#fantastic racism | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tendertenebrosity · 1 year

Text

Some connecting scenes for Illiam and Helis, back during their time at the castle. This follows on from here and here. The next piece chronologically is this one.

Masterpost is Here.

Helis woke up slowly. Their wings and shoulders ached, and the floor was uncomfortably hard against their hip underneath a thin layer of padding, but the blanket lying over them was warm. They could almost have closed their eyes and drifted back to sleep again if they hadn’t… remembered.

They forced their eyes open, to a blurry view of a stone wall and a few folds of woollen blanket.

What in Heaven am I going to do now? they wondered drearily.

They took a deep breath, and might have let themself cry again, if they hadn’t heard a noise from behind them, from somewhere else in the room.

They rolled over immediately, blinking sleep from their eyes. The room snapped into focus; disorientingly, they were in a corner, on the floor. The room was all stone and heavy-framed wooden furniture, including a bed hung about with red curtains, bookshelves to rival those in the workroom, and a desk underneath a glass-panelled window.

Seated at that desk, so that Helis could mostly only see the spare casual angles of his legs and his hunched shoulders, sat Illiam. He hadn’t noticed them; he was pulling a book across the desk towards himself, flicking through the pages, setting it aside. The scritch-scritch of pen on paper filled the room. Morning light streamed in through the window.

Helis slowly sat up, drawing their knees up against their chest and pressing their wings back against the wall. The blanket slid down to the floor; after a moment they pulled it back up.

Silver flashed as they did so; they blinked down at their wrist.

It was hard to tell, they hadn’t been paying attention, but Helis didn’t think this was the same cuff they’d been wearing yesterday in the workroom. It was smaller, lighter; more tightly fitted to their wrist as if designed for them specifically.

The cuff had what looked like a fine hinge on one side. There was no chain attached. It could almost have been mistaken for a crude piece of jewellery, except that there was no way it would fit over the bones of their hand to be taken off. Helis pulled their other hand out from under the blanket and found a matching cuff on that.

There were lines of engraving along the outer and inner surfaces of both cuffs. Bits of spell phrases jumped out at Helis; instinctively they reached for it, and were surprised all over again when nothing happened. They bit their lip, then lifted their left hand and craned their neck to try and find the beginning of the spell with their eyes.

“It’s not a design you’ll be familiar with.”

Helis looked up; Illiam had turned in the chair, one arm hooked over its back, and was watching them dispassionately.

“Did you make this?” Helis asked. Their voice rasped in their throat, and they coughed.

“Yes,” Illiam said. He looked more composed than the last time they had seen him; no longer bright-eyed with fury, not even tousle-haired or unshaven and drawn with tiredness. Helis distrusted the evenness of his voice. “Not something I do often, so I doubt the craftsmanship is up to your standards. But it will suffice for its purpose.”

Helis licked their lips nervously. They got the impression he was waiting for the question, watching Helis and predicting what they would say, and they hated it, but they had to ask. “What purpose?”

“It ties you to me,” he explained, still calm. “There is now a magical link between us. I will always be able to find you, and if you get too far away from me, the cuffs will heat up as a warning.”

“What?” Helis stared at the cuffs, sickened. This really was something like a bad play. “Is this what you took my blood for?”

“And my own,” he agreed. He tapped the bandage at the crook of his elbow. “It’s not taboo here, although it comes with certain risks. I decided it was worth the inconvenience of making the cuffs - I needed to ensure you don’t escape, but are still free to move about the castle, and this is the most practical way of doing that.”

“You have a really…” Helis took a deep breath. “Warped idea of practical, Illiam!”

He shrugged. “Would you prefer a cell? Or chains? Or something a little more permanent? Strictly speaking, I didn’t have to make it a device. Attaching the spell to the cuffs made things a little tricky. Have you ever worked on silver? Challenging. But you need to wear the cuffs anyway, and it seemed preferable to permanently inscribing the spell-lines on you.”

They flinched back. “That’s barbaric,” they hissed. “You’re barbaric.”

He rolled his eyes. “I said I was avoiding it. Pay attention.”

Helis hated being seated on the ground looking up at him. They pushed themselves up, wings spread for balance, letting the blanket fall. “This is the most sick and gross use of magic I have ever seen,” they said. “You -”

Illiam’s eyebrows lifted in cool, sardonic disbelief. “Really? This is the sickest thing? Tsk. Have you seen the kinds of spells that get thrown around on a battlefield?” He stood up, rolled his shoulders. “Compared to that, this is perfectly gentle. It won’t even burn you straight away, you’ll have plenty of notice to come back before the heat gets to injurious levels.”

“You didn’t learn this at the Academy,” Helis said.

Illiam shook his head. “No,” he said, with half of a smile. It wasn’t a pleasant expression at all. “This, I learned here, in the North. Surprised to find that there is more to the world than the Academy’s curriculum? Time to grow up, Helis. There’s no ethics classes out here. I’m nobody’s student or apprentice anymore, and your only value lies in how useful you are. I could do far worse to you and nobody would even blink.”

He stepped forward, across the room towards them. Helis rocked back on their feet, resisting the urge to cringe against the wall, wanting to leave but finding nowhere to go. They couldn’t quite manage to tip their chin up to meet his eyes, instead fixing their gaze somewhere near one of his shirt buttons. Still black, they noted nervously.

He stopped short of touching them, apparently content to loom. “So if I were you,” he said, “I would be resigning myself to the cuffs, thanking my lucky stars that I’m not dead in a ditch, and trying my best to be useful.”

He stood there, for a long impassive silence, until Helis took a deep breath and looked up. He was regarding them with an expectant look, as if waiting for them to say something in return. Still calm, still composed.

“Do I make myself clear?” he asked, when nothing was forthcoming.

“Yes,” Helis said, reluctantly. “But -”

He raised a finger. “Do I make myself clear. Yes, or no.”

“Yes,” Helis whispered, their gaze blurring as it slid off him, to the side.

He nodded. “Good,” he said briskly, and stepped away. He collected his coat from where it lay folded over a table that they hadn’t noticed, over by the door. There was a stack of fabric beside it, and he indicated that with a faintly contemptuous wave. “Get rid of the uniform; put those on. I’m going downstairs, and you had better not keep me waiting there.”

The door opened smoothly, with barely a whisper; Illiam left, pulling his coat on over his shoulders as he went.

Helis took a deep breath and let it out, shakily. They scrubbed their eyes determinedly, and went to get dressed.

The clothing by the door was thick fabric, shapeless, rough and drab in colour. Somebody had attempted amateurishly to make the tunic wing-compatible. Helis struggled into it with stiff joints, wishing for proper ties. At least, they supposed, it was both warm and obscured their figure into featurelessness.

There was a basin and jug of water, but Helis didn’t dare use it for anything. They opened the door, let it close behind them, and crept with trepidation down the narrow, boxy set of stairs they found themself in. Their nails went click-click on the cold stone floor.

At the foot of the stairs, where it opened out into a wider passageway, they found Illiam. He was not, to their relief, waiting for them impatiently - he was in what looked like a heated conversation with somebody in muted dark grey clothing.

“… don’t care who’s here. I told my father that I wasn’t going to be available for this.”

