#i have so much written for them in regards to their canon plot and then like a LOAD of alternate universes where they are just

[sqlmn]

Literally in love with these two and have been since like 2016.

Ego and Serenity!

Ego is a prince and at a young age is engaged to Serenity who is actually an energy alien taking human form. At first, Ego hates Serenity and Serenity understands this and keeps his distance and stays incredibly formal... which only infuriates Ego more. Over time, Ego admits that Serenity is his friend and “well, I guess you default to best friend since you’re all I have” which absolutely ruins Serenity because he really cares for Ego but he knows that the entire engagement is fake. He knows there’s no future between them and that once he can no longer hold his human form he’ll be of no use to Ego and his family.

And eventually, after 20 years of being engaged, Serenity is too weak to appear human. Thus ending the fake engagement and crushing Ego’s heart because he lost his best friend and the guy he had dedicated his future to.

(Then they get to reunite while Serenity isn’t able to appear human and it’s really alarming at first because Ego is terrified of anything supernatural/unusual but the second they start talking it’s really nice and Ego realizes he really loves Serenity and he doesn’t mind this weird blue energy form of his if that means they can still see each other. Then Serenity does his best to recover and appears one day to Ego as a human again and they literally just love each other so much you guys they’re meant to be.)

#princely matters #literally the oc otp im not even sorry guys i love them #i have so much written for them in regards to their canon plot and then like a LOAD of alternate universes where they are just #super happy and they always get together they really are just made for each other i love them #and i didnt draw him any and i didnt mention him but ego has a younger brother named extreme ... #and extreme can make portals and go to different lands and only serenity knows and he doesnt even tell extreme he knows

[nobodyfamousposts]

Why Scarlet Lady Is Better Than Canon: Lila Rossi

I had mentioned before at length regarding my distaste, dislike, and dissatisfaction with the character of Lila Rossi in Miraculous Ladybug canon. A character so horrible, so poorly written, and so two dimensional that I did not think it was possible to make any iteration of her I wouldn’t dislike.

And yet it seems @zoe-oneesama has come through for me yet again in Scarlet Lady by taking what was quite possibly one of my biggest issues and most despised characters within canon and with only a few changes, turning her into something enjoyable. Dare I even say…likable.

More than that, even. It says something when my least favorite character in Miraculous Ladybug canon can somehow become one of my top favorite characters in a different variation of it. 

It’s because Zoe shows an understanding of the characters and what makes them engaging, and other than SL Adrien, it shows the most in the form of SL Lila.

See, Canon Lila Rossi is a selfish, manipulative, egotistical, petty, and self-centered liar.

Scarlet Lady Lila Rossi, on the other hand, is a selfish, manipulative, egotistical, petty, and self-centered liar.

Now I’m sure all of you are looking at those two sentences and noting that they’re the same thing. And you are right. That’s the point! Because the difference between the two versions isn’t who Lila is but rather in how the narrative and writing treat her and what Lila ends up doing because of it. And it’s why Scarlet Lady is superior in its handling of Lila.

Lila in Scarlet Lady is not a good person. Nor does she become a good person. She admits that she lies for fun and just to see how far she can take it. She’s fully on board with continuing her lies and trying to fool her mom and the school to get away with staying out of school for a year. This is all in lines with regular Canon Lila and shows that they are still the same person, it’s just the events and situation and narrative that differentiate them. It’s in how the Scarlet Lady story handles Lila and her character.

For the sake of convenience, I'm going to be using Scarlet Lady to refer to the comic itself and Scar to refer to Chloe's hero identity specifically.

Let’s review and compare Lila in Scarlet Lady to canon:

1. Lila in Scarlet Lady is NOT a plot device. 

She doesn’t need to be. It’s clear that the plot is and has been moving forward on its own without her. Even if Lila were to have been removed from Scarlet Lady altogether, it’s pretty evident from everything else that’s been happening that we would still be getting to some plots and story points without too much difference or delay.

Scarlet Lady has a natural progression. The story and characters aren’t so rooted in the status quo that sudden additional character like Lila or Felix are necessary to throw in just to move things along. And Lila isn’t simply forgotten about when she’s not needed to do so. She doesn’t vanish without an explanation only to return also without explanation just to be able to force the plot to move.

Events within a story can be dependent on the characters, but the plot itself should not be dependent on what feels like a third party to show up and force things to happen when they should already be happening. That speaks of bad writing.

Canon Lila existed for the purpose of getting the Grimoire into Marinette’s hands so she could be the one to take it to Fu and learn about the Guardian and Miraculous secrets, as well as to be a future helper to Hawk Moth. Up until that point, the plot had done nothing with Fu and had done nothing to move things forward in learning about the Miraculous or why Hawk Moth would want the specific two. And after Volpina, the episodes that feature Lila are the ones that display more plot progression or involve Hawk Moth having layers to his plans. Lila only appears when she’s to be used to further a plot, then disappears until needed again.

In Scarlet Lady, by the time Lila appears, it’s already clear to Adrien, Plagg, and Fu that Scar is a horrible person and that she had no business being a hero. It’s also clear that Adrien is handling the hero work on his own and needs help. This is part of what causes Adrien to know that Lila is a liar and call her out on his own because in addition to Lila stealing his book, he already knows Scar well enough to know Lila’s story of Scar saving her would never happen. Lila isn’t the reason they find this out, nor is she the reason that the book is discovered and gets to the Guardian because Plagg chooses for himself to take Adrien to Fu. And afterwards, Lila’s appearances are more natural. Plot progression happens with and without her. Her appearances involve her interacting with her classmates like a person. They don’t have to have a plot-relevant purpose.

Narratively, there are three reasons to put in a scene.

Plot

Expansion/information/character focus

Entertainment

In canon, all of Lila's scenes are plot-focused and plot-driving.

In Scarlet Lady, they vary. Some are plot (like Lila's anti-Scar attitude getting more focus and validity over time). But more of Lila's scenes are focus in on her character and entertainment. This builds Lila as a person and makes her enjoyable to watch.

Lila is not a plot device as the plot doesn’t NEED her to progress. But that’s not to say that Lila doesn’t matter…

2. Lila has a role that nobody else in the story could cover.

As I’ve stated before, Canon Lila is pretty much another Chloe and there was nothing she was used for that Chloe couldn’t have or wouldn’t have been able to do. As a rival/foil to Marinette, as another love interest for Adrien, and even as a helper to Hawk Moth—by the time Lila started any of these roles, Chloe was already there and fully capable of filling them.

In Scarlet Lady, due to Scar being the hero Lila is butting heads with and being outted earlier on, SL Lila ends up not filling those same “roles”. She’s not a rival to Scar or Marinette, just a hater/critic of the former and a friend to the latter. She was called out by Adrien so she is shown to have no further interest in trying to pursue him. And as of yet, there has been nothing of Lila helping Hawk Moth.

Instead, Lila’s scenes show her engaging with the other classmates. More of the results of her being revealed as a liar. Her being a queen of sass and snark. And most importantly, her going head to head with Chloe and Scarlet Lady in verbal lashings that prove her silver tongue is no duller for people knowing of it.

In fact, she’s a part of people starting to realize that Scar is in fact horrible and her popularity starts to break down. 

Yes, yes, we do have both Adrien and Marinette who realize how horrible Scarlet Lady is and hate her, but other than some snarky comments at her expense, they don’t do much about it. Mostly because they can’t. Especially early on, it’s clear that they’re forced to keep Scar around because as useless as she is otherwise, she is the only one who can purify the akuma and undo the damage. And as Fu has told them, Scar is still too popular with the city that trying to take the earrings from her would result in more problems. The two of them have to focus on dealing with the akumas more than trying to deal with Scar. Plus let’s be real: even as snarky as they both can get, they’re just too nice.

Others are also similarly of no help. Alya is still completely wrapped in Scar’s facade of a hero to see how selfish and unheroic she is. Most of the other classmates also go along with this narrative. But even the ones who DO know like Alix and Nino aren’t that active. They know but they don’t do anything with that knowledge.

Lila has no such barriers. She’s not a hero. She doesn’t know how “necessary” Scar is in akuma battles. And she doesn’t have to worry about not upsetting Scar since the “hero” already hates her. And thanks to Marinette and the other classmates with their “we still care about you for you” bit, she now has no reason to put up a mask…or a filter.

This makes Lila in prime position to try to push more against Scarlet Lady’s popularity and talk at length about how horrible she actually is. Something she is MORE than happy to do.

Lila is essentially the first main civilian hater of Scarlet Lady.

And with that in mind…

3. Lila’s actions are reasonable. Perhaps not intelligent, but they are reasonable.

She commits a number of the same acts as canon in Volpina. Stealing Adrien’s book, buying a necklace to be a fake Miraculous, trying to claim herself as the hero’s best friend for attention, and trying to claim she is a hero herself to get Adrien’s attention.

SL Lila is not a master manipulator or an up and coming villain. We are not expected to view her as a real threat to anything except Chloe’s ego.

Sure, she wants to speedrun the popularity and attention and maybe a nice rich blond boytoy to be her arm candy, but it’s clear in the very first comic she appears in that Lila has NO IDEA what sort of people she’s interacting with or telling lies about, and so has no way to prepare for what happens. First in that Adrien is so DONE with everything that he calls her out himself from the get go. Second in that Scarlet Lady appears to “save” Adrien from Lila’s lies when it was no longer necessary, proclaims aloud to the multitude of bystanders that Lila is a fraud, and then dumps her in a fountain for good measure and further insults her to boot. And at the end of it all, Scar doesn’t apologize for her actions, doubles down, and only further insults Lila. And as if all of that wasn’t bad enough, still being wet AND being on top of the Eiffel Tower results in her getting sick.

As such, Lila’s hatred of the Ladybug Hero in this version of events feels more understandable and based on a legitimate grievance. Several even. Scar’s actions go well beyond canon’s version. We clearly see how hurt and humiliated Lila is. Plus we have all of Scar’s previous antics to look back on and…well, we already came into this with more reason to hate Scarlet Lady than Lila, and Lila simply jumped on the bandwagon that was already there.

It also makes more sense then that Lila never even pretends to forgive Scar. Scar never apologized. She caused emotional and physical harm to Lila. And unlike Ladybug, Scar never tried to make an offer of friendship so Lila isn’t losing out on any opportunities out of spite. Heck, Scar’s treatment of Alya shows us that there is nothing to be gained from even pretending to be a fan of Scar. So Lila’s hatred of Scar is understandable and her refusal to be friends with Scar makes perfect sense.

When she hides away at her home, there’s a valid reason behind it due to her being sick. Her “plan” to fool her mom and the school in order to avoid going back also makes sense given the fallout she knows she would have to face if she did. (At least more sense than it made in canon for her to disappear for months just because Ladybug outted her to one guy who clearly seemed to be on her side more and neither of them did anything to inform anyone else of the truth.)

And when she returns to the school and the classmates, it isn’t out of nowhere. Once she was no longer sick, she was planning to continue some ruse. We clearly see how despondent Lila was over her situation and the feeling that she’s on her own and no one would side with her over Scar. This was deep. It shows real fears and feelings on Lila’s part. And it’s telling that it was the assurance from Marinette and support from her classmates that convinced her to rejoin the class. It doesn’t look like she would have had the willingness or perhaps the courage to do so if Marinette hadn’t reassured Lila that they had her back and had taken steps to try and help her, even when she wasn’t there and as of yet had done nothing to warrant it.

Here we see a Lila who is vulnerable and real. Who is clearly impacted by events on a deeper and more personal and meaningful level—or at least better than “GRR! Superhero revealed I was lying about her to a boy I like! I shall join the terrorist attacking the city and potentially destroy the WORLD for revenge!”

In this way, Lila is portrayed more like a normal girl. Since the narrative isn’t trying to play her off like she’s supposed to be some master manipulator the way canon does, Lila for all intents and purposes IS a normal teenage girl. A normal teenage girl who was humiliated and injured by someone with more power and social status than she can fight back against. She’s less of an archetype and more of a person with her own thoughts and feelings and ultimately choices which—even if we don’t like or agree with, we can at least see and understand.

Her actions are reasonable. Not just in that we as the audience can empathize with them but that they make sense. For Lila’s character, for her personality, and for someone in her position.

4. No plot armor.

SL Lila’s plans don’t just seamlessly work out. If anything, they go very wrong very quickly. Even before Scar calls her out, Adrien already made it clear that he knows she’s a liar. This effectively ruins her plan to try and get his interest and not just in the “Adrien being nice but not in to her” way. Furthermore, as she’s revealed as a liar in front of the entire class, we clearly see some of her classmates (Alya) continue to take issue with her later on. And even the ones who don’t have such issues are at least fully aware of Lila’s personality and don’t allow her to fool or manipulate them.

Sure, she still tries to manipulate her mom and the school to avoid having to go back, but that doesn’t last that long. And in Lila’s defense at that period of time, she was legitimately sick as a result of her dip in the fountain.

So it’s pretty clear that Lila lacks the plot armor that she had in canon. But it’s not just that Lila experiences losses, it’s also in the ways she succeeds. And unlike Canon Lila, SL Lila is not reliant on the plot to accomplish anything or make things work in her favor.

Some classmates still consider her friends. She’s still welcomed back—even with a bit more trepidation than before. She gets some epic zingers on Chloe and Scar. She got to have another interview with Alya just to be able to go on at length about how horrible Scar is. She manages to get on live TV just to heckle Scar. And over time, more and more people are seeing the problems with Scar.

Lila still gets some victories. Certainly not as many and not as big as what she gets in canon, but at least they don’t feel so forced. And they’re entertaining to see.

Which delves a bit more into an additional point I wanted to make…

5. There are consequences and responses to Lila and her lies.

With Canon Lila, everyone is in this weird sort of limbo where they automatically believe Lila JUST ENOUGH to not question her but at the same time NOT ENOUGH to actually follow through with some of her lies. In Chameleon, Lila claims to have and then magically be cured of Tinnitus and Bustier believes her just enough to rearrange the seats for her at her will but not enough to require some doctor’s note or confirmation of either the presence or recovery from the medical issue—even in the event the former could be overlooked, the latter could NOT and any school or teacher worth their salt would require SOME proof to discontinue an accommodation for someone with a disability because that would be a liability. In Ladybug, Lila claimed Marinette pushed her down stairs and the adults believed her just enough to admonish Marinette but not enough to get Lila actual medical attention, which is a liability and gross negligence. In Ono-chan, Nino believes Lila’s lies about needing Adrien to help tutor her just enough to give her an opening to go to his place but not enough to follow through, check up on her afterwards, or reasonably consider that maybe the supermodel with the super strict father might not be the best person to tutor her and he should ask for help from Max or Sabrina instead?

Each and every time, Lila is believed in the exact way she wants to the exact extent that would most benefit her with minimal effort on her part when it shouldn’t work that way. Even if we disregard how stupidly obvious many of her lies are, there is something wrong when they believe her enough to trust what she says over anyone else telling them otherwise but not enough to follow through on what that belief should then involve. They believe her when she says someone pushed her down the stairs but not enough to get her medical attention? Make sure she has no broken bones or internal bleeding? This has the issue of ruining the suspension of disbelief and making it look like the problem isn’t Lila being amazingly smart and evil so much as it is everyone around Lila being infuriatingly stupid and negligent.

Scarlet Lady nixes that problem in one episode by having Lila be revealed as a liar immediately, but furthermore follows up on it and the fallout of those lies. Nothing big or major or life-ruining—it’s middle school, after all. But the impact is still there.

Even episodes later, we see effects of Lila’s earlier lies. Chloe of course keeps referencing them in their encounters and yeah, it is reason for no one to really take Lila’s word against Scar’s—at least at first. Alya and Adrien both give her some pretty evil looking stares, showing that even five episodes later they both still very much remember what she did and do not approve of her getting free jewelry. Alya in particular stands out. She is shown to bear such a grudge against Lila for lying on her blog that she holds no sympathy for her being sick. And in the second intermission, she looks physically pained when she has to ask Lila for an interview on why she hates Scar. Something she had apparently sworn she would never do again after being fooled the first time. And something Lila looks completely overjoyed to do. There are people who are angry with Lila. They have every reason and every right to be. But it doesn’t have to mean the end of the world for her. It just means that there needs to be something.

The classmates don’t have to be made out to be stupid to make Lila work. They are canonically very kind and forgiving people. But canon makes them come off that way more because the lack of continuity seems to erase the lessons of previous episodes or somehow make them forget that certain people are horrible.

Zoe fixes this and a lot of problems in canon by having not just the classmates but EVERYONE in Paris remember and respond to things that have happened previously, even if just in little ways. Given how little room Zoe has to work with, this is HUGE. Simply adding comments here and there puts the scenes from canon in a new light and makes the classmates feel more fleshed out and like…dare I say it: PEOPLE.

The difference from Canon has a lot to do with how everyone else reacts to Lila, which makes these other characters and Lila appear more real and like fleshed out people rather than caricatures who only exist and move as the plot requires. They don’t have to bash Lila or try to light her on fire for it to be clear that Lila isn’t a good person and that there are consequences to her actions.

This is all leading up to the real possibility of…

6. Character arc?

It says something that contrary to most expectations, Lila is not what one would consider to be redeemed in Scarlet Lady. Lila is not a good person here just because she rejoins the class and becomes their friend and Zoe at no point tries to pretend that she is.

Marinette and other classmates made the choice to reach out and try to befriend Lila, but unlike most other arcs in other stories, this doesn’t result in Lila being redeemed. And she in no way got Lila to admit she was wrong and try to be a good person. 

Lila is not necessarily forgiven or absolved of what she did. Nor is anything Lila did magically erased. All Marinette did and all she had to do was encourage Lila to not run away now that the truth was out. She helped convince her to return to the class with everyone fully knowing what she’s done and the type of person that she is and move forward with that. She informs Lila that despite her lies, there are people in the class who genuinely care about her and are worried about her. 

Hell, it’s not even all up to Marinette. We see Alix sending messages to Lila encouraging her to join the class for Marinette’s birthday party. Sabrina fully admitted to inviting Lila to that party. Same with Rose, who has also been expressed to be worried about Lila. There are members of the class who are shown to care about her and who were noted to have made an effort to help Lila even after what had happened. Because they consider her a friend despite what she did, and that’s what friends do. All they asked was that Lila stop with the lies, stop with running away, and give people a chance.

And the result is the more mellow but passive aggressive Lila Rossi we see in Scarlet Lady. Not a Lila who is a good person or who is redeemed. This is a Lila who is at least honest with everyone about the sort of person that she is. She’s not pretending like she was in canon. She’s not being fake. She’s not putting on a mask of niceness anymore. This is a Lila who is fully acknowledged by everyone to have been a liar, to still be very selfish, and in some ways...a bad influence.

With a few episodes left, perhaps there is more we’ll see of Lila’s development and who she’ll become. Maybe we’ll get to see her take the steps to become better. To be a good friend, a good person, and maybe even a better hero than Scar. I don’t know for sure just yet what Zoe has planned for a character like Lila, but I do know what I see here:

A good start.

#ml analysis #scarlet lady #scarlet lady is better than canon #lila rossi #lila salt #for zoe #merry christmas

[irafuwas]

Love that Lets Go Summary: Lilia Vanrouge has witnessed the rise and fall of great nations, has criscrossed the world, traversing distant realms strange and unknown, but never before in his life has he faced a challenge as grievous as this: parenting a teenager. Or: Silver stops calling Lilia "Papa", and Lilia loses his mind. Content Warnings: blood, explicit language, contains depictions of animals being hunted and butchered, canon divergent Pairings: There's like one reference to past Lilibaul, but otherwise, none. Length: 38k (Header artwork from here)

You can either read it after the cut or on AO3!

A/N: I began working on this fic last summer, right after I finished Electric Dreams, and was able to complete the general outline and write about a third of it before I promptly abandoned the project for over half a year. By the time I started working on it again this past January, Book 7 had progressed greatly on the JP server, and pretty much everything that I'd written regarding Lilia's background and his involvement in Mal's upbringing/their relationship had become uncanonical in the meantime ://// I decided to go ahead and keep those parts in the story unchanged from how I had them last summer, partly so I wouldn't have to rework the plot, and mostly because I am lazy. So the setting is more or less the same as the game, but with some major changes in Lilia and Mal's pasts, with no major Book 7 JP server spoilers for those wishing to avoid them.

I.

It was a speculative day, the kind that could not fix upon a proper humor or color, hesitating in turns between the brilliant bustle of spring and the sultry lull of summer. The morning air was thin and cool, not unusual even that late in May, but several months would pass by that afternoon, so that a sticky July heat would descend upon the valley once the sun reached its zenith. In the evening, there would be a light rain. All this the boy Silver calculated as he stepped outside.

The sky above him was a perfect meadow of morning glory and larkspur, bordered by a flourish of honeysuckle and cockscomb as golden-red as amber sap. He thrust his hand high above him, wishing for a moment he could pluck one of the dandelion clouds from its indigo plot and press it for his collection. It would be his secret treasure, and he would not reveal it until his friend Sebek next designed to inflame him. He carried within his mind a catalog of every expression and shade his friend could take, and this he now opened and paged through while he wandered towards the pig pen and lean-to that stood opposite his home, contemplating what combination of flush and scowl the other boy would respond with. He smiled at his private entertainment while he walked.

He was one of the few beings awake on that land. An industrious blackbird chirped quietly off in the distance, but the surrounding forest was otherwise silent, the pine trees and giant firs still dozing in the early morning shade. He was not, however, lonely; nor was he in want of more. His heart was light, and it gently thrummed with the same anticipation that had slipped into the hearts of all the valley’s creatures as of late, just as the sunlight slipped into their skin. May was an in-between month, an intermission, a time for Nature to enter her great chrysalis and prepare for the summer months to come. She would re-emerge sometime in late June, the earth’s prodigal daughter carrying in her arms the red-ripe wildberries she’d hang in the thicket all around him, the bright yellow coreopsis and vetch of the softest pink she’d set down in the meadow near his home, and the pearl white blossoms she’d drape across the canopies of the sweet bay beyond the fields. And she would beguile, too, the whip-poor-wills into beginning their annual summer serenades, allowing the robins and the orioles to retire from their heraldic duties at last, having spent several weeks announcing the season prior.

“There are two summers,” his father had once explained to him years ago, when he was very small. He held up two fingers while he spoke. “There’s the summer that starts on June 1st every year. That one’s based on dividing the calendar into four periods of three months each.”

“Three months each,” the little boy repeated with a nod.

“And then the other summer, the real one, starts on the solstice.”

“When’s the solstice, papa?”

“Easy,” the man grinned, “it’s when summer starts!”

The boy memorized this and all his father’s other teachings as his catechisms, and he knew, based on his observations, and based on all he'd ever learned from his masters - his father and the stars and the entire natural world around him - that the solstice was but a few short weeks away. This knowledge captivated him, and when he awoke at twilight each morning, he would spend a few minutes lying completely still in bed, nearly holding his breath, listening for those first few notes of the whip-poor-will’s call.

After releasing the animals from their detainment, he watched as the small procession of cows and pigs and chickens trod dutifully into the adjoining pasture. He would wait to fill their troughs later; each creature would automatically find for itself its morning fare amongst the acres of dew-wet grass – on this day the milk cow and her calf selected a patch of dark green clover for their breakfast, and the pigs beside them dined noisily on tall stalks of chicory, their pink brows misting over with sweat as they feverously chewed. The chickens, however, quickly stumbled upon a single, tender petunia they had overlooked all month. Gathered around the shining lilac jewel, they could not decide who amongst them would be permitted to destroy it. A forum was immediately convened, with each hen arguing her case in turn, and Silver gathered their eggs while they debated. Their hues were as soft and as delicate as a watercolor wash; some were tawny brown and speckled, others a faded green or blue. They reminded him of river stones, and they felt as smooth as clay in his work-worn hands. Each one he gingerly wiped against his pant leg before depositing into his wicker basket.

He had, for a time, believed – largely due to his father’s persuasions – that a bird’s diet determined the color of its eggs, and he’d spent one summer collecting armfuls of nasturtium, cone flowers, and bright red peonies every single day from the meadow by their home, attempting to invent an egg as ruby red as his father’s eyes. But while the chickens had delighted in their daily carmine feast, his efforts proved fruitless, the egg shells failing to develop even the slightest indication of a blush. When the truth of his father’s scheme was revealed later that fall, Silver had not rebuked him. He'd only blamed himself for being deceived, and for neglecting to include some beautyberries and rosehips into his mix, secretly believing that this was the true genesis of his failure.

The chickens resolved their quarrel by the time his basket was full. In celebration, he scattered a few handfuls of scratch over the ground for them. The bits and pieces of grain could not have delighted the small party more even if it had been the rice thrown for nuptials, and Silver turned and left them to their devices.

On slow days, when he had little else to do but drink in the air and watch the sun move across the sky, he liked to sit in the pasture and listen to them talk. The tall grass would form four walls all around him, and the hens would often come sit next to his verdant cabinet, offering to him their confessions through the screen of sorghum and fescue. They were perfect in their gesticulations, and he particularly enjoyed the mechanical way they moved their heads; it was as though invisible strings were jerking them this way and that, moving not unlike the marionettes his father had once brought home on one of his travels. There was, overall, a hilarity to their character that he missed in his other animal companions – the cows were too listless, he thought; the pigs, too cavalier.

The pigs he favored the least. He had helped his father erect a new fence along the south side of their property last summer, working sun up to sun down for over a week, and it had taken only a single afternoon for one of the boars - newly purchased with money his father didn’t have to spare - to rip a hole through the wire mesh and lead his brethren into the open forest, never to be seen again. He had been with his father the morning the vandalism was discovered. It was one of the few times in his life he’d seen the man angry, and he had been unsympathetic towards the species ever since.

He glanced at them occasionally while he backtracked to the vegetable garden beside the cottage, quickly looking away when they returned his stare. He walked around the fence that protected the garden, giving it a cursory inspection before stepping inside. There hadn’t been any break-ins yet, but he had noticed the shallow, hoof-like indentations that would sometimes manifest in the soil around the gate, and he could tell, too, that something heavy had been pressing itself against the fence posts lately, evinced by the unnatural angles a number of them were now inclined. However, the pigs defended their innocence with a brazen confidence that stupefied even his father, and the animals had so far been spared of any further interrogation.

He entered the gate and filled the watering can sitting by the pump. The alternating rows of green and orange and red and yellow buds dotting the area convened into a checker pattern, as though one of Ma Zigvolt’s gingham dresses had been spread out over the ground. He carefully stepped over and around and in between every sprout and seedling, dancing, almost, as he worked through each row, providing only just as much water to the young plants as they demanded, pausing only when he reached the tomatoes. His father was severely particular about them, fussing over the vines like a sculptor would his block of clay, and would, at the end of every season, declare that he had grown the "best tomatoes this side of the valley", but as he was one of few fae who grew them, and perhaps the only one who enjoyed their tart taste, his countrymen gladly indulged him in his boasting. Silver tilted his watering can and aimed the stream into the soil around the base of the plants, avoiding the foliage as he’d been instructed. He hummed to himself as he continued his ministrations, his thoughts drifting brightly towards the harvest to come.

Soon, there would be fresh corn pone and hoe cakes and yellow squash fritters fried in pools of marble white pork fat, heaping bowls of piping hot green beans sauteed in pats of golden yellow butter, and tender, fresh baked apple dumplings topped with a creamy homemade vanilla glaze, all washed down with the coldest, sweetest lemonade the valley had to offer. And he and his father would make preserves – of everything; jams and jellies from the wild raspberries and blueberries they’d gather from the forests, and from the bushels of strawberries now growing in their garden, and they’d pickle cucumbers and beets and radishes and fennel and bell peppers and cabbage; the tiny root cellar under their home would transform into a museum over the summer - its shelves filled to the brim with rows upon rows of glass jars containing their colorful fermented treasures, with giant slabs of dark red elk meat and pale pink sausage links hanging from the hooks lining the ceiling, and pounds of wild-caught bass and catfish curing in salt baths on the floor, nearly every specimen in that small space a self-contained microcosm of bacterial delight.

Silver was not one to favor any season over another; he found pleasure in the flora and fauna of his surroundings all year round. But so long as his father was strictly supervised in the kitchen, it was summer fare that delighted him more than anything else, and he wished every day for the watermelon and the strawberries to ripen faster, and for the honeybees to finish constructing their summer combs.

A pine warbler’s sharp trill snapped the boy out of his daydreams. The sun had at last emerged above the umber line of the horizon, and the golden edges of the sky were rapidly fading into a soft baby blue. The land was rapidly beginning to awaken. He could hear the low drone of the honeybees as they pushed past him on their way to the meadow, and the goldfinches warming up for their morning performances in the forest yonder. He hurried to complete the rest of his chores, invigorated by a mixture of excitement and hunger and still that same dull throb of anticipation in his heart.

When he was finished at last, Silver lay down on the grass, tucking himself under the blanket of fog that hung low over the ground. He could hear only the cows lowing and the chickens murmuring and the wind brushing up against the pine trees. And if he lay still enough, he could hear even the earth itself breathing. If he pressed his ear against the damp soil, he could hear the planet exhale, could hear the molecules of water vapor rising through the air, lifting themselves off the slick blades of grass, unifying and condensing into the wave of fog that rolled across his body. His world was now perfect. And it remained perfect for half an hour longer, until his father threw open the cottage door and called him inside for breakfast.

The air grew warmer and warmer as the morning languidly transitioned into afternoon. Pleased that his prediction had been correct, he suggested to his father, Lilia, that they begin making their way to the Zigvolt's before it grew too hot, and the man agreed. The mass of burnt scrambled eggs his father had prepared for breakfast still festered heavily in Silver's stomach, and he quickly wolfed down a plain butter sandwich and an apple for lunch. His gangly body could get by on very little, and the Zigvolts always had refreshments at the ready, anyways. He grabbed his knapsack from his room and accompanied his father out the door. Together, they followed the dirt path that led from the clearing into the forest.

Lilia had settled down there decades prior, appearing in the neighboring town one day with little more to his name than a few gold coins in his pocket and a raggedy shawl strewn across his back. He'd been a drifter for decades, having retired from the local military under circumstances he never cared to divulge, and while some of the townsfolk were glad to welcome him home, most others thought him a stranger. A pack of these skeptics descended upon him one evening, cornering him in the run-down hostel where he'd been temporarily residing. They poked and prodded him with their questions, asking him why he had left and where he'd been to and why he'd now suddenly returned, at times turning away to whisper amongst themselves, as though evaluating a head of cattle. To each of their scathing rebukes he simply replied, "Doesn't matter anymore." He repeated those three words like a mantra, like a prayer to exorcize the specters gathered around his bed. His defense was as solid as a leaden curtain, soundly deflecting each and every one of the inquisitors' attacks, and when they finally scattered that night, rendered stupefied by their defeat, Lilia gathered up his sparse few belongings and vanished amongst them.

He ultimately bought his property from a man who'd recognized the name "Lilia Vanrouge", but not the mysterious little creature attached to it. The landowner was however only glad to finally rid himself of the place; it had been sitting vacant for years, long overgrown with its own miniature forest of brambles and weeds, and he was easily dismissed with what little money Lilia had to offer. There was a dilapidated cottage the last tenants had left behind, as well as the rotting remnants of a barn that hadn't been touched in ages, and the water pump, rusted over from decades of unuse, snapped in half the first time Lilia tried to use it.

He began making renovations immediately. He patched up the roof on the cottage and spent a week removing all the cobwebs and rat nests he could find inside. He cleared out the overgrowth suffocating the area and tore down the old barn, erecting a lean-to for his cows and a coop for his hens in its place. He sectioned off a small plot of land next to his house for a vegetable garden, and sowed his new fields with the fervor of a devotee. Decades of working the land yielded a soil heartier and more robust than anything the locals ever seen, as though the very earth itself was repaying him in kind for liberating it from its long imprisonment. His tomato plants bore him perfect rubies bigger than his fists. His corn and his wheat stood like giants, towering high above his head. He found his heart lifting up and growing lighter and lighter together with the green stalks soaring up into the sky. All these things slowly grew in tandem with his household - he'd added another wing to the cottage when he took in Silver, and the garden, having more than tripled in size since it was first built, now produced a far greater variety of colorful fare than Lilia could have ever imagined. It was, in all, a meager living - a little home with little in it, the glass jar of rainy day funds sitting above the fireplace never to be full, always repairs around the property to be made, always hand-me-down clothes and toys to be mended - but it was enough for the man and his child, regardless.

When Silver grew older, Lilia began letting him operate the homestead on his own when he went traveling, a leisure he'd picked up in his older age. He would leave Silver a list of rules to follow and projects to work on while he was gone - in addition to his regular everyday chores - which he adjusted for each season, such as chopping firewood in the winter, and making preserves in the summer. But above all, no matter the time of year, and barring an emergency, he absolutely forbade Silver from leaving their land. Lilia had marked off a boundary for him years ago: the river to the west, a felled oak tree to the north, the meadow to the south, and the base of the nearby mountain range to the east. Lilia trusted his son, minimally, to the extent he had no doubt the boy could procure the food and water needed to keep himself alive when left alone. But the mountains and the deep forest and even the castle town he did not trust, didn’t believe in the sincerity of the light that flooded the silent earth bordering their home.

Five miles separated the Vanrouge’s homestead from the Zigvolt’s home. Five miles that cut through the forest that extended far beyond Lilia’s land. As such, Lilia would supervise his son's travels to and from his friend’s home. They only ever walked - teleportation magic gave Silver extreme vertigo, and Lilia found his powers could no longer cover the long distance as easily as in his youth. But it was a pleasant journey, and the pair quietly admired the same mass of towering pine and spruce trees they'd admired hundreds of times before as they continued down the winding road. The forest was handsome in its late spring attire, adorned in a thick flush of bright green foliage, and the charming white faces of the star flowers and wood anemones peeked at them from amongst the undergrowth as they passed by. Overhead, a symphony of chaffinch and dunnock calls accompanied the gentle stir of the treetops brushing against each other in the wind.

Silver often called on the Zigvolt’s. The youngest of the three children, a boy named Sebek, was the only non-animal companion he had his age. They had first met a number of years prior, when Sebek apprenticed under Silver's father, and while their rivalry had been immediate, their friendship had formed only slowly, over years of tense acquaintanceship. Sebek had held a grudge against Silver since the day they’d met, or possibly longer - that much Silver had been able to determine, but he could never puzzle out what he’d done to injure him so. He was frequently agitated - over Silver’s abilities, his actions, the clothing he wore, the way he walked and the way he talked. He was “wound up tighter than an eight-day clock”, as his father would often laugh. Had Silver grown up interacting with more children his age, had he an index against which to measure his friend’s volatile attitude, then he would have understood that Sebek was simply a very immature boy – he’d not yet outgrown his foot-stamping tantrums and his jealous remarks, but there was never any true venom behind his words, only that primal, juvenile desire to convince himself and the adults around them that he and Silver were equals. But Silver liked him, at any rate; there was only so much one could do to persuade a rabbit or a songbird to gambol with one, or to explore make-believe worlds that stretched far beyond their animal imaginations, and Sebek was as eager a daydreamer as he. Even a child’s heart can be a guarded thing, as Silver’s was, having matured in a world comprised of only a small handful of faces and an even smaller stretch of land, but he’d long placed Sebek in that corner of his heart only his father and Malleus and the blue birds and honeysuckle otherwise occupied, and he cherished his friend for his outbursts and rare affections, both.

It was an “off day” for the boys - neither had any training exercises scheduled, and Silver looked forward to their rendezvous. He figured they'd be spending most of the afternoon outside, in light of the pleasant weather. Later in the summer, when the heat would spoil their entertainment, they'd move indoors, reading comics and old almanacs together in the Zigvolt's parlor, sprawled out like a pair of lazy tomcats on the cool hardwood floor. And if he was lucky, Ma Zigvolt would invite him to stay for dinner (he was always too shy to ask). She was one of his strongest allies, and had rescued him from his father’s well-meaning meals on more than one occasion. He kept his fingers crossed as he walked, hoping she and Pa Zigvolt wouldn't be staying late at the dental clinic they operated.

Once they entered the deepest part of the forest, Lilia cleared his throat, signaling that he was about to speak. Silver braced himself. His father was a habitually cheerful and easygoing man, able to make merry with nearly anyone that crossed his path, but the man's good humor came at the cost of his interlocutor's, at times.

First, Lilia asked what plans he had with Sebek for that afternoon.

"Not much."

Lilia shrugged off the curt response. They'd crossed several miles already, and the afternoon heat was prickling at his fair skin. He chastised himself for neglecting to bring a hat. He next asked, smiling broadly this time, hoping both to coax his son and to take his mind off the heat, if Silver was excited for all the fresh vegetables they'd soon be harvesting from their garden.

"I guess."

Still not discouraged, Lilia dispatched his probes once more, asking if Silver had any requests for dinner, and whether he'd read or heard anything interesting lately, but the boy deflected each one with a “Yes”, or a “No”, or an “I don’t know”. Silver had recently discovered that the briefer he kept his answers, the quicker he could get his father to stop talking, and this observation proved itself true once more, the man quitting his examination a few moments later. A feeling of discomfort prickled at his skin as the heat did his father's; the perfection of that morning a few short hours ago now seemed to him like a distant memory. They walked the rest of the way in silence.

By and by, the dirt road transitioned into a gravel walkway, and the Zigvolt’s farmhouse at last came into view. It was a noble building - tall and spacious, constructed from dense heart pine lumber, the eggshell white finish still shining brightly after so many years, with a towering red brick chimney that rivaled the surrounding cottonwood trees in their noble height. An amber light glowed softly from one of the windows. Silver and Lilia stopped before the stairs leading up to the front of the wraparound porch, where a clothesline heavy with freshly washed bed sheets rocked gently in the breeze. Ma Zigvolt was known to perfume her wash, and sunny notes of bergamot drifted down to them in waves.

The pair said their goodbyes, but when Lilia leaned forward to kiss the boy’s cheek, Silver moved away, ducking and turning around so quickly that Lilia stumbled as he fell through the empty air. He steadied himself hastily, his arms whirling for a moment before plummeting to his sides, his puckered lips collapsing into a frown. The rejection stunned him. His mind hastily reassembled and played back the insult it had just witnessed, finally ascertaining after the third repetition that he had not just been struck.

Wide-eyed, he croaked, “Silver?”

The boy took a step towards the house, his back turned to Lilia. “I’ll see you later,” he grunted, as though struggling under the weight of his father’s heavy gaze. And then he stormed up the porch, threw open the front door, and disappeared inside without a second glance.

Lilia stared imploringly at the silent house, but it offered him no answers. He shook his head and sighed. “The hell’s been going on with him lately?”

Sebek’s older sister Iris emerged onto the back porch carrying a tray of milk and pound cake. She set the tray on a small table by the door and began arranging the glasses and plates. She’d been away from home the past year, busy with her university studies, but had returned for the summer. Her absence had been difficult for the family – for Sebek most of all. 

Though he was now the apple of her eye, Iris had been opposed to the idea of a younger brother at first. She’d spent the first few months of her mother’s pregnancy curled up against the low swell of her belly, regaling the child - her new little sister - with all the fantastic plans she had in store for the two of them. But when her parents returned from a doctor’s appointment one day, a set of grainy monochrome photographs in hand, and they announced the baby was, in fact, a boy, she felt the faceless black thing staring up at her from the pictures had betrayed her. She staunchly refused to address her mother’s stomach for the rest of the pregnancy.

Ultimately, Sebek entered the world as an absolute bear of a baby, all rolls and dimples and folds and milk white skin that smelled as sweet as honey. The first time Iris saw him, he was dozing open-mouthed, lying curled up on the pillow of his mother’s breast. He looked like a dollop of pure butter, and with that single glance the girl was thoroughly convinced of his perfection.

As the baby matured, growing conscious of himself and of the world around him, his burgeoning mind, incredibly receptive to every new stimulus that entered his environment, quickly took note of his sister’s eager affections, and it wasn’t long until he ascertained that his incapability was the trick to his own allure. A halfhearted grumble would earn him a kiss, for example; a miserable wail, liberation from his crib. It was almost cunning, the way he’d play the fool for her, wrapping her tighter and tighter around his plump little finger with every feigned ineptitude he devised. “Oh, Sebby!” Iris would laugh, scooping his doughy mass into the cradle of her arms when he'd whine to be held. “You’re just a helpless little thing, aren’t you?” And the baby would bat his cub paws at her and smile his gummy smile, as if to say, “Just you wait and see!"

When their brother Horace, the eldest of the three siblings, moved into his own apartment in the castle town a few years ago, Sebek had been secretly pleased, for their mother now looked to him for help with splitting firewood and mending the fences and tilling the garden. He knew his father could not be entrusted with such things - Linus Zigvolt was a kind and good man, but he was also foolish. And boring. And unforgivably human. Sebek’s mother and his sister - and his grandfather, when the man was in an affable mood - were the center of his juvenile universe. His father and brother merely orbited them. And whereas Horace’s departure had been no more noteworthy to him than the changing of the seasons, his sister had taken with her a sense of stability he still hadn’t grown accustomed to living without.

She was a tall, muscular girl, with a broad, handsome face that was rimmed by the family’s trademark scales. A star member of her school's track and field team, she had recently broken the district's shot put record, a fact which her parents and grandfather had been proudly mentioning at least once every day since. Although soft-spoken, like her father, she was also in possession of a tongue as caustic as her mother’s, and more than one naïve suitor had abandoned his endeavors a much meeker man than when he’d met her. Her long, green hair was bundled in two intricate fishtail braids that trailed down her back – a style popular amongst valley girls her age – and she brushed away a loose strand from her face as she straightened out the napkins. Her mind dimly registered that she'd need to schedule a trim before returning to school.

