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gamergirl-niffler · 3 years

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Wife’s Touch Part 2 - Male!Eivor x Reader

PART I

I actually really liked the first part... and I guess some people liked it too... I mean it actually got some notes

So! I sat and even when no one asked wrote part two

BIG AND AMAZING THANKS TO MY ONE AND ONLY @arthurbristow FOR CHECKING THIS MESS :3 LOVE YA!

It again pokes the main story SO BE WARNED! Just in case if someone didn’t finish the story yet.

Since Sigurd returned home, things changed. He changed. The good Jarl that loved his people dearly changed into a harsh leader.

It was hard to spot him outside his room like before, most of the time he spent away from everyone.

No one could blame him for this. Everyone heard that happen to him. They heard Eivor's story and the missing arm was a harsh reminder of the hard time Sigurd had been through.

Despite all this, people did their best to live their daily lives.

———————————————————————

You sat right outside the long house, enjoying the warm sun on your skin. This was what you needed, your body started to change and it needed rest.

Suddenly, there was a kiss placed on your forehead. Opening your eyes you saw a familiar person. Person you were bonded with in front of the Gods, many winters back.

"Enjoying the weather, I see. How do you feel my love?," Eivor asked, kneeling in front of you to place a kiss on your now bigger belly.

This was why you loved Eivor. Eivor was a ferocious warrior, strong and dangerous. He could split a man in half with one swing of his axe, he killed the whole army barehanded yet his soul was gentle and poet-like. Your husband was easily changing from warrior into loving man.

Your hand moved into his nicely done hair, of course they were nice. You made those braids yourself this morning. "I do enjoy the weather, love. I cannot spend whole days in our room. As much as I love our bed, staying there for too long can get boring."

"You never were the one to sit in place for too long. I remember when we were young, you were running around like a snow hare. It's even harder to forget what was happening once you started to wield the sword and shield," Eivor chuckled and placed one more kiss on your tummy before getting up to sit next to you.

You giggled as your thoughts returned to the times of childhood and the time when King Styrbjorn brought young Eivor to the settlement, announcing that the boy is now his son.

Your mother explained to you what happened and it became your goal to befriend that boy and make him smile again. You two became friends and then warriors, fighting, hand in hand. Later stuff went in an even better direction.

Your state was the proof of it.

"I know and I don't regret the past nor the present. I am more than happy to be by your side and carry your child."

Your husband gave you a smile and leaned in to place a kiss on your lips, which you gladly accepted.

The sweet moment was interrupted by someone clearing his throat.

It was Sigurd, of course he wanted something from his brother. "As much as I don't want to deprive a wife of her husband, I need to talk with Eivor."

You didn't want to let him go, not yet but there was no other choice.

Sigurd knew you for years, you were friends for years but in his current state you didn't want to unnecessarily get under his skin.

"Very well, I think the little one demands a nap. I'll see you soon,” you kissed Eivor's cheek before going back to the longhouse

———————————————————————

You used to be a warrior or just a useful person that liked to help around but since the pregnancy started you slept a lot. Thankfully now Eivor was in settlement on daily bases which made your sleep much calmer.

Your nap again took a few hours out of your life. You woke up to the pair of yellow eyes, watching you.

Of course the wolf was here. Giggling, you sat up and scratched Chewy behind his ears. "Aren't you a great companion?"

After some cuddles with the wolf you got up from bed and walked out of the room. You noticed Eivor standing over the map and talking to Randvi.

Walking closer you could hear their talk.

"It may be time to return to Norway. Sigurd is eager to see his father and... and beyond that, I do not know," Eivor said as he looked at the map.

"I have heard ill news about Styrbjorn in the past year. If you go, go with care," Randvi said.

You watched him nod and pierce the map with the dagger.

"We will leave now. And return as soon as we're able."

Those words made you freeze.

He wanted to go NOW? Back to Norway?! It was to travel for many days and gods know how long they will be there then they need to come back. You didn't want him to leave, you didn't want to be away from him.

Sigurd was mad and he followed him, what if they won't come back this time?

"Eivor...," Your voice already cracked.

He looked at you with those beautiful blue eyes and sighed.

Eivor didn't expect you to hear the talk, he wanted to go to you and explain it himself but here you were.

Your fragile figure shaking a little from the sudden wave or fear, eyes getting more and more shiny.

"My love...," He said quietly, moving closer to wrap his arms around you.

"I am sorry for leaving in such a rush. I wanted to tell you as soon as I was done talking to Randvi."

You nodded and nuzzled him, whimpering quietly.

"Why do you need to leave? I don't want you to go... Please stay with us,"

Honestly you had no idea where those feelings came from.

"Y/N. Listen to me," Eivor said quietly and pressed his forehead to yours.

"Whatever Sigurd is planning, I need to make sure my brother is safe. We will come back as soon as possible. I promise you that."

You looked at him, biting your lips. Of course he would follow Sigurd just... Why now? He was going mad and Eivor still went after him. You always thought that the bond between them was wonderful but this was too much.

"Eivor... I..."

"I know what you are thinking but you know you can trust me. Whatever he wants to do, I will make sure we are both safe," Eivor whispered, gently touching your cheek with his rough fingers.

Closing your eyes you took a deep breath, simply enjoying the touch and closeness.

After your nerves calmed down you opened your eyes and nodded with a soft smile.

"I trust you, Eivor."

"I swear on my honor. I will return to both of you, alive and well," He promised, touching your belly.

"Try not to... And I will pull you out from Valhalla myself," You muttered and Evior chuckled before pulling you into a slow kiss.

You returned the kiss, grabbing the hem of his cloak.

Soon he pulled away to place another kiss on your forehead. "Randvi will keep an eye on you."

"Of course I will. Everyone will. She will be safe Eivor," Randvi nodded, walking closer to the two of you.

"Travel safe and keep each other safe, Eivor. We will be waiting," She said, wrapping arms around your shoulders.

You smiled at Eivor and nodded.

"I will pray to Gods for a safe return. For both, you and Sigurd."

Eivor and you shared the last good bye and he left.

It still felt wrong, you wanted to have him close but you also couldn't keep him in one place for too long.

———————————————————————

Days had passed. Every day was almost the same.

You woke up with white beast in your bed, you prayed, you helped Randvi or anyone who needed help, you prayed, you waited in the docks and then ate and went to sleep.

Every day was full of unshown fear.

All you wanted was to get your husband back with you.

Your every moment was filled with quiet prayer. No matter what you were doing, the prayer was stuck in your head. "Please bring my husband and his brother back safely."

———————————————————————

One evening you decided to visit dear Valka and help her a little. Whatever could keep you busy was just perfect.

Valka smiled as soon as she saw you walking into her hut. "Y/N, how are you? And the little one?"

You returned the smile and nodded, touching your belly. "Everything is fine so far."

"I can feel you are worried. Scared even," She hummed.

You chuckled. Of course she would know, despite your smiles. It was Valka after all. Suddenly you were hugged.

"You don't need to worry. Eivor will come back to you. The night will be filled with happiness. Now come, I could use another pair of hands."

It was a mystery what she meant. She often liked to speak in riddles and you already got used to it.

The work Valka gave you was really easy. Nothing more than just organizing and preparing some of the herbs she collected during the day.

It was relaxing and the nice smell of plants smoothed your nerves.

"Y/N! Y/N! They are back!" Tove said happily as she walked inside the hut all excited.

You gasped and quickly went to the longhouse when Tove went to inform others.

The building was empty and quiet, illuminated by many torches but he was there.

Eivor stood there with Sigurd, he looked just as proud as always.

You thanked all the gods that both returned home happily.

"Eivor!,” You said happily and your feet immediately carried you to your husband.

"My love,” Eivor smiled and wrapped you in a hug as tight as possible of course without hurting you or the little one.

You nuzzled him and just then heard him hiss and groan. Pulling away you noticed some of the blood coating his tunic.

"It's alright my dear. It's nothing serious, we can take care of this later," he said as if he was hearing your thoughts.

Looking around he frowned. "We missed a great feast, it seems."

Then you realized your husband was right.

All the tables looked as if they were right after the feast or prepared for it to start. This was odd, since you did not recall any feast planned for tonight.

"Eivor..." Sigurd said getting your and Eivor's attention.

The older brother gestured to the throne. "Sit a moment... and rest."

"Sigurd." Eivor was unsure of it all. This wasn't his place, he wasn't much of a ruler.

"Go on, love," you said quietly and gently touched his shoulder, trying to encourage him.

Hesitantly Eivor walked to the throne and slowly took a seat on it, getting comfortable in the seat. He looked at his older brother who gave him an approving nod.

You couldn't stop looking at him.

Eivor looked so proud, perfect in this place. Even if he was always saying that he isn't a leader, you simply knew he was made for this. He will be a great jarl.

Randvi joined the three of you and after a brief talk about men's travel Tove brought everyone in.

"Eivor returned! Inside, at the hearth! Come!"

Sigurd decided to walk away and sit down at one of the tables

Few of the people carried torches, adding more light in the long house.

Giving Eivor a sweet smile you stepped aside to let Randvi speak.

"Eivor? Randvi? What is this? Is everything all right?,” Gudmund asked.

Randvi shook her and looked at Wolf Kissed over her shoulder.

"Our Jarl has returned... to lead us forward into an uncertain future. Will you speak to your people?"

Eivor looked at you for any kind of help. He looked nervous, not sure of it all.

You just gave him a sweet smile, assuring him that he can do it. After all, your husband did harder things than that.

"For love and joy, words can jade. Our souls must sound in a heartful song. And when... no, no," shaking his head he got up from the throne and walked closer to all the people he called friends.

"You are less mine than I am yours. And I ask of you only this, keep me honest in the times to come."

The Long House was quiet.

People looked at Eivor and each other.

The sudden change of Jarl was for sure a big surprise for everyone but it for sure wasn't unwelcomed.

Bragi broke the silien with a song and soon everyone joined, so did you.

In just a few minutes this special moment changed into a big feast.

Feast filled with family, friends, joy and singing.

It was hard to remember the last time that the whole settlement was so full of happiness.

Such moments were rare but they were honest, this was the most important.

———————————————————————

You and Eivor returned to your shared bedroom really late at night. Other people stayed up to have more fun but you needed your sleep and Eivor was happy to follow you.

"You didn't tell me about the wound," You frowned, noticing the wound on his belly.

Eivor looked down on the said wound; the souvenir of the fight with Basim.

He nodded and gave you a little smile.

"I did not because there was no need to worry you. This wound is shallow."

Letting out annoyed sighs, you nodded as he sat down on the bed. You immediately moved to sit right behind him.

Your hands moved into his hair, loosening the braids and combing through Eivor's beautiful blond hair with your fingers.

Your husband hummed and quickly relaxed thanks to your touch. It was nice to feel a familiar touch after weeks of fighting.

You worked until his hair were completely loose and than you placed a gently kiss on the scare on the right side of his nape

"My beloved husband."

Eivor smiled and then turned around to lie down with you right by his side.

Watching you he smiled.

"My beautiful wife who is carrying our child. I can't wait for the little one to be here. I hope your days were calm when I wasn't here."

"Yes, the little one was really calm," You chuckled, touching your belly. "I was the worried one."

He nodded and took the big fur to cover both of you. Once this was done Eivor pressed his forehead to your and closed his eyes, you did the same.

"Rest now. No need to worry any longer. I am here and I will protect both of you."

You smiled a little and nuzzled him. He was back home, this was what you both needed. Soon both of you fell asleep.

———————————————————————

Morning was something you loved the most most. Getting ready for the day was always fun.

"You know. Since you are our Jarl now. I think I will braid your hair differently. Something that speaks; Leader," You hummed, looking at Eivor's hair.

He laughed warmly and nodded. "Very well, I put myself and my hair at your mercy, wife."

"Oh don't worry, you will look beautiful as always. I will make sure of it."

Braiding Eivor's hair took you longer than you expected but you were really proud with your hand work.

He looked more handsome than ever, honestly you were surprised that it's even possible.

The two of you walked out of the room, holding hands.

You noticed Eivor frowning a little more than you noticed what he saw.

His brother stood next to the entrance to a map room, his arms crossed over his chest. Sugurd didn't look happy, he looked concerned.

"Sigurd...," Eivor asked, moving closer to his brother gently pulling you behind himself.

"Eivor. Before you say more, I must tell you something. Randvi and I have... Have ended our marriage," He said slowly.

You gasped quietly a bit shocked but on the other hand you understand it.

Everyone knew their marriage was the complete opposite of yours and Eivor's.

Yours came out of love when there was an arrangement.

"I am sorry to hear that," Eivor said softly.

You wanted to add something but Sigurd was quicker than you.

"Ah, do not be. Both of you. We adore one another dearly, but our marriage was not built on love. We were brought together as an act of peace. I was pledged to her well before I knew her. And though we have tried to settle our differences and find love in our faults..." He shook his head. "It has not worked out. And so we have dissolved our bond. Yet as a clan, we will grew together."

"Then I'm glad for you both. And for the rest of us. This place would not be the same without you two," Eivor agreed, nodding.

You also nodded eagerly. "That is the truth, Sigurd. Our settlement would feel empty without both of you."

Sigurd smiled at you. "Y/N. My dear sister in law, I owe you an apology. I haven't been too kind to you lately, it was all because of my clouded mind," he placed hand on your belly.

"Please, forgive me for this behaviour. I can't tell you how happy and thankful I am for everything you do for my brother. I hope your child will be as strong as he is and as beautiful as you are."

You giggled and nodded. "Thank you Sigurd and really. It was nothing, I understood everything."

Man nodded his head and pointed at Eivor.

"And you, little brother. Keep her safe and close, if you ever let her go or hurt her... I will kick your ass." Eivor laughed loudly and nodded. "I promise on my honor and life and all the gods."

You smiled and squeezed his hand. "Oh I know it all, I don't need to promise anything my love."

After this little talk, Sigurd walked away.

You and Eivor decided to go for a walk, just to enjoy each other. You could already tell that better times were here and you couldn't wait for more.

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#male!eivor x reader #eivor x reader #male!eivor x you #eivor x you #Assassin's creed Valhalla #ac valhalla

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kuramirocket · 3 years

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On July 10, 1520, Aztec forces vanquished the Spanish conquistador Hernán Cortés and his men, driving them from Tenochtitlan, capital of the Aztec empire. The Spanish soldiers were wounded and killed as they fled, trying in vain to drag stolen gold and jewels with them.

By September, an unexpected ally of the would-be conquerors had reached the city: the variola virus, which causes smallpox.

How the Aztecs responded to this threat would prove critical.

The Aztecs were no strangers to plagues. Among the speeches recorded in their rhetoric and moral philosophy, we find a warning to new kings concerning their divinely ordained role in the event of contagion:

Sickness will arrive during your time. How will it be when the city becomes, is made, a place of desolation? Just how will it be when everything lies in darkness, despair? You will also go rushing to your death right then and there. In an instant, you will be over.

Facing a plague, it was vital that the king respond with grace. They warned:

Do not be a fool. Do not rush your words, do not interrupt or confuse people. Instead find, grasp, arrive at the truth. Make no one weep. Cause no sadness. Injure no one. Do not show rage or frighten folks. Do not create a scandal or speak with vanity. Do not ridicule. For vain words and mockery are no longer your office. Never, of your own will, make yourself less, diminished. Bring no scorn upon the nation, its leadership, the government.

Retract your teeth and claws. Gladden your people. Unite them, humor them, please them. Make your nation happy. Help each find their proper place. That way you’ll be esteemed, renowned. And when our Lord extinguishes you, the old ones will weep and sigh.

If a king did not follow this advice, if his rule caused more suffering than it abated, then the people prayed to Tezcatlipoca for any number of consequences, including his death:

May he be made an example of. Let him receive some reprimand, whatever you choose. Perhaps punishment. Disease. Perhaps you’ll let your honor and glory fall to another of your friends, those who weep in sorrow now. For they do exist. They live. You have no want of friends. They are sighing before you, humble. Choose one of them.

Perhaps he [the bad ruler] will experience what the common folk do: suffering, anguish, lack of food and clothing. And perhaps you will give him the greatest punishments: paralysis, blindness, rotting infection.

Or will he instead soon depart this world? Will you bring about his death? Will he get to know our future home, the place with no exits, no smoke holes? Maybe he will meet the Lord of Death, Mictlanteuctli, mother and father of us all.

Clearly, the Aztecs took the responsibilities of leadership very seriously. Beyond uplifting morale, a king’s principal duty in times of contagion was deploying his subjects to “their proper place” so that the kingdom could continue to function. This included mobilizing the titicih, doctor-healers with vast herbal knowledge, most of them women pledged to the primal mother goddess Teteoh Innan.

What about the rest of the people? As with our own modern call for “thoughts and prayers,” the Aztecs believed their principal collective tool for fending off epidemics was a humble appeal to Tezcatlipoca. The very first speech of their text of rhetoric and moral philosophy was a supplication to destroy plague. After admitting how much they might deserve this scourge and recognizing the divine right of Tezcatlipoca to punish them however he sees fit, the desperate Aztecs tried to get their powerful god to consider the worst-case outcome of his vengeance:

O Master, how in truth can your heart desire this? How can you wish it? Have you abandoned your subjects? Is this all? Is this how it is now? Will the common folk just go away, be destroyed? Will the governed perish? Will emptiness and darkness prevail? Will your cities become choked with trees and vines, filled with fallen stones? Will the pyramids in your sacred places crumble to the ground?

Will your anger never be reversed? Will you look no more upon the common folk? For—ah!—this plague is destroying them! Darkness has fallen! Let this be enough. Stop amusing yourself, O Master, O Lord. Let the earth be at rest! I fall before you. I throw myself before you, casting myself into the place from which no one rises, the place of terror and fear, crying out: O Master, perform your office … do your job!

Smallpox arrived in Mesoamerica with a second wave of Spaniards who joined forces with Cortés. According to one account, they had with them an enslaved African man known as Francisco Eguía, who was suffering from smallpox. He, like many others on the continent of his birth, had no immunity to the disease carried there by the slave traders.

Eguía died in the care of Totonac people near Veracruz, the port city established by the Spanish some 250 miles east of the Aztec capital. His caretakers became infected. Smallpox spreads easily: not only blood and saliva, but also skin-to-skin contact (handshakes, hugs) and airborne respiratory droplets. It raced through a population with no herd immunity at all: along the coast, over the mountains, across the waters of Lake Texcoco, into the very heart of the populous empire.

The epidemic lasted 70 days in the city of Tenochtitlan. It killed 40 percent of the inhabitants, including the emperor, Cuitlahuac. Had he found it increasingly difficult to keep his people’s spirits up as tradition commanded? Had his leadership faltered? Did his subjects pray for his death?

Whatever the case, the memory of that devastation would echo for centuries. Some Nahuas—mostly the sons and grandsons of Aztec nobility—described the devastation decades after the conquest.

Their account harrows the soul:

It started during Tepeilhuitl [the 13th month of the solar calendar], when a vast human devastation spread over everyone. Some were covered in pustules, which spread everywhere, on people’s faces, heads, chests, etc. There was great loss of life; many people died of it.

They could not walk anymore. They just lay in bed in their homes. They could not move anymore, could not shift themselves, could not sit up or stretch out on their sides. They could not lay flat on their backs or even face down. If they even stirred, they screamed out in pain.

Many died of hunger, too. They starved because no one was left to care for the others; no one could attend to anyone else. On some people, the pustules were few and far between. They caused little discomfort, and those folks did not die. Still others had their faces marred.

By Panquetzaliztli [the 15th month of the solar year], it began to fade. At that time the brave warriors of the Mexica managed to recover.

But a hard lesson had been learned. None of the old remedies had worked. Entire families were gone. Funeral pyres effaced the sun.

The epidemic was only the beginning of the unexpected forces working in tandem to bring down the Aztec empire. On May 22, 1521—just as Tenochtitlan was beginning to recover, trying to rebuild trade routes, restock its supplies, replant its fields and aquatic chinampa gardens—Cortés returned.

This time he commanded more Spanish troops, men from the same second wave that had brought the smallpox. With them marched tens of thousands of Tlaxcaltecah warriors, the sworn enemies of the Aztecs. Smallpox had reached Tlaxcallan first, but its people—not as densely packed in urban areas like the Mexica—had fared better and were now ready to finish off their rivals.

The massive military force laid siege to the Aztec capital. Even with more than half the population dead or disabled, with little food or water or supplies, the Mexica held the city for three months.

Then, on August 13, 1521, it fell. Emptiness and darkness indeed prevailed.

Lines from a song composed by an unknown Mexica not long afterward sums up the emotions of the survivors:

It is our God who brings down

His wrath, His awesome might

upon our heads.

So friends, weep at the realization—

we abandon the Mexica Way.

Now the water is bitter,

the food is bitter: that

is what the Giver of Life

has wrought.

Without the smallpox, it’s much less likely Cortés and his allies could have taken Tenochtitlan.

The plague—cocoliztli—was the most devastating post-conquest epidemic in large parts of Mexico, wiping out somewhere around 80 percent of the native population.

“Somewhere around” because population estimates are difficult to come by, with extrapolations made from incomplete colonial sources that date back to precolonial times. For the ethnohistorian Charles Gibson, there is no “sure method for determining whether the later [colonial era] counts were more accurate or less accurate than the earlier ones,” so that “the magnitude of the unrecorded population seems unrecoverable.”

Nevertheless, Gibson’s best estimate is a population of 1,500,000 inhabitants of the Valley of Mexico at the time of first contact with Europeans. There was a sharp fall of about 325,000 by 1570; a drastic fall to about 70,000 by the mid-seventeenth century; followed by slow growth to about 275,000 by 1800. Gibson’s figures are simply staggering. They give us a rough impression, but tell us little about the suffering and massive social upheaval caused by these catastrophes.

Slavery, forced labor, wars, and large-scale resettlements all worked together to make indigenous communities more vulnerable to disease.

According to the “Virgin Soil” theory, the epidemics were so desctructive because “the populations at risk have had no previous contact with the diseases that strike them and are therefore immunologically… defenceless,” as the psychiatrist David Jones writes in the William & Mary Quarterly. The theory is still widespread, often devolving into vague claims that indigenous people had “no immunity” to the new epidemics. By now we know that the lack of immunity played a role, but mostly early on. Current research instead emphasizes an interplay of influences, for the most part triggered by Europeans: slavery, forced labor, wars, and large-scale resettlements all worked together to make indigenous communities more vulnerable to disease.

According to a group of scholars writing in the journal Latin American Antiquity, in colonial Mexico, “by the mid-17th century, many… communities had failed, victims of massive population decline, environmental degradation, and economic collapse.” This is why it’s crucial for today’s scholars to emphasize the influence of colonial policies—as opposed to the Virgin Soil theory, which shifts responsibility away from Europeans.

One peak of the epidemic occurred in the 1570s. The exact pathogen that caused that epidemic is not yet known. Some scholars have speculated that, since it struck mostly younger people, it might have been something unique to the New World and reminiscent of the Spanish Influenza outbreak, possibly a tropical hemorrhagic fever. Other recent theories include Salmonella, or a combination of diseases. Native communities were the main victims of this epidemic due to their poverty, malnourishment, and harsh working conditions compared to the Spanish population.

Three Circles in the Sun

Aztec authors from central Mexico noted their reactions to the epidemics in fascinating detail. Writing 100 years after the Spanish military takeover, they were painfully aware of the consequences of epidemics and colonization: epidemics had taken place before, but the unprecedented scale of the disasters caused widespread incomprehension, sadness, and anger.

Much of the extant writing by Aztec authors dates to the turn of the seventeenth century. Many of the authors had experienced the plague themselves, its effects still fresh in their memories. I want to focus on two pieces of writing: a report by the well-known historian Diego Muñoz Camargo from Tlaxcala, written in Spanish; and an anonymous text in the indigenous language, Nahuatl, from the Puebla region.

As Diego Muñoz Camargo, the famous historian from the era, wrote:

In 1576, another great pestilence struck this land, bringing death and destruction to the native population. It lasted over a year and brought ruin and decay to most of New Spain [the Spanish Viceroyalty covering today’s Mexico], as the native population was then almost extinct. One month before the outbreak of the disease, an obvious sign had been seen in the sky: three circles in the sun, resembling bleeding or exploding suns, in which the colours merged. The colours of those three circles were those of the rainbow and could be seen from eight o’clock until almost one o’clock at noon.

This passage demonstrates the great importance of omens for the Aztecs.

It is not surprising that the second report, from the smaller community of Tecamachalco, also links diseases with the appearance of a comet. Probably written by the native noble Don Mateo Sánchez, the text shows the extent of the catastrophe in words quite similar to Diego Muñoz Camargo’s:

On the first day of August [of 1576] the great sickness began here in Techamachalco. It was really strong; there was no resisting. At the end of August began the processions because of the sickness. They finished on the ninth day. Because of it, many people died, young men and women, those who were old men and women, or children… When the month of October began, thirty people had been buried. In just two or three days they would die… They lost their senses. They thought of just anything and would die.

Several of Don Mateo’s family members also died, including his wife and the alcalde (mayor) of his quarter. Don Mateo then took over the post of alcalde. One can sense his incomprehension and anguish. The decimation of the indigenous elites is evident throughout his account.

This decimation contributed to the transformation of native societies well into the seventeenth century, including forced native labor and resettlements, the introduction of hierarchical Spanish laws and government, Christianity, and the alphabet. Together with increasing European immigration, the epidemic led to a massive upheaval of indigenous sociopolitical organization and ways of life, especially in the Valley of Mexico.

Don Mateo’s is not the only surviving account of the epidemic from an indigenous perspective. Other anonymous annals from Puebla and Tlaxcala from the era discuss earlier waves of disease, which remained firmly rooted in collective memory more than 100 years after the events. Like Mateo, these sources do not try to account for the origin of the disease, but they provide an idea of the scale and horror of the epidemic and the personal tragedies involved, the uprooting of families, of whole towns.

Meanwhile, the Spaniards’ narratives tried to explain the catastrophic effect the disease had on the indigenous population by pointing to difficult living conditions. But they also interpreted it as divine punishment for paganism and a sign of the native peoples’ alleged inferiority to Europeans. Of course, European remedies such as bloodletting, used in hospitals to treat indigenous patients, worsened conditions instead of healing them. Ultimately, the Spanish Crown feared above all a further loss of cheap or unpaid labour; the priests a loss of souls to be converted.

Holding Off Oblivion

Despite the harsh conditions, the descendants of the Aztecs did not give up—as has long been claimed in traditional scholarship. As the historian Camilla Townsend has argued, the demographic collapse lent urgency to the projects of major native historians—including the authors I’ve cited in this essay. Nearly all pre-Hispanic sources were destroyed by the Spanish, with some lost over time. The Chalca scholar Domingo de Chimalpahin commented on this confluence of factors: the destruction of sources and abandonment of communities strengthened his sense of responsibility to future generations. By writing history, he attempted to save his ancestors’ past from looming oblivion. Drawing on pre-Hispanic faith, continuing political participation, and recording the histories of their people: these are some of the ways in which Aztecs proactively shaped their lives following colonial devastation.

Centuries of colonial exploitation and violence have made the indigenous peoples of both Americas disproportionately vulnerable to current epidemics. This makes the resilience of indigenous peoples and cultures all the more incredible. Such resilience has developed over more than 500 years, in the face of continual adversity and disregard. Native American peoples provide varied and remarkable testimonies on weathering existential crises. The least we can do, in the midst of the current pandemic, is listen.

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alicemitch09writes · 3 years

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the catastrophic history of us

PAIRING: ryoumen sukuna x reader

SUMMARY: This is a story of two people - one was destined to see all while the other was destined to be all-powerful.

They came from different factions of society, though not entirely different if you compare a humble hut versus the slums.

This is a love story.

But it is not a happy one.

A/N: This is a continuation and sort of prequel to 'written in the stars' which gives light on why exactly Sukuna killed the reader and what he meant by 'waited a thousand years for this'. It's been in my head for a while and was an idea I wanted to try.

From what I've researched, Ryoumen Sukuna is said to hail from royalty while some he was just there, so I kinda wanna explore more on his background and ended up crafting my own. I'm sorry if it's kinda cliche. I ended up using the already existing lore about him, but added a bit of my own to fit the story and the narrative I want.

also available on ao3.

disclaimer: i own NOTHING but the plot.

This is a story of two people - one was destined to see all while the other was destined to be all-powerful.

They came from different factions of society, though not entirely different if you compare a humble hut versus a grandiose palace, a benevolent being versus a power-hungry one, one who dances with the mystic arts versus one who challenges the fates, one royal highness and his royal spiritual advisor, - two very different beings destined to meet, destined to fall together, destined to be together.

This is a love story.

But it is not a happy one.

This is a story of two star-crossed lovers.

But again, to reiterate, this is not a happy story. There is no happy ending here.

Legends speak of a name, so feared and great that just the mention of it sent shivers down the spines of many – young, old, human, curses.

Just the mention of his name was akin to devastation and disaster, killing all forms of life regardless of status.

Ryoumen Sukuna.

Also known as ‘King of Curses’.

Call his name, and you are invoking yourself to a life of damnation, of no return, of death.

However, once upon a time, Ryoumen Sukuna was once a simple man.

A prince to be exact, son to the Great Emperor, heir to the throne, general commander of the royal army, and quite possibly, the strongest warrior in the land.

Once upon a time, Ryoumen Sukuna was a man of great power and privilege.

He could take soldiers with a swift blow of his sword, could conquer lands in a day, with only a swagger down the road that could bring the mightiest men quaking, could overpower just about anyone with only his presence - his menacing and great presence.

Wise beyond his years, versatile in combat, cynical, ambitious, and wicked – these were the traits of the soon-to-be Emperor? How unsettling. The kingdom would no sooner meet its demise and burn into flames than to shine brightly with a ruler with blood and warfare on his mind.

Many had thought so as well, yet did little.

For what can they do against someone who can promise dominion and power? They can all but kneel and acquiesce to his bidding.

He did possess a younger twin brother, but compared to his brother, he was passable at best. The brother doesn't talk much, says very little, but paid close attention to his surroundings, his companions, even to his older brother, whom he admired greatly.

It was sometime during his time as a prince when fate decided to play their hand.

But no one saw it coming.

Save for one.