“I understand, my lord, but somebody -”

“Go and bother Brant with it.” Illiam turned to leave, dismissing the grey-clad man with an impatient gesture. “This is his element, surely. Heaven knows the man must contribute something of worth. You’ll get me tomorrow afternoon and not before; my work is more important.”

He strode down the hallway and past Helis, barely acknowledging them, as the man in grey bowed and murmured something respectful towards his back.

For lack of anything else to do, Helis followed Illiam. The man gave Helis a look of confusion and distaste as they passed.

They caught up as he turned a corner.

“How far away?” they asked, resentfully. “The cuffs. How far away from you am I allowed to go?”

“Far enough,” Illiam said. His suspicious air of calm was starting to fray; Helis caught sight of one of his hands fiddling with a fastening of his coat. “I’m not going to send you out of range. I would advise against experimenting. And that’s all you need to know.”

“And what am I going to be doing?” Helis kept having to lengthen their stride to keep up with him. Their legs protested. “I mean, what is my job? I don’t know why you want me here if -”

“Well, that makes two of us,” he snapped.

The hallways Illiam followed got smaller and colder, with fewer rugs. Another human in dark grey clothing, her arms full of wicker and cloth, put her head down as Illiam passed and gave them a wide berth.

After a couple of corners and another flight of stairs, Helis realised that they were hopelessly lost and would have no idea how to get back to Illiam’s rooms. Or outside, for that matter; this area of the castle had no windows.

Eventually, Illiam came to a door that looked a little familiar. Passing his hand over the doorknob, he unlocked it with a brief flare of magic, then threw it open unceremoniously.

The windowless room full of magic paraphernalia. Helis lingered uneasily on the threshold, hugging their wings around their shoulders. The glittering fragments of conduit stone had been swept up and disposed of, and any trace of Helis’ blood had been cleaned away. The top surface of the table was scarred with little pockmarks and burns.

“My workroom,” Illiam announced, needlessly. “I’ve wasted too much time on Father’s jaunts across the border and dealing with you; it’s time to get back to work.” He glanced at Helis, an irritable line appearing between his brows. “I suppose you can start by fetching me Halliday’s list of energetic constants. Third volume. And then get a fire started.”

Helis inched inside, letting the door close behind them reluctantly. “What exactly are you working on?”

“I’m composing a spell,” he said. “The most ambitious spell, I think, that anybody has ever attempted this side of the Greater Eastern Ocean.” He clicked his fingers and pointed to the bookshelf - and even despite everything, the careless disrespect in the gesture made Helis’ hackles rise under their ugly, uncomfortable clothing. “Halliday. Third volume. Useful.”

Your only value lies in how useful you are. Helis set their teeth, and went to comb through Illiam’s library.

#Illiam #Helis #Whump writing #my OCs #magical restraints #blood magic #fantastic racism

11 notes · View notes

ice-cap-k · 6 months

Text

Heads Will Roll Ch2

Cross-posted to AO3 here: Heads Will Roll Ch 2

You can read CH 1 here

You can read CH 3 here

You can read CH 4 here

_______________________________________________

Monsters are dangerous.

Martyn knew this. Skizz, Etho, and BigB knew this. Everyone in Dogwarts knew this. Monsters preyed on people. They were the stuff born of nightmares and darkness and spread trouble in their wake. Even monsters considered weak and relatively less threatening, like zombies, could be deadly if they caught an individual traveler unawares or had the advantage of numbers on their side.

Martyn thought he knew monsters well. He had seen almost as many men lost to monster attacks during the battle with the desert dwellers as had been killed by the enemy themselves. They were the kind of thing that swooped in with no regard for personal safety in the hopes of leaving you nothing more than a crater in the ground. They were the kind of thing to rise out of the dust with weapons drawn to strike you from a distance. They were the kind of thing that attacked your best friend in the woods and then left him for dead.

The Kingdom of Dogwarts had always taken a hard stance against monsters, even before Ren had assumed the throne. They were to be handled with extreme prejudice. Exterminated, even. Up until now, he never really thought much about that.

With all of this in mind, Martyn was having a hard time believing what he had just seen.

He sat in a private lounge that the King, the Counsel men, and he often visited at the back of the castle to relax. Skizz, BigB, and Etho were all there as well. All of them looked equally bothered by what had just happened and expressed it in their own ways.

Skizz relentlessly tidied up the fourth and fifth bookshelves on the wall. Again. He was avoiding his thoughts by losing himself in the act of cleaning. On the other end of the room, BigB was curled up in an overstuffed chair with a steaming drink of some kind. His fingers tapped against the glass as he stared at the contents of his mug with such intensity, that Martyn wouldn't have been surprised if his eyes could bore holes into its bottom. And then there was Etho pacing back and forth in a line from one corner of the room to another. At this rate, he was going to wear through the carpet. Not that Martyn was faring any better. He was currently fiddling with his eyeglass. The telescoping tool clicked in and out in his hands. In and out. In and out. In and out. The overworked bearings would probably wear out at this rate. The telltale click of the moving parts was already starting to sound dull. Nobody seemed to mind the incessant noise, though. Or noticed for that matter.

He hadn’t really kept track of how much time had passed like that. The four of them were too quiet. At some point though, Martyn fumbled halfway through opening his telescope for the umpteenth time. The copper casing slipped from between his fingers, sending the tool clattering to the floor. The sound was like a shockwave through the room. The others froze as it rolled into the leg of Martyn’s chair. Three sets of wide eyes went straight to the little telescope on the floor.

“Sorry,” Martyn mumbled as he reached down to retrieve the eyepiece. “Just a little distracted, you know?”

“Tell me about it,” Skizz sighs. He finally puts down the books in his hand and pulls away from the shelf. “This whole thing feels like one big nightmare. Like, it can’t actually be real, can it?”

“How else do you explain what we saw,” BigB chimes in. He sinks deeper into the armchair. “That Scar guy even had scratches on his wrists from when they fought. Human nails don’t do that.”

Skizz narrows his eyes at that. “Hey, what happened with Scar anyway? I, uh, wasn’t really paying attention after the guards took…” He trailed off, not wanting to say the King’s name out loud. Martyn was glad that he didn’t. It might feel like it actually happened if they addressed it directly, and none of them were ready for that yet.

“The guards took him to the east wing to get looked at by a physician,” Martyn answered. “They’ll probably set him up with a room to stay the night. The advisors are looking to him for, I don’t know. Advice or something. Since he’s the primary witness, they’re putting him up on a pedestal while this whole thing gets sorted.”

“Sorted. You mean when they execute him,” Etho scowled.

Martyn's falling eyeglass may have shocked the group back into reality, but Etho’s words practically bowled them over. Martyn found himself gripping the telescope so tight his knuckles went white. BigB and Skizz visibly flinched, almost dropping their tea cup and bumping into the bookshelf respectively. “Yeah. That.” Martyn’s voice cracked.

There was a long moment of silence. “Does that mean,” BigB started with a wavering voice. “That Martyn will be King next?”

“No,” Martyn snapped before he even had time to think about the statement. “Don’t. Don’t talk like that.”

“But you’re the King’s hand,” BigB said. He sounded so small. The teacup in his fingers was shaking as he held it. “There is no named heir. Wouldn’t the title go to you next?”

