggested.

Her eyes fixed solidly on his for several long moments, half-guarded and half-grateful. He felt it when her shoulder slumped, some of the tension easing from her body. “…Alright. Let’s give it a go.” She sighed, and smiled tiredly at him. After all the stress of this whole conversation, he was happier to see that smile than he could quite put into words.

His own posture loosened, as if his tension had been tied to hers, and he offered his own grateful smile in turn. “Come on, then. Camp isn’t going to make itself.”

Something about the way she looked at him seemed softer, then. Warmer, maybe. She reached out to tug him over to the tent, and he followed, wondering at the changes a difficult conversation could bring.

End chapter.

Timeline: This chapter takes place very slightly on 15.05, but mostly on 16.05, day 6 since start of canon, day 4 since start of travel. (In canon, this is the day Azymondias is born.)

On geography: if it’s not obvious by this point, I’m taking some pretty large liberties with the geography of Katolis, though its general shape remains the same. Some names of things are taken from heavily modified Latin words, some from heavily modified real European place names, and the Rhodane in particular is named after the Rhône, one of the major European rivers. Some locations in canon, like Mount Kalik and the Moon Nexus, have been shuffled around a bit, or a lot, to suit both plot and my own geographical additions.

On Rayla’s history: If canon declares that some childhood event prompted Rayla’s fear of water, I’ll edit this chapter. Otherwise, I’ll go with the explanation in this chapter, because I’m somewhat tired of characters’ fears always having a conclusive instigating event.

On worldbuilding: This section is pretty egregiously full of infodump, apologies in advance. I can’t not worldbuild.

In the piaj world, medical science is relatively advanced, due to the advances in knowledge and practice that magical understanding of the world allows, as well as magical tools. Elves are considerably more advanced than humans in this respect, but various avenues of espionage usually ensure that the human kingdoms still vaguely profit from advances in Xadian medicine. The human kingdoms have recently started pioneering hollow syringes, and have these available for administering medications in the largest, wealthiest cities. They are trying very hard to figure out how Xadians make their refined antibiotics and other medicines, but they are unlikely to accomplish this easily, as the processes involve magic.

Elves call first aid first aid. Humans call it field-healing, as it exists primarily among the military for use in the field. It is becoming more common for civilian humans to learn, especially among the household staff of the nobility. Most small villages will have someone with basic field-healing, and most towns will have several, as well as a proper healer.

The defibrillation spell is inpulsis vita. ‘Life shock’. When the rune is drawn and the words spoken, electric charge builds in the mage’s arms and will release through the palms of the hands, which are positioned on the patient as defibrillator pads would be. This spell acts as a biphasic defibrillator. Like real-life defibs, it only generally works on hearts that are in a ‘shockable’ rhythm – someone whose heart isn’t moving at all would get no benefit from it.

While casting the spell is relatively simple, actually using it properly is extremely difficult, because: 1 – the mage needs to be able to determine when the heart should be shocked, which needs either incredibly finely-tuned magical senses or otherwise a magical device to track the heart, 2 – the mage needs to be precisely aware of how long the charge takes to build before it releases, and match that delay to when the heart needs to be shocked. There is a leeway of several seconds where the charge will rest in the hands, and very skilled mages can prolong this, but after this it will release whether the patient is ready or not. Sky-healers generally need a lot of training to be able to use inpulsis vita successfully.

The spell was developed with the help of Sky dragons, some of whom were able to feel the electrical impulses in living bodies, and who advised elf Sky mages on what was happening (electrically speaking) with certain cardiac rhythms.

Afterword: this chapter took a while partially because I wanted to get chapter 6 finished before posting it and partially because, well, this is an important chapter with some emotionally charged parts and I wanted to be sure it was right. Good news, chapter 6 is finished! Also it’s 15k, which kind of explains why it took me so long. I started ch7 today and churned out a whole 2.8k scene, so that was nice. Probably don’t expect an update for another week, maybe. It’s going to start slowing down now.

Thank you so much for all the comments and support, I really really do appreciate it. If this chapter hit you in the feels, be sure to let me know. This is where I start making Rayla suffer, basically. Even just next chapter we have several thousand words of condensed Rayla suffering. (there’s also lots of fluff though!)

#tdp #rayllum #tdp fanfic #tdp rayla #tdp callum #tdp ezran #piaj #piaj chapters

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thingsareswinging · 5 years

Note

Shine on: ⭐

For your audacity, and since the reaction to this chapter in particular has been unusually positive, you get: the entirety of chapter 9 of Red Hand.

I Should Have Got Up To Stand

The title of this chapter, as with every title of every chapter, comes from a song I happen to have been listening to at the time, and not bothered to think any harder about. In this case, Elton John’s Kiss The Bride.

Like 70% of my Katara/Ty Lee playlist is Elton John songs, do not even think about @ing me.

Mai pushed her broom across the immaculate floor as her boss had his breakfast. He got a lot of mail, and liked to read it with a cup of tea. He read the interesting bits out loud, which was convenient, as it saved her the trouble of learning to pick locks.

“Admiral Zhao’s armada has begun its siege of the Northern Water Tribes. Barring anything unexpected from the Avatar, who has apparently taken refuge in the city, the attack is expected to be decisive. Zhao expects to proclaim victory before the end of the week.”

He turned to his next little message, and paused, delivering his second piece of news with a degree of seriousness that had been entirely absent when he’d been discussing the imminent annihilation of a sovereign nation.

“Princess Azula has been killed, or so the Navy is reporting.”

Mai didn’t miss a beat. “A just reward for traitors to the Fire Nation.”

Master Piandao set his cup down with deliberate care, frowned slightly to himself, and fixed her with a tired look. “Mai. I killed one hundred firebenders rather than go back to the military.”

“Yes, Master.”

“I am the most wanted man on Fire Nation shores.”

“Yes, Master.”

“I know you know this.”

“Yes, Master.”

“So I know you know you don’t need to keep acting like the Minister for Propaganda in my own home.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Because, and I honestly don’t know if this matters to you at all, I find it exhausting.”

“Yes, Master.”

“As long as we’re clear.”

Master Piandao was … not what she’d expected, when she’d gone to him for employment. What she had expected wasn’t totally clear, but if she’d been pressed, she might have admitted to anticipating a dead-eyed sociopath, or an open revolutionary full of plots. What she’d been confronted with was a slightly effete weirdo who complained of headaches a lot and didn’t do much of anything, except the occasional bout of calligraphy. Though to be fair apparently the headaches thing was only when he talked to her for too long, and to be much fairer than Mai had ever been in her life she deliberately wound him up for no reason other than to stave off boredom.

She couldn’t help it, although honestly she’d never tried to. He was just so… safe. There was no menace in the man at all. She’d never even seen him pick up a sword. Maybe the real Master Piandao had been dead for years, or was an urban legend or a regular legend or a mass hallucination, and this guy was just taking advantage of a terrifying reputation. Mai could live with that. He at least made sure she kept up with world events, and she’d been careful to never ask how he knew the things he did.

Speaking of, Azula was dead, was she? Mai would reserve judgement until she’d seen a body, and even then she’d only be moved to a solid maybe.

The Zhao thing was frankly a lot more of a concern, because while nobody deserved things to be going their way less than Fire Lord Ozai, Admiral Zhao was a close second, as far as Mai was concerned.

She didn’t regret leaving, after Zuko’s fateful Agni Kai, but she occasionally wondered if she should, if only for Ty Lee’s sake.

I’ve said it elsewhere, but this scene really only exists to dilute the grim nonsense that is most of the rest of the chapter- I did like using it as the way to signal It’s Siege Of The North Time, though. Also as the way to indicate that maybe the audience shouldn’t take the fact that Azula got drowned a couple chapters ago too seriously.

It does demonstrate a weakness in my dialogue- when I come up with these quick back-and-forth exchanges, I tend to completely drop any kind of staging.

I also like using the phrase ‘effete weirdo’ as a way of describing Master Piandao.

–

Yue knew that her life was measured in heartbeats. Had known for so long she didn’t even always recognise the odd tightness when it twisted in her chest for what it was, what choked her breathless in the dark when she couldn’t help but think of all the things she’d never do.

So it hadn’t mattered much to her when her betrothal had been decided. And probably she should hate Sokka for making her realise, making her notice how desperately, smotheringly unfair it was, how miserably unhappy she was-

-But he was so insistent and vital and trying so hard to impress her, like her opinion mattered, like she- a girl that did nothing but stay in her room every second she wasn’t reciting lines other people had written for her- was someone he had to impress.

He’d shown her the sky and he’d made her laugh and she wanted to kiss him and he didn’t know what he was doing, didn’t know she mustn’t think what he was planting in her brain when he showed her the horizon and offhandedly insinuated how easy it was to leave.

She’d almost believed him, before that horizon had suddenly been ringed in iron.

It was a bit of a challenge to try and a: give Yue a character arc in one chapter, especially considering b: I knew I was going to try and give her an internal motivation that is only barely suggested by canon, and c: she’s a naturally (or has been turned into a) passive person. First Draft Yue was markedly different, in that she was Mad As Hell. This version of the character basically didn’t survive into the actual chapter, but she gets a couple lines here and there. She mostly ended up just really resigned, which I think works better but does make me quite sad.

–

“I’ll go.”

When the plan was announced, and volunteers were asked for, she didn’t hesitate, shooting to her feet, demanding they recognise her, but she knew it was pointless the second the stunned silence fell across the hall. Of course. Of course.

She’d had to fight this whole city from the moment she’d arrived, snap and bite and claw every shred of the respect she knew she’d earned, that had been handed to Aang and Sokka without a thought, and she knew nobody in this city was going to stand up for her, and Master Pakku was going to shake his head and that was going to be that and angry tears were pricking at the corner of her eyes-

A hand landed on her shoulder. She hadn’t noticed Sokka standing up, beside her, glowering out at the assembled crowd.

“And me,” he affirmed, daring anyone to say anything, eyes locking on to High Chief Arnook and Katara could feel herself starting to grin as to his left the Princess started to shake and Pakku scowled in irritation and Arnook blinked.

“Very well.”

It wasn’t until later, the warpaint prickling against her forehead as it dried, that she realised what she’d gotten them both into. The way Aang had looked at them, like he’d thought he could spare them any of this, had made Katara’s chest ache and wish for time enough to talk, to tell him how it had been killing her to watch him launch himself beyond the walls all day while she sat and watched, but there was work for them all to do.

She’d make time, afterwards. For now, she and Sokka had a job to do.

Did anyone notice what happened here? I had to add an entire extra day of fighting and have Arnook declare what the mission actually was about before he got volunteers (you know, like how volunteering is supposed to work, go fuck yourself, Arnook), in order for this to make sense- Katara only wants to volunteer for the mission because that way she gets a shot at either murdering Zhao, or getting a second crack at persuading Ty Lee to abscond. In canon, this scene happens before the armada arrives.

Normally I obsess over justifying how things like this deviate from canon, but I couldn’t do it here, so I just hid it behind a [and so]. Nobody appeared to notice, or at least care enough to mention it.

And Katara will always, always assume Sokka has her back.

–

These morons were all going to die, and it’d be hilarious if they weren’t also going to drag Katara down with them.

He’d thought, at first, that now he was around real warriors from a tribe that seemed to actually have thrived in the last century rather than get whittled down to a handful of idiots too stubborn to die, that he might learn something, see professionals at work.

But their chief was an idiot trusting this mission to a worse idiot, and although the embarrassment and anger still rolled around his stomach he would still consider breaking Hahn’s nose one of the more righteous things he’d ever done.

Sokka does better in the fight against Hahn than in canon. It’s not just because Hahn deserves to get his nose broken, I promise. Sokka’s escalating violence is something I’m doing on purpose, for reasons discussed below.

Except it’d gotten him kicked off the mission. Which would have been okay, because, again, they were all going to die because their idiot leader couldn’t even pronounce Zhao’s name and they were going to try to blend in-

Except Katara was still going.

He couldn’t protect her. But that, it turned out, had been true all along.

He exhaled slowly, and tried not to notice the way Yue deliberately didn’t look at him.

It was fine, it was okay, he’d deal with it the way he’d learned to deal with everything: crush it up small and wedge it somewhere it wouldn’t get in the way of doing his job.

He followed her gaze, out from the balcony of the palace, across the city, out towards where Aang had catapulted himself into the Fire Nation armada for another day of putting off the inevitable.