The Emperor’s royal spiritual adviser, the kingdom’s revered onmyouji known only by the name (Y/N).

"That's quite the look on your pretty face, (Y/N)."

Sighing, the (h/c)-haired woman ever so carefully dipped her brush into the ink well before continuing her writing.

"Oya? No wisecracks this time?" the voice drew near, she could feel his hot breath beside her ear. "Is that any way to speak to your future king?"

Unfazed, she dipped her brush into the well again, careful strokes bleeding into the paper. "Truly not worth his royal highness' time if I even breathe or say a word."

Even without looking, she knows he's smirking. He knows he got what he wanted, ever the child.

Silence filled in. She, continuing on with her scrolls, and he, lazily perched himself awfully close to her side, sliding his gaze from her eyes, her face, to her kimono, to her nimble fingers.

From the first moment he laid eyes on her, he was fascinated by her very being. More so, when she revealed that she was to be the royal onmyouji with the ability to see all.

Technically, her position was better suited for a man, especially a man from a renowned jujutsu family – for trivial reasons.

However, no man could ever compete with one with an all-seeing eye, with impressive control of her cursed energy other than this woman, this strange woman.

No one else but her.

He would like to think that he became a man no long sooner after their first verbal spat, after their second introduction – having differing ideals and morals, never backing from the other despite their status. He and his twin had just turned 18, a prime age for the king to be. It was what drew them together in the first place.

From the moment their eyes met, he had unwillingly declared this fascinating woman as his and only his.

When she was finished writing, just as she laid her brush aside, a hand slammed on the table. She didn’t flinch, even as the man effortlessly picking her up into his arms. "Surely you must be bored from all that gibberish writing, eh?"

Allowing herself a genial smile, (e/c) eyes alit with life, she draped her arms around his strong shoulders.

"Must I remind you time and time again that they're readings?" Fingers slipped and carded through his locks, grabbing tufts of hair playfully. Tilting her head, she used her free hand to ghost over his strong jawline. “Your great kingdom would crumble would it not be for said readings. Lives would be lost. Blood will be shed. Your name tarnished and damned-”

"Blah, blah, blah, is all I can hear you say," pushing her against the wall, he welcomed himself between her legs, drawing himself ever so close to her. “Don’t you ever get tired of spouting bullshit?”

“Surely you would know,” she gasped as something hard pressed against her core. “that’s all your mouth is good for: running your filthy mouth.”

He met her smirk with his, hot breath fanning hers. “And here I thought you’d be this docile diviner.” Scoffing, he drew close. “Thank fuck I was wrong.”

Hot lips pressed against hers, just as the ink dried out and the shadows danced in the dark.

"We order you to join forces with us destroy Ryoumen Sukuna."

"I refuse."

Even she can't deny that the man she loved was a danger to everyone, probably to all of humanity. He was quick to be enamored with power, sadistic even in his means to achieve greater feats and exploit his foes.

Eventually, she saw how the man she came to love drastically turned into the cynical, malevolent King of Curses he was.

Mad with power, ambition, and glory, in order to achieve all and more he sought out the dark mystics that made him murder his younger twin brother granting him his grotesque figure - two faces, added appendages, and dark marks littering his body.

It started with a vision. Then came the prophecy.

Overnight, a brother was murdered in cold blood by his own, through his blood spawned the King of Curses.

Many months were soon bathed in more blood as he sought nothing more but destruction and chaos,

In the end, she knew what she had to do, what must be done, what must happen, what was foretold – even if it ends up breaking her heart.

"Could you do it?"

"...I have no choice."

This is it, she thought. The end.

The end of the beginning.

Fire licked throughout the field, soot rising from the ashes, craters, devastation lurked wherever the eye could see. There was even the occasional ice covered in blood, sometimes encasing

It had been a long, treacherous, arborous, and exhausting battle – sorcerers and Imperial soldiers against fellow sorcerers and curses.

Jujutsu sorcerers – especially the high-ranking ones from esteemed clans, set aside their petty differences for this one battle, to put down the King of Curses.

Ryoumen Sukuna.

It was a hard-earned battle, as Ryoumen Sukuna had with him a rather interesting set of warriors to fend off against them.

But finally, they got him.

In the middle of all this madness and bloodshed, a victor was finally declared.

And it wasn’t him.

"HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME!?" He screamed, binding spells forcing him to his knees, his whole body weakened and paralyzed by countless battles and countless spells against him. “(Y/N)!? HOW COULD YOU!?”

She forced herself to hold him down as the sorcerers around her continued their spells.

Amidst it all - the undeniable pain, the humiliation of being pinned, the utter betrayal - Ryoumen Sukuna turned to her and only her, red eyes burning her very being, as though ready to incinerate and devour her on the spot.

At the front line, that’s where she was to be – supposed to be, as she was their leverage to get close to the King of Curses.

She was leverage at best, the one thing that can keep Ryoumen Sukuna down - despite the countless claims that no one and nothing can do so.

"In this life, know that you were always the man I hold closest to my heart, the warmth on a cold winter's day, the joy from a day's tiresome work. There is no one but you, Ryoumen Sukuna," she was openly crying now, uncaring of anyone and anything. "But in this life, we cannot be."

The spell had been cast, paralyzing Sukuna, allowing the rest of the jujutsu sorcerers to attack.

With the final blow, she poured a bit of herself into her final, most powerful spell. Sealing him and vaporizing any memory of her in it, emptying his being until he was but an empty husk.

"YOU BITCH! YOU LIED TO ME!" Despite being in constant pain, his body slowly reddening and wax appearing all over, he found it in himself to spout angrily at her. "WAS EVERYTHING A LIE!?"

Memories upon memories - of their first meeting, their first verbal spat, their next meeting, him cornering into a corner, of their first kiss, of their first night, of their many nights, of promises under the sheets, of eyes searching, of eyes yearning, of eyes hurting - voided one after the other.

"I'LL KILL YOU! I'LL KILL YOU DEAD, YOU FUCKING BITCH!" He doesn't mean it, she tells herself, adding more spells that caused him to scream in even more pain.

"Y-YOU FUCKING BITCH! I SWEAR I'LL KILL YOU!" His eyes were blank, regarding her with all the hatred man could possess. "YOU'LL BE THE FIRST PERSON I KILL THE MOMENT I GET BACK!" choking on blood, he feels himself weaken. "I SWEAR IT! I'LL KILL YOU THE FIRST MOMENT I GET!"

A sob escaped her, as much as she tried to swallow it down. To no avail, she cannot fake her remorse, her pain. She knew it was the right thing to do, for the betterment of all – humans and sorcerers, but it cost her so much sorrow and pain.

"Nothing is a lie," she croaked, feeling the last of her energy leave her, tearfully gazing into the eyes of her beloved. "But I have to say goodbye."

And just like that, the King of Curses was no more.

And when the fighting was over, the Seer vanished without a trace.

It came abruptly.

Without warning, without a sound, without a whisper, without a call.

The end of the beginning.

Of when fate decided to try its hand with life, changing the course of all.

For a thousand years ago, the jujutsu society was at its high boasting about great families within their ranks and a seer to guide them all.

The seer, who were specialists in the mystics and great beyond, who helped build empires, defend against curses, win wars - the great seer revered, respected, and treasured.

Alas, this seer fled, vanished, and doomed the jujutsu society.

For without her visions, how can the sorcerers ever know of the truth and lies that the future holds, to protect them from whatever threatens them? Of the corruption that would soon waste them away? Their arrogance and overdependency on her visions became their downfall, yet few could actually attest to that.

The jujutsu world was a strange, fickle, archaic, and destructive kind with an equally disturbing system. A system unwilling to change, unwilling to adapt, willing only to lead by example.

After her disappearance, they were left with crumbs to pick up, on where she'd be for their next life - for without her visions, how would they be able to secure safety for themselves?

(how selfish of them)

Lo and behold, a thousand years later, and she would appear again, outside of Japan and born half a Gojo! What tremendous luck they have!

Without wasting another second, they sent their best sorcerers to abduct the child and took her by force from her mother, bringing her all the way to Japan.

Only they could have their hands on this seer, one they've waited for thousands for years, one who remains theirs, rightfully theirs, one who has to atone for her sins of leaving the jujutsu society vulnerable all those years ago.

Yes, this child must bear the sins of her ancestors, must live a life for the future of the jujutsu sorcerers.

She is theirs.

Theirs and theirs alone!

But alas, Gojo Satoru caught wind of the other Gojo, singlehandedly took her from them and took her under his care.

How dare he!

So long as he was alive, no way would they ever get their hands on the seer, the great diviner, the all-seeing eye!

How dare he!

Gojo Satoru who manages to effortlessly insert himself in situations he shouldn't be, halting or stopping decisions entirely, establishing his presence as the strongest sorcerer - a title that many of them cannot deny, with much disdain, he, who is without a shred of doubt, a threat.

The Gojo seer continued to live her life, foolishly and blissfully unaware of her true value. Foolish little girl!

The past and present converged into one another, tightly wounding and bounding, meshing and mixing in between the seems, for a future nobody knows, a future nobody is prepared for, but a future nonetheless for all.

However, unbeknownst to all - even to the jujutsu higher-ups, the Great Gojo Satoru, and his beloved little sister, the future in store was not kind. No.

It's as though the past comes back to haunt, to call out for sins to be repented.

Strange as it seems, it all went according to plan - Gojo Satoru finding out about his sister, Fushiguro Megumi sent to Sendai, Miyagi to fetch a cursed object and meeting Itadori Yuuji, Itadori Yuuji ingesting said cursed object and hosting Ryoumen Sukuna, reviving the King of Curses after a thousand years. Yes. Marvelous. All according to plan.

The characters were set, ties looming into each other. Glorious.

It was inevitable, that these characters had special ties connecting them with each other, keeping their lives intertwined, for such was the plan for the grander scheme of things.

There was nothing.

A sea of nothing.

Endless nothing.

It went on and on and on and on and on and on.

It was a nothing that comforting, a nothing where nothing existed, a nothing where nothing was felt.

It was a nothing with that - nothing.

The perfect word for it would be void, however, voids can still have something in them.

And there was red.

A field of red spread across, going on forever and ever and ever.

Curious, she got to her knees to inspect. A flower, it was a red flower with six umbels and a long stamen, blooming outward, as though seeking life. Fingering through its petals, her eyes followed along millions of them spread.

Suddenly, a cold chill ran down her. For some reason, she looked up, meeting nothing.

And yet, she remembered the feeling dwelling in her in a sea of nothing.

Yes, she remembered this feeling.

She knows that feeling.

"Where am I?" a voice cut through the nothing.

In front of her stood someone who looked exactly like her, except, one pair of her eyes had the trademark Six Eyes of the Gojo clan, there was a streak of white running down the right side of her hair, and she was dressed in clothing much different from hers.

Recognition fell upon her, blinking calmly as a faint smile graced her lips.

“Who are you?” asked the girl.

Her smile turned sad as she approached, crushing the flowers under her feet.

The same recognition fell unto her mismatched eyes, but probably not the same kind of recognition she had.

With the gentleness akin to a mother, she eyed the girl before her.

“I’m sorry,” she cried, her voice echoing in the dark. “I’m sorry to have cursed you – all of you,” confusion crosses her face, it hurts her even more. “to have you all carry my burden." The red all around them seemed to glow, a vibrant, blinding red. "I’m sorry.”

Confusion continued to riddle her features, which makes this meeting just more bittersweet.

And then came rain, pouring down on them.

It washed over them, over the flowers.

And then nothing.

Come a thousand years later, and there they were.

A promise foretold, enacted finally.

He, a man resurrected from the dead, free from the curses that kept him away, taking what was rightfully his with her beating heart in his.

And she, a shell of a woman in the form of her now empty descendent.

At last, he had his comeuppance, at last, he got his revenge.

As he devoured her heart, feeling the remaining pieces of his powers return, as did the memories. What a cruel twist of fate.

Suddenly, his mind felt like a rush of water downstream. He could feel his immeasurable power returning, could feel in pumping his veins, yet at the same time, there were tears.

Elsewhere was Fushiguro Megumi, screaming over and over the name of the woman he had just killed – a scream of desperation, anguish, and pain. Why did it sound so familiar?

Finding a blackened uniform, hovering over a body laid in her own pool of blood, the boy continued to scream and scream.

Fushiguro Megumi was a man he couldn’t wait to see at his full potential for battle, another in his list of to-kills, having shown great potential as a jujutsu sorcerer and as part of the wretched Zen’in. But this was far from the man he knew, all he saw was a weeping boy, a boy who lost his mind as he was grieving, begging over and over a corpse, the corpse of his beloved.

Satisfied, he should be, right? Yet, why doesn't he feel it? Why does a part of him feel a great loss? Why does a part of him feel as though he was the one with a ripped soul?

A flash of white came to view, standing next to the crying boy, his stance was rigid, apart from that nothing with his back turned.

Kneeling, Gojo Satoru let his fingers press against the dead girl's eyelids, closing them shut. His hands fell to her cheeks, engulfing them in his large fingers, lingering, thumbs caressing her ice-cold cheeks. Once filled with warmth and life.

"Megumi," says Gojo Satoru, cursed energy just radiating off him. "mind if ya take yourself and (Y/N) aside?" lowering his blindfold, his cursed energy increased in power, reeking of maliciousness. "Things are about to get messy."

He met Gojo Satoru's murderous look head-on, finally getting that fight he long promised him.

And yet, as he stood there, tears leaked from his eyes.

Even with all his powers returned, him being at his full glory, his heart felt more hollow than before.

#ryoumen sukuna x reader #clairvoyant!reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #angst #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen fic #alicemitch09 writes #sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #jjk angst #jjk angst fic

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monstersandmaw · 4 years

Text

Male orc (Vilugh) x male reader (sfw) - Part Two

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

This should have gone up on here yesterday, and has been available on my $5 Patreon tier for a week as the fourth ‘early release’ story on Patreon in July (every Wednesday).

You may recall the first chapter that I posted as an unedited WIP (Tumblr link) a while ago and had lots of encouraging comments about and some interest in seeing more from Vilugh and the prince. So, here it is! Sorry it's a bit late - things have just been nuts here lately. I wanted this to be the final chapter, but... plot happened. So... there'll be more in the future!

Content: continuing on from last time where our scholarly prince with the unfathomably dickish king for a father was told he was going to spend six months with the orcs, we see Vilugh again, meet his sister, and finally, get to the encampment. (tw: brief mention of past death of reader’s older brother, and constantly being compared to him by the aforementioned dickish king...)

Wordcount: exactly 4000. *nice*

Part One

To say that I was furious with my father for only deigning to inform me of my new situation for the next six months would have been an understatement. I knew I wasn’t the ruler-son that he’d envisaged taking over from him, but I had thought that my rather impressive record for strategy and tactics spoke for itself, not to mention that I was responsible for almost single-handedly planning and instigating massive economic reforms that not only refilled the monarchy’s gradually-dwindling coffers but promoted trade and gave our floundering, stagnating economy a huge boot up the backside. And yet, still, I was not enough. I was not my brother.

Fuming, I strode along the corridors from the great hall up to my chambers and nearly flattened a poor serving girl as she left one of the rooms along the way. “I’m sorry,” I said through clenched teeth.

“Highness,” she chirped, dipping into a curtsy and scurrying away before I could explain myself.

My reputation had gone from ‘scholar prince’ to ‘Royal Monk’ by the time I was twenty five, but I was also known for being moody and sullen, with a perpetual scowl on my lean - I thought gaunt - face. No wonder I’d frightened her. As I stared in the speckled mirror in my bedroom, I saw a face and body that would hardly impress the orcs to whom I was about to be packed off like a spare bit of cargo for six months. Why? What what did my father have to gain from sending me to a group of people who, until my teenage years, had been our enemies? They weren’t exactly our best friends now either.

The orcs right across the continent had begun to think about trade with us since Khraxh and her warband had first agreed to peace talks, and while the mountain orcs were still ferociously opposed to any kind of truce or trade talks with the soft, plains- and forest-dwelling humans, Khraxh had clearly seen the advantages that at least a ‘polite understanding’ would have with us. We had the monopoly on iron ore with our goblin-run mines to the east, and due to our superior charcoal burning techniques, we were able to forge steel like almost no one else, save perhaps the goblins themselves.

Goblins, like humans, had a long and turbulent history with orcs. Historically, encounters between the two peoples mostly ended in absolute annihilation of entire goblin communities by the larger and stronger orcs - hence their very slight preference for dealing with humans. It really was only a slight preference, however. Goblins were wary and untrusting of most folks, but it was understandable. They were a skittish, intolerant folk, quick to be offended and even quicker to give it.

Staring into that age-freckled mirror, I saw my lacklustre, pale skin, with no distinguishing features, save perhaps for my mother’s dark eyes and a slightly hooked nose. Where Dannan had been the golden boy of our family - qujite literally with his curly blond hair - I was the proverbial and, of late, the literal, dark horse. Dark hair, dark eyes, dark expression…

Needless to say, I got little sleep that night, which added to the dark shadows beneath those dark eyes. I turned it over and over as I lay amid the fine silk sheets. In the end, I came to the rather unsettling conclusion that my father hoped I wouldn’t survive my time with the orcs so that he could install someone like my cousin Balgrun on the throne after his demise. Not that anyone imagined that a king as tenacious and bitter as my father would ever give up his hold on life; he was simply too stubborn to die, I was sure of it. True, I was useful, but I was not a leader. I honestly crumbled to a trembling, stammering, sweating mess if I had to address the public myself, and I considered more than three people to be an abhorrent crowd. He’d raised me to be the shadow to my brother’s light, and I fulfilled that role too well to be trained to shine in public now.

Gritting my teeth the next morning, I stood on the sweeping steps of the royal castle, awaiting the arrival of the orcs.

The squeal of a war boar from the far side of the castle’s curtain wall announced their presence before the trumpets and shouts did. I drew a deep breath and kept my skinny hands folded behind my back. No need to let them see me shaking. The king emerged from the doors behind me and fixed me with his usual, emotionless glower. “Don’t embarrass me, son,” he muttered under his breath. “They do us great honour by taking you to the heart of their lands for so long a time.”

I raised my eyebrow. My mother had been able to do that, according to Rigmore. The castle steward and she had apparently been good friends, and when I had learned to do it, he had laughed and said I was the picture of my mother. Naturally, I did it around my father whenever I could just to rile him up. “Tell me, father,” I said with carefully controlled coolness in my voice. “What exactly do you hope to achieve out of my royal stay with — what was it you called them yesterday? — oh yes… ‘those beasts’.”

His lip curled and his eye twitched. “You will do well not to repeat that, boy,” he snarled.

I laughed and shook my head. “Out of the two of us, I seem to be the only one who values my hide, father. Fear not though, I have no intention of pissing off my captors.”

“Captors? Guardians, more like. The honour of hosting the son of the most powerful king on this continent will not be lost on them,” he said fervently, grey eyes drifting to the portcullis and main entrance to the bailey behind me.

“Surely you had some mission in mind for me then?”

“Win them over with that naive charm of yours,” he said dismissively, still not looking at me. “You could have charmed your way into the beds of half the nobility of this kingdom, despite your… physique… Fuck them if you have to,” he said in a hiss in my ear, “But I want them in an advantageous trade deal by the end of next spring. Butter them up, win their trust, and we’ll have the brutes in our pockets.”

“And if I don’t manage that?” I asked.

His eyes flashed. “Then you really aren’t of any use to me at all, are you?”

It wasn’t a wholly unexpected answer. The man was always the king before he was my father, but still, I barked out a loud and undignified laugh just as the orcs entered amid a clatter of cloven trotters and squealing war beasts, feeling empty and hollow. “Goddess be merciful,” I cursed. “You just want me out of the way while you wine and dine Balgrun in my absence. Oh yes,” I chuckled back at him over my shoulder, practically skipping down the stairs and strangely looking forward to my six month ‘holiday’ from the backstabbing and conniving of the castle. “I asked around; I know you’re asking my dear little cousin to stay. Perhaps you can show him the ropes in six months, and perhaps the orcs will decide I’m more useful as a toothpick than a diplomat, and you’ll have a reason to go to war with them again, wipe them off the plains, and then nothing will stand in your way between the coast and the mountains.”

And with that, I left him sputtering on the steps, his face a rather nasty puce colour. I’d figured out his alternative plan, and if he thought for a moment I was going to let him have it, he was a dotard.

“Greetings,” I said, addressing Vilugh in the common Trade Tongue. “Regrettably I have not had the chance to learn your language yet, otherwise I would have greeted you in your own tongue.”

The orc swung down from his boar and dropped the reins to the flagstone floor, ground-tying the beast the same way I might have ground-tied my mare. Starling was, to my relief, already saddled and ready for me, standing with her bridle in the hands of a groom and stamping her hoof in anticipation of an outing.

Vilugh was every bit as colossal and imposing as I remembered him from the last time I’d seen him, if not more so. I knew he had to be ten years or so older than me, and if he was thirty five, he was still in his absolute prime. His green-skinned chest was largely bare, save for the leather strap that reached diagonally from one hip to the opposite shoulder, holding up the leather hunting skirt that hugged his hips and hid very little from the imagination. He didn’t have the defined abs of the veiner fighters I’d seen who liked to show off their lean, oiled bodies for the attention of the crowd, but his middle was packed with solid fat and muscle that spoke of the strength of two or three oxen. His thighs could have crushed one of our warhorses to a bloody slurry if he’d fancied trying, and his hands were as big as the buckler shields favoured by fancy duellers in the city. Small for a shield, but very big for a hand.

His eyes were still that unnerving black that I recalled from my youth, and they were every bit as perceptive as I remembered too. He raked his gaze up my slim form, no doubt also cataloguing my physical features and sartorial preferences. That day I had chosen simple buckskin leggings, suitable for long distance riding, and a loose, linen shirt. My hair was tied back in a practical style at the nape of my neck, and across the front of my saddle, I had instructed my servant to tie a leather hunter’s jerkin for when evening drew in and it inevitably got much colder. In my saddlebags I had had simple, comfortable clothing packed, with none of the fripperies and fineries with which a prince might be expected to travel. Orcs were a pragmatic and practical people, and having a whiny prince demanding to stop for wine and grapes halfway there would win me no favours with them.

“We can teach you to speak orcish if you want,” Vilugh said in a voice like a rock slide.

I couldn't help but grin at the chance to learn something else, and nodded. “Thank you. I’d like that. I can’t promise to be any good, but I’ll try.”

To my surprise, Vilugh laughed. “From what I hear, you’re a quick learner, prince. You’ll catch on quick enough I reckon.”

Relief washed through me. The warrior was polite and had a sense of humour. As much as my father’s court frustrated me, I knew where to tread there, and how far I could push and poke before I risked too much. With the orcs, I had no idea yet what might provoke them or amuse them. I also had no idea how they felt about this arrangement, or how my presence among them would be received.

“If you’d like to rest or feed your mounts, and seek the same for yourself, then please make yourselves comfortable, otherwise I’m ready to leave whenever you are.” I left it up to him to decide, and after a quick look at my father, still standing on the castle steps like a lone lion on a rock while hyenas prowled below, Vilugh shot me a look of a different calibre.

“These boar can ride all day without stopping for food or water; three days without rest,” he said in a measured voice, walking at my side and casting my entire body into shadow with his immense height and breadth.

He was testing me, and I didn’t fall for it. “And yet the ride from your mother’s bastion is four days from here,” I replied with the same even tone.

Vilugh’s eyes glittered with amusement. “The piss you people drink for ale should be enough for now.”

It was easy enough for me to take a chance on his sense of humour with my father’s bowmen lining the walls and the honour guard ranged up the stairs nearby. “For you or for the boars?” I quipped, turning away and inviting him to follow me.

Again, the massive - and honestly quite intimidating - orc let out a long, loud belly-laugh of amusement. “Hay will do for the boars just now, though they prefer meat when they can get it.”

“I’ll bear that in mind,” I muttered.

The boars were seen to, and I led Vilugh and the two other orcs who had accompanied him up to meet my father. Neither Vilugh nor his fellow warriors bowed or bent the knee to my father I was pleased to note, and it got my father’s hackles up like a like a bristling tomcat. I almost could have kissed the enormous warrior just for putting my father on the back foot already, but honestly, what did he expect? Did he think the orcs would prostrate themselves before him? They’d hardly done that last time, so I couldn’t imagine he’d be so conceited as to think they’d do it this time.

“Your majesty,” Vilugh said.

“Welcome,” my father said, his tone more tightly-clipped than the box hedge in the castle’s knot garden. “Will you be staying for some refreshments before you return to your people with my son?”

“Just long enough to give the boars a breather,” Vilugh said with easy diplomacy.

The other warriors he’d brought with him were the older, one-armed orc I’d skittered away from as a child, and a female I didn’t recognise but who had the most incredible, blue eyes I’d ever seen. Vilugh must have caught me admiring her in the great hall because he leaned in close and growled without real sting, “Stare too long at my sister and she’ll most likely cut out your eyes, princeling.”

“I was just admiring hers,” I yipped quickly, regretting the rather boyish note to my usually hoarse tenor. “Blue eyes are not so common in these parts, that’s all. I meant no offence by it.”

Seated beside him at the table, she leaned close to her brother and barked something in orcish at him. He looked briefly back at me, and then responded in the same. They conversed for a moment and I sat there with my spine dead-straight and my jaw clenched. When Vilugh turned back to me, he grinned. “Rhana says that if the pretty human princeling wants to stare at her, he can, but he’ll have to answer to her wife when we get back.”

“Far be it from me to come between an orc and her wife,” I chuckled anxiously.

When Vilugh translated, they both laughed and Rhana reached behind her brother and cuffed me on the shoulder hard enough that I was almost sent reeling off my seat and onto the floor, which got another laugh out of them and drew a glare of daggers from my unnerved father. Good. Let him be baffled that I was already getting along with these warriors like soldiers in the barracks. He’d clearly not expected me to have any idea how to behave around them, but while I didn’t spend my spare time in our own guards’ barracks, I observed the way everyone in the castle interacted with each other. It was what I’d been trained to do, after all: notice things and remember them.

All in all, the orcs didn't linger long, and we were on our way within an hour.

The pace of the first few hours of the ride alternated between a brisk walk and trotting, though my mare jogged excitedly for the first hour of that until I finally convinced her that we were in it for the long haul. The grooms kept her fit and well-schooled since I couldn’t step away from the castle regularly enough to do it myself, but by the end of the day, even my indomitable Starling was beginning to flag. I patted her neck and murmured that we’d probably break camp soon, and, sure enough, we did.

Once a small fire was lit, with the dry twigs of plains brush-scrub, and carefully warded in a low pit to stop it spreading across the arid plain, I drew out my rations from my saddlebag and Vilugh shot me a look of mild surprise.

“What?” I asked, nervous that I’d committed some inadvertent transgression by digging in before they’d started eating.

After a moment, the orc heaved himself down onto the ground beside me, long, black plait thwacking against his back at the motion. Then he said almost conspiratorially, “You’re not what I was expecting.”

Unwrapping the bread and hard cheese from their waxed linen wrappings, I frowned. “Just what were you expecting, might I ask?”

He shrugged a massive shoulder and drew out a similarly wrapped parcel - much larger - with dried meat and a hard looking biscuit that I thought would probably crack my own teeth before it broke. “Honestly… going off the last time I saw you, and from what your father said of you in talks with my mother… I thought you’d be a fragile little bird. You’re not.” He looked at me, dark eyes glittering in the fire like polished onyx and added, “You are skinny as a bird, but you’re not weak.”

“How would you know?” I scoffed. “I could be too weak to draw my sword. It could just be strapped to my waist for show…” In fact, it was now unbuckled and lying behind me with my saddle and bags, while Starling was hobbled nearby and looking rather disdainfully at the slim grazing afforded by the scrubland where we’d paused. Finest high-summer hay, it was not.

“You move like a dancer,” he said, and I immediately choked on a breadcrumb.

He had to slap me on the back and offered me a skin of water. I washed the offending clog down and gawped at him. “What would you know about human dancers?” I asked without thinking.

“I’ve travelled to the cities on the coast,” he said. “They dance in the marketplaces on festival days.”

“Oh,” I said. And then my cheeks flushed. “I’m not… You know… those dancers are… uh… paid to do more than dance… shall we say.”

It took Vilugh a moment to catch on, but he seemed embarrassed at his mistake. “I meant no insult by it,” he said. “They’re very beautiful.”

“That they are,” I admitted. My father had tried to entice three of them into bed with me after one evening spent in the company of one of his duchesses, but when I’d shown more interest in her library than her twittering prostitutes, he’d given up. Apparently the finest courtesans in the land weren’t going to make me proper man in his eyes, so it wasn’t worth trying.

Vilugh must have seen my memories swirling across my face, because he didn’t bring it up again, and we ate in a rather awkward silence after that. The orcs drew lots for the watch, and Vilugh drew the first and insisted that as their guest, I should not be expected to deprive myself of sleep. Plus, apparently, the next day’s riding would be harder and he didn’t want me falling out of my saddle when I dozed off. Also orcs’ eyes were more like cats’ eyes in the dark, I discovered, when I looked up and saw Rhana’s glinting at me from across the fire and nearly had a heart attack. She laughed and wished me pleasant dreams.

Taking their well-meaning jibes in my stride, I nodded and bedded down in my humble bedroll. It was the type that hunters used, made of breathable buckskin and lined with fleece to keep off the chill of the plains, and although I’d only spent one or two nights in it in my life, I slept better that night than I had in years, not waking until Vilugh's surprisingly gentle touch at my shoulder stirred me not long after dawn.

Over the course of the next few days, Starling developed a comical rivalry with Rhana’s boar, the two taking every opportunity to bite or scuffle with each other, though it never seemed to get truly vicious enough for either of us to worry about, so we let it play out to our amusement. Perhaps because of that and perhaps because I just simply liked them for their gruff honesty, by the time the wooden palisade walls of the orcish war-band’s permanent stronghold drew into view on a wind-blown hilltop, I felt relatively comfortable with the three orcs who had been sent to fetch me.

The older one with one arm was called Rhakak, and was apparently Vilugh’s cousin. He was taciturn and unflinching, watchful and grim, but not aggressive towards me. I still gave him a wide berth though.

But if I’d thought Rhakak was intimidating, it was nothing to Vilugh's mother.