“That’s not how that works,” Skizz butt in. “If there’s no heir, then the decision for next in line will be decided by the council of advisors. The Hand and the Counsel have nothing to do with it. We’re just personal advisors. Martyn’s the only one here with an actual political position, and that’s not going to mean much in the face of the group in charge of the decision.”

“Oh…”

It got quiet again as all four of them mulled that thought over.

Gods above, what would Martyn do when they called him in for that meeting? Would he even be capable of discussing such a thing? It seemed silly to think that he would be capable of anything once his liege was gone. That the world would still keep spinning as it always had and life would simply move on. Didn’t seem fair now, did it?

“I think…I think I should go talk to him…”

All three sets of eyes shot to Martyn in disbelief. “Y-You want to do what,” BigB stammered.

Oh. Had Martyn actually said that out loud? Whoops.

“I don’t know,” he sputtered, not sure whether to backtrack or stick to his guns. “I just… I mean… It’s Ren guys. Ren!” There was a lot going unsaid but understood by everyone in the room with that statement. ‘Ren, whom we practically grew up with. Ren who broke down crying after killing a man who had tried to kill him first during the war. Ren who hates monsters.’ None of that needed to be said for them to understand. “I feel like I need some sort of explanation.”

Skizz looks down at his own shoes, not wanting to look Martyn in the eye. He scowls. “I mean, that sure sounds nice, but there’s no way.”

“And why not?”

“Because he’s in the dungeon, dude. There’s no way they’ll let you go down there, even if you are the Hand. Especially now that you’re technically the Hand to someone who’s actually a monster of all things. Think about it, Martyn. They might start suspecting you of knowing about this and colluding with him. They could accuse you of treason.”

“Of course I didn’t know,” Martyn hissed. “That’s why I want to understand.”

“But that’s not how people are going to see it,” Skizz shoots back. “You know that, Martyn.”

Thoughts whirled through Martyn’s brain at high speed. Again, Skizz was making good sense. But he wasn’t about to let this go. Backtracking wasn’t an option anymore. He wanted to dig into this idea now. “Well, what if I snuck into the dungeon? Nobody sees me go in or come out. I could pull that off, I think.”

“But what if you get hurt down there?” BigB sounds nervous. His fingers are winding around themselves. “Nobody will know to come help you.”

“How on Earth would I get hurt?”

“Ren,” Etho said plainly. “Ren could hurt you.”

The others winced at Etho’s bluntness. Honestly, Martyn even got a little mad about it. “I already said, this is Ren we’re talking about. You know Ren wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

Etho’s one good eye narrowed at Martyn. “People and monsters alike are capable of anything when cornered. Ren’s cornered right now.”

He reached up and pulled down the mask covering the lower half of his face. BigB and Skizz look away respectfully. Skizz’s eyes go to his own scars lacing across his arms. The angry little ember in Martyn’s chest fizzled out. Etho made it clear he wants him to see his full face, now on display. He doesn’t dare turn away.

Ren hadn’t been the only one who had been lucky enough to survive an attack.

“I’m not going to stop you if you do this,” Etho said, pulling the mask back up over his nose. ‘But after what I saw in that throne room earlier, I wouldn’t risk it myself. Don’t let your guard down if you go.” With that, he pivoted on his heel and made for the door.

BigB sat up straighter in his chair. “Etho? Etho, don’t go… Please-”

Martyn wanted to say something as well. But he couldn’t think of anything good enough. Before he could come up with something, Skizz raised his hand sharply, cutting BigB off. He shot Skizzleman a concerned look, but the other man only shook his head.

SLAM!

The books rattled on their shelves. Some of the ones on the end tipped over where there was open space between them and the enclosed end of the shelf they sat on. They clattered to the floor in a mess of pages.

“Let him go,” Skizz said gently. “Give him a minute on his own. I think he might be taking this harder than we thought. ”

“Yeah...” Martyn swallowed the lump in his throat. None of them were handling the situation particularly well, were they?

“Well…” BigB speaks up. His voice is so small when he turns back to Martyn. “I think it’s a good idea. I want to know why he didn’t tell us.”

Despite what had just happened with Etho, Martyn couldn’t help the small smile that pulled at the corners of his lips when he heard BigB’s words. ‘Why didn't he tell us…?’ Not ‘Why didn’t he hurt us’ or ‘How long has he kept up the charade’ or ‘What had he been planning to do?’ All of those were still valid questions. Ones that probably needed answering as well. Ones that were probably playing at the forefront of Etho’s mind before he had stormed out. But those weren’t what BigB was focused on. Why didn’t he tell us? Well how about ‘why didn’t he trust us? Why didn’t he trust me?’ Those were the most pressing questions on Martyn’s mind.

“I’m going to do it,” Martyn says with a nod. “Later tonight after the sun has set and things start to settle down. I’ll talk to Ren and see what he has to say.”

BigB sighed in relief.

Skizz nods. “There will be fewer guards then too. How do you plan on getting through the dungeon door without being seen, though?”

Martyn’s smile widened to a mischievous grin. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. I’m a master of all things sneaky. ”

_______________________________________

The first thing Ren was aware of when he finally came to was that everything hurt. Especially his head. His guards were trained to measure their hits. To only lash out when necessary and make every hit count. The one that had knocked him out had clearly taken that training to heart. Just the act of turning his head sent a wave of nausea rushing through him. It turned his stomach, not that there was anything to throw up. When was the last time he had eaten anyway?

That raised another question. How long had he been unconscious?

It took a massive amount of effort, but he managed to open his eyes. The movement was slight enough that it didn’t bring on a rush of pain or queasiness. Still, his eyes didn’t seem to want to focus. He could make out dark swathes of dull colors, and something bright and orange glowing to his left. There was no definition to the color, though. Only blurry shapes that bled together.

He blinked a few times, trying to get his eyes to focus. It made the back of his skull ache, but eventually, the blurry edges became sharper. Everything was finally becoming clearer, only for him to realize that there wasn’t much here for him to see.

This was the dungeon. Or at least one of the cells. The ones intended for holding prisoners temporarily. It had been dug into the castle’s basement when it was originally built. He hadn’t bothered updating them when he inherited the castle. They had seen so little use during his reign. How ironic that he was now its sole occupant?

Aged stone brick walls boxed him in on four sides. The old masonry was cracked and growing mold and mildew along its mortar borders. No windows. Just blank walls. That meant they would have taken him to one of the lower layers. The ones below ground where there was no sun to shine in. The ones reserved for the most dangerous inmates.

The fifth side had black iron bars stretching from ceiling to floor. A perfect barrier for fae, and anyone else for that matter. It gave any guard walking through the hall outside the cell a clear view of the occupant and the entire room they resided within. He couldn’t see it without moving his head, but Ren knew that there was a door set into the bars. The steel framework boxed it in and kept it standing.

Nor could Ren see the floor he was lying on without rolling over. He didn’t have to see it to know that it was laid with worn cobblestone left dusty over years of disuse. When he twitched his fingertips, he could feel the trails they left in a layer of fine grey dirt.