Content with her work, Iris turned to the garden and cupped her hands around her mouth, shouting, “Sebby! Silver! I brought you guys some snacks!”

The boys rose from behind the jumble of cardboard boxes they’d been working on taping together. They raced each other to the porch, politely offering Iris their thanks as they sat down at the table. Silver gingerly cut into his cake, careful not to scatter any crumbs. Iris had always thought of him as bird-like, with his wiry frame, and his too big head that hung so awkwardly from the end of his long crane neck, and she was struck once again at his meagerness as he pecked at his meal.

After observing them for a few moments, she asked, “Why’d you drag all those boxes into the yard for, anyways?”

“That’s – I mean – ‘Tis our fortress!” Sebek explained between mouthfuls of cake. “We’re defending our home from those wretched ne’er-do-wells yonder!” He pointed towards the garden with one hand and shoveled another piece of cake into his mouth with the other.

Iris followed the line of Sebek’s outstretched finger. Beyond its glaze-covered point lay a pair of rabbits, lazily nibbling on a patch of grass by the boxes.

“Ooh, so you guys are playing pretend again?” She smiled as she put her hands on her hips. “Are you knights this time? Do you want me to be, like, your damsel in distress again or whatever?”

Sebek’s face reddened. “Sissy, stop it!”

Iris laughed and pinched his cheek. He resigned limply.

“Don’t worry, I won’t interrupt your little fun.” She turned away, and then added, “I’ll be in my room, so just shout if you need anything.”

Sebek huffed as his sister closed the door behind her. He scrunched up his round little face and balled his fists. His cheeks were permanently ruddy, flushing darker or lighter depending on his level of agitation, and it was clear by their scarlet hue that Iris's words had hurt him. Silver pushed his empty plate away and stood up.

“Come on, Sebek,” he sighed, rubbing the other boy’s back placatively. “You can be the General of the Right this time. I’ll ask some birds and rabbits to be the townspeople, and you can come save us.”

Often, Silver’s ability to brush off any injury with the placidity of a rock would only inflame Sebek’s rage further, but he permitted his friend to coax him back into the garden. As he watched Silver recruit a regiment of forest creatures for their schemes, he decided there was fairness in the world yet.

Baul Zigvolt was dozing in his rocking chair when Lilia returned that evening. He was perhaps the progenitor of his family members' incredible statures. His wife had been a modest woman, of average height and unremarkable in her build, but he in turn was a veritable mountain of muscle and hardened flesh, so massive that the top of Lilia’s head just barely reached the enormous blocks of his shoulders. He was squeezed into his chair rather than sat upon it, and the wood groaned threateningly as he rocked. The family’s only pet, an equally massive black tomcat with a lone white spot on the tip of its tail, was sprawled comfortably by his feet. The creature was as lazy as it was amiable, having not once dispatched any of the vermin that made merry of its owners’ grain stores, but the children were so enamored with its corpulence that their parents could not bear to rehome it. It shared with Baul a passion for evening naps, and neither of them stirred as Lilia approached.

The two men had served in the Imperial Guard together for centuries, and though they’d stepped down from their posts and re-entered civilian life ages ago, having both established households and produced children, and were now enjoying all the slow pleasures of retirement, Baul still offered advisory services to the Guard on a voluntary basis. The truth of Lilia’s retirement, however, had never been fully absorbed into the folds of Baul’s brain, and he continued to address his erstwhile superior as “General” at their every meeting. “It’s just a bad habit!” he’d defend himself sheepishly when rebuked. But he would soon disremember his error, and would, in the next breath, refer to Lilia by his long-vacated position once again.

“Hello, Baul.” Lilia dipped his head in greeting.

“Evening, General,” Baul murmured, slowly blinking his eyes open with a yawn. “You come to get your boy?”

“Yes, do you know where he is?”

Baul leaned forward and jabbed his thumb behind him. “Yeah, he and Seb are playing out back.” He settled back into his chair and closed his eyes again, opening them once more a second later. “Oh, and while you’re at it, could you tell Seb he needs to get home before nightfall?”

“Oh?” Lilia raised an eyebrow. “That’s quite unlike you to worry about him,” he replied with a smirk.

“Hell if I care!” Baul huffed, crossing his arms. “We’ve been seeing bear tracks around here lately, and I don’t want him to come crying to me if he runs into one of the dumb bastards. That’s all.”

“I see, I see,” Lilia laughed. He reached out and stroked the cat’s head, cocking his own head as he did so. "Well, I don't hear them close by. Can I wait here until they come back? They're probably off playing in the woods somewhere."

Baul huffed again. "I certainly wouldn't mind any if you'd like to take a seat."

Lilia stepped onto the porch and lowered himself into the chair across from Baul with a groan. He was occasionally stricken with bouts of rheumatism, and the frequent trips to and from the Zigvolt’s that year had been taking their toll. Baul raised an eyebrow as Lilia pawed at his back, but made no comment on the subject, electing instead to remark on how nice the weather had been lately, and how excited his grandkids were to go swimming in the river that weekend. Lilia offered in turn the latest updates on his own son. The men exchanged these little stories about their children and grandchildren as passing travelers exchanged their wares. They would file away each anecdote into their hearts for safekeeping, and take them out later to smile at when left alone.

Their habitual pleasantries concluded, Lilia asked Baul if he'd noticed anything unusual about Silver that afternoon.

"Unusual?" Baul frowned. "In what way?"

"Ahh, was he..." Lilia searched for the right word. "Quiet at all?"

Baul scoffed. "He's always quiet. Never met a child made so little noise in my life. I always wondered how he turned out like that, being raised by a loudmouth like you."

"Hey!" Lilia frowned.

"Hah! Sorry, sorry," Baul replied with a laugh, throwing up his hands in defense. "But I mean, other than that, only thing I noticed is the kid's been growing like a weed lately. Guess that's one more thing where you don't have to worry he'll take after you. Heh."

Lilia paid no heed to his baseless fibbing, and instead concentrated his thoughts towards one of his oldest pleasures: finding ways to agitate Baul. He never wished to start any real fights, but was simply possessed by the natural urge to tease him, as a child might like to prod a sleeping bear. Baul found the topic of his son-in-law particularly sensitive, and Lilia grinned as he formulated his attack.

"And how's dear Linus? I heard from Silver the clinic's been pretty busy lately."

Lilia's ploy worked immediately. A vein throbbed on Baul's forehead. "That human is fine, far as I know."

"As far as you know?" Lilia looked at him quizzically. "Aren't you here almost everyday? When's the last time you spoke with him?"

"Hell if I know. I don't give a damn what he has to say."

Lilia rolled his eyes. "Will you ever get over yourself?"

"No!" Baul grunted automatically, flushing hot red once he understood Lilia's insult. "The hell's that even supposed to mean! General!"

Lilia laughed. "Oh, come on! Why can't you just cut him some slack already? I still can't believe he agreed to take your last name like you wanted, with the way you treat him."

"Hmph! One of the few things he's done right by me."

Like so many of his fae brethren, Baul did not favor humans. He and Lilia had witnessed their evils firsthand during their time in the service, and they had watched, powerless, as so many of their friends and comrades, so many of their hopes and dreams and aspirations were crushed and destroyed under the iron heels of their enemy. Over time, after peace treaties had been signed and all the war flags had been taken down and neatly folded and put away, Lilia's heart had softened enough to accept humans with a frivolous neutrality, going so far as to adopt one to raise as his son, but Baul's had not. He was immediately suspicious of the handful of humans that came to live in the valley after the war, turning up his nose at their strange wares and customs and ways. When even more of them began to pour into the castle town, he and his wife sold their house and fled to a small homestead in the forest.

But fate continued to torment him, and he ended up a widower shortly after their first and only child, Thalia, was born. Even through all of his pain, he found his daughter was perfect - more perfect than anything he had ever seen. He was at first cautious in his parenting, aware at all times that he might one day lose her, too, as he had lost so many others before, but the child embraced all the challenges of her life with a ferocity that stunned him, and his concerns quickly proved themselves unwarranted as the years went by. She grew to be a tall and proud woman - she was heavyset, soft and plump in all the places her father was lean and hard, and more beautiful than a dahlia in full bloom.

They remained close after she moved out, meeting together for dinner most nights, and he thought nothing of it when she mentioned she'd started working at a local dental clinic. She would now and then talk about her boss, a human who'd immigrated to the valley some years ago, and to Baul's dismay, her innocent admiration quickly burgeoned into something more serious. Her infatuation with the human felt to Baul like a betrayal. He and Thalia fought when she announced she was courting him, they fought when she announced her engagement, and they fought when she announced she was pregnant. It was Horace's birth that finally allowed for their armistice, and his arms trembled the first time he held his newborn grandson. A child's eyes are the truest mirror one can face, and when Baul gazed into the wet emerald panes peering up at him, he realized for the first time in his life how ugly he had become. He locked himself in his room when he returned home that night. All alone, he reached as far and as deep as he could into his heart and ripped out the black seed of his hatred, casting it far away - farther than Zeus could launch his bolts of lightning or Thor his hammer.

But even though he'd finally been able to make peace with his daughter, nothing could be done to mend his relationship with his son-in-law. Linus had been intensely curious of the world around him from a young age, and the interest he'd developed in fae dentition during his studies had drawn him across the ocean and into Briar Valley upon his graduation, where he established a successful dental practice that treated both human and fae patients, alike. He was a pinched and narrow man, from the bottom of his feet to the top of his head, and his heavy-lidded eyes had never lost the childlike spark that so often betrays us as we grow older. It was this spark that had first piqued Thalia's interest, and he was just as obsessed with his wife as she was with him. There was very little of him to see in their children - they had inherited neither his shaggy black hair nor his brown eyes, neither his wiry frame nor olive complexion; their mother's genetics had overpowered his so completely it was as though Thalia had simply sculpted each child from the white clay of the earth by herself. But he fiercely adored them, regardless, showering them with praise and affection, and with an abundance of sugary treats that would make other members of his profession light headed. Over the years, Baul had grown to appreciate Linus for his kindness and for his intellect, and for his devotion to his family, but still could not stand how weak he was, and how small. He was a foot shorter than his wife and several hundred pounds lighter - a miserable twig next to a glorious oak tree, and Baul often complained that he would "snap in half if he sneezed too hard." Worst of all, he was magicless - a transgression Baul knew he would never be able to forgive. He could only tolerate the man, and offered him no more mercy than that.

Lilia shook his head, exasperated. "My god, I'll never understand how Tally puts up with you. Woman has the patience of a saint."

"Yeah," Baul murmured. "Yeah, she does." He folded his hands in his lap and contemplated.

They rocked in comfortable silence. The sun drifted leisurely towards the horizon, and the golden-orange sky looked as soft as an oriole feather. A nightingale, determined to outwit its rival suitors, began his serenade an hour early. Lilia had come to that place with the sole intention of retrieving his son, but the evening breeze dislodged that singular thought from his mind, and it floated away to join the cloud of fireflies gathering in the front lawn. The cat observed all of this with great interest. It was suddenly wide awake where the two men beside it were growing slowly unconscious, its body twitching with the primordial knowledge that night would soon fall.

Silver and Sebek found the pair fast asleep when they returned an hour later.

II.

Sometimes, when the sun seems to hang frozen above him, stubbornly refusing to give up its domination to the pleasant respite of night, when there are no chores to distract him with and his boy isn’t around to tease, Lilia will wander - usually carelessly, at times with a pointed determination - into the dim labyrinth of his mind. It would always astound him how, despite nearly seven hundred years of escapades and follies, despite almost a millennium of joy and heartbreak and unrest and sorrow, there were so few memories for him to parse through. Some of them had simply faded away as he grew older, others had burst into his consciousness and then vanished like spring lightning, dragged down by his heart into an unknown place where they could no longer hurt him. When he’d at last reach the center of that great maze, he would cling onto the earliest memory he could salvage from its shadowy depths, and always he would find himself next blinking his eyes open into the dull light of the castle barracks. He was no longer certain if the memory was from the day he’d enlisted, or if it was from a time much later in the service. He only knew that he must’ve already been an adult then, that he must’ve already accepted all the solitude and responsibility that had been thrust onto his small shoulders by the forces that determined his life.

He'd been told by the queen, along with all the lords and ladies and every other manner of noble and aristocrat he had ever served, on numerous occasions and under no pretense of kindness, that the royal family had taken him in as a young orphan, but he could not remember if that was true. He was certain, at least, that they had given him his name. "Lilia" was derived from the fae word for lily flowers, a plant whose legends and symbolism encompassed grand ideals of hope and purity, and something about it - the sound of it, its grandiose meanings, the way it would catch itself on his teeth, as though his body could not recognize what it was he was trying to say - had always felt wrong to him - foreign, even, so that he always felt like the people addressing him were talking to someone else. Out of discomfort, he often went by his last name, instead. "Vanrouge" had a sharpness to it that he found suited himself much more - both the sharpness of his temperament, and of his body. He was bony and stunted in height, his back no broader than the sticks used for kindling, and he stood shoulder height or lower to most adults his age. The nobility was not beyond recoginizing his strength and his talent in magic, however, and for all that his self-proclaimed benefactors gave him - a place to call home, people he could call family, military prestige beyond his wildest dreams - they took away just as much. Their orders came down like axe heads, and for centuries he dutifully served under their beck and call, acting as a guard dog for them one day, a scapegoat another, an undertaker the next, folding for them like a blade of grass forced flat by the wind.

He stumbled through the years as haphazardly as a tightrope walker, going only where he was told to go and doing only what he was told to do. He worked to the point that he could work no more, and when his incapability was discovered, he was immediately ordered to resign. It was one of the few times in his life he had ever felt afraid. Each and every one of the sovereignty's commands had been a link in a long fetter that bound him to their sides, but it had also been his lifeline, and without it, he feared he would be lost. The day of his resignation, he received one final order to remove his things from the barracks before leaving. The truth of it all pierced his mind like an arrow just then. He realized all at once that the tiny room with its cot and its chest and its wardrobe would be his prison cell no more, that the four walls that had been closing in on him for centuries had finally halted in their paths. He realized the thing that had been beating in his chest all his life had not been stamped out, had not been taken away from him - he had lost his dignity, his strength, even some of the people he had permitted himself to love, but not this. He smiled as he left the castle, made giddy by the greatest secret he knew he would never be able to tell. The discharge papers in his hands suddenly seemed to him like a pardon.

However, he had spent so many years bowing down to others he found he did not recognize the world when he finally stood up and looked at it again. With nothing more left in his life to guide him, he left his homeland shortly after his expulsion. He traveled from country to country with no real destination in mind - if a locale displeased him, he simply packed his things and departed for the next. As the years went by, he gradually began to operate with less and less reason, doing everything and anything he could "just because". Time had molded the clay of his person into a confusing and crude shape, and after decades of slow disentanglement and reformation, of reclaiming all the good things he had been forced to cast out of his heart, he discovered that his truest pleasure was to simply live by his whims. When he at last exhausted his traveling funds, he returned to the valley, settling down only because he'd never done so before, and was curious how well it would go. The people around him pitied him, as one often does those whom Life seems to have forgotten in its haste, but he was far too absorbed in his newfound self-indulgences to pay them any mind.

Even the acquisition of his son had been unplanned. He'd periodically scavenge from the ghost towns that dotted the countryside, in search of tools and good lumber he could use for his repairs back home, and on one such excursion, while searching through the rooms of a crumbling little cottage located deep within the valley's eastern forests, he found a human baby, fast asleep in its cradle. It was gaunt, with an evident pallor to its face, and Lilia quickly concluded it had been abandoned; the stagnant air in that place told him no other living being had been there for days. When he turned to leave, not wishing to disrupt Nature's process, an idea struck his mind so suddenly and so violently he had to steady himself against the doorway before he fell. What if he were to keep the child? What if he, a fae, were to raise the very flesh and blood of his nation's most ancient enemy? The notion intoxicated him. His head spun as he slowly returned to the crib.

"Now wouldn't that be a lark," he murmured as he raised the child. It blinked up at him weakly with eyes the color of the aurora, and Lilia was immediately convinced of his own genius.

"Let's get you something to eat, you poor thing! I'm quite famished myself, you know. You have excellent timing," he said with a wink. The baby watched him silently as he carried it back home.

He thought it would be simple. He knew from his time watching over the infant Malleus that babies needed little more than food, play, clean diapers, and naps. His first charge had flourished splendidly in his care, and he had no doubt his second would do the same.

But Silver was difficult. After its initial, desperate feeding, the baby, seeming to finally remember it was in possession of lungs and a vocal instrument, began to cry incessantly. If it wasn't in Lilia's arms, it cried. If it went a moment too long between feedings, it cried. Even when it slept Lilia was not safe. If he set it down for a nap and attempted to leave the room, it would awaken immediately, understand it had been abandoned once more, and would cry. There were times - random, and frustratingly rare - where it would suddenly stop in the midst of one of its fits, and smile at Lilia so sweetly he'd wonder if someone had snuck in and swapped the child for another when he wasn't looking. Once he realized his legendary frivolity had met its match, he began consulting with the Zigvolts on a regular basis, as Pa Zigvolt was the only human in the valley he trusted. It was the height of summer then, a time he'd usually spend taking refuge in the cool shadows indoors, but he did not mind walking the five long miles back and forth between their homes, preferring even the heat over the child's endless screaming. Pa Zigvolt assisted him to the best of his abilities, imparting to Lilia all the knowledge he had acquired over the years as a then-father of two, and Silver's fits ended a few months later as abruptly as they'd started.

The second hurdle arose when the little boy began to talk. His first, crude word was "Ba pa", and it took several days for Lilia's mind to finally register that he was the intended recipient of this title. He'd planned to have Silver call him by his first name, just as he'd been forced to do when Malleus was little, and hearing the child acknowledge him as its parent made him uncomfortable, as though both of them were breaking a rule he didn't know the name of. The baby, however, refused his every plea for reconsideration, and gradually figured out all the tricks of human speech as he grew older, learning to perfectly pucker his lips, and mastering the rhythm of the two syllables he so desperately wished to string together. He would repeat "Papa" throughout the day, singing out "Papa, Papa, Papa!" with the joy of a hymn. But for Lilia, each utterance was like a stone launched against the walls he had built up around his heart, and when they collapsed and faded away into nothing, he realized his discomfort had vanished with them.

He would later realize, too, that where he'd long forgotten much of his early life, he found he could now remember, to an almost startling degree, much of what he'd seen and experienced ever since he took in the boy. He could still remember a freezing day in January over a decade ago, when Silver had chanced upon a lone snowdrop shivering off the cold in the meadow near their home. The flower had fascinated the boy severely; he sat before it, stone still, tilting his heavy head this way and that, trying to understand the small creature’s drooping frame. Eventually, Lilia came over and accompanied him in his study. He had seen snowdrops countless times before, while marching through the countryside, while working on the clearing, but only then, as he knelt in the snow with the young boy at his side, both of them shivering quietly in the late winter light, only then did he finally realize its perfection. He could still remember, too, the snow slowly melting later that year, and Silver pointing out to him the magnolias blooming in the copse behind their shed, and the daffodils and tulips breaking through the frost that blanketed their small garden, and the linden trees releasing their sweet perfume. He could remember Silver revealing to him with a boyish surety the strangeness of rain showers on sunny days, and the comfort of the mist that lingers on cool autumn mornings. So many sights and sounds and sensations had passed by him all his life in a blur - colorless and dull, abstract and undefined, and when his son entered his life, it was as though a bolt of lightning the color of the aurora had struck the earth and finally given all these things their color and meaning.

But Silver had begun to change recently. Not physically - no, he still had the same rosy, cherubic little cheeks; the same bright blue-grey eyes; and the same sweet, half-crooked smile that Lilia would proudly boast about to all who would listen, and even to those who would not. It was his attitude, his tone of voice, his humor that had changed, and Lilia had not noticed it willingly, at first. Where he'd always been so agreeable and forthcoming, so that Lilia was unsure if the boy had ever kept a secret from him in his entire life, he was now secretive and temperamental. At times, Silver would whirl on him like a wildcat, his eyes narrowed, his thin lips pulled back into a snarl, upset at something Lilia could not understand. There was always a strange look to his eyes during these flares, not quite panicked, yet not angered, either. He looked, if anything, confused - as though he could not believe the truth of the thing he'd just done. When he was amicable, he was as loquacious as a monk. He'd also been showing a newfound apathy towards Lilia's jokes and teasing, and to his presence overall, expressing more and more his desire to be left alone. Most alarming of all, Silver had recently stopped addressing him as "Papa", and now called him "Father", instead. It felt as unnatural as if a songbird had stopped singing. He found it vulgar. "Father" was harsh, adult, stern - formal and distant where his previous moniker had been so intimate and sweet. He'd pleaded with Silver more than once the past month, asking if anything was wrong, demanding to know why he was acting like this, but the boy was unwavering in his defiance, curtly assuring him each time that everything was fine, before excusing himself to go be alone his room once more.

Lilia ultimately decided not to push the matter further, presuming Silver would recover his good attitude in due time, and had instead been focusing his attention on preparing the homestead for summer. The garden work and other miscellaneous chores had all been welcome distractions, but an incident the past week had revived his concerns.

He and Silver had gone to the Zigvolt's for dinner. Ma Zigvolt prepared a feast of grilled corn cobs, roast venison slow-cooked with creamy golden potatoes and carrots, and a whole pile of her buttery homemade biscuits. The pair ate heartily, having both worked up a respectable appetite from hoeing weeds together all that morning, and as usual, they stayed with their hosts late into the evening, if only so Lilia and Baul could talk, and so Silver and Sebek could listen. It was the boys' greatest pleasure in the world to gather in the parlor and listen to them talk. Sometimes, they would simply muse on the recent weather, or discuss local politics. Other times, they'd tell stories - the boys always begged for a story. The former war heroes would weave tales about all the faraway lands they had journeyed to and the greatest enemies they had ever faced, and about fearsome beasts the children had never heard of and stars they'd never seen - “Men’s talk”, as Ma Zigvolt would scoffingly call it. But there was always softness in her voice whenever she rebuked their late-night gatherings. Horace and Iris used to join the small audience, too, but gradually stopped as they grew older, claiming the men's yarns had lost their appeal. It was one of the few things Sebek disagreed with his sister on - he worshiped her, but understood at his young age that even an idol's opinions could be wrong, at times.

The boys' habit was such:

Sebek would sprawl on the bearskin rug before the fireplace, and Silver would curl up against his father’s chair, his head resting on the man’s lap. Lilia would play with his son's hair absentmindedly while he spoke. It could’ve been the shining hands of the angel Gabriel himself carding those gentle fingers through his hair and the boy scarcely would’ve noticed a difference. This was his great reprieve, the most delicious reward after a long and tiring day of chores and training and schoolwork and hard labor; a time for him to sigh out all the aches and pains that gripped his thin body and a time for him to rest.

Lilia knew all this. He had always known this. His son’s heart was a rose; he needed only to whisper the boy's name and its petals would unfurl for him.

The meeting last week had proceeded as usual, at first. Dinner was enjoyed by all, the fireplace was lit, Baul and Lilia took their seats in the parlor, and Sebek planted himself on the bearskin rug. But when Lilia smiled at Silver and set his hands on his lap, his palms upturned, the boy turned away, sitting down in front of the fireplace next to Sebek, instead.

In that moment, Lilia realized Silver's strange behavior the past month was a symptom of an issue far graver than he could have anticipated. When they returned home that night, he consulted his trove of parenting books after Silver went to bed. He'd bought a number of them when the infant Silver had begun his fits, turning to them for advice whenever the boy fell ill or reached a new developmental milestone. He hadn't read any of them in ages, and he sneezed as a cloud of dust billowed when he pulled them down from the shelf.

He flipped through the yellowing tomes one by one, smiling whenever he came across a dogeared page. Each bookmark and scribbled note he could trace back to a specific period in Silver's life, and the memories of those first few stressful years he now counted amongst his greatest treasures. He worked through the tall stack throughout the night, giving up at dawn with a sigh. Were he a more sensible man, perhaps he would've taken note of the fact that his entire collection was made up of books concerning a human's first few years of life, and that his son was now thirteen.

III.

A massive thunderstorm exploded into the valley in early June. It seemed to have materialized from nothing, catching the residents off guard like a cottonmouth's strike. On the first day of the storm, Lilia presumed it was nothing more than a typical summer shower, and felt confident it would quickly pass. On the third day, he remarked he had never seen anything like it before in his life. By the fifth, he was too stunned to speak again. The rain fell down in sheets as thick as pure marble. The sun and moon and stars all vanished beneath a sky as dark as bruised flesh, and only the candles melting above the fireplace gave any indication that time had not stopped. Some days, the rain would harden into hail, and it would pelt the earth like white meteors for hours on end. The deluge pounded on for over a week. The first morning after the storm, the valley denizens stepped cautiously into what seemed like a brand new world. Entire villages had been washed away in some areas, and miles of farmland now stood underwater in others. The river, engorged with rainwater, had flooded over, transforming large swaths of the surrounding forest into a veritable swamp. Carcasses of the animals that hadn't escaped the disaster - deer, boars, turkey, elk, wolves, snakes, predator and prey, young and old - drifted in a black line down the muddy waters. Buzzards whirling their death dance filled the skies.

The Vanrouge's clearing, located uphill, had been mostly spared - a drowned chicken the lone fatality. But the corn fields had been left flattened, and the thatching on the cottage roof lay in shambles. Silver and Lilia worked quickly to dig a maze of deep trenches to help drain the excess water from the garden and pasture. They ripped out the molding stalks of corn and salvaged as many of the clean cobs as possible, hanging them to sun-dry from a wooden rack they'd erected in the yard. "The animals will be glad to have them, at least," Lilia had sighed.

Realizing they were quickly running out of nails and boards to finish making the repairs, Lilia decided one morning to head into the nearest town and replenish their dwindling supplies. Before leaving, he found Silver lying on his stomach in the living room, peering intently into a bird identification book he'd received for his birthday. He called out to the boy while he finished getting dressed.

“Silver, darling?”

Silver’s face, framed on one side by an illustration of a juvenile blackbird peeking out from its nest, and on the other by an adult in flight, emerged from between the pages of his book. Without looking up, he replied, "Yes, father?"

He still on that “father” thing? Lilia swallowed the annoyed groan building in his throat. “While I’m gone, could you butcher one of the shoats, please? I just noticed we’re about to run out of pork belly.”

“Yeah, I’ll take care of it today.”

“Perfect, thank you.”

Lilia grabbed his leather coin purse from the table by the door and secured it to the hook on his belt. He threw a light cloak over his shoulders, anticipating more rain, and glanced at Silver across the room while he fussed with the clasps.

The boy had retreated into his book.

Lilia sighed. The past week had been quiet. Even with the hail exploding all around them and the wind howling and the rain pounding like sledgehammers against their home, it had been quiet, because Silver had hardly spoken a word the entire time. The child's voice seldom rose above a pleasant murmur as a habit, and yet its absence had made the little cottage seem so much vaster and emptier than it really was; there were times during the storm Lilia had felt like the only living thing in the world trapped within its black fury. He hovered at the door for a moment, debating if he should try to kiss the boy goodbye, but his every attempt at parental affection the past month had been met with hostility, scorn, and disgust, and he feared any further attempts would only end the same. Electing for the path of least resistance, he opened the door and departed without another word.

Silver waited for the door to click shut before he pushed his book aside, sitting up with a grunt. He grabbed his pig sticker from his room and slipped on his work boots and gloves. Butchering was laborious work, more so than even his father's rigorous training regimes, and he gripped his knife expectantly while gathering his things.

The clearing glittered with rainwater as he stepped outside. The air was heavy, weighed down by a thick layer of petrichor, smelling somehow both earthy and sweet at once, and it felt like he had to push through it as he walked, as though he were swimming upstream. While struggling towards the pig pen, he contemplated his soggy surroundings. The wet ground was as dark as umber. The chickens, equally as wet and as dark, were scratching dejectedly at the mud, and the cows looked on wisely from underneath their dripping lean-to. He was thankful the garden hadn't been harmed. The brightly colored heads of the newborn squash peeking out from their leafy cradles lifted his heart where the rest of the world drooped and dripped so miserably around him. On the second day of the storm, when it was evident the rain and the wind would not soon abate, he and his father had rushed to cover all the plants with heavy sheets of plastic in a last-ditch attempt to save them. The covers had served them well, having prevented the incurrence of any vegetative losses, and though they now sported deep abrasions where the hail had struck them, Silver found the markings as noble and as handsome as any other battle scar.

Upon reaching the pen, he selected the smallest of the shoats, doubtful he could handle one of the larger animals on his own. The blade of his pig sticker shone dully in the dappled light. The mahogany handle felt cool in his sweat-slicked hand. With a practiced surety, Silver plunged the knife up into the pig’s rib cage, and the animal collapsed to the ground. He cleaned the blade in the grass while he waited for the body to stop moving. After the shoat finally stilled, he hoisted its heavy body onto the metal gambrel hanging from the tree by the shed, and then he began the long work - extracting the tender leaf fat hidden deep within it.

He grabbed the set of butcher knives from the shed and used the longest one to cut into the hide. The skin was rough against his hands, coated with a thick layer of wiry hair, and he grunted as he ripped it off. The head and wet mass of guts and other organs he removed from the torso as quickly as possible, discarding them in a pile far behind them, where he did not have to look at them and remember what he had just done. He slowed down to a comfortable pace as he began removing the leaf fat. The pigs had been enjoying a hearty diet of sweet potatoes, mulberries, and corn for most of the year, and the shoat he'd selected was richly packed with thick sheets of candle white fat. He plunged his knife into the carcass and began separating the fat from the muscle, working in a rhythm, stopping at times to put down his knife and use his hands to tear back the white slab, then picking it up again to continue cutting. He dislodged the mass with one final flick of his knife and deposited it into a bucket by his feet. Once rendered, it would be used not just for cooking, but also to make soap and candles, as a poultice for minor burns and wounds, and as lotion for chapped skin.

After swapping his knife for a bone saw, he split the carcass in half, and then hung both pieces inside the smokehouse. In a few days, once the meat had tenderized, he and his father would finish quartering them and divvying up the meat, grinding some of the portions to make sausage, and putting aside others for bacon and jerky.

He could feel beads of sweat crawling down his back like a line of ants as he plodded over to the water shelf to wash his hands. He figured by the sun's position there were still a few hours of morning left. Might as well see if I can't hunt something he thought, having already exhausted all the distractions the clearing and the cottage could offer.

He washed himself hastily, glancing in the mirror as he dried his hands against his pant legs. He was a demonstrably plain boy – not outstanding in height or wit or strength or speed. His body was lean and wiry, his hands prematurely calloused from years of grueling work, and only the few meager lumps of baby fat that clung to his face protested weakly that he was, indeed, just a child. The only remarkable thing about him was his eyes – they were a brilliant blend of amethyst and steel blue, almost prismatic in nature, seeming to change color with the rise and fall of the sun. The few adults in his life often remarked on their beauty, but Silver never paid their compliments any mind - in truth, he rejected them. He'd always thought his eyes plain, just as he thought the rest of himself plain, especially in comparison to the fae, and if there was any one thing he begrudged Sebek for, it was the serpentine pupils he'd inherited from his forefathers. He frowned at the mirror, then averted his gaze from his dissatisfied reflection.

Before leaving, Silver printed on the back of a used envelope a short note for his father, letting him know he was going hunting, and that he would return home before supper, and this he left on the counter, held in place with a coffee tin. He then retrieved his crossbow from his room, and left the clearing, cutting a path straight North, far away from the bloated river and its poisons. Huge puddles of muddy water dotted the trail before him, and the damp ground squelched noisily under his boots. The trail was bordered by a lavender frame of honeysuckle in full bloom, but the trumpets sagged poorly, still heavy with water. His father had said it would likely take another week or two for the land to dry completely.

Silver had observed the storm with great interest. Pa Zigvolt had once told him how people in other countries conceived of the beginning of the world, and in one version, he spoke of when the planet was all water, and a god had sculpted the land and the sky and all living creatures, and Silver had wondered during the storm if this was how the world had looked during those primordial seven days, or if perhaps that wrathful god had come back to restart its creation. Never before in his life had he seen so much rain, so much wind and lightning and hail all at once before. The sky was one ocean and the land was another. The rain seemed to move back and forth between them, falling and rising, the drops of water shining like the million wings of a dragonfly swarm. He processed novelties such as these almost programmatically. If he understood something, then he determined he would not fear it. His comprehension was a beam of light he could shine upon his abhorrations, it would cut through the shadow of his uncertainty and allow him to see the face of the thing, to touch it, and to understand it. He was afraid of very little: the forest at night, adders (he'd been bitten once as a small child), all the various tinctures and teas prescribed for his occasional afflictions, and his father's Halloween performances. Darkness was one thing he'd studied and studied since he was very young, but had never been able to puzzle out, perhaps because it did not end. It was too broad, too immeasurable; he could lift up one corner of it and step underneath it and walk a thousand miles and still never glimpse its face. Even when it receded during the day, he felt it prowling beyond the safety of the clearing, like a panther in waiting. The storm, too, had seemed infinite in its wrath, but it had ended, and now it was gone. Now there was only a liquid world, shimmering, iridescent, like one great droplet of water sitting on an endless spiderweb.

The frenzied drumming of a male grouse sounded off in the distance, beyond a thick wall of fir and aspen. Following the clamor, Silver slipped into the underbrush. He moved over the wet leaf litter as quiet as a shadow. The performer soon came into view, perched atop a fallen cedar tree. It was in the midst of a thunderous crescendo, beating its spectacled wings so feverously the air around it seemed a solid tawny blur. Silver dropped to a crouch, stalking slowly forward until he reached a mass of undergrowth tall enough to conceal him. Kneeling in the grass, he loaded an arrow into his crossbow, disengaging the safety as he raised it to his shoulder.

A noise above drew his attention. A red squirrel, high up in the tree beside him, was glaring at him, its eyes blazing as fiercely as its bright copper fur. Silver held his breath. If the squirrel let out a warning bark, the grouse would surely hear it and scatter. His gaze flew between his observer and his target - the bird had paused in its performance, its small black eyes scanning the tree line where he was hiding.

After a few tense moments, the squirrel disappeared into the privacy of the canopy with a huff. The grouse cocked its head, alert, but not alarmed, and then resumed its drumming. Silver quietly let out the breath he'd been holding and moved his finger over the trigger. The arrow soared through the air and struck the grouse with a heavy thud. It fell to the ground, disappearing behind it's earthen stage.

Silver stood up and thrust his crossbow behind him. He rushed in long strides to the log and hoisted the grouse's limp body with one hand, his own body still thrumming with adrenaline. A scarlet blot bloomed in the animal's chest where his arrow had pierced it. The sight of the blood immediately muted all his excitement. He whispered an earnest "Thank you" to the creature before slipping its thin neck up under his belt and turning around. As he stood there, awash in the late morning light, contemplating the still-warm body resting against his thigh, his mind finally acknowledged that he knew this place.

One day, a few months ago, on his way home from collecting armfuls of wild sorrel and burdock in the forest, Silver had discovered a great horned owl sitting atop a towering oak tree while passing through there. The creatures were rarely seen during the day, typically active only during crepuscular hours, and Silver carefully set down his leafy bundle upon spotting it, taking the opportunity to quietly study the bird for as long as it allowed him to. He concluded that its long, brown ear-tufts reminded him of the projections in his father’s hair, and he smiled, pleased by the genius of his observation. When he walked up to the tree and craned his head back, the owl slowly blinked its yellow eyes down at him in perplexment.

“Could you please help me?” Silver asked.

“Whooo?”

“You, silly bird!” he laughed. He explained that he'd learned a new word recently, and desired an audience before which to practice his pronunciation.

The owl obliged his request and swooped down to a branch directly before him. He unfastened his cloak and draped it around its neck, carefully hooking up the fastener so as to not pinch its feathers.

He stepped back to admire his work. “Looks good to me,” he murmured to himself, nodding. “Now, I want you to please pretend to be my papa- I mean, my father.”

The owl stared at a toad loitering by Silver’s feet. It looked up and blinked its spotlight eyes at him slowly.

Flustered, Silver continued. “Oh, if you just sit there, that should be okay! I’ll go ahead and start now. I don’t want to take up too much of your time.”

He cleared his throat and straightened his back, crossing his arms. “Hello, Pa-, erm, Father. Today, I’m going to go play- I mean!! I’m going to go train with Sebek. I’ll be back for dinner. Farewell!”

He spun around and marched off, swinging his arms importantly, just like he’d seen the imperial guards do on his rare trips into town. After a few heavy steps, he stopped and turned around again, nervously searching his spectator's face for any sign of reproach.

“...How was that?” he asked after a moment.

The owl bobbed its head excitedly, but Silver could not determine if the gesture was meant for him, or for the toad that was now clinging plaintively to his feet. He reset his stance and repeated the exercise from the beginning. Again and again he stuttered through his short speech and pumped his arms and stomped across the ground, and then turned around to be greeted by a feathery face as unintelligible as some ancient cipher. This cycle continued for so long his pile of greens had begun to wilt by the time he was at last satisfied.

His request had been sincere, if not misguided. The new moniker he'd chosen for Lilia sat as heavy and awkwardly as a foreign word on his tongue, and he'd often lapse into calling the man "Papa" as a course of habit, which he'd aimed to rectify through this practice. But there was another, graver reason why he'd felt so anxious that day - a secret dilemma had been plaguing him for weeks.

He had discovered, unwillingly, and to his great alarm, that the adults in his life had suddenly developed an irritating air about them. He wished, for example, to push away Ma Zigvolt’s pinching hands when they reached for the roundness of his face and to flee from Pa Zigvolt’s awkward attempts at conversation. Baul and his father’s stories had lost their wonder, too, no longer coloring the quiet expanse of his dreams. And his father, by far, presented the most extreme case of this mysterious ailment.

It was as though, after thirteen long years of worshiping the very ground he walked on, Silver had woken up one day with his mind rewired to find everything the man did purely annoying. When he'd suddenly start to sing in that strange, deep voice he could conjure on a whim, or when he’d pester him with questions, asking him how his day was, and what he and Sebek had gotten up to, or when he'd declare to the world what a splendid, hardworking boy he was, instead of laughing or smiling or nodding along, as per his customary response, Silver instead found himself praying for the earth to open up and swallow him whole.

Even Malleus had changed. All his life, Silver had approached the young prince unabashed and forthcoming, as he was never taught the fear that lurked in the hearts of many of the valley’s citizens. Indeed, for Silver, Malleus was one of the precious few cornerstones of his meager world – he was a comforting shadow in the dim haze of Silver's infantile memories, and the green glow of his magic was as reassuring to him as the North Star’s guiding light. More than anything, he was someone - the only one - who’d come visit Silver when his father was away.

Lilia had resumed traveling for leisure after Silver was old enough to look after the homestead on his own. He was never gone long, in his own opinion, only a week or two at most. He'd pack the fridge full of questionable food for the boy, leave him a list of chores and rules to follow that was, at times, as questionable as the food, kiss his cheek goodbye, and then promptly disappear to whatever locale he'd selected for his itinerary that month. He'd always send Silver postcards of the places he'd visit. They often arrived faded and torn, or sopping wet from the rain, but Silver kept each and every one of them, regardless if damaged or illegible, or otherwise totally destroyed, in a little box underneath his bed. When he lay down to sleep at night, in his mind he would reach his hand underneath his bed, open his box, and quietly step into the distant worlds contained within the postcards.

Some nights, he and his father would stroll through the glass-topped bazaars of the Shaftlands, their arms heavy with paper shopping bags filled to the brim with newly purchased clothing and trinkets and toys, slowly moving through the crystalline cloud of cologne and parfum drifting out from the stores and boutiques, each establishment a gem of its own, the arcade an endless line of diamonds, amethysts, pearls, topaz, and rubies; then this vision would vanish, and he and his father would be pulled another thousand miles away to the golden plains of the Sunset Savanna, where sky touched the earth, where a boiling sun raged like an angry god above a scorched plateau of rock and grit and sand and red clay dust, and they would journey across this shimmering land marveling at all the beasts and vegetation Silver had only ever read about in his books, and would likely never see for as long as he lived.

He'd spend the entire night thus traipsing from one postcard to the next, so that by the time he awoke in the morning, he'd crossed nearly half the planet in his sleep.

This habit he continued for over half a year, at which point Malleus at last learned of Lilia's departures. Often kept detained at the castle by mountains of paperwork and other bureaucratic trivialities that left him too exasperated and too occupied for leisure, he did not regularly call on the Vanrouges, and when he'd taken a rare opportunity to drop by their cottage one day, many years ago, he was surprised when Silver opened the door and informed him that his father was gone. Silver did not notice anything strange about Malleus's reaction, at first. He'd gotten another postcard recently. On the front, an image of massive, stone towers rising high into a cloudless turquoise sky, their spires terminating into crowns shaped like pyramids; on the back, in his fathers prim script, a short note explaining the structures were called "obelisks'', and that they were monuments dedicated to the local gods of that region. All of Silver's dreams lately had been of endless deserts and great golden towers and the ancient kings and queens that once ruled over them, and when he saw the pair of black obelisks that were concealed in Malleus's slit pupils, his fantasies materialized temptingly in his mind once again.

But Malleus's low voice, inquiring on Lilia's return, pulled him back to the clearing and the small cottage and its plainness for a moment. Trying to focus, he stated bluntly that his father would not be back for another week.