I remembered her from her visit to the castle, but nothing could quite have prepared me for the sheer presence the matriarch had amongst her own people. She was standing waiting for us as we rode up to the walls of the stronghold, and even though Vilugh had told me that Khraxh wouldn’t hold me to the same etiquette as she would a visiting orc, I still nearly shat my pants in fear when I got off Starling’s back and found her surveying me with a distinctly unimpressed look on her weathered, beautiful face.

She really was beautiful. Her body was honed and muscular, but her movements were sleek and efficient, and in much the way a war galley cuts through the water and bristles with power, so she moved with the dormant power of a life-long warrior. Her long, thick hair had turned grey in the intervening decade since I’d seen her, and she’d lost half a tusk too, but the way the gathered orcs arranged themselves around her reminded me of a wolf and her pack. She commanded absolute obedience in them, and unyielding loyalty. In that moment, I did feel afraid, and suddenly very much not up to the seemingly impossible task I had been set.

With a rather endearing patience, Vilugh had taught me the phrase to speak in orcish upon meeting her, and once I could finally get my tongue around the complex vocal gymnastics of the orcish language, he said I would not be flayed alive for completely embarrassing my tutor.

Thus, upon our first meeting, I nearly sprained my jaw, but I gained perhaps a modicum of respect from the veteran war chief. As the three orcs sent to the castle to fetch me had now bowed, neither did I, but I did incline my head as I spoke. There was no need to act like a prideful brat after all.

If my father was expecting me to make enemies of these people and inadvertently lure them into killing me and sparking a war, then I was bloody well going to do the opposite. I wasn’t a warrior, but I had my mind, and I was damned if I was going to fuck things up and go down in history as the skinny little prince who kicked off the orc-human conflict all over again.

Humble but not meek, studious but not annoyingly curious, polite but not obsequious, opinionated but not obnoxious… I began to feel my way through the stronghold’s hierarchy, and miraculously survived my first week there without insulting anyone.

One week down, twenty three more to go…

___

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#exophilia #male orc #orc x reader #male orc x male reader #male monster x male reader #mlm #mlm exophilia #1st person narrative #male monster #male reader

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years

Text

The Handmaiden🌹1

Warnings: eventual dark elements (tags to be added as fic continues)

This is dark!(king)Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: Princess Madeline has left her homeland to marry a king. On her journey, she has brought her most trusted handmaiden. Little do either of them know how perilous their new home will be.

Note: Alright, here’s another medieval AU ft. King Steve. His darkness will build as we go and we’re gonna ride those vibes, thots. I really hope you enjoy. 💋

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

Madeline was the fairest woman you’d ever seen. Her strawberry blonde waves flowed like water down her back and shoulders. Her jaw was etched by the gods themselves and her lips were soft to the eye and as you guessed, the touch. Her eyes were like gems and her figure was graceful and lithe. Her voice was a melody and her laugh like the pluck of a string.

How could she not be perfect? Porcelain and precious. She was a princess. The eldest of Eddor.

It would be unnatural not to envy her. Not to compare your ordinary features with her extraordinary ones. Not to measure your circumstance against hers. You had grown up in her shadow. Once a playmate, now a maid. You served as her closest companion and attendant. A mere servant, you were but another accessory among many.

Your jealousy was not spiteful. Many a peasant lived a life worse than yours. You did not complain or want. It was the order of things. The world as it was.

She was serene, often intimidatingly calm. That day, you could see the nervous tension in her cheek. Not many others would notice but you did. You didn’t blame her. She was to meet her betrothed at last. A man more than ten years here elder; of the few men grander than her in prestige; a widower and king.

You stood just a few steps away, hands folded and head slightly bowed in deference. If she needed you, she would call to you. You were glad for the camouflage of your low standing. Among the foreign court, on such a significant day, you were nothing; just another witness.

Your journey was long. A month at sea, a fortnight in a draughty northern castle, a week upon the road, and finally you were in the capital; Halder’s Arch. A night spent awaiting the first meeting and a further hour for the king’s appearance. The other servants were growing restless; Madeline’s ladies, too.

It would be a sad and heartless act to send a princess out upon her own. Sybil and Lucille were the only noblewoman to accompany Madeline. They were to remain at the foreign court and seek their own suitors. Her guards, her priest, and her physician were also among the party as well. Her retinue was finely outfitted.

Finally, the doors shifted and the armoured guards hit their staffs on the stone to announce the arrival. As the hall opened up, you held your breath as Madeline did the same. She raised her chin slightly and rose with the rest to receive her betrothed. A line of lords preceded their king, hidden by the group of men.

The Princess of Eddor was announced first. Her crest bearer spoke loudly for all the people to hear. Then it was the king’s turn. Steven, first of his name, son of Stewart, ruler of Anglhem and its territories. The lords broke and formed two rows as they stood at attention.

King Steven strode between them, as proud and stoic as the princess he would wed. You kept your chin down but watched him below your lashes. His dark blonde hair was thick above a trimmed beard. He wore a simple golden crown without stones, his jacket a turquoise brocade slashes with citrine. A chain of golden links hung from his shoulders with a single sapphire upon it.

It was simple but bespoke a man of intent; of standing. His simplicity said it all. You suspected he dressed for the occasion; a very deliberate impression for his future wife. The capital, the castle, the lords, did not suggest a ruler without extravagance.

The king stopped before Madeline and bowed to her; she curtsied to him in kind. He seemed pleased as he took her hand and kissed it. His eyes flicked all over as he considered his new wife; his second. The first had come to a tragic end during a summer plague not two years past.

“Princess,” He greeted. “It is a privilege and a pleasure to meet you at last. The painter did you an injustice for no canvas could capture such beauty.”

“And you, my king,” She said evenly. “I did hear of a handsome and noble king but the accounts do leave much untold.”

You were always rather amused by such empty courtesies. These words were rehearsed and recited without thought. It was what was expected. A princess could not come off as appalled by her suitor, even if she were, and a king could not be disappointed in a princess, even for a crooked nose or blotchy complexion. It was all an act. You did not envy the fallacy of status.

Your eyes wandered as the royals went about their performance. The audience was rapt and marvelled at the perfect pair; a stately king and a beautiful princess. You bit down to keep from grinning wryly. Your amusement was stifled completely as your eyes were caught by a pair most unexpected.

As Steven was offered a chair to sit with his queen, his gaze strayed from her. You withheld your surprise and assured yourself he was merely distracted by the portrait behind you or perhaps a nick in the stone. It couldn’t be you. Servants were like windows; transparent.

His brow twitched and he looked back to the princess. Her ladies were dazzled by the king’s stature, the lords were pleased by the princess’ grace. All seemed to be in a trance; all but those who held their attention.

Madeline held her veneer only because the cracks could not be noticed by strangers. Steven’s matched hers though you saw no flaw. You only saw a man sure of himself because he knew what to say. To him, it was a ritual, each step another closer to the end.

You straightened at the subtle signal from the princess. She wanted wine. You went to her and took the ewer from the table beside her. You filled the king’s goblet first and presented it to him with a bow. He took it and you repeated the steps for the princess. She thanked you and you didn’t miss the king’s eye. He was watching you. Why?

You resumed your vigil along the wall with the other servants. Your gown differed from no other. The blue-grey wool was plain enough that it could’ve been another stone in the wall. Your cap hid your hair and no ornament sparkled at throat or wrist. You lowered your head as the king turned his goblet in his hand and gazed over at the princess.

You wanted to laugh at yourself. It was preposterous. He hadn’t looked at you for any reason but what you offered; a cup of wine. How could one ignore a figure right before them? You did long for it to be over for the sake of your weary mind. Your travel had left you endlessly exhausted. It was clearly affecting your judgement.

Yet, you peeked up again and the king squinted over at you. You blinked as he grinned and leaned back. He drank from his goblet and returned his gaze to Madeline. She presented him the letter sealed with her father’s crest. He accepted it and she seemed not to notice his wandering eyes.

Maybe because they did not wander. Maybe because he had been thinking and they averted to follow his thoughts. Or he was listening and did consider her words as he considered the room.

You twined your hands together behind your back. You were trained, you were patient, you were attentive. You could bear yet another royal meeting. You could cling to your duty and see it through. You only had to resist the nagging fatigue that caused your mind to drift.

You needed to focus as the princess’ goblet was empty.

🌹

The wedding was already well-prepared. Both parties had settled their arrangements long before that fateful meeting. Steven and his advisers had the date, the feast, the ceremony, all plotted carefully for the next week. Madeline had her gown in her trunk and her virtue intact. Or so it was written in their betrothal.

The princess seemed pleased with her husband. That night she watched herself in the mirror as you brushed out her hair. She touched her long neck and her fingers trailed down to her collarbone. She let out a wearisome sigh.

“Do you think he was taken by me?” She asked. “He was cordial but a marriage cannot survive on cordial.”

“I’ve never known a man who wasn’t taken by you, your highness,” You dragged the bristles through her lush strands. “A king could not hope for a better princess.”

“Oh, so they say,” She preened. “I am told he sent his painter to at least a dozen courts to paint their princesses. Then he was presented with their likeness and he chose me himself.”

“And you were deemed the worthiest to share his crown then,” You said. “I see not how he could be disappointed.”

“And I cannot say I am,” She smiled and batted her lashes. “He is very handsome. I feared when they said he was older than me.”

“He doesn’t appear to suffer from it,” You assured her. “His step is as sure as any youth.”

She was silent as you finished brushing out her hair and you parted it. You began to braid her long tresses before she found her voice again. When she was thoughtful, she was often plotting.

“And the wedding night?” She ventured quietly. “Do you think he will be pleased with me then?”

“I… am certain he should be,” You said stiffly. “I see not how any man cannot be pleased with his wife in such a way.”

She giggled and played with the buttons of her sleeping gown. She eyed you and looked away guiltily. You tilted your head at her and tied up the end of her braid.

“What is it?” You asked.

“Oh, you know,” She stood and turned to you. “I was always told servants were more experienced in those matters, but you are always so modest.”

“As I have served you loyally, when should I have had time to take experience in such matters?”

She laughed and pulled a stray thread from your cap.

“Much too loyal,” She chided. “Let us retire for the night. This kingdom is still strange to me and I do wish to know it better before I am bound to it entirely.”

🌹

Madeline was not to see her betrothed again until the wedding day. Their separation was tradition and ensured the legitimacy of the marriage. Thus, the princess could only emerge from her chambers when she was assured the king was engaged and the corridors were clear.

On the first day after their introduction, she took to the gardens, dewy with the early spring dampness. The second she explored the wing within which her rooms were. On the third, she was warned to stay in as the king was to attend to the wedding’s final arrangements. She was irritated by her exile but not unhappy. It would end soon enough and this would be her castle to reign as she wished.

As you had since you were children, you slept beside her and woke before her. You touched her shoulder and advised her to wake but she stirred only a little. You dressed and left the lanterns unlit as the sun streamed in through the windows. You hid your hair beneath your cap and allowed yourself a moment of vanity as you adjusted your skirts in the mirror.

The best way to rouse the princess was food. You closed the heavy door behind you and greeted the guards who stood in the corridor. Lawrence and Hal were selected by Madeline’s own father and had served her since she was a girl. You knew them well and they were little disturbed by the mousy maid upon her duties.

You carefully counted the corners as you still found the castle unfamiliar and confounding. The day before, you’d become so lost, you had to ask another servant how to find your way back. You loathed a repeat but it was likely as you already felt entirely displaced.

You came upon the lower floors where the kitchens resided. You were confident that your destination was close but found yourself in a hall you’d never been before. A round door was open to the cool morning air and voices mingled with the scent of horses. You cursed under your breath and looked back over your shoulder. You must’ve turned the wrong way at the stairs.

You were kept from righting your course as the voices grew louder and a shadow appeared in the doorway. A lord, vaguely familiar from among those who had accompanied the king, strolled through as he laughed over his shoulder. You skirted against the wall and bowed your head in deference.

You peaked up through your lashes as he was followed by another. You recognised King Steven as he yawned behind his hand.

“You disturbed me so early for--” He complained but paused as his eyes fell upon you. “...nothing.” He finished slowly as he nodded at you.

He carried on as he caught stride with his companion who reprimanded him for his grumbles. They were bawdy and the king took no offence to the remonstrance. You kept your head down until you heard them turn the corner. You wondered little at the reason for the king’s visit to the stables; you only wanted to retreat before the stench lurked in any further.

#Steve Rogers #king!steve #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers x reader #medieval au #au #fic #series #dark!fic #dark fic #the handmaiden #mcu #marvel #captain america

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luescris · 3 years

Text

Yakko's Journey

SO THANKS TO @suavebiscuitsaregood I FIGURED OUT HOW TO DO THE READ MORE THING ON MOBILE. ENJOY EVERYONE! :D

Tw: Mentioned death, minor injuries

The story begins a year after Wakko’s Wish.

The Warners have just begun to settle themselves in as the rulers of their village, and ever since they had taken the throne peace and prosperity prospered all throughout the land. Yakko was the king, and was the one that people went to the most since he was the oldest. Wakko and Dot were the prince and princess, sitting at Yakko’s side in the throne room. Their home had gradually became a lush, wonderful place thanks to these three (Even though half of their citizens were surprised at how well they were doing considering they were just kids, and chaotic ones at that). But even so, there were still many hardships not even Wakko and Dot knew about.

Being the main ruler, Yakko had done the hardest of the work, and by his choice. He let Dot and Wakko be kids since half their lives they had to suffer. He filled out paperwork, did the task of putting people in their place, attended to their citizens' needs. The “king” before them was still at large as well, and he had been sending out people to look for him ever since they took charge. No one found him yet, but he was determined to bring the man to justice. But it was a tiring task, and it was beginning to weigh him down; though he never let his siblings see. Yakko would often wander through the halls of the castle until he found the portrait of his parents, and would stare up at it solemnly until he was needed. He barely remembered his parents, but knew that they made him feel safe, happy and warm. He wondered often if they would be proud, but he also couldn’t help but wonder why they left without them. Yakko knew they were exiled, but he and his siblings could have been with them instead of being left to fend for themselves. How did no one else know their heritage? Why were they just left here?

It was about midnight when he had yet again found himself looking up at his parents, running these questions through his head when a soldier bursted through the hallway, looking as if he had seen a ghost. Yakko was immediately alert, and asked the man what was wrong. It took him a second to catch his breath, but when he met the young king’s eyes, his own was full of fear.

“Your Majesty,” The guard gasped. “The prince and princess.. They’re gone..”

Fear immediately gripped Yakko's heart, and the two ran through the halls until they reached his siblings room. It was a mess. Books and papers were scattered all over the floor, the window shattered. Dot’s and Wakko’s beds were unmade; signs of a struggle were everywhere. A few soldiers had already reached the room, looking around and moving things aside for clues. The oldest Warner went up to the beds slowly, despair creeping up on him as he gently touched the sheets.

His siblings.. Were gone.

He was about ready to fall to his knees before a guard called for his attention, and was given a note with a dagger stuck to the top. It did not have a name, but it did threaten the very lives of his beloved brother and sister if he did not surrender the crown within twenty days. There was no address, no name, nothing. Yakko crumpled the paper in his hand, holding the dagger tightly as anger burned in his eyes. He declared he was going to go out there to find them, but his advisor--who had shown up a few seconds after he had--immediately denied him. He told him that he must stay in the castle for his own safety, that someone had to stay behind and run the village. If he left, no one else would be able to fill in for him. Yakko wanted to argue back, wanted to say that Dot and Wakko were a heck of a lot more valuable than some stupid crown, but was eventually convinced to stay. He was then led to his room for the night so he could try to get some sleep, and the situation would be handled in the morning. But he couldn’t sleep. The rest of the night he stayed awake, hoping that his siblings were okay. The castle felt much more lonely and cold in the morning, and he skipped breakfast much to his advisor's distaste.

Yakko called for a meeting in town square with the subjects, and brought a chest full of precious jewels and coins along--yet again to his advisor’s disagreement. He told the village what had happened last night, much to their shock. He then showed them the chest, opening it and telling them that if anyone is willing to find his siblings and bring them back home safe and sound, he would reward them with the treasure inside the chest. And off went the entire village, save for a few mothers and children, while Yakko stayed behind. A week passed afterwards, one that was long and lonely for the oldest Warner. He was told to be patient, was reassured by many that they were okay, but his worry did not grow any less. Eventually, he finally decided it was time to take action and go find them himself.

He snuck himself out in the middle of the night, securing the dagger from the note to his waist, along with a few other belongings. He snuck into the stables and took a horse, and rode out into the night, leaving behind his crown and a letter to anyone who found it.

Yakko had nothing but a compass and his gut to lead him through his journey. He overcame many obstacles--one of them having lost his horse--traveling through dense forests and abandoned villages. He was also occasionally attacked by strange men, and after having defeated a few took one of them hostage. He asked the man questions about where his siblings were taken, knowing these men and their captor were connected, and for a while the archer didn’t speak. When Yakko threatened him, however, the man simply laughed, thoroughly confusing the kid.

“I know you can’t do it,” The man chuckled darkly, raising his head and meeting Yakko’s eyes with an evil grin. “You’re too soft. You couldn’t even hurt a fly even if you tried.”

Yakko had scowled, trying to hide his confusion, and held the dagger just an inch closer to the man’s throat. But his hand was shaking; the archer was right. “Wanna bet?”

The man simply laughed again, and told Yakko something sinister. Something awful. There was a mad look in his eyes as he told him that the person who took his siblings had taken the lives of his parents. That his master would also take his siblings lives if he didn’t do as he was told.

“You only have a week left before it’s too late,” He had sneered.

“But… But I thought I was given twenty days??” Yakko whispered. He was shaken to his core, eyes wide and full of fear and denial.

“Oh, were you?” The man tilted his head. “Well then, I guess you were lied to.”

Again, he laughed as Yakko tripped over his own feet, scurrying away with fear as he picked up the dagger that he had dropped as the archer talked. The laughter followed him all the way through the night as he left behind the glow of the fire.

It had been days since he had a proper night’s sleep. He hadn’t stopped running through the forest all night long, not until his lungs burned from gasping for air, until all his fear had burnt out. He clung onto the hope that the archer was lying, that his siblings were okay still. He trudged through another seemingly empty village, holding back tears while trying to stay awake. But he tripped over something, and didn’t get back up, finally going unconscious. When he had woken, he found that he was not on the ground, but in a bed, and upon realizing he had fallen asleep sat up frantically and looked around. A hand was placed on his shoulder and a woman gently calmed him down. He asked her who she was and where she had taken him. She told him that he was still in the village and she had found him asleep in the middle of the road.

“As for who I am,” She smiled, showing an array of discolored teeth. “I am Saeela, and I am a witch.”

She told him that he had been asleep for a good portion of the afternoon, and when he panicked and told her he needed to go, she interrupted and said, “I know. You need to find your family.”

Yakko simply blinked at her. She chuckled and told him that she cast a spell on him to see if he was a friend or foe and knew all about his story.

“You can cast spells?” Yakko asked after a moment.

Saeela scoffed playfully and waved a hand at him. “Well of course, son. I’m a witch. I can do many things.”

“.. Then, can you help me?” The Warner looked down and rubbed his arm. “I know you’ve done a lot already and I appreciate it, but I’m afraid I don’t have much time left and I don’t know where I’m going. Or what I’m doing.”

The witch thinks about this for a moment, then tells him she’ll help, but for a price. He asks her what that price is and she tells him she’ll tell him when she figures it out. She then stands and tells him to follow her, and the two walk into a room with a crystal ball sitting on a table. A tray of food sits on the other side and she tells him to eat, since he hasn’t had a good meal in a while. Yakko does so gratefully, regretting skipping all those meals the minute he digs in, and Saeela uses the ball to see where his siblings have been taken. They find out that they were being held captive in a cave a few miles from the village, and they also find out that they were taken by Salazar. This makes the Warner angry, having been looking for the man for a whole year, and Saeela urges him to eat quickly before time runs out for his siblings.

Yakko asks what she means by that and she only shakes her head, ushering him out of the room. Saeela gives him her own horse and a bag that she tells him not to use until he knows when to, and before he can ask any more questions she sends him off, watching his figure disappear in the distance.

“Good luck, young King,” She murmurs, and heads back into the cottage.

For the rest of his journey, Yakko bends over the horse, urging the animal to go faster with a flick of the reins. When he arrives at the mouth of the cave, he slips off the horse slowly, taking out his dagger and entering. It wasn’t long before he was greeted with at least ten different archers and swordsmen, all pointing their weapons at the Warner. Yakko scowled, but perked up when he heard the sound of someone clapping slowly. From his left came Salazar, former ruler of Warnerstock, wearing a large, triumphant smirk across his face.

“Ahh, young Yakko Warner,” He sneered. “About time you showed your face. I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.”

Yakko’s scowl deepened. “Salazar. Where are my siblings?! You better not have hurt them or I swear I’ll-!”

“You’ll what, your majesty? Take me to prison?? Kill me? Last time you had the chance to kill someone you didn’t take it, I wouldn’t be surprised if this was the same.” Salazar’s grin never faded as he spread his arms. “Besides, you’re the one that’s surrounded! It wasn’t very smart to come by yourself, young Warner.” Finally he too scowled, dropping his arms. “Now, where is my crown?”

Yakko looked around him at the weapons and men surrounding him, and once again knew that the enemy was right. He couldn’t take them all out at once, even if he wanted to. He couldn’t even come up with his usual witty banter; emotions were the only thing that had kept him going this entire time. He had no room for fun and games when his siblings were in danger.

“.. Show me my sibs first.” He finally grumbled.

Salazar snapped his fingers, and some more men came out with two small figures Yakko immediately recognized: Wakko and Dot. They looked a little dirty and tired, but they seemed fine either way. They looked up and their eyes widened when they saw their brother.

“Yakko!!” They cried.

The oldest took a step forward and reached out a hand, but the men around him drew their weapons closer to him. “Sibs!” He cried in return, unable to do much else.

But then something unexpected happened. More men came out, dragging along two other figures that stood beside Wakko and Dot. At first Yakko couldn’t recognize them, but then they rose their heads to meet his eyes, and they widened in realization.

… Mom? D-dad?? Yakko thought in disbelief.

“Now, the crown.” Salazar growled, forcing Yakko’s attention to him. “Give it to me, and I’ll let them all go free. So long as you never step foot onto Warnerstock.”

Yakko looked back at his long lost parents, who stared at him solemnly. He wanted to cry, jump into their arms, and yell at them all at the same time. He thought that they were gone. But they were right there and..!

“Don’t listen to him son.” His father suddenly spoke. “It’s a trap, he won’t let any of us go. He’s going to make our village suffer again, you can’t let that happen!”

He stared at them for a moment, lost in both thought and words for the first time.

“Well boy?! We don’t have all day! Give it to me, now!” Salazar commanded.

“... I..” Yakko gulped, and finally turned to the evil man. “I don’t have it..”

That’s when things take a turn for the worst. Salazar’s face falls, then it scrunches in rage, and he commands his men to take Yakko captive as well. But before he was grabbed, a rock was thrown over the Warner’s head, and he turned to see the village people and the castle guards--along with their advisor--standing at the mouth of the cave. The former king, bewildered, demands how they managed to find him here and Rita immediately responds cockily, “It’s a cartoon, man. Wild things happen.”

Then they charge forward, and a fight between Salazar’s men and the citizens of Warnerstock breaks out. This gives Yakko time to make his way towards his family, but is stopped when a sword is shoved inches away from his nose. Yakko looks up to see that the sword belongs to Salazar, who has a mad glint in his eyes, and he unsheathes his own dagger. The two spar as the battle happens around them, and it lasts for a good while. Somehow Yakko’s tiny dagger manages to block and parry it’s opponent well, and fueled by his newly found courage Yakko is able to send some quips that really boils the former king’s blood. This gives the oldest Warner an advantage, and he finally wins, sending Salazar down to the ground. He lets his smirk finally drop, pointing the dagger at the man’s nose.

“You’re beat. Stay.” He growls, backing up towards where his family was currently cheering him on.

When he turns his back, however, Salazar growls and rises back up onto his feet, raising his sword in the air. Yakko’s father shouts for him to watch out, running forward as his son turns around in slow motion, eyes widening with fear. But the sword doesn’t strike Yakko. Instead, it strikes his father, who held his son close. Dot, Wakko, and their mother cry out as his father falls to his knees, Yakko frozen in place. As his father’s form slips from his vision, in place of it was Salazar, who had a wicked grin on his face.

And Yakko saw red.

He didn’t know what sword he had taken from the ground, and didn’t care. He cried out with rage, and again the two fought. Each strike of his sword brought Salazar back further and further, and slowly the former king’s face fell as they backed into the cave, where a gaping, seemingly bottomless hole awaited. There was no way for him to win, and he knew this. One last strike from Yakko, and his foot slipped, sending him down with a cry. His hand caught the edge as his weapon fell down the hole, and he looked up to see Yakko, rage twisting his face as angry tears built at the corner of his eyes. His sword pointed down at the king, who pleaded for mercy as he tried to regain his grip, begging to be saved. But Yakko did not hear him, raising his own sword and readying to give the final blow. But his mother cried his name, and her voice ripped through the red.

He looked back to see her cradling his father’s head in her lap, Wakko and Dot beside her and watching with wide, fearful eyes.

“Son, please,” She murmured softly. “Don’t. He may be an awful man, but you are not a killer.”

Yakko breathed heavily, lowering the weapon just a bit as she continued. “He will get what is due. But his fate is not yours to decide.”

Finally, he looked down at Salazar, and upon seeing the look he gave, he dropped the sword. Yakko kneeled and reached out his hand to the king, and for a moment it seemed as if he could reach it. But at the last moment his hand slipped, and Salazar fell into the depths of the gaping hole below with a cry. Yakko cried out as well, hand reaching out even if he could do nothing else, and shut his eyes as Salazar disappeared in it’s shadows. He stayed kneeled there for a moment, but then a pained cough brought him out of his sorrow, and he looked back to see his father once again.

He rose and quickly made his way to where his family was as the others gathered around them, kneeling beside his father. They exchanged a few words, Wakko gripping on his mother’s arm and Dot wiping at her eyes to stop the tears. Then Yakko remembered the bag that Saeela had given him before he had left, and rushed to his horse to get it, knowing what it was for now. When he returned he handed his mother the potion, telling her it may be able to save his life. She doesn’t ask any questions, but does as he says, and for a moment nothing seemed to happen. But then his father blinked open his eyes, and rose. The injury on his backside had healed, and the Warner family shared a hug while the onlookers cheered and celebrated.

Together they made their way back to Warnerstock happily. When they reach Saeela’s village once again, Yakko greets the witch and tells them it was her potion that saved their father’s life. Their father graciously thanks her, and offers for her to come with them to the castle to be rewarded. She respectfully declines, and when told that if she needs anything she can simply ask, she looks down at Yakko with a wink and says, “Oh don’t worry. I’ll reach out soon.” The oldest Warner blinks, and though he knows she’s referring to the price that she mentioned when he had asked for her help, he is still unsure on what she means. Nevertheless, they continue on their way home, Saeela waving after them with a twinkle in her eye.

A week passes by and once again the family is reunited. In that time, Yakko gets all the answers he needs about why they left without their children. Their father and mother regain the crown, though Dot, Wakko, and Yakko sit proudly by their side. He tells them that he is proud of how well they had run the kingdom while they were away, glad to see that Salazar’s tyranny had all but disappeared. From that moment on, Warnerstock is at peace and prospers under the Warner’s rule.

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

And that's the end! :D Sorry if it seems too dark or out of character, or if something doesn't follow with the movie. ^~^" I haven't seen Wakko's Wish in a bit so if I made any mistakes someone please tell me! Hope you all enjoyed though! :D

If y'all have any questions or want to do anything with this don't be afraid to do so/ask! ^3^

#the animaniacs #animaniacs #animaniacs 2020 #wakkos wish #yakkos journey #hulu originals #yakko warner #wakko warner #dot warner #yakko wakko and dot #the warner siblings #warner bros #my stuff #luescris

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fellulahh · 4 years

Text

‘Mammon visits MC in the human realm and Lucifer gets jealous’ Part 16/???

Read Part 15 here!

“Does anyone else get completely aroused by his demon form? Because every time I see him I’m like YUM.” Asmo broke the silence.

“What is wrong with you?” Belphie questioned him. “Did you not just see MC on the floor in agony?”

“What? Satan said she’s fine.” The Avatar of Lust shrugged.

Lucifer was downstairs when he heard the door knock. He’d left MC asleep in his bed as he began to prepare breakfast but was distracted by the mysterious guest as he was walking down the stairs.

Opening the door, he was met with a serious looking Barbatos. Holding only a singular box, Lucifer realised he was bringing over MC’s clothes and belongings. “No Diavolo?” He asked surprised.

“My Lord does not know I am here and I wish for it to stay that way.” He spoke formally. Lucifer narrowed his eyes - Barbatos had never gone against Diavolo so why has he done so just to bring MC’s belongings over? Nevertheless, he didn’t question the servant. Diavolo was the last thing he wanted to discuss early in the morning.

Diverting his attention, Lucifer’s gaze travelled to the small box that Barbatos held in his hands. “Is the rest to come later?” He asked with an arched brow, “I presume MC had more in her room than just the contents of that box?”

“MC’s belongings will be brought over later by My Lord.” Barbatos informed him, “This one is for you.”

“Ah, more reports.” Lucifer sighed, taking the box off him. “I should have suspected.” He spoke begrudgingly.

“Take them to your office and do not allow anybody to see them.” Barbatos warned, “And please do not mention my presence to anyone.” Lucifer was baffled by his ambiguity. Pulling out an envelope from his jacket pocket, Barbatos held it out to the eldest brother. “Once you’ve looked at the contents of your work read this; it is imperative that you do so.”

Eyeing him curiously, Lucifer accepted the envelope and the box. “Absolutely..” he said unsure.

“The fate of Devildom lies in your hands.” Barbatos spoke quickly before turning around.

Rather than questioning Barbatos, Lucifer just stared at him as he descended down the driveway. Forgetting all about breakfast, he shut the door quickly, carrying the surprisingly light box and the envelope straight to his study, eager to find out the reasoning for how cryptic Diavolo’s servant was being.