There wasn’t anywhere to run to, after this. That worried Sokka. This was the first time they’d been forced to stand their ground for more than an hour, and they were not doing too good at it.

Aang was just… he was so small, so disarming, everything about him screamed vulnerable and Sokka had been trying and increasingly failing to hold the kid at arm’s length all winter, not because he didn’t trust him still, but because the alternative was worrying himself sick over this kid who was currently, at this exact moment- he could see the smoke rising up over the battleships- trying to fight an armada completely by himself without hurting any of them too badly.

Katara called him a pessimist for the things he said out loud. He didn’t know the word for the feeling he got when he looked at Aang and saw a corpse that had just gotten lucky so far, but he wouldn’t voice it for all the money in Ba Sing Se.

Aang and Sokka’s relationship is so great in canon, because they have radically different opinions about the things that matter, but they get along so well all the same. But by this point, outside of Avatar State Berserk Rage, Aang hasn’t done all that much to convince Sokka he might, you know, live. This is one of the few things Season One Sokka is willing to think honestly about.

–

There wasn’t a lot to do but sit around and wait for sunset. They’d wanted to start their infiltration in the daytime, and even after Katara had explained why that was ridiculous, they hadn’t actually backed down until she’d pointed out that the full moon would make her that much stronger. Which let Hahn, in a way he probably thought was subtle, frame it like they were all waiting for her.

Sokka had hated this guy from the second he’d started talking, and Katara was beginning to trust her brother as a judge of character.

“So,” she said, offhandedly, as Hahn diligently set an edge to his machete, the rest of the men doing some other similar activities to make them look like they weren’t just killing time, “when was the last time you fought a firebender?”

It wasn’t a totally cruel question, she told herself, even as his head bent over his whetstone and his ears started to flush. If, somehow, the answer had been anything other than never, that would have been good to know. She’d seen her brother learn how to fight, in a rough kind of way, on their trip north, learned herself, but she knew she had an advantage he’d never have, and he’d learned the hard way not to charge a firebender with a spear, not if you didn’t have a fantastic plan.

But it wasn’t just Hahn that was looking uncomfortable, Katara noticed, with growing discomfort. All the men were suddenly looking a lot busier than they had a second ago, like they were afraid she was going to ask them an uncomfortable question next.

Katara suddenly had the awful realisation that she was probably the veteran in the room.

“Hahn,” she asked, more seriously than she probably meant, “was Sokka breaking your nose …the first fight you’ve ever been in?”

His lack of an answer was answer enough, but he didn’t even have the good sense to look scared, just annoyed, possibly because a girl was having an opinion where he could see it. Like all those times he’d sparred with someone who would pull him up off the ground when they won and congratulate him on a fight well fought somehow counted. Honestly, Katara and her brother had at least hunted their own food before Aang had showed up- Hahn looked the kind of pampered that only had only ever thrown spears at practise dummies.

Oh, oh this guy was going to die. He was going to die and get them all killed. If she didn’t do something about it.

Another ‘light’ scene, continuing the theme that Katara Gets No Respect In the North. Also marks the point at which Katara determined that Hahn had to live, which still irritates me. But if he died, there’d never be a point at which he realised Katara was right about everything.

–

The sun set early this time of year. Sokka guessed they should all be grateful that Admiral Zhao had been stupid or arrogant enough to attack in winter at a full moon. Firebenders got a lot less impressive at night. Not not-dangerous, but… less dangerous.

Aang had come back from beyond the wall, now the sustained assault was more manageable. Which was a result. But he’d looked even more ragged than he had at sunrise, and as Sokka fussed around making sure the kid at least drank some soup, he tried to not make a big deal out of the way Aang’s head bobbed down to his chest before jerking suddenly upwards again.

He should probably let the kid sleep. He should probably do all kinds of things.

He stood to one side, as much a part of the scenery as he could make himself, as Yue sat next to Aang and started to speak.

Sokka: oh man Aang’s going to absolutely die, so I won’t bother getting attached

Sokka, also: Aang drink some soup and make sure you go to bed on time

–

Zhao spared a cursory glance at the distant ice wall, and the soldiers being repelled from it, clearly visible under the moonlight. He wasn’t too concerned. Most of them weren’t even firebenders, only needed to keep the pressure on the defenders, keep them tired, hold them in place for the true assault.

He pulled his cloak around his shoulders, but not so close that it wouldn’t billow appropriately, and made his way carefully to the front of the small landing craft, as his hand-picked men filed in behind him. They were the best he had, for now. He’d have better soon.

He wasn’t amazed that his plan had never occurred to anyone before, but he was smugly reminded that victory was so often a matter of audacity.

Zhao grinned, and cracked his knuckles, to set the right tone. He’d originally had a longer speech planned, but Pouhai Fortress had been instructive in a lot of ways, and so he’d boiled it down to the one sentence that mattered.

“Gentlemen,” he announced, to the crowded landing craft, turning back to face his men, one foot rested dramatically on the prow in a way that would be easy to replicate for the portrait later, “prepare for infamy.”

If he had waited, coincidentally, about as long as his first draft speech would have taken, his strike force would have collided with a series of sleek Water Tribe canoes heading in the exact opposite direction. Which would have been embarrassing all round.

Zhao’s first appearance in canon has him getting beaten up by a teenager that has already been established as Not A Credible Threat. Zhao’s last appearance in canon has him getting beaten up by a lemur. Zhao gets no respect, and this is an important aspect of his character.

–

Yue sat on the warm grass, and watched Aang’s knees fold underneath him, as the tattoos on his head and peeking out beneath his sleeves filled with soft light, like one of those strange fishes that lived in the deepest parts of the ocean where the sunlight never reached.

At least this way, she’d had some part in it. If she was doomed to die to save the moon, at least this way she’d been the one to get the Spirits involved. That didn’t matter, except to her, possibly.

Across the pond where Tui and La chased each other endlessly, by the only entrance to the grotto, Sokka was standing, awkwardly, trying not to look at anything, and yeah, she got that. She-

She saw him look up suddenly, head cocked towards the entrance, and pull his machete free from its sheath with terrified urgency, as the sounds of fighting reached her ears.

Oh no.

Angry Yue makes a small appearance here, deciding that she’s going to get at least a little agency, in a way that isn’t about trying to live.

Yue makes me very sad 100% of the time.

–

“He’s not here?” Hahn proclaimed, indignantly, as Katara’s grip tightened on the front of the crewman’s coat. The crewman looked appropriately intimidated, as the ice that pinned him to the wall began to crawl up towards his throat.

“He went out, took a few landing craft with him,” he elaborated, shallow-breathed, and Katara could feel the dissonance radiating off of Hahn, the confused relief clashing with the disappointment that he had somehow managed to live this long.

“Back to the boats,” Katara snapped, turning to face the huddled warriors in their out-of-date armour. “Go. Maybe you can still catch up to him.” They couldn’t, not without Katara there to speed the canoes along, and speaking of: “I’ve still got something to do here.”

If Katara had expected Hahn to seem conflicted at the thought of leaving her on an enemy ship with no obvious way to escape, she would have been disappointed. But she hadn’t, so she wasn’t.

In the silence left in the wake of fifteen men trying not to look like they were running for their lives, Katara turned back to the gentleman who had been so cooperative earlier. He flinched under her gaze.

“I’ve already told you, the Admiral isn’t-” he protested, but Katara let her teeth show.

“I’ve got a couple other questions, actually.”

Katara’s interrogation techniques are questionable and would constitute torture in a world where frostbite exists, but I get to indulge in a little rank hypocrisy and just not talk about that, since it’s not the point of the fic. Presumably she let the guy out after asking him for directions, at which point he was killed by a fish monster, so nobody learned anything here.

–

When they told this story, in the years and decades that followed, he would ensure they got this scene right, as he burst into the grotto, the home of two Spirits that had dared come where they were not needed, his remaining soldiers at his back-

He got three strides onto the grass before there was a commotion behind him. As he turned, he saw one of his lieutenants go down, blood spraying from his neck, a young savage bearing him to the ground teeth bared in a snarl typical of his kind, but before Zhao was forced to interrupt his moment of triumph, another of his soldiers took initiative, knocking the boy to the ground with the butt of his spear, and impaling him through the stomach with the blade of it in one smooth motion.

Right. Where was he? Ah, right, triumph.

A native girl with startling hair screamed as they approached, but that was only as notable as the colour of her hair- as she was tackled to the ground before she could come within ten feet of him, Zhao’s eyes were suddenly fixed on an unexpected development.

The Avatar, lit up in pale fire like he’d been the night he’d torn Pouhai Fortress apart, cross-legged on the grass, apparently insensible. For an instant Zhao couldn’t breathe, but as the seconds ground on, it occurred to him that if the boy couldn’t hear the screaming, then he was probably safe to approach.

“An unexpected bonus,” he mused, for the benefit of- no, his lieutenant was dead, wasn’t he?- for the benefit of posterity, then. “We’ll take the brat with us. He’ll be a useful hostage, and killing him would just reset the cycle anyway.”

“Admiral, what about the girl?”

Zhao turned to see that two (it had taken that many? He despaired, he honestly did) of his men were holding the girl on her knees, one with his knife to her throat. Apparently they weren’t able to figure out the last step on their own.

“Kill her,” he instructed, hoping to convey with tone alone how much he resented them wasting his time with this kind of triviality.

As the blade flashed across her neck, he turned, satisfied that there would be no further interruptions, to the pool.

Zhao does not care about our heroes, or about his men dying, or really anything other than how cool this is going to look in the press release.

I deliberated a lot on how bloody to make this- at one point I was considering reversing the injuries, and leaving Sokka with a permanent speech impediment from a slit throat- but in the end that felt just barely more gratuitous than I was willing to go with.

–

Koh was curling around him and telling him everything he didn’t want to hear- the Spirits couldn’t help, they were in danger too, and Aang couldn’t even think about that because he had to concentrate on playing the game, keeping his temper and his face slack and suddenly the spirit howled, louder than Aang could contemplate, more sound than a mind could hold, and he was flung backwards with the weight of it and a long, impossibly strong black-and-white hand was reaching into the hollow and grabbing Aang by the scruff of his neck and wrenching him backwards, flinging him towards himself and back towards his body in a rush of wind and light and he opened his eyes.

Zhao, looming over the pool, eyes glinting with dark joy, the lifeless body of Tui dropping from his opening hand, flopping back into the water, the screaming still echoing in Aang’s head, the black and pulsing rage overtaking him as his eyes rolled over the red-armoured men filling the grotto, to Yue-

Blood spilling from her neck, falling forwards. The screams grew, welling up from the ground, the water, drowning everything else in the world.

Aang surrendered.

As he unfolded, fast, faster than he’d ever moved before, as though he could make up for being too late, Zhao turned to look, jaw dropping, and there was something in his eyes that Aang never wanted to see again. And then his arm was grabbed from behind, wrenched upwards, exposing a gap in his armour, just below the armpit, and Aang recognised Sokka just as he jammed his long knife into Zhao’s side once, twice, and pulled it back bloody before plunging it into the Admiral’s throat.

One of Sokka’s fists was black with blood, and he let the knife stay with Zhao’s body as it toppled, and Sokka sank drunkenly to his knees, hands screwed up over the hole in his stomach.

Aang didn’t remember much after that. Not until later.

A lot here.

1- Aang’s rampage getting deliberately tied to the fact that he thinks he watched Sokka die is a deliberate twist, and sets up the epilogue for this book.

2- Zhao very nearly lived to be a threat in book 2, but I nixed that almost at the last minute. In the first draft it was Katara that killed Zhao, as he tried to flee the city, in a scene that much more closely mirrored Zhao’s canon death. After that, he, as I said, almost became an antagonist in book 2, but the problem there is that a: it’s only possible to have Zhao be a semi-credible threat when he’s up against book 1 Gaang and their low levels, and also b: it futzed with Ty Lee’s character arc in ways you can probably figure out

3- This, currently, is the peak of Sokka getting his Old Ultraviolence on. I didn’t want to make it… ‘unrealistic’, and have him winning fights due to him being So Cool And Strong, You Guys, but, and I don’t think I’m surprising anyone too much here, a lot of this fic is about the expectations placed on what, in our society, would be considered children, in the context of a hundred years of no-holds-barred war. Sokka has always been kind of the Boromir of the group, doing what he thinks society needs him to do, so, knifemurder.