The orange flicker he had seen turned out to be a torch. Someone had been kind enough to leave a long burning tallow torch in one of the burners set along the sides of the hallway. It was his only source of light down here.

He tried to move his arms first. He wanted to rub at the lump that he must have had on the back of his head, but when he tried shifting his right hand something tugged on the left. He heard clattering every time he tried to move his arm. When he felt along his hands and wrists, he traced along the edges of metal cuffs. Simple iron bands and links. A short chain connected his right wrist to his left. They had put him in shackles.

He let his hands drop back down against his stomach. “Fantastic.”

If they had chained his wrists, what about his legs? Tentatively, he rolled his feet back and forth. Sure enough, there was a heaviness to his ankles. The telltale clink of metal chimed with every move.

He was going to have to sit up. He didn’t want to. His head already hurt enough. The knuckles on one hand were sore from when he had punched that fairy… That fairy!

Ren shot upright in an instant and regretted it a second later. Black spots danced across his vision. It felt like his head was spinning. But that didn’t matter right now. How he was feeling doesn’t matter. What mattered was that there was a fairy up there. One that somehow knew how to manipulate people’s perceptions. His friends were in danger. His kingdom and its people were in danger.

Were they still under that Scar fellow’s spell? Ren didn’t know enough about fae to understand what it had done to them. He wasn’t even sure what kind of fairy it was. Just that it meant trouble. Monsters only ever made things more complicated. He should know.

When he closed his eyes he could still see that vacant look in his friend’s eyes. They had just… stopped what they were doing…

There was no way he was just going to sit here moping while that thing continued to terrorize them.

It took some time for his vision to fully return back to normal. When it did, he scanned the room he was stuck in.

There really wasn’t much here to work with. The chains on his feet ran longer than the ones on his wrists. The ends were fastened to a loop of metal bolted into the wall near the entrance. The tether gave him enough leeway to reach the far wall where a simple cot was lying on the floor if he so desired. But alas, he did not desire.

And that was about all there was to see.

It wasn’t much, but he could work with that. Hopefully. There had to be some sort of plan that he could come up with to get out of here and warn the others. Mortar was supposed to be weaker than stone, right? If he worked at it hard enough, he could wear a bit of it away until a stone came loose. That would take some time, though, and he didn’t have anything to dig with. They hadn’t even bothered to leave him a last meal and a spoon. What about the bars? If he could slip through them somehow, then he could find a way to leverage the chains on his ankles to break a link. His hands would still be in a bind, but he could figure that part out as he ran. Unfortunately, that didn’t look like it would be much of an option either. The bars had been criss-crossed and embedded in concrete, prepared for potential prisoners far smaller than him. There was the cot, though. If he could find a loose thread he could pull out some of the stuffing and hide inside. But where would he put the material once he hollowed it out? There was nowhere to hide anything here.

The torch burned on as Ren sat and pondered his options for a while. The same handful of schemes replayed over and over in his head, each time tweaking some sort of detail and hoping that it would make for a sensible escape plan. What felt like it could have been an hour dragged on until eventually he huffed in frustration and shook his head. The motion still hurt, but at least it didn’t make him feel like he was going to be sick anymore.

None of these plans would work. Maybe eventually, if he had plenty of time to work at it slowly, but he had no clue what time it was. It could be the middle of the night for all he knew. No matter what, they would be coming back for him tomorrow. The law was very clear on the procedure for dealing with monsters.

Oh yeah… That.

He blinked, every muscle tensing as he slowly raised both hands to where he could reach his face. He ran his fingers over his neck and jawline, half expecting to feel the soft brush of fur. To his relief, whatever magic had made it appear before was no longer in play. There were no claws at the ends of his fingertips to scratch at the exposed skin. “I’m normal again,” he said softly and the words were actual words. Not growls.

Did that really matter anymore?

They thought he was a monster.

His eyes took in the whole room, looking at the grim stone in a new light as the full realization of his predicament finally sunk in.

They thought he was a monster. That hadn’t been something that Scar fellow had faked. Regardless of whatever power the fae could exert, the fear and hate in their eyes when they had looked down on Ren had been genuine. The sense of royal duty melted away as he couldn’t focus on anything other than that fact. Forget his subjects for the moment. Right now, he was just another man trembling in fear.

His own friends were afraid of him. They hated him. Even Martyn. Martyn who had vowed to serve as his right hand until the day either of them died. Martyn who had saved his life on more than one occasion. Martyn, who had supported Ren long before he took the throne.

And he honestly couldn’t blame them. He would have hated him too if he had been in their place. He was going to be sentenced to death. That was going to happen. It was already happening, and the people he cherished would watch with that same fear and hatred in their eyes. The same fear and hatred that once haunted his nightmares.

In a moment of weak-willed self-indulgence, tears started streaming down Ren’s cheeks. And then his breathing hitched into sobs. He let himself cry. And he cried for a long time until there weren’t any tears left and all that came were dry sobs. When he eventually lifted his head from his folded arms, he could see that the torch was beginning to burn itself out. The light it gave off had started to grow dim.

Slam!

Ren’s heart nearly skipped a beat as he heard footsteps pounding against the stone above him. He sniffed, straightening up as if that would help him hear whomever it was more easily.

Slam!

Another loud noise followed close behind. Even more footsteps echoed down the halls, this time accompanied by the clatter of armor. Guards.

Ren shifted back in his cell. Chains rattled as his feet scrambled to push him back into a corner. His legs protested against the movement. The sudden motion made his head pound and his throat was now sore from crying, but he gritted his teeth and powered through the pain. There was nowhere to hide, but he wanted to. He wanted to put as much distance between himself and the door to his cell as he could. He wasn’t sure how much of a fight he’d be able to put up with his wrists shackled together, but he wasn’t prepared to just go along willingly to the fate they had prepared for him.

When his back pressed against the wall and he couldn’t move another inch further, no matter how much he wanted to, Ren noticed that muffled words were echoing down the hall.

“Which way did they go?”

“I lost sight of them after they went through the door.”

“Fan out. Check all the cells. We have to find them.

“Weapons at the ready! We don’t know who they are or what they’re capable of.”

“Cut them down if you have to. Drag them back for interrogation if you can.”

Odd. That sounded like they were talking about an intruder. Or escapee. But who could they possibly be after?

From the cell, Ren could hear the guard's footsteps fan out across the floor above. One or two sounded like they were going in the same direction as that very first set of footsteps. It didn’t take long for the noises to fade away. The only sound left was the crackle of the torch. He waited. He listened so hard that his ears hurt. What was happening up there?

A moment passed before echoing voices reached his ears.

"Why you-"

"Gonna have to be faster than that, mate. Whoa ho ho!"

That voice… "Martyn?" Ren breathed, not quite sure if he believed what he was hearing.

"Stop that. Hey!"

Crash!

Ren nearly jumped out of his skin as something down the hall rattled and clattered. The torch flickered with a passing breeze.

"Well, that works in my favor," Martyn’s voice drifted closer. Now Ren could hear footsteps coming closer and closer. A shadow passed through the bars of his cell as a cloaked figure stepped into view. Their hooded head turned, and Ren recognized those blue eyes framed by light blond hair.

