#faolin gets a mention

[modern-inheritance]

*rattling my cage* since you asked for prompts, the Izzy sparring match you have in your masterlist as a story concept……………………………..

I could let you out, if you want. I'm desperate for interaction but not that desperate. I try to treat my readers nicely......

I actually have that already! I just forgot to transfer it over from my main blog. It was more of a story idea ramble, and I wordvomitted what I had in my brain about it out and onto the site.

I'll paste what I have here, and if you want me to actually write a story loosely based around it/the original idea (it has continued to live rent free in my head all these years, but I still haven't been able to properly write it) then I can try!

Pasted stuff is below the cut. I've not reread it, and there will likely be changes if you want me to write a proper story. Thank you for the interest!

Arya’s relationship with her mother in my Modern style isn’t fully fleshed out yet. To be honest, I still can’t understand Islanzadi’s character in canon, besides her being more showy and politically nuanced (and manipulative) and generally more flashy than practical. Arya, on the other hand, is much more practically minded and straightforward, something picked up from living ~7/10ths of her life with humans and dwarves instead of elves.

Anyway, back on to the thing at hand.

It’s mentioned by Roran in Inheritance that he sees Islanzadi fighting on the battlefield and that he’s impressed by her. He’s seen Arya fight, and while Arya’s a dervish in a fight and a hell of a warrior, he admits that Islanzadi is even more impressive to him than her daughter, implying that Islanzadi is a better fighter than Arya, who’s lived and breathed the battlefield for seventy years.

So while puttering around with some of my Modern Inheritance fics dealing with the two reconciling while Eragon trained, I started wondering if Arya knew/appreciated that her mother could actually fight. This lead to me toying with the idea of Islanzadi, rather out of touch with how to relate to Arya, laughs about never having a sparring match with her own daughter after all these years of watching her train with Glenwing, Faolin, Brom and Oromis, and pretty much challenges her. Arya’s a bit on the fence about it (seventy years of fighting vs her mother sitting around on a throne for like…over a hundred years doing nothing gives a big experience gap) but her own pride wins out because hey, this is something she’s totally sure she could beat her mother at and prove herself.

(this started as a humor short and then devolved into family drama/angry confessions and then later drunk confessions and angst. Oops.)

Brom catches wind of this and shows up at the private gym at Tildari hall with a large bag of popcorn and a huge goofy grin. Arya asks him about it, and when his only response is ‘I heard you’re going to fight your mum!’ she assures him that she’s going to pull her punches and go easy on her mother. This leads to Brom getting an even bigger smile and shoving popcorn in his face preemptively.

So Islanzadi and Arya face off and Arya closes in to make the first move…and is suddenly flat on her back wheezing swear words because what the actual fuck just happened? while Brom cackles. 

Islanzadi is mildly amused. 

Arya gets a bit ticked off, and they square up again, and to her credit the younger elf manages to last a few more seconds this time before she gets flipped literally head over heels and hits the mat again. More laughter from Brom, more confusion and sputtering from Arya, and a raised eyebrow from Islanzadi.

This goes on for hours. Arya keeps getting back up and refuses to admit that her mother can actually fight, while Brom secretly records her getting her ass handed to her in a small montage. Islanzadi comments after a while that she had expected Arya to have learned by now to stay down when she’s been beaten, which just leads to a few very violently aggressive bouts. Each time they fight Arya lasts a bit longer, until finally both Islanzadi and her get into a stalemate that Arya manages to win…using an underhanded trick she had learned from her years in the field. 

When Islanzadi gets angry about her use of deception and dishonor, Arya unleashes an angry tirade at her mother for staying in Du Weldonvardon while others fought and died to keep Galbatorix occupied and his attention away from the elves, especially since it’s now clear to her that yes, her mother can fight. Arya ends it by telling Islanzadi that she sure as hell won’t stay down because first off, it’s the only way she survived with her sanity and self worth intact in Gil’ead(Arya’s still very much grappling with the trauma and Islanzadi, while concerned and really loving her daughter, doesn’t know how to deal with it and just glosses over and past Arya’s captivity and the struggles that she still has out of fear that she can’t help her daughter), and second, she gets up every time and uses any trick available to her because she’s fighting for her life in the field instead of for sport and distraction from court and the day to day life in cushy seclusion.

Islanzadi lets her finish, then full on slaps her across the face hard enough to put her on the floor again. Tells Brom she’ll give him the same if he interferes and cooly tells Arya that she’ll be waiting in her office for her to be ready to talk to her like an adult and not an angry child and leaves. Brom helps Arya up, makes sure she’s not about to go full PTSD on him after being pinned and knocked around, and offers to help her back to her room. Arya just swears and tells him that she knows about his stash of elvish alcohol and that she really, really needs a drink.

Arya shows up her mother’s office later that night. Not as an angry child but as a drunk-as-fuck adult and her cheek still split open from where her mother had slapped her. Able to speak more freely about the last seven decades with some strong alcohol, Arya rambles to her mother the things she’s seen on the warfront. The lives lost, betrayals and alliances forged and broken, flickers of hope snuffed out and the crimes even she has committed for the possibility of freedom and equality in the distant future. She admits to being angry more because of her own, most recent failings: being unable to save Glenwing’s arm, watching Faolin fall, and the many times she was too weak to get back up in Gil’ead. She tells her mother that Faolin was her mate of several decades, a secret they kept from all but their closest friends, and that some tiny, defeated part of her whispers that if the queen had only refused Faolin’s request to be Arya’s guard then maybe he would be alive. 

She tells her mother that when Islanzadi mentioned her needing to learn to stay down, she remembered Durza mocking her with the exact same words, and was fighting him in her mind’s eye until a particularly solid right hook brought her back to her senses.