Season One Sokka is a much more serious cat than Season Three Sokka becomes, and that’s not a bad thing- admittedly, the humour wasn’t always to my taste, but there’s a reason it happened- by Season Three, Sokka isn’t under the same kind of (largely but not entirely self-inflicted) pressure he is in season one. He’s come to terms with letting other people share the work, and so is freer to relax a bit.

–

Yue had reduced the world down to the ten feet between her and the body of Tui. There was light, and sound, and pain, too much of all three to understand, and all she could do was drag herself forward by her fingertips and hope that she was heading in the right direction. She thought she was, but it’d be embarrassing to die crawling away from her destiny.

She couldn’t breathe but she had to force herself up and her heart rattled in her chest but she was so close and there was Sokka, sunk on his knees, unmoving, surrounded by bodies, eyes wide and white and agonised and she needed him now as she dragged herself forwards and she thought she saw him look to her but she had to drop down again, the grass against her cheek and her neck screaming across a jagged cut.

She gestured, muzzily, waving her hand towards the pool, no longer able to lift her head up off the grass, desperately hoping he’d understand, somehow.

I wanted to thank you, she thought, blearily, as the world went dark, you made me feel like a person.

His hands tangled in her coat, pushing her forward with a screech of agony- this stupid corpse she had to drag around- but her hand was trailing in the pool and if she could just find the body before her heart realised she was dead-

The final burst of Angry Yue! ‘This stupid corpse she had to drag around’ is a nod to blatantly stolen from one of my favourite fics of all time, but it’s a Homestuck fic so I figure the Venn diagram is disparate enough that I can get away with it.

Also, Sokka figures out what Yue’s trying to do pretty quick. The reason for that is because he knows the pool’s water is super good at healing. He thinks she’s trying to save herself.

–

Ty Lee was jerked out of fitful sleep by a hammering on the door, ringing iron echoing through her tiny box that Zhao still thought was a prison.

For a few blissful moments, she ignored it, buoyed up by the vague knowledge that Zhao had other things on his mind right now, but as the seconds wore on and the sounds of fighting, muffled, drifted through the outer wall, she knew it was only a matter of time before- the banging started again, quicker, and Ty Lee swung her legs over the side of her bed, and stood up, bare feet sticking slightly to the cold metal of the floor.

She slid back the peephole and blue eyes stared back.

Ty Lee was backed up away from the door in an instant, but there was a voice-

“Hi, uh… I just realised I don’t know your name?”

A voice Ty Lee recognised. She slipped back to the door, with less caution than she should, because this couldn’t be happening, right? This kind of thing didn’t happen. Not to her, anyway.

“It’s you,” she breathed. “The waterbender.”

“Yeah. I’m here because you didn’t say no.”

She hadn’t said yes either. Saying either would have required more courage than she could muster.

“I guess I didn’t,” she replied. But that didn’t make sense, nothing about this made any sense at all. She was in the guts of a battleship in the middle of a siege, and this girl was somehow here, and she was supposed to believe it was for her?

Was this about the kiss?

The thought screwed Ty Lee’s stomach up in knots, but before she could even imagine how to approach that, the girl tried the handle. It didn’t give.

“It’s locked,” Ty Lee pointed out, hopelessly. “I don’t have a key.”

“That won’t be a problem, trust me,” the waterbender responded, without a second’s hesitation, and that was it, that certainty in her voice, the same certainty she’d used to offer to take Ty Lee away, in the festival, when she’d had a real chance to get away. She’d not taken it. “You coming?”

Now? She was at sea, with Zhao on the verge of an overwhelming victory, and nowhere to run. Running now would be a terrible idea. Ty Lee was pretty sure that everything she’d ever done had been a terrible idea, though, so that balanced out?

“Okay,” she said, quietly enough that she wasn’t sure the waterbender had heard, that she could still take it back-

“Alright stand back,” -okay never mind apparently the girl was very ready to go, and as Ty Lee took half a step back frost blossomed on the hinges and they cracked and screeched and snapped, the door dropping downwards, revealing a sliver of torchlight, and a proffered hand.

Ty Lee has never been good at turning down a commanding voice and the promise of Adventure.

I considered doing a bit where Katara couldn’t bend and didn’t know why, but that would have killed the pacing, and also made Ty Lee’s decision to go with her seem even more of a bad idea than it already looked. We all know that no moon= no waterbending, so there wasn’t a need to explain why Zhao killed a fish anywhere in the chapter.

I won’t be able to pull that kind of trick forever, assuming that at some point we will jump the rails of canon, so I’m making full use of it while I can.

–

The absence of pain was jarring, or would have been jarring if she was still alive enough to understand pain, or surprise.

Sokka was on his knees in front of her, slick with blood, eyes shining as he looked at her like a drowning man staring one last time at the sky.

I like this simile for a lot of reasons.

If he was looking at her, that meant she was real after all. She’d not been sure. But he was looking at her, had been looking at her the moment she’d met him, and that kind of constancy was reassuring. It’d been so intimidating, at first, the attention of this strange young man who’d been places and fought monsters she could hardly imagine, who’d showed her the sky and acted like there was nothing wrong with her wanting to leave, like there was nothing wrong with her wanting.

A thousand fractal futures splayed in front of her, and he was hers in none of them. If she’d still been human, she might have been disappointed.

There were… words, words she should say, but she’d never been good at marshalling them on her own and she didn’t have any now, as he looked up at her through tears and blood with an expression on his face fit to break her heart again and the part of her that was-had been-human couldn’t stand it any longer and she leaned in and kissed him before she learned why she mustn’t.

There was an awful sound in his throat as he leaned into her, and it occurred to her that he was dying. Well. If she was meddling, she might as well do it properly. Through his breath into her mouth, she concentrated.

Pull, she instructed, and his ruined organs began to thread themselves back together, blood flowed, muscles knit and skin folded back and when she was done he was as whole as she could manage. She pulled back, smiling, letting him know it’d be okay, there was nothing he could have done.

He didn’t look like he believed her. Possibly it was too much to try and tell him with a smile.

Originally, Yue got a lot more temporal in Spirit Form, but honestly it was too disorienting and not really supported by canon and, most importantly, not relevant, so it mostly vanished. The only line that survived that draft was ‘A thousand fractal futures splayed in front of her, and he was hers in none of them.’

That line survived because, real talk, it’s a contender for Favouritest Line I Ever Did Write.

An idea I wanted to get across is that Yue is now both more and less than human- she’s kind of blissed out on immortality, and doesn’t have a connection to her emotions any more. In a Discworld Death kind of way, she Thinks Sad, rather than Feels Sad.

I have no idea if Yue can heal, but I don’t care.

–

The sea was rolling, the ship was lurching, salt water was being flung across the deck, there were firebenders running this way and that -thankfully too busy to pay attention to her right now- and in the middle distance the sea had risen into the form of a giant monster that was smashing the Fire Nation fleet apart like so much driftwood, which Katara couldn’t even begin to figure out.

Katara had officially run out of options.

“Hey!” she yelled over her shoulder as she turned. “You ever fallen in freezing water?”

The girl’s eyes were saucers, terror blazing from them, fixed on the glowing titan. “What? On purpose?”

“Ever! Do you know how-” the ship convulsed, and okay, no time- “never mind! Just hold on!” she ordered, pulling the girl close, wrapping one arm around her waist, gratified to feel her arms lock around Katara in return. Good. She needed a hand free for this.

The little Sokka that lived in her hindbrain was telling her that this wasn’t the ideal moment for testing out new ideas, but it was probably this or drown or pray. Katara wasn’t good at praying, and she wasn’t keen on learning how to drown.

As the ship bucked in the wake of the monstrosity slamming a fist on a ship half a mile away, Katara sprang, launched through the air by the momentum of the rolling deck, and she felt the girl’s arms tighten around her as she reached out towards the rolling blackness of the sea and-

-and the sea reached back, and grasped her hand.

I kind of wish I’d done more with Fishmonster, but honestly, again, it would have messed up the clean parallels between Yue and Ty Lee, which I was proud of and didn’t want to risk knocking over.

The visual rolling around in my head the most here was Luke at the end of Return of the Jedi, hauling Vader to the shuttles while stormtroopers run around, not paying any attention to the main characters.

#my formatting should work now #did I have a writing tag?

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thekytchensynk · 3 years

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Ain’t No Picnic (4/9)

Summary: They were just supposed to head over to the island real quick, just to see what was going on. After all, if pirates were trying to ambush and kill the Straw Hat crew, how could Coby NOT go? And how could Helmeppo let him go alone? It should be simple enough, but nothing can be taken for granted in the New World, and when things go awry, Helmeppo finds himself separated from his captain on an island chain full of pirates who probably won’t be too happy to see a Marine if their paths cross.Oh yeah. And one of those pirates is the infamous “Surgeon of Death,” Trafalgar Law… Warnings: Occasional strong language Read it on AO3

____________

Whether it was the distraction of the plant matter he was dropping behind him or if he’d just caused enough damage that the vines were getting scared, he only had to cut loose of a handful more on his ascent. This time, when he broke the surface, he barely stopped. In basically one move, he hauled himself out of the water. Exhausted, barefoot and dizzy with lack of oxygen, he nonetheless got to his feet, staggered a little, then grabbed the pirate by one foot.

“Hey,” he heard a voice say, but he wasn’t paying attention at this point. He just ran on pure adrenaline. Gotta get away from that hole. Then I can catch my breath or this pirate can kill me or whatever.

Helmeppo didn’t make it all that far -- only about thirty meters -- before his strength finally gave out. His fingers released the pirate’s ankle and he collapsed to hands and knees, panting and coughing and generally enjoying the feeling of being alive while it lasted.

“Hey!”

That voice again. Helmeppo looked over to see Law slowly trying to get up.

Being dragged through the undergrowth had done him no favors. The guy’s coat and shirt were both bunched up under his arms and there were little bits of leaves caught in his spiky hair. He looked disheveled. He looked waterlogged.

He looked irritated.

“Why did you do that?” he asked.

“Trying to save ... your life,” Helmeppo said, too worn out to be scared of the glare. He had to speak a few words at a time. His lungs were more interested in air in than air out . “If you must … kill me for it ... can you … wait until I’ve ... caught my breath?” He paused, took one more deep breath and finished, “So I have a fair chance to run?”

“With me, there is no fair chance to run,” Law replied.

For a moment, the two men stared at one another. He wasn’t sure what the pirate was thinking, but Helmeppo’s mind was only debating was that a threat … or a joke? Or a threat? Or maybe a joke?

After what felt like an excessively awkward span of time, Law said, “You pulled me out of the water?”

“Looks that way.”

The guy’s eyes narrowed, and for a second Helmeppo was sure he was going to get killed now for having the gall to help a guy out. But then the expression went somewhere … else. Mindlessly, the pirate started setting himself to rights -- straightening his shirt, raking his hair into some kind of order with his fingers, checking that his sword still hung safe in its scabbard. He didn’t seem to be thinking about the current situation and had completely dismissed or forgotten about Helmeppo’s presence, looking lost in thought.

Helmeppo decided to follow suit -- with the setting himself to rights, not so much the getting lost in thought. He stood on exhausted legs and ran down the checklist. Two knives still, which was excellent. No shades -- the sun made him squint, but it was generally fine. He stripped off his vest and wrung it out before gingerly pulling it back on. Wet clothes. NOT his favorite thing. He sat down on the weathered stump of one of those massive leaves, still trying to catch his breath. It probably made him look weak, but his legs -- his everything -- needed a rest.

“So, assuming you’re not going to kill me or whatever, what’s the plan?” Helmeppo said when he was as put together as he figured he could get.

Law’s expression didn’t change. Has his devil fruit affected his face somehow? Instead of answering, he asked in return, “Isn’t it demeaning for a Marine to be begging favors from a pirate?”

The question startled a laugh out of Helmeppo. Probably a bad idea, but the question honestly surprised him. And the idea of it … pride had once been a constant companion, and he still clung to it when he thought he could. But pride didn’t last long when you were a chore boy for the marines, and it had an even shorter lifespan under Garp’s watchful eye.

Demeaning? What did that even mean anymore?

“I don’t want to die,” he said, letting the flat honesty just spill forth. “But frankly, I wouldn’t want to face my friend if I’d left you to die, either.”

He expected an eye roll or something like that -- fair considering that had been kiiiinda corny. What he didn’t expect was for the pirate’s stoic expression to finally change, however briefly, to a small, rueful smile.

“So let me guess,” he said to Helmeppo. “You’re another one of those who caught Straw Hat’s eye?”