He made sure to shut the door behind him as he entered his study, walking swiftly to his desk to place the two items down. Taking a seat in his chair, he leant over, pulling the lid off the box. His eyes squinted when he realised it was empty apart from one item it held.

There were no reports for him at all.

Cautiously pulling out a leatherback journal that was inside, he examined the book carefully, recognising it as Diavolo’s. Opening the cover, Lucifer studied the pages and pages of scribblings. ‘Why did he want me to see this?’ He questioned in his head as he furrowed his eyebrows. There were multiple pages filled with notes on how Diavolo planned to join the realms. Also filling the pages were bullet points, diagrams, and even some drawings. Narrowing his eyes, Lucifer began flicking through quicker. ‘What am I supposed to be looking for?’

Unable to see the relevance, he turned one last page. Written boldly in the middle of the page underlined multiple times was her name: ‘MC’. Confusion spread across his face as he read her name. Suddenly intrigued again, Lucifer flicked one more page.

His hand froze as he noticed the header.

‘Father,’

It was a letter that Diavolo had planned to send to his Father, the true ruler of Devildom but there was a big line drawn forcefully over it where Diavolo had obviously decided to discard it for whatever reason. Lucifer knew that the Prince always had a difficult relationship with his Dad (Lucifer could relate). His Father believed that to join the realms was completely barbaric - he loathed both the human realm and the celestial realm whereas Diavolo aimed to unite them. Their conflicting opinions and feud drove his Father away from Devildom. Lucifer hadn’t realised they stayed in contact.

Bringing the journal closer to his face, Lucifer began to read every word.

Father,

I understand you wish to neglect me as your son - your lack of response has led me no choice but to believe this. Our conflicting interests were always going to divide us sooner or later but I never expected for you to cower and neglect your own son.

I’m writing to you to inform you that I am absolutely relishing in your throne. My exchange program has been put into place and already the celestial and human realm have been joined by this. However, I don’t want to stop there.

Since the program started, I’ve become acquainted with a human. After meeting her I began to think to myself, what better way is there to join a realm than to mix species? She’s the perfect suitress for my plans. Everything is falling into place.

Seeing as you do not wish to acknowledge me, I wanted to inform you that I intend to enforce phase 1 of uniting the realms shortly: impregnate the human with my heir.

I apologise if this letter brings you great annoyance. In truth, you always knew I’d succeed. This will be the last time you hear from me - my focus is now solely on one thing; the human that will be the key to joining our realm with hers. I hope the idea of your grandchild being half human makes you seethe.

Your son,

Diavolo.

Lucifer’s heart felt like it stopped as he read the words. Everything stood still as he began breathing heavily, his mind was going hazy. Anger writhed throughout his entire body as his wings ripped from his shoulders.

He threw the journal down on the desk as he panted. Anger filled his veins as he seethed over how furious he was at Diavolo but more importantly, furious at himself. He’d allowed himself to be fooled by the one demon he thought he could trust. Diavolo had been twisting and manipulating Lucifer, using his fears to drive him away from MC because he wants her baby for his own gain.

Ready to confront Diavolo, he was about to leave before his glare fell on the envelope that Barbatos had left.

“Once you’ve looked at the contents of your work read this; it is imperative that you do so.”

Lucifer grabbed the envelope and tore it open. Yanking the letter out of it, his eyes flickered over the page frantically, silently hoping that there was some sort of explanation for his Lord’s betrayal.

Lucifer,

I apologise if this journal has brought you great anger. For a long time My Lord has been planning to use MC in his ploy to unite the realms - at first I supported him unconditionally but that was before realising the love she has for you.

After living with MC for these past months, I’ve begun to have images plastered in my mind. Every time My Lord took care of her or I saw him caress her skin for longer than he should, I could sense something awful coming.

MC and the baby should be with you. And the longer than My Lord’s act is up, the worse the inevitable will be. The baby she carries can be two things: the key to uniting the realms or the catalyst for the downfall of Devildom. I can’t tell you what will happen or else it may change the course of the future for the worse. All I can say is the rivalry between a Father’s love for his baby and a demon lord deceiving others to use this baby in his ploy will cause impending doom.

I hope you make the right decision.

Barbatos

Once again, Lucifer slammed the letter on the desk. His face hardened completely as he marched to the door, his eyes were glowing as he almost pulled it off its hinges. As he writhed down the hallways, he bumped into Satan and Mammon.

“Where are ya goin’?” Mammon asked, noticing his livid behaviour as him and Satan followed the eldest brother.

“The palace.” Lucifer muttered.

“But Diavolo’s bringing MC’s stuff over later?” The second eldest brother questioned.

“What’s going on?” Satan asked, knowing that this was not a matter of MC’s belongings. “What’s happened?”

As he reached the front door, Lucifer stopped abruptly, spinning on his heel. “My desk.” He seethed. “Look at the journal on my desk.” He ordered, “If MC wakes up tell her not to worry about my absence.”

Before the brothers could say anything else, Lucifer opened the door forcefully before souring into the air. Mammon and Satan gawped at him momentarily before both immediately rushing toward the study.

“What’s happening?” Beel asked confused, appearing in the room.

“Go make sure MC’s okay.” Satan commanded. “Please just make sure she’s still in her room.”

Looks like Lucifer’s just found out the truth!

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me lucifer #obey me imagines #obey me one shot #obey me fanart #obey me diavolo #obey me drabble #obey me imagine

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papers4me · 4 years

Text

Fruits Basket, SE02, Ep25 (Season Finale)

ah~ I finished furuba’s Season 2..T_T.. now my life is empty..that’s a good ep!

- A moment with yuki:

I think there’s sth I still don’t understand abt yuki’s tohru-mom feelings...I thought that yuki after acknowledging such feelings, will slowly build a healthier, more equal relationship with tohru & the only reason he didn’t tell her is cuz he wants her to be ready & not worry. So today, it makes sense that he comes & tells tohru he stood up for himself & was scared but made it! he’s proud of himself & tohru should be proud of him, too. Also, it helps tohru let go of worrying abt him & realize his growth. All amazing!!! However, the scene was depicted in a way that screams, “look mommy, I’ did it!” rather than a friend reaching out & proudly telling a friend. it really cemented the mom-son dynamics. I felt “awe look at him proudly telling his mom” sth I thought, we’ll be slowly moving away from towards more equal dynamics. Yuki was drawn extra thin & he was leaning as if he was waiting for a head pat. Nothing is wrong with yuki wanting motherly feels since he never got one but i felt nothing changed between them. yuki still below tohru. I mean he’ll never be able to repay her kindness. true. but I thought the story will let us see him standing taller bit by bit, y’know? I know he still calls her honda-san & perhaps him finally calling her “tohru” is when they’re equal..but shouldn’t he move slowly towards that? rather than suddenly coming & thanking her for being his much needed mother figure? why is this scene depicted with extremely strong mother-son feel? could it be cuz yuki is still putting tohru in a pedestal? he told momiji “did u do sth worthy of honda-san’s praise” as if tohru isn’t the person who praises momiji for a cute uniform or kyo for making a standard riceball. hmm, maybe yuki can’t be equal to her if he still sees her as the sky or an angel or someone who desperately needs protection. tohru is precious to him & he’ll protect her with his life, but I thought he’ll do so as a friend, not as a son. Maybe SE03 is abt him learning to see tohru as a normal, lacking but still amazing person? I’d love to see that!!

- Shigure ( the main character ):

It’s always forgotten that this goofy, good for nuthin dude is a main character. But once he turns dark & reveals his face, no doubt that this guy is the plot’s leader! Shigure doesn't do lengthy inner monologues, nor his actions are easy to read. Mayuko is right “ he is like a ripple in the water” .The stages of shigues’s emotions:

Bitter: “why not let yuki take responsibility & tend for akito?” mocking akito’s bedridden status over yuki’s defiance. “ why u ask abt tohru in the phone?” & proceeds to mock kureno for calling. Tohru would never answer the phone first. “ you’re featherbrained” cruelly mocking him using a pun on his zodiac while suspecting he isn’t one anymore. Only shigure is capable of such salt!

Silent Anger: looking at akito as she rants abt him not coming to her first! not choosing her first. while she’s the one who didn’t choose him. “you’re one to talk” Epic!! “ what do you want from her?” shigure had no right intruding on kureno’s business with tohru. but he’s too angry to behave. Kureno answers like a good boy.

Refusing to play blind: hatori looking for excuses for akito’s behavior within the curse’s lore. Shigure fires back with “haven’t u ever felt sth off with kureno?”. They all did. “ Ah~at long at last” not even waiting for kureno to say first.

Sticking his finger in open wounds: “don’t accept it?scared? sad? emotionally attached to the bond?” Verdict: “devious” he’s calling out hatori & kureno both!

Embracing himself with no regrets: “ weak, intolerant, worthless, worst kind of man”. He embodies his own description of himself as he talks to kureno over the phone & sends tohru. “ see you later” only the worst kind of man uses tohru like that. sending her with no clue to an emotional shock. He wants the situation to escalates. He’ll use tohru if he have to. Let’s see if kureno’s “kindness” spares tohru the pain or if it tears her heart apart as it has been tearing everybody, kureno induced!

-Akito’s manipulating tactics start to backfire:

“ I speak cruelly of you, You know I don’t say it out of spite” very typical sentence abusers say to further their grasp around others. Insult them cruelly, then play the kind apologetic card. It makes the other person linger longer. “X didn’t meant it. X actually cares. X just lost control”. It happens in domestic abuse cases all the time.. it never changes..it never stops. Akito knows when she’s loosing her grip on someone. she feels it. Her ego doesnt let her acknowledge it. However, seeing akito’s innocent young self humanized her so much. She wasn’t despicable since birth as we’ve seen in yuki’s flashback, but here she was even more innocent than with yuki. Could it be cuz it’s from kureno’s perspective? someone older than her? or she treated older male zodiacs differently. Akito knew kureno’s curse broke as he himself did. hmm. it’s the bond, so the ruler does have a connection with the zodiacs. Akito fearing kureno’s abandonment is understandable. Akito using tears, screams, pleads & frantic behavior, “so typical of spoiled children” to get kureno to stay. It is a working tactic. A tactic that abusive adults use in toxic relationships so much & works to trap the other party to stay. Stay with me cuz you pity me, yes, but I’m the one on control. Keeping in mind akito’s age here, she looks 6? 10 maximum! is really twisted. Akito learned early one that manipulation works. She gets what she wants by playing games, whether it’s tears, pity, rage, ridicule, mockery, bets, humiliation, or sexual seduction. It reinforces her behavior that nothing can stand between her & her desires. curse or no curse. If she can keep a non-cursed person, then the cursed ones are way weaker to leave. This, off course doesn’t justify her abusive behavior with yuki/ kyo/ momiji/ kisa/ rin/ haru/ hatori but today, we got a small window open into her psyche. The best “antagonist” is someone with irrational behavior that stems from twisted mindset! She is so interesting!

-Kureno & ( the most destructive foolish traveler):

So, kureno stayed with akito cuz he can’t turn a sad, lonely, fragile child away. Can’t bear to break her heart. The child became a woman. The woman needed him in bed, he can’t turn a sad lonely woman away. He gave in & their relationship became even more twisted with the complexity of intimacy issues. Kureno said “ arisa is the first person he ever loved on his own”. meaning that he slept with akito using the remaining feelings of attachment of his previous bond. EXACTLY as shigure said while questioning hatori’s refusal to believe the curse can break“ emotionally attached to the bond”. He continued this unbalanced sexual affair with her. completely submissive to her moods & whims. Unbalanced relationship cuz both stayed together for twisted reasons “unable to let go”, She has control over him since she’s the family head, over even his freedom outside the house, He is willingly submissive to her, choosing to not seek his happiness, not standing up & denying her, or stopping her or telling her sth as simple as “ i want to go out to the supermarket”. content & satisfied with his dull, lifeless life. Until akito “ the sad child/ the sad woman doesn’t need him anymore??? but kureno can see that him staying by akito’s side didn’t do shit to improve anybody’s situation!!! Akito is still miserable! even before tohru appears in their lives. all the zodiacs were miserable & united in a toxic fake bond. The bond is so fake that all this time there was a fake imposter & no one dared to question. They’re so accustomed to submissive obedience that they don’t dare to hope. Only shigure. The intolerant jerk saw through it all.

-Kureno is a different kind of foolish traveler. He helped no one. Not even the person he gave his eyes to, Akito didn’t benefit from his kindness. He didn’t benefit, nor arisa, nor any zodiac. What kureno’s kindness brought him is misery. What it brought the sohma’s is enabling abuse & continuation of current toxic atmosphere. He is a more sever enabler than hatori. Hatori enabled the continuation of the curse by erasing memories & staying by akito’s bed tending for her with no life of his own. But hatori knows he’s a sinner & hatori is still chained by the bond. Kureno is free to leave. Yet, he’s still here deceiving everybody & suffering alone while pretending to be content with fake smile. Was Kureno raised to always follow orders? No personality. No needs. Still, he decides to continue even after given a chance to leave now!!!! he lost the first chance due to a promise he made while he was afraid, lonely & felt pity. Now, he knows someone there loves him (arisa), he has a new friend (tohru), someone flat out told him to freakin leave (shigure). Still, he feels that causing akito to break down & cry is cruel. The most passive character in the shows I’ve watched!! Kuteno is another proof of this brilliant writer! there are many kureno’s around us. hurting themselves & others by staying in the cycle of abuse. The writer is really brilliant for writing such variety of characters. Who cares if fans find him appealing or not? hot or dull? good or bad? that’s not the issue here. He fits the plot so amazingly & realistically represents real life ppl who are caught between causing immense harm & being severely harmed, between helping & ruining! Kureno just closed his own caged tight shut behind him. so foolish, so tragic!

Side Notes:

Momiji pulling tohru to his level to tell her abt his achievement is cute! I was told he’s supposed to be taller than tohru now! can’t wait to see that!

Momiji’s been dressing more mature for a while, such as the violin ep, ep24 & now. All three tops while still having so much decorations, a hint of feminine designs are still in tune with momiji’s funky spirit! Also they are NOT toddler-like clothes! at all. I’m convinced it is done on purpose!! baby is growing!

I love dark shigure!! OMG! the story take a whole other level once he turns dark & turns off the goofy mode, activating the bitter mode! He was raw with no mercy & unveiled hatori’s hidden feelings with no hesitation. He tore kureno like a vicious dog! I LOVE.

Akito’s Japaneses VA is queen! & shigure’s Japaneses VA is so amazing!! can’t wait for his American VA!!! he’s one of my faves!

the bond breaking visuals are perfect! 10/10. No words needed.

tohru does have a women’s intuition! She is the most emotionally intelligent & socially perceptive character in furuba, just as long as it’s not abt herself. XD

tohru had a flashback within a flashback! lol. flashback inception!

they gave tohru a lil bit bigger boobies than usual!! my girl is maturing, too? =D

The scene of kureno & akito’s innocent childhood & the curse lifting being cut & inserted all over the ep is EPIC!! 10/10 presentation. It gave the ep eerie & distorted feel. Exactly as both kureno & akito felt.

The scenes of tohru realizing sth is off with kureno’s curse is 10/10.

“ how did the curse break?” tohru’s first question! wow! I thought it was good for you, I’m happy, then ask afterwards. But NO. Interesting!!!!

I love that there is NO explanation of why the curse broke!!! I hope there is NEVER any explanation!! plz don’t let it be sth magical kureno did without noticing or anything. Let it either be random to keep the suspense as we wouldn’t know who’s is next or let be sth abt the bond somehow. But not sth tohru herself needs to do!

I still don’t understand kureno much, but I find him well-written for the reasons mentioned in my post. As for akito, I still don’t know much abt her. I doubt I’ll like her easily. But I can feel that her part in the story would be so amazingly entertaining!!

Shigure is the most unique furuba character hands down!!!!! this unbelievably entertaining jerk! is hot too.

#Fruits Basket #season finale #anime-only #shigure soma #akito sohma #kureno sohma #empty paper #SE02

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greenjacketwhitehatdocmui · 3 years

Text

Those Left Behind, Chapter 4

Well, here it is, chapter 4. This can also be found on FF.net here

or AO3 here.

Sorry about the delay, but I’ve had to deal with quite a bit in the last few months. Hope this was worth the wait!

--Doc

Elsa stood before her father's portrait. A lifetime ago, he'd held her hand and admitted that he'd been very nervous when posing. He thought that he looked stiff and uncomfortable.

She didn't see it that way. To Elsa, her father looked regal and in control, a far cry from her state now. She could only hope to be half as good a ruler as he had been, gates notwithstanding.

Would he have been proud of her? No, who could ever be proud of someone like her? She was a freak, her powers a curse. If only she had been born a normal girl like Anna, none of this would have happened.

For years, she had hoped that someone would tell her that her suffering was not in vain. No, it hadn't been just her suffering. Anna's warm, loving heart had been trampled on so many times with each refusal.

What would her parents think? For years, she'd hoped beyond hope that they were out there somewhere. But she knew that it was a lost cause. They could no longer offer her any advice or comfort. She only had their memories to guide her.

--------

Anna practically leapt from her bed and changed. Today was the only day that the gates would be open and she wasn't about to waste it!

Now dressed, she paused as she looked outside the window. She'd done so many times in the last three years. She knew that her parents were gone. She still dreamt about them every so often, hoping that they would have some advice to offer.

The moment passed. This wasn't a day to think about the past. This was a day to go out and bask in the sun.

She dashed out of her room without another look backwards. Today was going to be a good day.

--------

Iduna felt the sunlight on her eyes and groaned. She snuggled closer to Agnarr, who responded with a chuckle.

"And here I thought that you were the early riser," he joked, kissing her on the top of her head. He paused. "Something wrong?"

Reluctantly, she opened her eyes. The interior of their "cabin" certainly wasn't very fancy. It was a bit sturdier than the huts that her family favored. It had been built by everyone in the Arendellian contingent. Fortunately, Captain Hansen had been quite adept at woodworking before he joined the Navy. With his direction and the convenient abundance of fallen wood, the makeshift log cabin had been built fairly quickly. Doing so was more comforting than trying to salvage the remains of their yacht.

(They had tried to reach Ahtohallan after the first month. Before they reached the sea, they found the yacht, empty and wrecked. They scavenged the interior, coming away with a map and a few other items. Agnarr had then carved a marker to commemorate those who were lost.)

Outwardly, Yelana had feigned indifference to the construction effort. In private, however, she'd wondered why the Earth Giants had spared any effort towards anyone from Arendelle. It was a conflict that she couldn't quite reconcile. Her faith in the Spirits didn't mesh with her emotions towards Arendelle.

It had been three years since they'd been trapped in the forest. In that time, Iduna saw how much Agnarr had wanted peace between Arendelle and her family. He did his best to try to work things out. There had been trade agreements, general boundaries drawn out and a crash course in Northuldra etiquette and social norms.

Iduna wondered whether or not it was enough. In the last three years, she could count on one hand the times that the misty sky had almost cleared. One night had been particularly calm and she could have sworn she'd seen a star in a patch of midnight blue. Then the moment passed.

"I'm not sure what we're doing wrong," she admitted quietly. "The mist came because everyone started fighting. But now, nobody's fighting and the mist is still there."

Agnarr said nothing for a moment. He looked at the wall and sighed heavily.

"I know," he said softly. "I've tried everything I could think of. I just wish that the Spirits would say something."

"It doesn't work that way," she reminded him, frustration coloring her voice. "Father once told me that the closest he came to communicating with them was like trying to understand raw emotions. They don't really use words, more like sensations. Then he interpreted their desires as best as he could."

He sighed heavily. He'd pushed himself for what peace he could manage between the two groups. The soldiers and sailors still admired him, followed his orders with almost fanatical zeal. The Northuldra had been...resigned and somewhat accommodating, but hardly enthusiastic.

Oddly enough, it was because they were removed from the castle that they could focus on the main issue: Peace with the Northuldra. Had they been still in Arendelle, they would have been bombarded by servants, townspeople and demanding diplomats.

Then again, they would have been a family. There was never a day that they didn't think of their daughters and how things might have been.

"Do you think that Elsa's having her coronation?" she asked.

Agnarr hummed thoughtfully. "She came of age last December," he said. "This would be the most convenient time for diplomats to come in."

“Can you imagine Anna just going from person to person like a butterfly?” she asked. “She’d be having the time of her life.”

A somewhat wicked little smile made its way on his face. “Can you imagine your mother in that situation? I would feel very sorry for the diplomats.”

“Would you?” she asked. “She’d ruffle their feathers like the peacocks they are. They’d act all indignant until they found out who she was.”

“And then they’d fall all over themselves to apologize.” He chuckled. “That’s quite an image.”

For a long moment, they basked in the impossible dream. Then they sighed and got ready for the day.

--------

Yelana stepped out of her hut and surveyed the camp. Everyone was busy, the better to keep their minds off of their situation.

She had to admit that things were better now than they had been three years ago. Agnarr had done his best time and again to try to smooth things out between his people and the Northuldra. Iduna's visits were also a factor. Surprisingly, the Arendellian contingent had been behaving themselves.

It was the younger generation who seemed more curious than fearful, she noted. Ryder, Honeymaren and the other children had been raised on tales of how horrible Arendelle had been to their people. After Agnarr and his sailors arrived, however, there were murmurs that the king didn’t seem like a bad sort.

She frowned. She’d fallen in that trap once before with Runeard.

--------

“Erke, why can’t you be more like Runeard?” she asked her brother-in-law. “He’s a strong leader.”

“What makes him strong?” he gently countered. “Is it because he’s charismatic? Do you admire his ambition? Or is it because he appears `civilized’ compared to us?”

"I just think that there may be better ways to do things," she sighed. "And who knows? Our two nations may become closer in time. After all, Iduna seems quite taken with Prince Agnarr."

He smiled. "I've noticed. She's like Sunna, always following her heart." His smile faded, replaced by a furrowed brow. "Agnarr is a good person, but I'm not certain that Runeard has shown all of himself."

Yelana frowned. "If Runeard means any harm, wouldn't the Spirits intervene?"

"The Spirits trust our judgment. They could intervene in every little injustice, but where would that leave us?" He shook his head. "I think that they're waiting to see what happens. For good or ill, our choices are our own. I think that they'd only act if they had no other choice. And with the power they wield..." he trailed off uncertainly.

"I'm sure that it won't come to that," she said, trying to sound reassuring. "Look, I know that you're cautious of Runeard, but I think that this alliance will benefit all of us."

"Perhaps," Erke allowed. "I still think that the dam is a bit too...grand of a gesture. And when I mention the Spirits, Runeard has an odd look in his eyes.”

“Not everyone is as blessed as our people,” Yelana said. “To have the Spirits on our side, helping us whenever possible—that’s a rare thing.” She offered a reassuring smile. “At least he’s not charging in with an army.”

“I doubt that he’d be foolish enough to try,” he remarked. “Still, once the dam is complete, we can try for further negotiations. I’d like to show Runeard’s people that we aren’t the savages some think we are.”

“Perhaps over a toast?” she suggested. “I think it would be fitting.”

Erke hummed in approval. “A symbol of trust between equals? That sounds like a wonderful idea."

"We can celebrate once the dam is complete," she said. "And maybe in a few years, Iduna and Agnarr..."

He groaned theatrically. "I don't want to think about that now. He's 14 and she's 12, Yelana. I do not want to force them into anything."

"But they are cute together, aren't they?" she gently needled him. "The Wind Spirit likes them both."

"Well, then...Runeard can't be that bad if his son's turned out well," he reasoned.

--------

Yelana tightened her grip on her staff. She had been such a trusting, naive fool. She had talked her brother-in-law into that fateful toast, which led to Runeard's betrayal. And the Spirits had reacted accordingly.

Never again, she thought to herself. We have paid enough for our mistakes.

A gentle touch on her shoulder interrupted her thoughts. There was only one person she would have allowed that contact.

"Good morning, Yelana," Sunna said brightly. "You're brooding again."

Yelana sighed. "I'm just...checking up on a few things."

She had to admit, Iduna's return had done wonders for Sunna's health. In the three years since the Arendellian contingent had arrived, mother and daughter had reconnected through stories and long walks in the forest. While Sunna wasn't the boundless font of energy she was in her youth, she could easily keep pace with everyone else when it came to the chores.

Technically, Sunna could have resumed leadership from Yelana. However, the former had demurred. After all, blood was not the main requirement for leading the tribe. Yelana had proven herself more than capable, even though she was the younger sister. The tribe supported them both. The most Sunna would interfere with Yelana's decisions would be to whisper a delicately-phrased suggestion.

Iduna gave Sunna a reason to live again, Yelana sighed. Another few years and I'd be alone. She gave me back my sister, not a hollow wreck.

"Iduna and I are going to be gathering herbs," Sunna said. "Is there anything that we should be looking out for?"

Yelana ran through her mental inventory. Thankfully, the tribe was pretty healthy, but there was always the possibility of accidents. Besides, the Arendellians were more than happy to take whatever herbal remedies were offered.

"We could use some more spruce resin," Yelana said. "You know how the boys can get." She smirked at her little nickname for the Arendellian sailors.

Sunna sighed. "Give someone a staff and they can walk with it. Give someone a sword and they feel the urge to stab." She shook her head. "I have never liked swords, even before..."

"I know," Yelana said gently. For a moment, they were transported back to simpler times. Both sisters in their prime had been fierce staff fighters, something that Erke had appreciated. The moment passed. "Iduna will be waiting outside. You should get going."

Sunna gently squeezed Yelana's shoulder. There was an odd hesitation in her eyes. "I dreamt of snow last night," she blurted out.

Yelana arched an eyebrow. "Snow? In July?" she asked dubiously.

"It's the strangest thing," Sunna admitted. "It's not like when the Spirits communed with--with Erke," she got out awkwardly. "I don't get visions, not like some of our ancestors. I'm just...ordinary."

Yelana rolled her eyes. "`Ordinary?'" she repeated. "You are anything but ordinary." She paused. "Go on, Iduna's waiting. She'll probably storm the camp soon."

--------

"A vision of snow?" Iduna asked. She'd knelt down to gather some herbs. Her royal clothing had proved to be impractical for the long run, so she and Agnarr had some Northuldra clothing for day-to-day business. Even Mattias reluctantly admitted the necessity of the change. His soldiers and the sailors still wore uniforms, of course.

They'd taken Honeymaren along for an extra pair of arms. She was a good distance behind, allowing mother and daughter some privacy.

Sunna nodded. "It's probably nothing. Maybe I was just hoping for a respite from the heat."

"It's not that hot in the forest," Iduna reminded her. "It's humid, but it doesn't get as warm as it would in...Arendelle..." She trailed off as a wave of homesickness threatened to engulf her. The irony that she was homesick while in the forest had not escaped her.

Iduna relaxed as she felt her mother's gentle hand on her shoulder. They'd certainly had their fair share of disagreements during their reconciliation, but it had only strengthened their bond in the end.

There was, of course, one subject that was never really discussed: Elsa's magic. She had kept that tidbit from everyone. There had been times when she had wanted to tell her mother, but it would have been futile. Elsa and Anna were beyond their reach.

"Calm down," Sunna urged her. "It's the oddest thing. Whenever I mention snow or ice, you have this distant look in your eyes. It's been that way ever since you came back to me." Her expression softened. "You weren't caught in an avalanche or something, were you?"

"No, I--" Iduna shook her head. She hated lying to her mother, even by omission. But she wasn't sure how Elsa's magic would be received. Magic was for the Spirits, after all. Revealing Elsa's magic would most likely lead to Elsa either being worshipped as a goddess or shunned for blasphemy. Neither outcome was terribly desirable.

"It's just that...the girls loved snow so much," she half-lied. "Some of the happiest times had to do with snow."

Sunna eyed her skeptically. She knew that something was being hidden, but she was kind enough not to pry.

Iduna's heart ached. She'd lost track of how many times she'd dreamed of being back in the castle. Countless tears had been shed in the cabin she and Agnarr shared. She just wanted to make things right again. And the worst part was, she couldn't even tell her own mother.

She barely registered her mother's gentle touch on her shoulder. Iduna didn't dare to look back.

"We have to believe," Sunna said gently.

Iduna took a ragged breath. "In what?"

"That you will see them again," Sunna said. "That one day, we'll all see the sun."

--------

Yelana sighed as she saw the glints of metal dancing in the sun. Once again, the troops and sailors were having their morning workout. And that meant...swords.

Inwardly, she scowled at the word. To her, a sword was a barbaric symbol of oppression. The Northuldra had never needed them. The staff was far less intimidating and no less deadly, if it came to that. A staff was also far more readily available in the forest than a sword.

Her scowl faded and she almost smiled. For some reason, the Arendellian contingent was never able to make any fire hot enough to forge new swords. All the swords they possessed were either already on their person or scavenged from their ship. She wondered if the Fire Spirit had some influence in that.

"Discipline and control," she heard Mattias call out to the assembled group. "Any idiot can hold a sword and swing it. It takes effort to use a sword properly."

Yelana's right eye twitched. Runeard had been excellent with a sword. Then again, with a sneak attack, you only had to strike once.

She remembered that Runeard had been proud of his Viking ancestors. He'd made them sound like bold explorers and fearless warriors. He'd conveniently left out the fact that they were raiders and despoilers, something he was most likely also proud of. Runeard, like his ancestors, took what he wanted--though at least he had a thin veneer of civility before striking.

She stood on a small hill that unofficially separated their two domains. She gripped her staff tight as she watched the remaining soldiers and the sailors going through sword exercises. They were using, she noted, wooden practice swords carved from fallen branches. Then she saw Agnarr consulting with Mattias and Captain Hansen, pausing only to look in her direction and nod.

Every day for three years, she and Agnarr would meet at this hill. Heated words were exchanged, but no blows...yet. She had to admit that he was an excellent negotiator, no doubt thanks to expensive tutors. He always came alone, though well within sight of Mattias or Captain Hansen.

She sighed as she saw him approaching. She waited until they were facing each other before she put her staff down and sat on the grass. Unarmed, he did likewise.

Even though he'd been fair with his negotiations, there was something that had always bothered Yelana. She knew that Agnarr was hiding something--something he refused to talk about even in the company of his own men. If Agnarr truly wanted her full trust, he would have put everything out in the open.

Agnarr sighed inwardly. It had been three years of constant negotiation and at best, they had a ceasefire. It was a fragile, tenuous thing, though younger members of the tribe had been less fearful of the sailors. Some of the children were almost on friendly terms with the sailors, though not with the older soldiers.