Ren tensed. He found himself gripping at the chains hanging from his wrists. The cold metal bit into his palms. His mouth went dry as he opened his mouth to speak. "Martyn. It is you…"

"Ren!" Martyn threw the hood off his head. A bright smile stretched across his face that made Ren's stomach twist. "Oh my gosh, Ren! I finally found you."

"Me Hand-" The smile dropped off Martyn's face the moment he used the title. Ren found himself wincing. Martyn didn’t seem comfortable with that familiar greeting anymore. So Ren tried again. "Martyn, what are you doing here?"

"I was looking for you…" He trailed off, looking over the King cowering in the corner of his cell. Ren felt so small under his friend's gaze. What a sight he must be, with the blood drying in his messed up hair and dirt smeared on his everyday clothes. The intimidating king from this morning was gone. His gaze lingers somewhere above Ren’s eyes. "They took your crown?"

"Oh!" Ren reached up with both hands to the top of his head. His fingers met strands of tangled hair, but no gold and silver crown. Martyn watched the swing of the chains hanging from his wrists with widening eyes. Ren hadn't even noticed the symbol of his status was gone. Made sense, he supposed, since his status as King was basically gone now to. "I suppose so. Not like I really needed it anymore."

"Ren…"

"Well, you said you were looking for me," Ren said, his throat tightening around the words. He didn't like the sad look in Martyn’s eyes right now. "I can probably guess why."

“I just don’t understand, Ren. What we saw up there-”

“I’m sorry.” Ren screwed his eyes shut. It hurt to see Martyn look at him like that.

“It was real, Ren.”

“It was.”

“How could that be?”

How could they see it? Or how had he become what he was? Neither question had a pleasant answer. Gnashing teeth and wicked claws tore their way to the forefront of his mind. The scars on his side started to itch.

“Do you remember that evening when you found me by the river? After the attack…?”

Martyn nodded. A small, sheepish smile appeared on his face. “How could I forget? It was the one time I had been anything but useful to you.”

“That’s not true,” Ren said immediately. Even though the pain hazed fog of memory, he had known Martyn had found him. Could remember the press of his friend’s hands against his ribs when he was struggling to breathe.

“I still have nightmares about it,” Martyn added a little more quietly.

“Me too. For a couple of different reasons. It, uh, it started after that. That was when things changed. That bite did something to me and I couldn’t undo it.”

The first time Ren had a panic attack after he recovered had been hell. Luckily enough, he had been on his own at the time. Too busy working himself up over another hunt gone wrong for the beast that had caught him unawares in the woods. Two hunters had been killed and several injured, and it was his fault they were going after the monster in the first place. He had been the one foolish enough to travel the path alone the day he was attacked.

One moment he was trying to keep his hyperventilating under control, the next he was scratching at the door to his bed chambers with claws half as long as his fingers.

When he came to, he half expected the whole episode to have been a horrible nightmare, until he saw the marks on the back of his door. And then it happened again one week later on the night of a full moon. And then again the month after, and so on, and so on. It took three months for the realization to set in that this was to be his new normal from then on out.

Martyn’s eyes were wide with horror. His fingers wrapped around the bars of the cell. He pressed against them as if he could push through to get to Ren on the other side. “Then?!” he hissed, voice sounding strained. A shadow of guilt crossed over his face, knuckles white as his grip tightened. “You aren’t human anymore because of then?!?”

“It’s not your fault Martyn.”

“Sure it is. If I had just been there-”

“Then the same thing would have happened to you as well. Or worse,” Ren said sternly. And Ren wouldn’t have been able to live with himself if something like that had happened. Before Martyn could protest again, Ren continued.

“I didn’t know what to do afterward. I thought about turning myself in, but I hadn’t hurt anyone. I felt in control on full moons when the fur and the claws came out. Not sure if it had something to do with me starting out human first, but… I just thought that if I could keep myself in check, maybe I could just keep going. See how long it lasted. There are a few enchantments I know. Wards that can keep that side of me from being detected. What you saw up there earlier, that’s what I look like on the night of a full moon.”

“This is insane.” One of Martyn’s hands went up to grip at the hair hanging along one side of his face. The fingers buried themselves in as he fretted. The hand still gripping the bars of Ren’s cell was shaking. Blue eyes looked wildly around, then snapped to Ren's face. “I can’t… This isn’t… You… Was it you?”

Ren blinked. “What do you mean?”

“The tower. And the cows. Damage done by a weapon and claws and teeth. Was it really you?”

“No,” Ren spat, voice growing bitter. “I didn’t do it. I honestly had no clue what did.” But now he had a good guess.

“Listen, Martyn,” Ren snapped, forcing a sharp edge into his tone. His friend jolted, giving him his full attention with wide eyes. “I’m sorry. Ok? I really am. I never meant for any of this to happen. The last thing I ever wanted was to freak you guys out. But you have to listen to me. The reason why all of you saw me like that was because that Scar guy saw through my wards. He knew what I was the moment he laid eyes on me. That whole trick with the crown shouldn’t have been possible.”

“I don’t understand…”

“Silver and gold don’t just turn me into a monster. If that was the case then any time I touched my crown you would have seen me with fur. Scar did that.”

“How could he do something like that?”

“Because Scar is a fairy.”

“What?!?”

“I swear it’s true! The rumors of fae that have been running through town. They have to be because of him. I saw his wings when he stripped my wards away. He’s a fairy and is using a glamor to look human. Fairy magic. That’s why he could tell right away what I was.”

The entire time he spoke, Ren had been inching further and further away from the wall. He had been drawing closer and closer to Martyn. His poor friend looked overwhelmed. Now Ren stood a foot away from the bars. He wanted to reach out and squeeze Martyn’s shoulders. To hug him through the bars, but he was sure that a hug from a monster was the last thing Martyn wanted right now.

“I think I get it now,” Martyn said. He froze, eyes widening, finally understanding. “No wonder I felt so weird in the throne room when he went for your crown. I… I think you’re right.”

Ren’s legs wobbled as a wave of relief washed over him. He hadn’t realized how heavy the worry that Martyn wouldn’t believe him had weighed down on his shoulders. It was both freeing and oddly exhausting.

Martyn looked worn out himself as he let his shaking hands drop to his sides. With a sigh, he instead put them into his pockets. The moment he did so, his eyebrows flew up and he nearly leaped back from the bars. “Gods above! What the hell?!?!”

Confused, Ren flinched away from Martyn and his shout of surprise. “What? What’s wrong?”

“You’re-” He pulled his hand from his pocket to point at Ren’s chest but cut himself off as soon as he did so. Eyebrows furrowed skeptically as he narrowed his eyes at Ren, who had no clue what was happening.

Why was Martyn acting like this? Ren turned to look behind him, thinking maybe Martyn had seen something strange. There was nothing there but stone walls. “What’s wrong, Martyn?”

“I don’t know.” Slowly, he put his hand back into his pocket. When he did so, his eyes flew wide once more. But he didn’t shout this time. “So that’s the real you...”

“What do you mean?” Ren brought up his hands, thinking maybe the fur and claws had somehow come back. Shackles clattered as he pulled them into the dying torchlight. No. His hands were still normal. There were no claws or fur, and when he ran his knuckle against his cheek he didn’t feel anything more than the scratch of his beard.