Helmeppo let out a short, mirthless laugh. “You could put it like that.” Luffy had mostly just wanted to hit Helmeppo for being a jerk -- a not-undeserved reaction, he had to admit now. “But not me, so much. It was-”

And he stopped. Across the way a barely perceptible eyebrow raise was the only sign that the pirate had any interest in what he’d been about to say.

But he wasn’t sure if he should. Luffy was a secret Coby had kept reasonably well for two years now. Was it really a good idea to mention it now? Even if it might make this pirate more likely to let Helmeppo tag along? When Coby remained convinced his dream would be over if people found out?

Generally, Helmeppo didn’t think the other marines would care. Coby wasn’t the only one who had a dark shadow in his past. Hell, everyone knew Django had been a pirate before serving. And enough marines had a grudging respect for the Straw Hat crew that they might look at it as a positive mark.

But there was one who might see it as a terrible offense. The one that mattered most. Akainu, the one whose absolute justice burned through silly things like circumstance and history. And some nights, after they were called in to stop some depravity, to help some souls who had been pushed to their breaking point by evil men and women, Helmeppo’s dreams turned dark. In those dreams, someone -- usually his father -- traded information on Coby’s past and their fleet admiral turned his justice on his subordinate again, and-

Honestly, Helmeppo tried to think of his dad as little as possible these days. The guy had made it clear they weren’t family anymore, and that had taken … well, longer than he wanted to admit to actually come to terms with. He wasn’t entirely sure, even now, that he had come to terms with it. Sure, once your dad threatened to kill you to save his own skin, something in the relationship had broken beyond repair. And yeah, after a while he’d admitted he always knew his dad was like that. While he had definitely taken advantage of the perks his father’s promotion granted him, on some level he knew -- this is not a man to give this power to. Because his dad had always been excellent at leveraging any power he could lay his hands on.

But some part of him -- the part that remembered being small, and his father being the biggest, strongest, bravest person in the whole world -- kept wanting to insist it had been a mistake. That he wasn’t really as bad as everyone said. And he had to keep reminding himself of the depravity, of the soullessness, that his father had shown to the whole world.

And to him.

So yeah … he worried sometimes about his father coming back. Morgan had kept a low profile since his escape, so if he ever wanted to try to clean the slate, could he do it by trading information? And while accepting a known pirate into their ranks was on the marines, a man hiding his dark past -- actively lying -- would not fare so well under the gaze of absolute justice. Especially since the Fleet Admiral seemed to have forgiven or forgotten Coby’s insolence at Ace’s execution.

But had he?

And with all that haunting him, why would Helmeppo even consider giving that leverage to another pirate? To save his own skin?

But on the other hand, there was something about Straw Hat. He’d infected Coby with it, even. Some… energy. It made the people around him either hate him, or want to become better. And this pirate had worked alongside Straw Hat more than once. Which meant he probably wasn’t the same kind of asshole as Helmeppo’s father, at least.

Probably.

“My captain wants to grow strong enough to beat that Straw Hat kid someday,” he decided on. Then, realizing that could be VERY misconstrued, he hurried on. “Not because he… He… It’s …” The right words came all in a rush. “Watching that Straw Hat kid inspired him to stand up for himself. Let him think it was okay for him to … you know. To admit to his dreams. To chase ‘em. And I think he feels like, to pay him back, he needs to be as strong as Luffy.”

The pirate let out a small, sardonic chuckle. “Trust me, that doesn’t help. You can be just as strong as him, but he’ll drag you along behind him anyway.”

Yeah, that sounded about right. Drag you along. When they’d first met, it was clear that Coby’s bravery wasn’t quite the same as Luffy’s or Zoro’s. Right or wrong, those two acted on their decisions, from thought to movement with no hesitation. But with Coby -- slightly pudgy, short, soft -- there was that hesitation. He had to steel himself before he could act. But every time, the decision was to follow along in the current set forth by the pirates. Something had drawn him along behind them, even when it wasn’t easy. And now, Coby was the one drawing others in his wake.

“That’s what happened to you?” Helmeppo asked

A hesitation. Then, “More or less. We have common goals. But even in that case, you get swept up. Sometimes regardless of what you say.”

Helmeppo tried to remember what he knew of those two working together. Not many details came to mind, but not all the information that was fed to them at HQ matched reality. No surprise there.

“Does it always work out?” he found himself asking.

He wanted the answer to be yes. There was something about that kid. It seemed like when he set his mind to something, it would just happen. That the people around him would step up, and everything would be OK.

But he kind of knew the answer as soon as he asked. Nothing always worked out. No matter how powerful you were.

But when he looked up, Law had turned away, looking off toward where Helmeppo presumed he thought the shore was. “It works out enough,” he said. And he started walking away.

“Guess that means ‘moment of bonding over,’” Helmeppo muttered to the empty air. Shouldn’t have dug into that. He could use another few minutes of rest. He could still feel the shakiness in his limbs, but the pirate clearly wasn’t going to wait. His long legs were positively eating up the ground, his form disappearing into the overgrowth. With a sigh, Helmeppo looked around, hoping to see some sort of leaves he could use to make a makeshift pair of sandals from, or at least wrap around his feet to protect them. It was never, ever a good idea to traipse barefoot around a strange island. But nothing presented itself.

Well, make do. The sooner you get back the sooner you won’t have to worry about it anymore.

He started to stand up, but just as he got his legs under him, something slammed into the back of his head. He had just a moment of indignant surprise at being attacked, and he started to turn toward the source when the attacker struck again. The second blow pitched him forward.

He was out before he hit the ground.

#fanfic #one piece #helmeppo #trafalgar law

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drizzitwrites · 6 years

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WIP Week Day 2

I’m still working on the same thing I worked on yesterday and not following the themes because this story isn’t supposed to be very long and I honestly just want to get it done. Plus, today’s theme is your “AU WIP” and I haven’t actually started writing my AU yet (I’m using this as a warm up exercise, as it were) and the only other WIP I have that technically qualifies as an “AU” is only AU because it was based around the ‘Vincent stays at Spurs in 2017/2018′ and that’s honestly still too sad for me to deal with even though I do think it could be a pretty great story.

Anyway! I managed like 1300 words today (and still haven’t finished this scene...heyo!) even though I only wrote for an hour because I had to waste most of my evening doing boring adult things like showering, feeding myself, printing tax documents, and ordering garden plants for the alleged spring that we’ll be having at some point in time.

Straight up continues from where we left off yesterday although the writing is EVEN LESS EDITED since this is all 100% new content and doesn’t have previously written material mixed in. So....I guess this is straight from my brain into your eyeballs. Sorry for that. No one should read my fic in this state. NO ONE.

Also sorry that it very abruptly stops in the middle of a thing. I don’t usually do that, but my brain is too tired to continue tonight. I’m pulling a Hemingway and stopping just as I get to the interesting bit so I’ll be excited to pick it up again tomorrow (or something like that).

Fic: Maybe It Will All Come Back to Me

Fandom: Football RPF -- Tottenham Hotspur

Pairing: Christian Eriksen x Vincent Janssen

Rated: General Audiences

When the movers had dropped the sofa off at Chris’s house the following evening it had been like rubbing citrus and salt straight on a fresh wound. Chris had thrown himself body and mind fully into training, all his focus on the ball at his feet and the grass beneath his boots so he didn’t have to think about Vincent alone on an airplane flying three thousand kilometres into the unknown while Chris stayed here in London training with his teammates as though nothing had changed; still half expecting to hear Vincent’s laugh ringing across the pitch or to catch Vincent’s eye and watch Vincent’s face flash into a dazzling smile, dimples creasing his cheeks as he grinned over at Chris.

All day, everything moved too quickly around him and Chris found himself always a step too slow. Despite his attempts to clear his mind and focus on his training, his thoughts kept drifting back to the night before--Vincent’s hands all over him, his own hands pressing soft kisses against every curve of Vincent’s body, both of them once again taking as long as possible together, trying to memorise every taste and texture and smell of the other.

He’d dragged himself home after training feeling drained and ill and empty inside, wanting nothing more than to collapse into his bed and not leave it for the next week. Instead, he’d just managed to change out of the jeans and t-shirt he’d worn home from training when his doorbell chimed.

Chris groaned, directed the movers up the stairs and into his spare room, stopping to kick aside some of the boxes and plastic bins to allow them to slide the sofa, now wrapped in a heavy black dust cover, into the room. They’d had to leave it at an odd angle, one corner against the wall, the other protruding out into the centre of the room, but Chris had just shut the door behind him and told himself he’d think about it later. He probably didn’t need to look at that room for the next year anyway.

A week. He’d lasted a week before his resolve had crumbled and he’d all but made the sofa into his bed, much to the dismay of his friends.

Toby constantly chastising him about it: “It’s not going to do your joints any favours, Christiaan.”; “What’s the point of having a custom mattress if you’re just going to sleep wherever?”. He’d all but moved himself into Chris’s house, appearing in the doorway the moment Chris’s feet hit the floorboards as though he’d been standing guard outside waiting to press Chris back down into his bed.

Chris had tried to argue with him, at first telling him it wouldn’t do any good for neither of them to get any sleep, then trying to explain that at least on the sofa he was getting some sleep which is better than he was managing in his bed, but Toby wouldn’t hear any of it, instead bringing Chris glasses of water and insisting that he lay back down and close his eyes as though Chris were a child who’d woken in the night from a bad dream. Chris was pretty sure he would have considered locking Chris in his bedroom if he’d had the option.

Eventually, Chris’s bed hadn’t felt so strange and foreign and empty, and the only time he’d ever found himself on the sofa was the occasional lazy Sunday afternoon spent reading and dozing in the late afternoon sunlight.

He’d done well to get back to what he remembered as normality--life as he’d lived it before Vincent, as it were. Nights out with his teammates when he could, although usually they were all so drained after training that none of them wanted to do anything besides relax at home. Which, for Chris, more often than not these days, meant wandering around his house trying to find something to keep himself occupied.

Then, Vincent had turned up on his doorstep a month ago, a solid, warm, comforting presence surrounding Chris on all sides once more, and Chris could hardly believe he’d forgotten how life could be with Vincent at his side. He’d only stayed for a week, but the instant his taxi had pulled away Chris had felt his absence as keenly as if someone had banged a hole right through the centre of his house.

Thankfully, he’d been able to spend the next night in a hotel room, convincing himself that he didn’t miss Vincent and that he’d learned how to live life on his own again and would fall back into his old routine, but even now he was back to sleeping on the sofa at least as often as he slept in his bed.

He stifled another yawn, his eyelids already heavy despite the early hour--the last light of the sun still casting the sky in bright silver beneath the heavy clouds. He’d better make himself some coffee if he was going to make it through his evening with Toby. He’d be able to pass his fatigue off as the lingering remnants of illness if he needed to, but he’d been well enough last night that Toby would get suspicious if Chris started falling asleep on the sofa before eight in the evening.

The last thing he needed was his friends finding out he wasn’t sleeping well again. For one thing, he hated proving Toby right--something he’d had to do far too often over the past year of his life. For another, his friends all had their own families and their own lives to be going on with, and Chris hated the feeling that he was pulling them away just because he couldn’t figure his own life out. He’d get over it. He just needed some time.

Chris pulled open the cupboard and reached for the bag of coffee he always stashed within easy reach, but a second, smaller bag caught his eye and he paused mid-motion. An unassuming brown paper bag, unmarked and unlabeled, but no label was needed. Chris grabbed for that bag instead, then fished around in one of his drawers until his hand closed around the handle of a small copper pot. One of the gifts Vincent had brought with him from Istanbul--a Turkish coffee pot and a small bag of finely ground coffee from his favourite café near his apartment.

The bag was nearly empty now, Chris noted. He’d have to ask Vincent to send more the next time they spoke. Not that Chris drank the strong, bitter coffee often, much preferring his lighter roast from the Scandinavian cafe he frequented on days off. Chris had only made the coffee himself a handful of times, usually on cold, grey London mornings when he’d pried himself off the sofa, eyes red and burning with sleeplessness, wishing maybe he’d once again turn the corner and find Vincent lounging in his living room, bathed in the early light of morning.

He fished around in his hoodie pocket for his phone and propped it up on the kitchen island, carefully balancing it against his now empty water glass before he turned the screen on and scrolled through his files until he found what he was looking for.

He pressed play on the video and the quiet of the house was broken by Vincent’s shy laugh, followed by his now familiar Brabantian Dutch with its soft syllables.