"A week?" Malleus said, his tone halfway between a scoff and a cry.

"A week," Silver repeated absentmindedly, busy trying to determine how a pharaoh's headdress might sit between Malleus's horns.

When his gaze drifted lazily back to Malleus's eyes, he finally realized the man was angry. The black obelisks had vanished, and all the kings and queens in his mind bowed their heavy ornate heads, crumbling away to nothing in the face of the prince's quiet rage.

From that day on, Malleus dedicated himself to visiting Silver as much as possible when Lilia was away. He would bring with him cakes and pies he'd stolen from the castle's kitchen, and books he'd snuck out of the royal library, and they would sit together and enjoy these treasures in the living room, or stroll through the forest when the weather was fair. These visits made Silver feel very important, a sensation he seldom had the privilege to enjoy, and he'd imagine he was a duke welcoming a fellow aristocrat to his palace whenever Malleus stopped by. The lonely late-night journeys through his postcards melted away into this new pleasure.

As Silver matured, he slowly began to comprehend the gravity of Malleus’s periodic decampments. It first felt like nothing more than a small discomfort, as though he were wearing a garment a size too small. As time went on, the discomfort only grew, transforming from a minor inconvenience into an ever-present malaise. But Silver was attentive as he was reticent, and he’d noticed how, when he’d caper with Malleus through the forests, the pixies living in the oak trees and the river would whisper and whisper all around them, their high voices a chorus of reproachful chimes. And he’d noticed, too, the confusion that had flashed across his father’s eyes the day he’d confessed to these secret visits. Silver collected these observations as his evidence, examined them, and concluded that Malleus was doing something wrong. But to accuse their crown prince of misconduct required a level of brazenness that far exceeded his capabilities, and he'd waited several months until he finally voiced his suspicions.

He broached the topic the spring prior, when his father had departed for a week-long sojourn in the Shaftlands. That first night, Malleus appeared at the cottage door with a pan of freshly baked apple strudel in hand. After they were sat at the table and Malleus began cutting their portions, Silver at last revealed all his concerns.

When he finished speaking, he watched Malleus’s hand slow down as it moved the knife through the steaming pastry.

“I…” Malleus pursed his lips in thought, lifting them into a soft smile a moment later.

“I remember how I felt whenever Lilia would vanish on one of his excursions when I was little, and I suppose I simply wish not for you to feel the same.”

“But that’s-”

“You needn’t worry, Silver.” Malleus laughed gently, pushing a plate heavy with warm strudel towards him. “I shan’t get into any trouble - so long as my grandmother remains none the wiser about all this, that is,” he finished with a wink.

Silver was at once overcome by a rush of joy and shame and guilt and relief all combined together. His body, unable to process this strange emotional amalgamation, resigned to color itself with a vicious crimson flush. The chameleonic display was so severe it shocked even Malleus, and he spent the rest of that evening marveling at the different shades of red human skin could take.

Something shifted in Silver's relationship with Malleus that day. He felt it before he understood what it was. When his father returned from his trip, he revealed to Silver the truth that had been looming over him all of his life, and explained to him all the different rules that Malleus had been egregiously breaking for him for years on end. When the lecture was finished, Silver asked his father to leave his room so he could ruminate. He concluded that if it was wrong for Malleus to show him this kindness, if it had to be locked away and kept a secret, then he would keep his own secret - he would take his love for Malleus, for his brother, and he would bury it. He would construct a pedestal in his heart, as all the other valley citizens had long been taught to do, and place upon it the man he'd been too ignorant to realize had never truly been his equal and his friend.

He was bothered greatly – by his father’s antics, by the dullness of the adults around him, by the solitude of his strange and sudden affliction – and yet he never could find a remedy for his discomfort. It was like an insect had stung him in a spot his hands couldn’t quite reach, and the words to describe how he felt evaded him just the same.

All of this he considered once more as he left the forest, stumbling back home in a haze of speculation. By the time he reached the clearing, the darkened sky looked like a giant raven's wing stretched out over the land, and the treefrogs had already begun their evening serenade. Even in the low light he could feel their beady eyes staring at him as he approached the door.

Inside, the cottage was warm, and his father's humming radiated quietly from the kitchen. After slipping off his muddy boots by the door, he set the limp grouse on the counter and went to wash his hands at the basin.

His father stood before the cookstove, stirring a pot bubbling with a substance as black as tar. He looked up, and the smile he’d been planning to offer Silver rapidly faded away. Knitting his brow in concern, he asked, “Is everything okay?”

Silver swallowed thickly and nodded. “I’m fine.”

IV.

Summer crept forward like an inchworm. The land dried out completely within a matter of weeks, as Lilia had predicted, and one could now comfortably move around outside without fear of the humidity's oppression. The linden trees, made anxious by the pounding wind and rain, had been steadfastly clutching their bright yellow flowers against their leafy breasts since the start of the month, and had only recently just begun allowing the satiny petals to unfurl, as though acknowledging the valley's languid recuperation. Their delicious perfume billowed out across the entire nation, eventually overshadowing even the contaminated river's foul odor.

The Zigvolts had fared well through the disaster, their tall, white house still standing proud and pristine amongst a mess of downed trees and waterlogged foliage, not a single red brick from the chimney missing or otherwise harmed. Their neighbors, however, had not been nearly as fortunate, and the elder Zigvolts had agreed to close the dental clinic while they helped their friends repair their homes. The children eagerly assisted wherever possible, and they spent the better part of June lugging armfuls of wood and shingles, readjusting crooked fences, and clearing out dripping debris from the trails that weaved around their home. The entire family would work from morning until late at night, reserving one day a week to either relax or to see to any high-priority dental cases.

It was on one of these holidays, in late June, when Lilia and Silver dropped by in the morning for a scheduled call. The two families gathered in the parlor, the adults chatting amicably, while the children competed to see who'd had the most interesting experiences during the storm, but as noon rolled around and the boys lost interest in conversation, Baul suggested they go outside for an impromptu sword fighting lesson. The group thus disbanded, Lilia remaining with Pa and Ma Zigvolt in the parlor, while Iris joined her grandfather and the family cat in supervising the boys, taking turns cheering for her brother or for Silver as she saw fit.

After they left, Ma Zigvolt went to the kitchen and refilled the pitcher of ice tea she'd prepared that morning, topping up Lilia's glass for him before retaking her seat. Looking at him expectantly, she asked, "Now what were you saying before? About Silver."

“Ah, about Silver acting strangely during the storm?” Lilia waited for her confirmation before continuing. “Well, there was this one day I was able to get the fireplace going and I gathered up some blankets on the couch. And when I asked Silver if he wanted to come cuddle with me for a bit, he… he…”

Ma Zigvolt balled up her apron in her hands and leaned forward, wide-eyed. “He what?”

“He said no!” Lilia cried, throwing his arm over his face with a flourish.

“No?!” she gasped. “Not Silver!”

“Yes! I could hear my poor heart breaking in two on the spot.” Lilia slumped back in his chair. It was the first time he'd spoken to anyone about the problems he'd been having with his son, and he felt somehow encumbered by the weight of his confession.

Ma Zigvolt gently asked if he'd had any luck talking to Silver about his behavior, and he begrudgingly shook his head.

"He always says he's fine, and that's about as much as I can get out of him." He sipped his tea, setting his glass down on the table beside him with a frown. "It almost feels like he doesn't even like me anymore..."

Pa and Ma Zigvolt exchanged a pointed look. It was not unlike the one they'd share with each other at the clinic, when a patient, complaining of mysterious symptoms that had "simply popped up out of nowhere!" would throw themselves into the examination chair with a huff, only to confess after much prodding that they had been consuming a poor diet, and had been practicing even poorer dental habits.

Pa Zigvolt spoke first. “It’s normal for kids Silver’s age to go through a phase like this. It just means he’s growing up.”

Lilia blinked. “Growing up…?”

“Mm-hmm,” Ma Zigvolt continued. “We went through the exact same thing with Horace and Iris. Horace especially had it rough, the poor thing. You remember, honey?”

“Yeah, I remember it clear as day." He nodded solemnly. "He’d stay holed up in his room all the time, and trying to get him to talk to us was harder than pulling a tooth. It’s like he thought we were the most embarrassing people in the world.”

“Oh, but he still thinks that way about you, dear.”

“Tally!”

Laughing, Ma Zigvolt reached over and patted his knee soothingly.

Lilia considered their words. “If that’s the case, then I suppose I just don’t understand why he’s trying to grow up so quickly. For most of his life, I pushed him much too hard, had him undergo training better suited for soldiers thrice his age. The day I finally realized what an awful mistake I’d been making, I don’t think I’d ever felt so ashamed of myself in my life.”

“From that moment on, I swore to ease up on him and just let him be a kid, and to make sure he could enjoy his childhood as much as possible. Especially since I… Ahh…”

Lilia thought of the castle barracks. There had only been one window in his room, a pitiful little square cut high into the stone wall adjacent to his cot. It faced East, and for a few, meager hours in the afternoon, when the sun was positioned directly before the castle, a singular column of light would enter the window and illuminate that small, dark space. He thought of how he would lay transfixed in bed, watching the light glide across his body like a golden serpent, how he would thrust out his hands, trying to capture it, trying desperately to stop this one thing from exiting his life as everything else had, and how each time it would slip through his groping fingers like water and evaporate into nothing. He thought of marching for days, of the sharp iron stench of the battlefield, of the bone-deep ache that would weigh heavy like a stone over every fiber of his being. He thought of all the things he experienced growing up that he never wished for his son or any other child to go through.

Lilia swallowed the lump forming in his throat. Looking past Ma Zigvolt, focusing on the wall clock behind her, he finally continued, “When I was a child, I didn’t have the… the kinds of opportunities that he has, so I just want to make sure he makes the most of them while he can.”

"I see..." Ma Zigvolt sighed, folding her hands in her lap. She had grown up knowing Lilia to be an evasive - if not frustrating - man, and her father had warned her repeatedly over the years to be cautious in her prodding. He was like an uncle to her, and she dutifully acknowledged his seniority, if only in regards to his age, but he was also a fellow parent, and her neighbor, and where the wellbeing of children was concerned, she was known to reveal the full extent of her caustic rhetoric, so that more than once she'd had to quit all civility and rebuke Lilia for his parental failures. Still, she considered each of her questions carefully, as though treading across a sheet of ice, knowing full well that if she chose her next step incorrectly, it would shatter the man's trust and terminate the conversation.

After a moment, she asked, “And you two haven't had any fights recently? You don't think you've said anything that might've upset him?"

Lilia paused for a moment, and then shook his head again. “No, not at all.”

Ma Zigvolt pressed further, sensing his hesitation. “Well, regardless, you don’t think there’s anything you’re doing that might be making him act this way?”

She'd stepped too far. Lilia frowned. “I think I know my own child, Thalia. If he had a problem with me, he’d say so.”

"I wasn't trying to insinuate anything, Lilia."

“Alright.”

Pa Zigvolt glanced rapidly between his wife and Lilia. Confrontation historically made him nervous, and it was clear from their stony faces they'd reached an impasse. He rubbed his clammy palms against his pant leg and rose from his seat, asked politely if anyone would like another round of refreshments, and fled to the kitchen before receiving a response. Lilia's gaze followed him as he walked off, his thoughts drifting away together with the man's receding figure.

He could hear the children's laughter floating in through the open windows, Sebek's loud and exuberant, Silver's quiet and breathless. Other sounds poured in, blending together like a symphony. There was the harsh percussion of their wooden swords clashing together, ringing out at times as viciously as gunfire; there was Baul's voice, low and clear, gruffly barking out his commands in tune with each thunderous strike; and there was the shining thread of Iris's singsong voice, interweaving amongst the clamor as she called out her gentle encouragement.

But still through it all his son's voice came to him, as direct as a beam of light, sounding sweeter and brighter than the goldfinches chittering away in the cottonwood trees.

It'd been so long since he last heard his son's laugh he'd almost forgotten what it sounded like. For over a month, he'd failed to elicit from the boy anything beyond the faintest imitation of a grin, yet here he was, just out of arm's reach, laughing and smiling so freely it was like his body demanded it more than breathing. He looked away from the window and glanced at Ma Zigvolt. She sat with her back erect, her hands folded primly in her lap, her eyes closed, awash in her children's joy, her round face as radiant and golden as the sun. Lilia fought back the urge to call out to Silver, knowing he would only destroy this moment.

He thought again of the past few weeks, scrutinizing everything he'd said and done to his child. He sifted through his memories, upturning each one and twisting it around and inspecting it from every angle, but still he could not find any evidence of his error. And he couldn't make comprehensible, either, the notion that his son was "growing up", as the Zigvolts had claimed. How could he, when Silver only had taken his first, wobbling steps just the other day, when it was only just yesterday that he'd learned to string his words together and share his quaint little thoughts, when he was still so small - his body, his voice, his hands, all no greater now than they had ever been before in his entire life? Lilia bit back an incredulous scoff, humored greatly by the absolute absurdity of the notion. And yet - his son's laughter drifted into his consciousness like a spring breeze. Why this drastic change in his demeanor, then?

Maybe there is something I'm doing wrong. But I just...

Lilia cleared his throat. "I'll certainly need to mull this over some more, but if you have any advice, I'm all ears."

“Well…” Ma Zigvolt smiled, smoothing out her apron before folding her hands in her lap again. “I know I’m no expert, but I’ve found that sometimes, being a good parent means you gather your babies in your arms and you hold onto them as tight as you can. And other times, it means you let them go. And he's at a point in his life where you might just have to start letting him go.”

"Hm."

The Vanrouges departed for home that afternoon. Before they left, Pa Zigvolt pulled Lilia aside, and let him know he was more than welcome to come speak with them again about Silver's behavior at any time. Lilia thanked him, reassuring him that his wife had already given him more than enough to think about for a while yet, and politely declined the couple's offer to meet for dinner later that week. As he stepped through the door, he winked at Ma Zigvolt, and she grinned at him audaciously.

Silver retreated into his shell as soon as they stepped off their neighbor's property, but Lilia was for once too occupied to take offense, busy ruminating on his conversation with the Zigvolts. Their dinner that evening was silent, and he later fell asleep dreaming of the boy's twinkling laughter.

Lilia would come to regret rejecting the Zigvolts' offer. Over the next several weeks, Silver seemed to burrow deeper and deeper into himself with each passing day. The boy's emotional carapace was thicker than any suit of armor or garrison Lilia had encountered during his time in the service, and some days he receded so deeply Lilia would have to call his name multiple times and rap his hand against the table just to wrest the child's attention away from himself. It was all Lilia could do to maintain the fraying strand of his composure from completely snapping. He'd been hotheaded as a youth, and positively vicious to his troops as a general, but had sworn off his every inclination towards corporal punishment once Malleus was born. During this period he often found himself questioning the rationality of his vow, and would sometimes envision giving the boy a lashing, only to immediately chide himself for his own weakness.

Something sinister seemed to be building up inside their little home. It was as though there was a great coil lurking underneath the floorboards, one that wound itself tighter and tighter with each of their disastrous interactions. The palpable tension only further stymied Lilia's every attempt at repairing their relationship, and the blowout he'd been fearing finally materialized one afternoon in early July.

Silver had spent the better part of that day in a state of quiet agitation. He would approach Lilia, open his mouth, close it, open it again, and then spin around and march off to his room, proclaiming hastily he needed to close his window, or make his bed, or any other excuse he could find to justify his escape. Lilia would only laugh in response. The previous day, while cleaning the kitchen, he'd glanced out the window and noticed the boy speaking animatedly with the chickens. He watched for hours as Silver paced back and forth before them, waving his arms and moving his mouth rapidly as the birds pecked indifferently at the ground.

Since then, Lilia had been eager to learn the truth of Silver's recital, but he did not press the boy, choosing instead to bide his time sprawled out on the couch, flipping through a stack of traveling magazines he'd been meaning to read.

After an hour of consternation, Silver planted himself before Lilia, his spine erect, his shoulders drawn back, and stated with perfect confidence, "Father, there's something I'd like to ask you!"

"Hm?" Lilia lowered his magazine, his eyes peeking over an editorial on deep-sea diving in the Coral Sea. "What is it?"

Silver's shoulders slumped. He'd not gotten this far in his rehearsals.

"Erm." He nibbled on his lower lip. "Is it okay if I go to the Zigvolt's by myself today?"

Lilia blinked. He'd been hoping - expecting, even - to hear from the boy a teary-eyed apology for how poorly he'd been acting recently, or perhaps a plea for his forgiveness, but not this. After a moment, he muttered, "What?"

"Is it okay if-"

"Sorry, I heard you." Lilia sat up and placed the magazine on the coffee table. "Why are you asking that?"

"I dunno. I just thought I-" Silver licked his lips. "I guess I just thought I could go by myself now. And I know it hurts your back to walk all that way, so."

"Oh, you don't need to worry about me, darling." Lilia said, inwardly cursing at himself for allowing the boy to notice his infirmity. He made a note to check the bathroom after they were finished talking, wondering if he'd neglected to put away his pain relief balm and bottles of medication where he typically hid them, at the back of the medicine cabinet.

Sitting up as straight as his bruised back allowed, he offered Silver a smile so brilliant it was as though he wished to expunge the shadow of the boy's doubt with its radiance. "I'm fit as a fiddle!" he proclaimed through gritted teeth.

Silver returned the smile, unaffected. "I'm glad. But I still wanna start going by myself."

Lilia's lips dropped into a frown. He shook his head and sighed. "I'm sorry, Silver. But the answer is 'no'."

Had Silver heard those words at any other point in his life prior to that moment, he would have conceded, and bowed out of the conversation in recognition of his father's perfect judgment. But this time, rather than his usual disappointment, he felt a strange anger welling up inside of him, instead. He clenched his fists and set his jaw, ignoring the hiss of his instincts warning him that he was about to step into a fight.

"No? Why not?" he asked, interrupting Lilia as he reached for his magazine.

Lilia leaned back into the couch and bit back another sigh. "Simple, because it's not safe for you to go all that way by yourself." He spoke slowly and carefully, hoping an air of manufactured calmness would mask his irritation.

Silver's voice, in contrast, blatantly swelled with indignation. "But I stay home by myself when you're gone."

"Staying home by yourself is different. My magic is all over this land. Magical beasts and fae know not to come here, and you know that, too."

Here, Silver paused again. The hiss of his instincts had at that point deformed into a mangled screech, which he knew would soon summon the animal panic that had struck him before a handful of times in his young life - once when he'd gotten lost in the woods as a small child, and another when his father had fallen gravely ill after returning from one of his trips, and Silver had been powerless to help him. There was one, final question that he now wished to ask the man, though he knew the answer to it might hurt him. As his mind frantically tried to draw back the words already forming on his tongue, he hastily wrenched them out and spat:

"Well, what about when you drop me and Sebek out in the middle of nowhere for our training? We always get along just fine without you."

Lilia crossed his arms and looked away. "That's... different, too."

Silver's heart skipped a beat. "...How?"

"It just is-"

"How!" the boy cried, his voice bursting into a screech.

"Because I watch you guys the whole time! I've always been watching you when you train. I would never leave you alone like that, you're just a child."

Lilia realized too late the poison of his words. It spread immediately into Silver's heart. His eyes were two perfect shining wet opals; his tears fell silently - gliding, almost, lifting off as they fell from his face, as though afraid to mar his skin. He turned and ran to his room, hesitating as he took the door into his hand before, for perhaps the first time in his life, he slammed it shut. Lilia leapt from the couch and raced after him, hissing out a choked "Damnit!" under his breath as he tried the knob and found it locked. He pressed his ear against the door and called out Silver's name. At first, he heard nothing, and feared for a moment the boy had slipped out his window and fled into the forest, in repeat of that awful, wretched night from so long ago, but then he heard it - it was like a whisper at first, nearly as imperceptible as the clap of a butterfly's wings, but still he heard it, heard the stifled, quiet sobs drifting through the heavy panel of hardwood separating him from his son. Lilia stood there, petrified, listening, feeling as each of the boy's sobs pierced his flesh and bore down into the deepest folds of his heart, as if seeking him; as if they were his own.

V.

Once a month, when the moon casts aside her shadowy veil to grace the valley with all her beauty, the Zigvolts and the Vanrouges and their neighbors gather together in a log cabin at the edge of the forest, and they dance.

Regular merriment was a necessity for the fae - mirth coursed through their bodies like the blood in their veins, and any opportunity for celebration, any chance they had to raise their voices together and join hands under the soft light of the stars, they would take it. Baul would scoff and say they were all plagued by a sickness, Ma Zigvolt would click her tongue at him and say it was rather an inclination.

The monthly dance was a rare opportunity for Silver to socialize freely with the townspeople. His father had always been honest with him about his species' general attitude towards humans, and the boy understood very well that the glint in their gemstone eyes - some of them deep ruby red like his father’s, others mesmerizingly green like polished emeralds, or as molten as bright blue sapphires - was not always a kind one. Only on those full moon nights, when the whine of the band’s violins accompanies the forest symphony of nightingales and tree frogs calling out their lonely verses, when the humans and the fae breathe each other in and twist and turn and dip and whirl and spin each other out, only then was it safe for Silver to take their clawed hands into his own and look unabashed into the fire of their eyes. They could and they would return to their quiet judgment and whispered denouncements later, but not on those nights, not when their bodies burned hot with jubilation and the music bewitched them so.

It was for this reason, and for his love of the communal mirth he habitually longed for, as isolated as he was at home, that Silver looked forward to the dance each month with great excitement. The night before the July dance, however, a war had raged inside the Vanrouge household.

Partway through their silent dinner, just as Lilia had gotten up to refill his glass of water at the sink, Silver had announced, plainly, and without a moment's hesitation, that he would not be participating in tomorrow's festivities, and offered neither an explanation nor any willingness to compromise when prompted. But Lilia was equally insurmountable in his parental concerns, and he questioned the boy until his blood boiled. The conversation rapidly crumbled into an argument, before further disintegrating into an all-out screaming match.

They volleyed their rebukes at each other from across the dining table, both unbending in their determination, Silver deflecting each of Lilia's pleas and demands with an iron-clad defense that bordered on hostility.

"You're going to that dance whether you want to or not!" Lilia had nigh snarled at one point as he launched his next attack.

But his words had ricocheted off Silver as harmlessly as though they were filled with air, and he ultimately fired back a retort so scathing it made even Lilia's marble white skin flush in mortification.

Their clamor poured out the open windows and flooded the clearing, where the sows and the heifer in the pasture looked at each other in concern. A songbird that had perched on the windowsill for a moment’s respite burst into the sky a second later, alarmed by the ruckus within. After an hour of tense contestation, they finally reached an agreement: they would go to the dance, but would not stay the entire time. But the foul atmosphere from the great storm of their quarrel lingered in the small cottage, and the pair kept to themselves the next day, Silver sulking in his bedroom, and Lilia fussing in the kitchen, busy preparing a dish for the dance's customary potluck.

They convened in the evening. The partygoers traditionally wore their Sunday best, and Silver and Lilia both donned their black slacks, white button up shirts, and leather-soled shoes. Their jackets and vests they left hanging in their closets, the threat of the summer heat overpowering any inclination for gaiety. When Silver emerged into the living room, he was finishing buttoning up his shirt, and did not look up as he called out a quiet greeting to his father. It was the first time Lilia had seen him all day, and once the boy had completed his toilette and finally met his gaze, Lilia offered him a reconciliatory smile, which Silver at first returned, reflexively, then retracted a moment later, substituting it with a scowl in its place.

Shortly before dusk, underneath a blue-gray sky streaked with clouds of pure amber, they departed for the cabin, joining up with the Zigvolts as they neared the edge of the forest. Baul was not with his family, having excused himself to instead partake in an evening nap, and the small troupe reached its destination just as the last golden wisps of the sun had withdrawn into their equatorial den.

While Ma and Pa Zigvolt and Iris set off for the dancefloor, Lilia headed towards the tables at the back of the one-room cabin, Silver and Sebek in tow. He gingerly set down his tray of charred cookies amongst the other desserts while the boys took a seat. As Sebek gazed at the rows of meat pies and pound cakes spread out before them, Silver fidgeted in his chair.

The last of the partygoers having finally assembled, the band picked up their instruments and began to play. There was no electricity in the valley, and aside from the small handful of families that could afford imported record players, music was traditionally played live, both for private enjoyment, and for public celebrations. Most fae children, as a result, learned to master at least one instrument as part of their general education, and while Lilia and Malleus both were highly skilled in a wide variety of stringed instruments, Silver could play only a few, clumsy chords on the guitar - and nothing else - having suffered greatly under his father's abstract instruction.

The theme that night was "Rhythm and Blues", and the band played a selection of human songs that had lately entered the valley's cultural zeitgeist, a record-short 50 years after first debuting overseas. The partygoers danced uproariously, all of them eager to show off the new steps they'd been practicing the past month - twisting and turning and stomping their feet so thunderously the entire cabin shook from their gesticulations.

After the first song ended and a transitory lull settled over the party, Silver took the opportunity to finally voice his discomfort. Sitting up straight in his seat, he said, “I’m gonna go sit outside, it’s hot in here. You wanna come, Sebek?”

Sebek tugged absentmindedly at his suspenders while he thought. “I should like to partake in some of the fare, so I shall remain here with Sir Lilia for now.”

“Okay,” Silver replied with a shrug. He walked into the swarm of dancers just as the next song began, vanishing amongst the undulating crowd a moment later.

Lilia wished desperately to follow after him. He'd apologized repeatedly for snapping at Silver the other day, and for their fight the evening prior, both times attempting reparation through the offer of a new sword or other training implement, or ordering dinner from Silver's favorite restaurant in town - methods that had always proven successful in the past - but the boy had shot down any notion of making peace. Deciding to allow Silver his space, Lilia rose from his seat and cut a large piece of cake for Sebek, grabbing for himself a glass of berry juice before sitting back down again. He drank deeply; a familiar warmth began to pool in his stomach and radiated pleasantly into his skin, gathering up and pushing out the restlessness that had been plaguing him since the night prior, so that it lifted away from his body like the mist after a rainstorm. He downed the rest of his glass lethargically, only getting up to move whenever Sebek politely asked for another slice of cake.

The pair observed the dancers in silence together, Lilia apathetically, Sebek with great interest, his bright eyes jumping excitedly between his parents and his sister, narrowing in contempt each time the latter's current dance partner whispered something in her ear that made her smile. He resolved not to dance with the perpetrator, a young woman he recognized as one of his sister's classmates, if offered, and the prospect of this future rejection delighted him even more than his final bite of cake.

Half an hour later, Pa Zigvolt came staggering over to their table, his pinched face dripping with sweat. He stood before them for a moment, swaying slightly, trying to catch his breath, then cleared his throat and announced, meekly, “Seb, your ma said she wants to dance with you next.”

Sebek's heart plunged into his stomach. He nodded and slowly stood up, wobbling a little as he marched stiffly towards the dance floor.

After watching his son leave, Pa Zigvolt sank down into one of the empty seats with a groan. He took out his handkerchief, and as he began dabbing at his wet face, a pained smile formed on his lips. “What a woman!” he panted, amazed. “I’m telling you, she’d go all night if you let her.”

Lilia smirked. “Sounds like she’s just like her father.”

“Yeah,” Pa Zigvolt sighed. And then he frowned. “Wait, what…? What do you mean by that?”

“What did you mean by that?” Lilia countered with a gentle smile.

The color drained from Pa Zigvolt’s face. The layer of sweat he’d only just managed to wipe off suddenly rematerialized across his skin, and he nervously balled his soaked handkerchief in his hands. “I- I was just talking about dancing!!” he stammered in defense.

Lilia laughed. “Then we’ll say that I was, too.”

Exasperated, Pa Zigvolt clicked his tongue. He timidly glanced around the room, and, upon confirming none of the other partygoers appeared to have heard them, deflated in his seat once again, kicking out his still quivering legs in front of him to let them rest. He set his used handkerchief on the table and extracted a fresh one from his crumpled breast pocket while scanning the dance floor, and quickly spotted the shock of his son's bright green hair weaving through the crowd, heading towards Ma Zigvolt at the front of the cabin, where she stood towering above the other partygoers. Smiling, he resumed mopping his face, and quietly breathed a prayer of good luck for the boy.

“There you are, honey! I was waiting for you.” Ma Zigvolt smiled brightly as her son approached, and Sebek nodded in greeting. In stark contrast to his father, whose haggard breathing still rang out far behind them, his mother was the very definition of radiant; the cabin walls were lined with rows of glass lamps, each one burning a magic flame of an amber hue, and where their dim incandescence reached out and cupped her rosy face, her skin seemed to effuse its own milk white glow in return. She grabbed his arm and drew him flush against her, causing him to yelp in surprise, but he quickly regained his composure, and placed his trembling hands on her broad waist as she instructed.

They stood directly before the band, so close that Sebek could see his warped reflection in the gleaming brass of the saxophones; next to his doppelganger, within the piano's raised lid, was an umber copy of his mother, smiling gently at him. Turning his gaze, he watched as the singer stepped forth and clapped his hands, casting a simple spell to amplify his voice. The band members, thus signaled, each became animated in turn; one after another the horns swung in golden arcs up to their players' lips; the drummer and the pianist sat rigid in their seats; the guitarist and the bassist hovered their fingers over strings that seemed to vibrate in anticipation; finally, the singer, glancing around him, issued with a nod of his head a silent affirmation of their readiness, took a deep breath, and began to sing.

“Here they have a lot of fun

Puttin' trouble on the run

Man, you find the old and young

Twistin' the night away”

The dancers convened before the band immediately, some forming pairs, others choosing to shuffle on their own. The song called for a basic step, if danced solo: one need only to dig one's foot into the floor and twist it, as though "squashin' a damn bug", as Baul had once commented - with the elbows and hips swung in a similar, rhythmic fashion. Those who'd coupled up alternated this movement with a variety of turns, spins, and other footwork predominant in the swing style of dance. As they moved, the sound of their shoes scuffing and squeaking against the hardwood floor became a backing beat to the music.

The cabin was formed from stacked logs of hewn pine, affixed together with a mixture of mud and clay; the night's heat slipped through any miniscule gaps it could find in this rudimentary sealant - through the walls, the flooring, the roof - combining with the warmth that radiated from the mass of bodies packed together in that small space, so that the air within the building was as heavy and hot as the air without. Sebek's face quickly bloomed bright pink from the heat, and then dark red and splotchy; the impudent strands of hair he’d spent over half an hour in the bathroom slicking down fell limp over his eyes, heavy with perspiration. He understood at once his father's fatigued condition, and discarded the disgust he'd felt when he saw the man staggering to their table earlier, a newfound compassion taking its place.

“They're twistin', twistin'

Everybody's feelin' great

They're twistin', twistin'

They're twistin' the night away”

It was all Sebek could do to brace himself against his mother's thunderous exuberance. She swept him across the dancefloor as though he were a leaf caught up in a storm. His gaze shifted rapidly between her smiling face and his own shuffling feet, worried he might stumble and fall. Noticing this, Ma Zigvolt’s heavy body shook with laughter, her voice deep and rich like a dove’s call, and Sebek decided that he would never hear a more wonderful sound in his life. He soon forgot all his apprehensions; his shining white smile accompanied his reddened cheeks, and he nuzzled his face below the swell of his mother’s breast, as content as a nursing kitten.

A moment later, several of the dancers detached themselves from their partners and floated away. One of the Zigvolts' neighbors caught Sebek's mother, and his sister drifted over to take her place. He steadied himself against the thick trunk of her arm. She was wearing a pleated, pearl white dress, with a floral pattern sewn in golden thread along the neckline, the bottom falling down to just below her knees. The dress billowed out as she twirled, so that the hem unfurled around her like the petals of her namesake. Her pretty face was just as flushed as his, and her bright green eyes shone like pure jade; it was as though she had grown several years younger that night, no longer appearing to him as the young woman who had departed for college a year ago, but like the little girl of his infantile memories. They whirled and whirled, giggling until their stomachs hurt, as if sharing together in some great secret.

The floor groaned under a storm of stomping feet, the windows shook precipitously in their crudely cut frames. The crowd roared, voices low and high emerged from the swaying mass to accompany the singer at the end of each verse. Though there was not a drop of alcohol to be found in that cabin, many of them moved belligerently. They were intoxicated purely by the clang of the drums, the blare of the trumpets, the rumble of the singer's low voice - each of these more potent a drug to the fae than any other known substance on the planet.

At the back of the cabin, Lilia and Pa Zigvolt laughed and clapped along from their seats. Lilia's eyes darted around the room as he clapped, trying to locate his son, but the wall of dancers surging back and forth blocked his view.

“Lean up, lean back

Lean up, lean back

Watusi, now fly, now twist

They're twistin' the night away”

Outside, Silver sat alone on the doorstep. The sounds pouring out of the cabin washed over him in tumultuous waves. He'd heard many of the songs before, at prior dances, or on Pa Zigvolt's record player, and the familiarity of the music felt like a reassuring hand on his thin shoulders that night. He swayed gently to the beat, noticing at times how the slurred voices of the partygoers would rise above the band’s thunderous performance, and at one point he looked up and wondered if they had all grown drunk on the wine-dark sky.

He yawned loudly. The hot anger from his father’s recent injury still burned dimly in his stomach, and he wavered between his desire to snuff out the last few dying embers, or to let them fester still. He wasn’t used to this feeling, this irritation that clung to his tired flesh like a tick. His father had upset him before, over trivial matters that had seemed substantial to his child’s heart at the time – and once over something he understood was sincerely very grave – but he could not recall ever feeling truly angry towards the man.

All his life he'd thought himself plain and unmemorable, a pale, living blemish upon the fair folk and their preternatural beauty. But that day, when his father had revealed the truth to him, that was the first time in his life he'd ever felt ugly. The lone attestation to his maturation - all those miserable nights he'd spent in the wilderness as part of his training, often alone, other times accompanied by Sebek, cast hundreds of miles away from the clearing and all its conveniences, relying solely on his magical prowess, his wit, and a small set of tools to make it through the night - had all this time been a lie. Had any of his accomplishments been real? Had a single jot of his father's pride for him ever been genuine? What good was the torture of his training! What good was the endless exhaustion, the cold fear wrought by those awful, lonely nights, all the callouses and scars he'd been led to attain as a child and would now forever mar the alabaster of his flesh! To have ascended the black crags of the Forbidden Mountain, to have crossed endless deserts and forded raging rivers with trembling arms and legs, and yet to have failed to notice his father had been there with him the entire time! Or, perhaps he had noticed, perhaps he had noticed and merely pretended not to, to assuage the frightened little boy he now realized he truly was. Or, perhaps the man had secluded himself somewhere far beyond Silver's reach, perhaps he'd been observing him from behind the stars or the moon. But this last thought only wounded him further, as though even the heavenly bodies had betrayed him, too. He turned away from them now, not wishing for them to see him cry.

Humiliation is one of life's cruelest teachers, and that day it had taught Silver that nowhere in his house, nowhere in that land was he safe. Nowhere could he escape from the prison that was his father's gaze.

The dance proceeded languidly, drawing on as the stars drifted quietly through the night sky. Pa Zigvolt, having at last recovered from his wife's fervor, had left Lilia to go dance with his daughter. Alone, Lilia remained in his seat at the back of the cabin, tapping his feet on occasion, or humming along to the songs he recognized, but did not otherwise participate any further in the festivities. He tiredly declined each of his neighbors' offers to try their cakes and their pies, raising an eyebrow when he noticed, an hour into the party, that his own plate of cookies was still untouched. He angrily crunched one of the charcoal black disks - frowning not at its flavor, which he found as decadent as anything else his impotent taste buds could detect, but at his neighbors' general ignorance towards good food.

Upon exhausting their repertoire of fast-paced numbers, the band called for a short interlude, at which conclusion the singer cleared his throat and announced, “Alright, ladies and gents. We’ll be slowing things down a bit for these last few songs.” The band behind him reassembled itself; the guitarist and the bassist returned their instruments to their cases, trading them for a pair of violins, and a portion of the brass section retired entirely. The violins, perched proudly on their players shoulders, let out a long, plaintive note, and then the singer parted his lips once more.

His voice hitherto had been brash and booming, a perfect accompaniment to the vibrant music, but now it melted into something as smooth as velvet, flowing like a summer breeze over and around the audience, dripping into their hearts with the sweetness of honey. The thunder of shuffling feet was no more. There was only the slow swaying of couples - lovers with their partners, mothers and fathers with their children, and neighbors with their friends.

“I wish you bluebirds in the spring

To give your heart a song to sing

And then a kiss

But more than this

I wish you love”

Lilia perked up as the first verse concluded, his gaze darting immediately to the front of the cabin. He recognized the song; he'd first heard it decades ago, while on a weekend trip he'd taken to the Queendom of Roses. It was during a period of his life where he'd been "going through the motions", as he'd regularly complain to Baul, plagued incessantly by an ennui that so often strikes those transitioning into their twilight years. In desperate need of a distraction, he spontaneously booked a flight to the nearest country - he didn't care which one, only that the ticket was cheap enough to justify paying for a farmhand during his absence. On the evening of the first day of his trip, while having dinner in his hotel, he learned from the waiter that there was to be a jazz orchestra - or "big band", as the humans called it - hosted in the ballroom located on the establishment's ground floor, and that patrons could attend the performance for free. His interest piqued, he rented a suit from a local tailor, freshly pressed, and perfumed with a crisp eau de toilette he'd brought along with him, and ordered a bouquet of fresh roses sent to his room, the brightest of which he trimmed and placed in his lapel.

Fae and human relations had long cooled down to a congenial level by then, and he danced comfortably with a number of human partners that night, free from the vicious admonishments that had disturbed him on his prior travels. They danced the same dances the fae before him had been dancing all night, and the performance concluded with the same song the band at the front of the cabin was playing now. It was the only number he'd sat out for, not wishing to engage in the cumbersome intimacy that slow dances demanded, and he'd observed the other couples with great interest; they all swayed in a gentle unison, moving like the fields of tall grass that grew near the meadow before his home, so that he felt like he'd been cast under a trance while watching them. When he returned to Briar Valley later that week, he promptly disremembered everything about the song - its lyrics, its rhythm, its melody - his attention wrested first by his responsibilities on the homestead, and then by his young son.

It was a few months after his acquisition of Silver, when he and the child both were still suffering from the boy's interminable fits, for which Lilia had long exhausted all his patience and energy into locating a cure, that he finally recalled the song he'd once heard all those years ago. One morning, with the wailing infant in his arms, its little face bright red and puckered, he was despaired to find his usual consolation tactics - rocking the baby, swaddling it, offering it a moistened rag to suckle on - had all lost their effects, and he paced back and forth across the living room, debating if he should call on the Zigvolts again, or attempt to find an alternative solution on his own.

He was tired, both mentally and physically; the weeks lately had been passing him by in an endless, uniform blur, each day demarcated by whatever twilight hour the baby would surrender to its circadian needs and drift off to sleep. In the midst of his fatigued panic, something that had for decades been slumbering in the recesses of his mind finally awoke then; the lyrics and melody he'd long forgotten burst forth from the cerebral pit they’d been cast into, reassembling themselves as brilliantly as the molten birth of a newborn star. Parting his lips, his voice nigh higher than a shaky whisper, he began to sing, “I wish you bluebirds in the spring…”; by the end of the first verse, the child's loud cries had hushed into a quiet whimper; before the conclusion of the song, it had fallen fast asleep. It was like he'd discovered a panacea; from then on, any time Silver was upset or fearful, or on stormy nights when the thunder was too loud and the lightning too bright for him to be able to fall asleep, Lilia would gather the boy into his arms and sing to him, dispelling the child's every perturbation with the low hum of his voice.

Lilia's heart sank, realizing in that moment just how long it'd been since he'd last sung it for Silver, likely not for months, or for a year, even, and yet - he smiled; this was their song, and now here was the perfect chance to finally reconnect with his withdrawn and sullen child once more!

Trembling with excitement, he shot up from his seat. He fought his way through the throng of dancers until he found Silver, still sitting alone on the stoop outside. He grabbed the boy’s hand and pulled him back into the cabin, but Silver dug his heels into the ground as they reentered the crowd.

“Stop it, I don’t want to dance,” Silver said with a glower.

Lilia sighed. “Oh, come now. Can’t you entertain your old man just for one song?”

“I don’t want to dance!” Silver repeated louder, putting as much stress on each word as he could muster. Some of the partygoers turned to look at them, and their curious stares made him flush.

Lilia tugged on the boy’s arm and offered him a reassuring smile. “Just this one song, and then we'll go home and you can sulk all you want.”

Silver ripped Lilia’s hand away, his face contorting into an angry grimace. “I said stop it! You’re embarrassing me!”

“But Silver! This is-!”

He pushed past Lilia and stormed out the door. Outside, the sky and the ground below it had merged into a single, black swath, so that his white head contrasted like a point of light against it, appearing like a star floating through the darkness. Lilia watched him walk away from where he stood frozen in shock, his rejected hand still hanging in the air. He did not move as the dancers silently drifted all around him; most of them did not turn to look at him, as though he were nothing more than a small obstruction in a stream.

“I wish you shelter from the storm

A cozy fire to, to keep you warm

But most of all when snowflakes fall

I wish you love”

Later, long after the last notes of the music had faded away, Lilia whispered, “But this is our song.”

VI.