He wondered if Yelana could see the fear in his eyes whenever he thought about his daughters. He didn't love Anna any less than Elsa, but Elsa's...issues...were a far more pressing concern. Anna didn't have potentially destructive magic at her disposal. But then, in trying to work with Elsa's powers, he found himself giving Anna less time than she deserved.

He had so many regrets and no way to correct them. And he had to try to negotiate with someone who had mostly-good reasons to hate him. He just couldn't accept that his father was a murderer, though.

--------

Mattias eyed Yelana warily. He had a clear view of anything that might have happened on the hill.

"You still don't trust her?" Captain Hansen asked. He'd gained a few grey hairs in the last few years, but he was still in seafaring shape. He had to be; he had an example to set for his sailors.

Mattias shook his head. "Not entirely." He sighed heavily. "At times like this, I wish I knew what King Runeard had been thinking."

Captain Hansen nodded. "It's too bad there's nobody we can ask."

Mattias frowned. Those who had been close advisors to King Runeard had either run from the mist or been killed. He still remembered the almost fanatical zeal with which they tried to defend the king--but to no avail. As the remaining officer, it was up to him.

He ached to go home. He'd found out from Captain Hansen and his sailors that Halima was still alive at her little sweet shop. Oddly enough, she'd never married. It was something he'd always put off for duty, that one day he'd kneel before her and...

He shook his head. He wasn't the only one who was homesick. But until Agnarr had arrived, he'd had to serve as an example for his troops. He'd had to stay strong and resolute, holding back the pain and the resentment.

He had a better read on troop morale than Agnarr. Mattias knew that tensions were still high between the Arendellian contingent and the Northuldra tribe. All it would take was one spark, one incident that couldn't be smoothed over, to set them against each other again.

--------

The day had been long, and not without some results. As much as Yelana's loathing had been a sticking point, some progress was made. And yet, there was always an unspoken secret that hung in the air between them.

Agnarr noted with some satisfaction that a small group of Northuldra children were leaving the Arendellian camp. They were flanked by Ryder and Honeymaren, who looked amused that they'd been saddled with this duty.

"Did you have a good time?" Agnarr asked with no small amount of amusement."

"The little ones wanted to taste some Arendellian food," Honeymaren said. "Not that there's anything wrong with what we have; they were just curious."

"Little steps, Honeymaren," Agnarr reassured her. "Little steps."

She managed a small, crooked smile. Then she urged her brother and the children to follow her back home.

Mattias approached Agnarr and handed him a bowl of stew and a crudely carved spoon. He accepted it gratefully.

"How were the negotiations?" Mattias asked.

"Same as ever," Agnarr sighed. "I just can't figure out how to get past a certain point."

"She's stubborn, that one," Mattias agreed. "I have to give her that. She wouldn't have been able to lead, otherwise."

Agnarr said nothing. He'd used just about everything he had and Yelana had only conceded minor items. It was frustrating, but one day, there would be a tipping point.

"The Queen's in the cabin," Mattias said, breaking Agnarr out of his reverie. "You should get some rest."

Agnarr nodded. "Thank you, Mattias."

Mattias watched his king move towards the cabin. Then he set about assigning which of his troops and the sailors would have night watch. Not that he was expecting anything unusual, but odd things could happen on even the quietest of nights.

--------

The Spirits felt a disturbance in the air. It was a wave of power that was raw, uncontrolled and terrified.

The Fifth Spirit's power had rushed out towards the misty barrier. Snowflakes formed in the cool July night, seeping through the mist. The barrier only worked on animals and people, not natural phenomena.

Ahtohallan had intended Elsa to be the balance between the other Spirits. In time, she would gain control and focus, enough to subdue another Spirit if necessary.

The wave of magic that had created the snow looked deceptively gentle. Each of the Spirits felt it as a resounding slap, weakening them. It was by Ahtohallan's design, after all.

Most of their strength had gone into maintaining the barrier. None of them could venture outside the forest, weakened as they were. Still, they had to protect the people within--even if they hadn't learned their lesson quite yet.

The Water Spirit had managed to keep a few parts of the river from freezing, guaranteeing a fresh supply. The Fire and Earth Spirits offered warmth where they could with bonfires near each camp. The Wind Spirit mitigated the worst of the cutting, icy gusts.

The Spirits could tend to physical needs. The mental states of the people on both sides were beyond their ability to influence. They had always been happy to help people, but they had never asked for the worship that the Northuldra offered.

All they could do was hope that their efforts were enough. It was simply a matter of weathering the storm.

--------

Mattias and Captain Hansen looked aghast as the snow fell. It was impossible, but it was actually snowing in July. There was only one explanation: Magic.

Mattias felt a snowflake drift into his hand. It melted as he clenched it into a fist, his features twisting into a scowl.

"What have they done?" he growled.

--------

For a moment, Yelana and Sunna were at a loss. Most of the tribe hadn't seen snow for years. For most of them, the wonder and amazement gave way to chills and fear.

Yelana gripped her staff tightly. Obviously, the Spirits had been offended.

"What have they done?" she growled.

--------

Both Agnarr and Iduna had burst out of their cabin when they heard the shouting. They'd been getting ready for bed when they felt the chill in the air.

"What's going...on...?" He trailed off as his breath fogged. His jaw dropped as the snow fell. "No..." he whispered.

"No..." Iduna echoed, her blue eyes filling with tears. "Agnarr, it's--"

"I know," he whispered. It was the day that they'd dreaded for years:

Elsa had somehow lost control of her powers. Now, the world was going to pay the price.

--------

It was thanks to good planning and quick action that neither side had suffered any sickness from the sudden snowfall. Winter clothes were brought out from storage and extra firewood was gathered.

The tension between the groups was at an all-time high. Fingers were twitching for action and tempers were flaring. The men in the Arendelle camp were murmuring dangerous things.

"Can't believe that they'd do this."

"What are they thinking?"

"What did we do wrong?"

"Three years of living together and now this!"

"I trusted them!"

"Goes to show that you just can't trust magic!"

Captain Hansen and Mattias toured the camp. They frowned at the understandably low morale. They found Agnarr and Iduna urging the soldiers and sailors to stay warm, even if it meant condensing the perimeter.

Mattias could see the dread in Agnarr and Iduna's eyes. They knew something, but it wasn't his place to question his king and queen.

--------

The Northuldra camp wasn't in much better shape. They, too, had gathered their huts and campfires closer together to keep warm. The murmurs floated towards Yelana's ears.

"They obviously offended the Spirits somehow."

"You mean that this wasn't our fault?"

"Of course not! We follow the ways of nature! We are the chosen ones!"

"Then this is a sign from the Spirits? Are we finally done with Arendelle?"

The chatter stopped as soon as Sunna approached the group. Her normally kindly features were pinched in disapproval. More than one member of the tribe straightened up. She may have relinquished her leadership to Yelana, but she still carried herself as a leader.

"You would think of waging war against my daughter?" she asked in a low, dangerous tone. "Have we become so hardened that we would be willing to kill our own?"

"She's no longer--" a man spoke up, only to be cut off by Sunna's sharp blue eyes. He gulped and swallowed his words.

Sunna frowned and her gaze swept over the assembled tribe. Many of the men squirmed. The women found that they couldn't meet her gaze.

"The Spirits have never called us to war," Sunna said levelly. "Our way is to live in peace and defend ourselves when necessary, not to strike because we believe ourselves to be superior."

"This is obviously a sign from the Spirits!" a woman protested. "We must do something!"

Sunna fixed her with a solemn, almost chiding look. "Do you speak for the Spirits?"

The woman realized that, despite the cold, people had edged away from her. She looked away in shame.

"No," she croaked out.

Sunna's gaze softened as she gently laid a hand on the woman's shoulder. The woman flinched slightly at the contact.

"I understand that you are afraid," Sunna said, her voice gentle and warm. "But we cannot let fear twist what we are as a people: Peace-loving, understanding and kind."

There was a tap of wood on stone as Yelana made herself known. Her expression was stern, as if ready to scold a child.

"We should follow Sunna's example," Yelana declared. "She has lost the most, yet she still believes in the peaceful ways."

There was a murmur of agreement. The tension defused for the moment, the tribe went on to more important matters like campfires and the state of the reindeer herd.

Sunna and Yelana walked just out of sight, out of earshot. Judging by the older sister's look of disapproval, Sunna was not happy that Yelana had been absent until now.

"You should have been the one to calm them down." She was justifiably angry, but kept it under control. "Where were you?"

Yelana frowned deeply. "I was making sure that nobody was taking advantage of this...storm. We are vulnerable in this snow."

"I doubt that they could sneak up on us in an open field," Sunna remarked. She sighed deeply. "You've carried this anger for decades and I am to blame. It's like comfortable, worn leather. It's rough at first, but you grow used to it--until you can't imagine a day without that anger."

"What should I do, o wise leader?" Yelana snapped back. "You put this burden in my hands, remember? What advice could you offer me now, after years of mourning?"

"One day, I hope that you take this anger and let it go," Sunna said. "This has poisoned you, and with it, the tribe. What good is fighting if you lose sight of why?"

"Agnarr's responsible for this," Yelana muttered. "I can feel it. He's hiding something."

"And you are always upfront and honest?" That was Sunna's "older sister" voice, the one she used to drive home a lesson. "You never told him that you once believed Runeard."

"That is my shame to bear. He never has to know."

Sunna tilted her head slightly. "Is this for his sake, or your pride?"

Yelana found that she couldn't look her sister in the eye. Sunna had every reason to cry out for blood, yet still sought peace. Her older sister would have been a better leader, but she'd declined. Sunna trusted her.

Sunna sighed a frosty plume between them. She decided to change the subject. "In any case, I doubt that his people are in much better shape than ours. They haven't exactly been stockpiling on supplies."

"Are you suggesting that we share with them? Right now? When they could--"

"It was just an observation," Sunna said quietly. She turned back towards the camp. "What good is the bounty of the forest if it is hoarded?"

Yelana said nothing for a long moment. Then she nodded, admitting defeat.

"I will meet with him," Yelana said at last. "If getting through this together is what is required, then I...shall do whatever it takes."

Sunna smiled benignly. It was enough.

--------

It was midday when Yelana and Agnarr met at their usual place. They were both flanked by people close to them. Agnarr had Iduna, with Mattias and Captain Hansen at their side. Yelana had Honeymaren and Ryder while Sunna waited patiently. This in itself showed how tense things had become.

"Interesting weather we've been having," Yelana said acerbically. "I don't suppose that you know the reason for it?"

"I know that neither of our groups is responsible for this winter," Agnarr said carefully. "My people have done our best to abide by the rules and customs we've learned."

"And you don't think that the Northuldra are responsible?" Yelana offered. "We are, after all, savages who worship magic," she finished acidly. "We might have convinced the Spirits that everyone from Arendelle deserved to be frozen."

"I've explained it to everyone, Aunt Yelana," Iduna said, her breath forming a frosty plume. "They all know that we commune with nature and magic--but we don't control either. And we certainly don't control the Spirits. They do as they will."

Yelana's eyes flicked from Agnarr to Iduna. She felt Sunna's reassuring hand on her shoulder. Everything rode on her next few words.

"Oddly enough, I believe you," Yelana said. "If you were in control of this...odd winter...you would hardly freeze yourselves with us. Like it or not, we are trapped together."

"The best option is to pool our resources," Iduna suggested. "Firewood and food can be shared and we'll have a better chance of surviving together."

"Yes, that seems to be where we're headed," Yelana agreed reluctantly. "We have little choice, after all. Though it calls into question whether we had any choice at all."

"Of course we do," Sunna insisted. "Our choices always matter, whether we think so or not."

Agnarr nodded. "Whatever station we hold in life, it all matters."

"Such hopeful words in a seemingly hopeless situation," Yelana remarked. "Especially since the greater picture has not been addressed. Or were you planning to pray our way through the mist?"

"Sister..." Sunna frowned a warning, but it was too late.

Agnarr took a deep breath. Things were tense enough already without him adding to it. But there were several questions that had never been answered to his satisfaction.

“That's an interesting viewpoint," he began. "I have a question of my own: Why were your tribe and the men were trapped for so long?” Agnarr said. “If it were merely a matter of protection, the Spirits could have just forced the troops out.” He thought for a moment. “In fact, given their kind nature, they could have done it without harming a single person.”

“Only Ahtohallan knows,” Yelana said sagely. “If there were a better way, I am certain that the Spirits would have chosen that path. It is not for we humans to question the will of nature and the Spirits.”

Agnarr bit back a scathing response. His faith in religion and spirituality had diminished significantly since Elsa’s birth. After all, there were those who still subscribed to the old saying, “suffer not a witch to live.” And he would do anything to protect his family.

Furthermore, it almost seemed hypocritical of Yelana to imply that the Spirits could be convinced to harm people, then go back to a "who knows" sort of explanation. It honestly rankled him when people used faith as a way to dodge responsibility--or, at least, a straight answer.

"So, for the time being, can we agree to share resources?" Agnarr asked. He had to get things back on track. "It seems to be our best option."

"Of course," she agreed. "It's better to keep warm together than to freeze separately." She held up a finger. "But there is something I would ask of you...in private." She eyed her entourage.

Honeymaren, Ryder and Sunna reluctantly withdrew. Agnarr nodded and Iduna, Captain Hansen and Mattias did the same.

"There is something you are not telling me," Yelana said with a scowl. "You are hiding something from me."

Agnarr clenched his jaw. He forced himself to breathe, to try to keep calm. "This is not something I can tell anyone."

Yelana's scowl deepened. "It is not a matter of `cannot.' You simply will not. Even after three years of living together and trying to build bridges, you still do not trust me."

As if you have trusted me fully? the dangerous thought slipped into his mind, but not from his tongue. Voicing that would have only enflamed matters further.

"Even if I could tell you, it would do no good. Trapped within this forest, it is out of our control," he said flatly.

Yelana stared at him in disbelief. "You know exactly what is causing this winter."

Agnarr said nothing. That in itself confirmed her suspicions.

"It is someone or something in Arendelle that is causing this winter." Yelana's eyes sharpened. "Who or what is doing this? And why?"

Agnarr clenched his jaw. "I cannot answer that question. There are promises that I must keep."

"`Promises?'" Yelana almost spat out. "You honor promises to Arendelle, but not to my people." She kept her voice low, but it took on a dangerous tone. It was deliberate, so as not to draw attention to her entourage. "Arendelle has brought almost nothing but pain to the Northuldra," she declared. "Ever since your father had that dam built, there has only been misfortune."

"Well, if the dam is the issue, why haven't the Spirits done something about it?" Agnarr asked, trying to keep his voice from growing harsh. "They could have easily destroyed the dam. Why haven't they?"

"I am not one to question the will of the Spirits," Yelana said in a low, dangerous voice. "You do not know your place, boy." She paused. "Or are you more like your father than I thought? He thought that a crown gave him total authority."

"It didn't stop him from dying," he retorted.

"We have suffered more than you have."

He clenched his jaw. "Who suffers more if we keep this grudge going? This isn't a contest, Yelana. Both our people are suffering and we need to address it in the here and now."

"And we will," she promised. "But don't expect me to ever agree to things blindly, boy. You still haven't earned my full trust."

The discussion ended, she got up and called for her entourage. Sunna looked especially concerned, but nobody in the Northuldra group said anything.

Iduna was the first to reach him. She noted his drained expression and gestured for Mattias and Captain Hansen to wait.

"What happened?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper. "I thought that it was going well."

"She knew that I knew the source of this winter," he replied. "I couldn't tell her, Iduna. I just--I just couldn't. If she knew--who knows what she would do?"

She tightened her grip on his gloved hand. She wished that she had an answer.

--------

The unnatural winter had vanished on the third day. Most of the tribe and the Arendellian contingent had cheered as the snow evaporated. The only thing missing was the sun to warm their bones.

In private, Agnarr and Iduna wondered what had happened to Elsa. They hoped that the end of the unnatural winter meant that she'd gained control of her powers. The only other option was that Elsa was forever lost to them. There was no way of knowing, and that had made it more painful.

The frost, however, had set in between Agnarr and Yelana. Their daily negotiations were short, only dealing with concrete and tangible issues. The time for philosophical exchange had passed.

Despite Sunna's and Iduna's best efforts, relations between the tribe and the Arendellian contingent had become stiff and formal. Even Iduna's visits to her mother were enough to cause tension.

Three years of reaching out had evaporated in three days. Three more years passed under this oppressively neutral atmosphere. There were hints of regret on both sides, but nobody knew how to breach the walls that had been built.

Then, the sun briefly showed itself. It was as if the misty barrier had parted, just for a moment. That hadn't gone unnoticed by either side.

--------

"I shall go with the scouting party," Yelana insisted. "It's probably nothing, but it's best that you stay here."

"All right," Sunna agreed reluctantly. "Be careful."

--------

"Mattias, take a small scouting party to see what's going on," Agnarr commanded. "Do not engage unless someone attacks you first. The important thing is to get the information back to us."

"Yes, my king," Mattias nodded.

--------

Anna was worried. She'd never seen Elsa so obsessed before. And the fact that Elsa had been keeping secrets from her hadn't been helping, either. She was still trying to catch her breath after the whirlwind that was the Wind Spirit nearly killed them.

(Well, all right, the Spirit--"Gale," Olaf had named it--seemed friendly enough now, dancing leaves and all. But she was keeping an eye on it.)

Right now, all the noise in the forest just seemed to be out to get her. She'd been camping with Kristoff before, but she'd never felt so overwhelmed at all the noise. As such, she was understandably on edge when she grabbed an ice sword and sliced through some branches.

The Northuldran scouting party had their staves at the ready. They were in no mood for intruders.

"Lower your weapon," Honeymaren said in a low voice. She brandished her staff, ready to disarm Anna if the situation called for it.

The situation was only exacerbated by the clang of swords on shields. The Arendellian scouting party had intervened--not so much to rescue the group as to get information.

"Identify yourselves!" Mattias shouted.

Yelana strode purposefully towards Mattias. "Are you threatening my people, Lieutenant?"

"Do you have a problem with the terms we've agreed to?" he countered.

Anna eyed the two sides warily. Her body was a coiled spring, ready to strike at anyone who got close. She wasn't sure if the ice sword she'd commandeered would actually hold up, but it was sharp, pointy and intimidating.

Yelana frowned. "So, you're here too?" she asked sourly. Her frown deepened as she saw Anna defending Elsa. Something about the two women reminded her of the stories that Iduna told them. After all, platinum-blonde hair was a rare shade on anyone. That bought them some leeway, but she would not tolerate a sword brandished at her.

"Girl, I don't know how you entered this forest, but I will not be held at sword point." Her tone became colder. "Put. It. Down."

That didn't disarm the situation. In fact, Anna was even more tense. "No."

"This isn't helping," Elsa whispered. "I appreciate this, but maybe I should talk--"

"I'd listen to her if I were you, girl," Mattias said grudgingly. "I hate to admit it, but that overgrown stick of hers isn't just for show."

Anna felt Kristoff take a step behind her. He didn't grab the sword from her hand, nor did he try to push her out of the way. He was just there, supporting her without saying a word.

Anna managed a little smile. There were times when those little gestures of his were worth more than any flowery words.

Then both groups charged, intent on taking Anna's sword. Anna prepared herself for a fight.

"ENOUGH!" Elsa exclaimed, a blast of her power coating the ground with ice. Both groups slipped and fell in awkward heaps.

Mattias struggled to pick himself up. He gaped at the assembled group.

"That was magic," he whispered, flabbergasted. "Did you see that?" he asked Yelana.

Yelana blinked. Then a ghost of a smirk appeared on her face.

"Well," she began. "That does explain a few things." She managed to right herself and turned her gaze to Elsa. "So you're the reason for that winter in July."

Elsa blinked. "Wait, you know about--"

Then Olaf decided to make his appearance. Both groups stared in awe as the little snowman dramatically recounted the sisters' story.

(Yelana found it darkly amusing that Mattias was such a softy at heart. She made a note to remind him of this at the most inconvenient time.)

With a gesture, Elsa melted the ice. She looked a bit aggrieved at Olaf's overly-simplified, yet oddly charming retelling. Anna looked mortified. Kristoff, for his part, just kept near Anna, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Thankfully, the introductions were less dramatic than the initial meeting. Curiosity had overcome wariness. That, and Olaf's presence had lightened things considerably.

"Queen Elsa and Princess Anna," Yelana said, a little smirk forming on her face. "I should have known; you have much of your mother in you--including her stubborn streak." She looked pointedly at the ice sword.

With a nervous chuckle, Anna gently put down the sword. "Yeah, I guess I don't need that anymore, do I?" She paused. "Wait, you knew our mother?"

Yelana was trying very hard not to laugh at Anna's use of the past tense. Even though her relationship with Iduna had more than a bit of friction, there were some moments that she just didn't want to spoil.

"My niece," Yelana said. "Which makes you two my grand nieces, I suppose." She looked at Mattias with undisguised, malicious glee. "But the good Lieutenant has something to show you."

Mattias didn't quite grimace at having been saddled with the responsibility. Still, the girls deserved to know. The best way was to show them.

Anna and Elsa were understandably curious as they made their way to the dam. They were amazed that the Arendellian camp was so populated--though they didn't know that most of them were from the royal yacht. Any murmurs were quickly silenced by a glare from Mattias, which promised swift retribution if the surprise was spoiled.

They reached the cabin and Mattias urged them to wait outside. The sisters could see figures inside, but they couldn't make out anything.

"Your Majesties?" Mattias asked softly.

"What is it?" Agnarr asked. "Did you find what was causing the disturbance in the forest?"

Iduna caught the light of mischief in the old Lieutenant's eyes. She wondered what he had found.

"I have," Mattias admitted. "You may want to sit down, though." He thought about it for a moment. "Or not. Maybe just come outside, please. We have...visitors. From outside the forest."

"How is that--?" Agnarr began, but Mattias held a finger to his lips.

"Please, Your Majesties," he urged them. "You've both waited a very long time for this."

Agnarr and Iduna shared a questioning look. Mattias wasn't usually this dramatic.

"Lieutenant?" Anna asked from outside. "Is everything all right?"

Both parents' jaws dropped. Iduna's eyes started tearing up as she trembled. Agnarr wasn't much better off.

Mattias smiled and stepped aside.

"King Agnarr? Queen Iduna? I believe that you know these two young ladies."

As one, the color drained out of every member of the royal family. They gaped at the impossible sight of each other.

"Mama?" Anna squeaked. Her voice cracked as her lips quivered, tears forming in her eyes.

"Father?" Elsa asked hesitantly. She, too, had tears in her eyes. "How--?"

"Elsa? Anna?" Those were the only shaky words that Agnarr could get out. His kingly demeanor had evaporated.

Iduna's hands flew to her mouth as the tears flowed. "My babies..." she whispered. "Oh, my girls, how did you--?" She stopped trying to talk and just opened her arms wide.

Anna dashed forward and hugged Iduna tight. After a moment's hesitation, Elsa joined her. Soon after that, Agnarr completed the group hug, kissing both daughters on their foreheads.

For moments, there was nothing but the quiet sobbing from all members of the royal family. Mattias had backed off a little to give them some room.

Slowly, reluctantly, the parents released their daughters. Agnarr took in a ragged breath as he realized something: Elsa had allowed him to hold her, something she hadn't done since she was 12.

"We thought we'd lost you three years ago," Iduna said. "We had three days of snow in July and then...it was gone."

"It's a very long story," Elsa told her. "I--"

"Ooh!" Olaf exclaimed, popping out from behind Kristoff and Sven. "Does this mean that I can tell the story again?"

Iduna squeaked and kicked off Olaf's head. Kristoff caught that part of the snowman and immediately had a sense of deja vu.

Olaf's head shook itself. "Yup, Anna, she's definitely your mother!"

Kristoff sighed and reunited Olaf's head with the rest of his body. "There you go," he said, straightening out Olaf so that he was facing forward.

Agnarr's jaw actually dropped. He turned towards Elsa to try to make sense of things.

"Did you...?" he began.

"I made him," Elsa confirmed.

"`Made' or were there...other circumstances?" His usually tactful vocabulary seemed to have been out of reach at the moment.

Elsa flushed at the implications. "Father--no, just...he's from my magic. There wasn't anybody--just no."

"I guess I'm kind of like your grandson," Olaf noted. Then he smiled. "Anyway, I am Olaf and I like warm hugs! So, can I call you grandma and grandpa?"

"Take it easy, Olaf," Anna said gently. "Remember what we said about people taking their time getting to know you?"

"But if they're your parents, then they're my family too, right?"

Both Anna and Elsa chuckled nervously. Iduna, however, seemed to find it endearing. She knelt down and offered him a quick embrace. Agnarr, for his part, knelt down and gently patted him on the back.

"Not exactly the grandson I was hoping for," he remarked. "But you seem like a decent sort." He stood up and noticed Kristoff and Sven. "And whom might you two be?"

Anna was quick to intervene; she recognized the "reindeer in the lamplight" look that Kristoff had whenever he had to introduce himself. Introducing himself to King Agnarr was especially intimidating.

"Papa, this is Kristoff Bjorgman, Ice Master and Deliverer," Anna said enthusiastically. "And this is his reindeer friend Sven. Three years ago, they helped save my life and, well...Elsa knighted him in gratitude. So, I guess I should have started off with `Sir' Kristoff Bjorgman."

"We're meeting your parents," he muttered. "I don't believe this."

Anna patted him on the shoulder. "It's going to be okay," she whispered.

Both parents noted the byplay. Silently they agreed to talk to the young man to find out what was going on.

"Pleasure to meet you, Sir Kristoff," Agnarr said, extending his hand. He was duly impressed by the honest, firm handshake that Kristoff gave him.

Anna was almost vibrating with enthusiasm. Her father and boyfriend were already getting along so well! She didn't seem to notice that Kristoff seemed prepared to be executed on the spot.

"I think we should go inside the cabin," Iduna said. "From the looks of it, we both have tales to tell."

Elsa and Anna nodded. Before they could go further, Anna raised her finger.

"Before we do, could we have another group hug?" Anna asked as she sniffled. "Because I really, really missed that."

Agnarr and Iduna were more than happy to oblige. For the moment, their stories could wait. Right now, however it had happened, all was found.

#frozen #frozen 2 #king agnarr #queen iduna #elsa #anna #agduna #northuldra

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lloydshoulddyehishair · 4 years

Text

I think I’m lost [1/3]

Remember the angst oneshot I was working on? It turned out to long so I decided to turn it into a multichapter fic

Also posted on: ff.net, ao3

Summary: He was thin. Oh, so thin Kai feared that if he went to hold him he might snap him in half. His once so shiny emerald eyes were barely anything like they'd been before. They were so empty and dull, holding no joy or hope behind them like how they used to. Like how they still should.

aka

Lloyd hadn't felt at peace for a long while. Ever since the Sons of Garmadon had made themselves known to be exact.

Trigger Warnings: Eating Disorders, Drug Use, Self-Harm, Referenced Abuse/Suicide/Abandonment

Lloyd hadn't felt at peace for a long while. Ever since the Sons of Garmadon had made themselves known to be exact.

Back then none of them would have expected things to escalate the way that they would later on. They all had just thought that they were just a silly little biker gang that they'd be able to stop in a matter of weeks.

They didn't expect that in the end half of the team would be stranded in another realm being hunted down by dragon hunters and the other half would still be in Ninjago being hunted down by the purely evil resurrected Lord Garmadon and the Sons of Garmadon, all while mourning the “deaths” of their friends and trying to save the almost completely destroyed city.

Ninjago never recovered completely from the destruction Garmadon had brought upon them. Of course most places were rebuilt but there were still huge holes in the streets from where the Colossi stamped it's feet into the concrete – those were things Lloyd could overlook though. What he couldn't overlook were the overfilled hospitals and orphanages. So many people had lost their lives, so many people he couldn't save.

And in a sick way it was almost funny. It was very ironic – Harumi created the exact thing she despised. She wanted to give Ninjago a proper ruler but in reality she just gave it more people who shared her pain.

But maybe that was her plan all along; making everyone feel the way she felt.

Now Lloyd was sitting at the window of his room on the newly rebuilt Destiny's Bounty – thanks to the Mayor and the city – staring at the grey clouds they passed through while listening to the thunderstorms. He had always loved thunderstorms, they seemed so full of rage but yet so calm.

'Much like yourself.'

Lloyd shook his head a little, letting the pen he had been holding in his hand fall to the ground while looking through the drawers of his desk. Finding his lighter, papes and the tiny green substance that had been making his days all the more easier.

For his whole life – which he wasn't quite sure how long it was because he didn't even remember his birthday anymore, was it in September or in October? He really didn't know – he never had healthy coping mechanisms. As a little kid, before the others had picked him off the street, he would just start to eat sweets when the sadness and pain he felt became unbearable, when he thought of his parents or Darkley's for example. Then when he lived with his uncle and his students he made it a habit to just refuse to eat. He felt unworthy of the food they offered. He had made them go through so many hardships and made their lives living hell. He really hadn't understood why they would take him in. But besides the others needed it more they were Ninja after all and needed to get as much energy as possible.

It was back then when the team slowly picked up on his unhealthy habits.

As he grew up because of the tomorrow's tea incident, whenever he would feel down or depressed he'd train as hard and long as he could, telling himself that it would make him stronger and his family proud. He barely noticed that he was actually just draining and destroying his body.

All the time his friends – his family said nothing. Always thinking his behaviour was just a phase and he'd grow out of it. Maybe they should have.

Now after everything that had happened, him losing his uncle, his team splitting up over the whole realm with him taking on all criminals in Ninjago alone, the Sons of Garmadon popping up, Harumi turning out to be the Quiet One and basically pulverizing his heart, his father being resurrected as a purely evil shell of Lord Garmadon, being humiliated on television across the whole country, his friends dying (or at least so he, Nya and the rest of the city thought), being literally hunted by the Sons of Garmadon and his father plus his technically-psychopath-ex-girlfriend and the list could go on and on – he lost it.