‘Christiaan you’re not really taking a video of this, are you?’

Chris’s own voice answered in slightly louder Dutch from behind the camera, ‘Of course. Otherwise how will I use this when you’re gone?’

Another laugh and a shake of Vincent’s head. ‘It’s not as if it’s that difficult. Besides, I’ve already shown you twice.’

‘Show me again.’ Chris’s voice soft, and he could hear the hint of a smile around the edges. He’d never realised how much his tone changed when he spoke with Vincent until he’d played back this video on repeat, laying on his stomach on the sofa in the quiet dark of a London night a week after Vincent had returned home. Softer, sweeter, with a playful lilt he knew wasn’t there in interviews or his Spurs TV slots or even as he slid in beside Mousa or Jan or Toby for one of their frequent dinner and board game nights.

#wip week #drizzit writes #raw and unedited #straight from my brain to your eyeballs #thoughts on writing and life #fanfiction #football rpf #christian eriksen x vincent janssen #here's me in all my mediocrity

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ellie-bee242 · 7 years

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My Heart Bleeds For You-Part 1

So…. This is my first attempt at a reader fic. Ever. Be gentle, and give ample feedback.

I’m so psyched for American Assassin guys, omg, the first time I saw the preview I just had major heart eyes. (keep in mind i have not read the book i’m just hella hyped for the movie and am going off of trailer info)

And after months of re-watching all the trailers and dying ten million times inside, I decided to try my hand at writing a fic. Feedback is always welcome and appreciated please!

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3

Chapter 1: Rollin’

Song rec: Rollin’ by Calvin Harris ft. Future & Khalid

Word count: 2,916

Warnings: Obscure mentions of abuse, obscure mentions/ implied violence (fist fights), mentions of blood, swearing. Also consent. Lots and lots of super sexy consent.

“I don’t care what the hell you have to do, just plant yourself in her life, she’s the easiest way to get to your target.” Hurley ordered from across the table.

Those orders were what brought Mitch Rapp to a standstill in the middle of a privately owned gym just outside the city. He sighed as he waited for the owner to grace him with her presence. She’d only made him wait twenty minutes passed the time they’d scheduled their meeting so far.

“It’s for the sake of the mission. It’s for the sake of the mission.” He chanted impatiently under his breath.

Finally the door to the owner’s office opened and two women stepped out.

“Just remember Sally, you never have to apologize to me, alright?” One of them said, somehow sounding both firm and gentle. Sally nodded meekly and wiped at her face.

“Thanks (Y/N).” She sniffled.

“Anytime. Think about what I said okay?” She inquired.

“I’ll be there next week, but do I have to participate?” Sally asked.

“Oh sweetheart, of course you don’t. Only what you’re comfortable with. And if that’s just watching, then that it one hundred percent fine. This place will always be safe for all.” She assured. “Is it alright if I hug you?” (Y/N) asked. Sally chewed on her lip before sticking her hand out, and the girl opposite her didn’t hesitate to take it and shake it. “I look forward to seeing you next week Sally.” She smiled and watched the girl walk into the locker room to change back into her normal clothes. Then she turned to her door and saw the note posted on the outside. She peeled it off and turned back around as she read it.

“Mitch Rapp?” She called out in a surprisingly loud voice, looking around the gym as she did.

He stepped forward and rose his hand to get her attention. Her bright eyes landed on him and his eyebrows rose in surprise as he watched her blatantly rake her gaze up and down his form. “You’re here for the job opening right?” She asked once her eyes returned to his.

“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded.

“(Y/N) will do just fine.” She assured him before beckoning him forward as she stepped back into her office.

“Have a seat if you like. Do you want a water?”

“No, thank you, ma’a-” He stopped himself at her quick look as she walked around the side of her desk to sit in the chair behind it. “No, thank you, (Y/N).” He corrected and she smiled.

“Well, Mitch,” she started as she reached into a drawer and pulled out a file, “I have to say that your resume is impressive. But I do have concerns.” She flipped it open and glanced through it one more time just to make sure she had all the vital information.

“What concerns?” Mitch asked, and she looked up to find him sitting straight in his chair.

“Your military experience. I’m not going to ask what you had to do, and I thank you for your service, but…” She hesitated, not wanting to upset him.

“You can be blunt, I don’t mind.” He promised when he realized why she had paused.

“Do you have any form of PTSD or anger management issue?” She asked. “Because if you do, I’m sorry but I can’t hire you as an instructor.” She frowned in worry.

“Why not?” He asked and at her look rushed to clarify, “I don’t have PTSD or any anger issues by the way, if you need a psych review I can provide one, I was just curious why that would disqualify me.”

“I would like a review, if you don’t mind providing one. And it would disqualify you because the type of gym I run is meant to be a safe and relaxing environment for everyone. We teach hand to hand combat two days a week and I can’t hire people suffering from PTSD because they might hurt their students. Likewise with people who have anger problems. They’re not welcome in my employ or under this roof in any capacity.” She said sternly. Mitch nodded respectfully.

“The ad said that I would be filling a Personal Trainer and hand to hand combat trainer position, is that still true or would I be going somewhere else?” He asked.

“No, I’m still in need of a personal trainer and kickboxing instructor. My last one quit in order to go back to college.” She smiled fondly. “And that’s why I had to ask if you suffered either that mental illness or instability. You will be working closely with individual clients and you have to be patient and kind.” She commanded.

“Yes ma'am.” He said reflexively. She shot him a look and he felt his lips twitch upwards briefly. “Sorry.”

“We don’t really apologize here. We just promise to work on it.” She grinned. He nodded. “Mitch I know this is technically an interview but you don’t have to be so serious. If your psych eval. comes back clean you’ll get the job.” She promised.

“It’s a bad habit I’m afraid.” He said, attempting to smile. (Y/N) briefly turned pink, her face contorting before she burst into laughter.

“Okay… So maybe you should stick with serious. That smile looked painful.” She teased. He shifted awkwardly in his chair and she tried to school herself.

“Alright, so if you don’t mind, I have a therapist who you can go see for your evaluation?” She offered.

“Actually, I have a one prepared. After I was discharged.” He explained.

“Oh. Alright. Just email it to me, or mail it to me, or whatever you’d like, and then I’ll get back to you once I look it over.” She said, quickly grabbing a sticky-note pad and scribbling her email address and the address of the gym down on it. She peeled it off and handed it to him.

“Thanks.” He said as he took it.

“I look forward to seeing you again Mitch.” She smiled as she stood, prompting him to stand too. He watched her walk around her desk and go and open the door for him. He stepped out of her office and she turned to him. “May I shake your hand?” She asked. He frowned, perplexed on why she had to ask and offered his hand out.

“Sure.” He assented.

“Sorry. That’s something I forgot to mention. If you work here, consent is always required for even the simplest touch. Some of our members have had unfortunate pasts that brought them here. So, in order to make sure everyone is comfortable, we always ask before coming anywhere close to someone, even another employee.” She explained as she took his hand and shook it.

“That’s actually very considerate.” He noted.

“I try to accommodate everyone. I never want anyone to feel uncomfortable inside my gym.” She said seriously. Mitch nodded at her and she smiled softly at him. “I can’t wait to work with you.” She said again.

“That’s only if you think my evaluation is good.” His reminder only caused (Y/N) to grin.

“Nine times out of ten I’m a good judge of character, and I have a good feeling about you, Rapp.” She said confidently, giving the hand she still held a single pat before letting it go and walking away.

A week later he found himself following (Y/N) around the gym and hour before it opened listening as she explained what happened where and what activities were available on what days.

“… and that’s the infirmary.” She pointed to the door in the corner.

“Infirmary?” Mitch asked, sure he’d heard her wrong.

“I offer a free self-defense class after gym hours twice a week. The program spans six weeks. The first time I offered the class I was in the hospital every other week because someone had panicked trying to get out of a hold and elbowed me in the face. Luckily no one has broken my nose yet, but I figured I should add a room with basic first aid for my nose bleeds, and in case anyone else needs simple medical attention.” She shrugged. “It’s served me well in the past three years.” She sighed.

“Wow.” He was honestly impressed.

“Yeah, I learned to dodge out of the way pretty quickly but occasionally someone will catch me off guard.” (Y/N) laughed awkwardly, thinking he’d been surprised at the fact that she’d been injured enough times to need a whole room for medical care.

“I meant, wow, I’m impressed that you do that.” He clarified.

“Oh! Well…. I mean…” She fidgeted. “Everyone should be able to defend themselves. It wouldn’t be right if I charged to teach people something that should be their right to learn.” She shrugged. He nodded.

“Anyways, moving on with the tour.” She said quickly, walking ahead a few paces. She pointed out a set of double frosted glass doors. “That is room used for yoga routines and personal training in between. The next room over is used for kick boxing classes on Tuesdays, spin class on Wednesdays, and aerobics on Fridays. Unfortunately I don’t really have a designated space for a personal trainer so you’ll kind of just float between rooms if that’s cool.” She told him.

“That’s fine.” He assured her.

“Okay. Men’s locker and changing room, individual showers included and they’re cleaned every night by a custodial service. Women’s locker and changing rooms on the other side, if you ever hear of a problem in the women’s locker room please come and get me specifically. Actually, the same goes for the men’s locker room.” She added after a second of thought. He nodded.

“Can I ask why?” He wondered.

“Because I’m the only one allowed to settle and stop altercations if and when they happen. That way no one can try and come after one of my employees with legal bullshit.” She said bluntly.

“And you can take on two roided out guys?” He asked with a skeptical smirk. (Y/N) gave him a challenging look.

“You doubt my combat skills, Rapp?” She asked. He shrugged.

“You are….” He pinched his fingers together. “Tiny.” He grinned at how indignant she looked.

“If even I am tiny, which I’m not, I can still handle myself in a fight against two meat heads.” She huffed.

“It’s true, she’s a badass.” The new voice made both of them turn as a tall blonde strode into the gym with a bag slung across her chest.

“Hey Elle.” (Y/N) called to her.

“Hey gorgeous.” She winked jokingly. “Who’s the mop top next to you?” She asked as she walked up to them.

“This is Mitch Rapp, he’s going to be the new personal trainer and combat specialist.” (Y/N) introduced. “Mitch this is my good friend, and first employee, Elizabeth.”

“Call me Elle, please.” She smiled. “Can I shake your hand?” She asked, offering hers out.

“Sure.” He agreed, remembering the rule about consent in all things. Elle shook his hand and then grinned at her boss.

“I’m gonna go change and prepare my room.” She told her before heading to the locker room.

“Elle teaches the spin class. That’s why her legs look so amazing.” (Y/N) nearly sighed as Mitch focused back on her.

“I hadn’t noticed.” He shrugged.

“Yeah sure.” She snorted. “And before you ask, no I don’t have a policy against romance between employees. Just keep it professional during business hours is all I ask.” She said quickly.

“That’s not going to be a problem. I’m not interested in Elle.” He shrugged.

“Alright then.” She said, sounding like she didn’t believe him one bit. “Anyways, you can use today to build a routine you’d like to implement for next week’s class, and spend the day familiarizing yourself with the gym. Feel free to look in on any of the classes, just be aware of the members. If they seem uncomfortable, move on.” She suggested and Mitch nodded quickly. “I’m going head to my office, if you have any questions my door is usually unlocked. Also, sorry in advance. Elle won the weekly competition so this whole week her music is going to be blasting through the gym.” She laughed.

“Weekly competition?”

“Every week we have a little competition, voted on by all the employees beforehand. We hold the competition on Sunday nights after closing. This week’s competition was to see who could do the most lunges. I won.” Elle said triumphantly as she came out from the locker room, now changed into a pair of athletic leggings and a sports-bra. Her hair was pulled up into a bun and she had a large water bottle clutched in one hand.

“So when does the torture start?” (Y/N) asked.

“As soon as you’ll let it.” Elle grinned.

“Not until five minutes before opening.” The other girl reluctantly groaned. Elle simply cackled in response. “Mitch, feel free to use any of the equipment in the gym as well today.” (Y/N) said suddenly, pulling his attention solely back to her. He nodded.

“Alright, I’ll keep that in mind.” He replied.

“Cool. I’ll be in my office if anyone needs me.” She called before closing her door.

“Try not to need her. She’s usually busy with paper work on days where she doesn’t teach a class, and if she gets interrupted too much she’ll have to stay late at night.” Elle informed him. “I know she knows some pretty comprehensive self-defense, and I know I said she’s a badass but I still don’t like the thought of her here all alone late at night.” She frowned. Mitch nodded.