Islanzadi, for once, realizes that instead of injecting herself into it and trying to defend herself and her reasons, she should just listen to what her daughter has to say.

They end up in the cushioned alcove of Islanzadi’s office, Arya with her head in her mother’s lap and mumbling exhausted, drunken nonsense as Islanzadi strokes her hair. In a brief moment of clarity the younger elf asks when her mother stopped seeing Evander, Arya’s father and Islanzadi’s mate, disappear around every corner after he was killed in the Rider’s Fall. She’s been seeing Faolin and wants to know if the pain ever goes away. 

Islanzadi tells her it takes some time, but it will eventually stop hurting. When she sees that Arya has fallen asleep, she hopes her daughter was already out before she heard her lie.

~~~~~

Christ I just read a few lines and I'm cringing. Again, if you want me to try it proper like, just lemme know.

#mic asks #Modern Inheritance #inheritance cycle #eragon #the cyclists #Ket's Modern Inheritance Cycle #modern inheritance stories #the inheritance cycle

[weirdponytail]

Modern Inheritance: Night Terrors, Pt. 2

WARNING: While there are no torture flashbacks in this section, Pt. 2 continues to deal with PTSD, as well as some phantom pain and a character who lost a limb in combat. If you are uncomfortable with this, please do not read, as I do not wish to offend anyone. I understand that PTSD and phantom pain are very real issues that many have to deal with, and I have no first hand or even second hand experience with PTSD, only night terrors, and I am getting all my information regarding how someone might react during a PTSD flashback episode, how to help them during one and phantom pain from the internet.

Constructive criticism is very much appreciated.

Part 1 // PART 2 

~~~

Glenwing jerked, tearing himself from his waking dreams. He had heard the thunderstorm long before, and had not been bothered by it, but a new sound was echoing through his home. It was uniquely different from the storm outside, and the difference unsettled him.

Beneath the rumble of the thunder and the crash of the lightning he heard a faint 'thudthudthud' from his living area.

"Who the hell…" Concerned, the elf tossed off his sheets and pulled on a pair of sweats over his boxers. After more than seven months of learning how to do simple tasks both with and without his prosthetic, Glen managed to get the pants on only a few seconds slower than he would have with the prosthesis. He deftly pulled on a plain white t-shirt to cover the end of his scar covered shoulder, the prosthetic on its stand beside his bed, and made his way to the front door.

Instead of the louder bangs that he had heard earlier, the only sound emitting from the door now were a series of soft, regular 'thunk...thunk...thunk' noises. He frowned, confused, and peered out the viewer into the night.

It took him a long moment. He first only saw rain and brief flashes of lightning. Then he saw a sword lying in the mud, a shaking hand holding it in a death grip. A new sound, soft and pleading, reached his ears now that he was closer, and with a shock he threw the door open to the raging storm.

Arya tumbled into his home, drenched with rain water from head to toe and clothed in her casual, day-to-day combat gear. There was blood and mud on the side of her face, the red liquid gushing from where she had been repeatedly hitting her head on the door. Besides the cut she looked physically sound to him, so he crouched low to the ground and slipped his remaining arm under both of hers in a cross chest carry and gently pulled her fully inside the house.

Once she was inside Glenwing returned to a crouch and, supporting the woman's weight with his chest, slipped his head under one of her arms as shifted his grip to her opposite side. "Hey, can you hear me? Arya?"

"Let me die…." The woman's head lolled against his shoulder, eyes half open. "It hurts...can't do it again…."

"Not going to happen, Cee-Oh. You're a tough lil' spitfire of a lady, so we're going to stand on three, okay? One, two, three!" Glen heaved them both up, staggering as the added weight on his uninjured side nearly unbalanced him. He managed to get to the couch and fall backwards, wincing as his former commander's elbow dug into his stomach. "Good job, Ari. Good job." A flicker passed through Arya's eyes at the words.

"It hurts…" The woman gripped his shirt, appearing a little more aware of her surroundings. "Glen...I can't do this…."

"Take it easy, Arya. Don't worry, you're not alone. Can I take your jacket off? You're soaking wet." Arya shook her head, looking terrified at the very idea. "Okay, that's okay. Can we at least get you washed up, rinse out that cut on your he–"

"NO!" The shout came both verbally and mentally, a short spike of terror that left a sizable dent in his mental defenses. Glenwing leapt off the couch and away from his friend as a pistol suddenly appeared between them, torn from the belt slung haphazardly from shoulder to hip. "No water!" She shouted at him, a mixture of fury and pure fear on her blood streaked face.

Then the gun slipped from her fingers, the color draining from her skin as she wrapped her arms around her middle. "'Think 'm gonna be sick."

Glen carefully moved behind couch and to the kitchen and snatched up the bucket he used for cleaning. He came back around and set it in Arya's lap, grabbing the pistol and unlatching the belt as he did so. She didn't comment, only slid to the floor and dry heaved into the small bucket, coughing and sputtering as nothing came up.

When she finished, shakily curling into a half ball on her side, Glen sat cross legged next to her on the floor and leaned against the couch. "You okay?"

Arya shook her head. "It hurts."

"Your stomach?"

"Back. Head. Everything."

Glen nodded. Her difficulty speaking and combat ready attire had already clued him in on what was happening, feeling an ache in his chest as he watched her try to fight the flashbacks and phantoms in her head.

"Can I touch your shoulder?" He asked softly. The woman nodded, and when the male elf gently set his remaining hand on her arm she grabbed it and held onto it as if seeking a lifeline back into the present.

They sat like that for a long time, the rain pounding on the roof and the thunder rumbling through the forest.