He could barely go a day without panic attacks just a few months ago, having mental breakdowns on the weekly making the energy in the city go out in a nasty blackout every time. His friends had noticed of course, it would have been hard not to. And they had tried to talk and reach out to him he the first three times it had happened. Lloyd didn't want to talk though, shutting them out completely and his family just – gave it up. Thinking he wanted to be alone and sort things out on his own. The young Garmadon thought so too. He thought he just wanted to be alone as well. But as he sat all by himself in the guest room he had been sleeping in – because he had refused to stay with his brothers – he had realized that loneliness was actually what pulled him down emotionally and what made him feel even worse on top of everything.

That didn't stop him from keeping on shutting his friends out anyways – old habits died hard.

And Ronin – who had obviously noticed the blackouts too – being Ronin and meaning well but... being Ronin, had offered him something to calm his nerves with, one day he had been over at the Destiny's Bounty, just in case he wanted to. Of course Lloyd didn't decline, he was desperate for anything that could make his pain go away, that could make him stop feeling, so he accepted the offer and shortly after found himself high with Ronin on his bed while spilling his heart out to him.

The thief loved the kid, really did, he had already protected him with his life and he'd do it again any other day. The other members of the Ninja team always knew that and respected him for it.

Yet he knew getting the kid weed to help him forget his sorrows wouldn't be left without consequences for him by them. Not that he cared though.

But if he had known what kind of behaviour Lloyd would spiral into shortly after he surely would have never made that offer in the first place.

And so here the blond was, standing in front of his (now) opened window smoking his second joint that day – just anything to numb his feelings with.

It was kinda funny to him how much of a hypocrite he was. He remembered how he had screamed at Kai to stop smoking cigarettes and how he shouldn't ruin himself like that and would you look at him now. Doing exactly the same, maybe even worse. Kai at least hadn't been high as a kite on the daily and Kai at least hadn't isolated himself like Lloyd did now.

“So much for the great Green Ninja.”, Lloyd hissed mockingly into the nothingness throwing the end of the joint out of the window.

Maybe he should go into the living room and talk to the others, spend some time with them. The last time he saw them was about 2 weeks ago? He had been avoiding them, mainly because he felt like the odd one out whenever they were together.

He couldn't bring himself to enjoy playing video games with Cole or laugh at Jay's silly jokes, he also wasn't quite interested in having talks about Ninjago's history and culture with Zane and he usually loved those conversations. Hell, he didn't even like to cuddle with Kai and Nya while mocking the other in a childish but affectionate manner anymore.

He didn't feel like himself anymore but instead just like an empty shell.

And Lloyd couldn't help but wonder

Was this how his father felt all the time?

-------

The blond made his way to the living room trying to ignore the way his limbs shook like he was about to collapse.

He had been feeling weak lately, probably due to malnutrition. Lloyd had been barely eating the past few days because- well it was a little difficult.

The easy answer would be that he just simply didn't have the strength or motivation to get out of his bed. Plus he had gotten used to the stinging pain in his stomach hunger caused and barely noticed it now. If anything he felt weird when it wasn't there.

The longer answer was way different than the easy one.

When his uncle had disappeared and his friends searched for him all over Ninjago he had been left feeling out of control because there was nothing he could do to change all of it. There was nothing he could have been able to do to bring his Sensei and his friends back.

He hadn't been in control of even his body at this point anymore. He had grown taller all of a sudden, his voice got deeper and he noticed how he had been putting on weight. Everything had been changing and Lloyd didn't like changes.

Back then the only thing Lloyd had power over was – even though it seemed cliché – food.

He could choose whether or not he'd eat, he could choose how to prepare the food and how to put it all together. It was satisfying – cooking food, getting it ready and then being in full control of his own body and mind and refusing to eat despite his stomach basically screaming at him.

It was control that made him feel alive and that reminded him of the fact that Morro was no longer possessing and using him as a pawn against his family and Ninjago. His need of being in control was probably also what had made him hit rock bottom during his father's reign over Ninjago – well that and being disowned and thrown through multiple concrete prison walls probably did the trick.

He had felt so horrible after Harumi's betrayal, his fathers resurrection, his friends' deaths and all of the other horrible incidents – but back then Lloyd hadn't even been able to control his food intake properly anymore because now Nya was there with him and she would make sure he'd eat.

She hadn't seemed suspicious on his eating habits, after all he was a normal weight even if he was on the slightly thinner part of the spectrum. The only reason she had made him eat was to make sure he'd stay strong in case he'd have to face trouble – like the Sons of Garmadon, Harumi or even worse his father – any time soon. If he'd just faint on the battle field that wouldn't have been too great. It had been a hard time for him and her and he was just glad all of that was over now, even if it hadn't been easy.

Now, something that wasn't easy either was keeping on walking towards the living room as he heard sounds coming from it. Talking. Laughter. And Cole's voice screaming at Jay for whatever the reason was. He didn't want to ruin their good mood. Maybe he should just go back to his room and come back later? No. If he didn't do it now he would put it off for another two weeks. He leaned against the wall with his arm, feeling like he was going to lose balance caused by the sudden wave of dizziness that hit him.

“Lloyd?”, he heard someone behind him call out. Turning his head slowly towards the direction the voice came from he saw an old man down the hall where he had just come from. He was wearing a rice hat and had a long white beard. His eyes looked at him with nothing but concern but Lloyd could have sworn there was something in them that looked haunted.

“Are you alright?”, he stepped towards the younger, the sound of his staff making contact with the wood floor sent chills down the Ninja's spine.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. The simple gesture made him feel warm inside like back then when he was just a kid and his father would do simple things like that while telling him he was proud of him.

But it was gone. All gone now.

He shook the thoughts off. He didn't want to start crying like a baby in front of him, especially since his father was a sensitive subject to Wu as well.

His gaze fell from his shoulder to the man's face, the concern in his features just increasing.

“Yeah, I guess so.”, he muttered. “Wanted to go see the others.”

“You've been locking yourself up in your room for a pretty long time.”

Lloyd snorted. “Haven't noticed.”, he quickly moved away from his uncle's touch and went inside the living room, everything suddenly going quiet.

He felt uncomfortable under the stares directed at him, felt like they were burning through his skin. But he didn't want to feel that way because of them. They were his friends, his family and yet here he was feeling so unsafe and helpless in front of them, as if they could see right through him.

“Uhm.”, he started slowly lifting his hand a little and waving awkwardly. “Hey?”

Maybe not his best introduction. He knew he sounded and looked emotionless. And maybe it was because he was, in fact, emotionless.

No. Who was he trying to fool? If anything Lloyd was completely emotional. Just waiting for the bathtub of kept in and hidden feelings and memories to overflow – to spill it all out.

Right now was not the moment though.

“Am I interrupting something?”, he asked as the looks on their faces shifted from surprise into something else, a look the Green Ninja had seen way to often in the past few years probably so often that he could sense it from miles away by now. Pity.

He wanted to throw up.

“Oh, Lloyd.”, everything stopped for a second.

There was something about Kai's voice, how he spoke his name, that irritated him. He sounded like back then when he saved him from the volcano when he was just a little bratty child or just like when he comforted him about his fathers death after the tournament or like when he had just been saved from Morro's possession or when- Oh.

Okay now he actually wanted to throw up.

“What has happened to you?”, his voice was careful, he didn't want to alarm Lloyd in any way. He wanted to make sure his little brother knew that he was safe with them and that he was loved and protected and there really wasn't a need to look at him like a scared and hurt puppy because that was exactly what he was doing right now and it made him go crazy.

They should have interfered sooner, should have called Lloyd out of his room instead of just leaving him, letting him succumb in his own darkness probably, like they had done after a while.

His little brother, his baby brother, whom he had sworn to protect more than anything in this world, needed him now more than ever because Lloyd was currently fighting a war that he wasn't going to win – at least not all alone. Kai had to protect his perfect baby brother from himself before he could do any more damage to his mind and body.

He was pale, so pale he might as well have been dead and he was thin. Oh, so thin Kai feared that if he went to hold him he might snap him in half. His once so shiny emerald eyes were barely anything like they'd been before. They were so empty and dull, holding no joy or hope behind them like how they used to. Like how they still should.

“What do you mean?”, the blond spoke out again, his voice small but yet so angry.

And it really took a bit for it to reach them but then Kai noticed the smell – the smell he was so familiar with from going to parties or walking through Ninjago City Park.

Kai's eyes widened and by the looks on his friends' faces they noticed to.

“What the hell, Lloyd?”, he called out, finally jumping up from his sitting position on the sofa, making his way to the blonde and grabbing his – way too thin and bony – wrists. The now slightly taller boy was too slow and weak to react in time though. Kai felt like screaming, eyeing the youngster's bloodshot eyes. “Are you smoking weed?”, his voice came out way louder than he intended to, but he barely had any time to really realize that because the next second his blood was boiling, because Lloyd fucking snorted and started chuckling.

“Is this a freaking joke to you?”, Lloyd really couldn't help but laugh and as he felt Kai's grab on his wrists loosening slightly, he took his chance to break free. He didn't bother to step back though.

“You are funny.”, the Green Ninja muttered and the grin on his face turned bitter. “I've been starving myself, cutting myself, have had panic attacks on the daily and you're-”, Lloyd felt like a maniac for laughing but oh well, maybe that was a trait he got from his father. “You're focusing on me smoking weed?”, he watched Kai's expression fall, as everyone else's in the room. Normally it would make him feel bad and sorry but right now he didn't feel anything but bitterness. “Priorities. Right?”

“Lloyd, we didn't kno-”

“Oh, of course you didn't.”, he interrupted Cole rudely and basically stabbing him with his glance, eyes turning red. “Because you didn't look. You looked away, away from everything. All of you. And maybe you shouldn't have. Even Wu knew that something was going on before you guys and he is basically a shitty excuse of an uncle.”, he breathed out trying to calm himself. “By the way, Wu, you can come out from your hiding spot, it's quite pitiful watching you hide behind that table.”

The old man rose from his kneeling position on the ground, no one really caring how he got there in the first place. His eyes though, didn't rise with him. Looking at his nephew in this state would just break his heart. Would remind him so much of his broth- Garmadon.

“And you know why you did that? Because I do.”, no one dared to reply, too scared to make Lloyd even more angry and hurt. Seeing their little brother like this broke their hearts and the worst thing about all of this was that he was right. They had looked away and had left him alone when he needed them the most. They had thought that he would be okay on his own, that he'd be able to pick the pieces of his broken mind up all by himself like he had always done. Turns out this time it had just been too much for him alone.

“You all looked away because you don't care. You don't care about me, you care about the Green Ninja. Not Lloyd Garmadon. Because Lloyd Garmadon is still just a silly, bratty child to you who just can't do anything right.”

He hated it. Hated spilling his heart out to his teammates like that, he never wanted to tell them all of this, wanted to keep it a secret he would take to his grave.

Seems like the bathtub overflowed after all.

With tears starting to stream down his cheeks and blurring his vision he found it difficult to look at them. He didn't want them to see him like this.

“And it sucks.”, he choked out, voice cracking. 'God dammit you are such a crybaby.'

“Every single day of my life sucks because I know there is no way to change it. To change the things I've done. People died because of me and there is no way to bring them back! There is no way I can 'redeem' myself, no matter how much good I do or how much evil I defeat! It doesn't bring them back! It doesn't put destroyed families together again and it doesn't give people the life back, that they deserved, that I have taken!”, Lloyd was just screaming at this point, falling to his knees and holding his fists to his chest, crying hysterically. “Ho-how many more children are out there, who-whose parents I-I have taken. Ho-how many pa-parents lost their ch-children be-because of me?! How ma-many more Harumi's a-are out th-there?!”

Her name tasted toxic on his tongue. And he despised himself for bringing her up in the first place because this really didn't have anything to do with her (except it did). She just made him realize of the consequences his actions caused, made him actually realize the weight of it. Technically he had probably killed as many people as his father at this point.

Day by day the blond noticed more and more how similar him and his father actually were. Though he didn't like it. He didn't want to be like him.

“And I can't do it. I can't live with that.”, he felt himself being wrapped in a hug and he didn't even have to look up to know that it was Cole who had rushed to his side, cradling him in his arms while he was still crying hysterically, pretty much unable to breathe at this point.

“Ssh.. Lloyd, listen to me. Focus on my voice. Can you do that?”, his deep voice was soothing, calming in some way, but it wasn't enough. “Breathe with me, okay? Come on, you can do it. 1... 2... 3... Hold. 1... 2... 3... And out. 1... 2... 3... In. 1... 2... 3... Hold. 1... 2... 3... And out. 1... 2... 3... You're doing great buddy.”, the teams leader felt himself relax more and more as the elder kept on reassuring him and holding him tight. Exhaustion soon took over and then compunction.

“I'm sorry.”, he muttered against his chest, grabbing tight onto his black shirt. “I'm so sorry.”, his eyes were shut, still not wanting to look at them and see their faces and the expressions probably full of hatred and hurt after his little pitiful speech.

“There is nothing to be sorry for.”, Lloyd wanted to punch Cole.

Nothing to be sorry for? Lloyd fucked up his own life and now here he was taking it out on his only friends and family while it wasn't their fault. None of his actions were their fault, because he had made them.

Of course there was something to be sorry for.

Cole watched his fellow teammates, still standing helplessly in the room, not knowing what to do and by the look on Jay's face Cole could tell that he really wanted to say something but wasn't too sure if it was either the time or the place to do so.

“Of course there is.”, Lloyd's voice choked out again and it sounded so broken and weak, Cole thought he was holding the little nine year old in his arms after his dad had left, once again. “It isn't your fault. None of this is and I am sorry for taking it out on you. I'm- I just don't know anymore. I-I'm so unsure of everything.”

“Lloyd, it's okay.”, Nya spoke out for the first time. “You were right, we should have done something. We are your siblings for heaven's sake and we left you alone with your pain. That's unacceptable.”, he felt a hand being placed on his knee and dared to open his eyes, staring right into Nya's bloodshot ones. She looked like she'd been crying- Oh. She probably had. “But we are here for you now. We are right by your side and we listen to everything you want to say. We are there for you and we love you for you, not for being the Green Ninja.”, Lloyd nodded slightly, blonde strands of hair falling in front of his eyes.

“Okay.”, he spoke quietly.

“Uh.”, everyone's eyes fell on the Blue Ninja who was playing with his sleeves. “You, uhm... Said some stuff earlier about you... cutting?”, Cole felt Lloyd tense up in his arms and could have sworn he heard the fire ninja curse as well. “Was that... true? I'm just worried you know... because if you are you totally don't have to feel bad about it! I swear! But I think it would be better if you let Zane or Nya check up on you? Just to make sure everything's alright! Well not alright obviously but- You know?”, he began to ramble, not wanting to offend Lloyd. He out of all people knew what it was like to feel so lost that you would hurt yourself just to get judged later on. He didn't want his little brother to feel like that.

“Yeah.”, the young Garmadon spoke, silently pushing himself away from Cole, yet still staying on the floor and not looking up.

“Yeah, to what exactly? Yeah, you're... cutting or yeah, you'll let Zane check you up?”, Jay asked carefully.

The blond looked up at his red-haired friend, his eyes had turned green again by now. “Yeah.”

“Oh my God, Lloyd.”, and he felt himself getting wrapped up in a hug once again just that this time he immediately took a step back.

It wasn't fair to Kai. Not at all. Lloyd was being stupid and selfish and he was being a brat. It wasn't Kai's fault that all these awful things have happened to him over the years, if anything it's Kai's fault that nothing more happened. If the Fire Ninja hadn't been there for him all this time he'd be long dead or would be bearing double the amount of traumatic experiences. He had always been there for him and always stood behind him even in the worst of hardest of times.

So it really wasn't fair of him to flinch back and push Kai away like that.

But he couldn't help it. Because he felt so, so guilty.

“I-I'm sorry- I can't- You can't do that-”

Something in Kai's hazel eyes shifted. Lloyd mentally slapped himself because he did it again, he hurt someone who was so dear to him once again just because he was being selfish.

“Lloyd, no, what do you mea-”

“You died and- and I-”, and what? How was he supposed to tell him that he was a little ungrateful brat and that Kai deserved better? How was he supposed to tell him that he should just leave him alone at this point because whoever was close to him eventually got hurt. Either by the hands of some villain or by Lloyd himself.

“You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to.”

“But I have to or else I won't ever be able to looking at you and without feeling guilt!”, Kai just nodded understanding.

“When you died I- I was so sad and devastated and lost and-”, Lloyd sucked in a breath as he looked at Nya for a mere second. “We both were. But- but Nya was so much better at dealing with it than I was. Nya stood strong but- but I gave into grief and I was just so depressed and hopeless.”, Lloyd hated thinking back on it. Hated thinking back on the emotions he had to live through and he was so glad he had his family back, all of them.

But it was true. Nya was much better at dealing with their family's deaths than him because Nya was stronger, because Nya was great, because Nya was so much better than him. She should have led the resistance, maybe she should have even been the team's leader or the Green Ninja. Any of them would have been a way better fit for the role than him but Destiny hated him. Though in all honesty he was also somehow happy that he was the one who turned out to be the Green Ninja in the end because that spared them from lots and lots of pain. Of course that meant that he was the one who had to deal with it but if it was for keeping this burden from his friends he'd do it any day.

Lloyd placed himself on the sofa carefully next to Jay. “And when- when I thought of you-”, his eyes fell on Kai for a second before he buried his face in his hands. “I got so angry like I've never been before and I was thinking about ho-how you could just leave me like- like that and it-”, he felt himself beginning to shake.

This wasn't easy for him, because Lloyd was not just the Master of Energy or “Master Lloyd” but also the Master of 'if-I-don't-admit-to-my-issues-and-feelings-they-aren't-real-and-what's-not-real-can't-hurt-me-or-my-friends' and the fact that he was to admit to hating his own brother at some point was definitely something that could and probably would hurt him and Kai.

“I hated you.”, his words were rushed and for a second Kai thought that Lloyd wasn't being serious but then the emerald eyes looked up at him and it was clear he meant exactly what he had said.

“I hated you so much. I hated you for leaving Nya. I hated you for leaving Ninjago. I hated you for leaving me, when you had promised to always be there and to protect me.”, Lloyd tried his best to ignore the tears streaming down his face and the cracks his voice did as he went on. “I've grown so used to having you- to have a big brother. I didn't know how to live without one- and I still don't.”, he murmured the last part, eyes meeting the floor for what felt like the 600th time today.

Kai said nothing. Stayed completely still and silent, just listening to what his little brother had to say because he knew he just needed to get it all out now, but to Lloyd Kai's silence was one of the most terrifying things ever. Probably up there with the thought of him turning out like his father and being possessed again.

He had to continue anyways.

“And it isn't fair.”, he whispered sounding heartbroken. “And I know that. I'm selfish, I'm dumb, I'm ungrateful and you deserve better. I- I don't understand why you keep on pu-putting up with me.”, the crying had stopped right now and Lloyd was sure that it wasn't because he felt better but rather that there were just no more tears left for him to cry.

But with every word the blond broke out he felt himself getting calmer, the storm in his head slowly calming down. “It wasn't fair of me to hate you for something I technically caused. It wasn't fair of me to hate you for leaving anyways. You did so much for me over all this time. You all, but especially you, practically raised me. You risked your life so many times and have always supported me. And it's not even like you chose to leave. It wasn't your fault but all mine. But I was so selfish and only thinking of myself because-”, because I couldn't bear to loose anyone else and I couldn't bear having any more names on the list of people that died because of me. Lloyd ends up not finishing that sentence.

“I don't hate you. I love you with all my heart but when I look at you I can't help but think about how I did hate you and it makes me feel so- so guilty and awful.”, Lloyd let's out a shaky breath he didn't know he was holding because what he was about to say next was without a doubt the hardest thing for him to say out loud.

“If you, all of you I mean, hate me now that's okay, I get it.”, a sob escaped his lips.

“Lloyd-”

“I really won't judge you if you do-”

“Listen to me-”

“And if you want me to leave now, I will-”

“Please just-”

“If I were you I wouldn't want me to stick around-”

“Greenie-”

“As well-”

“I hate myself too-”

“Lloyd, don't you dare finish that sentence! Just listen to me!”, Kai rose his voice making the blond flinch and look up at him in shock.

Kai hated to see him like that, so hurt, so broken, so small, so young because in the end that's all he was. Their younger brother who had to grow up way too fast, much like Kai himself had to. Of course Kai also knew that his little brother wasn't a child anymore. He knew he was already seventeen but even that was way too young of an age for carrying the burden of being the Green Ninja and everything else that had happened to him.

“I'm not mad at you. It's completely natural to feel anger and sometimes even hatred when grieving. When I-”, Kai bit his lip for a second. Normally he wouldn't talk about it, wouldn't talk about his childhood and his parents absence. But he had them back now, everything turned out okay. “When I thought that my parents had died I was constantly getting into fights with random children to let out my anger. Because I hated them for leaving me and Nya all alone. So believe me I get it and I am not mad at all.”, he let out a sigh and sat down next to him pulling the blonde's head close to his chest. This time Lloyd didn't push him away. “I love you. You're my little baby brother and there is nothing you could ever do or say to change that or to make me hate you, I care too much about you for that. And don't you dare think about leaving us and don't you dare hate yourself. You are beautiful from the inside and outside. You've done so much good and you are so important to every single one of us, we want to help you and go through this with you together. Please just let us- let us help you.”, he felt Lloyd nod against his chest murmuring a silent 'okay'.

“We are going to get through this all together you just have to let us in.”, Nya smiling softly at the blond who nodded once more and sat up straight again.

“Thank you, guys.”

“It's what friends are for, Lloydie Boygie.”, the half-human scrunched.

“Jay, please-”

“Never say that again.”, Kai finished for him but couldn't hide his amused smile.

“So.”, Zane spoke up for the first time during the whole conversation. Lloyd wasn't mad at him for it, he knew how hard it was for Zane to comfort others due to his sort of blunt nature - it just wasn't his thing. “Should I look over your self-inflicted wounds now?”, Lloyd made a face and swore he could hear the others breathe in sharply. Yes, definitely blunt.

“Uh.”, he murmured while standing up. “Guess so. Med-Bay?”, Zane just nodded and made his way out of the kitchen being followed by the young Master.

#saga writes #ninjago #lego ninjago #ninjago fanfiction #angst #ninjago angst #zane ninjago #ninjago cole #kai ninjago #jay ninjago #nya ninjago #ninjago lloyd #lloyd angst #fanfiction requests #writing

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redteabaron · 4 years

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The three gods and their lots - (three heads of the dragon)

Contains meta below the cut as well as possible interpretations and theories and speculation. I feel like I should also add a disclaimer that no, I don’t think Targaryens are gods incarnate, this is just examining mythological aspects in their stories and characters and finding commonalities. (I only respect one mortal turning into a god and that is Bran)

The major three gods of the Greek pantheon were: Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades. They drew lots and shared dominion over the world - Zeus was god of the sky and king of the gods, Poseidon was god of the sea, and Hades was the god of the Underworld. Three dominions, three gods.

“The dragon has three heads.” - Daenerys IV, ACOK

Aegon/Zeus

“I have. Why should I go running to my aunt as if I were a beggar? My claim is better than her own. Let her come to me...in Westeros.” - Aegon, The Lost Lord, ADWD

The lesson began with languages. Young Griff spoke the Common Tongue as if he had been born to it, and was fluent in High Valyrian, the low dialects of Pentos, Tyrosh, Myr, and Lys, and the trade talk of sailors. … Geometry followed languages. There the boy was less adroit, but Haldon was a patient teacher…” - Tyrion IV, ADWD

“...Yandry said we ought to throw you back, but the lad forbade it.”

The prince. - Tyrion VI, ADWD

Upon his birth, Zeus had to be spirited away from his father, Cronus, who had swallowed his siblings and hidden so he could escape the fate of his siblings. He would later grow, revolt against his father, and regurgitate his siblings. After drawing lots, Zeus would be given dominion over the sky and be named king of the gods.

Zeus was affiliated with protection, authority, righteous rule, battle, and justice. He was considered a fair protector and ruler, but not above petty jealousy or anger (or amorousness).

Aegon, in what little we have seen from him, is actually groomed from a young age to rule. He doesn’t have the hands-on experiences several other characters are thusly put through in the books, but it is very clear he knows what is expected of him, has the knowledge required for the position, and has a good claim to the throne - one that is seemingly preordained, as Zeus’s was foretold before his father swallowed his children.

Aegon’s connection to the red comet seen on the day of his birth can be loosely traced to Zeus’s mastery over the sky itself (where the sky reflects a point of significance to both Zeus’s temper or demands, so did Aegon’s birth seemingly coincide with the prophecy of the prince that was promised).

“Young Griff”/Aegon had similarly been spirited away as Zeus had during a time of catastrophe when his claim would threaten another (where instead of a stone wrapped in swaddling, Aegon’s escape was tendered by Varys switching him with another baby) and raised in secrecy, despite being the rightful heir of a kingdom. It’s not Cronus he was hidden from or his actual father, but Robert Baratheon who is hellbent on wiping out the entire line of Targaryens, even agreeing to Tywin’s methods (whether or not he ordered the Mountain to do what he did to Elia and the children doesn’t matter; he was the Mountain’s lord, and so at best he just insinuated ‘do what you want’ very well knowing what Gregor was like). Not so different from Cronus, who, desperate to keep his power, swallowed all of his children.

In text he’s shown to be a little impatient in his desire to be taken seriously and not be coddled by Griff (but honestly he’s 16 and every teenager everywhere in the history of anybody can be impatient and a little overdramatic; Tyrion is briefly reminded of Joffrey when Aegon throws a tantrum over cyvasse, but Tyrion is shown to not like a lot of people for various reasons, so). However, he has a fantastic grip on his studies, in particular language and history, and we can infer that he has an interest in ruling that goes well beyond ‘it sounds like fun’ (Robert Baratheon’s quote that he never felt so alive as when he was winning the war, and never so dead after it was won comes to mind), at least from what we know from Varys and Griff, and a bit from Tyrion.

But aside from the impatience we see from him, he shows compassion and an unwillingness to forget kindness when he refuses to let Tyrion drown after Tyrion saves him from a stone-man. From the Tyrion chapters in ADWD, we see Aegon laugh quite freely, is at ease among people of a different station from him; we actually get the idea that even if he can be a little immature, he shows a lot of promise for rule and justice.

One of the more interesting connections between he and Zeus is the fact that there is some debate as to whether Zeus is the youngest or the oldest of his siblings since he was never swallowed by his father (who technically, after he regurgitated them, also gave ‘birth’ to the swallowed siblings) - and there is understandable debate as to whether Aegon is really Aegon. It could go either way; they are Schrödinger's brother and represent a puzzle, a possible paradox (I do actually believe Aegon is the real deal; if Ned can smuggle out a secret-baby from a tower across a battlefield with only his buddy from the swamps, Varys could certainly have arranged a switch).

And associating Aegon with justice, imo, isn’t a stretch - particularly when we’ll get to see him gain some traction outside of Jon Connington’s influence (who just likes to hate on the Martells because he’s a Rhaegar fanboy don’t @ me) and we see him meet Arianne. Jon C only sees Rhaegar in Aegon because all Jon C can ever see is Rhaegar; once we move beyond Jon C’s immediate and constant influence over Aegon (and him trying to shape him as Rhaegar 2.0) we’ll see Aegon have the opportunity to connect directly with his Martell side. I believe there’s a good chance we’ll see Aegon seek out, and speak about it, justice for his mother and sibling especially given that he’ll have a positive Martell influence at his side. We just haven’t had the opportunity yet. (And Zeus was always associated with righteous authority and justice).

It’s not a huge hint, but there is also the connection Zeus has with gryphons; in a translation of Prometheus Bound by Aeschylus, Prometheus has a warning for Io “Beware of the sharp-beaked hounds of Zeus that do not bark, gryphons”. Gryphons/griffins are also said to pull Zeus’s chariots. Jon C is undoubtedly the guard dog that stands ready at Aegon’s side and manages to ‘carry’ him in a sense to Griffin’s Roost (poor influence on him notwithstanding, I can’t really cast aside the fact that he is loyal to Aegon, regardless of the reasons why).

Admittedly, Aegon is definitely much milder than Zeus with his flaws microscopic compared to the king of gods, but I think a lot of mythology references aren’t word-for-word, and in asoiaf they sometimes pull through less obviously. Casting Aegon as Zeus works specifically for this because of the rule of three, and who I ended up going with for the other two in this meta/theory.

Zeus was not without his share of flaws and while he was king of the gods, his rule never went unchallenged - chief amongst them to instigate things was Poseidon. Aegon similarly won’t be unchallenged for it.

Daenerys/Poseidon

“The Dothraki sea,” Ser Jorah Mormont said as he reined to a halt beside her on the top of the ridge. Beneath them, the plain stretched out immense and empty, a vast flat expanse that reached to the distant horizon and beyond. It was a sea, Dany thought. - Daenerys III, AGOT

“...I shall fear the Dothraki the day they teach their horses to run on water.” - Ned, Eddard VIII AGOT

The horse seemed to know her moods, as if they shared a single mind...The Dothraki were a hard and unsentimental people, and it was not their custom to name their animals, so Dany thought of her only as the silver. She had never loved anything so much. - Daenerys III AGOT

“...I know that somewhere upon the grass, her dragons hatched, and so did she. I know she is proud. How not? What else was left her but pride? I know she is strong. How not? The Dothraki despise weakness. If Daenerys had been weak, she would have perished with Viserys. I know she is fierce. Astapor, Yunkai and Meereen are proof enough of that. She has survived assassins and conspiracies and fell sorceries, grieved for a brother and a husband and a son, trod the cities of the slavers to dust beneath her dainty sandaled feet.” - Tyrion VI, ADWD

Poseidon was lord of horses, god of the sea (and all that it entailed). Upon drawing his lot, he envied Zeus his position as rightful king and challenged him for it several times (conspiring with his siblings at some points), and would often needle his sibling. He was a key deity to pray to for protection, mostly travelers and sailors. He was associated with the sea, storms, earthquakes, and horses. In some stories, he too was smuggled away from Cronus, in others, he was swallowed like his siblings.

Poseidon’s temperament was known to reflect the sea and storms; he was unruly and seen as a rebel against authority that existed both in the divine realm and the mortal realm. Him being lord of the sea, storms, earthquakes, and horses, reflects a wilder nature.