“You wouldn’t mind if I came to you with questions then, would you?” He asked.

“Not at all.” She smiled. “But if you don’t have any that are pressing right this moment I would like to get my room set up for today’s classes.” She thumbed over her shoulder and he nodded, gesturing for her to go ahead. “Glad to have you aboard, Mitch. Hope you like it here.” She smiled kindly before heading into the spin room.

He looked around, alone now, and decided to go change into his sports-wear. He’d take (Y/N) up on her suggestion, and use the day to familiarize himself with the equipment as well as come up with a combat routine.

“Mitch!” (Y/N) called after the gym closed.

He turned his head and saw her jogging out from her office to reach him before he walked out the door.

“Hey, what’d you think of today?” She asked.

“It was nice.” He said shortly. (Y/N) nodded and rocked back on her heels. When she realized he wasn’t going to say more she cleared her throat awkwardly and looked around for a second.

“Would you mind terribly helping me set up a couple things? James normal does it but he’s out sick today.” She requested.

“Sure, whatever you need. What are we setting up for?” He asked.

“I have a self-defense class beginning tonight.” She explained as she led him back to the massive storage room next to her office.

“Oh.” He intoned, not knowing what else to say. She grabbed a mat that dwarfed her and he moved forward to help.

“Oh, I got this one, if you could get that dummy right there.” She kicked a leg up to point her toes at it, sat in the corner.

“Alright, if you’re sure you got it.” He frowned.

“I’m good, promise.” She giggled before dragging the mat out of the room she got it where she wanted and then pulled at the Velcro straps before jumping out of the way as the mat unrolled and flopped to the ground. She went around the corners, securing the Velcro to the floor and then told him where to place the dummy so it’d be easier for her drag it into place later.

“Thanks.” She smiled after he’d place it down.

“Do you think I could come to the class tonight?” He asked suddenly. She blinked in surprise.

“Sure, if you want. If you want to observe you can sit with everyone else.” She shrugged.

“Or I could help you.” He suggested.

“Help me?” She wondered.

“Well, you need an ‘attacker’ don’t you?” He asked.

“No, not tonight. With what I had planned I’d break your nose.” She cringed.

“So I’ll help with equipment tonight.” He shrugged.

“I can’t pay you for this, it’s after hours and a free program.” She warned.

“That’s fine. I’d just like to help.” He shrugged.

“Alright. If you really want to spend your night lugging dummies around,” She rose her hands up in surrender, “then I definitely won’t be the one to stop you. You’ll be saving me a back ache.” She smiled. He nodded and gave her a minuscule smile in return.

“The class doesn’t actually start for another hour so if you want to do anything…” She shrugged.

“I’d like to get to know you, actually.” He said, startling her by the look of her expression.

“O-kay….” She said slowly.

“I thought we could be friendly.” He said as way of explanation.

“Alright. Wanna play twenty questions or something?” She laughed.

“I’m game if you are.” He shrugged.

“Why the hell not.” She sighed before plopping down on the mat sitting lotus style and leaning back on her hands. Mitch sat down across from her and mirrored her position. “You first.” She made a sweeping gesture between them.

“What’s your favorite color?” He asked.

#mitch rapp #mitch rapp x reader #american assassin #aafic #my writing #MHBFY #amas

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reliquiaenfr · 7 years

Text

Those Outcast

There were to be other conversations in the following days that he found equally uncomfortable. The first of which, broached by Denara, was that of numbers. Is a clan really a clan with only four dragons, she asked. Venin argued that, yes, of course it was. But naturally, if they were going to live up to the idea of giving others a fresh start, they… well they’d have to take in those new faces.

He should’ve given Denara more credit for her way with words, honestly. No sooner had she talked them all around when it came to taking in travellers than she was pushing for something else: eggs.

Hatchlings. He positively vibrated with distaste for the idea, but, as Inerri gained strength, they managed to convince him of a few things. Firstly, that he wouldn’t necessarily have to be involved in any education of hatchlings. Second, that they probably wouldn’t all stay with the clan, other wandering groups were appearing slowly in the woods, looking to set up a lair nearby. They would no doubt be worth pursuing as allies since that’s better than enemies, and what better way to forge friendships than by sending the founding children off to another clan? And thirdly, that one of them might be a suitable heir to the leadership role Venin was so uncomfortable with.

Well. Denara joked about it being a ceremonial event, the laying of the first clutch, something about how it was a proper declaration that these were their lands. It didn’t feel ceremonial to Venin. In fact, after the magic dissipated and the eggs were settled in the nest Denara had put together, it all felt mostly like disappointment waiting to happen.

The way Denara looked at the eggs though… It was odd. And it prompted Venin to ask the first real question he’d posed to the Guardian. “Are you still looking for your Charge?”

Her head whipped up to regard him with shock. Why she should be surprised, he didn’t know, most dragons know about a Guardian’s Search. Still, she blinked at him for a long time before nodding.

“Yes,” she whispered, turning her gaze back to the nest. “Why do you ask?”

He hunched a shoulder. “I suppose it just occurred to me that you might be making these suggestions if you’re guided by that instinct. It made me wonder.”

She dipped her head closer to the nest. “It’s… different. For every Guardian. Some won’t feel any sort of satisfaction until they find it, until they reach that end goal. I get these…” Her shoulders shivered. “Tingles, I suppose they are. Down my spine. It’s anticipation that makes my nerves feel electric any time I get closer. Like my body is telling me which way to go, letting me know I’m close. This… is another step. I can feel it.”

The first dragons to pass them by did so about a week after that. All four of them were on edge, waiting for the eggs to hatch, not paying a great deal of attention to what was happening outside the den. When Norok sat up, crests shaking unhappily, they all looked around.

“Someone is outside,” she told them in a low voice. “I can hear them.” She was instantly on alert, ready for a fight. Her leg had healed somewhat, but probably wouldn’t hold up in a protracted conflict. Neither that, nor Inerri’s insistence that they be polite to their first visitors seemed to hold much weight with her, however.

She was out of the den within moments.

It didn’t take much to get the rest of them outside, ready to pry Norok’s claws out of whoever proved to be the passers-by, but they didn’t need to. Aside from her crests fanning stiffly up and over the back of her neck – a clear warning – and her rigid posture, she didn’t appear to be about to rip into anyone. The Tundras were alarmed all the same, ears up, purple eyes wide, legs braced and ready to bolt at the first sign that Norok was a threat.

For good reason, probably, it took a moment for Venin to pick it out of all the fluff, but one of them was bodily shielding a smaller Tundra, probably no more than a few weeks old. Cautiously, he stopped beside Norok, hoping she’d interpret that as a sign to relax. She didn’t.

Thankfully, Denara took the lead. “Sorry,” she said with a reassuring smile. “We’ve been here only about a week. Someone is still a little wary of another clan trying to take it from us.”

Denara seemed to understand how Tundra society works, too, thank Shadowbinder. She very slowly edge towards the travellers, lowering her snout so they might familiarise themselves with her scent. Equally as wary, the larger of the two Tundras shuffled closer, ears twitching. They paused a moment like that and then backed away. Denara looked unperturbed so Venin counted it a success.

“We’re just looking for a suitable place to call home,” the other Tundra said quietly. “Could we pass through?”

“Of course, naturally,” Denara agreed. “And if you decide to live nearby do visit!” Venin didn’t really agree with the enthusiasm Denara threw into those words but he wasn’t going to argue with her either. Not worth it.

They nodded, body language visibly relieved, but thankfully they didn’t take Denara’s friendliness as an invitation to linger. They moved on almost immediately and the four of them went back to egg duty.

The Tundras did, however, visit again to inform them of the nice burrow they’d dug just a little to the south. That connection was fine so far as Venin was concerned. Friendly neighbours could only be a good thing, especially since it meant they could trade any unnecessary plant material for the occasional hunting trip into the lands around the Tundra den. And frequent contact between them meant it was less likely for the Tundras to forget them and turn to hostility.

It was a fairly warm day, not long after the initial visit from the Tundras, Denara was curled up and dozing around the clutch of three eggs in one of the rooms deeper into the den when it happened. How she didn’t notice the first egg start rocking remained a mystery, but Venin poked his head in to ask if she wanted to eat and instead froze solidly to the spot, completely unsure what to do about the egg tilting back and forth dangerously in the circle of Denara’s tail. So he swatted at her face with his, waking her with a start.

“That’s rude,” she grumbled. “I… Oh.”

The egg wobbled and on a particularly violent rock, rolled right on over. Cracks spider-webbed across its softly glowing surface and eventually the end snapped off. A tiny little blue tail flopped out. Then a leg kicked free, the small black claws scrabbling in the dirt for purchase. A vibrant purple wing broke through one side and a head pushed through with it. After a few more moments of fighting with the shell, a whole, healthy little Mirror sat in the ruins. Denara brushed the eggshells into a pile off to one side and lowered her nose. (Venin pretended not to know she kept the broken eggshell of their first born in a little chest in her bedding.)

“A little girl,” she mumbled when the hatchling took a swipe at her chin. “Feisty.”

By the time the other two eggs had cracked open and spilled two more purple Mirrors into the nest, the girl had wobbled upright and trotted clumsily over to Venin. She fell face first into his leg, already chattering some nonsense to him in an excited voice. Venin had to loop his tail around her to keep her from scampering out into the lair proper. Already he didn’t like having to keep an eye on these tiny dragons.

“The others are boys,” Denara informed him. Her head tilted to the side, an expression Venin knew well, thoughtful and vaguely conniving, twisting at her lips. “Perhaps we could send one of the boys to live with our Tundra neighbours? They have a little girl.”

If Venin had eyes he would’ve rolled them.

Denara merely laughed. “The firstborn stays with us. Who knows, grumbles, maybe one day she’ll take your place as leader.”

He glanced down at her then, thinking about that. Perhaps Denara had a valid point there. “And the other boy?” he asked without looking up from the girl. His daughter. “I don’t want a lair full of hatchlings, Denara. We have three and already they prove troublesome.”

She lifted a paw to scoop him and his brother closer. They squawked, indignant at being confined. They had only just fought free of the eggshell and clearly they wanted to see the world that had birthed them.

“Oh…” she sighed. “I’m sure we can find a place for him. It’s a big world, Venin.”

And wasn’t it just. Too big for such tiny dragons, he thought. His eyes strayed back to the girl, now gnawing on the end of his tail with her hard gums. Her teeth would push through soon enough. An heir would be nice.

It took a little under a week before all four of them declared her an unfit candidate for leadership. She was bold and sneaky, fast and slippery, wild and uncontainable. Venin would’ve put it down to her age; she was only an infant, after all. But her brothers weren’t anywhere near as unruly. And neither was that young Tundra girl, only a few weeks older, when she accompanied her father for the next visit. They took one of the boys home, too.

The other boy left too, claimed by a clan who passed through the strait between them and the Labyrinth. A water clan, heading for the Sea and only too pleased for an ally in the Woods where produce was different to their own wares; a promising trade arrangement.

That left them with this girl, bounding about their lair, new and sparse, still small and cold, not yet a home despite Inerri’s best efforts. This child who could be heir to something worthwhile one day, if he let her. If she lived up to it. Despite the quiet promise of days to come, Venin couldn’t help but watch Inerri flit around after his remaining child and feel as if his life had taken a turn he wasn’t yet ready for.

A hopeful sort of melancholy, perhaps, resigned to new dragons and (Shadowbinder forbid) new hatchlings, he named his daughter Bereave. Denara didn’t even argue.

In hindsight, the location they selected as a site for a lair should’ve been all the warning they needed that they would get plenty of travellers through. It didn’t bother Denara so much, really, the greatest issue was making sure Bereave stayed safe around strangers (a not insubstantial challenge) and keeping the lair safe. The former was predominantly left to Inerri whose patience ran much longer than Denara’s or Norok’s which was fine because they got to take care of the latter concern. Plus she actually liked hatchlings which helped.

At first, it was no problem. Perhaps it was just the two of them, but the lair was well situated and easily defensible. There was only one entrance to the lair proper and most of the guests weren’t allowed there, instead they got to sleep in the shelters she and Norok constructed outside. Less substantial, sure, but no one stayed long enough to have anything to complain about. Even though the lair was positioned near enough to the northern border of the Woods that they had more than the occasional guest, most individuals were polite enough, leaving supplies in exchange for a place to sleep and a conversation. Venin didn’t much like them, but he didn’t much like anyone, and he barely interacted with them anyway, leaving the vast majority of formal socialising to her.