Arya slowly seemed to relax slightly. Her grip on Glen's hand never released, but she moved closer to him, her upper back lightly brushing the outside of his leg. He took it as a sign that she was feeling a bit more grounded and asked, "Can I heal your head?"

"Yes." She mumbled, exhausted and pale. Whatever she had seen and felt had ripped through what little progress in sleep she had made, and it left her cold and shaking. "Please."

"I might need my kit." Glen told her softly, squeezing her shoulder. "I need to get up and get it. Will you be okay?"

"…Maybe."

"Do you want to hold on to something? Dog tags? A pillow?" The medic smiled as his former CO reached up and dragged one of the small pillows off the couch and released him. With her free hand she clutched at the dog tags around her neck, running her thumb over the raised letters of each. "Okay. I'll be right back."

Using slow movements Glenwing pushed himself up, grabbing the couch armrest for support. His knees and his lower back popped as he came out of the hunched position, and he rolled his neck as he retrieved his prosthetic from his room. The ruddy orange and white streaked limb locked on with a familiar click and hiss and the medic flexed his metal fingers, touching to tip of each one to his thumb in the now automatic check on the link to his nerves.

Satisfied with his findings, Glen opened his closet and pulled out a dusty backpack similar to the one Arya had in her room. He unlocked it with the thumb scanner and dug out his belt and the attached medkit, then grabbed an armful of towels. He was about to return to the living room, stepping out into the short hall, when the closed door across from his room caught his eye.

'That might actually help.'

A few moments later he was back at the couch, setting his collected items down. "I'm back." Arya nodded a little and Glen sat, patting his leg. The woman scooted closer and rested her head on the offered knee, familiar with the methods he'd had for caring for head wounds she or Fäolin would acquire in the field. "I'm going to ask you a question that might scare you. There's all sorts of debris in this cut. I can rinse it out with cleaning solution or I can clear it with magic."

Glenwing saw the other elf's throat convulse, and for a moment he was afraid she would slip back into her memories or start gagging again. Her eyes squeezed shut, and she gripped her tags in a white knuckled grip as she shook her head. "No…water. No water."

"Clear it with magic, then?"

"…Magic."

As Glen gently moved her mud caked hair away from the still trickling wound, his mind reverted back to that of the battlefield medic and bodyguard he had been before that night months ago. The cut wasn't deep, but like all head wounds it had bled profusely. The mud had helped stop the bleeding somewhat as it dried, and with a light touch he gently brushed the larger pieces of dirt away before breaching the flow of magic in his mind and murmuring a spell to remove the debris from the gash. Once it was clear, he set about healing it completely.

"There." Glen set his hand on Arya's arm as the last bit of skin flowed together. "All healed up." To his confusion, Arya shook her head. "Are you hurt somewhere else?" She nodded. "Tell me."

The woman hugged the pillow closer to her chest and buried her face into it, pulling away from her friend. "Back…Back's open again."

Glenwing felt a tingle shoot down his metal arm. There would be much more blood if the scars on her back had opened. He almost asked 'are you sure?' before he caught himself, one of his own memories giving him pause.

He sat in Rhunön's shop, remaining hand clenched at his hip as he screamed at the sky "It still hurts!" Then the wizened blacksmith had marched out from her forge, interrupted from shaping the plates of his prosthetic, and slapped him across the face hard, shouting for him to unclench his fingers. When he finally did she seized his hand and slapped it on the end of his stump, her rough fingers holding his in place.

"Feel that?" Rhunön had snapped. "It's gone! You have no nerves down there anymore. It hurts, I know. But you have to make your brain remember that it is gone." Glen had shivered and tears streamed down his face as he did as she told him, rubbing the thick pink scars that marked where his shoulder now ended.

And the pain had eased.

If it felt real to her, he had to show her that the past was not lingering in the present.

"Alright. Then we need to take your jacket off." Arya shivered but still eased herself up from the floor and pulled her arms from the sleeves, shedding the garment by tugging the hem on the back so that it fell from her shoulders.

Just as he had suspected, Glen saw no blood on her shirt as he moved to sit on the couch behind her. The wet olive green fabric was darkened by rainwater but showed no telltale, pitch-black patches where blood would have seeped through.

"Arya, I'm going to pull the back of your shirt up, okay?" Glenwing warned her as he brushed her loosened braid over her shoulder. When she gave a shaky nod of approval, he carefully pulled the cloth up until it was midway up her back and held out his hand by her side. "Give me your hand." When she paused, Glen touched two fingers where he knew the Yawë was inked into her skin. "Vae hávr yawë, fyrn-darmthral."

She relaxed, the undeniable truth of his words putting her more at ease, and let him take her hand.

Slowly, gently, Glenwing guided Arya's hand to the exposed skin of her back. She flinched when her fingers first brushed it, then sucked in a breath when he ran her hand over the first scar, the burns that raked her side. When she didn't react beyond that, he continued, letting her fingertips glide over the healed rents in her skin.

Finally, he touched her palm flat against the center of her lower back. Her fingers felt blindly for open wounds but only found scar tissue. Glenwing released his hold on her hand and let her feel along a nearly inch wide hypertrophic scar that reached to her hip, checking under her own control that what she felt was real.

After a long moment, Arya spoke, her voice no longer strained with pain but slightly disbelieving and oddly awed. "They never opened."

"They never opened." Glenwing confirmed, again abandoning his spot on the couch to sit next to her on the floor. "How do you feel?"

Arya was silent, then she grunted, "Sore as all hell."

"That's expected. You headbutted my door hard enough to make a Kull proud."

"I probably woke up half of Tildarí hall." The woman groaned and put her face in her hands, mortified, then pulled back with a mildly surprised expression. "I'm covered in mud."