Silver awoke the next morning long after the songbirds had concluded their matinal performance. The world outside was grey and silent, and he stepped through it as quietly as the pine boughs brushing together in the wind. He moved with confidence, his eyes habitually adjusted to low light, and followed a patch of wild coreopsis and daylilies that spread lace-like on the ground before him. They appeared to have claimed for themselves all the meager drops of sunlight that percolated through the clouds, shining like gemstones in the dim darkness.

He'd slept poorly last night, plagued by dreams of the dance, and his thoughts once more drifted away from him while he plodded through his chores, traveling far beyond the clearing, down to the cabin just past the forest's edge, where they pooled within it alongside the stagnant summer heat. Last night at the dance, a warmth had flowed from his father and into him where his fingers had touched his arm, and again and again, as he lay in bed upon returning home, he'd felt it anew, felt it erupt into the hot rage that had coursed through his veins when he'd stormed out the door. A part of him was sorry to have upset the man, having now belatedly realized his harmless intentions, but a greater part of him was struck by a deep frustration - his body ached with it; it prickled at his skin as though he'd bathed in poison oak, so that more than once he felt his face twist into a scowl while he worked.

The animals, too, noticed his contortions. The chickens coalesced at his feet as he gathered their eggs; the pigs butted him gently as he refilled their trough; and the young calf, renown for its stubborn shyness, detached itself from its mother for once and loitered by his side, unsure of what to say. Silver sighed at all of this. His whole life he'd had a peculiar connection with animals. They would sense his vexations and his fears, and would come to him, unbidden, offering him their crude affections in a variety of forms - sometimes pinecones or hickory nuts covered with specks of leaflitter, other times poorly picked wildflowers still dangling with heavy roots, each of these gifts held with utmost tender in their mouths or little hands. But he had not the patience for their ministrations that day, and he dismissed the chickens and the pigs and the calf each with a scoff and a wave of his hand. The heifer, however, he failed to evade.

She was the eldest of the Vanrouge's livestock - a wise, if not shrewd, creature; only a year younger than Silver, they had tumbled across the clearing together in their infancy, and most of what he knew of animal husbandry he'd learned from her. That morning, she had refused to vacate the lean-to in protest of the dismal weather, and she was waiting for him there when he approached her with his milking pail and wooden stool in hand. Once seated, his hands and his attention preoccupied with stripping the foremilk from her teats, her broad body blocking the exit, she turned her heavy head towards him, and issued from her liquid eyes the same question that had been tormenting him all that morning: Are you alright? Her plaintive gaze struck him like an ambush. Ensnared, he fumblingly released her udder and stroked her sides, ensuring her through gritted teeth that he was perfectly fine. Satisfied by his response, she turned away, and leisurely resumed her meditations.

After finishing his chores, he returned to the cottage and forced down a tasteless bowl of oatmeal and some scraps of white bacon. His thoughts raced while he ate. Within his mind flew bits and pieces of anger, trepidation, worry, and sorrow, and these he took into his calloused hands and pressed together, trying to mold them into something he could understand, but they ultimately formed into an idea, instead. This discovery satiated him where his meager meal had not, and he smiled as he brought his dishes to the sink.

When Lilia stumbled out of his bedroom an hour later, half-asleep, and still clad in his dress shirt and pants from the night prior, he found Silver waiting for him by the front door, his canvas knapsack slung across his shoulders. As he began to yawn a greeting, Silver stiffened and cut him off, rapidly spitting out a gruff request to go to the Zigvolt's before turning to face him. His tone was so severe that his words struck Lilia's skin like a splash of ice water, causing him to sober immediately, and he numbly gave his permission with a slow nod of his head. They left together after Lilia got changed, Silver leading the way, Lilia trailing far behind him.

The grey curtain of the sky had pulled back to reveal an angry red sun behind it. Summer had reached its height then, and the entire valley was plainly sullen. The trees, seeming to sag in the heat, stood with their great branches drooping weakly; the songbirds concealed amongst them cycled between a restless dozing and a fitful agitation, too uncomfortable to sing. Silver, however, cut unphased through the stifling air. His hair blazed like white fire, and the shimmering light around him made him appear at times like a mirage to his lagging father. Upon reaching their destination, and after an exchange of curt farewells, Silver glanced behind him as he opened the front door, but all he saw was the thin line of the man's back receding into the haze of the forest.

Silver found Sebek upstairs in his bedroom, pouring over sheets of magical formulae spread out across the floor. He stepped gingerly into the room, being careful not to disturb any of Sebek's materials, announced himself with a throaty, "Hey", and then promptly launched into a recount of last night. He spoke so rapidly it felt like his words were slipping blindly off his tongue. He blinked away hot tears as he talked, his anger and his hurt boiling up each time he mentioned his father. When he finished, he sighed, and then began nibbling on his lips, unsure of what he next wished to say. Sebek waited patiently for him to continue.

Finally, after a tense pause, Silver grumbled, “He keeps treating me like I’m a dumb kid and It’s driving me nuts. I just dunno know what to do anymore.”

Sebek frowned. “And you’re certain you’ve cast aside all your childish whims?”

“Yeah,” Silver nodded solemnly.

“Hmm…” Sebek thought for a moment, and then his lips pulled up into a smirk. “Then I should think the solution is obvious, you twit!”

“And what’s that?”

Sebek crossed his arms. “Recall Sir Lilia’s and my grandfather’s old war stories. Whenever they carried out some grand feat or other, they’d be lavished with adoration upon their return home. Clearly, you simply need to accomplish some sort of heroic act, and then your father shall finally recognize the man that you’ve become.”

“Yeah…” Silver murmured, nodding his head again. “Yeah, I think you’re right, Sebek. That’s a great idea, thank you.”

The praise made Sebek swell like an adder. He puffed out his chest and jutted his chin. “Truly, you are fortuitous, Silver! To have a friend as clever as I!”

Silver smiled. “I sure am.”

Sebek was taller than Silver by a single, coveted inch. And he was stronger, too, heavy and thick everywhere his companion was gangly and thin. But still Silver was more skilled at magic and combat than him, and he could count on one hand the number of times he’d bested his fellow apprentice in battle. Silver held over Sebek's head something he would never be able to reach no matter how much taller he grew: namely, the fact that Silver was older.

Sebek was only twelve, still just a child. Adolescence fascinated him severely, having watched it radically transform his older brother and sister before his eyes, and he was jealous that Silver got to enjoy all its mysteries before he could. Every morning, gripped with excitement, he’d snatch the desk calendar from his bedside table with trembling hands, eager to see if it was finally the day when he, too, would be permitted to enter that strange and curious world of young adulthood. And every morning his little shoulders would sag in disappointment as he read the date. He’d begun wondering lately if it would ever be March 17th again, thinking that perhaps the planet sought to deny him his wish, and was intentionally dawdling in its flight around the sun. The idea of a great conspiracy pleased him, which helped to placate his usual disappointment.

Now presented with the chance to prove his capabilities before all the adults around them, he trembled with excitement. They fell immediately to their plotting. First, Sebek suggested they apprehend a robber or other trivial criminal, but Silver quickly dismissed the idea, doubting its feasibility. He additionally dismissed Sebek's propositions that they search for long lost treasure and other such artifacts for similar reasons. When Sebek mentioned they could contact Malleus for assistance, Silver balked. He hadn't seen the man all summer, and hadn't heard his name in weeks - the young prince had been preoccupied with helping their country recover from the aftermath of last month's monstrous storm, traveling from waterlogged village to waterlogged village, magically repairing homes and rejuvenating flooded farmlands wherever he went. Silver rejected this proposal, too, explaining that Malleus likely wouldn't have the time available to help them, and noting internally that he'd only betray their schemes to his father, anyways, and they quickly moved onto their next point of contestation. After much debate, and much grumbling and whining, and following a short intermission to enjoy some of Ma Zigvolt's lemon pie, Sebek finally proposed an idea that the both of them agreed on.

A rogue grizzly bear had been making a feast of the local livestock over the summer, a missing sow of the Zigvolts and a milk calf of their neighbors amongst its victims. Any attempt the past month to detain or eliminate it had ended in failure, and it'd been outwitting the small community unlike anything the elders had ever seen. Recently, for example, a family living down the road had attempted to capture it after it had devoured several of their chickens during one of its nightly jaunts. They placed a series of foothold traps around the coop, buried under leaf litter, and totally de-scented using a complex spell, and awoke the next morning to find their yard blanketed with bloody white feathers, not a single trap containing within its undisturbed jaws even one strand of the creature's hair. Silver and Sebek decided they would bring an end to the terror themselves.

Its massive tracks had last been spotted heading into the Obsidian Forest - a congested strip of towering firs, spruce, and pine trees located to the north of the Zigvolt's. The trees there grew so closely together that hardly any sunlight was able to pierce through the thick canopy, casting the land inside of it into an endless shadow. One had the feeling Nature had forgotten that place in her designs; it was quiet as something alive should not be. There was no birdsong during the day, and neither the soft gurgle of the river nor the wind brushing against the trees. Tawny owl cries could sometimes be heard emanating from it at night - lonely, sharp trills that rang out almost like a warning. The fae were not known for being a judicious people, but they were perceptive, able to detect on their skin the slightest gradations in magic and other immaterial energies that even the finest tuned devices could not, and they stayed far away from the forest in confidence of its dangers.

Silver, however, was a human, and Sebek, a half-fae, and they had long viewed the forest with a simple, innocent curiosity, both unable to sense the unseen forces that made their countrymen so cautious of that unknown realm. As such, and with Silver consumed with thoughts of his redemption, and Sebek thinking of little more than all the praise their great adventure would earn him, they boldly made plans to meet together early the next morning before their parents awoke. Lilia regularly went to bed shortly after 11 o'clock, and Silver would make his escape several hours later. He would cut a path straight to the Zigvolt's, avoiding the long, winding trail his father had erected for him through his land, and would rendezvous with Sebek behind their home. They talked until the sun set and shadows flooded the room, but neither moved to turn on the light, for the excitement in their hearts brightened that dark space better than any candle or lamp ever could. Silver returned home that evening feeling lighter than he had in weeks.

Silver dipped his hands into the kitchen basin and splashed some of the cold water onto his face. The windows above him were a pair of jet black panes, dotted with a smattering of stars that twinkled distantly like lightning bugs. He couldn't remember ever having seen a sky so desolate before, and he marveled at the miniscule pinpricks of light as he slowly dried his hands with a terry washcloth, anxiously aware of each and every sound he made.

He completed one final circuit throughout the house before leaving. Moving on his tiptoes, he double-checked that the covers were drawn over his bed and the pillows beneath them were positioned correctly, and that his father was still asleep, the last of which he ascertained with a furtive glance thrown inside the man's room. When he reached the front door, he sank back down on his heels and bent over to re-lace his boots.

He'd packed his knapsack before going to bed, filling it with a handheld lantern, his canteen and compass, an emergency kit, a small bag of cornmeal and a cast iron pan, and some pemmican and soda biscuits he'd wrapped in napkins. His crossbow hung snug over his shoulders; his favorite hunting knife was nestled deep into the leather sheath hanging from his belt. He and Sebek had agreed not to come back until their mission was fulfilled, and if they ran out of provisions before felling their quarry, they'd be well prepared to secure more.

The house breathed him out like a sigh. The moon unfurled overhead like an orchid in full bloom, vastly outshining the indolent stars hovering around it, and it bathed his surroundings in a pale film of argent light. The broad, black blocks of the cows and the pigs asleep in their enclosures jutted out from the darkness, and the black pyramid of the chicken coop rose silently above them. He crept past the dozing creatures and slipped into the woods. His legs instinctively followed the same trail he'd taken countless times before. His feet he lifted and placed methodically, stalking as he did when he hunted, fearing that the soft crackle of the twigs and leaves underneath him might awaken his sleeping father from hundreds of yards away.

Presently, the felled oak tree that marked the northernmost boundary of his father’s land appeared. Its withered roots splayed out like the gnarled fingers of an outstretched hand, their grasp extending far above his head. He reached out and rested his palm against the trunk. Its bark was soft and brittle from decay, blanketed with a thick layer of moss and algae. He knew not if his father had struck down this once mighty giant himself, or if it had merely collapsed in its old age, only that he was forbidden from passing by its sentinel gaze on his own. He grabbed onto the slippery bark and scrambled atop the trunk, letting out a shaky breath as he stood up.

All of the land before him stretched beyond the confines of his father's territory. Each and every bush and tree and creature, every shadow, every undefined mass lurking in the darkness there was to him an alien, a stranger. Somewhere further beyond lay the Zigvolt’s homestead, and further past that, the Obsidian Forest. The mountains erupted in the distance like a row of black fangs piercing the sky. Behind him waited the clearing and the cottage, the toolshed and the garden, the wheatfield and the pasture and the meadow – each of these forming another slat of his boyhood cradle, another barrier around the only world he'd ever truly known.

He lifted a trembling hand and groped at the air. He'd been expecting some sort of rebound from broaching his father's magical perimeter, but it did not come. He leapt off the trunk and landed on the ground with a loud crash. The sound echoed viciously all around him and yet - there was nothing. No harsh cry of his name. No thudding of feet racing up behind him. Nothing. Had he successfully escaped? Gasping, he rapidly swung his head this way and that, scanning his surroundings. Here was the copper blur of a fox slipping through the forest undergrowth, there was the heavy grey body of a raccoon lumbering slowly behind it. And here, again, the silver outline of a barn owl peering at him from the thicket yonder.

He could see now that these were no specters, no apparitions - they were living things, with eyes like his and beating hearts like his, things that drank in the same sweet night air as him. All his fears vanished - it was as though he'd finally let out a breath he never realized he'd been holding in all his life. Re-shouldering his bag, he set off once more, his heart pounding with excitement, his body coursing with the ecstasy of this newfound freedom. He swept through the forest like a beam of moonlight. The five miles to the Zigvolt's he crossed in what felt like five steps.

Why was I ever afraid of this place? he wondered. Why was I ever afraid of anything in my life?

At three o'clock in the morning, less than an hour after he'd left the clearing, Silver stepped onto the dirt road that led to the Zigvolt's farmhouse. Breathless from his record flight, he took in long, quiet gulps of air as he neared the agreed-upon rendezvous location - the left-side porch, for there were no windows there - his eyes flicking occasionally to his sides, and to his rear, and to the spider web of starlight draped across the cottonwoods towering around him, his steps falling lighter than even the cloven feet of a vigilant deer. He immediately noticed the small, darkened figure hovering by the porch, and watched as it detached itself from the greater mass of shadows, revealing itself to be Sebek. His friend flashed him a triumphant smile, his little fangs shining bright white in the darkness.

"You made it!"

"Hush!"

Sebek's hands flew over his mouth. "Sorry!" he yelped as he turned to look at the house, his heart racing, but the stalwart building gave no reaction, remaining stone still, silent. Through his fingers, he sheepishly repeated, this time quietly, "Sorry." He quickly readjusted his knapsack from where it'd slipped down his shoulder, then hurried to join Silver in the road.

Silver rolled his eyes, grinning.

They padded cautiously through the darkness, their feet kicking up small clouds of dust from the earth beneath them, each one rising like an ochre breath before dissolving a moment later into the blue-black of the night. After walking for a length, Sebek pointed out from a row of identical log cabins his neighbor's home - namely, the one who'd recently tried to apprehend the beast after it'd feasted on their flock. They circled around back, ducking as they passed the lower story windows, and found, by a pair of crooked fence posts surrounding a small vegetable garden, a set of lumbering bear tracks that trailed away due North. Sebek crouched down and placed his hand in one of the prints. The massive groove was as broad as a dinner plate, so that even when he splayed and stretched out his hand as wide as he could, his fingertips stopped several inches short from the rim. The indentations from the claw marks looked like a set of daggers had been dragged through the ground. Silver swallowed thickly as he observed this. Tugging at Sebek's sleeve, he whispered hoarsely, "Come on, let's go."

The tracks led them further and deeper into the bowels of the adjacent woodland. Neither spoke, both of them gripped with a nervous excitement that bordered at times on trepidation. Occasionally, Silver's hands reached behind him for his crossbow, finding reassurance in the solidity of its metal stock. Sebek, too, had taken with him the children's rifle he'd received for his birthday last year. Purchased by his father while traveling overseas for a dental conference, he'd gloated joyfully to Silver upon receiving it, and had been treating it with the utmost care the past year, polishing it daily, and keeping it secured in a case he kept hidden underneath his bed. The fall prior, Silver had accompanied Sebek and his father when they'd gone duck hunting at the river and had received a turn using the weapon, with both boys dispatching several birds, each. Though Silver was amazed at its great strength, and though he found it a very lovely piece of craftsmanship, indeed, the sound of it firing hurt his ears, and he secretly hoped they wouldn't have to use it.

The trees gradually thinned out and fell away, receding into a tall, grassy meadow that, in turn, soon bowed down and terminated before another stretch of forest. But the shadowy structure looming before them was somehow different than all the other natural places they'd ever come across in their lives. It was darker than the night, silent; foreboding in a way that left them wondering if it was about to reach out a gnarled, earthen hand and strike them. This was the Obsidian Forest, and the bear's tracks disappeared within it.

The boys, having simultaneously come to a standstill at the edge of the forest, their hearts pounding, exchanged a tense look, then turned back to face the verdant bulwark. The moonlight fell like a curtain before them; Silver took Sebek's larger hand into his own and they stepped through it together. The air within the forest was several degrees cooler than without, and the shock of the cold was like jumping into the river on a warm Summer day. Sebek shook off Silver's hand with a grunt, and once freed, zipped his jacket and pulled up his collar. Silver, ignoring his friend's indignation, extracted his lantern from his bag, and lit it with a simple spell. He held up the device and slowly swung it back and forth it as he turned around.

All the light in the world was now contained within Silver's hands; everything around them was only an abstraction of what they understood to be total darkness. The copper glow from his lantern struck the surrounding fir trees, dimly illuminating the bone white bark covering their emaciated trunks. Their scraggly canopies converged together and formed a single, continuous, vegetative wall that strangled the moonlight within its matted foliage. The air was heavy with the clean smell of pine, underlaid with the rich musk of a humus that had been forming undisturbed for centuries. It was quiet, as the adults had described, but not completely devoid of sound - they could hear, emanating like an invisible vapor from the leaf litter, the silver song of crickets drawing their bows across their instruments; the wind had dropped its voice to a whisper, but they could hear this, too, threading through any microscopic gaps it could find in the leafy barrier overhead; and as they walked, there was the soft crunch of their boots sinking into the plush carpet of pine needles underfoot.

After a moment's consideration, Silver declared, "It's no big deal," and Sebek nodded mutely in agreement.

They'd been misled countless times before by the adults in their lives, having been warned of dangers they'd later discovered were, in truth, harmless in nature, such as cracking one's knuckles, or staying up until the early hours of the morning, and the Obsidian Forest they now added to this ever-growing list. But they remained cautious - Sebek walked with his hand looped around his rifle's strap, and Silver's eyes followed wherever the roaming light of his lantern touched the earth.

Their abscondment from home and their entry into the forest having now been completed, the final phase of their plan would be simple: they needed only to track the bear to its den, and kill it. This would not be unlike their usual training exercises, during which Lilia would deposit them in a remote location - often high atop some distant mountain range, or in the middle of a barren ravine - and they would be forced to survive on their own for days or weeks at a time, typically with an additional command to secure a target of Lilia's choosing, such as a wild animal, or an object he'd hidden deep in the wilderness. They had felled various species of direbeast before, both together, and on their own, and a bear would be no different. Knowing the creature's massive body would be too heavy for them to drag out of the forest on their own, they planned to cut off one of its paws to bring back as proof of their accomplishment, and would come back later to retrieve the rest, with assistance from the adults. Bear meat was a popular delicacy in the valley, and after the carcass was carved and distributed amongst the local community, Silver was determined to request a bottle of its golden oil - renowned for its anti-inflammatory properties - as a gift for his father.

Silver swept his lantern low over the ground, and with its pale glow as their beacon, they followed the tracks deep into the forest. They would occasionally notice movement in the darkness, fleeting figures and shapes that their nervous minds would automatically warp into the hulking mass of the bear, and each time, as they would begin to reach for their weapons, they would realize a moment later they'd stumbled upon nothing more than a small raccoon or an opossum on the prowl for food. They jumped at every such encounter, and at every unexpected noise that entered their peripheral - a heavy branch Sebek mistakenly stepped on rang out like a gunshot; a tawny owl's sudden cry boomed like a crack of thunder. For hours they proceeded tremulously; fear had been stalking them all that time like a shadow, and as the veil of darkness surrounding them lifted and gave way to daybreak, it vanished together with the night. They could not see the sun's yellow face above them, but they could feel its dappled light falling down on them like a warm and gentle rain. The canopy, which had hitherto been a solid, dark green streak, was now dotted with flashes of a vibrant cerulean blue.

With the night's vanquishment, they steadily grew more and more confident, feeling now important - older, even. They walked with their heads held high and their backs erect, pumping their arms and swinging their legs as though on the march. They kicked up cedar chips and pine needles as they walked, scattering them onto the ground like birdshot. The blood coursed through their veins hot as liquor; the temptation of glory drove them on like a whip. Each child began to envision himself seated like a king in the Zigvolt's parlor, regaling this tale to their neighbors and family, and joining a long line of men who had come before them - heroes and explorers, great and mighty conquerors of the strange and unknown.

They would stop - intermittently, and only for brief sprints - to rest, to drink water, or to re-lace their boots, and would then immediately resume their march as zealously as before. They hurried as fast as their legs could carry them, knowing that the creature would likely have returned to its den by that point, and that it would be fast asleep in preparation of its nightly activities - tracking it down before it awoke that evening would be vital to their success.

When they came across a noticeable gap in the canopy - a hole ripped open where a pine tree had collapsed, through which they caught their first, true glimpse of the sky since that morning - they agreed to take another short break. Amongst the various survival skills that Lilia had taught them was the ability to derive the time, and working together, they erected a rudimentary sundial using some branches they gathered from the ground. They calculated that it was presently midmorning, and that they must have covered several miles since entering the forest. They remained there for a few minutes longer, Silver sipping quietly from his canteen, Sebek dismantling their earthen clock. Languid clouds passed through the gap overhead. Silver recalled how, every winter, the pond near his home would freeze over, and yet he could still see fish swimming undisturbed beneath the thick panel of ice. He wondered if this was how they felt, watching the world pass by them silently up above. As he wiped his dripping mouth with his sleeve, he glanced over, and noticed that Sebek was frowning.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm getting hungry, that's all."

Silver put his canteen away. "You brought some food with you, right?"

"Of course I did!" Sebek bristled. He slid off his knapsack and rummaged inside it, cataloging each of his belongings out loud, more so to himself, than to the half-listening Silver.

"I've got biscuits and cornbread, some jerky, some apples..."

"Uh-huh," Silver said, stifling a yawn.

"My water bottle, of course. Aaannnd..." He reached deep inside, smiling when he felt his fingers touch what he'd been looking for.

"Some of my mother's snickerdoodles, freshly baked." He pulled out a brown paper bag, shaking it with a grin. "Sissy has been hogging them, but I was able to pilfer a few without her noticing." He poured several of the cookies onto his hand before returning the bag to his knapsack.

"Would you like one?"

"Sure, thanks."

Silver gingerly took one of the cookies from Sebek's outstretched hand and bit into it with a sigh. The soft dough crumbled in his mouth deliciously, each piece dissolving like a sugar cube on his tongue. The almost overwhelming smell of cinnamon, the faint hint of vanilla, the rich, buttery aftertaste, all made him think of Ma Zigvolt. He'd overheard her lamenting the loss of the family's sow a few weeks ago - she loved each of their livestock like her children, and the bear's cunning attacks had wounded her pride and her heart, both. He imagined, upon their return home, how her face would break into a smile when they told her what they'd done, presenting the news to her as though it were a freshly picked bouquet. The image was somehow sweeter than the cookie itself, and he licked the sugary crumbs off his fingers, tasting little more than a delicious contentment.

They resumed walking. For over an hour the forest stretched on unchanging and uninterrupted, before it began to angle sharply downhill, transforming eventually into a semi-exposed slope. The incline was so severe they had to descend on their hands and knees, slowly zigzagging from one tree to the next, at times using the exposed roots and fallen branches to rappel downwards. The plateau they arrived at was bisected by a meager creek, appearing as blue and as thin as the veins running down their arms. They lay on their stomachs and drank deeply from it, bringing the crystalline water to their mouths with their hands. Silver shook his head like a dog when he was finished, spraying ice cold drops everywhere, and Sebek pushed him away with a laugh. A school of minnows, each one a silver grain of rice, darted away at the commotion, but the water striders on the surface above continued their skating, unaffected. They washed their hands and refilled their canteens before moving on.

The sunlight filtering down through the forest canopy gradually became more intense as the morning rolled into afternoon. Silver and Sebek had been talking with one another at length ever since daybreak - discussing their plans and their upcoming glory, and pointing out all the flora and fauna around them - and their conversations slowed to a comfortable lull as the air grew increasingly warmer. Unable to tell the time without a further break in the canopy, one hour blended seamlessly into the other, so that occasionally, when they blinked, they would open their eyes to a world remarkably brighter and warmer than the one they'd been in just a moment before.

Late in the afternoon, as they picked their way through a pleasantly mild Summer haze, Sebek suddenly stopped walking and threw out his arm, blocking Silver. His bright green eyes bore laser-like into the distance; his whole body stiffened like a bird-dog alerting to game.

Unmoving, he stated plainly, "I do believe we've been here before."

Silver blinked. "Huh?"

"That spruce tree yonder, with all the moss on it," Sebek said, now pointing, "I've seen it before."

Silver studied the tree indicated for several moments, but could not determine how it differed from any of the other dozen trees surrounding it. Shrugging, he said, "It probably just looks like one we passed earlier. Tons of trees have moss on them."

"I know they do!" Sebek huffed, gritting his teeth. "But that patch there's shaped like a star. That's how I recognized it."

Silver looked again. The patch of moss did indeed resemble a child's simple depiction of a five-pointed star, but his mind refused to accept what it had just heard.

"That's impossible," he murmured, shaking his head. "We've just been following the bear's tracks this whole time. How could we..."

Silver frowned. His incredulity obscured his mind like an eclipse. As he stared at the bear's tracks - crisscrossing the ground in some areas, and issued in a straight line in others - they began to swirl before his eyes, forming a nameless thing that Silver knew he'd seen before, and after a terse moment of contemplation, he finally recalled where.

He thought of a time, years ago, when he and his father had spent the whole Summer attempting to snare a devious buck. The animal had pillaged their vegetable garden every night for weeks, tearing up their sweet potatoes and corn, and even daring to defile Lilia's prized tomato plants, and had avoided all their various traps and attempts to trail it. One day, after sitting together for several hours in a cramped tree stand, they were able to witness its genius. After passing directly before them, it disappeared for approximately fifteen minutes, then doubled back, retraced its steps to just before the stand, and cut into the forest in the opposite direction, at a sharp angle, so that its path formed a "V" when viewed from above. Even the most experienced hunter - whether human or animal or fae - would likely follow the original set of tracks, which would appear - and smell - fresher, having been laid down twice, and by the time the error was realized, the quarry would have long escaped. The buck, as if having calculated all of this, strode off that day waving the chestnut flag of its tail in victory.

And now here again was that same whirlpool of footprints, now here again was that same irrefutable display of animal cunning. The eclipse passed his mind; the light of his revelation nearly blinded him - they must have been going in circles for hours.

His eyes flew wide open; his heart thundered so viciously he wondered for a moment if it was about to burst. His eyes darted wildly about him, as though hoping to find some form of consolation hidden amongst the leaf litter. And then, in a moment of clarity, he recalled a new trick he'd recently learned, the very same one he now knew adults had been using on him and other children all his life: he lied.

"It's fine, Sebek. I know exactly where we're going." He turned away, so that his friend would not see him nervously biting his lip. He pulled out his compass and held it out this way and that, making a show of orienting himself.

"The bear just circled around here to try and shake us off its trail. We'll find it if we keep going..." His eyes scanned the ground, trying to deduce which set of tracks looked the freshest. "That way."

Sebek, frowning sternly, opened his mouth, and then closed it again. After a moment, his face relaxed, and he slowly replied, "If you insist..."

Silver let out a shaky breath. Sebek's immediate acquiescence, which he at other times would only earn after much coaxing and arguing and persuasion, excited him. He experienced once more the feeling of being much older and more important than he really was, and wondered for a moment if this was the true pleasure of being an adult. He made a note to emphasize this part of the story when he'd later recount it to his father - how he'd outwitted the terrible beast where all others before him had failed, and how he'd led himself and Sebek through what was sure to be their darkest hour. They would return home heroes, indeed!

"Come on, this way."

Thus continuing their journey, they picked a new trail in the direction Silver had indicated. Portions of the sky peeking through the canopy slowly turned a golden orange, others light pink or red, forming a mosaic of the sunset. The bear would now likely be active again, and out roaming the forest with them, and when Sebek mentioned this, Silver hurriedly explained that they could still locate its den in the meantime, and lay in wait for it to return, to which Sebek, still in an unusually agreeable mood, only nodded. Their enthusiasm from that morning waned together with the fading sunlight. They plodded on halfheartedly for hours; identical trees and shrubs and rocks extended all around them for miles. They nibbled on their sticks of jerky and pemmican as they walked, breaking off and exchanging pieces of dried meat with each other in lieu of conversation. Sebek's apples and corn bread and most of their biscuits they soon finished off, too.

Finally, evening gave way to night, and the world around them was plunged once more into darkness. As Silver fished in his bag for his lantern, Sebek suggested they quit for the day and set up camp, but Silver adamantly disagreed.

"Just a little bit further and then we'll stop," he said, struggling to relight the lantern as he spoke. "The den's gotta be close by."

"Hmph!"

And again, an hour later:

"We're almost there, I promise."

"Hmph!"

They slogged on wearily. Periodically, Silver would command they stop, and, taking out his compass from his pocket, would double-check the accuracy of their orientation, then indicate with a satisfactory grunt that they could continue moving. They did not rest, otherwise. Low hills and mounds they climbed felt to their leaden legs like mountains; meager creeks and streams they crossed seemed to stretch on for miles. The trees, crowding down on them, reached out and scratched at their arms and legs and faces with wooden claws as sharp as needles. Foxes and barn owls screamed out from deep within the forest, and their fatigued minds, instinctually recalling legends of all the various monsters that lurk within such darkness, heard amongst their mangled cries the laughter of evil witches, and the terrible roars of bogeymen and other foul beasts. The stars shone coldly above them, ignorant of their torment.

Eventually, the line of the bear's tracks duplicated, and then further split into a third and a fourth set, all at various points overlapping and crisscrossing the first one. Silver felt his heart sink further and further at the discovery of each new set, and when they all converged and disappeared into a tangled copse of towering spruce and fir trees, he felt it stop moving entirely. Stopping, he drew the lantern in a wide arc before him; his steady gaze swept across the rows of identical giants like the roaming beam of a lighthouse, moving slowly, searching them, daring them to offer him what he was looking for, as though conducting a silent interrogation. His pale watercolor eyes, always so soft, hardened into steel. Sebek became at once afraid of him.

"Silver, what are you-"

"Quiet!" Silver hissed, waving him off with his free hand, his other hand tightening its grip on the lantern until his knuckles bloomed white.

And then - he saw it.

There, deep within the copse, standing just off to the left, partly obscured by the long shadows cast by its brothers, was the same spruce tree from earlier that day, wearing the same star-shaped patch of moss upon its wooden breast. They'd simply gone in another, massive circle around the forest.

"Damnit!" Silver spat. "Damnit, damnit, damnit!"

"Silver!" Sebek whined, but Silver ignored him.

He ripped his compass from his pocket and held it before him with trembling hands. Its needle pointed North. He spun around 180 degrees, yet still it pointed North; he spun a quarter further - again, North. His jaw dropped. No matter which way he faced or how he held the compass, its needle only spun and spun, racing in time with his pounding heart. He threw it to the ground in disgust.

His adam's apple bobbed precipitously. "I swear I..."

"You see! I told you so!" Sebek huffed, stamping his foot. "We're lost!"

"Shut up!" Silver growled. "I need to think."

For several, long hours leading up to that point, Sebek had been languishing under a terrible secret, the truth of which was that he had known, ever since he'd first glimpsed that verdant star, that they were utterly, and completely, lost. However, he did not wish to embarrass his friend, for although he found pleasure in showing off his strength and his intellect, and in being able to do things that other children his age could not, he was not a cruel boy, and had no interest in causing others pain, for which reason he'd decided against questioning Silver's judgment. He had trusted that Silver would architect for them some miraculous solution, just as he always had done any time they'd encounter an issue when training, but Silver had failed, and now Sebek was scared. The volcanic plug that was his faith in his friend having been destroyed, he finally erupted. "I don't like this! I want to go home!" he cried, his voice quivering. "This isn't fun anymore!"

"Fun?" Silver spat. "We didn't come all the way out here to have fun, Sebek!"

He stormed towards the other boy; the pine needles snapped and popped like firecrackers under his feet. His voice rose to a crackling scream. "We came out here so I could get my dad to trust me! And now it's all ruined!"

Sebek sniffled, cowering. His eyes shone with the threat of crystal tears. Silver's anger shot out of him as rapidly as it had come.

"Everything's ruined..."

Their venture was over, and what had they to show for it but their knobby little elbows and knees, scraped and bruised and smeared with blood; their filthy clothing, torn and stained with their tears; their ruddy, dirt-smeared faces; and their eyes, red and swollen from crying? What were they, but two scared little children, who would now sit down and fold their hands, prim and proper, and wait for their parents to come wipe their faces and clean up their mess? There would be no glory, no praise; no retribution against Silver's father. He half-expected the man to suddenly emerge from the shadows and begin chastising him.

Silver picked up his compass, wiped it against his shirt, and shoved it back into his pocket. He quickly glanced at Sebek, then ducked his head again, ashamed. Staring at his shoes, he grunted, "Sorry."

Drawing his sleeve across his soiled face, Sebek grumbled through the fabric an acceptance of his apology. He then turned and stepped behind the wall of foliage to collect himself in private.

Silver waited for him. He rolled a pinecone back and forth under his boot for a few moments before gently kicking it away. The air buzzed with the sounds of nature's nocturnal choir; its leading members, a cloister of tree frogs hidden amongst the copse before him - each one a piece of peridot, emerald, or jade - sang quietly, joining their crystal voices with the crickets and katydids plucking their chitinous strings. He could hear Sebek's hushed sobs filtering through to him, carried upon the silver chorus like a pine needle pulled down a stream. He wished to go join him in his anguish, to throw his arms around his friend and to weep with him, but the shock of his failure had drained his body of all its frustrations, leaving him numb. He knew there would be time to mourn later; for now, his only focus would be on getting through the night.

Once Sebek returned, his eyes and his face cleaned and dry, if not still inflamed, Silver cleared his throat and said, "Remember what my father would always tell us: Best thing to do if you get lost..."

"...is to sit your ass down, and stay put." Sebek finished with a shaky sigh.

Silver set down his lantern and knapsack, and after taking out his emergency kit and placing it to the side, began clearing out a broad perimeter in the leaf litter, attempting to erect a small fire pit. Sebek, as if suddenly roused from a stupor, dropped all of his gear and moved automatically to help him. They labored slowly, dragging their long, weary arms apelike by their sides, fighting weakly against a sea of pine needles that seemed to never end. Their calf muscles, having been deflated of all their adrenaline and fear, burned with each of their languid movements. Ten minutes later, with the ground now barren, and their skin freshly pricked and bleeding, Silver used his magic to ignite the pile of tinder they'd gathered, then turned to rummage through his belongings once again. Beside him, Sebek flung himself against his knapsack and kicked out his legs with a groan. He pillowed his heavy head under his arms and observed the fire silently. The flames dyed his face in a wash of vermilion, elongating the shadows under his eyes.

Silver glanced at him as he removed the emergency blanket from his kit, still disturbed by his outburst.

"I brought some corn meal with me. We can make some hoe cakes or something later, if you want," he offered gently.

Sebek sniffled again. "Ok."

Silver circled their meager camp, searching for a place to hang the blanket, ultimately deciding upon the outstretched branch of a sagging pine tree. One side of the blanket was coated with a bright orange material, which he positioned facing away from them.

"That's to help people find us, right?" Sebek asked, pulling out the remaining biscuits from his bag.

"Right," Silver replied without looking back. He straightened out the blanket and frowned.

If anyone's even looking for us.

VII.

Had you stayed behind at the Vanrouge's cottage after Silver embarked on his misadventures, electing to observe Lilia as he went about his day, up to - and including - his ultimate reconciliation with his son, then you would have witnessed the following:

Lilia awoke, as usual, shortly past 7 a.m. He did not own an alarm clock, preferring instead to let his body awaken naturally, gently roused by the golden sunlight filtering through his curtains. He lay in bed for a few moments, wrapped in the warm pleasantries of his blankets and his lingering dreams and the ebbing darkness, yawning leisurely, listening to the song thrushes chittering softly outside his window. Then, with a snap of his fingers, the curtains drew back and fixed themselves into place. That morning was a fine one. Where the sky had been grey and congested the day prior, it had since been painted over in the brightest blue, reminiscent of a stalk of larkspur, with not a single cloud in sight.

For five minutes Lilia indulged in this his usual morning pleasure, before, like clockwork, his reality struck him - he suddenly remembered every vexing instance of his son's tumultuous behavior from the past few months; felt anew all the dull aches and pains tugging at his limbs, felt the impending exasperation of the long list of chores that awaited him that day; each recollection pricked at his mind and his heart as though they were bee stings. He threw off his blankets and sat up with a scowl.

After grabbing a cup of tea, he settled himself at the dining table together with a gardening catalog that had arrived in the mail recently. He flipped through it halfheartedly, circling with a pen any seeds and supplies he planned to purchase for fall, his gaze occasionally drifting away from the pages of colorful produce, wandering over to and slipping out of the kitchen and living room windows. He thus swept through a third of the catalog before noticing the animals' absence in the yard, realizing a moment later that he had yet to see Silver that morning, too. Presuming the boy had slept in again, he waited half an hour further before checking his room, at which point a dull uneasiness had begun to form in his stomach.

The darkness in the little room yawned cavernously as Lilia pushed open the door. The heavy linen curtains were drawn tightly shut; the comforter was pulled up flush against the headboard of Silver's bed, a long lump protruding motionlessly underneath it. His uneasiness exploding all at once in a poisonous concern, Lilia flew across the room in rapid, broad strides, alighting to his son's bedside in an instant. He whispered, his voice slightly trembling, "Are you feeling alright, sweetheart?", and, after receiving no response, reached out to stroke the head of the lump, his lips pulling into a frown as the mass gave buoyantly under his hand. He wrenched back the blankets, stifling a cry as a mound of pillows tumbled out before him. He gingerly picked up one of the pillows and dropped it to the floor again, as though expecting to find his child concealed beneath it.

"Silver!" he shouted, glancing wildly around him, but the only response was his own disgruntled echo.

Frowning again, he put his hands on his hips. Where the hell is he?

Upon completing a thorough search of Silver's room - including his closet, his chest, his hamper, and underneath his bed - Lilia swept through the rest of the house and the root cellar, opening every door, and upturning every piece of furniture he could find, and when this, too, proved fruitless, he continued his efforts outside. He looked in the pig pen and in the chicken coop, checked behind the cow's lean-to and inside the shed, and, for good measure, even stopped to peer inside the empty flower pots in the garden. But each of these places and their inhabitants, whether living or inanimate, offered him no leads, and rejected all his inquiries.

Standing in the middle of the garden, he crossed his arms and considered all the oddities he'd noted that morning. Several items from the house were missing, including Silver's knapsack and crossbow, as well as some candles and other supplies from the kitchen, and the trick with the pillows was one he'd used himself in his youth for late-night abscondments from the castle. All of these observations he could trace back to only one conclusion: This was all just some sort of childish prank.

"That little...!" Lilia grunted, balling his fists. He turned and stepped towards the gate, intending to continue his search in the surrounding woodland, but the sound of the cow's mournful lowing stopped him in his tracks. None of the animals had been fed or watered yet, and the garden was in desperate need of another weeding. After a brief deliberation, he decided he would tend to Silver's chores in his absence, and then, he would return to the cottage, and he would wait - he would not indulge the boy in his games.

Any fatigue he'd felt that morning was immediately flushed out of his body and replaced with a venomous rage. He swept across the clearing like a tempest; the animals scattered before him in terror. He tore open their bags of scratch and grain and threw them to the ground, careless of the waste. He stormed back to the garden and began ripping up the tangled mass of weeds suffocating the ground, tossing muck-covered fistfuls of crabgrass and dandelions over the fence; the pigs, having recovered quickly from their fright, dove noisily for the mess.

His mind raced, his thoughts jumping rapidly between all the different ways Silver's return could occur. Likely, he would try to sneak into the house later that night, coming in either through one of the windows, up through the cellar. Or maybe, made shameless by his caper, he would stroll through the front door, kick off his shoes, and throw his bag to the ground, moving with the bold swagger of a yearling buck. Lilia would be ready for him either way. He would wait for him in the living room, on the couch, facing the door, his arms crossed, his eyes narrowed and blazing. If the boy tried to sneak in, Lilia would hear him. If he came in through the front door, Lilia would see him. If he cried, so be it. If he whined and begged for forgiveness, Lilia would not give it to him. He'd had enough of the child's attitude, his insolence, his unwillingness to talk, his newfound proclivity to brush off each and every act of kindness Lilia tried to offer to him. Perhaps his own parental failures truly were to blame for their ongoing disputes, but he would not allow this blatant defiance to continue a moment longer. He would ground Silver - for a week, at a minimum - double his training exercises, forbid him from seeing Sebek- He crushed a dandelion in his fist. And have him do all the weeding that month! An impish grin flashed across his face as he plotted. The sun beat down on him reproachfully.