Every few days someone would arrive and someone would leave. It became routine. And it was that ennui almost that continually reminded her that her Search had not concluded with the birth of her daughter. The itch had faded somewhat after she hatched, sure, but that irritating tingle down her spine persisted. She wasn’t finished, but Denara was convinced she was in the right place.

Eventually, there came a dragon who visited the lair who didn’t leave again.

Venin was more irritable than normal that day, but no matter his mutterings, neither Denara nor Inerri would let a hatchling – a hatchling, Venin! – leave by himself. The little Wildclaw boy had trotted into their lair confidently, led by Bereave no less, and at first they’d assumed his family would appear to join him only they never did. His broad smile and glimmering eyes suggested he wasn’t concerned about it and he seemed nice enough, despite Venin just about bristling with distaste for him.

They talked him down, they always did and the Wildclaw introduced himself brightly as, “Chevron! From the Hewn City!” His origin had Venin pursing his lips with distaste – for the stories of what lies in the ruins of the City, not because of the element of his birth – but the rest of them dismissed his fears.

Perhaps they shouldn’t have, for two days later they found Chevron with a satchel of their supplies and gold thrown over a shoulder on his way out of the lair. Venin very nearly launched him into the strait then and there. But when pressed for his motives he crumbled. Denara cut an imposing figure when she wanted to.

“They took my family,�� he told them softly in the glow of a fire that evening. He never once made eye contact. “They burned out lair to the ground and my mother told me to run so I did. She…” He trailed off, looked away. When he lifted his bright eyes and stared directly at Venin’s masked face he looked more mature and determined than he had during the rest of his stay. Denara wondered momentarily what he’d seen. “They caught me and took me back. My parents were gone. They…” His jaw clenched. “Killed them. The leader had turned their crests into trophies like with the rest of our clan. They made me steal for them. I…”

“Stay,” Norok interjected when he clearly couldn’t find the words to go on. “We’ll teach you to fight. And if they come for you here… They’ll regret it.” Her tone was so low, harsh. Denara recalled how her clan had been overrun by raiders and they’d left her an orphan too.

She nodded her head and Chevron stayed.

“But if you must steal,” Venin added after a moment. “You will not steal from our coffers.” He put a strange emphasis on ‘ours’ that Denara couldn’t interpret until Chevron beamed a bright and untrustworthy smile at him. It translated in her head to a job offer, a way for the boy to make himself useful. That was as good an endorsement as Venin was likely to give.

He got better at supporting new arrivals as they went along. Or perhaps he got better at leaving them to others. Hard to say. His lack of interest in running their new clan was obvious, he exuded distaste for the task, but every time someone presented a tale of disenfranchisement or loss he grew quietly protective of them. His vocal disapproval of Chevron’s slippery sticky fingers was one thing, but should a guest threaten the boy Venin’s wrath would come down on them like a bolt of thunder direct from the Tempest Spire.

(Bereave, for her part, loved having someone around her own age. Unfortunately for them all, adding Chevron to the mix was throwing sparks on oil. Bereave taught him tricks of the shadows to better slink around the lair and he… he taught her magic. In that regard it was the proper beginning of their clan, the first real mage in their ranks. None of them knew what that would mean for them, and had they, nothing would’ve really changed. But he taught her to tap into her own magical talents and how to use them. He told her about gifts from the deities, and she stood on the highest branch of the great tree she could reach and begged the Shadowbinder to give her long legs like Chevron’s. She came back to the den one afternoon with a pretty purple plume on her tail tip and a brilliant crest on her head and Chevron very nearly lost his place in the clan.)

Not long later another hatchling arrived, this one larger and from much further off, his scales glittered so brightly even in the gloom of the woods but he was warm and kind, his pale eyes begging the question of how he crossed most of continental Sornieth from the Icefield to reach them. But he introduced himself as Crossfire and asked if he might stay a while; Inerri loved him fiercely right from the start, loved his messy green mane and the careful way he used his paws to investigate new things and the shy smile he offered her when she asked for his help in tempering the other children.

He, too, turned out to be an orphan. No one had thought to offer him a home before and he hadn’t thought to ask, had thought only of seeing the place his kind hails from. He missed, but once he learned to fly better he could visit. Alone of the three hatchlings, he took to the studies Inerri insisted on, but somehow he inspired the other two to join in. No doubt they didn’t want to be outshone. Metaphorically speaking.

And Crossfire was integral to the arrival of the next dragon. Without him, things would’ve gone much differently. She was brought to the lair, not like how Bereave had brought Chevron, but brought by strangers. Denara immediately didn’t like them, and neither did Norok, in fact, the angry Mirror just about ripped their throats out when they quietly asked what their best price would be for the girl. Slavers.

Denara stopped her, but from the way Venin’s body tightened he would’ve let her kill them. Maybe Denara shouldn’t have held Norok back, but she alone seemed to feel that the little Imperial had been traumatised enough already. The slavers were chased from the area with a stern warning that should they return they would not receive the same mercy twice.

Venin disappeared into the Woods for a few days after that and Denara pretended she didn’t know why.

The blue Imperial remained completely silent for at least two days after that. No matter Inerri’s careful ministrations to ensure she was healthy. No matter the quiet words of reassurance Denara offered. No matter the furious way Norok vibrated with rage on her behalf well into the next week.

No, it was Crossfire who sat with her in that same silence for hours. He brought her food and made sure she drank and was warm enough in the chill of the main room of the lair. He whispered his name to her, explained what he knew of how the lair came to be, told her some of the stories Norok shared of Venin and his exploits before the clan. He never pressed her, his patience far beyond anything Denara could muster.

“Should we try and find her family?” Denara asked Inerri one evening, frustrated that the child remained a mystery. “Surely they’d have more success than we are.”

“We can’t really spare someone to go looking.” Inerri was clearly overlooking the fact that Venin had been gone for three days by that point. “She’ll be okay. She just needs time. The poor thing probably isn’t sure we’re not going to hurt her too.”

When Venin arrived again the next morning he stood in the main room watching the girl carefully. Or Denara assumed that’s what he was doing. He had no eyes, she knew, that’s why he never took the mask off. But the children didn’t know that.

Bereave came bounding into the room hooting, obviously she’d seen her father return. “Seven!” she exclaimed, just about slamming into his knee and bowling him over. She waved a hand towards the Imperial. “Seven!”

Crossfire muttered something Denara couldn’t hear but it was clearly enough to spark an argument with Bereave. They exchanged a few more words before Bereave waved her arms unhappily. She threw a claw out, pointing at Venin when Crossfire stopped speaking.

“One,” she cried, still indicating her father. With another vague wave of her claws she added, “two, three, four,” then pointed to herself, “five,” then Crossfire, “six,” and lastly, “seven!”

“She hasn’t taken as well to your lessons with numbers as we thought,” Denara grumbled at Inerri. The Fae only laughed.

And that’s how the blue Imperial claimed her name. Despite being the eighth dragon in the lair, and not the youngest besides, she ran with it. She was the quietest of all the children, the least troublesome, the gentlest and most thoughtful. She kept clear of Chevron and Bereave for the most part, their antics too loud and disruptive for her, instead she stayed fast by Crossfire’s side. Chevron would grow soft whenever he thought no one could see him talking to her, his voice less abrasive than usual, his smile more genuine.

It occurred to Denara that they were fully living up to the beliefs Venin had laid out originally. A place for those with nowhere else to go, whether because their clans crumbled, they were orphaned, exiled, criminals or haunted by wrongdoings. She couldn’t help but wonder if her failure to find her Charge meant she fit in perfectly with those criteria. Some Guardian she was without one. Only Venin suspected that their budding clan wasn’t all there was to it, however. Something she planned to keep to herself.

And it was fitting, perhaps, that the next dragon to stumble into their lands wasn’t really lacking places to go, exactly, he was just lost.

It was a quiet evening, dark even for the Woods, the mushrooms dormant in the cold, their glow smothered by the low temperature. Rustling brambles were a staple, but something about the disturbances outside on this particular evening had Norok noticeably anxious. She couldn’t stop shuffling, her crests twitched ceaselessly and Chevron’s ghost story about the Emperor beneath the Beacon, trapped by the Lightweaver because not even she could defeat it, wasn’t helping any.

Eventually Bereave rocketed up out of the place she had claimed hours earlier, her drowsiness banished by the movement. “That’s it,” she declared. “Can’t take it.” Without waiting to explain her words she raced up out of the den and into the brambles.

Venin was on his feet in an instant, but not before Norok. She took off after Bereave but didn’t make it far at all, skidding to a stop just before she stepped outside. Bereave, scuffed and now covered in brambles and something that looked like moss, reappeared at the top of the entrance. She was dragging behind her a writhing mass of dark scales and tan leather. Denara stood as well.

But when Bereave reached them again the struggling creature stopped moving altogether, blinking pale green eyes up at them and shivering, whether from fear or the cold was impossible to say. Probably both given the fierce glare Norok was levelling at the Spiral Bereave had found.

“He was tangled in the brambles outside,” she huffed, sinking back down by the fire. “Wouldn’t stop struggling.”

He recovered fast though. And damn did he move quickly. His body coiled in strange, dizzying ways, darting around the room and pulling away from Norok with surprising agility.

“Name,” Venin demanded wearily. His tone was almost enough to make Denara laugh, actually, so resigned to new dragons rolling into the lair and refusing to leave by this point he sounded more annoyed than angry. Progress really.

“Helix, sir!” the Spiral babbled, almost his words made no sense.

Venin bobbed his head and sat back down. “Are you hungry, Helix?” Inerri asked from her place atop Crossfire’s head. A position she favoured more as he grew.

“Oh yes please. Sorry to intrude, I don’t know how I got here. Actually where is this? I’m very sorry I don’t mean to be an inconvenience. I got caught in a storm and it, whew! It blew me well off course I’d say. First time flying and everything! Mother did say to be careful of the winds. Even away from the Crescendo there can be shockingly strong gusts and wow, it tossed me right across the Sea and I was so disoriented I just flew. Guess I went in the wrong direction, did you say where we are? Did I make it all the way to the Labyrinth? No I suppose not the trees here aren’t really green enough. Ah! The Tangled Woods then, well that makes sense. Probably not worth trying to get home either, wandering clan and all that. My family will have moved on, might even be in a different region altogether! Terrible luck, maybe I can find a caravan or something and go exploring! Oh exploring sounds fun. Do you know any trade routes near–”

“Take a breath, kid,” Venin huffed, cutting Helix off quite tidily. The Spiral simply stopped speaking mid-word. “You can stay here as long as you like.”

“Oh really, sir? That’d be lovely thanks so much, I don’t want to be a bother but it’s nice to have a place to stay. And it really is a nice place here, good for burrowing; yes some of that rock over there looks excellent for carving away you could get some wonderful spaces in. I wonder how deep those veins go, could be proper mining potential, might be valuable ores even, a great oppor–”

“We’ll have to work on your train of thought, dear,” Inerri added. “You talk like an excited Snapper. Sure you’re not an Earth dragon?”

“No, certainly not,” Helix began, very obviously ready to launch into a full account of his pure wind lineage but Norok interjected with, “She was teasing.” Maybe her words were a little harsher than necessary but Norok did have a short leash on her anger.

And despite his tendency to run off onto long tangents or get excited babbling about certain topics, Helix was a perfectly useful dragon to have around. He was right about the burrowing options in their den, for starters. After bothering Venin entirely more than the grumpy dragon could stand, Helix set to work expanding a few areas for better living arrangements.

Venin rested his head on Denara’s shoulder like he might against a wall the same afternoon Helix began digging. It was a more intimate gesture than she was expecting.

“Shadowbinder preserve me, Denara, I’m so tired. Hatchlings are exhausting. How did you talk me into this?”

“I’m very persuasive,” she chuckled. “You’ll get used to it.”

“The hatchlings outnumber us,” he hissed, tail swishing unhappily.

“But it’s working out well enough so far, really,” she pointed out. “I’m sure as they get older they’ll find proper ways to contribute. Chevron will be a huge asset for funds and you know it. That’s why you let him stay.”

Venin sighed, grumbling nonsense under his breath. He straightened, huffing to show he wasn’t placated. But he didn’t argue, which was the important thing. Despite his clear discomfort at the number of young dragons he was trying.