Glen couldn't help but grin a little. "Yes. Yes, you are. You wouldn't let me clean you up. You, my friend, are in desperate need of a shower."

Arya shuddered from head to toe and her eyes flicked to the window, where rain continued to pour down from the heavens. "I don't want to be near water for a while." She rubbed her upper arms as goose bumps flared over her damp skin.

"Here." Glenwing picked up the jacket he had retrieved from the closed room.

His friend accepted it gratefully and pulled it on, then froze. Her pupils first contracted then dilated in a split second, and for a moment Glen feared his action had triggered another attack. Then Arya hugged her sides and tugged the hood over her shoulder, inhaling a scent that Glenwing couldn't detect and smiled slightly.

"This is Fäolin's, isn't it?" She didn't look at him with any anger or accusation, only a strange relief as if the scent of her lost love had chased away the final demon lingering in her mind.

"Yeah." Glenwing gently grinned back at her. "I figured you could use something familiar."

"Thank you, Glen." They sat together in comfortable silence, the fluffy towels bunched around them on the floor seeped in their body heat. "What time is it?"

Glen checked the digital readout on his arm. "Ah, almost Oh-Four-Hundred." Arya started to stand, apologizing profusely for waking him up in the middle of the night. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her back down. "Hey, hey, stay! I'm not letting you out of my sight for a while. You nearly beat my door in with your head, so I need to watch you for signs of a concussion." He chuckled. "I'll need your help fixing the dent you put in the paneling when morning comes, too."

Arya paused, considering it. It was still raining, and she didn't want to risk triggering another episode by going out in the deluge. Plus, she very well couldn't go back home until she had washed up, which might be some time in coming as the very thought of even wiping her face with a wet washcloth made her throat tighten. She could change clothes from the go bag she kept in Fäolin's room and just tell Islanzadí that Glen had called her over early in the morning for another lesson on how to repair his prosthetic. If she even asked.

"Okay, fine. Can I take the couch?" A flicker of confusion flashed across Glenwing's face, and he started to gesture back towards the closed room in the hallway. "I don't…I don't want to sleep in his bed without him." Arya murmered, jamming her fists into the pockets of Fäolin's jacket.

Glen's face softened. "Yeah. Yeah, I get that. You can take the couch. You know where everything is, right?" She nodded. "Okay. I'll keep my door open, so if anything happens all you need to do is call me and I'll be out here in a heartbeat. All set? Okay." He smiled and stood, patting his former commander on the head while she swatted his arm in good natured retaliation. "Good night, Arya."

"Glen, wait." He turned to see Arya leaning with her arms folded over the back of the couch. She touched her first two fingers to her lips. "Elrun ono, Glenwing-Vor, fyrn-darmthrell." And she added in the common elvish tongue, "For everything. You pulled me out of a second hell."

Glenwing bowed with his orange fist twisted on his chest. "Onr astorí, Arya, fyrn-darmthral." He straightened and moved into his room with a tired wave. "Sleep well."

And for the first time in weeks, she did.

Translations

(Most of these are very rough and cobbled together from words that are similar to what I was trying to convey with a few alterations, so it is not exact.)

Vae hávr yawë, fyrn-darmthral– 'You can trust me, war-sister.' Literally translates to 'We have a bond of trust, war sister.'

Elrun ono, Glenwing-Vor, fyrn-darmthrell– 'Thank you, Glenwing, war-brother.' Vor is an honorific for a close male friend

Onr astorí, Arya, fyrn darmthral– 'You're welcome, Arya, war-sister.'

#modern inheritance #modern inheritance cycle #inheritance cycle #modern inheritance story #eragon #arya #glenwing #night terrors #the two shot that started it all #well started this current and longest iteration anyway #ptsd #scars #faolin gets a mention #flashbacks #mic canon amputee character

[axe-trio-commanders]

The Whole Truth

Yeah, beginning of PoF was... rough, for Seremnis. That’s what happens when the commander disappears after fighting a deity in a volcano, though. Spoilers for PoF, lws3, and personal story, as well as mention of death, grieving, and a whole lot of not knowing how to communicate properly. Also Kasmeer!

---

It was... nice out, tonight. Seremnis supposed having less clouds in the desert was... natural. She’d heard, once, that somewhere out here they’d built an Astralarium- looked out at the stars from some form of impressive building. It... it’d been a little while since she’d looked at the stars- the real ones, since she’d begun simply replicating them in her dreams, but it was... she needed the comfort. And while it’d be... nice, maybe, to share the view with someone...

She’d only allow a small twitch of her ears in recognition of it, but she felt someone else approaching- familiar, not an enemy, but who exactly it was she wasn’t quite...

...Seremnis looked as they sat down beside her, hardly making a sound- recognizing with unhidden surprise that it was... Kasmeer, of all people. She’d doubted it would be Rytlock, but Canach... honestly, she’d been hoping to talk to him anyways.

“...Couldn’t sleep?” The mesmer asked, attention focused on Seremnis- who, on her part, looked back up to the stars.

“...No,” she answered, after some thought. It... didn’t seem smart to-

“Why not?”

...Well. There went that option. For a moment, she imagined it, floating off into the distance, on the wind... right into a forged camp... gone, burned to ashes... there it went. “...There’s a lot to think about.”

“...Care to be any more specific?”

Seremnis... tried not to wince at the irritation in her tone. It wasn’t like she could blame her- they’d just come out of Kormir’s temple, attacked by the follower of another of their gods- not to mention that Marjory wasn’t there. But... given what relatively little she knew about Kormir, she’d... expected Kasmeer to be the hardest to talk to out of all of them. She’d expect the truth. Likely all of it.

“...Not really.”