While Aegon is seen as the rightful heir to the iron throne (and consequently has the Golden Company with him, lending a further air of credibility to his right since the GC are ‘honorable’) and has a shared mastery of the sky with Zeus (referring to the day of his birth and its connection to the red comet), Dany has been ‘given’ domain over the sea. The Dothraki sea, at any rate, and the Dothraki themselves (who are also known as horselords). While her temperament hasn’t shown itself to quite the extreme Poseidon’s has shown in his tales, she has a connection to the foreshadowing of a storm, of bringing a storm (her name, the day of her birth, repeated connection with the unruliness of her largest dragon Drogon, and indications of her possibly forming an alliance with Euron Greyjoy in the future etc).

No squall could frighten Dany, though. Daenerys Stormborn, she was called, for she had come howling into the world on distant Dragonstone as the greatest storm in the memory of Westeros howled outside, a storm so fierce that it rippled gargoyles from the castle walls and smashed her father’s fleet to kindling. - Daenerys I, ASOS

It’s an interesting connection that Dany has with the sea and horses, imo. She’s shown to love the freedom of the sea, of sailing, and she loves horses. Both are associated with freedom to travel and journey, as we see her ecstasy on the back of Drogon flight gives her a similar feeling. It is, I think, reflecting the fact that she isn’t shown to enjoy ruling, but she does enjoy power and victory (and conquering although it’s not so cartoonishly overt). The fact that Ned says there’s nothing to fear so long as the Dothraki never learn how to cross the Narrow Sea on their horses was setting up that they will ‘learn’.

Dany, cast under Poseidon, as lord of horses and the sea (and journeying), gives them that “opportunity” (one they don’t want or need, desperately).

While all the gods of the pantheon were guilty of petty meddling and warring with each other and having rivalries, Poseidon was infamous for having disputes with other gods for supremacy and control of other countries. At once point, when Athens chose to follow Athena over him, he flooded them in his outage. Some believed that his anger roused storms, caused earthquakes, and floods. (Again, he was far from the only god to do petty things like this, but he was held up as the one who was infamous for it even as he was also viewed as a protector).

Dany doesn’t summon any of those things, but there is a buildup of her anger/frustration in the books. Her justice is biased (to say nothing of her hypocrisy in dealing with slavery, in one breath claiming it is abominable, in the next allowing it to happen and partaking a portion of the profit just as the slavers she had ousted did) when she corrects herself to demand that the wineseller’s daughters be questioned more harshly, rather than gently (implying there is torture to follow in the interrogation).

We see that temper rear its head when she burns Mirri, a victim of the Dothraki who was taken as a slave after being assaulted a number of times, after Drogo dies, when Jorah’s duplicity is revealed to her and she sends he and Barristan into the sewers hoping they’ll die, etc, (not necessarily to say her anger in some of these moments isn’t warranted, but gradually over the course of the books, her frustration becomes more obvious and her solutions bloodier and less focused).

Poseidon, despite having his own dominion and having drawn the lot for the sea, challenges Zeus for his. He loses, but it isn’t the only time he challenges Zeus, or any other gods, at times enacting terrible vengeance on them or their favored humans.

Dany and Aegon meeting is pretty inevitable, but there is foreshadowing that they will be at odds. Maybe they’ll meet with the united idea that the Lannisters/Baratheons have to face justice for what was done, but Dany’s idea of a legacy is wrapped up only in the legacy of the Targaryens, and she refuses to consider any other elements that occurred during the Rebellion (her father going mad, why the Starks and Baratheons rebelled, what Rhaegar was at fault for, etc). Aegon at least is implied to listen to Tyrion - he isn’t only blinded by what Jon C undoubtedly has told him - meaning he’ll likely hear Arianne out too, and Jon Snow. Dany has one truth, passed down from Viserys, one legacy.

Like Poseidon, Dany already isn’t satisfied with her lot, warring over other countries (or conquest, claiming Meereen for her own after Astapor falls to the butcher). She will challenge Aegon for a lot that belongs to him, but I believe that unlike Poseidon, she’ll actually win against him.

Jon/Hades

Casting Jon as Hades is something I’ve already written about in this meta, so this is just a summary with bits added on.

When I compared Jon to Hades, I also compared the Night’s Watch being the place when men went and died, metaphorically, they died in the eyes of the realm (no wife, no sons, no land, no glory, etc). I believe that Jon is being groomed for rule in a different way, that is, holding domain over the condemned or forgotten.

When Aegon and Dany inevitably clash over the throne, the aftermath is going to look like a hellscape. King’s Landing is repeated through the text to be the seat of power, the center of Westeros, multiple times, and with another Dance building up, I think, leads to foreshadowing that it’ll be ruined or on the brink of ruin at the end. It’ll still need someone to rule it, whether through the infant stages of an elective monarchy (it sounds like they’ll need something more than that or it’ll just invite more chaos as though rule can only be achieved through conquest of some kind, particularly for a monarchy) or otherwise.

Jon has already fallen into an unenviable position. Sure, he gets to be Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch - an order that vows to remain at the Wall, against a horde of undead, with no support besides Stannis, with ‘dead’ men as his subjects.

Some myths meld Zeus and Hades into the same being existing on different plains. Hades is also known as “Other Zeus” or “Infernal Zeus”; here, where Zeus is the god of living mortals, Hades is the god of the dead souls.

Aegon is meant to take the Iron Throne and be the ruler over the Seven Kingdoms, in King’s Landing, a place of power, wealth, bounty from other kingdoms, etc. Dany will be his end in the Dance of Dragons and turn that bounty, or its possibility, into a wasteland. I don’t doubt people will still be alive, but it’ll be a place of ruins, and so will quite a few other places. I think Jon will likely kill Dany after the fact, for kinslaying and being a threat to the north and the realm, and thereby becoming a kinslayer himself.

The gods of Westeros punish kinslaying. Jon, at this point of finding his family and being murdered for being Lord Commander and spending time under threat with the free folk (even if they do get along now) will probably just want to go home. Punishment for kinslaying will be for him to hold another position no one wants; the throne. Where when Aegon is set to take it, the kingdoms are in chaos, he’ll seem like a bright spot with hope, we might see him pay attention to food issues, the chaos, logistics, etc. And then he dies. And then Dany dies. And all that’s left are the survivors - those seemingly forgotten and condemned to this place afflicted by war and famine -, and Jon. His punishment for kinslaying (and maybe making mistakes with Dany) will not be able to go home, or be made to take up a post at the Watch; he’s condemned, once again, to the people who’ll seem more dead than alive after everything that’s occurred.

Jon’s duty was, and will continue to be, to the condemned.

#jon snow #aegon vi targaryen #anti daenerys #anti daenerys targaryen #jon snow endgame #the targaryens are a greek tragedy and a comedy #the targs are all of the greek tragedies and comedies at once #king's landing will be a mess #good thing bran is going to be the god-king of spring #aegon in this is meant to be the promise to the living that there'll be a stop to the ruin and chaos #him dying means that jon is left with a ruin no one wants and is condemned to take it for the crime of kinslaying #not fully comprehensive #if i did that it'd be too long lbr

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alottanothing · 4 years

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Left to Ruin Chapter Six

Summary: Kahmurnah makes a decision that affects more than just his brother’s happiness. Nouke struggles with the life she finds forced upon she and her family.

Previous Chapters

Word Count: 5209

Warnings: none

Tag List: @xmxisxforxmaybe, @r-ahh-mi, @theultraviolencefan, @hah0106, @rami-malek-trash, @diasimar, @sherlollydramoine, @flipper-kisses, @ivy-miranda-2390, @txmel, @sunkissedmikky, @concentratedsassandcandy, @babyalienfairy, @edteche2 (Let me know if I missed you, or if you would like to be added to the tag list)

A/N: This one sorta jumps backward a bit—stora a “meanwhile at the palace” while Ahk and Meren are venturing. Hopefully that’s not confusing. Also, thank you once again for the love you’ve been showing this story! It’s such a great feeling knowing others are enjoying something I’ve poured so much into. I wanna give you all hugs! 🤗🤗 Once again as a disclaimer, I am not an ancient Egyptian expert and google only knows so much. So yeah, I took so historical liberties while writing this to make my life easier, but tried to keep it as “authentic” as possible. Keep in mind that Nouke and Ahk are the same age, so at the beginning of this she’s 13 years old.

The first few days after the prince left were the hardest. Nouke was angry; angry she'd convinced Ahk not to ask his father whether or not she could accompany him. The likeliness of the pharaoh allowing a servant girl to join the princes' adventure was slim, but she’d snuffed out the flame of hope before it could even spark. Which meant it was her fault she missed him so bad.

After two weeks, the days began to feel less empty. The atmosphere of the capital was calm; no sense of impending doom lingered without the wise ruler Merenkahre there to guide them. The queen was keeping Kahmunrah in check; or at least that was the word around the palace according to the servants. With Akhmenrah away, Nouke’s gossip all came from the women she worked with. They loved to talk, and Nouke found their stories both intriguing and ridiculous but listening to the drama helped the hours go by faster.

Her day to day routine was the same as it had been since she’d begun her life of servitude; the only change was the amount of work she took on. Nouke encumbered herself with more work than a girl of thirteen was expected to do, she liked the distraction and how often her work bled into the evenings. Evenings were the hardest to endure with her friend away; the garden just wasn’t the same without his warmth.

Her world no longer held the same spark with Ahk away, but Nouke was glad for the routine she found with her responsibilities. Life was dull, but pleasant; at least for a time.

The sun was still high in the sky the day two brutish men ambushed her while she was hanging linens to dry. Instinctively, Nouke kicked and shouted, trying to squirm her way out of their strong grasp; her heart pounded against the walls of her chest, startled. They were not usual palace guards who had seized her, she could tell by the armor they wore. The pieces they wore were shoddy and not the golden regalia of palace guards. The men who carried her were dressed like mercenaries: Kahmunrah’s hired compatriots.

Nouke knew very little about Ahk’s older brother. He had a reputation among most of the servants as being needlessly cruel, and from how Ahkmenrah spoke of him, she knew that the eldest prince wanted nothing to do with any of his siblings. Her friend had spoken many times about wishing Kah would act like a brother to him—share a kinship. Nouke never understood why anyone would want such a man to be their sibling.

“What have I done?” Nouke spit out, a little more harshly than she intended. “Where are you taking me?”

Her captors met her with a stone-faced silence that caused a trickle of fear to seep into her. In a flash, her mind searched through all the chores she had tended to, desperately trying to recall one she may have missed or done wrong—Am I being punished?

Without Ahk to keep her up to date on royal happenings, Nouke knew only that the pharaoh had left his eldest son in command, with the queen watching over his every move. But the queen was away too, hosting a week-long festival for the goddess Isis near the temple at the opposite end of the city; a fact Nouke was privy to only because of her mother’s closeness with the queen.

With Shepseheret away, the only person left to bark commands was Kahmunrah. Nouke had purposely avoided the displeasure of his company, but the gnawing in her stomach told her that was about to change.

Gaining no answer from the men who drug her through the halls like a woven sack of perishables, Nouke’s fight faded, knowing her best option was submission; she had no other choice but to keep her mouth shut and obey. Even so, she kept her resolve steady; her emotional strength was the one thing she could flaunt. It gave her a way to fight back without physicality: a way to show whoever had summoned her that she would not easily be broken.

Nouke’s captors brought her through the towering doors of the throne room and stopped several paces back from where Kahmunrah sat radiating a suffocating air of lordliness. The eldest son of the pharaoh Merenkahre had adorned himself with surplus raiment; jewels sparkled off of his wide collar, bracers, belt, and rings. He was wrapped in a golden cape, decorated with the fur of a mighty beast as though to further sell the lie. Kah wore everything except the one thing that truly made him the ruler he thought himself to be—the crown.

Nouke decided quickly that there wasn’t even the smallest fraction of the man before her that reminded her of his younger brother. Everything she needed to know about Kahmunrah was there in his cold eyes and smug expression. She couldn’t help but frown at him, her eyes narrowing skeptically—how could the man before her hold any relation to her sweet prince?

Surrounding the wannabe king was a group of men who’s attire was significantly less lavish, but they collectively held a mein of power that was blatantly domineering. Their eyes weren’t as cold as Kahmunrah’s, but they looked down upon her as though the very sight of someone of her class was detestable. As for Kah, he had hardly glanced her way. He’d given her an inferior side-eye with an added sneer and nothing more. He found her presence irritating, but Nouke couldn’t help but feel the same way about him.

Just as Nouke began weighing the likelihood of making a churlish remark without reprimand, the throne room doors swung open again as two more sets of Kahmunrah’s men entered. One pair had a hold of her father, who like she had been, was kicking and trying to wrangle free. The other two had her mother, and the fear she found on her mother’s face was enough to strike a crack in her resolve.

“I am a soldier in the pharaoh's army! I demand to know what is the meaning of all of this!” her father, Ramentukah said through bared teeth, addressing the false king.

Kahmunrah remained pompously relaxed on his throne, looking down on them as though they were insects he wanted nothing more than to crush beneath his feet. He said nothing for a long while, purposely letting Ramentukah’s question hang in the air between them as a reminder they were in no place to make demands of a member of the royal house.

His cold eyes leered as the smug simper faded into a firm line, morphing into a look of disgust. Finally, he stood, and when he spoke, his tone was condemning and dark.

“It has come to my attention, that my brother’s prized tablet has gone missing from its temple. It is also my understanding that you—” Kahmunrah shifted his gaze to Nouke’s father. “Ramentukah, were the last soldier to stand guard at the temple doors.”

Nouke’s mouth popped open, and her narrowed eyed glare zeroed in on the eldest prince, shocked that her loyal father would even be accused of such a crime. The pharaoh Merenkahre and the Queen had always treated her family kindly. It was even the pharaoh who had given her father the opportunity to better himself by becoming a soldier instead of living his life as a farmer. Nouke knew without a doubt her father would never do anything to sully what he had achieved—especially by stealing the princes’ tablet.

Nouke’s mother even gave Kah a look of disbelief, shaking her head, not giving in to the accusation.

Nevertheless, Ramentukah bowed respectfully. “Your Grace, I assure you I, nor my family have no involvement with this crime.”

Kah’s sneer grew more repulsed, taking her father’s denial as a challenge.

“I owe all that I have become to the pharaoh—your father. Why would I do anything to slight he or his kin? I have been a loyal, obedient soldier for many years. My wife and daughter, loyal, hard-working servants—friends to her majesty the queen and the prince. Why would I partake in a crime that would jeopardize those relationships?" Ramentukah kept his head bowed as he spoke, to show that he meant no offense, but his tone was steady and full of conviction.

Despite all the words of logic and her father's obvious obedience, Nouke could see from the look of his callous features, that the eldest prince was still unconvinced.

“Why indeed?” he quipped with a shrug. “Yet, to me, your story seems highly suspect.”

Kahmunrah paused to think, rubbing the point of his chin until a flash of wickedness gleamed in his dark eyes.

“A crime of this caliber surely had accomplices…” his serpentine eyes moved to Maketaten and Nouke.

Suddenly, a knot twisted into Nouke’s stomach, and her throat grew tight as her heart pounded loud enough and quick enough she was certain everyone in the throne room could hear it. The anticipation and the speculation were causing her breaths to fall short as she watched Ahkmenrah’s evil brother work in his mind how best to destroy them.

“Involvement with a thief demands a punishment equal to the severity of the culprit,” Kah grinned fiendishly. “Execution—all three of you.”

Nouke stared blankly, vision tunneling, emotions rearing to an eerie calm despite the dreadful sentence; she was frozen. Her mother, however, broke into loud sobs and quiet pleas while her father tried to reason.

“Your majesty, it was me that stood guard. If someone must be punished, let it be me. I beg of you—mercy for my family. Let Anubis judge only my soul.”

Tears were fighting to spill from Nouke’s eyes as she listened to her father plead; his willingness to die to spare them enough to make her stomach churn sickly in her gut. She wanted to scream, to fight—to fling her fists at Kahmunrah’s smug face. But doing so would surely make things worse, so she stayed quiet, drowning, and frozen in her emotion.

Kahmunrah stood, savoring every moment as her father and mother continued to beg for their lives and the life of their daughter. She could see the glint of honest joy reflect in his eyes as her parents groveled at his feet. Nouke hated him.

Just before guards could be called to take them away, the men standing behind the false king spoke up, looking displeased.

“Enough, Kahmunrah!” an older man spoke robustly. “You’ve had your fun—you know only the queen holds the power to sanction such punishment while the Pharaoh is away.”

The frown that took hold of Kah’s lips was significant enough to shake the earth; he turned to the man who had spoken and Nouke could hear the irritation his face held.

“The queen. Is not. Here.”

“And need we remind you. You are the discarded prince of the pharaoh; you hold no more power than we,” the same man said sternly. “Our pharaoh gave you command out of pity, not thanks, I assure you.”

All at once, the throne room was hotter than the desert sun as Kahmunrah’s anger boiled over. He shouted and argued, cursing the men who advised him, filling the nearly empty hall with malevolent words that were as sharp as knives.

While he screamed, Nouke wanted nothing more than to run to her mother and father, but each of them were still restrained. A single tear slid down her cheek, breaching her composure, finding that it was not for herself, or her parents but for Ahkmenrah. What would he think when he returned and learned of her family’s persecution? Would he believe the rumor? Would he be glad Kah had sentenced them to death on account? Nouke shook her head—her friend would never be so cruel. He would be brokenhearted by the whole situation and the thought of his warmth being consumed with sadness almost sent another tear down her cheek.

Ahkmenrah would know neither she nor her family was involved in such lunacy; the only anger he may hold would be on account of his brother destroying innocent lives.

An entire lifetime could have passed before Kahmunrah relented his arguing. The irritation heavily creased onto his brow lent a glimmer of hope. Had he turned to address them with delight and malice in his eyes, Nouke knew they would be killed for sure. That annoyance lingered—lips pursed tight as he toppled back into his throne, eyeing them.

“My advisors feel that the lack of evidence dictates a different form of punishment.” He said boredly. “The first involves the three of you being locked away in a cell, where you will await trial until the tablet is found, and evidence to your involvement may be denied. If you are innocent, you may return to your duties as usual. If found guilty—execution.”

“And the second?” Ramentukah asked, voice steady.

“Banishment—effective immediately," Kah stated, just as boredly. “You will be removed from the palace grounds ensuring you will escape execution, but you will be stripped of titles and privileges you currently hold.”

Ramentukah glanced to his wife and daughter looking beaten and betrayed. He had always been proud of the ranks he’d earned and the placement he’d gained for his family; a life in the palace—even as servants—was better than a life on the streets.

“Make your decision, soldier, or it will be made for you!” Kah shouted, growing impatient.

Ramentukah glanced toward his wife and daughter, sighing out of relief, or defeat, Nouke couldn’t tell.

“Banishment, my lord. Give us banishment so that I may see my daughter grow, and so I may continue to love my wife with all my heart.”

The sentiment was lost on Kahmunrah, and his annoyance grew having been denied the prospect of executing them in the future.

“So be it,” he sneered. “And I will warn you. If any of you are discovered on palace soil again, I will personally see to it that you are given a swift execution.

With an errant wave, he instructed his men, “Remove them.”

Just as quickly as before, the men holding her by the arms pulled her through the corridors of the palace. They were given only moments to collect their things from their rudimentary quarters before being hastily escorted through the palace with weapons held behind their backs.

Nouke’s tears began to fall in earnest, in quiet streams unable to hold them at bay any longer. Her nerves were frayed—emotions a chaotic jumble in her head. Some of those tears spilled in relief: relief that she and her parents would live to see another day. And some fell as the realization she would never see her sweet prince again finally settled.

Her heart felt like a stone in her chest with that thought, and she wondered if he would miss her as much as she would miss him.

***

Nouke had never seen the capital of Waset first hand until the day her family was cast out of the palace. Most of her life was sheltered behind sturdy walls, venturing beyond them only when she and the prince would make use of their secret passageway in the West Garden. Even then, they had never dared to stray too far, at most seeing the city from a distance.

The city streets were loud and dirty and teeming with people from all walks of life. For a moment, it sparked her sense of adventure seeing sights she had only ever heard about from the merchants who came to sell their goods to the palace. Still, Nouke never strayed too far from her parents as they fell in line with the flow of foot traffic. It seemed like they walked for hours, and her feet hurt when they finally took refuge in an inn close to the city's center.

That first night, and every night thereafter for several months she and her family stayed within the musty walls of that inn. Much of her time was spent alone in their single room while her mother and father took odd jobs to save money to purchase land with the hope to one-day farm.

Those days were the hardest. The small space was drab and dark compared to the bright, beautiful halls Nouke was used to—they seemed to mirror the sorrow she felt. Most of all she missed her friend.

Before long, Nouke said farewell to the drab walls of the inn, and home became a plot of land on the far end of the city. The high walls, golden statues, and towering columns she was used to became a structure of modest means; a dwelling constructed of mud and bricks with enough land to plant on.

Ramentukah wasted no time in teaching Nouke and his wife how to best till the soil, calling upon teachings he’d learned in his youth. The work was hard, grueling in the desert heat, but Nouke caught on quickly. When harvest time came, her father showed them how best to bushel and bundle their crop to sell at the market, and after two bountiful harvests, their farm grew even more.

Her father hired hands to help them and even bought livestock to ensure more lucrative income. Nouke was glad for the routine of it all: the early mornings, long hours in the field, trips to the market, then early to bed for it all to begin once more come the dawn. It left her with little time to dwell on things she’d been forced to leave behind—especially the prince she would never see again.

But she did see the prince again; two times from afar and each time more heartbreaking than the last.

The first time she saw him, Nouke had been in the market square with her father, trying to sell bushels of produce from their latest harvest out of the back of a cart. Usually, she enjoyed the clamor and the fresh faces she saw in the busy streets of Waset. They were colorful people she liked to imagine were adventurers with significant means and a head full of stories to tell her, even though most were simple common farmers like she and her father; simple people trying to make enough coin to keep food on the table. Still, the game helped the hours pass while she sat with her father, munching on the pieces of their harvest that were less likely to sell.

That morning, however, Nouke awoke with a peculiar melancholy lingering in the pit of her stomach. It was a feeling that dulled the world around her; a sadness she couldn’t quite place and all she wanted to do was stay on the farm where her usual chores offered enough distraction to steal away the poignant ache. Not even her game of making up grand tales for all the merchants could deter what she felt. Her mind instead wandered, and without really meaning to, she counted the month’s her family had been living in exile. A frown weighed on her lips, inducing more ruefulness to stir in her gut, realizing it was easier to count the years.

Two years as a commoner were not so terrible. There was a sort of freedom in their banishment but also uncertainty too. Those who worked in the palace were promised shelter and at least one meal in exchange for servitude. Nothing was promised as a farmer except longer working hours in the desert sun.

Two years.

Two years of a lifetime under that sun and dirt under her fingernails. Two years of a lifetime praying the gods gave them bountiful crop. Two years of a lifetime away from her friend.

Nouke's frown plunged deeper, and a sigh escaped her lips. She missed her kind prince.

Just as she turned to beg her father to go back to the farm, craving the meticulous distraction that awaited her, a commotion stopped her words before they could fall past her downturned lips, drawing her attention elsewhere.

The market was always a symphony of indistinct chatter as the merchants swindled customers: chickens clucking in their cages and children screaming as they ran wildly about. All of it had become a familiar thrum Nouke was used to. The crash of drums split that normal wiring with an echoing beat Nouke easily plucked from the typical chaos. In rhythm with the drumming fell a softer sound of marching, growing louder moment by moment as the source approached.

Curiosity swelled in her stomach, devouring the melancholy ache that had plagued her all morning, and she stood on the edge of the cart, eyes darting around in search of the exciting new sound. Drums and the accompaniment of marching could only mean one thing, a parade, a royal parade.

The last time such sounds resonated throughout the city center were the day the pharaoh and the prince returned after years away. Nouke missed that one, stuck at home working in the fields with her father and the boys they employed to help. Another parade so soon could only mean one thing; her friend now wore the crown.

She wasn’t going to let herself miss another chance to see Ahk. Nouke jumped from her father’s cart and pushed her way through the gathering crowd until she found a stoop that gave her an unhindered view of the approaching procession. Her heart was beating out a rhythm much too quick to keep in time with the methodical pulse of the drums ringing in the air; hope began to surge through her, that in her mind she knew would only make that ruefulness she felt earlier return worse than ever.

When she finally saw him, her fervent heart almost stopped completely; he was ethereal from a distance.

Ahkmenrah rode proudly in his golden chariot pulled by white stallions. His gilded raiment shimmered in the sun’s light, glittering jewels on his wesekh and belt, with a crown on his head. Her prince had become a Pharaoh—one step further from her reach. Even so, Nouke couldn’t keep from calling out to him; she wanted to let him know that, despite all that had befallen her; she was okay. She wanted to tell him how proud she was of him and that no matter the paths they tread she would always be his friend. However, amidst all the commotion, Ahk never so much as glanced in her direction.

The smile slowly faded as Nouke watched him come and go, feeling a heaviness in her heart that she’d not endured since the day she and her family were banished from the palace.

***

After four years of plowing, harvesting, and haggling at the market, Nouke’s life had never felt more normal. The youth she’d spent in the palace seemed more akin to a dream the longer time went on. She would always cherish those memories with the entirety of her heart, even if they did often make her heart feel heavy. Her time to play in the palace gardens had ended, but she never wanted to forget her friend.

The closest thing she had to that mystical garden of her childhood was the Waset city square. It was open and teeming with life, both greenery, and people. She would sit under the shade of the manicured palms or on the edge of the large fountain, reveling in the life she held. A part of her was glad for the exile wrongly given to her family. Her entire world would have been cooped up in high palace walls forever serving and never seeing.

Nouke thought seldom of her past life whenever she could spend a day at the city's center. However, when she ventured to the roof of their modest farmhouse, Nouke always let her mind wander while her eyes looked to the horizon, seeing the palace sparkling in the distance. Especially then thoughts of her youth began to tug relentlessly on her heartstrings. She’d spent countless evenings among the nest of makeshift cushions and mats she’d acquired over the years with tears in her eyes as she looked to the ever-present reminder of the friend she was forced to leave behind.

***

It had been the talk of everyone for over a week in the capital; the pharaoh would soon take a bride. The excitement was tangible from the market square all the way to the docks along the Nile, especially when the nobles began to arrive to join in on the festivities at the palace.

That week was long for Nouke. Every merchant and customer seemed more animated with the prospect of citywide celebration, but Nouke could not bring herself to share the collective elation. Nevertheless, she put on a smile anytime someone came to her and her father’s cart to make a sale speaking of the upcoming union, then her face would fall back into its perpetual frown.

Her heart ached more than she cared to admit, and though she knew it wasn’t her place to harbor such unfathomable anguish about her sweet prince marrying another; the idea ate at her every moment. Never so much as the moment, she saw him again.

Sleep never came to her the night before the pharaoh was to take his queen; she spent every hour tossing and turning, envying her soundly sleeping parents on the opposite side of the room. Nouke felt like grieving, but she was too stubborn to let herself shed any more tears over a life she knew could never be hers. Sadness, however, was almost worse without the release of tears.

Before the sun breached the horizon, Nouke ventured up to her nest atop their home, resting against a stack of sacks and the quarter wall that lined the roof. She looked to the stars in the sky, watching them fade as the sun’s light consumed them. It took her most of the early morning to work up the nerve to let her sight find the palace on the horizon, knowing what torment it would bring her already laden heart. For a moment, she thought maybe her time in those far-off walls was only a dream: her golden childhood a glittering illusion her spirited mind cooked up. Nouke hoped it wasn’t merely a dream—she didn’t want Ahk to be only a dream.

Nouke lingered on her rooftop hideaway much of the morning, too disheartened to worry about the chores she was ignoring. She spent those hours mulling over the want to gather in the city square with the hope to catch a glimpse of the pharaoh and his queen. She wasn’t sure her heart could take that. Yet, the notion of seeing Ahk again was too intriguing to let pass by.

Nouke, against her better judgment, left for the city center just as the sun reached the middle of the sky, hoping she hadn’t missed the parade. Much of her walk she spent promising herself not to shout his name to stir the hope that he would see her; she would watch along with everyone else with no thought of ever becoming more than she was.

The crowd was already beginning to gather when Nouke reached the largest part of the city's center, finding every face alight with smiles; joy her heart was too heavy to properly hold. Quickly, she perched herself on the wide edge of the fountain, standing, before anyone else had thought to do so. Others joined her on the platform, pushing and shoving until she stood shoulder to shoulder with strangers. Nouke envied them all of their ignorance; they were there to see their king and marvel—she was there to catch a final glimpse of the life she had lost.

Before long, drums filled the air with a familiar rhythm, and with each nearing beat, the communal exuberance stirred. Nouke’s heart began to beat faster, nervous knots growing in her stomach. The louder the drums became, the more Nouke questioned why she had talked herself into enduring such heartache. Still hope swelled in her breast and she yearned to shove through the sea of people, stopping before her pharaoh’s golden chariot to beg he take her back to the palace.

Nouke wanted to feel the warmth of his kindness one more time, even if all she would ever be to him was a servant. However, she knew her place was to do and say nothing to him; he was the ruler of an empire, and she was the daughter of a suspected thief. Their paths were destined to remain forever divided.

Cheering and clapping pulled Nouke out of her rueful thoughts when the parade was upon them. The pharaoh Ahkmenrah and his Queen Setshepsut rode by slowly, hand in hand with smiles on their faces. Nouke couldn’t help but offer a soft smile seeing Ahk’s little sister Set, grown into a beautiful young woman. The prince had always been protective of his youngest sister; how perfect it was that she became his queen. He could be happy with her, and that gave Nouke a sliver of solace.

As they passed, Nouke uttered no words or shed no tears despite the emotions writhing inside of her. It was crushing to realize she would never again know him, but she tightened her jaw with stubborn disapproval of her own feelings. There was no sense in them.

“He’s so handsome,” the stranger next to her thought aloud.

Nouke nodded.

“Yes,” the stranger's friend rebuked unenthusiastically. “But I bet he’s nasty. The handsome ones always are.”

“No,” Nouke said before she could stop herself. “You’re wrong. He’s the kindest person I’ve ever met.”

The two women cast her a skeptical glance, “And how is it, you know that?”