And for a while it worked just fine. The children did their lessons, helped with chores, took to various tasks with differing levels of enthusiasm. (Bereave showed much more interest in hunting and fighting than Denara might like, as a mother.) But as far as young clans went, theirs wasn’t doing horribly.

And then in the dark of one drizzly night, Fiend showed up.

#flight rising #clan lore #chapters #this one has a pov change in the middle #bc i changed my mind about posting it seperately

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keelywolfe · 4 years

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FIC: The Rose and the Thorn: Chapter 13 (Mafia AU)

Summary: Rus fled after his argument with Blue, leaving his brother behind to try to pick up the pieces. Blue has already been forced to choose between the devil and the deep blue sea, what other deal might he have to make?

Tags: Spicyhoney, Cherryberry, Mafia AU, Flower Shop AU, Violence, First Meetings

Warning: Warnings for implications of prostitution.

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Read Chapter 13 on AO3

Read it here!

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“Wait!” Blue cried. Too late, far too late, his little brother was already gone, stepped into one of those shortcuts of his that Blue usually appreciated, relieved that his brother could easily escape from any awful confrontations. He hadn’t used that particular skill against Blue since he’d been a frustrated child, chafing at the limits Blue put on his wandering in the Underground. He’d never needed to, until now, and Blue sank to sit again on the bathroom rug, burying his skull in his hands and struggling to breathe through the heavy, steamed air from the still running shower.

Stupid, Blue thought tiredly. Blaming Papy for his own idiocy, taking out the frustrations he didn’t dare let loose anywhere else on his undeserving little brother. Papy was so sweet and kind, still clinging to some of his naivety even in this unwelcoming Human world; how could Blue ever have expected him to handle someone like that Edge fellow? If Red made him deeply uncomfortable and fearful, then Edge was so much worse. Red at least he understood, he knew what that brother wanted of him, product and sex, in that order, and once he got it, Red would dismiss them out of hand, hopefully without leaving too many scars behind.

Edge held mysteries behind that polite demeanor of his and Blue rather wished either he was taller or Edge was a great deal shorter, because he would have liked a good look in the large skeleton’s eye lights, trying to read exactly what was hidden within them. If only he simply wanted sex from Papy, that at least would only break his brother’s heart. Blue was far more worried about the state of his soul.

And then he went and gave stabbing through it himself a good try, Blue thought glumly. The brief, bitter satisfaction of watching his words strike home was almost immediately swamped by horrified regret as his little brother’s expression crumpled, the first tears falling. Blue couldn’t know how much truth any of his accusations held, but even if they were, Papy didn’t deserve that. Not when Blue well knew how easy it was to make mistakes.

He really was just like their father, blaming others for his blunders—no.

No, it was this place. He needed to get them out of here, away from the Fells, any way that he could.

Blue dragged himself upright and to the shower, reaching inside to turn off the taps and barely wincing as steaming hot water soaked through his shirt. He felt brittle and exhausted, had since late this afternoon when the weight of cameras watching him grow golden flowers became too much to bear. An uncaring mechanical eye watching as he did the very thing he’d promised himself he wouldn’t by getting involved with this sort of people. It brought back too many memories of living in the Underground and doing whatever it took to support him and his brother after their father…well…after he was gone.

He’d sworn he wouldn’t do such things again, made a promise to himself when they came to the surface and knowing he was breaking it left him nauseous, sickened by his own deceit. In the end, Blue filled most of the planting boxes in that room until it became too much, claustrophobia swarming over him, dimming his vision even as his gorge rose. He’d nearly staggered out the door and begged the guard outside to take him for some fresh air.

The Dog, Dogamy, he later learned, did so with some haste, perhaps worried that Blue was about to vomit on his very nice shoes. Instead of bringing him downstairs or to a handy window, Dogamy led him up to the rooftop and both the fresh air and the small garden was a blessing. Something to take his mind off of what he was doing in that closed off little room and when he’d finally brought Papy back upstairs with him, Blue could almost pretend this was why they were here, tending to an overgrown garden for some wealthy benefactor and soon they’d go back to their own little house and plants, back to their simpler life of flowers and hard work.

Then he’d looked up to see his brother and Edge kissing, and his meager daydream shattered.

Blue felt far too old for his years as he shuffled back out into the bedroom, stripping off his sopping shirt and tossing it into the discreet hamper next to the closet. The closet itself held plenty of clothes, far too many for what was only supposed to be a short stay here, and a brief pang of worry tightened in his chest as he wondered about their closed shop slowly losing their regular customers, his garden overgrown and going to seed without his care.

He shook it away. It didn’t matter, they’d managed before and they could do it again. Nothing mattered but keeping his brother safe.

Blue chose one of the shirts in his size at random, forced to yank it down and leaving the hanger at an awkward angle. He shrugged into it, buttoning it up as he made his way to the loveseat to sit and wait.

And wait. Hours passed and his brother did not return while the heavy weight of worry and regret nesting in Blue’s soul hatching into something closer to panic. He’d been angry and even cruel, but surely Papy wouldn’t hold a grudge for the entire night…would he? Either he was too angry or hurt to return, or he’d gotten himself into trouble and Blue couldn’t bear to wait any long to see which it was. He only hoped he wasn’t making another reckless decision based on his worries.

Opening the door revealed one of the seemingly endless supply of the Fell brothers’ Dog guards. This one had large, floppy ears and a mottled patch of white around one of their soulful brown eyes. They looked at Blue curiously as he stepped out and said, firmly, “I need to see Red.”

He didn’t know what orders they’d been given but the Dogs who wouldn’t take him look for his brother yesterday readily took him to Red, leading him down the corridor with none of their ridiculous backtracking and fuss of before. Not that it ever fooled Blue, he prided himself as being something of an expert at puzzles, but it wouldn’t do to tip his hand about that. Let the Fells think him lost in their silly little maze, they could gape in astonishment if ever he needed to make a quick escape.

The room he was led to was the same one he’d first seen here, Red’s office. Only this time, that enormous desk was covered in scattered papers and Red sitting behind it looked harried for once. His jacket was gone, tossed over the back of one of the sofas, his tie raggedly loosened, and there was a teacup at his elbow that he loudly slurped from, not the whisky glass Blue was growing accustomed to seeing in his hand, and honestly, why did these people insist on dressing up so much in their own home?

A glance back at his current guard confirmed that the Dog was wearing a fine suit of its own, honestly, everyone here dressed like they’d gotten a clearance deal on leftover costumes from the set of ‘Goodfellas’. That was one of Papy’s favorite movies, scrounged from the dump years ago and it made it to the surface with them for occasional re-watching. Perhaps that should have been a clue for Blue from there, a premonition of the sort of trouble his brother would be wont to find.

Then again, Blue was acutely aware that the clothes he was wearing weren’t his own. None of the clothing in that large closet was any he’d’ve chosen on his own, but even he could reluctantly admit they were flattering. This one was almost too cutesy for his tastes with its billowy sleeves and pale, delicate floral pattern, but he had no doubt he wore it well.

Not that it helped in the slightest. Red only barely glanced up from his paperwork, the first Blue had seen in this place aside from his own contract, reluctantly signed even as he wondered precisely what sort of devil he’d made a deal with.

“whatcha want now?” Red asked brusquely, shuffling a clumsy stack of papers to the side, “wanna whine about our deal again? gonna have to wait until morning, i got other things to handle aside from you.”

“My brother is missing,” Blue said, bluntly. That was enough to at least get Red to look at him, brow bones raised. “We argued and he…left,” Blue finished, lamely. He hardly wanted to explain to Red what they’d argued about, “and I’m worried about him, I’m sure he didn’t leave the building but—” Left unspoken was that surely Papy didn't need to leave the club to find trouble.

Red’s sharky teeth curved into a sly grin. He slouched back in his chair and it creaked ominously under his shifting weight, "lost him, already, huh. how many times you expect me to play fetch with your boy?"

"Woof!" Blue snapped, too harried to care about irritating this…this…but Red’s grin only widened, his deep crimson eye lights gleaming.

"heh, cute.” His gaze shifted to the Dog. “doggerel, g'wan and check downstairs, kid snuck down yesterday to hang out with the morning shift.” Red’s expression soured as he added, “may as well tell edge, if you shitstains haven’t gone behind my back and done it already. he’ll pitch a fit if ya don’t.”

It was on the tip of Blue’s tongue to protest telling Edge anything, but instead he only sputtered out, “Downstairs! He was down there yesterday with all those horrible people??”

A sudden coldness abruptly dropped over Red’s face like a storm cloud. “might wanna watch what ya say about our downstairs personnel. they work fuckin’ hard, don’t need the likes of you judgin’ ‘em.”

“What?” Blue said, aghast, and shook his head, “I don’t mean the ladies, they’re perfectly lovely, do you know how often I’ve delivered flowers here? I mean the patrons!” He shivered helplessly. “I don’t even like to think what that sort would do to my brother, please, you need to—”

“calm your tits, it ain’t like he snuck out on the stage to shake his ass.” But some of the cold tension in his expression eased. Red jerked his chin at the dog, who nodded and went back out. Which left the two of them alone, again, and that was not something that ever seemed to end well, in Blue’s opinion.

“this wasn’t part of our deal, ya know,” Red pointed out lazily. “already found your bro once on my dime, now we’re gettin’ greedy.” He stood and came from behind the desk, sitting instead on the leather love seat. His bulk took up more than his fair share, but then, he didn’t invite Blue to sit next to him. Rather, he spread his knees wide in silent, obscene invitation, smoothing a hand along the inner seam of his trousers with his rings glimmering against the dark material. “whatcha gonna give me for this, baby blue?”

Blue took a deep breath, calming the thin tremor that quivered through his soul. He’d known this was a possibility from the start, braced for it before he’d ever left that borrowed bedroom. He lifted his chin and said, stoutly, “Whatever it takes to keep my brother safe.”

He stepped forward boldly without another word, dropping to his knees on the plush carpet and reached up to scrabbled roughly at Red’s belt as he tried to work up a little moisture in his suddenly dry mouth before there were complaints about his sandpapery tongue. He could do this, Blue told himself, it was to help his brother, he could do this, do anything for Papy, anything at all, and he never needed to know what Blue had done, never, even as his own hypocrisy burned acrid on the back of his tongue.

But before he could even manage the shiny buckle, hands took a rough hold of his wrists, stopping him.

Startled, Blue looked up, “What--?”

Red never seemed to lose that smirk of his, but now it was more lopsided, startlingly reminiscent of Edge, and never had he and Red looked so much like brothers. “stand up, baby blue. keepin’ little bros safe is free of charge.”

“I pay my debts,” Blue said, low, even as he wondered wildly why he was arguing in favor his own defilement. Red only gave him a withering look, reaching inside his vest pocket for a fat cigar. He popped a wooden match alight with the sharpened tip of his thumb and the pungent smell of smoke filled the air.

“i don’t need to barter for sex, honey,” Red said in a cloudy exhale. “you wanna pay me back, you just make sure you stick to our deal.” He leaned in suddenly, cigar held well away in one hand as his mouth barely brushed the side of Blue’s skull in a low murmur, “when ya finally get on your knees for me, ya gonna be beggin’ me to be there.”

“I’d love to see you try,” Blue said unthinkingly. It earned him a startled laugh even as he quailed inwardly.

“oh, sweetheart, ya never let me down.” Red drew back and offered him that wider grin. “gonna try, fer sure, that’s a bone-ified promise.” He set a hand in the middle of Blue’s chest and gave him a light shove, sending him toppling on his backside as Red stood and went back to the desk. “now get out, the dogs’ll bring your bro back to ya when they find ‘im.”

Blue wobbled to his feet, already heading for the door. He hesitated there, uncertainly, he should be grateful for what he’d gotten, he should flee with all due haste and yet, he could help a soft, heartfelt, “Thank you.”

He didn’t wait for a reply, the door closing softly behind him as he fled. There wasn’t a Dog in sight, hopefully they were all searching for his brother, and Blue headed back to their room alone. He was halfway there when he realized, a niggling, absent thought in the back of his skull suddenly coming clear. The teacup he’d been drinking from; when Red leaned in, beneath the layer of cigar smoke, he’d smelled like golden flower tea. Why would he be drinking his own profits? It made no sense, or none that Blue could make of it.

That didn’t matter, not right now, he could worry at that sore spot later. For now, all he wanted was his brother back with him, as safe as circumstances allowed. He hoped fervently it wouldn’t take long.

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tbc

#cherryberry #spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #mafia AU

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