Seremnis didn’t have to look at Kasmeer to know the answer only made things worse, but... she wasn’t sure what to say. How exactly did she articulate the vast number of problems she was currently dealing with in an even vaguely succinct way?

“Seremnis.” ...Oh, pale mother help her... “I know Aurene trusts you. I know the commander... trusted you.” Seremnis dug her fingers into the sand, tensing. The commander wasn’t gone, she was just- ...missing. For now. They’d find her. “But I find it hard to trust you to lead us when you never tell us anything.”

And... there it was. Honestly, she expected it sooner, but... she supposed there hadn’t really been time until this... long roadtrip north. And as much as she’d stayed up at night thinking about it, she was... no closer to a solution.

“...You could... find someone else,” she eventually suggested.

“Now? In the middle of a desert, chasing after the Herald?” Kasmeer responded dryly.

“I’m not going to start listing off secrets because you asked me to,” Seremnis muttered back.

“And why not?”

“It’s not that simple.” Seremnis paused, noting the bite in her own tone and forcing it back down. “...I am... aware that this is... a lot. And I am also aware that we see the matter of truth differently.” Seremnis finally looked back at Kasmeer, trying to judge how she was... taking that. She didn’t look... happy, or... convinced, but it wasn’t... worse...? “...You... follow Kormir. A god of truth. You’ve worked as a detective for... a while now, discovering truth.”

“...And you’re in Whispers?” She said it like it was an excuse she’d heard too many times before- and Seremnis bristled, forcing her own mouth shut until she’d managed to calm herself down again. She still... wasn’t exactly comfortable with anyone knowing that, but... it probably was inevitable, at this point.

“...And I awoke into the cycle of Night,” she continued, doing her best not to grit her teeth. “We can see the value of truths, yes, but also the value of secrets. There are things certain people are better off not knowing.” ...Examples, maybe? Examples might help. “Our firstborn luminary, Malomedies, is an astrologer and mathematician- he finds truths, though it’s... difficult to get close enough to him to get him to share them in earnest. And... Caithe is a night bloom as well.”

“...Didn’t Caithe keeping secrets end up hurting?”

“Not all of them. If she’d told everyone what sylvari were much earlier, you would have-”

“No. Mordremoth I understand, to a point, but you said yourself that she never told you about Faolin.”

Seremnis... paused, unsure of how to respond for a moment. “...I learned anyways.”

“But don’t you think it hurt her, not to tell anyone?” Seremnis refused to look at her, but she could still feel Kasmeer edging closer. “The truth is a risk, but so are secrets, and you’re keeping so many that none of us have any idea who you are. You’re only going to hurt yourself if you keep that up.”

“Then I’m the only one hurt, and you don’t have anything to worry about,” Seremnis concluded smoothly- becoming aware, rather immediately after, that this was probably the worst way to respond.

“I have you to worry about! I have Dragon’s Watch to worry about! How in the six can you not see this is a problem?”

Seremnis shifted in place, uncomfortable. “It’s not- that I don’t see it, I...” She trailed off, desperately trying to find some way to justify this.

“Then why haven’t you fixed it?”

“...I don’t... know how,” came the final... pathetic answer. It was an excuse, and it was a terrible one, and she... honestly hated that it... really was the entire truth of it.

A long, and... heavy silence followed. Seremnis didn’t quite care to see what Kasmeer thought of it- nothing good, she was sure- but... she was sure Kasmeer would need more than that to believe it.

“Like... like I said, I was... born in the night cycle. It doesn’t... trusting someone with the whole truth doesn’t come naturally to me like it does you.”

And, then... more silence. Was- was that not what she’d wanted? Was it something else, was it not enough? She didn’t know any better way to explain it, she’d never known how to explain...

“...That must make finding close friends hard.” ...Seremnis looked at Kasmeer in disbelief, trying to verify what she’d just heard. Not even the words themselves, really, just the... lack of anger, the... even her expression was so soft all of a sudden.

“I... suppose,” she managed, hoping to whatever happened to be listening that Kasmeer wouldn’t notice the slight increase in bioluminescence.

“Could you see yourself trusting me like that?”

“I... I don’t know. It only seems to happen out of obligation.”

“And afterwards?”

“...Try not to lose them.”

She... hated this. She hated faltering like this, not knowing what else to say- shouldn’t they want her to at least act like she knew what she was doing? Inspire confidence? She wasn’t- she wasn’t Zori. She couldn’t lead a group, couldn’t bring people together by accident like she seemed to, she... oh, pale mother, she wished Zori hadn’t disappeared... she took a long breath, rubbing at her face with the heel of her hand, trying to think of ways to change topic.

“...Is that all you came here to ask?” Seremnis eventually asked, noting, and not really fighting, the tiredness that crept into her voice.

“No, but it’s a good start,” Kasmeer answered evenly.

“To... what, exactly...?”

“Understanding you. Difficult as it might be, you’ve told me a lot.”

Seremnis looked over to her again, warily. “...Like... what, exactly...?”

“That this is... difficult, for you. Trusting. Just keep in mind that, while I’m sure some secrets you’re keeping for good reason, you don’t have to keep all of them.”

She looked away again, looking out into the vast sands, spotting some fires beyond it. “...I’ve listened in on enough conversations to know they’ll all come out eventually.”

“...That doesn’t have to be a bad thing.” A pause, and Seremnis heard her shuffle a little closer. “So I’ll ask again. Why are you still awake?”

“...Why are you?”

“Seremnis, please.”

She rolled her eyes, then focused on the middle horizon again. So she had to do this, then? ...Fine. It... it shouldn’t be this hard. Just pretend it was...

...Demmi.