Hours later, frustrated and in pain, his clothes caked with dried mud and bits and pieces of crabgrass, he marched back to the cottage and threw himself face-first onto the sofa. He lay there for a few moments, unmoving, before a sharp spasm in his calf forced him to slowly, wearily, sit up. Palpating the now throbbing muscle, he realized in that moment just how much his anger had blinded him. Why didn't I just fucking use magic to do all that? Another stream of profanity poured from his lips.

He sat watching the hour hand of the wall clock slowly inch forward. He rose periodically, to glance out the windows, to refill his tea, to pace back and forth across the living room, his gaze fixed on the front door, his thoughts slowly congealing into the perfect, incendiary speech with which he'd lash the boy upon his return. But Silver did not return, not as noon rolled around, nor as Lilia prepared their dinner. By that evening, the molten rage in his body had cooled, hardening into a tense knot of worry.

Shortly before sunset, just as he'd risen to check the kitchen windows once more, a commotion sounded outside - something heavy was pounding across the clearing, heading rapidly for the cottage. Lilia leapt from the sofa and raced to the door, throwing it open with a scowl, the first in the long list of scathing remarks he'd been preparing for Silver all that afternoon poised on his lips, but both his anger and his relief evaporated when he saw that it was only Baul, rushing in long strides down the dirt path leading to the cottage. As the other man approached him and opened his mouth to speak, Lilia put up a hand to silence him. "Uh-uh, I don't have time for this today. If you're here for-"

"I'm not!" Baul huffed, tiredly swatting Lilia's hand away. "Please just listen to me, General."

Lilia crossed his arms and jut his chin, indicating for Baul to continue.

"You seen Seb today?"

"Sebek? No, I haven't. Why-..." His words trailed off, the answer to his question instantly forming in his mind.

"He's not... Don't tell me you can't find him?"

"We can't," Baul sighed. "We tore up the whole damn house, looked down by the river, all through the woods. Got some of the neighbors out helping us look. We figured he mighta snuck out to go play with your boy, so I came by to check."

"Sorry, but no, I haven't seen any sign of him today." Looking away, Lilia muttered, "...And Silver's gone, too, actually."

"Huh?" Baul's eyes widened in surprise. "Have you looked for him?"

"Of course I have!" Lilia scoffed. "I checked the whole clearing twice over. I'm thinking he just ran off somewhere because I..."

Baul raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms, mirroring Lilia.

Lilia rolled his eyes. "He blew up at me the other night and probably just ran off for a while to get back at me. You know how kids are."

His apparent apathy inflamed Baul. He stalked over to Lilia, the dense column of his body twitching as he loomed over his former superior.

"That's it," he snarled, his nostrils flaring like an enraged bull's. "You're coming with me."

"Wha-"

Moving at a speed that belied his great size, Baul threw his arms around Lilia, caging the smaller man in his vice grip. One moment, they were standing in the clearing; the next, the ground disappeared beneath their feet, and the world exploded into kaleidoscopic streaks of color rushing all around them. Caught off guard, Lilia hardly had time to close his eyes before they landed on solid ground again a few seconds later.

Baul released him carelessly and walked away. Lilia slowly staggered after him, clutching his head, his vision swimming.

His quivering eyes concentrated first on the red beam towering before them, then moved to the smaller white block standing beside it. A sudden shift in the breeze carried with it the clean smell of cottonwood. He knew this place - they'd hurtled five miles away to the Zigvolt's home.

"Fucking warn me before you do that!" he hissed. Over the ringing of his ears, his mind vaguely registered several voices - some talking softly, and at least one other crying, but he could not discern amidst his blurry surroundings whom they belonged to.

Baul asked if there'd been any sign of Sebek while he was gone.

A broad green shape came forward and congealed rapidly into Ma Zigovlt. She was dressed in her dental scrubs, her dark green hair pulled back in a fraying ponytail. "No! Nothing!" she cried while pacing back and forth.

The two shapes behind her then revealed themselves to be Pa Zigvolt, also in his work attire, and Iris, sitting together on the steps of the front porch. Iris was weeping quietly, her head buried in her father's neck.

Turning to Lilia, Pa Zigvolt explained that Iris had been left alone to watch her brother that day, and it wasn't until late in the afternoon that she'd discovered him missing, having gone to check his room after he'd failed to appear for both breakfast and lunch. When a frantic search of the house and the backyard proved fruitless, she rushed into town and alerted the elder Zigvolts, who promptly canceled all their appointments for that afternoon to help her look. They rallied the neighbors, forming several search parties to sweep through the surrounding forests and the river, and after several hours of unsuccessful canvassing, it was ultimately Baul who suggested they inquire by the Vanrouge's.

Pa Zigvolt turned again to his daughter, gently squeezed her arm, and whispered something in her ear. She nodded and raised her head from his shoulder, allowing him to descend down the stairs. The family cat, which had been dozing elsewhere on the porch, promptly stood up, stretched, and padded over to Iris, taking her father's place. She scooped the animal into her arms and held it against her chest. She blamed herself bitterly for not noticing sooner her little brother was gone, and had been inconsolable for hours.

"Thank you so much for coming to help, Lilia." Pa Zigvolt said, shaking Lilia's limp hand. He glanced behind Lilia, then behind Baul, before asking, confused, "Where's Silver?"

"He's, erm..." Lilia hesitated, fearing another unpleasant reaction. "He's actually missing, too."

But the Zigvolt parents simply exchanged a silent look with one another, and Ma Zigvolt's voice was only gentle as she asked him to explain.

Lilia proceeded to recount his own experiences that morning, and by the time he finished speaking, the small group was in agreement that the boys had likely snuck away together. As they loitered in the front yard, heatedly discussing their next plan of action, a group of neighbors approached. One of them, an elderly fae known for his avid hunting, stepped forward, waving his hand.

"We found their tracks!"

"You did!? Where!?" Pa Zigvolt asked, his eyes shining in excitement - this was their first lead all day.

"Yessir, two little sets of feet headin' due North," the neighbor explained leisurely, scratching his arm. "We followed 'em a long ways and think we know where they're at. That's the good news."

Their hearts plummeted at his next words.

"Bad news is it looks like they went right into the Obsidian Forest."

The forest was still, the night air punctuated at times by the sound of Baul softly cursing at the branches and bushes impeding their way.

“I swear, when I find that boy,” he growled as he smacked away another insolent branch, “Ooh, I swear! When I find him, I’m gonna…!”

Lilia rolled his eyes. Baul had never so much as laid an unkind finger on any of his children or grandchildren, and his grumbled threats never resulted in anything more than a glare or a scowl or a frown.

They'd split up, Baul and Lilia forming one search party, Ma and Pa Zigvolt another, each covering their own half of the forest. The Zigvolt's neighbors remained at the house with Iris, ready to send out an alert should the boys return on their own, partly to keep the still despondent girl company, and partly out of a reluctance to come with them.

And so Lilia and Baul, and Ma and Pa Zigvolt, elsewhere, had been canvassing the forest for several hours, intermittently calling out Silver and Sebek's names, with no response other than cricket song or the occasional owl's cry. The bear's tracks - several sets of them, as it were, overlapping one another and forever winding like a loamy, coiled serpent - provided their only guideline, as the plush leaf litter hadn't absorbed the children's much lighter prints.

However, to their great luck - and to Silver and Sebek's misfortune - the boys had misoriented themselves as soon as they'd stepped foot into the forest, for as they'd trudged through the early morning darkness, their senses and their judgment obscured both by the endless shadows and the heavy fear in their hearts, they had failed to notice the numerous times they'd looped around and mistakenly followed a different set of tracks, some which had been laid earlier that week, others at the beginning of the month. The combination of the forest's perfect uniformity, its paucity of light, and its impregnable secrecy had been leading its diminutive invaders astray from the very beginning. As such, the children had only wandered a few miserable miles during their entire journey, and Baul and Lilia did not have to walk very long to find them.

Presently, the direction of the wind shifted, bringing with it the heavy smell of smoke; Lilia and Baul automatically moved to follow it. The spectral grey tendrils, unable to fully penetrate the canopy, congealed, hanging in a bloated cloud above them, through which murky haze the red light of a fire glowed softly in the distance. The men picked up their pace as the light grew stronger; Lilia soon rushed ahead of Baul, breaking into a run. But it was not the fire's glow that urged him on, that guided him, that drew him through that endless darkness - it was the moonlight of Silver's white hair, brighter and dearer to him than any star, that was his beacon.

"Silver!" Lilia shouted.

"Who's there!?" Silver shouted back, whipping his head around. Spotting the two men, his jaw dropped, and he turned to shake Sebek, who'd been dozing on his shoulder. The boys rose, Silver quickly, Sebek groggily, rubbing his eyes in confusion. Before Silver could take more than a few stumbling steps, Lilia ran to him and pulled him into his arms, and for the first time that summer, Silver allowed his father to embrace him. He ducked his head into Lilia’s neck, felt the man's pulse thundering against his skin, felt in turn as his own tempestuous heartbeat finally calmed after so many long hours of strange terror. Overwhelmed, Silver opened his mouth, and he cried.

Watching the pair, Sebek, the poor creature, threw a nervous glance at his grandfather - the man’s stony face was anger itself. The child felt wretched, and he wished for nothing more than to be held. He drifted towards Silver and Lilia, his wet eyes downcast, feeling as guilty as a whipped hound approaching its master. Before he could begin his pleas, Lilia opened his arms and pulled the trembling boy into a hug. He was at once unburdened, and his relieved sobs soon joined Silver’s.

For Silver and Sebek, the men were their heroes in that moment, their guardian angels - two mighty pillars of light within the black maw of that abominable forest. Go ahead, weary children, dry the pearls of your tears against their shining wings. But do not forget – the Lord’s angels must deliver judgment and salvation in turn. Look now as the one takes up his golden scale, and the other his blade.

The interrogation proceeded as follows:

Although the boys had, while waiting for their rescue, vowed not to reveal the true purpose of their mission, fearing the truth would only worsen Silver's predicament, they had failed to devise an appropriate excuse for their disappearance. Caught off guard, they first claimed that they'd merely wandered into the forest on accident, after having lost their bearings in the woodland behind the Zigvolt's property, but Lilia dismissed the claim at once, knowing his apprentices would never dare be so careless.

The boys retracted this statement, drew a few paces away to convene privately, and then offered a new story, one of a monster that had chased them all the way out into the forest.

“What kind of monster?” Baul pressed.

“A scary one?” Sebek shrugged.

A jury of nosy tawny owls convened spontaneously in the trees around them. They balked wordlessly at the children's flimsy defense.

Just then, and by chance, while shaking his head in frustration, Baul noticed that Sebek's hands were trembling. The movement was so subtle, so minor, that it was only perceptible when the breeze shifted towards them, so that the light from the campfire hit the child's hands just so. Baul nudged Lilia with his elbow and jut his chin towards the boy, indicating his tremors. With both men now focusing their gazes fully on Sebek, Lilia asked once more why the boys had gone into the forest; Sebek crumbled immediately under their wrath.

“W-We just… We wanted to go hunt the bear that’s been killing off the livestock so we…”

“…So you snuck off without telling anyone?” Lilia asked.

“Yeah…”

“It’s my fault, sir,” Silver said, stepping in front of Sebek.

“What?” Lilia and Baul replied in unison.

“I was the one who wanted to go. Sebek didn’t wanna come but I made him. Please don’t get mad at him.”

“Silver!” Sebek squeaked. He opened his mouth to object, but Silver silenced him with a pointed glare.

Baul crossed his arms and looked over Silver, directing his gaze at his grandson. “Is that true, Seb?”

“…Y-Yes, sir.”

“God damnit,” Baul hissed. “You damn kids had us tearing up this whole fucking forest just for-”

“Baul, please,” Lilia sighed. “It’s been a long day. Let’s just get the kids back home.”

“Fine!” Baul threw his hands up and stomped off, muttering under his breath.

Lilia clicked his tongue and turned to the children. “You two, put out your campfire and follow us - and be quick. I’ll light the way with my magic.” Sebek and Silver’s pale faces shone faintly in the cold darkness, as white as the moon. They nodded dully, stunned from Baul’s outburst.

Lilia sprinted down the path Baul had taken, calling after the green and white hurricane crashing through the trees ahead.

“Baul, wait!”

“What!” Baul shouted without looking back.

“If you’d just stop for one second so I can apologize to you-”

“Apologize for what!?”

“For Silver!”

Baul finally stopped.

“I’m sorry, General, but what in the actual hell are you talking about?”

Lilia shook his head in exasperation. “Are you kidding me? I’m trying to apologize for what my child did. He caused you and your family a lot of trouble, so I-”

“Oh, for crying out loud. I was standing right next to you when he said sorry. He doesn’t need his damn pappy covering for his ass.”

“I understand that. But regardless, I need to take responsibility as his parent.”

The thick pillar of Baul’s neck tensed as he worked his jaw. “…You really do still think he’s just a little kid, don’t you?”

“What?”

“I said,” he growled, taking a heavy step forward, “you really still think he’s just a little kid. Don’t you?”

“Yes? He’s only thirteen, Baul.”

Baul blinked at him slowly. “You know, I’ll be honest with you. The day you brought that kid home and said you were going to raise him, I thought that was the dumbest thing I’d ever heard in my entire life. But that right there takes the cake.”

Lilia pinched the bridge of his nose. Clinging onto his last, frayed strand of patience, he hissed out through gritted teeth, “Would you please enlighten me to what it is you’re trying to get at?”

Baul spat at Lilia’s feet. His yellow-green eyes blazed like canary diamonds. “Your boy’s growing up, General. He’s becoming a man. The sooner you accept that, the better.”

Lilia scoffed. “You think I don’t know that? I just-”

“Bullshit! You know what I bet?" Baul licked his lips. "I bet you haven't even noticed he's already taller than you now, huh. All that fucking yapping you do, bragging about each and every little fucking thing he does, and not once have I ever heard you mention it.”

Lilia stared at him incredulously. He recognized the taunt - it was the same one Baul had attempted to provoke him with earlier that Summer, but as Lilia opened his mouth to rebuke him, he quickly closed it again, suddenly overcome by an almost paralyzing sense of apprehension. He's not taller than me... right? He tried to recall the last time he'd looked at Silver - truly looked at him, not in anger or in contempt; not as an object of his frustration nor the progenitor of his grievances; not begging him to please tell him what was wrong and to just talk to him already. He realized with a start it must've been months ago, before the sudden change in Silver's demeanor, perhaps around his birthday, or earlier, for he saw nothing more than abstract glimpses flash before his mind's eye, of Silver's back turned to him, of Silver storming away from him, enraged; of Silver snapping at him with heavy tears welling up in his opaline eyes. But still- No, it wasn't possible, he would've noticed. For what were the past thirteen years of him centering his entire life around the child if he had not? What right had he to call himself the boy's father, to claim the child as his son, if he had failed to notice something so monumental? His son was just a young boy with cherubic little cheeks and bright blue-grey eyes, who would beam at him with the most precious little smile - half-crooked, his thin lips pressed into a rosy crescent moon, and that was the truth. 

“That's not...”

Baul roared over him, drowning out the rest of his halfhearted response. “And now he’s sneaking off and lying to you and taking the blame for shit he didn’t do, and you honestly still think he’s just some dumb little brat who needs his pappy to wipe his ass for him!”

Lilia winced at each of his words, as though they were daggers striking his skin. Noticing the other man's sudden trepidation, Baul paused.

"Honestly, you just..." Slowly, he began summoning the patience one required when attempting to convince Lilia Vanrouge of his own failings, and as his anger dissipated, he thought suddenly of his daughter. His expression softened, settling halfway between a scowl and a lopsided smile; his voice softened, too. “I know how much you're hurting here, but my god, you seriously need to get your head out of your ass.”

Baul continued speaking, but Lilia could no longer hear him, could not wrest his attention away from the uneasiness still gnawing painfully at his heart.

Just then, Silver and Sebek emerged from the surrounding thicket, as if beckoned by Lilia's anguish. His gaze flew instantly towards his son.

The boy's face was filthy, covered in a greasy film of sweat and grime and dirt, with pine needles stuck to his forehead and leaf litter entangled in his hair, and a thin line of blood on his cheek where a branch had scratched him. The steely blue-grey eyes peering at him from above the sharpened cheeks evoked an almost hawkish appearance. He was angular, scrawny, gaunt - nigh spectral in the pale glow of the lantern in his hands. Who was this gangly youth? This stranger? Had his mental image of his son been all this time nothing more than an exaggerated caricature, a farce cobbled together months ago, or years, even?

“We got the campfire put out," Silver said, panting, trying to catch his breath. As he raised his arm and drew his sleeve across his wet brow, the pale circle of lamplight suddenly fell upon his father's face. His skin blazed bone white, and his bloodless lips, parted slightly, were frozen in a silent gasp, as though he were dazed; he looked cadaverous. Silver gulped and took a step back. "...Is everything okay?”

"Silver, stand up straight." Lilia's voice curled out into the chill night air like a fine mist, softer than a whisper, yet the pure animosity with which he spoke betrayed the threat underlying his words, so that the boy immediately drew himself to his full height without a second thought.

Lilia stumbled mechanically towards Silver and cupped his face in his hands, swept his eyes down from his chin up to his lips, to his nose, tilted his head back to meet the boy's gaze- Ah! There it was, Lilia felt it, felt the microscopic contractions in the taught fibers of his neck as he yawned his head back, hardly more than a few degrees, scarcely lifting it above his eye level, could almost hear them as they cried out in pain, and yet - he was looking up at his son! Lilia's palms suddenly grew cold despite the warm flesh they cradled; his hands moved on their own, weakly pressing into the face, as if making one final, feeble, desperate attempt to mold it into the infantile visage beginning to rapidly crumble inside his mind. He choked back a quiet sob and dropped his arms to his sides, receding a few steps away, visibly distraught. The whole torturous act had lasted but a mere moment, during which time Silver had stood petrified, as though caught in a trance. He now sluggishly raised his own hand and traced his cheek where his father had touched him. He shivered; his skin felt like ice.

Baul went to Lilia and spoke at him rapidly in fae language – talking too quickly for Sebek’s mind to translate, and wholly incomprehensible to Silver’s – before turning around and walking off.

Lilia stared at Silver again, opened his mouth after a moment, then closed it, deciding he would talk to the boy later, in private. Taking a deep breath, he began telling the children to follow him, but was interrupted by a thunderous crash off in the distance. The three of them pointed their gazes simultaneously to where the sound had erupted - a freshly felled pine tree, behind which stood a black shadow so towering the boys feared for a moment that it was the bear come to ambush them.

However, to their great relief, it was only Ma Zigvolt who stepped out into their lamplight, casually shaking off the pine dust from her hands. Upon spotting her son, her face broke immediately into a wide smile, while Sebek's, in turn, scrunched up as he began to cry.

“Mama!” Sebek wailed.

Ma Zigvolt rushed over and engulfed his small body between her arms. He nearly disappeared underneath her frame. “Oh, thank goodness!” she heaved, swaying gently as the tight coil of her nerves slowly unwound.

“Is everything… Okay…?” Pa Zigvolt panted as he emerged from the darkness of the forest a moment later. He coughed into his sleeve, and then gasped once he heard Sebek’s quiet sniffles floating out from the cage of his wife’s arms. The long search had exhausted him, had strangled his lungs and poisoned his mind with fear, but the boy’s hushed sobs invigorated something within him, rousing a force in his heart greater than even the weariness hanging heavy from his limbs like iron chains. He lurched forward, breathing heavily, taking one shaky step after another, stumbling as he covered a short distance that to him felt like miles. At last, he lifted his leaden arms and wrapped them as far as he could around his wife’s quivering back, collapsing into her with a sigh.

“Oh, thank goodness! Oh, thank goodness!” Ma Zigvolt whispered again and again.

Lilia and Silver watched them from afar. Silver soon looked away, awkwardness prickling at his skin.

Presently, Lilia cleared his throat, announced loudly that he and Silver would be leaving, and, after waiting a moment for Pa Zigvolt to wave them off, he turned to his son, and motioned with his head that it was time to go home.

Lilia threw himself on the living room sofa with a mangled groan. He and Silver had reached the clearing shortly after midnight, their long trip culminating in several grueling miles of Lilia carrying his exhausted son on his back, trudging almost bent in half for over an hour. He'd set aside Silver's portion of dinner that evening, a plate of sausage links and biscuits that had since grown cold, and this Silver bolted gratefully before excusing himself to take a much needed bath. Consumed with a sudden restlessness, Lilia busied himself while he waited, returning the animals to their enclosures, washing the pile of dishes festering in the kitchen sink, and straightening out the piles of books and toys and other various knick-knacks strewn across the living room. He went to rap his hand on the bathroom door after fifteen minutes had passed, concerned Silver might have fallen asleep in the tub, and, after receiving a quiet response, had staggered back to the living room, where his own fatigue finally struck him.

He clenched and unclenched his hands nervously, occasionally wincing as hot tendrils of pain shot up through his spine and flared out into hips. His thoughts flit rapidly between each of his aching limbs, between the anger, the fear, the sorrow that clouded his mind. While they were walking back home, he could hear Baul's words repeating over and over again, overlapping with Ma Zigvolt's remarks from a few weeks prior, and mixing together with his own, anguished thoughts that had paralyzed him as he'd finally realized how much his son had changed. A part of him, a part that he'd for so long fought to viciously stamp out and silence, knew that Baul was right, and that Ma Zigvolt was right, too. He realized now he just hadn't wanted to admit it.

When Silver at last emerged from the bathroom and came to sit beside Lilia, he did not react at first. The boy - the youth, his child, his son, the stranger - stared at him silently. His eyes, though sharper and slightly narrower than how Lilia remembered them, still bore that same, auroral hue that had first captivated him so many years ago, and he found himself being slowly drawn out of his frantic ruminations as he met Silver's gaze.

Folding his hands in his laps, he took a deep breath, and asked, "Alright, so what's the real reason you did all this? Because you were mad at me?

Silver fidgeted in his seat and nibbled at his lip. His eyes darted to a corner of the living room. "No. I mean, yeah, I was mad at you."

"Over what happened at the dance?"

Silver's gaze jumped to the other corner. "The dance and... other stuff."

Lilia recalled immediately all their quarreling from the past few months, the long days that would pass without Silver uttering even a single word to him, and the even longer nights where he could hear him quietly crying in his room next door. His heart ached for the boy. He reached out to drape his hand over Silver's. “Baby, you know I-“

Silver swatted his hand away and retreated further into his side of the sofa. “You’re doing it again!” he whined, his voice cracking.

"Doing what?"

"You keep treating me like a little kid!"

"You-!" Lilia swallowed his retort with a grimace. Exhaling slowly, he admitted grudgingly, "You're right, I am. And I'm sorry. I'll try to stop doing that."

Silver's jaw dropped open. He couldn't recall his father ever having conceded to him so easily before, if at all. Quickly recovering from his shock, he sat up straight and said, "Umm- I mean, yeah! Please do that." He crossed his arms and nodded sagely, with the air of one who has successfully negotiated for terms that are completely in one's favor.

"Now, I can understand you ran off because of what's been going on recently, but what about your behavior from the past few months?"

Silver uncrossed his arms and tilted his head quizzically. Noticing his confusion, Lilia explained he meant the very same quarrels that Silver had previously mentioned, as well as his sudden adoption of the moniker "Father".

"I dunno." Silver shrugged his shoulders. "I mean, the "Father" thing's 'cause Sebek told me about it a while ago."

Lilia blinked. "Told you about what?"

“He told me… Ah, wait.” Silver straightened his back and puffed out his chest, pointing his eyebrows sharply together like an arrowhead. “He said, “Silver! Why do you continue to refer to your father as “Papa”!? Are you not turning thirteen years old soon? It’s positively childish!”” Deflating into his usual stoic expression, he continued, “And then he told me if I wanted to be a real knight, then I need to hurry and grow up already.”

Biting back an incredulous snort, Lilia summoned as much tenderness his weary body could muster, and said, smiling, "Listen, you don't have to do everything Sebek tells you to, you know. You can call me 'Papa' all you want. If somebody doesn't like that, that's their problem."

"But I don't..." Silver looked away again. His voice dropped to a whisper, as though hoping that if he spoke his next words quietly, they would hurt his father less. "I don't want to."

Lilia's smile vanished. "You don't?"

"Uh-uh."

"...But why?"

"I just..." Silver frowned. "I don't know. You keep asking why I do this and that, but I don't know how to explain it. It's like every time I try to catch my thoughts, they up and fly away from me. And then you just keep on badgering me more and I just get so mad."

Silver had expressed similar sentiments numerous times before over the past few months, but although there were no stunning revelations to be found in his words, no breakthroughs to be made in understanding the transformation in his demeanor, Lilia, for the first time, listened to him. Lilia had stumbled blindly through that whole Summer, feeling as though he were trying to walk across quicksand, ever fearful that the next blowout with his son, that the next new symptom of his strange ailment would lead to some sort of irrevocable, irreparable damage to their relationship, but as he listened, he felt the ground beneath his feet finally, slowly begin to solidify at last.

They quietly conversed for half an hour longer, at which point Silver began to yawn and rub at his eyes, nodding off a few minutes later. Lilia stood up, intending to carry the boy to his room, only to immediately drop down onto the sofa again with a pained cry. Rubbing deep circles into his lower back with one hand, he leaned over and gently shook Silver awake with the other.

"Go on and get to bed. We can iron out your punishment some other time."

"Okay." Silver rose slowly, dragging his feet as he plodded down the hall. Standing before his door, he turned around and stammered, "I love you," before disappearing into his room.

"I love you, too." Lilia replied hoarsely, fighting to speak past the lump in his throat.

With a grunt, he lifted his leaden legs onto the sofa and lay down flat on his back, sighing pleasantly as the worst of his pain began to subside. For over an hour he drifted in and out of a restless slumber, after which he stiffly sat up, and, this time rising without issue, limped quietly across the floor and down the hallway to Silver's room, steadying himself with a quivering hand against the wall.

Silver lay fast asleep, sprawled out face down atop his barren mattress, his blankets and several of his pillows still scattered across the floor from Lilia's frantic search that morning. A soft smile tugged at Lilia's lips. He must've passed out as soon as he lay down, the poor thing. Not trusting he'd be able to stand up straight again should he bend over in his present state, he instead cast a cleaning spell, and watched as the blankets and discarded pillows silently rose from the floor and arranged themselves neatly into place on Silver's bed. His eyes flicked back to Silver as the emerald sparks of his magic began to fade away, but the boy did not stir.

He cupped Silver's cheek, swept his thumb across the warm skin, moved his hand up to his hair, and began picking out the bits and pieces of pine needles and leaf litter Silver had been too exhausted to comb out while in the bath. His thoughts began to wander again while he fussed with a difficult knot.

Loss had accompanied him all his life; it was as regular to him as the changing of the seasons, as inevitable as the mighty storm that had swept across their nation and all the other natural disasters that would someday follow. But when he found Silver, he'd believed, selfishly, foolishly, stubbornly, that here was something, the only other thing besides his own heart, that he would be able to keep for himself, that life could not take away from him. Perhaps therein lay the reason why he had tried for so long to remain ignorant of his son's maturation, why he had fought so desperately to prevent the boy from growing up, from growing away from him. But he knew now that he'd been wrong, for he had split his heart in half long ago - long before he had ever left the castle. One half he had given to Malleus; the other lay before him now, curled up against the palm of his hand, breathing quietly, the moon's silver glow shining faintly in his hair.

And though he did not have a name for it, he could feel as something new was beginning to slip away from him once again, just as the soft strands of moonlight slipped through his fingers.

“And that's okay,” Lilia breathed out with a shudder. “It'll be okay. And I’ll try. I’ll let go.”

Lilia brought his folding stool into the garden and set it down amidst a semi-circle of empty buckets and baskets he'd arranged between two rows of low bushes, and, after sitting down gingerly, careful not to agitate his back, began picking off handfuls of snap beans from the bush before him. It was the second week of August - time for the Summer harvest at last, and when finished here, he would move onto the squash and eggplants next, then the bell peppers and tomatoes, then the watermelon and strawberries; the sweet potatoes he would leave for Silver to dig up on his own. Having recently satisfied the terms of his punishment, during which period he'd spent several weeks completing additional training exercises and chores every day, Lilia had granted him a short holiday, and he presently lay fast asleep in bed. Though working on his own, he moved quickly, and filled two of his buckets by the time Silver awoke later that morning and approached him in the garden.

He'd already combed his hair and gotten changed, with his knapsack slung comfortably across his shoulder. He'd grown another inch in the past month, and his face seemed miles away as Lilia looked up at him.

“Father, may I visit the Zigvolts?" he said plainly, studying his father's face. "The robins told me Sebek got a new astronomy book he’s been wanting to show me.”

Lilia dragged his sleeve across his wet forehead and nodded. "That's fine. Will you be having dinner there?”

“No, I don’t plan to.”

"Alright."

While Lilia returned to his picking, Silver shifted uncertainly from one foot to the other, his gaze jumping between his father and the forest path beyond their home. After a moment, he licked his lips and asked, “Did you, uh, want me to wait for you?”

Lilia shook his head. He looked up at his son again and smiled.

“No, you go on without me.”

Song credits

“Twistin’ the Night Away” written and recorded by Sam Cooke

“I Wish You Love” recorded by Sam Cooke, written by Albert Beach

Title is taken from the Hannah Montana song by the same name.

Just for the sake of transparency, some parts of this fic took very heavy inspiration from Marjorie Kinnan Rawling's book "The Yearling", particularly the first two chapters.

#lilia vanrouge #twst silver #sebek zigvolt #baul zigvolt #malleus draconia #twst #twisted wonderland #txt #(although im tagging malleus he is not actively in the story. hes just mentioned in flashbacks)

[theforgottenmcrmy]

Captivated (Ser Harwin Strong x Reader)

***please note that this is a sequel to “Safety”, which can be read HERE. Reading Safety before reading this is not necessary, but doing so will provide additional context for this story***

***please note that this now has a sequel, “Storms”, which can be read HERE.

Pairing: Ser Harwin Strong x Tyrell! Female Reader

Warnings: GOT typical sexism, canon divergence, references to an ill parent, spoilers for House of the Dragon

Word Count: 6,000 ish.

Summary: While serving as Princess Rhaenyra’s lady in waiting, you’ve been granted ample time to become well-acquainted with the man they call Breakbones. The Princess’ recent tours of Westeros in search of a befitting King Consort have only allowed the two of you to grow closer, and now you’re completely taken with Ser Harwin Strong. But the Princess’ recent tour to the Riverlands, in addition to some troubling news from home concerning the health of your father, Lord Tyrell, have left you feeling discouraged. You’ve begun to fear your affections for the strongest knight in all the Seven Kingdoms may not be returned. Perhaps a surprise visitor from Highgarden will clear things up...

A/N: Y’all... I am FLOORED. Absolutely shooketh. Nothing I have written has ever received such an overwhelming response. Thank you all so much to everyone who liked, commented, and reblogged Safety. I appreciate each and every one of you so very much. I am not sure how many parts this series will get, but the ending of this one pretty clearly sets up a part 3... so let me know if that’s something you’d like to see. Please see the A/N at the ending of this chapter for notes regarding the taglist. Thank you all again. I hope you have a wonderful rest of the week! 🖤 PS: this is a Criston Cole hate account. #sorrynotsorry.

I really hope the tags work and I won’t have to post this twice.🥲 Please forgive me if I do.

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

Princess Rhaenyra smiled warmly at the small child, as did you. The little girl humbly accepted the half a loaf of bread from the Princess’ hands.

You and the Princess were currently in the heart of King’s Landing, inside one of the city orphanages. The harvest that year was already proving to be bountiful, almost entirely in part to the good people who worked the lands of your home. It seemed that there was plenty of food to go around those days, and you were grateful that the Princess and the King were of the mind that it ought not to be wasted.

Back in the Reach, you and your brother had often done the same- you’d visited all of the orphanages and sick homes in Oldtown and even The Arbor at one point or another. Your father has instilled the concept of giving back to those in need very early on in your lives, as your grandmother had instilled the same in him.

You had mentioned this in passing to Princess Rhaenyra one day, when she was still becoming acquainted with you. Once she’d heard of it, she declared it to be a worthwhile endeavor, and adopted something similar as part of her own regular routine.  As such, she had made it a point to visit a new place in need throughout the city each week.

While it warmed your heart to help those less fortunate than yourself, especially the parentless children, you were happy that the Princess had decided to become more hands-on with her charitable works for other reasons. You were no fool- you knew how positively the common folk viewed noble men and women who showed them sympathy and kindness.

As lady in waiting to the future Queen, you knew it would be in Princess Rhaenyra’s best interest to win the hearts of the people as soon as possible. Dark plots were actively working against Princess Rhaenyra already, and the more political tools she equipped herself with, the better she’d fare in any future struggle for power.

While you had fully supported the Princess’ recent charitable endeavors, as did King Viserys, others from Court were less than thrilled with the idea. Queen Alicent had voiced some concern, as did Ser Criston Cole. He had deemed it too dangerous.

Even now, the Dornish knight was visibly sweating from across the room. From what the Princess had told you personally, and from what you had heard from others, Ser Criston Cole had experienced many battles, and lived to tell the tale of them all. And yet, in a simple orphanage within King’s Landing, he appeared to be visibly sweating and his eyes shifted across the room madly. His nervousness on behalf of the Princess’ safety had to have occupied his every thought.

Standing beside him, and much more relaxed in composure, was Ser Harwin Strong.

In your time at Court, Ser Harwin Strong had become a member of the City Watch. As a result, he’d become quite familiar with the inner workings of the city, and was comfortable walking amongst the streets. Ser Harwin had proven himself to be an asset for the Princess’ repeated journeys out into the city. Being out in the heart of the city didn’t appear to scare him or cause him any serious cause for concern. But you doubted anything would.

Unlike the panicked eyes of Ser Criston, Ser Harwin’s gentle eyes watched over you and the Princess carefully as you interacted with the children bouncing with excitement around you. You caught him staring at you as you continued to distribute bread, but forced yourself not to think too much of it.

Eventually, it was time to return the Red Keep. You could have sworn you’d never seen Ser Criston look so relieved- though perhaps that would only be true until the Princess’ next escapade concluded. He and Ser Harwin scouted the entrance to the orphanage to make sure there was no sign of danger while you and Princess Rahenyra bid the children goodbye with promises to return in a few weeks.

You made your way out of the dwelling to where the carriage, along with the rest of the guards who had been recruited to comprise the escort, was waiting for the two of you. Princess Rhaenyra climbed in first. You were quick to follow, but were temporarily paused when someone politely offered you an arm for assistance.

It was Ser Harwin.

“My Lady,” he said, bowing his head downwards towards his extended arm.

Despite yourself, you smiled at him as a sign of your gratitude, and hopped up and inside the carriage with his assistance. Once you and Princess Rhaenyra were both seated inside, the carriage was lifted up and off the ground, beginning the return back to the Red Keep. Ser Criston and Ser Harwin, one of them on either side of the carriage, kept vigilant eyes on your surroundings as the entourage moved through the streets. You caught glimpses of the two knights every now and then through the grated windows near the top of the carriage.

“I cannot tell you how relieved I am to be back,” Princess Rhaenyra sighed after a moment. She leant back against the wall of the carriage, and settled down further in her seat.

From your seat across from her, you offered her a small smile. “I recall the feeling of returning home after a long journey very well, Your Grace. I dare say that there is little else that compares.”

Princess Rhaenyra laughed shortly, but you knew she meant no offense. “Though I dare say the feeling of being out of the clutches of power-hungry suitors to be a far better one than that which you have described.”

You stifled a laugh, knowing your involuntary response would be frowned upon by most others at Court. However, none would be more displeased to hear of it than King Viserys, who had through painstakingly great lengths to arrange the tour of the Seven Kingdoms. It was all organized in the hope that his daughter might find a suitor worthy of both her heart and the title of King Consort.

Unfortunately, the tour had proven to be unsuccessful thus far. Princess Rhaenyra had visited the Reach, the Westerlands, and the Riverlands, and not a single notable contender had emerged- at least not in the eyes of Rhaenyra. She had claimed the majority of the hopefuls who had paid her visit to be either far too old, or far too young. She noted that the rest of them had been about as “insufferable” as their power hungry father and grandfathers, who had watched the proceedings with greedy eyes.

You had only received second hand accounts of the events, and largely from the Princess’ sole perspective. While it would have been expected of you to attend Princess Rhaenyra throughout her travels, she had taken her junior ladies in waiting with her for assistance instead. Meanwhile, she had tasked you with what she deemed to be far more important.

Princess Rhaenyra had asked you to stay behind, in King's Landing, to see to her personal affairs. It had been difficult to accept at first, even more so when the Princess went to visit the Reach. But you trusted and respected her opinion that you would be more of use to her elsewhere. While there would always be secretarial duties to attend to, and charitable functions to plan, the main reason the Princess had asked you to stay behind was for reconnaissance purposes.

Foul whispers about the Princess were abound, and they only grew more troubling in her absence. But with you, an obvious ally and devout supporter of the future Queen, roaming around the Red Keep in her stead, the whispers were more timid, and their perpetrators were kept at bay. Any rumors that still managed to reach your ears were immediately reported to Princess Rhaenyra upon her return.

“At least the Riverlands were quite remarkable,” Princess Rhaenyra noted positively, changing the subject. She gazed out the window, as if recalling a scene from her memory. “Even though they are named for such, I was truly amazed at the sheer amount of rivers we came across.”

You smiled at her enthusiasm.

“Have you ever been? To the Riverlands?”

“I’m afraid I have not had the pleasure, Your Grace.”

“We must change that then,” the Princess insisted, giving you a conspiring smile.

“Do you intend to return to the Riverlands soon?” you asked, with sincere interest. “Has one of the suitors finally caught your attention?”

Princess Rhaenyra rolled her eyes, a gesture that most would deem extremely unladylike. However, you knew it to be a common occurrence for her, and had grown quite accustomed to it. Her boldness was appealing, and refreshing amongst the other “highly-refined” ladies at Court. She had thick skin, and never hesitated to speak her mind; you knew that both qualities would serve her well as future Queen.

“Don’t sound too eager, Lady Y/N,” she chided playfully. “Lord Tully was a gracious host, of course. But unfortunately, all of the gentlemen callers were just the same. Too old, too young, or too-”

“-Insufferable,” you finished for her, having heard her same speech twice before.

Princess Rhaenyra laughed. “Precisely.”

In your time in service to the Princess, you had come to be quite close. You considered her a friend, and could only hope that she considered you to be the same. On bolder days, you might have contemplated whether Queen Alicent’s marriage to her father had left the young woman in search of some companionship. If there was a void in that area of her life, you were happy to fill it. You missed her when she was gone on her travels… But perhaps you missed one of her most recent traveling companions even more.

“It was not entirely a waste, I suppose,” Princess Rhaenyra admitted then, her tone shifting once more. “Ser Harwin Strong is far from terrible company.”

Immediately, you glanced at the carriage windows with worry. Was it possible that the very man in question was able to overhear you now? The streets were alive with people, but if Ser Harwin was walking right alongside the carriage…

However, Princess Rhaenyra did not seem deterred. In fact, noticing your apprehension only encouraged her more. She leaned forward in her seat, and said, “We had many great conversations, Ser Harwin and I.”

You forced yourself to smile, torn between the comradery and duty you felt for the princess, and the aching pain you felt in your heart.

“I can tell you all about our conversations, if you’d like,” Princess Rhaenyra offered, clearly, but thankfully, oblivious to your inner struggle. “I believe you’ll find them to be very interesting.”

Normally, you would readily indulge in some harmless gossip with her. But now, you loathed the thought of what she might tell you. “If it is your wish to share such details, Your Grace.”

The Princess finally noticed that something was amiss. She sat back in her seat, and gave you a befuddled look. “Is everything alright, Y/N?” she questioned. “You’ve been very quiet these past few days…”

You’d always prided yourself on your ability to be honest with the Princess. But at that moment, you could not compel yourself to tell her the entire truth. So, you settled for a half-truth, and opted to share with her one of the two things that hung very heavy over your head as of late.

“My father has taken ill,” you admit, lowering your voice so as not to be overheard by anyone outside of the carriage. “I received a letter from my brother just a few days past”

Princess Rhaenyra’s confused expression shifted to one of sympathy.

“The Maesters say he should pull through,” you continued, “But I am worried.”

The Princess had never been anything less than kind to you, but still, you could not have anticipated her next move. She reached across the carriage and placed a soothing hand overtop of your own, which you hadn’t realized you’d wrung together in your concern.

“My father has always described Lord Larris as a strong man,” she assured you full-heartedly. “I trust the gods will see to it that he recovers fully and swiftly.”

You were touched by her gesture. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

“Should you desire to go visit him, I will agree to it at once.”

“I will keep that in mind, Princess.”

Later that evening, once the Princess had retired, you made your way from her chambers towards your own. Though the hallways of the Red Keep were seldom unoccupied, save the guards keeping watch, they certainly appeared to be that night.

It was unfortunate that the one person you encountered was the one man that, for once, you hoped not to see.

“Ser Harwin.”

The knight paused in his tracks, and bowed his head graciously in greeting. “Lady Y/N.”

“It is a good evening, is it not?”