“Your fur. And the tail. And your ears. And your eyes,” Martyn said. Ren found his shoulders rising up against his ears uncomfortably. He shrunk away from the bars and Martyn, wishing there was someplace he could hide. It sounded like his friend could see everything Ren hated about himself. At first, he thought maybe that fairy was close by again, tearing down his wards and making things worse. But then Martyn pulled his hand out of his pocket once more. Wrapped between his thumb and forefinger was a small green stem with a few red smudges weighing down its leaves. It was a four-leafed clover. “Huh. I guess what they say about these things is true.”

“Oh.” No wonder Martyn could see him.

Wait a minute…

“Martyn! That’s it!”

“Huh? What’s it?”

“That clover. I don’t know how you got it, but that’s perfect. If you’re holding that next time you look at Scar, it will keep his magic at bay. You could see his wings. You could expose him before he hurts someone.”

“I can?” He looked at the little green plant in his hand, shocked. His hand moved out, holding it further away as Ren’s words sunk in. “I can! But wait a minute..,” Those blue eyes turned back on Ren. “What about you, M’Lord?”

A warm feeling filled Ren starting from his chest to his toes to hear Martyn call him that once more. He was the only one who ever did, and it made him happy to know that despite everything he had just admitted, Martyn still used the title without a second of hesitation.

“What matters is making sure that some fairy doesn’t hurt you guys up there. What happens to me doesn’t matter much as long as you’re alright.”

“But that’s not true. And it’s not right. You’re still human as far as I’m concerned. You were born human. Who cares if you look a little different when I hold this.” Martyn waved the clover in his hand. “You should have told us. You should have told me. We could have figured this out together.”

“And if we didn’t,” Ren said calmly. “And if you knew, then what would have happened when the rest of the world found out? They would have blamed you as well. You’d be in this cell beside me.”

Ren had wanted to tell his friends. He had wanted to tell them so badly. Ever since the night after the panic attack when he saw those claw marks in the door. Heaven knows how many times he had almost broken down and told Martyn when he felt overwhelmed. But just like how Ren was glad Martyn hadn’t been there when he had been bitten, he also was glad that none of them had to worry about this for so long. He would never have put them in a position where they could be blamed for knowing what he was. As far as he was concerned, he was lucky enough that the charade had lasted this long. There was no way he was going to drag them down with him.

But Martyn was too stubborn to be content with that. "Baloney. If what you're saying is true, then it's Scar who should be in there. Not you." He pocketed the clover and gripped the bar with one hand. The other reached out and snatched at the chain hanging from Ren’s wrists. For a moment, Ren was afraid Martyn was going to pull him against the bars, but instead, Martyn's hand ran up the links until it wrapped around Ren's own hand. It was warm and the cracks in the skin scratched against his palm. Ren gripped it, afraid to let go. "I'm telling the others, and we're going to expose him. And then we're getting you out of here."

"You can't change what happened, Martyn." He has to be strong. Be the King he no longer was. Martyn was offering him false hope to cling onto. He wasn’t sure he should take it, even if he wanted to.

"No." Martyn’s face brightened with a grin. "But I'm gonna change the future. Just watch me."

The warm hand disappears from Ren’s own. His fingers stay outstretched, not moving, still reaching after Martyn’s hand as it goes back to the other side of the bars. Despite his better judgment, Ren’s heart swells with hope.

"Thank you, Me Hand."

Martyn nods. "Of course, M'Lord."

He looks away, casting a glance back the way he came. "Hopefully that guard I knocked out won't wake up soon. I'm gonna go back and tell the guys everything you told me. Then we'll find Scar. Hang tight until then, okay?"

"I can do that," Ren said, stepping back from the bars. "And you be careful. That clover should make you immune to magic as long as you're holding it but even without their magic fae can do some pretty wicked stuff."

"Good to know." Martyn shoots one last look at Ren. It's torn, and reluctant. He clearly doesn't want to go, or at least doesn't want to leave Ren here, but then he pulls the hood of his cloak up. The fabric covers his head and hides his blue eyes out of sight.

"See you soon."

With that, he takes off back down the hall. Ren watches his back as long as he can from his cell. And when the wall blocks his sight he strains to hear Martyn’s footsteps until they fade away.

The torchlight finally dies out once they do. Ren is left sitting in the silence and the dark with a smile on his face.

_________________________________________

“And you’re sure this will work?”

Martyn shrugged his shoulders. “Of course not. But it sure beats moping around in the lounge, biding our time ‘til the sun comes up. Now are you coming with us or not?”

BigB raised his hands, fingers spread open and palms facing out defensively. “I’m with you. I’m with you,” he said hurriedly. “Just, you know, wanted to be clear.”

Skizz shifted against the wall he was leaning on. The back of his head bumped against the stone slightly as he screwed his eyes up with frustration. "If there’s even a chance that what you’re saying is true, then I’m all for this plan. I love it, even. But I still think we should tell Etho.”

"You saw how he reacted when I mentioned going to see Ren. Do you really think he would appreciate it if I knocked on his door in the middle of the night just to say, 'hey Etho. I know we just found out earlier that our friend is a dangerous beast with fur and claws, but I really think that we might actually have a fairy crisis on our hands and it's probably Scar?!"

"I know," Skizz huffed. "I know. But I still don't like it."

BigB reached over to pat Skizz on the arm. "Let’s try this first. If Martyn’s right then we'll go tell him. If it turns out to be a false alarm, then we shouldn't go making him worry about nothing."

Martyn’s fist tightened at his side. BigB wasn't calling Ren a liar, but the implication was there. Ren had never been much of a liar. He would embellish and maybe blow things out of proportion but never lie. Etho’s words nagged at the back of his head. 'People and monsters alike are capable of anything when cornered. Ren’s cornered right now.'

His hand goes to the clover in his pocket.

"Alright. I can do that," Skizz says, pushing away from the wall. There's a newfound confidence in his voice now. "I'm ready. Let’s do this.”

"I've got the clover," Martyn says with a nod. He can see the light pouring out through the gap between the door of the guest room Scar is staying in and the hall floor. "I'll pass it around once we're in there, so keep a hand behind your back at all times where he can't see. Remember, no matter what we see in there we can't react any differently from normal. Got it?"

"Got it."

They could do this. And when they exposed this Scar as the monster he really was, people would be willing to hear them out about Ren. Screw the law. BigB and Skizz already agreed they wanted to get their King out of there. They weren't happy about the secret Ren had kept, but they weren't interested in holding their friend's other side against him and neither was Martyn.

If the law said that someone like Ren was better off dead, then Martyn would find a way to get the law changed or tear down everything in his path trying.

#whumptober 2023 #prompt no. 21 #“see the chains around my feet”#life series #third life #creative writing #fantastic racism #imprisonment #rendog #martyn inthelittlewood #ethoslab #skizzleman #bigbst4tz2 #goodtimeswithscar #dogwarts #alternate universe - fantasy #creatures and monsters

3 notes · View notes

aetherictree · 1 year

Text

Honestly, now whenever I see racism, or prejudice, or general oppression of the poor and downtrodden in fantasy, I can't but imagine Commander Sam Vimes of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch in the middle of it.