...Her hand unconsciously rose again to her opposite arm, squeezed a little. Still, before anything good came, and... mother, there was so much more of it- still, emblazoned in her mind was the bloodstained carpet, Demmi’s face so much paler than it should be, and even when she closed her eyes the feeling of life force ever so slowly fading even when she was trying so desperately to keep her there, just a little longer, she still had so much to say...

...It took... a little less time, now, for it to... pass. The feeling of something trying to escape her throat, an emptiness in her chest... homesick for a home that she hadn’t awoken to. She wondered if she’d recognized the feeling of home when she had it. She... wondered if, had she the time, she would’ve mourned Tybalt like this. She hadn’t even seen him die...

“...I’m not meant for this.”

It wasn’t... everything she could have said- she couldn’t protect them, she wasn’t strong enough to lose them even with how little she still knew them, after everything- how was she supposed to lead when talking to Kasmeer had been so hard-? ...Would she... ever have anyone like Demmi to talk to again...? Someone who already... knew, accepted... everything... she only realized, upon a glimpse of Kasmeer’s concerned expression, that her own eyes felt wet. And, upon noticing, she’d force herself to take a deep breath- notice, with irritation, that it shook- and close her eyes, focusing again. What... had she said, again...? 

“I’ve never... lead before.” A pause. No, that wasn’t... entirely the truth, was it? Oh, mother, if she hadn’t met Albas, she would’ve never trusted a mesmer like Kasmeer with... 

Seremnis took in a breath, let out a breath. Kasmeer would see through that. “...Not... well. Not without casualties. I... I can’t be the commander.”

She caught Kasmeer smiling a little. “...You know, I don’t think she thought she could be either. I’d always guessed that’s why she asked us to call her by name.”

Seremnis paused, then smiled a little herself. “I’d thought it was because she wasn’t sure any of us actually knew it.”

Kasmeer laughed, and Seremnis... found herself smiling a little easier. She... deserved to laugh, after everything that’d happened. Maybe they all did. Maybe... maybe she was doing something right, here.

“At the time, she was probably right.” Kasmeer shook her head. “But- point is, you don’t... quite need to know how to do this.”

Seremnis stiffened- noticeably- at the feeling of another hand’s fingers touching her own, light and hesitant as the touch was.

“...You’ll have us with you. Everyone here’s got your back on this, alright...?” Kasmeer continued.

Seremnis... pulled her hand away, slowly, but nodded. “...Right.” She... supposed she already knew Canach did- as smooth as he played it, she knew he’d been waiting for them; one didn’t just casually go to Amnoon, legal gambling or not. And... being honest with herself, he... might know more about her than anyone else in this guild. She... she really should find time to talk with him later- but for now... 

She pushed herself up, brushing some sand off of herself- not like it’d get all of it, but it was an attempt- and, one last time, looked up at the stars.

“...Kasmeer...?” She began, faltering slightly. How did she say...

“...Mm?”

“...Thank you.”

#kasmeer meade #seremnis #pof spoilers #lws3 spoilers #personal story spoilers #look there's a lotta spoilers #sylvari #tw death #let's be honest they both probably need hugs at this point #but i mean zori's coming back eventually so they're definitely getting hugs #once she's... less on fire #gw2 #gw2 writing #gw2 fanfiction #whoops this took like... two weeks #and i didn't even get into the /real/ angsty stuff like i was planning to #not... sure i really wanna write that out #i do wanna write about cats tho #so that might come soon

[guildwarsstartrekskyrim]

Play the way that makes you happy

In the same vain as Guild Wars 2 has a death problem and Faolin vs. Joko, this is more on the player side of things.

This came to me last night while I was out hunting up resources in Guild Wars 2 because I want a full set of ascended armour for Flintlock. There was a conversation between players who seemed to be having a heated discussion about the game’s different aspects.  Someone had mentioned that if you don’t play raids, there’s no point in playing the game.  I didn’t say anything, just kept gathering resources, but it got me to thinking.

That statement about raids is completely false.  Whatever way you want to play is fine.  You don’t have to play the way that others play.

Stupid meme is relevant.

Guild Wars 2, like any MMO, has a wide range of aspects for players to play.  The main story, the exploration, the quests hearts, hero point challenges (which you kind of need to get, to be honest), world vs. world, pvp, fractals, dungeons, raids and even the crafting and collections for achievements.

The way you want to play is the only way that matters.  If you like raiding, great.  If you don’t, that’s fine too. If you would rather obtain ascended armour through fractals instead of crafting them, then that’s fine too.

There’s no right way or wrong way to play the game.  That’s true of any game.  The way that you enjoy playing the game should be the only thing that matters. No one can tell you what parts of the game are more or less important than the any other aspects of the game. Everyone has a part of the game that makes them happy.  And in a game like Guild Wars 2 there’s even Fashion Wars (admittedly, this is true of any game).

The way that you play the game is up to you.  If that makes you happy, then that’s all that matters.  And this includes how a person role plays their character (which is also a viable way of playing the game).

Some people like their rp in taverns, some out on the open road, some like more light hearted rp while others are more keen on serious and even darker aspects of rp.

Aside from enjoying the way you play and enjoying the way you rp, its important to recognize that other people may not play the same way.  And that’s fine.  Just don’t ridicule someone for the way they enjoy playing the game.

#stuff #things #opinions #game play #role play #Guild Wars 2 #GW2 screenshots

[modern-inheritance]

What are some headcanons/MIC Canon things about Arya as a kid?

Soooo many! Unfortunately my brain isn't cooperating now (or for the weeks since you asked this, sorry for the delay Books!!) but I've put in the ones that stick out the most. I'll definitely revisit this and add more via reblogs as time goes on!!