“My family used to work in the palace,” she confessed without missing a beat, eyes still locked on the king and queen as they rode further away. “He and I grew up together. He was my friend…”

Nouke’s voice trailed off as memories she cherished rushed to fill her mind. It wasn’t until Ahk and his queen were swallowed by the sea of people that she finally blinked back to reality. Both strangers were staring at her as though she’d spoken utter nonsense, and Nouke wondered what had possessed her to come to Ahk’s defense; though she was glad she had nonetheless.

With a sigh, Nouke left the throng of people before the sound of the drums faded completely. The image of Ahkmenrah and his queen was cumbersome in her mind as she strode through the empty streets. She knew her heart would never truly forget him, but if she could push as many of those memories out of her mind, maybe life would be easier—less painful. If she willed herself to lock him away, to forget everything about her friend that made her feel whole, then perhaps she could find peace.

And for a while, she did.

Next Chapter-> Chapter Seven: What We Lost

#Ahkmenrah #Ahkmenrah x Original Character #Ahkmenrah Fanfiction #NATM #NATM Fanfiction #Left to Ruin #Rami Malek Character #Rami Malek Character Fanfiction #Rami Malek Fanfiction #Rami Malek

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ottomanladies · 4 years

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Can you tell more about Kösem political decisions? I mean, while she was regent. What she has done to the empire. ( Orders that we know, reforms, her conflicts and friendships with another politics of her time).

As Peirce said in The Imperial Harem, Kösem worked with the other statesmen during her regency for Murad IV:

... the younger Kösem of the early years of Murad IV's reign, attempting to work together with the grand vezir in the classic pattern of authority shared between the sovereign center and its "absolute deputy."

This can also be seen in her extensive correspondence with the Grand Vizier, the other cornerstone of power:

In one letter the valide sultan wrote. "You say that attention must be paid to provisions for the campaign. If it were up to me, it would have been taken care of long ago. There is no shortcoming on either my or my son's part." In another, she sends good news: "You wrote about the provisions. If I were able to, I would procure and dispatch them immediately. I am doing everything I can, my son likewise. God willing, it is intended that this Friday ten million aspers will be forwarded to Üsküdar, if all goes well. The rest of the provisions have been loaded onto ships." Bayram Pasha. the governor of Egypt and Kösem's son-in-law, wrote directly to the valide sultan on a number of issues, and she communicated the contents of the governor's letters to the grand vezir along with her own comments on these matters. Among the problems discussed cussed were delays in the provision of gunpowder, the troublesome situation in the Yemen, and shortfalls in the province's revenue (in 1625 Egypt sent only half of its normal revenue because of the ravages of a plague known in Egyptian annals as "the plague of Bayram Pasha"`). The extensive cooperation between grand vezir and valide sultan is suggested by Kösem Sultan's frank comment to the former: "You really give me a headache. But I give you an awful headache too. How many times have I asked myself. 'I wonder if he's getting sick of me'?' But what else can we do?" — Leslie P. Peirce, The Imperial Harem: Women and Sovereignty in the Ottoman Empire

It is interesting to note, however, that when Kösem started out as regent, it seemed that she had different expectations about her role:

It is clear from the request made by the grand vizier that during this period Kösem wanted to be with her underage son in the audience hall and listen to any requests made by dignitaries. She wanted to accompany the Sultan and at the same time hold the power in her own hands. The Grand Vizier stated in a very gentlemanly way that this desire was not in accordance with the law (kanûn): “My Lord and Ruler, what you are doing is against the law. Please don't even articulate it. After all, I am your faithful servant and I do not wish to be separated from you. — Özlem Kumrular, Kösem Sultan

Curiously, when she becomes regent to Mehmed IV, she'll be able to go to the audience hall. Famous is that episode in which she chastised both Grand Vizier and Şeyhülislam. Is it because at that point she was almost 60 and therefore could not be ordered around or had she hijacked the audience hall and just went there because she wanted to? I cannot answer to this question but in her second official regency she did sit down in the audience hall and listened behind a screen.

In sum, her partners in ruling the empire were the Grand Vizier and men tied to her through the damad link, mostly Lâdikli Bayrâm Paşa and Çatalcalı Hasan Paşa:

Murad may have felt circumscribed by the close relations between his mother and the grand vezirs of his early reign. During these years the government was managed in relative harmony, principally by the grand vezir and the valide sultan. None of these early grand vezirs was a damad, although one, Haftz Ahmed Pasha, was married to the princess Aye shortly after his dismissal missal from the post. In 1628 the sultan moved to sever the damad tie that linked Kösem to the admiral Çatalka Hasan Pasha. husband of her daughter Fatma. Angered by his mother's excessive patronage of Hasan Pasha, Murad had the marriage dissolved. Hasan Pasha had enjoyed the protection of the powerful chief black eunuch as well as that of the valide sultan. He had begun his career in the saddlery of the chief black eunuch's household, whence he passed into the sultan's service as it kitchen attendant and then head courier (çavuşbaşi). Murad's move against the otherwise successful admiral may have been the result of his growing desire to shake off the influence of his inner palace advisers and assert his control over prominent and powerful officials of the government. Kösem Sultan reportedly attempted to appease her son with it gift of elaborately outfitted horses and a banquet costing ten thousand aspers. — Leslie P. Peirce, The Imperial Harem: Women and Sovereignty in the Ottoman Empire

When Kösem's regency started, the Ottomans lost Baghdad to the Safavids. Numerous campaigns were organised to re-take the city but they were all unsuccessful until Murad IV himself re-conquered it in 1635. This meant that all the commanders sent to Baghdad were later dismissed because of their failure.

Moreover, Abaza Mehmed Paşa was still rebelling against the government over the assassination of Osman II. Although the culprits were either dead or not in power anymore, he refused to surrender and swear fealty to the sultan. Again, the Grand Vizier and other commanders were sent to capture him but they failed.

Adding to this, the Imperial treasury was almost empty because of the frequent successions between 1617-1623. This is because at every accession, the new sultan was supposed to buy an "accession donative" to the janissaries. The divan had decided not to pay it on Murad's accession - because it had been only months since Mustafa I's second accession to the throne - but Kösem didn't agree and instead had it paid. The viziers were not very happy with her decision LOL

And since when it rains it pours, in 1625 the plague broke out in Istanbul, killing roughly 140.000 people. In 1628, it was Murad himself who fell sick; Kösem feared for his life and it is said that he was bedridden roughly a year. The Venetian ambassador thought that he suffered from epilepsy.

Finally, in 1628 Abaza Mehmed Paşa was captured by the new Grand Vizier - and chief of the Janissaries - Boşnak Husrev Paşa, who was, therefore, tasked with recapturing Baghdad. The campaign was a disaster: the Ottoman army was defeated in September 1630 and Husrev Paşa was dismissed at the beginning of 1632. As his successor had been the same Hafiz Ahmed Paşa who had been a favourite of Kösem's (and who had in the meantime become a damad), the army rebelled.

The riots of 1632 were a very serious threat to Murad IV and Kösem as well. They both lost favourites and Murad IV was even threatened to be deposed for one of his younger brothers. At this point, Kösem relinquished the power to her son, who became sole ruler of the empire.

#anon #ask post #ask: ottoman history #murad iv #kosem sultan #Anonymous

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mythologyfolklore · 3 years

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Baldr in Hel - Ch. 01

(A/N: This is another fanfic I’m rewriting. So prepare to be confronted with some crack ships (yes, I mean BaldrxHel). Also, they’re both ace and Baldr has a crap ton of issues. If you don’t like that, you’re perfectly welcome to leave.)

Hel's POV

Hel was sitting on her throne, just being her usual self and ruling the underworld.

Before her throne was a queue of dead souls, waiting to be assigned to their respective afterlife.

First in line was a middle-aged woman.

Hel's black eyes bored themselves into the soul in front of her.

Hmm … extreme vanity, violent outbursts of anger, abuse of servants and slaves, adultery. Died of dysentery. Gross.

“Náströnd¹. Give her to Níðhöggr² as a chew toy.”

Two servants dragged the screaming, flailing soul away.

Hel grimaced in scorn at the cries for mercy – mercy! For that scum! Who would praise her incorruptible and fair judgement, if she let evildoers get away with their crimes, just because they begged for mercy?

“Next”, she ordered.

A man stepped forward.

Pathological liar, murderer, perjurer. Fell from his horse and broke his neck. That's hilarious.

“Same as the last.”

Same reaction as the woman before him.

“Next.”

An old man.

Womaniser, but not married. Guilty of avarice. Died of old age.

“Niflheimr. He shall shovel the pathways.”

The old man let the servants take him away, muttering something that sounded like “was nice, while it lasted”.

“Next.”

A little girl.

Guiltless. Died of hypothermia. Poor little thing.

Hel's expression softened and the dead side of her face turned lively and fair, both to accommodate the innocent soul in front of her and because her face changed condition according to mood. Cute things made her happy and children were darn cute. Most of them anyway.

“Oh my Norns, you're so adorable!”, Hel cooed and the child smiled shyly. “To Helheimr with you. There are lots of children for you to play with.”

“Will I be punished?”, the girl asked frightfully.

Hel smiled gently: “Of course not. For what would I punish you? You have done nothing wrong.”

“Can Mama come too?”, the child asked and stepped to the side to reveal the woman behind her.

Hel read the woman's soul and found her to be blameless as well.

The queen smiled: “She can.”

Mother and child cried with joy and she picked her daughter up, as another servant led them away to a more pleasant life than their old one had been.

The underworld wasn't as unpleasant as everyone thought it was. The living spoke of horrible torments, but why would Hel let the innocents be tortured?

She took a moment to smile after the two, before turned back to- oh. Apparently those were all the souls for the day.

Hel just shrugged and resumed her usual blank expression. She would enjoy a few minutes of quiet, before leaving to do her paperwork.

Or not.

Because right that moment her manservant Ganglati³ entered the throne room, unusually light-footed.

After the old man had caught his breath, he addressed Hel: “Your Majesty, Queen of the Underworld, Ruler of Helheimr and Niflheimr, Lokidóttir-”

“What do you want, Ganglati?”, Hel groaned in annoyance. She really wished they would just call her by her name instead of rattling down all those titles.

“A very special guest has arrived!”, the old servant announced excitedly.

The queen was not impressed. “A 'very special guest', huh? Well, who is the unlucky soul?”

“It's Baldr Óðinnson!”

Hel's black eyes widened. Then she smirked wickedly.

Baldr. Óðinn's most beloved son. The fairest of the Æsir.

She had already been waiting for him; her tables were laid, the mead brewed.

“Hm, he took his time, didn't he?”

Baldr's POV

Where was he?

What had happened?

The last thing he had felt was this pain in his chest, where the mistletoe dart had pierced him.

Strangely enough it hadn't hurt as much as he had suspected.

No, what had hurt him more was what he had seen last – how Loki had tricked Höðr – his blind, darker, yet beloved twin – into shooting him. Oh poor Höðr, he had to be so heartbroken! Knowing that he had killed his brother …

Ah. Yes.

That was it.

He was dead.

And this had to be the entrance to the underworld.

Finally! No more pressure, no more getting stuff thrown my way … oh Norns, why am I like this?!

Now he just had to find the gate. A bit of a challenge in this fog.

Before he knew it, there was an obsidian bridge with a golden roof. Where had that come from?

More so, there was something inviting and mesmerising about this bridge. It called to him.

Come, it seemed to whisper to him. Cross me. Go to the afterlife. Enter the place, where you will be beyond all pain.

He chose to follow the call.

As he was in the middle of the bridge, he encountered a Jötunn, who was sitting on a watch tower. When she saw him, she jumped off her seat and greeted him briskly: “Welcome, Baldr Óðinnson. I am Móðguðr⁴, the gatekeeper of the underworld. Her Majesty, our venerated queen, is already awaiting you.”

She was? Huh.

This was exactly what Loki had told him, a night before he had murdered him.

Baldr smiled: “Well, I better hurry, then. It would be rude to keep the queen waiting, wouldn't it?”

“That it would”, the Jötunn agreed, unsmiling.

Suddenly a new voice made them both jump.

“Baldr? Where are you? Wait for me! Don't leave me here! I can't see anything in this fog!”

His blue eyes widened.

Nanna?! Oh no! When had she – okay, scratch that, he had to get away!

He stood on his tiptoes to whisper to the giantess: “I beg you, Madam, give me directions, quick!”

Her colourless eyes twinkled in amusement, though she still didn't smile.

“When you arrive at the other end of the bridge, go to the left, until you arrive at an iron gate. From there, just follow the black path, but be careful not to slip. Inside the castle are signs and layout plans, so you should find your way to the audience hall easily”, she whispered back.

He thanked her and made haste to follow her directions.

Hel's POV

Hel picked up her scythe and made her way to the audience hall to receive her new special subject.

The bells tied to her scythe jingled as she walked.

A long time ago, her father had given them to her, to remember her daddy by. Lucky charms he had called them. She still cherished them dearly, that was why she had tied them to her scythe in the first place: so she could take them with her, wherever she went. They were a reminder of happier times, times before the Æsir had come, had torn her and her brothers away from their mother, had bound Fenrir and thrown Jörmungandr into the sea that surrounded Midgardr and banished her to Niflheimr.

That and they were a nice change from the constant howling of the wind and wolves and the faint whispers of the dead. Their jingling was comforting (and alerted dead souls, that she was near).

She entered the audience hall to receive this indeed “very special guest”, sat on her high throne, placed the scythe on her lap and waited for the dead Ása to arrive.

Baldr's POV

Baldr had almost got lost in the many crooked corridors, but he had somehow managed to find the way in the end.

Eventually he found himself in a huge hall, presumably the throne room.

It was rather dark in here. The only light sources were tiny, pale blue lights, that floated through the hall like fireflies. Every time they neared the walls, their dim light would make fluorescing minerals glow.

A thick ground mist was covering the ground up to Baldr's knees, but everything above that level was perfectly visible.

As he looked around, he saw that he was standing in front of a golden throne. It was currently vacant, but he could tell, that normally the Mistress of the Dead herself sat on it.

What didn't escape Baldr, was how the tiny lights gradually orbited closer to him. Maybe they were attracted to his own glow, like moths to a flame.

This place had a foreign kind of beauty to it. It was nothing like the descriptions of Helheimr he had heard in life (well, except for the darkness and mist).

As he was standing there, taking in the ambience and letting the tiny light balls circle around him, he heard slow steps approaching the room, until from a side entrance an old lady emerged and came up to him.

“Baldr Óðinnson?”, she inquired.

“That's me”, he confirmed.

“Good”, the woman said. “Welcome to Éljúðnir⁵, the high castle and seat of Her Majesty, the queen. I am Ganglöt⁶. My mistress is expecting you in the audience hall. Follow me.”

He obeyed and followed the old maid.

All the while, he tried to figure out what she was. She wasn't an Asýnja, nor was she a Jötunn. She was clearly not a Light Alf or a Vana and, if the appearance of Iðunn was anything to go by, not a Dark Alf either. She didn't even look like any of the Midgardians he had ever encountered. Maybe an Elemental? But then the question would be what she embodied.

His train of thought was put to an end, when he and the old maidservant arrived in front of a giant fluorescing green door.

And suddenly it came back to his mind, that he was about to meet Hel Lokisdóttir – the daughter of his murderer.

Baldr took a deep breath to compose himself.

Ganglöt seemed to notice. “Are you nervous, young man?”

He nodded awkwardly.

She lifted her head to give him a small smile. “If you're remotely as virtuous as people say, you have nothing to fear”, she assured him.

Then she tapped the threshold with her walking cane and Baldr screamed in terror, when the ground between the two and the door opened up to reveal a pitfall.

“What is this?!?”, he gasped out, as he recoiled from the pit.

“Eh, just one of the little tricks her Majesty has installed”, the old lady explained.

“Little tricks???”

“Aye. And now we need to walk over the chasm.”

The bright god gawked at her. “Excuse you?! That chasm is too wide for-”

But the maid only giggled softly: “Don't wreck your pretty head, young one. Watch.”

Then she stepped forward – into the empty.

And Ganglöt walked. Over the void of the pit. As if it was solid ground.

His eyes grew even bigger. “What … how …?”

“Come”, the old woman smiled and stretched out her hand to him. “There is nothing to be afraid of. I will hold your hand.”

Baldr gulped and took the offered hand.

Ganglöt's hand was as could be expected of an old woman's hand, but at the same time it felt really strange; as if someone had warmed up a piece of wood, softened it and given it a pulse.

“Come”, she repeated. “The queen doesn't like waiting that much.”

“Right”, he mumbled and took a few deep breaths.

Pull yourself together, Baldr scolded himself. Stop being such a wuss!

He closed his eyes and stepped into the void.

But when it didn't feel like he was falling, he opened them again – only to find, that he (just like Ganglöt) was standing in the air, right above the chasm.

“Huh”, he said. “Okaayyy …”

He let the old woman bring him to the other side (to top it off, she proceeded to hum “Walking In The Air” as she did so) and sighed in relief, when he stood on actual solid ground again and the chasm closed behind them.

“What was that?!”, he desired to know.

The maid shrugged: “Ask Her Majesty. Now compose yourself and straighten your posture, young man. You don't want to face queen Hel with that expression, do you?”

Hel's POV

When the door finally opened and her handmaid Ganglöt brought the dead Ása in, Hel was startled.

What everyone had told her, it really was true.

There were no words to describe just how beautiful the person in front of her was.

His face was boyish, almost feminine, and very pale. His hair was almost white and hung from his shoulders in two thick braids, in addition to the open hair in the back. He had the cutest little nose and big, sky blue eyes with long lashes. Despite him being dead, there was a faint blush on his cheeks (she wanted to pinch them), his lips were rosy and he was shining!

His eyes held a whole range of emotions: nervousness, anxiety and an undefinable sadness, but also warmth, softness and curiosity.

But this wasn't the time to get distracted.

Hel mustered a small smile and stood up to greet him.

“You must be Baldr Óðinnson”, she addressed him. “Welcome to my humble abode. I have already been waiting for you.”

Baldr's POV

So this was Hel?

For a few seconds he was speechless.

The queen of the eponymous world and of Niflheimr was certainly a sight to behold.

A bizarre sight; she was the strangest thing Baldr had ever seen.

It started with her hair. It was platinum blond on her right side, pitch black on the left.

She was wan, probably from the lack of sunlight. And parts of her face were black and withered, like a rotting corpse.

He was struck by pity. Was it painful for her to be half dead? And if not, how much did it bother her? And did this really make her ugly, like everyone said?

Strange, yes.

Ugly? Hmm … no, not really. Not in Baldr's opinion.

The way she united life and death in her person gave her a strange kind of beauty.

And when he approached her, his glow illuminated her enough for him to see more.

She was thin and a head taller than himself.

Her right cheek was as rosy as any maiden's.

Her night blue dress spoke of her wealth and power⁷ and she was wearing a moonstone necklace.

Her profound black eyes, which at first had looked startled (probably by his appearance, Baldr was used to it), were now looking at him with mild interest and curiosity, which for some reason was really cute and endearing to him.

I must have a weird taste in what I find cute, he thought.

Hold on – where were his manners?! He had just walked up to her without bowing or even saying hello and now was staring at the queen of the underworld, like a total idiot!

Time to fix that!

Hel's POV

Hel could tell, that the other was just as startled by her looks as she was by his. Of course everyone was, she was used to it, but he didn't seem to be as disgusted as most other people were.

In fact, he seemed fascinated.

How curious.

Then he blinked and seemed to remember, that he was standing in front of his new sovereign.

He blushed bright scarlet and hastily knelt before her.

“Y-yes, I am indeed Baldr”, he responded to her own greeting. “And you are, without a doubt, Queen Hel. It's such a pleasure to finally meet you!”

Now it was her turn to blink. “A pleasure to finally meet me”, she echoed blankly.

He smiled up at her and nodded – primordial cow, he actually meant that!

“Your father has told me so much about you”, Baldr continued. “Oh, speaking of him!”

He rummaged through the leather bags he was wearing around his belt, until he found something – a small stone plate.

“Your father snuck this note into my bag. I do believe it's for you?”

Hel took the stone plate and read the content:

“To my beautiful little girl,

the best birthday present ever to the best daughter ever. A ray of light for your realm of darkness. Happy birthday, Hel!

Love you lots, sweetie. Your dad.

PS: Sigyn says hi.”

She sighed in exasperation and shook her head. That was so typical for her father …

Then again, who was she to complain?

Not only was this beautiful creature in her hands now, his death surely caused his father and all the Æsir great grief. The soul of Óðinn's beloved son was the best birthday present indeed.

Now, what to do?

Should she take her grudge on the Allfather out on his son?

No.

Her resentment towards Óðinn would not cloud her judgement.

“Look me in the eyes”, she ordered and he did so.

He squirmed a little under her gaze, as her eyes bored into his soul and read him.

Hmm … no bad deeds, no condemning character traits. What a pure and adorable cinnamon roll! But what is that … oh! Oh no! What a mess!

Baldr's POV

Baldr was getting increasingly unsettled by the blank expression on Hel's face.

He was pretty sure, that he had never seen such a blank face in his life. Her big black eyes were like two voids. It reminded him a little of the owls he had sometimes seen, when he had walked in the forests in Asgard. Oh yes, that was the word: owlish. Her stare was owlish.

“Are you alright?”, he asked worriedly.

Hel tilted her head. Her face was still blank, but at least she now seemed to snap out of her trance.

Then, finally she opened her mouth to speak again.

“Nope.”

“S-sorry?”

“The son of the jerk, who banished me down here, can't be this cute. It just doesn't make any sense”, she … uh, clarified?

“I-I'm sorry!”, Baldr stammered and blushed a deep red.

He didn't know how to deal with this.

Baldr was an Ása, he was used to being around people, who were brutally frank and outspoken.

But Hel seemed to be a different kind of blunt.

Though he had been called cute before, it had never been like this. Hel had said that sentence with a completely straight face, without the faintest blush and in the most no-nonsense tone ever – as if it was a matter of fact. And that startled him somehow.

What startled him even more, was when a third person stumbled into the room.

Baldr almost cringed at how dishevelled Nanna was looking (and at the fact, that she was now here and there was a high chance that she would make him and/or Hel insanely uncomfortable).

“Oh, finally, I found the right room!”, she gasped. “The gatekeeper gave me wrong directions – hi, Baldr – so orientating myself was a nightmare, then I almost fell into a pit and this old lady showed up and brought me here!”

She pointed at Ganglöt, who was lingering in the background.

The light god paid close attention to Hel's reaction. Her expression didn't change at all, but Baldr could have sworn, that the left side of her face just had become slightly more decayed.

Still her overall demeanour stayed the same.

“Seems like Móðguðr played a trick on you. You have to forgive her. My gatekeeper has the tendency to give wrong directions to people she doesn't like”, she told Nanna.

“Eh, whatever”, the other goddess muttered, “I'm here now. Sooo … uhhh …”

Whatever she had been about to say died, when she got a good look at Hel. Baldr could feel the horror and disgust radiating from his former wife.

Obviously Hel noticed it too, because she brushed her black hair forward to conceal the left side of her face. Somehow that really bothered Baldr; the queen shouldn't have to cover half of her face, just because others couldn't stand it.

Nanna on the other hand seemed to have it easier now. “You're queen Hel, right?”

“No, I'm just your average Jötunn woman with a half decayed body, who has power over the dead and the entirety of Niflheimr and can read dead souls like open books”, Hel deadpanned.

For some reason Baldr couldn't help but burst into giggles. He quickly pulled himself together, but the fact that he had laughed at the queen's comment at all seemed to be enough to tick Nanna off.

“Good to see that you're having fun!”, she hissed.

Her husband coughed and mumbled an awkward apology.

“Now, now”, Hel spoke up. “Let's not get into an argument. Welcome to my realm, Nanna Nepsdóttir. Aren't you going to at least say hello to your new sovereign? Because now that you're dead, you're my subject – whether you like it or not.”

“Oh … right. Sorry”, the dead goddess mumbled, bowed and gave a polite, but cool greeting.

“Better”, the queen nodded. “Now, let me see …”

Hel's POV

Hel couldn't claim to be surprised by what she saw, when she read Nanna's soul.

This time she said it out loud, if only to expose her.

“Ah. Cynical, self-esteem issues, guilty of adultery with … Hermodr? Isn't that Baldr's bro-”

“Oh no, what a shock, I couldn't possibly have seen this coming!”, Baldr deadpanned.

Nanna stared at her former husband in horror. “You knew? All this time you-?!”

“Nanna, I'm neither naïve nor stupid. Yes, I knew.”

“Then why did you never say anything?!”

“Because I-”

Hel cleared her throat: “You two, this isn't couple therapy and I'm not a marriage counsellor.”

The two blinked and apologised sheepishly.

“It's forgiven”, she accepted it. “But please settle your marital issues between yourselves. I may be Loki's daughter, but that doesn't mean, that I have his sense of humour. I do not revel in the misery of others. It would be unbecoming of a queen like myself.”

The dead couple nodded.

“Anyway, Nanna, I think you know, that adultery is a crime, no matter what.”

“Yes, I do”, the dead Asýnja sighed. “So, what will it be? A snake pit? Being chewed on by a dragon, or whatever punishment people like me get around here?”

“That is indeed the standard punishment for adulterers”, Hel confirmed.

“NO!”, Baldr screamed and fell on his knees. “Please, don't do this to her!”, he pleaded. “I beg you! My wife doesn't deserve such a harsh punishment! She only-”

“Let me finish”, Hel cut him off and turned back to Nanna. “What I was going to say, before Baldr interrupted me, was that this is the standard punishment for adulterers, who actually deserve it. My judgement is fair and just. As I said before, dead souls are open books to me. I know what kind of life you two led, what tragedy your marriage really was and why you did what you did. And that, Nepsdóttir, is your saving grace.”

“So, what will it be instead?”, Nanna asked nervously.

Hel considered for a moment, before answering. “I think shovelling the snow off the paths outside would be appropriate. A bit of manual labour and cool, fresh air never hurt anyone.”

“I accept my punishment.”

“Good. Servants, take her into my garden and give her a snow shovel. The pathways out there really need to be cleared.”

Her ghostly servants were about to lead the goddess away, when Hel remembered something:

“Oh, one more thing, Nanna.”

“Yes?”

“Now that you two are dead, Baldr is your husband no more. Wedding vows do not transcend death, contrary to the assumption of the living, that they do.”

The daughter of Loki wasn't surprised to see relief run over the other woman's face, before she nodded in acknowledgement. Then she was led away.

Baldr's POV

“They won't hurt her, right?”, the Bright One asked the Mistress of the Dead in concern.

“Unless she does something to warrant it, no”, she replied, to his relief.

Then she told him to follow her and he did so.

She guided him through dark halls, illuminated only by his glow. No word was spoken, until Hel stopped in front of a door, opened it and motioned for Baldr to go inside.

As the dead god glanced around the room, he was stunned by the the splendour, visible even in the dim light. It was elaborately furnished, with jewels embedded in walls and furniture.

Seemed like Hel acted on the maxim “If you've got it, flaunt it”.

“Wow”, he breathed. His house in Asgard, Breiðablik⁸, hadn't quite been as luxurious (even though compared to the other houses in Asgard it was the most splendid), mostly because showing off wasn't Baldr's thing.

“I'm glad you like it”, Hel stated. “This is actually one of my own spare bedrooms, but there have been complications, while preparing your rooms, so for now you will be staying here. Your things will be brought to you shortly. In the meantime, you can make yourself comfortable.”

Baldr blushed in embarrassment. “I … I don't think I'm deserving of such honours.”

Hel lifted an eyebrow. “What, are you questioning my sound judgement?”

The blush was immediately replaced by pallor. “No! Of course not!”

“That's what I thought”, she said and he could have sworn, that there was a hint of amusement in her otherwise still completely toneless voice. It didn't show on her face either, but Baldr was pretty sure, that she was enjoying herself at his cost.

With a sigh, he sat on the bed. It was a king-sized bed and it seemed really comfortable.

Suddenly exhaustion set in with a vengeance and he felt really tired. Why was he tired? He always had assumed, that dead people didn't need to sleep – after all, wasn't death already an everlasting sleep? Oh well, another afterlife lesson learned.

Hel seemed to sense his fatigue, for she said: “You must be exhausted. After all, you travelled all the way down Yggdrasil. That's not exactly a stroll in the park. So lie down and sleep a little. A servant will come and wake you up, when dinner is ready.”

He stood up once more and bowed. “Thank you, your Majesty.”

“No need for formalities. Just Hel will do”, she replied. “I'm more than just the queen of Niflheimr. I founded a whole kingdom and named it after myself. I think that expresses my power more than my queenly title does.”

Baldr couldn't have argued with that, even if he had wanted to.

Hel left the room and closed the door, leaving the dead god alone.

The Bright One sat back down and contemplated his new situation.

Hmm … Hel doesn't seem so bad. Neither the place, nor the person. The Mistress of the Dead seems to be a fair ruler. And of course, no one throwing stuff at me is always nice … I think I'm going to like it here.

He lay down and found the bed just as warm and comfy as his old one in Asgardr.

Baldr fell asleep within seconds.

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1) Náströnd: "Corpse Shore", the place of Helheimr, where oath-breakers, adulterers and murderers are punished. 2) Níðhöggr: "Malice Striker/Hateful Striker", a serpentine dragon living and gnawing at the roots of Yggdrasil (the cosmic World Tree), who also chews on the corpses of the inhabitants of Náströnd. 3) Ganglati: "Lazy-Step", Hel's personal manservant. 4) Móðguðr: "Ferocious Battler", the guardian of Gjallarbrú, the bridge across the underworld river Gjöll. 5) Éljúðnir: depending on the translation either "Misery", or "Sprayed With Blizzards/Damp With Sleet" (personally I tend more towards "misery"), Hel's castle. It's described as being enormous, having really high walls and large gates. 6) Ganglöt: "Slow-Step", Hel's handmaid. 7) Dark dyes for clothing were quite expensive, especially black-blue dyes (raven black). Most Norse societies only had access to them via trade (with the Byzantine Empire, for example). So really dark or colourful clothing was a status symbol, since it was only available to the wealthy. 8) Breiðablik: "Broad Gleam". According to Snorri Sturluson's Prose Edda, it was the fairest hall in Asgard.

#norse mythology #hel #baldr #nanna #ganglot #ganglati #modgudr

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