“It is,” he agreed, smiling softly. “And, seeing as I have been fortunate enough to speak with you, it stands to improve even more.”

Despite your reservations, you blushed.

The relationship between yourself and Ser Harwin Strong, much like your relationship with Princess Rhaenyra, had grown tremendously during your time at Court. And, it had blossomed even as of late. While the Princess had tasked you with seeing to matters in King’s Landing while she went on her tours of Westeros, there were times when you had seen to everything that needed to be done, and as a result, you sought company instead. More often than not, that company had been found in Ser Harwin. Though he had his own duties to see to as a member of the City Watch, he’d never failed to make time for you.

At first, it started off with polite conversation occurring throughout strolls throughout the castle gardens and surrounding grounds. Princess Rhaenyra was correct in her insinuation earlier in the day- despite the bruteish nickname he bore, Ser Harwin was more than a decent conversationalist. The topics were light hearted, but any conversation with him sent your heart racing anyway.

Eventually, you began to share meals together on occasion. Deeper conversations occurred during those times. You’d come to discover that you and Ser Harwin had much more in common than either of you realized. You were both very close to your families. You had each lost your mothers at a young age, but both of you had good relationships with your fathers, and absolutely adored your siblings. He had enamored you with tales of the haunted halls of Harrenhal, and in exchange, you had told him all about the gardens of Highgarden and seasonal festivals that the Reach boasted.

Most recently, the two of you, along with a small party composed of his brother, two sisters, and another few members of the Court, had gone for a few days’ hunt in the Kingswood. You hadn’t lucked out on the hunt like some of the others had, but it was a thrilling experience nonetheless.

The hunt had led Ser Harwin to discover your familiarity with a bow. Though perhaps it was not very lady-like, your father had taught you how to shoot at a young age, deciding that it had the potential to be a unique party trick, at the very least. Your hobby had never been put to use by targeting live animals, but rather, stationary or inanimate objects thrown up into the air. For you, it had never been about the hunt, just the sport of it all.

As soon as you explained as much to Ser Harwin, he requested you to demonstrate your skills. You attempted to politely decline, but upon seeing a disappointed glint in his eyes, you changed your mind. A small crowd had assembled for the showdown between you and Ser Harwin one afternoon. His sisters, surprisingly, cheered for your victory instead of their older brother’s. You found it to be amusing, but oddly touching. Ser Harwin took it in stride, and merely jested about the familial betrayal.

At the end of the shooting rounds, you emerged as the winner, but by only a narrow margin. Ser Harwin could not be faulted; it was well known he was far more talented with a sword than bow, anyway.

Part of you feared Ser Harwin’s reaction, worried that his displeasure would put a strain on your growing relationship. But he had surprised you- as he often did.

“Any boy can denounce a loss as unfair, or even simply blame the wind for a poor shot,” he’d said, grinning ear to ear as he plucked one of your arrows from the bullseye of a target, and handed it back to you gracefully. “It takes a man to be willing to admit defeat to the truly better aim, regardless of who that victor may be.”

Ser Harwin Strong was a flatterer, through and through.

You raised your head to look him fully straight on. Speaking in such close proximity to Ser Harwin always made you recall just how massive he was. Your chin was practically tilted upwards, and his head was bowed down to regard you.

“I apologize that we have not been able to speak much before now,” Ser Harwin said, sounding and looking completely sincere.

“Your apologies are not necessary, My Lord. I am sure you’ve had a great deal of things to attend to, especially after having been gone these past few weeks.”

As was expected, Ser Harwin had traveled with Princess Rhaenyra during her tour of the Riverlands- his home. You had no doubt he had presented himself to her as a potential suitor in Lord Tully’s halls, along with dozens of other vying contenders. As the oldest son of Lord Lyonel, and Heir to Harrenhal, you knew Ser Harwin had every right to offer the Princess his hand. In fact, his failure to do so might have even been considered a slight against the crown- one that his father, the current Master of Laws, would not have likely been able to afford.

But you dreaded the day when news would reach your ears of Ser Harwin Strong’s betrothal. Between his title, strength, and handsomeness, it was a downright wonder why a match had not been made for him yet. You knew it was only a matter of time… and while you had come to cultivate deep feelings for the knight, Princess Rhaenyra would be a far better match for him.

Since their return from the Riverlands, you noticed more and more frequent looks exchanged between the two of them. Knowing looks. It was apparent to you that Princess Rhaenyra and Ser Harwsin held information that you were not privy to. And you had a sinking feeling as to what it was.

An announcement had yet to be made, but Rhaenyra had yet to complete her tour. She was off to the Stormlands the following week. And yet, it was likely all for show. She had to be fair and allow other potential suitors to believe they still stood a chance for her hand- when clearly they did not.

Princess Rhaenyra must have chosen Ser Harwin Strong.

The Realm’s Delight and Breakbones? They made a better pair than one would think. She was a dragon, and he was a fearsome warrior. Her mental ingenuity would only be supported by his brute force of strength. Together, they would take down enemies to her claim one by one. They would want or need for nothing- and neither would their children.

And you, you would resign yourself to your place. Despite being the daughter of Lord Tyrell, you could never hope to compete with the Princess of Westeros for a suitor’s hand. And you never would. You had sworn her your allegiance… your true heart’s desire be damned.

“How were your travels, My Lord?”

“A bit tiring, if I may speak plainly,” he replied carefully. Even you had to admit that he sounded fatigued. “But it was necessary, which has made it easier to bear.”

I suppose winning the heart of the future Queen of Westeros made the trip worthwhile as well, you couldn’t help but think to yourself. “I am glad to hear that, My Lord.”

Ser Harwin reached a hand up to smooth through his brown locks, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. You realized with slight shock that he was demonstrating an emotion you had yet to see him display in all the time you’d known him- Ser Harwin was nervous.

“Are you well, Ser Harwin?” you questioned, not caring at all about the concern which was evident in your voice.

Ser Harwin’s gaze softened even more. Your concern had moved him. “All is well, Lady Y/N…” He cleared his throat, before his eyes fell to the floor. “Or, rather, there are no physical ailments burdening me…”

On one hand, you were taken aback by the foreignness of it all. This large man looked as nervous and shy as some of the children you had visited that same morning. On the other hand, it was slightly endearing to learn that a man with the nickname Breakbones was not able to escape the burden of emotions that plagued everyone else. He was just as capable of being human as those two, even three times less his size.

Before you mentally dared to compare him to a gentle giant, Ser Harwin continued.

“I had some… rather enlightening conversations with Princess Rhaenyra during our travels,” he admitted, the nerves he physically displayed betraying his voice ever so slightly as well. “The conversations opened my eyes to a truth that I have denied for quite some time.”

You were surprised to hear that he had not been taken with Princess Rhaenyra upon first sight- most men were. But yet again, Ser Harwin was not like most men.

“I was hoping to discuss this further with you,” Ser Harwin confessed. He looked you straight on, and you couldn’t tear your eyes from his for a moment, even if you had wanted to. “Somewhere more private?”

There was a hopeful glint in his hazel eyes, but the thought of advising him on matters pertaining to keeping the Princess’ interest made you feel suddenly ill.

“Perhaps we could dine together in a few days?” he suggested then, his nerves amplified by your lack of immediate response. “Or, maybe we could take a walk in the gardens?”

You almost caved right then and there. Almost. Ser Harwin knew how much you liked walking through the castle gardens. Even though they paled in comparison to those of Highgarden, they still reminded you of home, and walking along the paths lined with various greenery and floral displays brought you comfort.

“I shall have to see, My Lord,” you replied, even though it practically pained you to not immediately agree. “The Princess has given me leave to visit my father, and I am inclined to take her offer.”

Instead of looking disappointed, Ser Harwin gave you a look of pure guilt.

“My sincerest apologies, My Lady,” he said. “... I may have inadvertently heard about the news of your father. While I did not mean to overhear you, I heard the Princess speak my name this afternoon, while the escort was on the way back to the Red Keep… I feared she required something of me. By the time I realized that I was not needed, I fear I may have heard too much.”

It was nice to have confirmation that the walls of the carriage were not very thick, if only for future reference. Part of you felt embarrassed by the fact that Ser Harwin had overheard your personal matter, but the other part felt relieved that the knowledge that had clouded your mind over the past few days had been made known to one of the few individuals you trusted in King’s Landing. And seeing as Ser Harwin looked and sounded as guilty as he admitted to be, you could not find it in yourself to be cross with him.

“Your apologies are not necessary, My Lord.”

“I wish Lord Tyrell a quick recovery,” he confided to you. “And, should you leave for Highgarden, I wish you safe travels.”

You smiled graciously. “Thank you, Ser Harwin. Should I see him, I shall pass your well wishes along to my father.”

It was Ser Harwin’s turn to smile then. But after a few moments, nervousness seeped into his composure once again. Though he was more soft-spoken than you had once imagined him to be, his next words were said so softly, that had you not been alone in the corridor, with only a few inches between yourselves, you might not have heard them at all.

“Should you decide to leave, Lady Y/N… I fear I will find myself counting down the days until I am in your company once more.”

… This man. This man was going to rip out your heart, tear it into pieces, toss it on the ground, and stomp on it through his impending marriage to the Princess you served dutifully. You knew you had to begin to prepare yourself to suffer through it… But you would also take any attention and warm sentiments that Ser Harwin Strong would grant you in the meantime.

The memories of his kindness that he had shown you would have to be enough to get you through the pain you were sure to endure.

Despite the forwardness of Ser Harwin’s words, what was more alarming was the stark seriousness of his expression. He meant every word of what he had just said, and you believed it fully. Still, you would have to be daft to decry him now just for the sake of proprietary. 

“I must admit… I shall miss you too, My Lord.”

By the end of the following week, Princess Rhaenyra was off on her tour of the Stormlands, with Ser Criston Cole glady serving as one of her escorts.

You had seen Ser Harwin in passing since the night you last spoke, but you did not make any further meaningful conversation with him. Though you missed your talks, you reasoned it was better for your heart to start putting some distance between the two of you now, before his marriage to Princess Rhaenyra would place you worlds apart.

You had seen to all the tasks that Princess Rhaenyra had left you with, and had begun to pack and ready the rest of your things. The plan was to embark on the trek back to Highgarden within a day or two.

But your plan was cut short when a messenger knocked on the door to your chambers. You had a visitor, and they were waiting for you in the courtyard of the Red Keep.

You hurried to the courtyard with moderate speed. It was seldom you had visitors- a cousin had visited once, a few weeks back. But besides that, no one had yet to pay you a visit. Many visitors to the Red Keep had it in mind to speak with many, many others besides the likes of you.

But when you entered the courtyard, you noticed the small entourage that had just arrived. No carriage in sight- just several men and their steeds. But that didn’t mean the visitor was from a place nearby. When your eyes fell upon a lean figure donned in the familiar colors of your House, you beamed brightly, knowing that without a doubt, this visitor was truly one for you.

“Brother?”

Your brother, Derron Tyrell, the Heir to Highgarden, turned to face you upon your call. When he saw you, he grinned. “Sister!”

You crossed the courtyard in large strides and practically leapt into Derron’s arms. Your brother caught you and returned your familial embrace with ease.

“I have missed you!” you told him hurriedly, pulling away to look at him. Even though it had only been a few months, going on a year at most, since you had seen him last, it had felt like far longer. But Derron looked the same as he always had, and it brought you joy to see him in good health.

“And I you, Y/N,” Derron replied, his smile still as bright as your own.

“What in the Seven Hells are you doing here?” you demanded of him in a hushed whisper, your arms falling back down to your sides. Suddenly, a terrible thought entered your mind. “Did I miss a raven? Is father-”

“Father is alive,” your brother was quick to assure you. “And you did not miss a raven, for there was none sent to you.”

You let out a sigh of relief.

Derron looked at his entourage surrounding him. Though you recognized most of them as bannermen with whom he had rode and fought beside for years, you could tell that your brother was wary of their presence at this particular moment.

“Come now, Sister- we have much to discuss.”

It seemed that someone, although not you, had been expecting Derron Tyrell to arrive in King’s Landing. Chambers had already been set aside for him and his men, and he’d even been given a special audience with the King later in the week to discuss ongoing matters in the Reach.

Later that day, once your brother was settled in his chambers and unpacked, you met with him. You were eager to learn of the cause of his surprise visit, and to privately discuss what he had referred to in the courtyard.

The pair of you were seated at a table on the balcony connected to his chambers. As Derron poured you a glass of wine, before pouring one for himself, you asked him the question that had been on the forefront of your mind since his arrival.

“How is Father?”

“He’s made a turn for the better since I last wrote to you,” Derron answered truthfully, setting the pitcher of wine down. “He was still too weak to travel here, but the Maesters were even more hopeful than before by the time I left.”

That was great news. Perhaps your return visit to the Reach could wait a few more days, and once your brother’s affairs in King’s Landing were settled, you could ride back to Highgarden with him, and be all the more safer for it.

“What brings you here, Derron?” you asked then.

“You may not have received a raven, but Father did,” he replied. “Father received two of them, actually.”

“Who were they from?”

“The first was from Princess Rhaenyra herself.”

That was extremely surprising. Had you done something to upset the Princess? She seemed alright when she bade you goodbye before departing for the Stormlands… but perhaps she was attempting to save face in front of those around her. Had she written to your father and asked you to be removed from her service?

“I can see your mind racing,” your brother observed with a smirk. “You needn’t worry, Y/N. Princess Rhaenyra simply wished him a swift recovery, and invited him to King’s Landing to visit with King Viserys and to discuss matters of the Reach as soon as he was able to travel once more. I wish I had the letter to show you, but I believe father kept that for himself- the Princess complimented you greatly. I wish you could have seen the smile on his face as he read her words.”

The thought of your father’s smile due to humbling praises from Princess Rhaenyra brought a smile to your own face. You missed him. You missed home. But the visit with Derron would have to be enough, until a more suitable opportunity to return to Highgarden would appear.

“You mean to meet with the King later this week?” you asked, slightly confused. “Have you traveled here on Father’s behalf, then? Was there a matter so urgent that could not wait until he was able to travel here himself?”

“Yes… and no,” Derron. “All is as well as it can be in the Reach; the harvest has been as bountiful as we suspected it would be. But there was another, more pressing matter that required one of us to see to it immediately. Father decided it would be good practice for me to come and speak with the King about business while I was already in King’s Landing dealing with this other matter.”

The other matter must have been extremely pressing, if it had compelled your father to send Derron all the way to King’s Landing without so much as a raven’s notice. “Pray tell- what is this urgent matter you speak of?”

“That would involve the second raven Father received,” Derron pivoted. “Fortunately, I do have that letter in my possession. We both thought it might be best for you to see it for yourself.”

Your brother withdrew a rolled up piece of parchment from his coat, and handed it over to you. You took it with great intrigue, and immediately set about reading the tiny scrawlings littering the page.

“To Lord Larris Tyrell of Highgarden, Defender of the Marshes, Lord Paramount of the Reach, and Warden of the South:

I hope you are able to overlook my forwardness. I, Ser Harwin Strong, son of Lord Lyonnel Strong of Harrenhal, write to you regarding a most urgent matter of the mind and heart…”

You tore your eyes away from the page, and looked back up at your brother. The reassuring look on his face confirmed what you had suspected- your eyes were not deceiving you.

Ser Harwin had written to your father directly.

But what on earth for?!

“We received the raven with this message just a few days before I set out for King’s Landing. But I assure you, Father and I have discussed the contents of this letter at great length.”

You were almost too afraid to ask, but you found the courage to do so anyway. “What does this letter have to do with your visit?”

“If you would continue reading on, you shall see for yourself,” Derron encouraged you. “There are important conversations to be had with Ser Harwin Strong… as well as his father, Lord Lyonel. Such matters are far more appropriate to address in person, rather than by letter.”

Your eyes fell once more down to the parchment in your hands. “What matters could possibly require such attention?”

“... I can tell by your reaction that you have not spoken with Ser Harwin as of late,” your brother deduced. Didn’t last week count? “But that is of no matter. Now that I am here, we can all address it. Please, Y/N. Keep reading.”

“...

 I would like to start by wishing you the quickest of recoveries.

I hope this letter reaches you in due time- I intend to discuss this subject with Lady Y/N in depth as soon as she allows me, and as soon as I muster up the courage to do so. I believe she is the one who deserves to learn of this matter first, and so that she may pass her judgment on it. But, on the advice of my father, out of respect for your great House, and out of respect to my own, I thought it wise to at least enlighten you about my intentions.

I apologize- I have never had the reputation for being a particularly eloquent man. But for this letter, I shall to be just that. I have only recently returned to King’s Landing from escorting Her Grace, the Princess Rhaenyra to my home, the Riverlands. Despite the tiredness I feel, the journey opened my eyes to a truth that I feel drawn to act upon at once.

My Lord, I have had the immense pleasure of sharing company with Lady Y/N since the Princess Rhaenyra recruited her to be of her service some time ago. Although I am sure you are aware, Lady Y/N is a great compliment to your house. Her kindness and charms are extended warmly to all, from the royal family to the poor of King’s Landing. Her wit entertains all who are blessed with her conversation, and her tenacity to succeed in an environment without the support of her family, who she clearly loves so dearly, has been nothing short of inspiring- even to a ‘brute’ such as myself.

 All of this, when combined with the mere passage of time, and counsel from Princess Rhaenyra herself throughout our recent travels, has led to me to face one conclusion that I have been blind to for some time.

 I have become completely captivated by Lady Y/N.

 …”

Derron’s next words nearly fell upon deaf ears as you spaced out, torn between continuing your enthralled reading of the letter in your hands, and seeking clarification to the many questions that had been raised by it.

“It would seem,” your brother said wistfully, “That I am here to discuss the terms of your courtship, and inevitable betrothal, to Ser Harwin Strong.”

You were astonished.

“But before I can do that, I must know… Is this what you truly want?”

Part 3, “Storms,” can be read HERE.

A/N: Thank you for reading!🖤

Please feel free to let me know if you wish to be added to the taglist for any future parts. I apologize sincerely if I’ve missed anyone- please let me know if that’s the case! I tried to tag everyone from the first part who requested it, as well as some people who left comments on reblogs, but please do not hesitate to let me know if I missed anyone, or if you are on the taglist currently but wish to be removed.

TAGLIST: @whitetigerlover17 @littlebirdgot @strawbbyjamb @te5s3ract @landofdreamsworld @nerdboylover @piper570 @ephemeralninon @linkpk88 @green--beanie @kaygilles @hippzella @wicked-hg @thatgaytevinter @nowheredreamer @ateliefloresdaprimavera @queenofterrasen418 @saintspector @thebigbadbatswife @blazinglioness @itevilhag​ @chlo-feigh​ 

#harwin strong #harwin strong x reader #house of the dragon #ser harwin strong #ser harwin strong x reader #ser harwin #harwin strong x y/n #ser harwin strong x y/n #harwin strong x you #ser harwin strong x you #hbo #ryan corr #hotd #got #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon fanfiction #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones fanfic #harwin strong fanfic #harwin strong fanfiction #ser harwin strong fanfiction #ser harwin strong fanfic

[mochiajclayne]

Hi there,

I hope you're doing well.

i read your post regarding SasuSaku and Sarada as a family and you stole the words right off my mouth.

I'd like to know your thoughts and opinions on Sasuke Retsiden because from what I can see, its only Jun Esaka (a mere light novel writer that writes non canon stuff) all over the internet being equally all over about her Sasuke Retsuden. I haven't seen any other light novel writer being more active about something non canon. Even kishimoto himself doesnt behave like this regarding his own work.

I'd like to also know about your opinions regarding Jun Esaka ATTEMPTING to remove or metaphorically kill Karin Uzumaki by making the main villain a Karin look alike and giving her sensory abilities to Sakura, which again, makes no sense. Does that woman hate Karin and SK so much? Is that woman so threatened by the very thought of SK as a couple that she had to incorporate a villain that looks like Karin Uzumaki down to a tee?

These are just my thoughts and speculations but I'm also really interested in knowing your side of the story.

Thanks for reading my long comment and i wish you a wonder day/afternoon/evening/night

Hi, @theuntamedangel! I appreciate the long comment! I hope you have a wonderful day/afternoon/evening/night, too!

Before I share my thoughts about Sasuke Retsuden, let me share that I did, unfortunately, have a sasusaku phase. I know. Shocker. The entire lore is here in case you're interested (promise it's relevant to my explanation).

I did hear about Sasuke Retsuden when I was still in college. Bits of information, specifically, about the chakra ring and from a perspective of someone who used to ship sasusaku casually, my initial reaction was okay good for them and I went on with my day. Note that I wasn't as heavily engaged in the Naruto fandom like I do now so for me to isn't active back then, hearing about Sasuke Retsuden, speaks volume on how it is over the internet that it even reached me.

I hate Sasuke Retsuden. It's badly written, it's OOC especially for OG Naruto characters, and the canon inaccuracies are more than enough to drive me into aneurysm.

Below this cut is my detailed thoughts about Sasuke Retsuden.

The villain looking like the male version of Karin caught me off guard. I don't know what the intentions behind the character design but I think they aimed for association as Jiji, one of the characters from this godforsaken novel, reminded me of Juugo.

I am not a sasukarin shipper but I do understand where the shippers are speaking from. I think they'll make a cool couple because Karin actually freaking cares about Sasuke when shit gets serious and outside of her "gag", she respects Sasuke's boundaries. Might be speaking out of the box but this novel in its existence was meant to be sasusaku-centric so the possibility of being threatened by all Sasuke-related ships, especially those making far more sense than SS, is high. I don't think Jun Esaka hates Karin. I would dare say that she picked a random character that could work as a direct contender to Sakura and unfortunately, she decided to scapegoat Karin. Moreover, the entire sensory ability shtick added to Sakura was uncalled for. I would go even further and say that Esaka's version of Sakura is what her stans hailed her to be--a superior version of [insert any Naruto's female character]. Even their pink haired kunoichi is incredibly OOC here and you expect me to take her seriously?

The funniest thing about Sasuke Retsuden is the way that they had to use SNS at first, specifically, Sasuke's mission is to find a cure for that chakra illness that Naruto alone suffers. Sure, this is SS centric but it all comes down to Sasuke and Sakura working together to find a cure for Naruto. Now, she could just write a novel about SS without using Naruto's "sickness" as some kind of a plot device, right? But no, she had to convince us somehow and an effective way to do that is literally Naruto and Sasuke.

The dinosaur. Don't even get me started. Even tailed beasts cannot fight against Sharingan to the point that canon graciously provided us evidence of both Madara and Obito controlling the Nine Tailed Beast. The very same Sharingan that made the higher ups of Konoha suspect the Uchiha clan as mastermind for that same incident. We're talking about the same dojutsu that manipulated the Fourth Mizukage. The canon inaccuracy throws me off the loop.

More inaccuracies. Suddenly Sasuke is an Earth and Ice Style user. Wow. Conveniently forgetting about Kakashi mentioning in Part 1 how Ice Style is a Kekkei Genkai that even Sharingan can't copy. As far as Naruto canon goes, Sasuke is a Fire and Lightning Style user. I don't consider Boruto as canon but even that animanga doesn't show any moment of Sasuke using Earth Style. It's insane that people claimed this as canon.

THIS DISTURBING INTERACTION. I did say that the OG Naruto characters are OOC in this shitshow novel and yes, unfortunately that includes Sakura. We've seen the way she react around Naruto's sexy ninjutsu antics. Unless objectification of women or the mere implication of it doesn't perturb her, then it says more about how Esaka portrayed her. I'd personally file a restraining order when a guy says he'd settle for my old, half smoked cigarette butts. I'm surprised that she didn't throw any snide remarks here.

WHO IS THIS SASUKE AND WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM. This panel made me laugh so hard because I feel like Esaka straight up ignored that Sasuke canonically spent years with his family before the Uchiha downfall happened. I don't think he'd be this clueless about how a married couple acts. Even in flashbacks, Sasuke was shown around his parents or Itachi, literally with his family. I think he knows well enough about married couples.

The ring part as well makes me cackle because Kurenai literally wears a ring in Shippuden. Trust me, Juugo-look-a-like, rings are used in Konoha by couples.

The Uchiha clan symbol takes me out because AREN'T YOU GOING UNDERCOVER IN THIS PRISON? WHY ARE YOU SHOWING THAT OFF?

The Chakra ring in question. Finding out the lore behind this further upset me and I am thankful that I no longer ship sasusaku. Show these panels out of context to someone with little to no exposure to canon and it would be romantic but if you know Narutoverse like the back of your hand, this novel served nothing. Seriously, the fact that Sasuke is incredibly OOC on this novel speak volumes. Imagine annihilating Sasuke's character to make SS work? Insanity.

Writing Edo Tensei with rose tinted glasses disgust me. That jutsu is straight up manipulating a dead body at your bidding. Tobirama shouldn't have invented that jutsu. Hinting that jutsu to be used to revive a loved one that passed away is vile and disgusting. The lack of attention to canon isn't a new thing for Esaka at this point.

Even this novel can't cover up the fact that Sakura doesn't know Sasuke well. If there's one thing that's consistent in the prequel, it was Naruto that gets into trouble. Sasuke doesn't use honorifics and he got away with it. His bluntness doesn't get him and everyone around him in trouble. Sasuke only began resorted to extremes when he was batshit blind and sinking into the unhinged depths of his hatred. Probably the only things that Sakura got correctly was Sasuke's kindness and his nonchalance about his looks but that's it. So the claim of knowing Sasuke inside and out is preposterous. The one who can say that is, guess who? Naruto.

Ending this long analysis with this panel because honestly, Ino is asking the questions for me. Unfortunately, despite being "married", their dynamic stayed the same. Sakura is still that same girl that has a crush on Sasuke, except she's in her 30s and Sasuke is still the same boy that rejected her date offers and the idea of being together with her, even reaching the point that he's away from her a lot.

I do apologize for going off to the point that I decided to pull a meta post about this. I do hope you're doing well and I appreciate the ask!

#anti sasuke retsuden #sasuke #uchiha sasuke #anti ss #anti sasusaku #mochiajclayne.txt #naruto #tagging him because he was mentioned #same with #karin #juugo #karin uzumaki #tagging sns as well because they're mentioned #sns #sasunaru #narusasu

[aldeanotes]

the art of cooking

aemond / modern!reader, 16+, fluff / comedy / mild angst in later plot points. inspiration taken from kdrama mr. queen. reader is very bi and loves girls so much.  

summary: in which you are a famous young chef whose soul was transported into the body of some way too pretty and privileged noble woman. oh, and you’re supposed to marry a prince or whatever. anyway, can you test this to see if it's ready ? 

warnings: reader is batshit wild and doesn't have time for westerosi norms : ). characters will be ooc at times and this story is not entirely canon compliant.

author's notes: sorry for the very long delay !!! i've had so much going on !!!

tag list: @azaleapotterblack, @aurorathi

chapter two: / 5.2k words

Sitting before Otto and Alicent Hightower, you realize, quite bluntly, you don’t want to be here. They’re going to think you’re out of your mind if you speak the truth of the situation – you fell in some water and then woke up here in this place – but it’s the truth nonetheless. Given their hardened expressions (that Otto gives you and Alicent has the mercy to give it to the floor instead of you), you have a feeling they already don’t like the situation as they perceive it.

Which is that the younger prince’s betrothed (you make a face whenever they refer to this relation) has suffered a memory loss and the greatest doctors of this age can’t seem to fix it through traditional means.

Alicent takes in a deep breath, finally breaking her intense eye contact with the floor and running her hands briefly across her face in slight distress. Though, you have a feeling she’s a little bit of a mess inside. You shift uncomfortably in the seat at the Small Council. Jaquetta’s comforting presence is behind you. Unfortunately, the other presence in the room causes you to pretend to be deeply interested in the space between Alicent’s eyebrows.

Prince Aemond sits across from you, next to Otto. If he’s looking at you, you don’t know. You don’t care. He’s not YOUR betrothed, after all, and you have no joy in getting married to anybody. In your real life in your real body, you never had a good example to follow for a healthy relationship, and this girl’s body and that guy sitting across from you do not contain brains that are smart enough to realize that marriage in your teens is a usually bad idea.

Apparently none of the brains of the others in the room are smart either.

“Your uncle and sister are on their way. I have already written to them informing them of the situation,” Alicent breaks the tense silence, looking right at you.

Your eyes meet hers, and you can see a certain kind of tiredness in them. You feel inclined to just nod, so you do. You hope these people will be normal, at least.

“Regarding the marriage–” Otto’s voice pierces straight to the point. He has this way of speaking that makes you feel like he teeters around certain topics like a fighter circling his opponent. “It would be best if we–”

You raise your hand suddenly. Your eyes stare right at the table’s surface. You don’t want to know what everyone else looks like at your actions. You open your mouth and let out a dumb sound – “Um.” There’s a small pause. “Question.” You smack your lips as you gather up all your courage to make your inquiry. “Can we just, you know, not have it?”

Jaquetta grips your shoulder tightly and you know you’ve messed up.

“That is not an option,” Alicent says.

Her tone is sharp enough to cause you to flinch and hesitantly look up at her. Your eyes meet her brown ones. You feel a weight on you. You’ve come to realize in the brief moments you’ve looked at her that Alicent comes through in the eyes. Even as they capture you in their vision, you can’t look away.

It all feels much like how things used to be with your mother.

Alicent must sense the way you retreat into yourself because she swallows before continuing on in a gentler voice.

“It is for the good of the realm.”

But you don’t care about that. Jacquetta has tried telling you of things here and there, but, for the love of the creator, you have no investment in the happenings of this world the same way these people do. You’re a foreign entity trapped here, treated with a different level of scrutiny and pushed down by traditions that have been relatively abandoned in your own world. It feels unfair. You want to scream at these people.

“But I’m not well,” you say. It’s the only real protest you have.

Alicent purses her lips and glances down at her intertwined hands on the table. Her father beats her to it.

“To speak plainly of it,” he starts, and you already can tell from his tone that you’d been doomed to this fate before you even knew it. “This marriage contract has already been approved by the royal household and your house. The wedding is to be held in three months’ time –”

You put your face in your hands.

(“Oh, my fucking god,” you whisper into your flesh. Otto ignores you.)

“Given the time frame, we will not be able to cancel the wedding nor is it in the interest of the realm to do so.”

A wave of nausea hits you, and you distinctly feel like throwing up.

“Your uncle and sister have been informed of the situation and will be arriving within the month,” Otto says. He speaks like everything is final, and as you feel the walls close in around you, you realize it is. “We will have to make use of these three months to be sure you are presentable in time for the wedding.”

Something like dread settles in your stomach. Forget the uncle and sister. Your more immediate worry is about how they plan on making you ‘presentable’ at a wedding you don’t want to a person you don’t know.

Your voice is small when you speak again. “And you’re going to do that – how ?”

“We will arrange some tutors and a septa to be at your side at all times,” Alicent chimes in.

‘At all times’ – you get the impression it’s more to keep an eye on you rather than for your benefit. After not giving yourself nearly enough time to process everything, you lift your head up and glance between Otto and Alicent. You ignore the way Aemond has taken to tapping his finger on the table top.

“So that’s it?” You ask. They say nothing. “Just like that?”

Still nothing.

You look at your last lifeline. Aemond has stopped tapping on the table and is looking back at you when you finally forget the uncomfortable tension between the two of you. You must look pathetic because his lone eye flickers over your face as if he’s taking you in. Even in this situation, he makes your spine go a little cold. It takes some strength not to flinch back from him.

“You–” You take a breath to collect yourself. “You don't really want this either. Right?” You might as well be pleading to him right now with the way your eyes look at him and the way you wave your arm around. “There’s no way you actually agree. I mean – I’m not me anymore.”

He just regards you in brief silence.

“You don’t want to do this!” Your voice raises a bit and Jaquetta stiffens next to you.

“I will perform my duty to the realm,” Aemond answers, keeping your gaze.

You’re floored, a breathy chuckle leaving you at his words. The corners of your mouth twitch up as if he’d told a joke. It was a sick one, if you’d ever heard one. Your arm that you’d been waving around flops helplessly onto your lap as you watch him turn to his mother and grandfather.

“I will wed my betrothed as agreed upon.”

You don’t know if it’s commendable or downright idiotic of him to marry someone who clearly he knows is not normal. Your lips part to make another protest but all that comes out is air. Everyone in this room with any semblance of power greater than your own has shut you down. Your worries are cast aside. They’re like whispers in the wind to these people.

Otto says something before getting up and walking away. You retreat back into your mind as you always do when you’re frightened, when things are beyond your control like this. The screech of chairs don’t awaken you from your state. Your eyes bore into the polished table, and you think you might almost cry but your eyes flutter shut to stop them. How can you even stop this?

Jaquetta kneels down beside you and takes your hand. You feel a little less alone.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The septa, which you realize is something like a nun, assigned to you is boring and overbearing. Septa Lettice is stern, rule-abiding and watches your every move. Even Jaquetta has difficulty adjusting to this new presence in your life, her bright smile appearing a little tight against the septa’s neutral expression. You can’t even so much as go for a stroll without her lingering right on top of you. Her teachings are even worse.

While you’ve been spared from being inflicted any physical punishments, when you raise protests against whatever bullshit she tries shoving down your throat, she’s quick to dole out more readings or lessons to occupy any free time you were waiting for. Though you at least admit that not all these long sermons on the Faith of the Seven are for naught. You find that this world is just as brutal and unfair as the damn Dark Ages in your own world. A discovery which makes you look forward to your time here. Of course.

You whisper your practiced prayers monotonously so she’ll get off your back.

When it’s not with Septa Lettice, Alicent and Otto have been kind enough to assign you other trusted governesses to teach you etiquette, speech and some admittedly more useful knowledge like history and basic finances. The governess presiding over your history and financial lessons finds you more agreeable than Septa Lettice and the other governesses that try to wrangle in your resistant behavior. The first week you attempted to just not show up for the first couple of lessons, and the following week you found that several palace servants had come early in the morning to escort you to your daily lessons. You try for another escape through the window and it takes both Septa Lettice and Jaquetta their entire strength to pull you back inside. Alicent gives you a thorough verbal reprimand that evening, and it’s enough to get you to curb your behavior somewhat.

Jaquetta proves herself to be your greatest asset, though.

“This is your house, my lady,” she says, unfurling a piece of soft, muted purple fabric with your house’s sigil on it.

You flinch a little at the sight of a shrike perched upon a branch with one of its meals skewered on a thorn against the backdrop of a castle.

“Kind of gruesome,” you reply, looking down at your botched attempt at sewing a flower for your embroidery lesson. It looks like a distorted mess, like a plate of spaghetti that’s been dropped on the ground.

Jaquetta smiles widely. “The shrike with its prey has been your house’s sigil since its founding. Your ancestors used the bird’s way of killing its victims to build Shrikesdrop to defend against enemies.”

Shrikesdrop – the ancestral seat of House Durant. It’s perched miles high above the water’s surface, impossible to invade by a beach landing and nearly impenetrable by any army thanks to the steep incline of the roads that lead up to it. According to Jaquetta and a couple notes you found in a book here and there, Shrikesdrop has spikes that resemble thorn covered branches that can impale thousands of men who are unfortunate enough to fall off the inclines. Your house has perfected many tricks to get people to fall off of it, and death by impalement is apparently the go-to execution method of your house. You suddenly didn’t want to meet your uncle and sister after hearing that.

“‘As Sharp as Thorns’,” you mumble your house words. It’s dumb, but you guess it’s the best your ancestors could do.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You don’t mean to stumble across Aemond again. It just happens. Like so much in your two lives.

While you don’t exactly allow yourself to get extinguished fully, you at least understand that your ability to get some manner of freedom rests on some compromise on your part. And, well, you’re pretty smart. Smart enough to remember your lessons, to execute the right angle when you greet your governesses, to hold your head high like you’ve always had blue blood in your veins. That was all you had to pay in exchange for some free time.

It’s the sound of steel clashing that causes you to hurry to the platform overlooking the training grounds, eager for some action to rid you of your boredom.

Your opinion of your betrothed is tainted, of course, because of your judgments. It’s also a little difficult to find yourself liking someone you’re forcefully bound to at this point. However, you can’t deny it. The silver locks that fly about like feathers belonging to a bird of prey are what catch your eye first. You can spot them as he dances about the ground, the dirt crunching underneath his boots.

You can’t see his lone eye, but you feel that if you were close enough they’d have that unsettling intensity you’d seen before – honed in on something. His body is both strong yet nimble as he readies himself. His hand grasps the sword as if it were part of his body.

He’s a fighter.

Fire and Blood – Jaquetta taught you the Targaryen words before those of your own house. The blood of the dragon.

You’d heard the screeching of the dragons sometimes, but you’d never been allowed to rush to see them. Somewhere between your acceptance of your fate and your need to cling on to what you know, you think you’d prefer not to see one. Aemond’s dragon, Vhagar, is the largest in the world, or so you’ve been told.

“Shit,” you hiss underneath your breath when you see Aemond’s opponent take such a fierce swing at him.

Your fingers grip the edge of the platform. The hard surface superficially scratches the skin of your palm. It’s a reflexive reaction, but unnecessary. Aemond blocks it gracefully and disengages cleanly. You release a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“Fear not, my lady,” Septa Lettice says. “Ser Criston Cole will not harm the prince.”

Criston Cole, the most trusted sworn sword of Queen Alicent and member of the king’s guard. The best knight in all of the land. Apparently. The royal family sure does have access to some of the best things and people in this land.

Criston circles Aemond after engaging once again, facing towards you as you watch from the platform. Watching training interests you in ways that lessons do not. Perhaps it is the deadliness of it or perhaps it is because even you understand that observing two skilled warriors in a small battle is a luxury few can see. Dark eyes flicker up to you and you stiffen, realizing that Criston is looking right at you.

He says something you can’t make out to Aemond. As soon as you see the back of Aemond’s head begin to move, you run off, Jaquetta and Lettice chasing after you behind you.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your beloved Septa scolds you all the way back inside and only lowers her voice when you begin to pass through the busy halls of the Red Keep. Her expression of concern for your dress skirt getting dirty mirrors a stressed chicken, noisily frantic. You just sigh as she keeps on talking.

Even when you are given free will to wander about as you please, everything feels rather … boring once the splendor of the place begins to wear off. The architecture and luxury is impressive, of course, but how much gold thread and pointed stars can you bask in before you start to long for home again? The faces that greet you and pass by you don’t interest you. You’re selfish with your time. There’s no use entertaining yourself with people that won’t alleviate your anxiety or boredom.

“My lady, you should have stayed and spoken with Prince Aemond,” Jaquetta says, walking a little ways behind you.

You give a dry chuckle. “I’ve got better things to do than that. I’d rather be bored to death. Or go pray at the Sept all day.”

As if you’d want to spend more time with him than you have. Maybe if you prayed to these Gods enough they’d send you back home, but you find that gods tend not to listen to your pleas.

“Prince Aemond is a good prince,” Jaquetta continues. “He is studious, talented in fighting and dedicated to his studies. You have always enjoyed his company so well–”

Her words stop because she’s run into the back of you. You felt the hit but your eyes were trained on someone. A young lady walks across the hall and she is stunning.

“Whoa,” you breathe out as your eyes remain fixed on her. “Who’s that?”

Her silver hair falls past her shoulders, a lone braid framing the top of her head like a crown. You recognize the shade violet that stains her irises, but they look way better on her. Fuck your betrothed. Who gives a fuck about him when there’s pretty girls instaed?

Jaquetta quirks an eyebrow at you before following your eyes and responding, “That is the Princess Helaena Targaryen. You may not remember her since you lost your memories, but you two have been companions since little and– My lady, where are you going?”

Of course, you pick up your dress skirt from off the floor and make your way over to Helaena. Too high for this society’s standards but perfectly comfortable to you (which is all that matters). Jaquetta and Lettice follow after you with their cheeks flushed.

You execute the encounter as perfectly as you do in your head. Every step has a certain charismatic swagger to it as you approach the princess with a wide smile. Your shoes make soft sounds on the floor. Helaena is momentarily pulled away from her embroidery. You spy a pretty design of an insect crawling out of its pupa.

The both of you seem to just stare at each other for a couple of seconds. You beam down at her while she blinks up at you. Then, without another word, you sit down next to her. This seems to make her jump a little, and you make note of that, sliding away from her to give her some space. It doesn’t dampen your enthusiasm.

“Helaena?” You say her name.

A soft smile tugs on her lips. She says ‘your’ name back to you.

“Uh–” You aren’t quite sure. “I’ve been sick for a little bit after … everything, you know, but I’m all better now. Soooo-”

Some kind of glassy look overtakes her eyes. You feel like your heart slows for a moment. It’s suddenly as if she can see through you, into you – almost like Aemond.

“Coin in the waves; heads to tails; tails to heads.” Her voice is a whisper. “The true reflection is on the water.”

Something magical and hidden is woven in her words. Something makes you feel compelled. By what – you know not.

“…Oh.” I mean – what are you even supposed to say to that? “Okay.”

You two stand there in an awkward silence as you both flicker your eyes to the side. You hear Septa Lettice clear her throat behind you. It’s just like you to be so clumsy in front of a pretty girl like this.

“You want to –” Helaena looks up expectantly at you. “Do some … needlework together?”

She smiles, and you feel your heart leap up into your throat.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Helaena’s needlework is beautiful. A lovely image of two flowers sprouting together in full bloom rests gracefully on her cloth. The sound of children babbling a bit and toys clanking against the floor draws your attention away from your messy second attempt at sewing again.