Just started The Druid's Call, and you *know* Vimes would have suspicion and prejudice against Tieflings -- but also that his recognition of their personhood and citizenship would far outweigh that.

And that at some point the aristocracy would get wind of it, and tell Vetinari that there must not be any Tieflings in the Watch. Which Vetinari would make sure to pass on to Vimes. He would make it very clear that the aristocracy do not wish to see any Tiefling officers and would be very upset with the Commander were he to hire some...

...and as Vimes leaves, he would realise he's been played once again.

#the druids call #tieflng #fantastic racism #fantasy #mister vimes'd go spare #Discworld #sam vimes #ankh-morpork city watch #terry pratchett

10 notes · View notes

makiruz · 7 months

Text

"I have no reason to treat you kindly, your kind has never deserve it; you humans hate that which is different, you turn on each other for the smallest thing, for the color of their skin, for the place they happen to be born into; you are a hateful, unaccepting kind"

"Honestly, since you're also making gross generalizations about people you've don't know based on prejudices you don't get to act so superior; specially when me and my friends have literally done nothing bad to you. Jerk"

#my writing #my post #fantastic racism

3 notes · View notes

fickit-lokiseriesau · 9 months

Text

You know how frost giants are seen as savage monsters deserving of extermination on Asgard?

The TVA has very similar attitudes on frost giants, as well as every other nonhuman species.

There's a reason only humans are seen working at the TVA.

There's a reason almost all sentient beings in the MCU are humanoids.

#dark au #loki au #loki series #tva loki #fantastic racism #headcanon #i guess #mcu!loki

6 notes · View notes

bobauthorman · 1 year

Text

I wanted to discuss the previous leaders of the White Fang organization in RWBY, their commonalities and their differences.

I’m talking about Ghira Belladonna, Blake’s father, and Sienna Kahn, Adam Taurus’ original mentor. These two had wildly distinct methods of dealing with the oppression their fellow Faunus suffered. Both types had their plusses and minuses, but when pushed to the extreme, proved to be insufficient for solving the problem. As Blake pointed out, there are no simple answers for very complex problems.

(As an aside, I know people think CRWBY dropped the ball on the “racism in a fantasy world” concept, but I don’t think they did any worse of a job than One Piece or Discworld.)

As demonstrated in the Adam Taurus trailer, Ghira tried to solve issues peacefully, but as also shown, this passivism also meant he was unable to truly defend his people, nor were humanity truly motivated to really change how they treated faunus. And because of that, he lost the respect of the White Fang, allowing Sienna and Adam to take over the group and turn it into a terrorist sect. Ghira was effectively pushed out of the White Fang, to the point of being totally ignorant of the White Fang’s role in the Fall of Beacon. If Blake and Sun Wukong hadn’t shown up in Menagerie, it’s unlikely he would have learned anything.

That said, Sienna was not much better in running the White Fang. While she certainly was more hands-on, she made the same mistake about going too far with her chosen method. As I’ve mentioned in a different post, her allowing Adam’s violent tendencies played a huge part in why he turned wrong so quickly, and the same could be said about the White Fang as a whole. The first we hear about the group is their disrupting a peaceful rally, and Sun describes them as a cult, who try to force other faunus to follow them. Sienna makes it clear in her debut that her goal is for humans to fear faunus, and fear retribution for mistreating the species. But, the problem with the threat of force is that it only works when you are able to maintain that force. Not to mention that this violent outlook made it easy for the White Fang to manipulated by even worse groups, such as the Salem Gang.

So, essentially, neither Ghira or Sienna’s methods really did anything to solve the issue. Both versions of the White Fang were failures. So why is it that Ghira lives, and Sienna dies? Well, it’s not a simple answer like “aggression bad, passism good”. If that was true, the assassination attempt would have been foiled by everyone holding hands and signing “Kumbayah”. No, it’s a different sort of simple answer.

And the answer is love.

Whatever flaws Ghira had as a leader, he and his wife Kali were still a comforting presence enough for Blake to go see them, which led to Sun learning about the attack on Haven. And the two of them were able to save the attempt on his life committed by the Albain brothers.

Sienna, on the other hand, had no one. Adam’s rising influence in the White Fang’s ranks was best demonstrated by the Grimm masks worn by the rank and file (I contend that these masks were optional, as Blake never wore one, nor did the Albains). As Adam points out before he kills her, the White Fang already saw him as the High Leader, but Sienna clearly never caught on to what was happening until it was too late. She was literally unable to see eye to eye with her former comrades. You might say that she made the same mistake Ghira did, this happened after she sat herself on a throne, and took herself out of the action. By no longer taking part on raids, she lost the respect of the White Fang.

So, I guess the moral is, stand up for yourself, but don’t go too far, and, as always, “Trust love”.

9 notes · View notes

cirqueduroyale · 2 years

Note

I’m sending this ask so you can deliberately infodump about some of the worldbuilding you’re proud of but haven’t been able to include in the comic yet :3

Pfft, oh dude, there are so many things...

Uhhhh…how about…

Clowns are known worldwide for being skilled entertainers and people love to watch them perform. Despite this, clowns aren't all that respected.

In media, they get stereotyped as “crazy”, scary, unintelligent, frivolous, etc. Like a scary gutter clown who eats kids, a poor clown with 10 babies, a dumb clown side-kick…

It’s a common myth that if you squeeze a clown’s nose, it will make noise. Another is that clowns are born in litters, with pregnant clowns being called “clown cars.”

It’s not uncommon for clowns to get stares and harassment in other kingdoms. So it’s no wonder, then, that many clowns don’t venture out of the safety of Clowny Island much during their travels. Even upper class/royal clowns aren’t immune to prejudice about their race.

It may be one of the reasons why some clowns can be so judgemental. They want to hold themselves up above what the outside world sees as the average "dumb" clown. Pushing themselves and/or their children past their limits for the sake of respectability.

Also why mime servants get mistreated in general. Being seen as criminals or just "bad" in general puts them at a lower rank. And we all know that when people feel like they have power over someone, they can behave very poorly...

In “Date Night”, Leo was listed as one of the hottest bachelors in the world. It was a throw away thing in the comic, but it’s actually a pretty big accomplishment as he's the first clown to receive the honor.

Likewise with the doll and children's books modeled after young Quinn.

It was a cash-in on her family's part, for sure, but it was also one of the few positive representations that young clowns had at the time.

I don't know how to end this.

Here's a frog:

#worldbuilding #clowns #species #im not good at worldbuilding #fantastic racism #i think that's what the trope is called

25 notes · View notes

squirrelwithatophat · 2 years

Text

I love how the random “Gossips” standing around Lothering manage to go from Darkspawn-denialism to racist conspiracy theories that the elves are helping the Darkspawn over the course of - what, a short afternoon chat?

Gossip 1: I hear there isn’t even really any darkspawn down south. It’s all Grey Warden work.

Gossip 2: They’re a devious lot, that’s for sure.

Gossip 1: I’d wager all these elves are working with the darkspawn. They’ll gladly sell us down the river.

Truth in television, I suppose?

#dragon age #dragon age origins #dao #fantastic racism #darkspawn #elves #dragon age elves #lothering #conspiracy theories

17 notes · View notes

this-world-of-beautiful-monsters · 2 years

Link

A monster hunter makes notes in the leadup to attacking a lair of unusual creatures.