Young Modern Inheritance!Arya

Arya frequently climbed out of windows and into the trees instead of leaving via doors. It drove Islanzadí crazy, since if there was an argument between them and she was distracted in any way for a millisecond Arya would scamper out the window with a parting shot and wouldn’t be back for hours.

Glaedr frequently compared Arya to (and called her) a wild hatchling. Oromis and others who had contact with dragon hatchlings tended to agree with that comparison.

Arya played with Faolin a lot, forming a strong friendship with him well before she left for the Varden. He was around 4-5 years older than her and lived in one of the smaller villages not far from Ellesméra’s outskirts. While not quite as much of a wild child as Arya, they both were rambunctious and got into all sorts of adventures and trouble together when they weren’t occupied with lessons. They tended to spend nights outside just to keep playing in the morning.

Young Arya hated brussel sprouts. Like it was a physical fight for islanzadi to get her to eat them. But if Oromis made them, she’d eat them. Neither Arya nor Islanzadi know why his tasted better.

It’s hit on in The Promise, but smol Arya seemed to have two different almost personas. The first is when she’s with her mother out in public: Quiet, wide eyed and drinking in everything around her, always trailing a respectful step or two behind. Paolini mentions in his (I think) Post-Brisingr audiobook interview that one of the reasons Arya is so quiet at times is because her mother would speak for her when she was younger, overruling or speaking over her (I think he was saying Islanzadí was extroverted while Arya was just naturally more introverted). Islanzadí in MIC does the same, but Arya balances this by approaching people directly when her mother isn’t around to speak her mind, set the record straight, and started doing this from a very young age. When able to be herself, young Arya was a wild child, asking questions, climbing all over everything, making things.

Arya was taught primarily by Oromis and Glaedr in general education as well as swordplay, but much of her swordplay was taught by Brom and she developed her own initial style by mixing theirs while practicing on her own. Her firearms training was more taught by Brom and a few other elves.

Rhunön learned pretty quick that she couldn’t chase Arya out of the forge. She mostly let Arya watch as she worked, occasionally letting her help with refueling the forge, making charcoal, and other small tasks before teaching the kid how to do basic repairs on equipment. As a side note, Rhunön was the one who helped develop Arya and Elf Squad’s spidersilk jackets. In Arya’s case she also implemented the remains of a very battered armored leather jacket that someone in the Varden had gifted her. Rhunön has a soft spot for Arya, but she’s not ever going to admit it. Arya learned a LOT of mechanical and engineering stuff from Rhunön as a kid, leading to her future successes in sabotaging Broddring artillery and helping build artillery for the Varden and helping to maintain some of the remaining dwarvish tanks that the Varden had at their disposal.

It’s not solid yet, and not exactly young Arya, but there is some sort of relationship between Islanzadí’s side of the family and one of the Forsworn. I’m not trying to be cliché! Lords-of-the-Empire had a good idea for it and it’s been in the works a long time to iron out the cliché bits. No promises on when or if that will ever be out.

As mentioned in The Promise, Arya constantly followed Brom around when he would come back to Ellesméra. Asking him stuff about the war both current and past, examining his gear, getting stuff like books and materials from him from the outside world, and as she got older they would spend hours talking out the most recent issues mechanical and political that were plaguing the Varden.

Arya’s skill with teleportation spells started young. Young elves and elflings are very strongly connected to magic, their emotions and states of mind occasionally bleeding out through subconscious spells (Again seen in The Promise). Arya’s first (accidental) use of the spell nearly killed her, and to prevent such an accident from happening again Oromis taught her the theory behind it and the words so that it would be less likely to slip. Despite her age Arya understood it and, after years of carefully supervised practice, became a master at pinpoint teleportation. Which is why she’s so miffed about ‘messing up’ when Saphira’s egg appeared to Eragon, and relieved when it was later shown to be meddling that caused the massive deviation.

Glaedr occasionally ‘babysat’ for a toddler/young Arya. It reminded him of watching over the hatchlings during the Rider years, especially with the girl’s wild streak.

Thanks for the ask as always, Books!! :D Always appreciate your support and questions!! I'll definitely keep adding to this as time goes on, so keep an eye out!

#Modern Inheritance #inheritance cycle #eragon #the cyclists #Ket's Modern Inheritance Cycle #arya #arya drottningu #young arya #oromis #glaedr #islanzadi #queen islanzadi #modern inheritance lore #modern inheritance ask #modern inheritance asks #Books

[weirdponytail]

Modern Inheritance headcanon/story ramble to get it out of my brain

I’m a real sucker for Inheritance cycle if it isn’t already apparent, and like a lot of my Huntik fics I tend to write the stuff that happens ‘in between’ all the big stuff and whatnot for my modern inheritance cycle drabbles.

Arya’s relationship with her mother in my Modern style isn’t fully fleshed out yet. To be honest, I still can’t understand Islanzadi’s character in canon, besides her being more showy and politically nuanced (and manipulative) and generally more flashy than practical. Arya, on the other hand, is much more practically minded and straightforward, something picked up from living ~7/10ths of her life with humans and dwarves instead of elves.

Anyway, back on to the thing at hand.

It’s mentioned by Roran in Inheritance that he sees Islanzadi fighting on the battlefield and that he’s impressed by her. He’s seen Arya fight, and while Arya’s a dervish in a fight and a hell of a warrior, he admits that Islanzadi is even more impressive to him than her daughter, implying that Islanzadi is a better fighter than Arya, who’s lived and breathed the battlefield for seventy years.