Truthfully, you don’t envy Helaena being a mother already. This body’s original owner and she are the same age. Her children, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, are old enough to at least understand when you say certain words to them. Maelor is still a little young. She must have had them young, and while you know it’s a symptom of Westerosi culture, it makes you feel ill regardless. You wonder if the original Lady Durant would have found this equally as repulsive or if she would have bowed her head in acceptance? You won’t accept it, at least.

The children say ‘your’ name as soon as they see you. It’s not who you really are, but you can’t bear to do anything other than pat their heads and play along with them. You see Helaena in them when they look up at you. They’ll definitely be pretty like their mother when they grow up.

You nearly threw up when Jaquetta had informed you that Helaena’s husband was her own elder brother, Aegon. And then you nearly did it again when she told you that it was traditional for House Targaryen to marry close family relations. Sibling marriages are common, and, quite frankly, whatever magical or bloodline related reasoning they can give is not enough to justify literally any of that.

“Sooo–” Your voice disrupts the peace that’s settled in between you and Helaena. “What’s the … gossip? What’s the – What’s the new thing? Since it’s been a bit since we’ve chatted and all that?”

She gives you a momentary look before she thinks. “You’re going to marry Aemond soon.”

You suppress a groan. “Yeah, I guess you’re … happy about that. Right?”

Helaena smiles softly and you feel your heart flutter a bit. “Marriage isn’t so bad. Aemond won’t ignore you. He’ll be nice to you.”

You frown. “He’s ignoring me right now.”

“Aemond was worried about you,” she says. Your hand stops pulling the needle through the fabric. That’s the second person to tell you he was worried.

Helaena sets aside her needlework to give you her full attention. “He just … Sometimes has trouble conveying how he thinks and feels. You’ve always been very mindful of him, though.”

Yeah, the old owner of this body but not you!

“I guess so,” you say, tossing your own needlework on the cushion next to you. “Can’t say my mind is getting any better lately.”

A noise from the children takes your attention away. They’re giving a plate of biscuits being offered by their servant rather disgusted looks.

“What’s going on?” You ask.

The servant regards you with an apologetic expression. “The prince and princess have been having some difficulty eating their snacks lately.”

“They think it doesn’t taste good,” Helaena explains. “The royal kitchen has tried just about everything to please them, but nothing seems to work.”

You’ve got an idea.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They should have known you were up to something when you were being so … compliant. Way too compliant. You excel in your lessons the following two days and spend some time praying like you’re supposed to before you spend the night scribbling furiously down on some paper. You shoo away Jaquetta whenever she inquires about what you’re doing but you unveil everything one day after your lessons. You snatch the papers and gleefully make your way to the royal kitchen, your two companions in tow.

“My lady, a maiden of noble birth like yourself should not be–” Septa Lettice tries to dissuade you as you enter the kitchen with a bit of misplaced swagger but you promptly cut her off with a yell.

“Bring me your ingredients at once!”

The entire kitchen seems to freeze in space before the attendants scramble about to gather everything you wish. They assemble fruit jam, flour, honey, and anything you ask for. If being a future princess grants you this authority, you might consider being nice to Aemond in the future when you see him.

You give a sweeping gaze over the ingredients, putting your hand on your hips. “That’ll do it.”

“My lady,” Jaquetta says, “What do you plan to do?”

“Don’t worry yourself, Jackie,” you respond, washing your hand in some water and covering your hair with a napkin. “Lettie.” Septa Lettice makes a face. “Let me work my magic.”

Despite their anxious words and the annoying way they hover about you, they soon join the growing crowd of kitchen staff that watch you, entranced by your skills. It should be expected, though. Who can beat you when it comes to cooking? Even baking these jam filled cookies for the twins is a piece of cake. If the royal cooks can’t make anything that pleases them, then you definitely can.

You inspect the heat under the baking oven located some ways away from the kitchen. Your eyes trail along the metal of the oven. It shouldn’t be too time consuming to bake the cookies as long as the heat was regulated. With that over, you crack your knuckles and get to work.

You hold your hand out towards the kitchen staff. “Small knife for designing, please.”

“My lady, that is–”

You narrow your eyes. Soon, a small knife is put in your hand and you get to cutting out insect shapes of the cookie dough you prepared. You make two of each design, putting a dollop of the fruit jam mix in the middle of one cut out dough piece and then putting the other on top of it. You make sure to draw each part of the insects with precision – butterfly wings, caterpillar body, beetle legs. Something for both the children and Helaena to enjoy.

“If these are burnt by even a little bit–” You tell the servant that manages the oven, handing over the tray of cookies. You drag your thumb across your neck. “You’re dead, okay? On the future princess’ order.”

He gulps and scurries off.

You nearly trip over your own feet that afternoon when you hurry up the long staircases and through the many hallways of the Red Keep to Queen Alicent’s room. Helaena takes the children there to visit their grandmother, and you’re determined to be there to have them enjoy the treats you’d made.

“Helaena!” You call out to her in a sing-song voice as the servants open the door for you, Jaquetta following behind you with the food and Septa Lettice right behind her (nearly out of breath).

Several eyes fall on you, but any thoughts of shame are pushed aside immediately when you see him there.

You blink. “What are you doing here?”

Aemond regards you with a quick sweep of his single eye. “I came here to see my niece and nephew.”

“…” You narrow your eyes. “Okay.”

You hear Alicent let out a quick sigh before giving you a tired look that has you shrinking a bit. “I see your lessons have given you no progress.”

You flush. Something about disappointing Alicent makes you embarrassed. “No, no. They’ve been going well. I, uh–”

After clearing your throat, you straighten up as you’d been instructed and take those light steps towards Alicent and Helaena, both of whom are sitting on the couch. You give both of them a little curtsy – light like a cloud, your teachers told you. Alicent’s mouth turns upwards, her eyes are expectant. You want to roll yours. You know what she wants.

You swallow your pride and glide across the room towards Aemond, not meeting his eyes. Stopping in front of him, you give him a quick curtsy before grabbing your plate of sweets for Jaehaerys and Jaehaera. The children look up at you as you kneel down beside them.

“Look what your future auntie made you,” you say, holding out the treats for them.

“You made that?” Helaena says, reaching out a hand and plucking a spider shaped cookie.

“Yep, yep!” You nod. “You can have some too. And Her Majesty.” You don’t even bother to look at Aemond. “And His Highness too. If he wants.”

You hear him get up from his seat, the wood creaking beneath him. His boots echo through the sounds of the children munching happily on the cookies as he comes over. You lift your eyebrows in surprise and stand up. He grabs one of the cookies, a butterfly shaped one, and takes a bite.

“…You cook, my lady?” He asks.

“Huh?” You say without a thought. Oh. Right. Maybe you didn’t think about that.

“The servants told me you were in the kitchens yourself,” Alicent adds, and you can already tell this is going to be a battle with the two of them.

You bite back any mean retort you had prepared. “I … wanted to make something for my future little niece and nephew. And as far as cooking, um … �� You shrug, tripping over your words for a moment. “My illness unlocked a new, creative side to me. Like sunshine after the storm.”

Alicent and Aemond look at you like you’ve lost your mind.

Helaena smiles widely. “That’s wonderful. I look forward to what else you will make.”

You smile back at her, showing teeth. Alicent looks ready to protest but you cut her off.

“I’ll make something for Aemond.” The words tumble out of your mouth before you can even stop yourself. You look up at him and into his eye, something burning inside you. That same kind of passion that kept you going throughout your life. “Something you’ve never had before.”

“That…” Alicent trails off.

“I look forward to it,” Aemond says.

You don’t know why, but you feel taken off guard by that.

You don’t know why but you toss and turn at night, thinking of what Aemond would enjoy. Food is the way to someone’s soul. You’re not that interested in getting to know Aemond beyond the superficial, but you figured if there’s anyone you need to NOT hate you … it would be Aemond. You don’t care what Helaena or Jaquetta has to say, that kid looks like he could sink a sword in you without so much as breaking a sweat. Besides, it got you out of having to appeal to Alicent to let you in the kitchens again.

You’re not getting out of this marriage. The thought makes you want to sink into the bed and into the darkness even more. Marriage? In this place? Your husband is going to tell you what to do? Why couldn’t you have been sent into the body of a rich widow? Then you’d at least have some money to throw around with no one to tell you what to do with it.

But what are you to cook him? Aside from what others have said to you, you’ve no idea what he likes, and you’d already promised him something new. You use your brain to go through what you know.

“Fighter,” you mumble. “Diligent … Something filling, but not too heavy.”

Perhaps a broth. A broth that’s full of flavor, savory like a victory. With some kick in it. A robust flavor on the tongue with some spices and herbs.

Your eyes pop open as you sit up.

“…Ramen.”

#taoc. #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #slight helaena targaryen x reader #reader is bi and is in love with helaena right now let them have this #pt. 3 we are turning aemond targaryen into a cup ramen lover !!!!

[ludoka]

So.... What would happen if SOMEONE decided to rewrite Freaky Fusion but eliminated the fusions, left the plot of the hybrids and the time travel plot?

Long text after the cut:

The fic would begin by introducing the hybrids and the students' reaction to them. Cleo and (I think it was her?) Draculaura would give the same comments as in the movie. But here the hybrids already established in the series would not be ignored. Lagoona would talk about how she herself is a hybrid. What's more, we could even add that she is the fruit of a freshwater Nymph and a sea monster.(I just made this up while writing. I have no idea if it's canon or not but I like it.) Your intervention in the conversation could leave the atmosphere a little tense. Frankie tries to lighten the mood by insisting her friends go to class.

In another part of the school, Deuce and Jackson are in the former's locker talking about the same topic. Or rather, Deuce is nervous and frustrated by how everyone is reacting to the hybrids. While Jackson doesn't care too much. He has already had his conflict with the students regarding what he is. You already know this is temporary until the novelty of the matter cools down. This resolution does not reassure the gorgon at all. In fact, it frustrates him enough to vocalize his concerns. The whole topic was really making him very uncomfortable. On a good day, he's already having trouble coping with the fact that he's a hybrid. This only makes you feel worse. To the point of being terrified that other monsters will know what he really is. Jackson tries to console him but the bell at the beginning of his first class forces them to cut the conversation short.

What they didn't know is that a certain gossiping ghost, who was collecting information for his blog, was listening to them.

The first class is Dead Languages ​​with Professor Rotter. Class is pretty boring today. Which causes some students to become distracted and murmur among themselves. Cleo is one of them and tries to talk to Deuce (who is more in the clouds than on earth)One of the topics he brings up is about hybrids, which he immediately realizes is the wrong topic to talk about. Since she sees how her boyfriend tenses very visibly. Which makes her remember that she's been on thin ice ever since she almost got her boyfriend's best friend killed just because of her pride. Said friends... It is also a hybrid. Cleo is seriously thinking about asking Frankie to sew her mouth shut so she doesn't screw up again. (I'm thinking about placing this after my own version of Ghoul Rules. I feel it is appropriate. It seems like he's been building up these nerves since before this day. It's more ✨ dramatic ✨)

The rest of the class passes without pain or glory. Only at the end does Rotter remind his students that in the last period of school they have to present their family tree work. (because I don't remember how the homework they were given in the movie was written)And he points out that Frankie will be the first to speak.

A stressed Deuce is the first to leave the classroom, closely followed by a worried Cleo. She is a couple of steps behind him. Thinking about how to talk about whatever is bothering the gorgon. Just when you think you've finally found the words, a mass notification from Spectra's blog catches your attention. She is about to ignore it but when she saw how the students began to stare in her direction, she decided to quickly check just in case. The title leaves her baffled. "Deuce Gorgon, the most handsome cool boy in school, is a hybrid?" That was the huge title that headed the blog. Cleo looks up with the mission of searching for answers but notices how terribly pale Deuce is while looking at his cell phone. She catches his attention. He looks at her scared. In fact, Deuce becomes hyper aware of his surroundings. He notices how everyone is looking at him and starting to whisper around him. This sends him into a spiral of panic and he ends up escaping the scene. It ends somewhere in the school, near the indoor pool. That's where Lagoona finds him. Deuce realizes that she is not alone. She is accompanied by Sirena von Boo and Neighthan Rot. When he asks about them, Lagoona tells him that she became friends with Sirena in their previous class. They saw him run out of the hallway and read the blog. Lagoona and Sirena went to look for him, they ran into Neightan and he joined the search. (mainly because Avea and Bonita were still in class)

This is where I cut the explanatory text and give the concise points of this particular plot:

The plot itself has the hybrids talking about feelings and experiences. Trying to help each other in all this sea of ​​rumors and staring. Mainly by comforting Deuce and letting him open up to them.

There would be some scene with Draculaura and Clawd talking about their relationship. The topic of vampire biology would be touched upon a little. How they age and mature slower than other deadly monsters.

I would also have Deuce and Cleo talking about this matter.

Also the reaction of the students, encouraged in a negative way by Toralei, towards Deuce and his "deception".

In general: Lots of feelings, heavy conversations and ✨drama✨

Now you will ask yourself: Where is the time travel plot in all this? Good. Let's go back to the moment of Rotter pointing at Frankie.

After watching the teacher leave the classroom, Frankie lies down on his table and writhes in his misery. Robecca and Ghoulia who were by her side comfort her and ask her what's wrong. She explains that she has nothing useful to expose. His parents avoided the topic of family too much and gave him nothing to work with. So you're probably going to fail the class. Invisibilly appears (because he is another gossiper) and comments that he also goes through the same thing. His father isn't the most talkative when it comes to whatever turned him into a monster. Billy has a suspicion that it was an experiment gone wrong but he has no idea. He believes his father is looking to take the secret to the grave. Here Jackson Jekyll joins the conversation. (because in this school the concept of "private conversation" does not exist) Jackson comments that if there is a family that loves to keep secrets, it is the Jekyll family. It was easier for him to help Heath by putting together the family tree of his elemental family, than it was for Holt to find SOMETHING about his mother's family. They know that their great-grandfather is the one who started the whole Hyde thing but they don't know anything else. Not even what year his grandfather was born or how his great-grandfather Henry Jekyll and his great-grandmother met. It all seems like a big secret that no one should know about.

As he listens to them complain, Robecca has an idea. His father, before he disappeared, was a lover of science in general. He lived many years collecting information, meeting other scientists and doing his own experiments. She suggests they look for something in her father's workshop. Hopefully, they can find something regarding the Stein or Jekyll family. (Robecca apologizes to Billy for not being able to find a solution to his problem but he rejects her. He doesn't care much) Ghoulia was going to say something regarding work but after watching Deuce and Cleo leave the room, she decided that it was easier to help this group with their homework.

This is how Robecca, Frankie, Ghoulia, Billy and Jackson go to the Hexiciah Steam workshop.

While there, they don't find much. At least until Billy stumbles upon plans for a time machine. This draws the attention of the rest. Robecca takes a look at the plans and searches the workshop if there is something similar there. And, indeed, it was a large machine that was in the middle of the room. As they examine the machine, Billy comments that it would be great to test if the thing works and use it to do his homework. That makes them pause and contemplate the idea. The first to be against it is Ghoulia. She doesn't think it's very smart to mess with the timeline just for a school project. Frankie and Jackson support her. But Jackson also comments on how MAYBE if they didn't interact with anyone and were just there to watch, they wouldn't actually be doing anything. It also suggests it could be a good thing for Robecca. After all, it's the most direct way he can find clues to his father's whereabouts. This raises the robot's hopes. Ghoulia is still against it but after seeing her friends' hopeful looks, she decides that MAYBE it's not such a bad idea. As long as the necessary measures are taken. The girls and boys celebrate this beforehand and look for anything about the operation of the machine. They discover that for the machine to work and there to be a way to return, someone needs to be in the current era. Monitoring travelers through bracelets that serve as trackers and controls that allow them to travel by time and place. Ghoulia and Jackson note that there is a very specific way these bracelets work but decide to find out later. Since this was just a round trip to see if the machine worked in the first place. So with everything prepared Robecca, Frankie, Jackson and Billy get ready for the test trip. Ghoulia gives them the go-ahead and turns on the machine. The quartet enters the machine and goes to a year not too distant, just to try it out. More specifically 1950's New Salem.

In fact, the machine works! After watching a bit, the four try to go back to their time to tell the zombie. But can not. No matter how hard they try, the bracelets don't send them back to their time. In reality, it sends them randomly to other places and times. They panic a little (A LOT).

Currently, Ghoulia is worse. The disused machine was broken enough that it had imperfections that none of them noticed. So now the machine was causing fluctuations in time itself. Making time go slower or faster randomly. This is also causing beasts and animals from different places and times to appear today. Not to mention that, for some reason, his friends can't come back. So it's up to Ghoulia Yelps to fix the time machine, prevent the timeline from being destroyed, send the beasts and animals where they belong, and bring his friends back. It's... A pretty normal Monday, if Ghoulia is allowed to comment.

So this subplot has:

Jackson, Robecca, Billy and Frankie traveling through time. Uncovering family secrets and finding clues to the whereabouts of Hexiciah Steam.

To them trying to survive times that they only read about in books, saw in movies or paintings.

And Ghoulia saving the day behind the scenes.

Yes... A standard Monday.

If you made it this far, thanks for reading. I hope you have a happy new year and I wish you the best of luck in meeting your new year goals. 🎆❤️✨🎆

#I wish someone other than me would write this. #But I am aware that that person is not going to write it the way I want. #So I guess it's up to me to organize my time to write this once and for all. #I'm not going to let go of this fandom until I have at least half of this story #monster high #Ah! #Nobody is having a very good time in this story. #There is a bit of crisis and panic everywhere 😂 #jackson jekyll #holt hyde #This could fit into: #This is part of: Jackson and Holt's Wild Year #frankie stein #robecca steam #Invisibilly #ghoulia yelps #deuce gorgon #cleo de nile #lagoona blue #sirena von boo #bonita femur #Avea Trotter #neighthan rot #draculaura #clawd wolf #Freaky Fusion #Mh #mh g1

[merakiui]

Hi! This is my first time asking someone in Tumblr, so I don't know if this is the right place to ask or is this a place to make a request only?

But I have a question regarding tips on writing fanfic or the twisted wonderland character in general.

1) How do you write the characters personality in the fic? Do you have to do a lot of analysis characters before writing it?

2) How can you describe the moments and the vibes especially the creepy and angsty moments so well? It is as if you're in the story yourself!

3) How can you get such a good and unique ideas?

4) I love your fics! It's so amazing that I've always check up your ramblings to see new stuff! Also, you're so funny it's cute

Hi hiii!! :D this is the right place to ask all things! Thank you for your questions! I love rambling about writing, so I'm happy you're curious.

1.) I often study their canon habits and interactions to see how well that translates into yandere. In twst's context, there's a lot of potential (considering many of the cast are inspired from villains and the storylines have gotten dark on plenty of occasions). I also just enjoy analyzing characters!!!! It's so fun to look at them individually but also the dynamics and connections shared between other characters as well as their backstories and motivations. If it's a character I haven't written much of before, I'll do more research and analysis beforehand. When it comes to book 7, I've held off on spoiling myself as best as I can and diving into the plot because I want to be surprised when it comes to English. orz which is why I've yet to write anything in-depth for Silver, Lilia, and Sebek.

2.) Aaaa I'm glad it feels immersive! I look at it objectively and try to imagine what someone might do in a certain situation. It varies by character and personality, but then it's also fun to consider the various ways in which paranoia or anger or angst can take someone. I've felt raw, paralyzing fear before in the past, so sometimes I draw from my own experiences when writing those sorts of strong, all-consuming emotions! I also think the setting can help add to the overall atmosphere and feeling in a story. Using the weather to reflect emotions in characters, using the scenery to juxtapose something horrible with something happy, using the allure of various settings to add to the romance or heartbreak, etc etc. There are so many elements to a story that can be played with to get the desired emotional effect!!!

3.) I think it's just in my nature to tell stories. I adore writing and coming up with new ideas. >w< I'm always looking at things through a creative lens hehe. Most of my ideas are the product of my thinking too much or considering a simple subject in a complex light. I like being able to add unexpected twists to the plot.

4.) THANK YOUUUUU!!!! ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡ I'm immensely flattered you would tune into my ramblings. And thank you for thinking I'm funny! This is arguably the highest compliment anyone can bestow upon me. I greatly enjoy being a court jester and making others laugh or smile. (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

#chit chat #lavender-stuff

[sineala]

Superheroes and ethics

I realized that I wrote this last month on Patreon and forgot to post it here. I got asked to write meta about superhero ethics with regard to Steve and Tony. I ended up writing mostly about how Captain America's Plot Armor interacts with his principles.

I have been asked to talk about ethics and philosophy with respect to Steve and Tony. Unfortunately, the only philosophy-adjacent disciplines that I know well enough to speak about with any confidence are formal semantics and pragmatics, which isn't really all that useful in daily life unless you'd really like to learn about the differences between entailment, presupposition, and implicature, and also the Gricean maxims of conversation, which are great if you want to completely ruin conversations by violating them as many times as you possibly can.

So I'm not a philosopher, sorry.

But! I can talk more informally about Steve and Tony and ethics.

And I know there's been a lot of meta -- and actual books -- written about their differing views. I have a book here, A Philosopher Reads Marvel Comics' Civil War: Exploring the Moral Judgment of Captain America, Iron Man, and Spider-Man, by Mark White, which I have not read yet but it sounds like this is probably the book you want to read if you want an actual philosophical analysis of this stuff. Judging by the reviews, the author decides to associate Tony with utilitarianism and Steve with deontology. That is probably fun. I am in no way qualified to talk about it. On an informal level, the thing I find fascinating about them is that, when it comes down to it, Steve and Tony are really not all that different.

I have been thinking about this for a while, because the last time I left anonymous asks open on Tumblr, the final ask I got before I decided that this wasn't a good idea was someone who wanted to pick a fight with me by asserting that Steve/Tony was a bad pairing because "they don't think alike, have different morals, different interests, and different emotional issues that the other is not capable of helping out with." This is one of the reasons why I don't have anon asks on anymore. But I thought it was honestly an interesting thing to think about.

So I have been pondering this on and off for a while, and I realized that the thing that really bugged me about it was that their general thesis was that Steve and Tony were bad for each other because they have nothing in common. See, I don't think that's true. I think they have a whole lot in common. But I am also willing to acknowledge that canon likes to put them in situations where they're at odds with each other and it seems fairly easy to come up with circumstances that will cause them to want to beat the stuffing out of each other. But, crucially, this doesn't mean they have nothing in common.

(I also think they actually have a lot of similar interests and are actually very capable of helping each other with their emotional issues, which canon demonstrates multiple times. But that'd be a different essay.)

For me, one of the reasons why Steve/Tony are so compelling as a pairing is because they are so similar. Let's call it, like, 95% similar. They are remarkably like-minded when it comes to their values and how they view the world. It's just that then they can fight, bitterly, over the remaining 5% of differences.

They work well together most of the time and it's just the bits where they almost work together that are so agonizing and provide so much material for fandom. Because it's not like they don't understand where the other one is coming from, what they want, or why they want it. They do. They just don't understand how the other person can come up with a different path to the answer given their shared goal and shared values. Steve doesn't understand how Tony is willing to do something that Steve thinks is wrong, and Tony thinks, I don't know, that Steve's ideals are too naive for the real world. Tony thinks Steve's plans are unrealistic and Steve thinks Tony's plans are unacceptable.

There's also an additional complication, which is that Steve as a character has a lot of plot armor that Tony doesn't. Steve decides what he thinks is moral and what he thinks is immoral, and he simply does not do the immoral thing. And the thing is that the narrative helps Steve out with this. It's fine if he's idealistic! It's even okay if his ideals are naive! He almost never has to go against them. I am saying this as a big fan of Steve. The story really helps him out.

For example, Steve thinks that killing is wrong, so he doesn't kill anyone, generally speaking. (Depending on the retcon you believe in, he may have in fact killed zero people in World War II, which is kind of ridiculous.) But in situations where the best of the options involves killing someone, someone pretty much always ends up dead. It's just that someone else does the dirty work. Steve surrounds himself with a lot of spies and assassins (Bucky, Sharon, Natasha) and those people kill the people who need killing.

In Civil War, Steve believes Registration is wrong, and he never has to change his mind. He probably still believes it's wrong. Instead of going on trial, he dies; he never has to face the consequences of any of his actions. The narrative shields him from that. When he comes back to life, Registration is gone and he gets a pardon from the president. It's all taken care of. He causes a lot of damage, and he doesn't even have to say he's sorry for trying to bash Tony's face in, in public, with witnesses, after having destroyed what looks like several city blocks.

So Steve never compromises his principles, because he has the luxury afforded to him by the plot so that he almost never has to be in a situation where he'd have to decide whether he should compromise his principles, say, for the sake of the greater good. He doesn't have to make that choice, because Marvel's not interested in writing stories where Steve has to make that choice. So it just… doesn't come up. He almost never has to put his ethics to an actual test. If you hand Steve the trolley problem, he'd just say, well, I'd save everyone. That's not an actual option in the trolley problem. But he's pretty much always going to be in a plot where he gets to do the right thing and save everyone.

Tony, though? Tony has to do terrible things for the sake of the greater good all the time. He doesn't get to opt out of the decisions. Even on a personal level, he has to do terrible things to himself. He has to decide probably at least half a dozen times whether he should wear the armor even if wearing the armor is hurting him -- say, when he decides to take on the LMD in the arc where he gets his first artificial heart, or in Armor Wars II, or in that storyline in the middle of Busiek's run after he gets beaten up by the Mandarin. And he always decides to wear the armor no matter what the personal cost is to his body. He ends up in a lot of fights where he has to take pretty bad damage to save the world -- and while Steve would also make that decision, Steve's going to heal up and be fine, like in his recent run where Bucky shoots him in the shoulder. He has a healing factor and he's fine in a couple weeks. Tony breaks his back in order to save civilians and then gets addicted to morphine and ruins his life for a good long while. That kind of stuff, with lasting physical consequences, just doesn't happen to Steve. Let's not talk about Streets of Poison.

It's pretty obvious when you look at their biggest fights (say, Civil War and the incursions) that Tony believes that the ends justify the means, and Steve doesn't. However, Steve doesn't exactly have usable alternate suggestions. The plot armor helps him out there. Steve espouses extremely noble ideas, life and liberty and all that… that are not actually workable plans.

And because of how the narrative treats him, he doesn't really need to have workable plans, either. It's not like he actually uses them. Because he's just going to be fine. (Except in the incursions, but everyone came back to life afterward so it's all fine.)

Steve doesn't like the SHRA. Okay. Fine. He believes it's an unjust law. His plan is apparently to just… keep fighting Tony and anyone else who tries to take him into custody for not registering. What's his endgame? Does he have one? His plan appears to be "be on the run from the government forever." As far as I can remember, he would prefer the situation to go back to the way it was but he does not, to my knowledge, ever propose a way of achieving that. He's not out there saying the law itself should be found unconstitutional or anything.

Similarly, with the incursions, after the Gauntlet breaks, the Illuminati have no solution for an incursion that isn't building bombs and destroying the other Earth in the incursion. Either they act to destroy the other Earth, or through inaction, both Earths are destroyed. Big ol' trolley problem. Steve refuses to play. Steve says he can't countenance that. Excellent moral stance. It's very him. He says, "I believe we'll find a way to stop it." He doesn't have any ideas besides "not the thing Tony is doing," which appears to also be his stance about the SHRA. If they'd let Steve stay in the Illuminati… what would he have done? I suppose the possibility exists that if he managed to flip one of the scientists to his side he'd get them to think up an alternate answer. He could have suggested that everyone evacuate Earth. But he doesn't actually have an idea, personally for what to do. Other than "nobody should die."

(That isn't even what happens, in the end. Of course, by the end, Steve is trying to hunt Tony down and kill him, so you could argue that he's not really behaving much like himself there, and neither is Tony.)

Anyway. When you think about it, what Steve wants and what Tony wants, in both scenarios, is pretty much the same thing. They have the same values and the same goals; it's just that the paths they're willing to take are different. But when it comes down to it, they both actually want the exact same thing. Like they do most of the time. They both want to save the world. Except now they're fighting about how to get what they want. The fights are about the details. At least in 616.

We can contrast 616 Civil War with MCU Civil War. I have actually only watched CACW once, so this is going to be fun and possibly inaccurate. The 616 SHRA and the MCU Accords are, very broadly speaking, about the same general topic: government oversight of superheroes. In the MCU, after the disaster in Lagos, the UN decides that they can't just have the Avengers running around wherever they want, exploding things and getting people killed. Tony agrees with the need for UN oversight. Steve does not; he feels that the Avengers should be able to go wherever they need to go without getting caught up in red tape. Here in the MCU, Steve and Tony not only disagree on what the right thing to do is, they disagree on what the right outcome should be, and the reasons for that. Steve wants things the way they were. Tony would be okay with some amount of oversight. They both have different visions of the way the Avengers would look and operate, because they value different things; Steve wants autonomy and Tony wants accountability. The fight isn't just about the details. The fight is about everything.

This isn't the case in 616 Civil War. No one is fighting for (or against) "I, a superhero, should be able to go wherever I want for superhero reasons." UN oversight is one of those things that all the Avengers, including Steve, have agreed about for years; there are panels of Steve asking to get UN clearance before the Avengers zip off to Russia to save Tony. What happens in 616 is that an inexperienced superhero team gets into a fight they can't control, destroying a school in Stamford, CT, with massive casualties. The SHRA is a US bill saying that all American superhumans (which is probably thousands of people) should register with the government, receive training if they want to be heroes, and provide the government with their real names.

Both Steve and Tony are opposed to this, before Stamford. Then, when Stamford happens, Tony realizes the SHRA is happening no matter what and decides to support it. Even with the SHRA in effect, both Steve and Tony think there should be superhuman oversight; Steve just thinks it should be the teams training people up, the same way as they've always done. They don't even disagree about that; Tony also thinks they should be in charge of oversight, but he means himself (and Steve if Steve would ever join him). The people training superheroes would in fact still be them, both of them, no matter which side wins the war. Neither of them trust the government to handle Registration well. Steve's answer is to object to the very idea of Registration and to stay away from the government, and Tony's answer is to get in there and keep the superhero database in his own head so that Gyrich won't get the list of names and start sending Sentinels after everyone.

So they both massively distrust the government's presumed right and/or ability to safely do this, and want to protect superheroes from government oversight as much as possible. That's basically the same stance. Steve just thinks no one should get anywhere near the government, and Tony thinks if he gets in there he can make it less bad. He can be the guy doing the oversight. People who don't register might get arrested but at least they won't be killed by Sentinels, because he can stop that from happening. Steve isn't willing to imprison his friends at all, probably because he doesn't believe Tony when Tony says the only other option is death (i.e., they can't go back to the way things were -- although of course that's eventually what ends up happening, albeit long after Civil War is over). He probably thinks there's a secret third option, because for him there usually is. But what they basically want is the same thing. Tony's just willing to go a little farther than Steve is to get there.

Sure, Tony's plans aren't perfect. But he does have them. Sometimes they're really lousy, because sometimes there is no good solution. I acknowledge that he does a lot of things in Civil War that are actually pretty rotten. I am saying this as a fan of Tony. He does some bad things. He starts a war with Atlantis. He manipulates Peter Parker into unmasking, which has terrible consequences. He builds a prison. He imprisons a lot of his friends. But none of these things involve the government massacring superhumans. The one really, really bad future he's afraid of doesn't happen. (And we know, thanks to that one What If issue, that that's exactly what would happen if he weren't running Registration.) Other bad things happen, yes. But not that, which is the worst.

Steve doesn't want anything bad to happen. Steve just wants the good solutions, with no moral or ethical compromise on his part. and he usually gets them eventually by narrative fiat. Sometimes he has to die first -- which is, of course, what happens in Civil War -- but, eh, whatever, it's comics. That's not really a major drawback for superheroes. And eventually he gets what he wants, because comics return to the status quo. Everything goes back to the way it was.

It's the same thing with the incursions. Neither Steve nor Tony want their Earth to be destroyed, obviously, but Tony is willing to build bombs to destroy the other Earths in case they can't find any other solution. Steve says he thinks there will be another way. And neither of them want to use the bombs! Tony doesn't want to use them at all! The Illuminati don't actually find themselves in a situation where they have to decide whether to bomb a populated Earth until the Great Society incursion, and Tony refuses to be the one to do it. After Namor does it, Tony is distraught and says he thought they'd find another way -- which is the exact same thing Steve said to him except nobody kicked Tony off the Illuminati for saying it. They both have the same attitude. They want the same outcome. They don't want to use the bombs. It's just that Tony's willing to build them. They're pretty much on the same side here about everything (including the desire to not bomb other planets) except the lengths to which Tony is willing to go to have a backup plan. Just like Civil War.

I suppose I would say that, overall, comparing Steve and Tony's relative ethics seems hard to do in a way that is fair to both of them because Steve is so often given the ability to stick to his beliefs in a way that Tony isn't. "What does Steve do when he actually can't do the right thing" is one of those questions that doesn't seem to get explored all that much, except possibly at the end of Hickman's Avengers run, in which everything was going to hell anyway, and it wasn't like he got to be in Secret Wars to try to fix it. He does also tend to quit being Captain America when he doesn't like the government, although I think in that case that's more that doing the right thing at that time is Not Being Captain America.

(Secret Avengers is also a pretty good look at a Steve who has to do bad things and really, really doesn't like the things he's doing. He doesn't handle compromising his own values all that well. I think that would be a whole other essay.)

But anyway, yeah -- I think 616 Steve and Tony are on the same side when they fight, more than you might think they are given how many panels we have of them dramatically punching each other. Tony believes that the ends justify the means, and essentially, a lot of their fights are because Steve disagrees with Tony's means -- but he is very often 100% on board with Tony's actual motives, which I think is a fact that often gets lost when we start talking about their conflicts, because at that point we… want to talk about their conflicts. But I think they really do agree with each other a lot, which is what makes their conflicts so interesting and painful.

#posts i actually wrote

[tenebraevesper]

Isekai'd As My Past Self (Sonic the Hedgehog AU Story)

Being a fan of Isekai Anime (currently watching Villainess Level 99: I May Be the Hidden Boss but I'm Not the Demon Lord), I think it was inevitable for me to come up with a story like this.

However, before I start with the actual premise of the story, I first want to explain the setting though. This story is based on the trope of the main character dying or getting executed in some way, only to reincarnate as their past self (think along the lines of 7th Time Loop: The Villainess Enjoys A Carefree Life Married To Her Worst Enemy!), but with the caveat of having all of their future self's memories.

In this case, the story's starting point would be Archie Sonic's Mobius: 25 Year Later and Mobius: 30 Years Later storyline, with the main characters featured being King Sonic and King Shadow - or rather, their past selves before the events that led into 25YL/30YL took place. Silver would also be a major character in this due to his time-travelling shenanigans.

Before I dive into the plot properly, I will leave a warning here. If you read my previous analysis in regards to this storyline, King Shadow (The Altered Future & The Altered Character) & King Shadow (The Alternate Story), you would know that I don't like 25YL/30YL at all and therefore, I'm planning on not only deconstruct it, but completely destroy it in this AU story.

So, if you are a fan of the 25YL/30YL, the King Sonic storyline or the Sonally pairing, I'm recommending you to NOT read this AU story. If you do read it regardless of my warnings, don't come crying into the comments about how much you hate it. There is a reason I have warned you at the start and I'm not pulling any punches with this one.

With that said, let's dive into this story, and if you are curious about the additional text, it is the translated lyrics of the opening song of Villaines Level 99, titled LOVE or HATE?, which I was listening to while writing the story (the links lead to the TV Version and Full Version respectively). Honestly, if this were an anime, I'd probably use that song as it's theme song.

The Future

For example, if I let my hair sway a little

Will the voice I hear be LOVE or HATE?

Do whatever you like, no matter what they say

I won't stop walking

The story starts out sometime after the Sonic Universe Issue #5-#8. Take note, Mobius: X Years Later is, going by Pre-SGW canon, a possible ''What if'' future, not the canon future of Pre-SGW canon, which means that the events leading up to it were probably different than what we saw in later parts of Pre-SGW, but the timeline itself would probably similar enough.

The main focus would be on King Sonic, who is actually quite unhappy and bored with his life as the King of Light Mobius, thinking back to his past adventures and longing for the freedom he had, which is basically the core aspect of his character.

Before anyone starts arguing about why Sonic would be unhappy with his current life, take note that he actually expressed unhappiness in canon, specifically saying how he is not fit to be King, with Sally outright dismissing his feelings on the matter. Admittedly, this was also written by Ken Penders, who has no clue how Sonic works as a character and despite raising an interesting character point, quickly drops it like a hot potato.

Still, it is the one line I 100% agree with - Sonic is not fit to be a King.

This is why this AU story exists, as I want to dive in further into Sonic's thoughts on being a King. There would even be one event where another villain appears and King Sonic springs into action, only for Sally to literally stop him in his tracks, pointing out how he has other people that can handle this (this being a callback to a similar argument they had in Issue #134, where Sally basically told Sonic that he shouldn't throw himself in danger, especially since he's her consort and that they have other people fighting for them, meaning Sonic should stay by her side and rule with her - with Sonic refusing).

This is a similar case, with the addition of Sally telling him how he's the King and that he needs to think of his family and his people, how he can't go fighting like this since he's not anymore in his prime, and so on. All of which are valid points, but go against Sonic's core character.

King Sonic would obviously want to do the smart thing and keep Sally happy, but at the same time, wonders if it's really selfish that he also wants to be free from all of his duties as the King and go back to his adventuring lifestyle. Whether he wants to admit it or not, he has come to regret becoming King in the first place, but now that he made his choice, he cannot escape it.

As King Sonic thinks about this, he learns that King Shadow is back once again to cause chaos and, with other characters being conveniently absent, he goes to confront him despite Sally's wishes. King Sonic learns that King Shadow is on the search of some Mystical McGuffin Crystal (placeholder name, think of it like the Paradox Prism from Sonic Prime) that would help him once again to assert his rule over Light Mobius (as he tried to do with Tikhaos previously).

The two end up in a battle, with the Fake King Shadow sneering at King Sonic for not standing up to him and wondering where Sonic's fighting spirit had gone. This is the last straw for King Sonic and he tackles Fake King Shadow into the Paradox Crystal (not very imaginative, but hey, better than the actual placeholder name), causing it to shatter and the two getting engulfed in a bright light before everything around them turns dark.

The Past

Unstoppable news

They'll forget it tomorrow

Today is better than yesterday

Believing leads to a big victory

Sonic awakens suddenly, standing on a stage surrounded by the royal family and the people of the Acorn Kingdom. He is in a daze, wondering what had happened, with the first thing he notices is that he is much younger, being a teenager once again, and wonders if his battle with King Shadow and the whole Light Mobius future was just a dream.

He is then suddenly addressed by Sally, who asks him to finally make their engagement official to the public, but Sonic, still confused and baffled, and unable to comprehend what had just happened, just utters the following:

''No... I need... Shadow.''

He then leaps off the stage and quickly runs off to find the Faker and get the answer in regards to what had happened.

He eventually finds Shadow, who is equally baffled by what had just happened, although he managed to get an understanding of the situation faster than Sonic, and the two get into another fight, just to take out their frustrations on each other.

During the battle, they come to the conclusion that they somehow time-traveled back into the past, awakening as their younger selves right before the events that would set up the Light Mobius story had happened. In this past, they had just a major victory against Dr. Eggman and, as part of the celebration, Sonic and Sally, who had just made up and started dating again, wanted to make their engagement once again official - at least until Sonic ran off to find Shadow.

In other words, while one could argue that they pulled a Silver, this isn't a situation where they can just change the past and travel back to their own future. Instead, they got the opportunity to relive their past while also having the memories of their future selves. In other words, they are free to do whatever they want with the knowledge they have.

As they process this realization, Sonic accuses Shadow of becoming a tyrant again, and Shadow responds how the only reason he had done that was because even after Dr. Eggman was gone, other villains attempted to take over his place as the Big Bad and Shadow was the one who dealt with them to ensure peace. Had he gone too far in his mission? He did, but he felt that there was no other option for him left. There was power vacuum and he filled it by becoming a tyrant.

Sonic also realizes that, with him being back in the past as his younger self, he also got his own wish granted. He is not King Sonic anymore and he could easily go back to the adventuring he always wanted, enjoying the second chance, the freedom he had been granted. At the same time, he feels guilty because this would mean that the future he knows might not exist anymore, and it is through his own fault, even if he doesn't know the details.

Therefore, Sonic's main inner conflict here would be that he is torn between his desire for freedom and the duty he had towards the Acorn Kingdom as the future King, while Shadow's inner conflict would be his desire to protect the world through any means necessary and whether he should temper his more violent and cruel tendencies.

To make things more complicated, they are suddenly joined by Silver, who came from his own future to inform them about a looming danger that is threatening to tear up reality, with Sonic and Shadow realizing that they're responsible for this and have to work together now to fix their mistake.

This would be the main premise of the story.

The Present

Sync with the rhythm

I want to be swaying

But the outsiders are noisy

Noise canceling

As the story resumes, further details are revealed about Sonic and Shadow's current situation and the true nature of the shattered Paradox Crystal.

Through Silver's investigation, they learn that he Paradox Crystal was a powerful artifact that had the power of bending time and space by granting the user their innermost desires. This explains why Sonic and Shadow have returned back to the past as their younger selves, as Sonic's desire was to have his freedom back, while Shadow's desire was to have the power to protect the world in his own way. Not only that, but the shattering of the Crystal had also tampered with Sonic's own Chaos Energy, putting him in a similar state of agelessness as Shadow, which would allow Sonic to always remain in his prime so he could protect people and keep the world safe.