Prompts from @achraya's Monster May Bingo: Monster Hunters and @pridewrite’s 2022 Challenge: Unknown. If you like Pride, but don't want to give your money to pink capitalism, consider each donating to or at least boosting one of these charities.

2 notes · View notes

sunset-peril · 2 months

Text

Link, Wolfbred King - Chapter One

Link had had enough.

Yes, he’d promised her he’d try to get along. But thank the Goddess that he hadn’t promised he would get along.

She’d fallen asleep in the well again, and he’d just lifted her out and put her in bed when he heard it.

His ears whipped up in every direction before he began scurrying on the ground like the feral beast he was. Two familiar voices. One thick with chuffing, one heavy in an opposite way.

“You are blind to oppose me! In just a few years I have completely revamped and revitalized this dusty old town.”

“Now listen here. I have nothing about how you choose to go about your business. But to completely ignore thousands of history just so you can go at your whim? I can’t allow you to tempt a dark history into repeating itself. Besides, your business can’t permanently disrupt the business of others, so you’ll either need to tone it down several notches or we’re going to have other chats.”

They continued on like this, just like usual. The spiteful tone had only returned fairly recently, and although she had originally been born here, she was not one of them.

“Daddy?”

It took all Link’s willpower from jumping out of the bush and revealing himself. When he finally processed the source of the noise, a small child bearing his pricked up ears was looking up at him with wide, moon-filled eyes. A rush of relief came flowing through him, as air left him in the same way. “It’s just you.”

“Whatchu doing, Daddy?” She crawled closer, whispering as she tried to peek at his view.

“I’m just patrolling, pumpkin. It’s past time for little pups to be in bed, what are you doing out?”

“Heard you growlin’.”

“People are yellin’, pumpkin.” He nuzzled the small child’s forehead. “Gotta keep you and Momma safe if they get out of hand.”

“Momma says you’re tree tired. You should go to bed.” “No, no, baby. Retired. And it has nothing to do with bedtime.” He bent over as much as his hips would let him. “We should get you to bed. Momma’s already asleep.”

“Daddy’s not sleepin’! No sleeping till Daddy go bed.”

“Okay, okay. But your momma is not gonna be pleased.”

“Climb on your back?” “Sure, pumpkin.” He bent down a little further to allow the small child access to his shoulders. Thankfully, he was able to get low enough to prevent his hair from being used as a ladder. “Let’s show ‘em who’s boss around here. Right, my little princess?”

“Mmhm! Daddy’s in charge!” She clung to the collar of his tunic as her father rose to all fours and began to trot towards the bickering pair.

“Ey!” The pair instantly silenced as Link came down the path. “Quit bickering, it’s late!”

“Ah, Grandpa. Sorry.”

“I thought it was understood that dark hours were quiet hours?”

Cece made a noise of indignance. “If such a matter exists, what’s with all the howling when the moon’s out?”

“I said ‘dark hours,’ not ‘night.’ Full moon doesn’t count.”

“What about moonless nights? You guys get rowdy then too.”

“That’s a ritual. Interrupt our funeral rites and I’ll show you just how good my patience normally is.”

Reede growled softly. “Cece. I wouldn’t advise antagonizing him.”

She ignored Reede’s warning. “So who gives you the authority to decide that one group gets to use the dark hours for events, and the rest of us can’t?”

“Excuse me? I am your King, Hylian!”

“Last time I checked, only female descendants of the Goddess had authority over Hylians, of which you are neither. And don’t get any bright ideas with the toddler.”

“Leave.” Link felt Reede nudge him.

“Don’t explode on her, Grandpa. It’ll just make her a martyr. Your wife’s got enough on her plate.”

Link rolled his eyes and growled. “I’ll deal with you next.” He then swung his head low, nipping underneath the hem of Cece’s dress until she began to pick up her feet and move. He then barked and snarled until he’d chased the irritant back to her residence.

Sophie had already come outside the boutique to meet them by the time he’d chased Cece to the door. “I’m sorry about her, Link. Thank you for not being harsher than you had to.”

Link’s daughter popped out from her father’s mane. “Good night, Miss Sophie!”

“My, you’re out late, Miss Zelda Ivee. Are you helping your dad?”

“Yeah! I help so he go to bed fast!”

“Aww. Are you going home too, Link? You know how your wife gets when you stay out too late.”

“Yeah, heading back to put myself and my princess here to bed. Cece was just causing a disturbance.”

“Be careful with your leg.”

His ears folded over themselves and he smiled a little sheepishly. “Got it, Sophie.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Link.”

Link whipped his head around to catch the sneaking-away Reede once Sophie closed her door. “I’m not done with you.” The elder Wolfbred cut off his descendant’s escape route, pressing his upper body down onto Reede’s left shoulder. “Your duty as mayor is to protect the village and its people, not to get shoved around.”

“Grandpa, Cece is technically a native here. Whether or not she’s legally considered a Wolfbred shouldn’t change how the village interacts with her.”

“It doesn’t. Her hostile attitude does. You know, before the Calamity-”

“Grandpa. Stop equating a monarch with an iron fist to a self-regulating settlement in a decayed kingdom. You’re never going to find any peace with your life if you keep expecting us to act like the Hyrule that was.”

“...Walk with me, Reede.” He released Reede’s shoulder and continued his four-legged walk alongside Reede towards the latter’s abode. “You say ‘it’s only one woman, what harm can it do to play along?’ but, it was ‘only one woman’ who created us all millenia ago, ‘only one woman’ who led genocide against us - who murdered us by the thousands as we were chased onto these lands - and ‘only one woman’ who saved us all one hundred and twenty years ago from incest-induced extinction. So tell me, Reede, how can this ‘one woman’ be of no significance?”

“Those women were all magic-”

“They never used their magic to do those things. They used their words. And I didn’t ask you about them, I asked you about her.”

“Link, if you’re so fearful that we’ll end up in exile again… that’s simply not possible. Most Hylians now are descended from Wolfbreds, because Hateno and Lurelin were the only Hylian villages that didn’t burn.”

“I never said she would reenact the exile. I said you have a duty to not get shoved around by brats with big words.”

“Grandpa, Zelda’s trying to figure it out. We’re not asking you to provide us a threat-free life. You did your job, you earned your rest. Let us take up the mantle from here.”

“Prove to me you can carry it, Reede, and then we’ll talk. My sister kept this place going despite the Calamity, despite the Age of Burning Fields, despite everything that happened after me and my father passed away. Prove you’re worthy to inherit her honor.” Link sat abruptly in front of a stone arch. “Your residence.”

Reede sighed, keeping his head bowed. Had a tail been present, it would drag the ground in defeat. “Good night, Grandpa.”

“Good night, Reede. Tell Clavia and Karin I say hello.” He began to walk away as Reede ascended the stairs to his house.

Zelda Ivee looked back at Reede before snuggling Link. “You seem sad, Daddy.”

“I’m okay, pumpkin. Let’s go join Momma in bed, okay?”

“Okay, Daddy.”

~~~~

Hyrule's Final Stand Masterlist

0 notes