So while puttering around with some of my Modern Inheritance fics dealing with the two reconciling while Eragon trained, I started wondering if Arya knew/appreciated that her mother could actually fight. This lead to me toying with the idea of Islanzadi, rather out of touch with how to relate to Arya, laughs about never having a sparring match with her own daughter after all these years of watching her train with Glenwing, Faolin, Brom and Oromis, and pretty much challenges her. Arya’s a bit on the fence about it (seventy years of fighting vs her mother sitting around on a throne for like...over a hundred years doing nothing gives a big experience gap) but her own pride wins out because hey, this is something she’s totally sure she could beat her mother at and prove herself.

(this started as a humor short and then devolved into family drama/angry confessions and then later drunk confessions and angst. Oops.)

Brom catches wind of this and shows up at the private gym at Tildari hall with a large bag of popcorn and a huge goofy grin. Arya asks him about it, and when his only response is ‘I heard you’re going to fight your mum!’ she assures him that she’s going to pull her punches and go easy on her mother. This leads to Brom getting an even bigger smile and shoving popcorn in his face preemptively.

So Islanzadi and Arya face off and Arya closes in to make the first move...and is suddenly flat on her back wheezing swear words because what the actual fuck just happened? while Brom cackles. 

Islanzadi is mildly amused. 

Arya gets a bit ticked off, and they square up again, and to her credit the younger elf manages to last a few more seconds this time before she gets flipped literally head over heels and hits the mat again. More laughter from Brom, more confusion and sputtering from Arya, and a raised eyebrow from Islanzadi.

This goes on for hours. Arya keeps getting back up and refuses to admit that her mother can actually fight, while Brom secretly records her getting her ass handed to her in a small montage. Islanzadi comments after a while that she had expected Arya to have learned by now to stay down when she’s been beaten, which just leads to a few very violently aggressive bouts. Each time they fight Arya lasts a bit longer, until finally both Islanzadi and her get into a stalemate that Arya manages to win...using an underhanded trick she had learned from her years in the field. 

When Islanzadi gets angry about her use of deception and dishonor, Arya unleashes an angry tirade at her mother for staying in Du Weldonvardon while others fought and died to keep Galbatorix occupied and his attention away from the elves, especially since it’s now clear to her that yes, her mother can fight. Arya ends it by telling Islanzadi that she sure as hell won’t stay down because first off, it’s the only way she survived with her sanity and self worth intact in Gil’ead(Arya’s still very much grappling with the trauma and Islanzadi, while concerned and really loving her daughter, doesn’t know how to deal with it and just glosses over and past Arya’s captivity and the struggles that she still has out of fear that she can’t help her daughter), and second, she gets up every time and uses any trick available to her because she’s fighting for her life in the field instead of for sport and distraction from court and the day to day life in cushy seclusion.

Islanzadi lets her finish, then full on slaps her across the face hard enough to put her on the floor again. Tells Brom she’ll give him the same if he interferes and cooly tells Arya that she’ll be waiting in her office for her to be ready to talk to her like an adult and not an angry child and leaves. Brom helps Arya up, makes sure she’s not about to go full PTSD on him after being pinned and knocked around, and offers to help her back to her room. Arya just swears and tells him that she knows about his stash of elvish alcohol and that she really, really needs a drink.

Arya shows up her mother’s office later that night. Not as an angry child but as a drunk-as-fuck adult and her cheek still split open from where her mother had slapped her. Able to speak more freely about the last seven decades with some strong alcohol, Arya rambles to her mother the things she’s seen on the warfront. The lives lost, betrayals and alliances forged and broken, flickers of hope snuffed out and the crimes even she has committed for the possibility of freedom and equality in the distant future. She admits to being angry more because of her own, most recent failings: being unable to save Glenwing’s arm, watching Faolin fall, and the many times she was too weak to get back up in Gil’ead. She tells her mother that Faolin was her mate of several decades, a secret they kept from all but their closest friends, and that some tiny, defeated part of her whispers that if the queen had only refused Faolin’s request to be Arya’s guard then maybe he would be alive. 

She tells her mother that when Islanzadi mentioned her needing to learn to stay down, she remembered Durza mocking her with the exact same words, and was fighting him in her mind’s eye until a particularly solid right hook brought her back to her senses.

Islanzadi, for once, realizes that instead of injecting herself into it and trying to defend herself and her reasons, she should just listen to what her daughter has to say.

They end up in the cushioned alcove of Islanzadi’s office, Arya with her head in her mother’s lap and mumbling exhausted, drunken nonsense as Islanzadi strokes her hair. In a brief moment of clarity the younger elf asks when her mother stopped seeing Evander, Arya’s father and Islanzadi’s mate, disappear around every corner after he was killed in the Rider’s Fall. She’s been seeing Faolin and wants to know if the pain ever goes away. 

Islanzadi tells her it takes some time, but it will eventually stop hurting. When she sees that Arya has fallen asleep, she hopes her daughter was already out before she heard her lie.

JEZUS FUGGIN CHRIST HOW DID I GO FROM A HUMOR SHORT TO THIS JACKED UP STUFF?!

#modern inheritance cycle #modern inheritance #modern inheritance story #arya drottningu #islanzadi #a hint towards my never written out but planned-for mild alcoholism that brom has while in Ellesmera #arya's a bundle of sass in the day and a ball of ptsd knives guns and flashbacks at night #brom MIGHT have shown eragon and saphira the clip of Arya getting flipped over her head at some point #izzy has trouble balancing being politically manipulative and being a supportive mum #she's learning #really...really slowly #later they spar again and arya doesn't give her time to do anything #just straight up punches her lights out in one hit #sits next to her waiting for her to wake up like 'how's that dirt taste your majesty?' #'if you're gonna take out a king might as well start with a queen first' #'ya alright though?' #and izzy actually finds it kinda funny #i dont know how adult mothers and daughters joke around i wish i did though #angst bitches