The three hedgehogs also learn that, before Sonic and Shadow, there was a different Entity that sought out the Paradox Crystal, but got trapped inside it and the Crystal getting shattered released it, which resulted in the Entity gaining the power to slowly fracture reality. To fix this mess, Sonic and Shadow would need to find the pieces of the Crystal that have scattered across the world like the Dragon Balls and bring them together. The reason why it is them who have to do this is, aside from personal responsibility, they're the ones among very few people who can actually detect and handle the Crystal's power and presence.

Sonic is excited to go on this adventure, only to get startled by a furious Sally calling for him and promptly hiding behind Shadow, as he doesn't want to confront Sally's wrath, yet. Shadow, in response, just rolls his eyes, while Silver is confused about what is going on. Basically, by Sonic saying ''No'' and running off earlier, Sally believed that she got shot down again and wants to give him a ''What the hell, dude?!'' speech about Sonic not caring about her feelings or even thinking about the situation for that matter.

Sonic attempts to explain himself, but is interrupted by Shadow, who tells Sally that reality is in danger and that's why Sonic ran off. This way, he also stops Sonic from accidentally revealing that he has memories of his future self, later explaining to Sonic that he doesn't really trust Sally with using any of that information. He points out that, while she can be proactive, when he started his tyrannical rule, she literally did nothing to undermine him, meaning that she still lacks some of decisiveness on her part.

Sally figures that, if things are that bad, then they should call the Freedom Fighters for help, although she would also have to discuss the matter with the Council of Acorn, as per the current rules, they cannot really act without getting the Council's approval.

Sonic, having enough of the Acorn Kingdom's politics and bureaucracy, decides to set out on his own, with only Shadow as his companion. He refuses to be anymore under the control of the government, be it the King or the Council, making the decision to work on his own.

He is here to protect them, not to be controlled by them, and if they don't like it, he can leave. He can do more good for the world if he doesn't have to wait to be told what he is supposed to do.

While there would be people protesting against this decision, Sonic and Shadow are already off on their adventure, traveling all over the world for the Crystal Shards Sonic Unleashed-style.

They would also face several opponents who would want the Crystal Shards for themselves, like Dr. Eggman, Ixis Naugus and Geoffrey St. John, and Scourge and the Destructix (perhaps even meeting Anti-Shadow and Anti-Silver if they have to travel to Moebius).

Oh, and one more thing - the engagement with Sally is off.

The Freedom Of Choice

For example, if I trace my finger a little

Will your choice be LOVE or HATE?

Do whatever you like, make your cheeks turn red

And spitting, boy

As I had mentioned before, the main inner conflict for Sonic would be the choice he would make in shaping his own future.

The expectations from people in-universe, as well as the reader, would obviously be that Sonic follows all the steps that leads up to the Light Mobius future (e.g. marrying Sally and becoming King), as that is the selfless thing to do, something that is expected from the main hero. Set right what was done wrong and follow the path to the anticipated happy ending.

But, is that really the ending that would make Sonic happy? This is a question Shadow would ask Sonic, wondering if he would really be happy to stay at one place, figuratively shackled to the duties of a King and abandoning who he is at his core.

In this story, Sonic would ultimately refuse to give up his freedom.

He will admit that, in the previous timeline, he did it to make Sally happy, but not himself. As a matter of fact, that was something everyone expected him to do, as they were the power couple and all that stuff, and he tried not to look back on the ''What If''. For him, there was no ''What if''.

However, now that he got a second chance, he decides to be selfish and do something for himself, especially when he experiences this sense of freedom once again by travelling all over the world, meeting new people and go on adventures.

The future itself is regarded as a huge ''What If''. Sonic has already experienced a future where he is the King and he wasn't happy about it. The question is, should he continue sacrificing his own happiness for the sake of others or actually be a bit selfish for his own sake? He doesn't even know how he ended up back as his younger self, so is he even allowed to change the present and the future? Would he be the villain because of that?

After all, it is not as if he would immediately return to the supposedly set Light Mobius future even if he fixed the Paradox Crystal. He was brought back to relive his past as he sees fit and he will be stuck in his teenage body with no way to jump into the future. So, either he can live through the whole experience again or just choose a different path.

Sonic would instead use the memories of his future self to help people, preventing any bad event flags from being triggered and protecting the world his own way. These changes in the present would obviously lead to the Light Mobius future not even being a possibility by default, allowing Sonic to live without regret.

Nevertheless, it won't be an easy choice to make and Sonic would keep doubting himself, which is why he would benefit from Shadow's presence.

Speaking of which...

The reason Shadow became a tyrant in the former timeline was to protect the world, ultimately losing himself in the process and feeding into his own delusions. When he returns to the past, he would still be in the mindset that he needs to protect the world by conquering it and eliminating any opposition. Sonic insists that he would be there to stop him, as he knows what Shadow is capable of.

Suddenly, Shadow gets furious, snapping at Sonic because the latter never saw just how bad it got before Shadow took over as a tyrant. As stated before, there was a power vacuum when Dr. Eggman died, leading to many other villains trying to take over, which basically made this whole situation a world-wide Game of Thrones. Shadow had to take over, because if he didn't, things could've ended up much worse.

Shadow also admits that he understands that everyone hated him, but he had to choose the ''ends justify the means'' option because he felt that there was nothing else left. Sonic, having gained a better understanding of Shadow's motives, would stop their fight and make an offer instead. He would tell Shadow that they could protect the world together as a team, especially since they have knowledge of the future and can use that to their advantage. Shadow would accept his offer.

The part that follows would focus on Sonic and Shadow's adventures across the world, where they would from time to time be aided by their friends, but ultimately, the story would be about them working together and developing a strong bond.

Now, that bond can be purely platonic... but if you are in any way familiar with my blog, you should already know that this would spiral into a Sonadow story.

If you don't like the ship or aren't a shipper yourself, you are free to skip the next part and resume at LOVE or HATE Story.

Sonic & Shadow - The Ultimate Duo

Differences in hobbies, differences in peace of mind

Even if I confuse you

My path is shaped by

Just LOVE or HATE

I'm certain that some don't like where this is going. Why should I write down such a story if one of its conclusions is a non-canonical ship? Well, if you still think the same, then you seriously should have skipped this part.

I had stated before that the story focuses on the concept of freedom and what it means to Sonic, and in this case, this choice would split off into three different paths. The first path would be following the set story, leading into the Light Mobius Future, aka the one this story will avoid. The second path follows a simple adventure plot, albeit going against the beliefs and expectations of the reader, with everyone gaining a happy, but platonic ending, which is where non-shippers should've stopped their read.

The natural conclusion would be that the third path follows the Sonadow Ending.

As stated above, in this path, Sonic would ultimately choose freedom over duty, which would make him ending up with Sally impossible. If he marries her, he becomes King and the Light Mobius future happens, which he wants to avoid in this life. So, distancing himself from any romantic relationships that would result in him being tied down, without him having any say in it, would be the next logical step.

If Sally questions Sonic about their engagement, he would tell her something along the lines of having thought about their future together, and he cannot see it happening anymore. He knows that a future with Sally means a future without freedom, and he knows that, the way he is now, they're incompatible.

Yeah, Sally (and the Sonally shippers) wouldn't be happy about that. After all, their relationship works on the idea of ''Opposites Attract'', which is probably one of reasons why people find it appealing. No offense to those who like the ship, but the issue that I personally see here is that ''Opposites Attract'' cannot work if the two sides are too opposing to attract each other.

In other words, Pre-SGW!Sally is too devoted to her kingdom and people and has stated time and time again that she prefers to settle down once this whole deal with Eggman is over.

Sonic does not work like that.

Sure, maybe Pre-SGW!Archie!Sonic would work, but I'm certain that by now, you have noticed that I'm writing Sonic's character with his Game!Self's characteristics in mind (and some helpful suggestions from Ian Flynn in regards to how he would approach Sonic being in a relationship).

First and foremost, Sonic is free as the wind. He would not settle in one place, even if he would visit it just to see his friends. He would keep travelling. He is not fit to be King (or even a father for that matter, even if he would try his best). His strengths lie in being an adventurer and he wants to fully embrace this side of him over the course of the story.

It has been a repeated statement in the shipping community that if you want to pair Sonic up with someone, this person should be a character who wouldn't warp who Sonic is at his core, but be able to keep up with him and accept his lifestyle. I have seen a debate about Sonamy, and while I find the ship cute and agree that Amy is someone who works hard to be recognized by Sonic, she too would be someone who'd prefer to settle down rather than always be on the move.

This brings me to the only person who not only recognizes Sonic's adventurous spirit and desire for freedom, but has immense respect for him, is capable of not only keeping up with Sonic, but even get ahead of him, and even if they argue, it is clear that both have the same goal in mind, even if their methods differ.

Look, I was never interested in shipping, so if you want me to like a certain pairing, you need to really convince me that it works and that the characters have chemistry and a charm to them.

Sonadow does have that chemistry and charm that makes me go ''Yeah, these two actually work together well.''

As for Sonic and Shadow, this adventure would definitely explore just how well they click together. To note, both Sonally and Sonadow are a case of ''opposites attract'', but with Sonally, they're just too different to work properly, especially when one is chained to duty and the other desires freedom.

Meanwhile, Sonic and Shadow are literally two different sides of the same coin, both never really settling anywhere and driven by their desire to protect their world, even if their methods differ. Both easily balance each other out and even them arguing, or just talking for that matter, sounds like them flirting more often than not. The only thing that needs to be added to their existing relationship is them becoming more vulnerable and open around each other, as it doesn't change what they already have or who they already are.

By spending so much time with each other, they would eventually realize that they have something going on and decide whether they'll fully embrace it or not, especially given their initial reservations about being in a relationship.

Sonic doesn't want to be tied down by anyone or anything and fears that he might lose his freedom again, while Shadow would be anxious about getting this close to someone again due to his own fear of losing someone important to him.

However, considering who the person is they're attracted to, they would realize that there really isn't anything to fear. Shadow would not take Sonic's freedom away from him, and Sonic basically has Main Character Syndrome, so there is no chance that he would die easily, at least not without a fight, something Shadow is well aware of by now.

Not too sure about how their friends would react to them being together, although I'm certain that they would be supportive.

Well, most of them.

LOVE or HATE Story

I did not intend to go this much into detail with this AU Story (which I came up with in a day, mind you), but once I started writing down the idea, I couldn't stop. Sure, there is probably more to write, but I would then have to start the story properly to add even more details of events and interactions.

While I'm somewhat interested in writing this out, I know well that this would end up in a very long story, and I already have other projects I'm working on, so this will remain as just as an idea.

I am open to discussing this story and what else can be explored and I'm eager to hear your opinion on it. If you have any questions, feel free to ask.

I simply wanted to put this out in the public to hear other people's thoughts on it. If you love the story, than I'm glad to hear it. If you hate the story, well... *shrugs* I had warned you that I'm not pulling any punches.

I'm curious about your response!

#Sonic the Hedgehog Analyzer (Masterlist)

#Sonic the Hedgehog Analyzer #sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #king sonic #king shadow #silver the hedgehog #isekai #sonadow #mobius 30 years later #sonic universe #archie sonic #idw sonic #mobius 25 years later #anti sonally #sally acorn

[beargyufairy]

Just My Thoughts Pt. 32

For Natsu, there isn’t much I have expectations for since he has been the main focus of the entire series. I want him to have a good fight with Ignia with some tension, trauma, and loss. I want END to have some kind of return either because Natsu goes feral from seeing his friends hurt (particularly Lucy) or he consumes Ignia’s flames and goes berserk again. I really need END to come back to its fullest point with scales, claws, maybe horns and wings. The actual design fell short to me compared to all the fanart and that really disappointed me. There were many fanart with tattoo-like designs and the color schemes were so good! I really thought Dragon Cry was a hint to what Natsu would look like but that obviously wasn’t the case. There also has to be some consequences on Lucy for rewriting a demonic book that was written by the Black Wizard. As much as I like Lucy I felt like she shouldn’t have been okay just because of Gray’s devil slaying magic. There was so much potential to this that I felt like was ignored to stay on the safe side of things. Imagine the pain of saving your best friend and willing to sacrifice yourself in the process?! It could’ve been a wonderful plot!! Natsu should also have some kind of backlash after being rewritten. The book was essentially his lifeline. I want to know more about it.

I desperately need another arc like Tartaros because it was peak. It had everything and considering how Ignia is Natsu’s half brother (with Igneel as their father) I need them to have some kind of interaction that’s not a battle. I need Natsu to realize something that’s either emotionally painful or have to make a choice between two things he’s not willing to sacrifice. Of course it doesn’t need to be these since it’s just my suggestions but I need trauma in the story with major loss.

Speaking of brothers, I need more Zeref content (maybe Mavis as well). I really like how Natsu has started to accept him as family which is really nice. Maybe he can go back into the in between at some point to have another life changing experience or just to converse with Zeref. Maybe more on their life before Natsu’s initial death. What were their parents like or even just their life? On the side note, I would love to know more on Mavis and Zeref’s afterlife with their children and just their relationship in general.

One thing I do need to have no matter what is Natsu and Lucy’s relationship becoming canon. It’s been long enough and we need to see their grow as adults who have mutual romantic interest in each other. Natsu can’t keep playing dumb at this point it’s getting slightly repetitive and annoying. His advancement as a character has gone downhill in the 100 YQ (I’m still upset about the pee joke regarding Lucy’s burn). So I need his redemption at least with Lucy and his feelings for her.

#fairy tail #lucy heartfilia #nalu #natsu dragneel #natsu x lucy #writers on tumblr #lucy x natsu #nalu headcanon #nalu analysis #ft nalu #fairy tail natsu #fairy tail 100 yq #ft 100yq #ft 100 years quest #fairy tail 100 years quest #fairy tail manga #just me and my thoughts #just my thoughts #thank you for coming to my ted talk #ignia #zeref dragneel #mavis vermillion #zeref x mavis #fairy tail zeref #zervis #etherious natsu dragneel #the end is near

[magicaldragons]

I am really interested in the fics you are writing for salaar! they are amazing! wondering what are your hcs or fic ideas that you want to write or see written?

hello! and first off, thank you so much ♡

ahh, so! headcanons, damn. my headcanons are mostly psychology based, and i usually type them out as they come to me, but the ones on my mind lately have been:

Varadha admired Radha Rama as a child, and made an effort to get her approval, but it never worked out because she was entirely apathetic

Bharava seduced Radha Rama (because he wanted a seat in court and to be an insider) and once it happened, they gradually grew distant, and Radha Rama didn't completely understand why, till she learnt of his betrayal

Varadha is basically a "princess Diana" character, fucked over by those closest to him, but adored by most of those among the kingdom [this isn't even a headcanon, it's plain canon]

Khansaar definitely has some beaches to the Southwest, and the Rann of Kutch extends into Khansaar, so there's these salty marshes too, but the Ghaniyaars occupy most of that territory, with the Mannars mostly inland, and the Shouryaangas centered towards the east, which would leave them at a disadvantage, but since they're the stronger tribe, it all works out.

Baba is closer to Varadha than he is to Baachi (i've got an upcoming analysis on this + baachi & varadha's relationship)

Varadha lost Mahara in a fight/challenge of some kind (not necessarily physical), and all he has left is Pathran.

there's more, now that i think about it, but for now we'll leave it at that xD

as for fanfics:

• so, before any of my other fic ideas, i had this visual of deva, brought to khansaar after stopping the seal, and with shackles that he could easily break out of at any point. everyone in the room knows he might be armed after the whole gun show and the dozens of bodies they have to show for it. varadha asks his men to search deva, but they slink back, terrified of the consequences. varadha, irritated, sends them all out. cue a quiet, guilt-ridden deva – and an exhausted, seething, varadha, just verbally tearing into him: each. deliberate. word. dripping with hatred. while feeling deva up for weapons. yeah. guilty pleasure. it might end up being part of s&o or a standalone fic if i feel like it

• after i get to a comfortable place with s&o, there's another fic almost ready to see the light of day: comprising royal assassin! deva & prince! varadha (ask me if you want a summary/teaser, oof, it'll make more sense, if you'd like to know more)

• an au with twins! deva & devaratha and dancer! varadha (this one's plot heavy, and also involves magic)

• there's a futuristic au that i'm working the plot out for currently

• this fic

• and of course, the extension of 'distance' that i'm still hashing out the details for

(and regarding fics i want to see written, i will eat. up. anything, though i do have a fondness for angst)

but yes, that's most of it! if you read through all of this, then thank you xD i did not know it would get this extensive

much love, rey <3

#so...this is slightly more than i expected #hope its satisfying #salaar #varadeva #headcanons #fanfic ideas

[laurrrelise]

i’m losing my mind over the fic stingers under skin by @saplesss-tree on ao3.

i go so feral for derek danforth for absolutely no intelligible reason at all and i literally cannot get enough of the fics written about him, but holy shit this one DESTROYS ME.

if you haven’t read it for the love of god PLEASE run don’t walk. (it’s about an alternate plot line where eloise doesn’t kill herself and adam kidnaps derek as a ransom to get the money he stole back!)

derek’s backstory is so sad and complicated and clay is so evil and self-righteous and i cannot explain how canon the writing seems, like genuinely, reading this feels like an extension of the movie. i don’t know how @saplesss-tree manages to write derek, adam, jessica, garnett, and eloise to be so on-point with their characters in the movie but i genuinely forget it’s just a fan fiction when i read it.

tree, literally just some of your talent would be nice, please and thank you 🙏🙏

i’m adding some (probably way too many, actually) of my favorite lines because i literally think about them way too much:

• “Don’t tell my mom, okay?” The driver didn’t answer, but one of his strong hands found Derek’s and clasped tightly. Held his hand with firm, steady reassurance as he drifted off.

• “Oh, fucking spare me. If you know who we are, then you know that the president of the United States does not pay ransoms. She does not negotiate with fucking terrorists or psychopaths or whatever the hell you call yourself--” “I’m a Beekeeper.” “Great. Fucking good for you. She doesn’t doesn’t negotiate with fucking beekeepers either. What are you going to do, sick a thousand bees on the US military?”

• “Whatever. And I’ll bet that’s real cheese,” Derek accused. “Yes, it is.” “I’m lactose intolerant, so fuck you.”

^ this line will never fail to make me laugh.

• “But once I receive payment, this little inconvenience will--” “Inconvenience,” Derek laughed humorlessly. “Guy fucking kidnaps me and calls it an inconvenience.”

• “Speaking of accommodations, five-star bathroom you’ve provided me here. You’re not even gonna give me a bucket or something? There are fucking dogs that live in better conditions than this.” “You can come upstairs to use the bathroom.” “Should I bring the fucking pipe I’m chained to with me, or does that stay here?”

• Derek frowned at a picture frame hanging on the wall. “It’s still got the stock picture in it.” Clay paused. “I liked the flowers.” And they stood there for a long moment. “Alliums,” he added eventually. “They’re very attractive for bees, butterflies, and other pollinators. Though, some alliums can spread too quickly and become invasive. It’s a fragile balance.” They continued to stand there. Derek shifted his weight from one leg to the other and said, “yeah. The, uh, the purple is pretty cool.” Clay regarded the stock image seriously and nodded. “Yes,” he agreed, “the purple is cool.”

• "It's just awful, isn't it?" Eloise asked, wiping her hands on a rag and shaking her head. "That poor boy." "Never thought that about him before when all those scandals came to light," Clay said, but kept himself from being too harsh. "How many times has he thrown money at what should've been a jail sentence?" "Oh, he's just lost." Clay tilted his head at her. "How do you mean?" "Exactly what I said. He's just lost. I can't speak to the way he was raised, but I see all the bad things that end up in the media about him, and I see someone acting out for attention. I see a boy crying for help."

^ oh my god just let me sob right now.

• "Do you want to come upstairs and use the bathroom?" Derek peeled his eyes open and looked at Clay. "I want to carve into your face with a dull knife and crack your skull open with a rock. I want to put my bare hands into your head and just pull everything out. I want you to fucking scream." A beat. “Okay, so you still have a headache?”

• "I fucking hate you," Derek said, voice wavering. "I know you do. Come on, come take a bite."

• Clay took the cigarette, placing it tenderly on Derek's bottom lip, allowing him to take the thing into his mouth. Clay produced a small lighter from his pocket and lit the cigarette. On the first breath, Derek melted. Eased into Clay's hug and sighed with a kind of relief he didn't know it was possible to feel. Being rescued right this second wouldn't have felt as good. More tears.

^ i don’t know what it is, but something about the way that clay is so gentle and nurturing with derek (not always, but most of the time) even though they despise each other gets me right in the heartstrings. their physical intimacy despite literally wanting the other to die brutally will never not hurt. tree is a genius, end of story.

• “I thought ginger was only for between servings of different kinds of sushi to cleanse your pallet.” Clay stared for a moment. “We live very different lives.” “You fucking think?”

• Exhaustion won over the little part in the back of Derek’s mind that cowered like a threatened, wild animal. Derek blew out a breath and turned his head toward Clay. “I don’t believe you. It feels like you want to hurt me.” They held each other's gaze for a long time, no sound passing between them besides their breaths. “Sometimes,” Clay allowed eventually. “But only when you’re being difficult.” Clay rubbed his forearm. “Biting me. That’s no way to behave.” “You fucking kidnapped me.” “I know, but you don’t have to be such a brat about it.”

• “That’s like if I told you ‘you don’t need to breathe anymore,’” he muttered. “‘Just learn to breathe underwater because I fucking said so,’ and, ‘I’m the one with the oxygen tank. Just stop fucking breathing air.’”

• “You don’t know how to shave your own face?” Derek’s brows drew together, voice defensive. “I’ve never needed to know how before.” Clay studied him for a long moment, some mixture of disbelief and maybe sadness there in his eyes. “Nobody’s ever taught you how to do anything for yourself, have they?” A boy crying for help. Maybe there was something to Eloise’s words.

^ STOPPPP STOP IT RIGHT NOW

• The grin spread across Derek’s face completely involuntarily. And it was infectious. “I did it.” “Yeah, you did it,” Clay chuckled. “Fuck yeah!” Derek pumped his fists, buzzing trimmer still in hand. “Damn, and I didn’t even cut myself. Fuck, I did that.”

• “We’re going to clean you up around the edges here on your cheeks, your neck, and,” Clay rubbed a finger along the side of Derek’s jaw, “whatever silly sideburns you’ve got going on here.” He rubbed his palms down the sides of his face. “They’re not silly.” “You don’t actually want to keep those do you?” “Well now I fucking don’t with the way you just said that.”

• “Look, I know you’ve really never approved of the guys that Derek--” “My problem is not with my son’s sexual preferences, my problem is with you personally, Mr. Garnett,” she said.

• “Madam president, with all due respect, I don’t fucking care what happens to me, as long as Derek gets home safely.”

• He had Eloise. He had the boy in his basement, who he occasionally didn’t hate. And it hit Clay suddenly that the hive was growing.

• It pissed Derek off. It wasn’t just the drugs and self-indulgent habits and social media obsession. Clay had forcefully detoxed him from his entire life. From himself. And he was better for it.

^ THIS LINE FUCKING KNOCKS THE WIND OUT OF ME. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD.

• “I don’t fucking know anything about you except for your bee fetish.”

• Well, I’ve got Wallace. He’s kinda like my-- I don’t know-- my protection detail, bodyguard, babysitter, pain in my ass, conscience guy.” “So he cares about you.” “He works for me.” Derek shrugged. “Well, and, to be perfectly honest, I think he’s fucking my mom…” “Oh.”

^ again, i will never not laugh at this line

• “Like, you picked the worst possible hostage ever. I’m such a fuck-up, there’s zero motivation for anyone to pay my ransom.”

• “You are a defective offspring,” Clay said. “Wow, okay fuck you,” Derek replied.

• “It’s not wholly your fault,” Clay continued. “You were born broken because of her. You’ve never had a chance to be anything more than broken, and you never will. When a queen bee produces defective offspring, we rise up and slay her. Ordinarily, I'd kill your mother for bringing a wretched thing like you into this world, but that money-- the ransom-- it’s the money you stole from a dear friend of mine.”

• “Do it,” Derek said, voice quiet and almost as shocked as the expression Clay sent his way. He cleared his throat. “Fucking do it. I want her to fucking agonize over every second she leaves me here with you. I want the guilt to eat her alive until she either coughs up the money or kills herself.”

• "You're all right, just sitting you up a little." And Clay cushioned Derek's head in his lap, letting the boy use his thighs as his new pillow as Clay looked down at him.

• Made him hate the stairs and hate this house and hate himself for not being able to move properly and hate his mother for leaving him here. And Clay for… something. Derek had had the beating coming to him-- had literally asked for it-- so not that. But he was pretty sure he hated the guy for something. Hating Clay for kidnapping him just seemed too understated. Hating the man for kidnapping him didn’t do justice to all of the other things he could hate him for. It was like there was so much anger and aggression and fear and resentment surrounding Derek’s perception of Clay that he couldn’t even hate him.

• "You got it?" "I'm a grown fucking man, I don't need you to hold my dick for me while I piss." "There's no need to be crass," Clay said, backing off. "Fuck you."

• Maybe Mom really wasn't as much of an unfeeling, soulless bitch as he'd expected.

• “I fucking hate you,” Derek said quietly. Trying to remind himself. “I’d be surprised if you didn’t.” “I've never hated anyone more than I hate you,” he said again. Drilling it home for his tired, aching heart. “But I've never been more real with someone either. I think that might be part of it, maybe.” Clay squeezed Derek’s shoulder, loosening another tear in the boy. “What do you mean?” “I just… hate myself, you know?” His voice a mere whisper. “And being myself around you, it makes me hate you too.” Clay hummed solemnly. “You’re a very angry young man.” “Yeah, well,” Derek cleared his wobbling voice, “I’ve got a lot to be angry about. Even if I went home right this second, I think I’d still find myself up in that glass box.”

• The hand carded through his hair again. Goosebumps prickled on the back of his neck, down his back, and along his arms. Against every instinct screaming at him to pull away, Derek leaned into the touch. Not because the gentle, rhythmic motion of fingers raking gently along his scalp was comforting. Not because it was the first genuine distraction he'd had from the relentless headache and the throbbing hurt throughout his face. And definitely not because he couldn't remember the last time someone had tenderly run their fingers through his hair like this.

^ again with the physical intimacy i’m going to jump off a cliff

• “And I want real shampoo and conditioner. Your three-in-one shit is ruining my hair, I don’t know why you use that stuff.” Derek felt the soft vibrations of Clay’s nearly inaudible chuckle. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” he said, brushing a few curls out of Derek’s face, “but I don’t have nearly as much hair as you.” “Oh… right.”

• Sitting down next to the mattress, Clay sighed. Ran his fingers through the young man’s messy, tangled curls. “You know, I think you’re the only one that appreciates what I’m trying to do here,” Clay told him. “Under all your disobedience and profanity and needless crying, I think you’re the only one that really gets what we’re doing.”

• “Are you watching me sleep?” Derek rasped, voice sleep-laden. “No,” Clay answered softly. “The fuck are you doing then?” “I was telling you about my day.” Derek’s mind took a few moments to catch up. “While I was asleep?” “You’re a much better listener when you’re asleep.” “Okay, well fuck you too, I guess,” Derek muttered.

• “If something happens… would you visit me?” Clay asked. “In prison, I mean. Would you come visit me?” Derek lowered himself on the mattress, rested his head on the pillow, reeling. “Yeah, sure.” The words escaped without Derek really thinking about it. And he was almost surprised to realize he meant it.

• “You surprised me earlier. You almost sounded like you wanted to live, or at least like you were trying to want that.” Clay flipped to the next page. “I thought I’d let you try and figure it out for a little while longer.”

• "It's such a sure thing, the sun," Clay said. "Every evening it sets, leaving with a colorful, beautiful goodbye. Almost like it doesn't want to go. And every morning it returns with just as much enthusiasm. It's something you can always count on." There was a lengthy pause where neither one of them said anything, and Clay was the one to break it. "There will always be another tomorrow, whether you're there or not. But dead men can't watch sunsets."

alright i think that’s enough (but if given the avenue i could continue this even more trust me) anyways again PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE read this fic if you haven’t already, 8 chapters are out so far and they’re all of very generous length.

the way it delves into derek’s backstory, the way he grew up and was treated by his mother, the way he’s reduced to a little boy (and is repeatedly called “the boy”) because of the way he was forced to grow up too soon, the way he acts as a defense mechanism, oh my god i could ramble forever it makes me so sympathetic to him even if he’s a douchebag idc idc i love him.

im so emotionally attached to this fic and im literally on the edge of my seat to know how it ends (especially with the way chapter 8 ended, tree you knew EXACTLY what you were doing 🤬)

anyways here it is please read it thank you 🙏🙏

#derek danforth #the beekeeper #holy shit. words could not describe my love for this fic #i’m so deadass #josh hutcherson #jhutch #jhutch1992

[canonmisogynyvictimstournament]

PROPAGANDA

KAEDE AKAMATSU (DANGANRONPA V3)

1.) (Spoilers for the game but)

First female protagonist in the three main games of the series. Advertised as the protagonist in all of the game’s trailers and was hyped up, only to get brutally killed off at the end of the first chapter for shock value and to be replaced with a male protagonist. It’s revealed in the end that the reason she died was completely made up and she was killed for convenience.

In the one chapter she’s in there’s a scene of her taking her shirt off, as well as a joke about the male protagonist accidentally looking up her skirt while she’s climbing a ladder. Her legacy for the rest of the game is basically to act as the male protagonist’s reason for character development as he tries to become stronger.

2.) So disclaimer first that I think Kaede is actually really well-written as a character. She's interesting and feels fleshed out and despite dying early on, she haunts the narrative so strongly that she was one of my favorite characters for the whole game AND she's vital to the climax of the story. All that said…

Kaede was marketed as the protagonist of the game, making her the first female protagonist in the main DR series (there's a female protag in a spin-off but the two other games in the main series both had male protags). You start the game and you immediately notice she has a stronger personality than either of the male protags from the previous games, who, while I like them, tend to be the normal ones in an otherwise colorful cast. She felt like a break from the usual protag mold and we even got to have a male secondary character this time who relied on her for support. But. She isn't the protag. The guy I just mentioned is. You find out mid-trial 1 that Kaede is (sorta unintentionally) the killer and you switch control to the guy character and Kaede then dies at the end of the trial. As far as a plot goes, this was really really cool and well-executed, but it also means the game intentionally decided to pull a bait-and-switch where they advertised the "first female protag of the series!" only to kill her off early on and reveal the true protag was actually a guy who, once again is a character I like, but is much more similar to the previous two protags than Kaede was. There was literally no reason they had to put a female character as the false protag here, as the twist would've worked equally well or maybe even more if they revealed a typical male protag character was the killer and instead switched to a female protag for the rest of the game. Advertising Kaede as the first female main series protag while knowing she would be dead for the majority of the game and the actual protag would be a guy feels cheap and insulting, especially as a female player who was really excited to play as Kaede.

3.) She was the protagonist! But god forbid danganronpa has a female protagonist so (spoilers) she actually has to die sorry :( and then only exist in flashbacks the new male protagonist has where hes like damn wish we couldve dated

JUVIA LOCKSER (FAIRY TAIL) (CW: Stalking)

1.) Oh Juvia. I haven't seen fairy tail in a bit, but poor juvia. She's supposedly an extremely powerful wizard, who was always ignored and treated poorly because of her rain powers. I don't remember it completely but she basically causes rain everywhere she goes and has extremely useful and powerful water magic…. until she joins fairy tail. Or, more specifically, until she meets Gray. Sometime during their fight (can't remember why) juvia fell head over he's for him and wanted to join fairy tail right after the battle between them and the guild she was part of was over. And she basically spends every second on screen talking about and fantasizing over gray. Who's not even interested in her! Their """"romance"""" has so much to talk about but regarding juvia there's also the aspect that she is supposed to be really extremely strong! She was one of the best bladers of her old guild! But then when she gets invited to be S Class in fairy tail? Oh she looses in the first round because God forbid Juvia have accomplishments of her own after meeting gray!!! It's not like juvia doesn't have any good moments, I really like her when she's no where near and not thinking about gray. But she almost always is. She turns into like the worst person whenever he's around its so weird she doesn't act like herself she's awful to any other girl who so much as looks in his direction…. oh my God it's exhausting and the main reason I quit the show.

Oh and let's not forget we can compare her to gajeel here- he's also a very strong wizard, in the group of main characters, from the same guild as Juvia, has a romantic subplot, and gets invited to be S Class. Major difference: Gajeel isn't a woman. And for some strange unknowable reason (/s) hes… treated by the plot and written better than Juvia? Okay again it's been a hot minute since I've seen fairy tail but you remember all those problems I mentioned with Juvia above? Literally none of them apply to Gajeel. He doesn't spend all his time fawning over Levy, he's a strong mage and is ALLOWED TO BE no oh remember how gajeel was supposed to be strong well we forgor so were going to let him do One Cool Thing and then forget again, he actually makes it past round one of the S Class test and is hugely important in the Edolas arc. OH AND SPEAKING OF after that arc juvia finds out that edolas gray was obsessed with Edolas Juvia so she changed her hair style to match edo juvia in hopes gray will like her now because of her new hair style. It's not the worst thing ever but it gets on my nerves so fucking much.

Like I said I'm not exactly a fairy tail super-fan I literally forgot everything after the s class test thing and then some but I couldn't not add juvia propaganda.

(something like this happens every other 5 minutes she's on screen)

2.) She started off as a really intimidating and cold looking antagonist in Phantom Lord arc, borderline creepy in some scenes even. She was one of the elemental four (She's a rain woman and does water magic) and an S-Class wizard in that guild (Highest rank), so you can tell off the bat that she's strong as hell- Up until we get a one on one fight scene involving her and Gray- Who she immediately swoons for for some reason. It isn't that bad of a fight I don't think, and the reason she got a crush on him was pretty sweet- His ice basically froze all of Juvia's rain water for a moment, allowing her to see and feel the clear sky and sun after years of being followed around by rain.

What ruins it is how after their fight, her crush on Gray just starts… Getting out of control. She started stalking him. Joined Fairy Tail, the guild he was in, and acted obsessive of him and started calling literally every other girl her 'Love Rival'. It isn't that bad during the first / earlier seasons, since at that point she was still recovering from being a bad guy and trying to prove to others that she wants to be allies with them (Like when she sacrificed herself for Cana during Battle of Fairy Tail arc, and when she cried after Lucy knocked her out after she got brainwashed and told her they were friends now) But eventually it really does just start becoming her one trait and gag. What doesn't help is that it got old pretty fast and it's creepy and Gray barely shows any interest in her either and frequently tells her he'd like it if she was less stalkery. Also she's gets more pushy. Literally!!! Even the women mentioned ABOVE who Juvia considered friends weren't safe from being called her Love Rival even when they state multiple times that they aren't interested in Gray (Lucy especially.) She'd go after every and all women who MAY be after her precious Gray without any STOPS. She used to have actual character and motivations!!! She used to get along with other girls, even if it was begrudgingly!! But now she's just Gray's accesory / just "Gray's About-To-Be Girlfriend" and it somehow got even worse in the sequel 100 Years Quest. She's a powerful wizard and it still shows but her only notable trait, motive, gag, connection, etc. Are related to her calling him "Gray-Sama" and harassing him. Let her fight without thinking of Gray for god's sake!!!

3.) Juvia, as a concept, is not so bad: it's a lonely, depressed woman with water powers she can't always control who gets a chance at being somewhere where people will provide the love and companionship she craved. NOW THE EXECUTION IS WHERE THE CREATOR FUCKED UP. Upon her introduction, she immediately develops a crush on Gray, one of the main characters and her original guild's enemy, which makes her not really want to fight him. Sounds kinda sexist but not particularly outstanding, right? Well, as soon as she stops being on the enemy side and joins the main guild, she is turned into a caricature by having her stalk her crush, obsessively worry about him even looking at other women, being hostile to said women and then, throughout the series, continuously doubling down on her romantic and sexual advances despite him constantly refusing and expressing both verbally and physically his discomfort. There are a handful of moments toward the beginning where she seems to have the bare minimum of depth and it looks like she can build a good connection with some female characters, but this is all abandoned and she becomes a wet piece of cardboard whose only personality trait is obsessively loving a guy and any dramatic or tense scenes revolve around what's happening to him. She becomes unbearable to watch and this is particularly frustrating when you consider that she's technically, according to her introduction, a rather strong mage and that her magic doesn't have any established limits. She turns her body into water!! She can change the weather!! She could technically do something like blood bending if Mashima weren't a coward!! She could do so much more but that is the extent of what the creator cares to show because he doesn't care about her beyond what he can get in terms of "comedy".

#polls #round 1 #week 1 #new #cw stalking

[vaelynez]

Hey random question but you as frustrated as I am that Lamia has not had a single appearance in 100 year quest? Even Kagura had a single panel with speech but the Lamia Crew (other than an image with Toby on the toilet) has none!

Thank you for the ask! 💕

Let me preface what I’m about to say because this fandom can be a little bit up in arms about this; I have no ill will in saying this towards anyone, this is simply my opinion. I’m fine with discussions on this topic, but I will not tolerate unnecessary hate if it comes.

Moving on…confession time. I haven’t read the 100 YQ. I’ve been avoiding it because Gruvia makes me really uncomfortable for reasons I’m not going to get into in this post, and to my understanding it’s filled with it now that it’s canon. Yes, when a ship is canon it’ll get page time, but I can’t stomach this ship at all. Again, it makes me viscerally uncomfortable.

On the topic of Lamia Scale, I’m always down for more content with them. I love the entire crew so so much. But knowing Hiro Mashima, the appearance would be centered around Lyon and Juvia. While Luvia doesn’t make me uncomfortable like Gruvia does, I don’t like it—I personally feel like the entire thing completely destroyed everything established about Lyon’s character, and I might make a full analysis about it one day, but this fandom scares me and I’m not in the mood to get into internet fights over ships. I have a job and stories to write and summer classes to focus on.

In an ideal world I’d love more content with them. There’s so much to explore with the Lamia Scale crew as a team and individual characters, Gray and Lyon’s relationship has so much nuance and I love to analyze the scenes they have together.

But personally, with the direction the series has taken in regard to these characters (Sherry please come home we miss you. Yuka and Toby deserve so so much more. Like just a smidge of backstory I’m begging you. Jura as a mentor figure PLEASE. Lyon’s growth as a character is so compelling and yet you focus on this stupid jealousy plot that completely undermines his past and current goals—), I don’t think I’d actually like the scenes written.

This is all my personal opinion! Again, I’m not trying to shame anyone who likes/read 100 YQ. I want to read it, I do, but again…Gruvia…

Respectfully, if any Gruvia shippers see this and feel the need to argue with me, I am entitled to my opinion even if you disagree with it. Nothing you say will make me support this ship for a plethora of reasons that would make this post way, way too long. Lets save both of our energy. The Gruvia tag is waiting for you to consume all the content to your hearts content.

Again, thank you for the ask! Have a good day peeps. 💕

#fairy tail #lyon vastia #gray fullbuster #anti gruvia #fairy tail 100 yq #lamia scale #yuka suzuki #toby horhota #sherry blendy

[alexandraisyes]

this is so silly, I didn't know you shipped the eclipse trio!! Do you still ship them after Solar's death?

Omg an ask! *Dances*

Yes, we do!

Adding a cut because I'm gonna talk about Highly Unconventional (The series "The Deal" belongs to) and there are light spoilers regarding the story as far as our creative process goes. As well as talking about future plot ideas.

In Highly Unconventional we're actually planning to have Total Eclipse (the ship name Turbo and I affectionately have dubbed them as) either in the third or fourth book. Hopefully not the fourth, because if we get to 1k+ pages I think that Turbo will have an aneurysm.

Trying not to spoil too much, but that is going to be a thing haha. There are certain canon events that we plan to cover in the fic from the show. Those who have read the fic know that we're not as far along in the timeline due to the timeline being a bit skewed.

To recap, KC and Moon separated before the twins went to antagonize Sun. The 'villain family' lives in an apartment complex downtown ("who in their right mind went oh yes seems legit" thank you that one commenter for that quote). The twins obviously never died, (RIP Sun's cats in their place), etc.

There's a handful of milestones that we do have planned tho! Eclipse's death, Ruin coming into the picture, Moon's death, Eclipse coming back (he always comes back), Eclipse getting yeeted outta the picture again, Ruin's betrayal/Solar's death. . . that's all I'm gonna say because I don't want to give away too much on how we're going to handle writing things, haha (not necessarily written in chronological order).

Thankfully "The Months in Between" is going to be pretty chill, there's only a couple major milestones we're going to touch on for that fic because it's supposed to be about Sun's mental health arc, and repairing the twin's relationships with their currently disowned family. But in the third installment, name pending, it's gonna get back into that hardcore shit hehe. And then we'll be having some total eclipse popping into the picture AS IT SHOULD.

I make the joke a lot that Eclipse could only ever care (not really love because he's a sociopath) about himself, and I've already written one fic on Eclipse/Ruin so we (Turbo and I) thought why the hell not. I think that our readers will be pleasantly (or maybe horrifically) surprised by how we plan on tackling everything revolving around Solar's death in the fic. . .

Especially because they're all going to be together by the time it happens.

Sorry for rambling, haha. Can you tell I never get asks in my inbox? Lmfao

#alex talks #answered ask #The Deal tsams #tsams #total eclipse ship #eclipse trio #tsams ships #tsams fic #potential spoilers